The Fate of the Dwarves

XXXI

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Early Summer, 6492nd Solar Cycle

It was pouring down.

A violent storm had broken out overnight, deluging fortress and ravine alike as if to wash the defending forces from the very battlements and to flood the chasm of the evil beasts.

By daybreak the thunder and lightning had passed but the rain remained. The attack was still scheduled to take place. Tungdil had insisted on this.

The units stood ready behind each of the four gates. This time they were strictly divided: Humans at the eastern gate, the ubariu to the west, undergroundlings north and the dwarves in the south. The intention was to confuse the beasts by disguising the direction of the major attack.

And this main focus was to be from the south, with Tungdil, Balyndar, Ireheart, Goda, Coïra, Lot-Ionan and the dwarf contingents. The humans would divert and feign an attack together with the undergroundlings at the northern entry point, while the ubariu were to come to the dwarf-army flank in support.

Ireheart stood up in his stirrups to survey the massed army of male and female warriors. Their banners and standards high in the gray air displayed their pride in the newfound harmony among the children of the Smith. A victory would unite them still more firmly. “I thank you, Vraccas,” he murmured and turned to the gate. Even if I find my own death today.

Around him were gathered the heroes of the first mission, as well as Goda and Lot-Ionan. The dwarf-woman would not look at the magus and always kept her distance. She would have refused to speak a single word to her former master even if he had wished it.

Ireheart saw from his wife’s expression that she would rather have been confronting the magus in combat than the beasts from the ravine. Again he noted Goda and Balyndar exchanging rapid glances. The fifthling looked at Slîn, who was observing him intently and tapping the shaft of his crossbow, as if by chance.

Ireheart scratched his silvery black beard. What are they up to? There was something he was not privy to and it worried him. He would not be able to stop in the heat of battle to play nursemaid to them in order to head off some harebrained scheme.

He was about to wheel his pony toward Tungdil, but the one-eyed dwarf was already giving the signal to attack.

The double doors of the mighty gate swung wide open and Ireheart knew the same would be happening at the other three entrances, sending these disparate armies on their way. If he had got it right there would be one thousand humans fighting under the leadership of the elves, four thousand undergroundlings, a solid ten thousand ubariu and then another force of ten thousand dwarves, of which the six thousand thirdlings made up the largest section.

But before any of them could set foot on the plain the first stroke had to be successful.

Lot-Ionan stepped forward to study the dark-red barrier edge. He placed his left hand on it and spoke a short sentence, suddenly crying out loud and tensing his whole body.

White lightning flashed through the shield, causing it to dissolve. The barrier disappeared with a high-pitched whine!

“For Girdlegard!” came Tungdil’s rallying cry. He sounded his bugle. All four armies started their advance, while the fortress catapults went into action, raining down havoc on the bewildered monsters.

Rocks, arrows and spears hurtled through the air, crashing and thumping down; burning petroleum bombs and red-hot iron balls shot over into the monsters’ unprotected camp, striking the tents to kill and maim those inside. They struck the siege towers, the battering rams, the storm ladders, all the military equipment the beasts had placed ready on the plain.

As fire erupted, the crackling of bursting wood could be heard above the screams of the beleaguered creatures. At that moment the clouds parted and the rain stopped. It was as if the gods were sending them propitious weather. But all of a sudden a second barrier appeared twenty paces further on. The projectiles bounced off it harmlessly.

“Shields!” bellowed Ireheart to the forces behind him, reaching for his own.

The first of the deflected missiles started to strike the dwarves, who had quickly brought up their shields to protect their heads. They hid until the lethal hail of projectiles had ceased. The catapult crews on the battlements had reacted swiftly and stopped firing to prevent hitting their own ranks, but some of the missiles had been in mid-flight.

Ireheart felt a light blow and then a stronger one that tumbled him out of the saddle. He rolled over, keeping under his shield. This proved the saving of him when, a moment later, something soft thudded into the shield, causing a burst of flame. He flung his burning shield away and bounded away from the fire. Had the bag of petroleum touched his body he would have perished in the flames.

Ireheart saw Goda smiling happily at the sun, lifting her bugle to her lips to play a rapid succession of notes whose significance he did not understand.

All around the battlements of Evildam dazzling light flared out.

He could see the soldiers hefting vast burnished metal mirrors into place. The sun was reflected hundreds of times, dancing over the ground and focusing on the largest of the enemy siege towers where the beasts were getting ready to fire catapults. These beams of light pierced the magic barrier without hindrance.

Confused, the monsters shut their eyes. Ireheart saw them waving their arms about and then the first of them caught fire!

Ireheart was amazed. The mirrors are catching the power of the mighty orb and are relaying it a hundredfold in strength! Even damp wood was catching fire; then, suddenly, the petroleum for the beasts’ fire arrows ignited, sending up a burst of flame. The base of the siege tower was engulfed by the blaze.

Goda whooped with excitement and Kiras hugged her. Ireheart felt proud that his wife had come up with such a trick. She’s a little scholar herself. Not only a maga, he thought, hurrying to join Tungdil and Balyndar.

The mirrors were adjusted anew to attack the next tower with their dazzling rays. The force of the beam was enough to make all the beasts there quickly evacuate the construction. They could guess what would happen if they stood their ground when the first of the rays started to converge: The whole erection would turn into a blazing inferno, burying many of their number under the burning rubble as it collapsed.

Ireheart’s initial optimism that they might carry the day became a stout conviction. But not yet utter unshakeable certainty.

Lot-Ionan was at the barrier, forcing it to disintegrate once more, but this time the fortress catapult crews held back, fearing the shield might re-form further along, thus causing death and injury to their own soldiers when shots were deflected.

Ireheart attended to his wounded warriors and calculated how many casualties the dwarves had suffered. Some lay on the ground, bleeding, others, with dented helmets and body armor, stayed bravely on their feet.

Tungdil sprang off his pony. “Forward!” he yelled frenetically, brandishing Bloodthirster. “Mow them down!” Then he stormed off, ax gripped in both hands.

The dwarf-army followed him, taking courage from their war-cry chorus, which resounded off the walls of the fortress.

The beasts were rushing into battle formation, obviously in panic.

Reinforcements arriving from the ravine did nothing to calm the enemy’s frenzied endeavors. The recently arrived monsters were infected by their comrades’ nervousness, prompting their furious officers to lash out at their own troops with their long whips, almost as if they were fighting the foe.

The dwarves were now less than a hundred paces from the enemy front rank; suddenly the kordrion’s monstrous head showed itself above the edge of the ravine.

Ireheart immediately recognized it as the one that Tungdil had attacked on his re-emergence from the Black Abyss. The scars and missing eye were obvious.

Swiftly, he placed wax plugs in his ears, as did the others, the surrounding roar of battle immediately being muffled as if coming from a distance.

The kordrion opened its mouth to bellow, and came further up out of the cleft in the rocks.

Ireheart grinned. None of the dwarves had halted. The roar still sounded frightening but it was no longer able to paralyze them, a lack of reaction that clearly disturbed the monsters more than anything.

And their own riposte soon followed. Lot-Ionan fired two bright blue beams at the kordrion, striking him in the neck. Flames erupted, and the creature’s gray flesh blistered from the heat, burning black. The skin burst open and bluish black blood splattered down onto the beasts beneath.

The kordrion charged, screaming, out of the chasm, trampling its own monster-soldiers under its claws. It pushed up, spreading its massive wings, but was hit by a second wave of magic—this time from Goda. A crackling yellow flash of lightning bored its way into the creature’s flank, leaving a hole the size of a mill wheel.

With a yell, the kordrion catapulted itself aloft with powerful movements of its wings, heading high into the sky, spilling its blood on the ground below. It made no attempt to bombard the magus or the maga with white fire; the pain and shock had been too sudden. It had never met an attack of this nature.

The dwarves cheered when they saw their greatest adversary take flight. But if they expected this setback to discourage the monsters they were disappointed. Having overcome their initial panic they now clashed with the dwarves in full combat, shields held in front of themselves in battle formation.

Again Lot-Ionan showed why he was rightly feared by all the inhabitants of Girdlegard: He spread his arms wide as if trying to encompass a wall and gave a high-pitched whistle.

A terrible gust of wind arose and whirled off to meet the monsters’ phalanx. For a length of forty paces the fighting beasts were scattered by the blast, thrown into the air and hurled backwards to be spiked on the raised weapons of their own fighters, before the ranks behind in their turn were blown into the air. The magus kept up this mighty gale until a swathe thirty paces wide had been cleared.

And it was into this gap that Tungdil led the dwarf-army. “I’ll take the left.” He raced off and let Bloodthirster do its worst among the remaining ranks of the enemy.

Ireheart grinned and broadened his chest proudly. “Follow me!” he bawled, hammering his weapon into the repulsive head of a monster that looked like a gugul on long legs. A mass of jelly spattered out and the beast fell over. “For Girdlegard!” came their cry.

The army split into sections, driving the weakened enemy before it. Axes sliced and crashed through shields, armor and trunks, shattering weapons and bones, sending opponents bleeding to the sodden ground.

The children of the Smith were letting nothing stop their onslaught; they clambered over corpses, battering and slaying anything in their path. Ireheart had Goda at his side and she increased the enemy’s confusion with a few strokes of magic; Coïra and Lot-Ionan were with Tungdil and Balyndar was nearby. Ireheart expected Slîn must be behind somewhere, sending out death with his crossbow bolts.

Ireheart surrendered to his battle-fury, yelling and laughing like a madman, wielding his crow’s beak with irresistible force.

The weapon’s spike cracked open every type of armor plating, smashing every shield and bone it touched; the blunt side hammered helmets, ribs and kneecaps flat and rendered faces a jellied pulp. Finally Ireheart’s rampaging was halted somewhat by the amount of enemy blood clouding his vision. He had to stop and wipe his face with his beard.

That was when he realized he had led his section of the army right through to the last ranks of the foe. There was no more resistance to face.

Ireheart swung his crow’s beak up in triumph and trumpeted a wild resounding “Vraccas,” taken up by the voices of all the dwarves at his side. He turned to see how Tungdil was doing.

At that moment the figure of a lone dwarf emerged from the ravine. His vraccasium armor glowed golden red in the sunlight.

His appearance brought everything to a halt, smothering their joy at their initial victory as surely as if a bucket of manure had been emptied on their heads.

Ireheart found himself compelled to stare at the dwarf and forgot the commands he had been about to give. The others reacted similarly on seeing their weird new opponent. He was imposing in spite of being so small in comparison with the beasts, and an aura of dark power enveloped him, notwithstanding the brightness of his armor.

The dwarf raised an arm and, at his signal, monsters marched out of the abyss behind him, all fully a head taller than the largest ubariu.

The monsters wore heavy gray metal armor topped with dark animal skins and helmets sporting the horns of wild beasts, with visors in the shape of ugly masks to hide their faces. In one hand they bore mighty swords or huge axes, while in the other they held long shields as protection against arrows.

Ireheart counted a hundred of them. One hundred particularly large challenges.

They came to a halt behind the dwarf and, at a shouted command, rammed the points of their shields down into the earth so that it shook at the impact. Then a second unit came marching out of the abyss, similarly armored, taking up position behind the front line. These beasts were holding scythe-like weapons; the shafts were reinforced with iron bands and the top ends were equipped with spikes the length of a finger.

The dwarf in vraccasium armor waited until the clash and clank had ceased, then took his two hammers and slammed them into one another, creating a cacophonous metallic noise, loud and extraordinarily unpleasant. Ireheart shook his head to deal with it. Wax plugs were no help. He looked at Tungdil, who had also led his troops in the first phase of the battle to victory. Thus roughly eight thousand fighting-fit children of the Smith were confronting two hundred opponents. This should be pure slaughter. But the size of their adversaries was no clue to their skill in combat.

One of the giant soldiers stepped up next to his master. “He who bears many names demands to know,” his voice echoed over the battlefield, “where the thief is who stole his armor. Who betrayed him. Who tried to kill him as a coward kills.”

At that, Goda put her bugle to her lips and gave the guards on the battlements a new command. At once the mirrored rays focused on the unknown dwarf, aiming to cook him inside his own armor!

Balyndar had fought his way through the enemy ranks at Tungdil’s side. He would never have considered himself a clumsy or unwieldy fighter, but that was the way he came across next to the agility of the one-eyed dwarf. While the fifthling was still busy dealing with extricating Keenfire out of enemy flesh after one deadly strike, Tungdil had already sliced up two opponents and was hurling himself on the third. Bloodthirster was a frightening weapon and was giving all honor to its name.

Balyndar had tried his level best but was unable to keep up.

Coïra and Lot-Ionan, preserving their strength, were leaving all the vanquishing up to the dwarves. The fifthling thought this strategy eminently sensible.

Their victory had been shockingly easy and they had allowed themselves a few moments’ respite before marching onwards to the Black Abyss.

Balyndar tried to locate Slîn but could see no sign of him. The threat the fourthling had made against him was not going to stop him doing what he and Goda had planned. Girdlegard had to be made safe for the next thousand cycles and that would only happen if every source of danger were eradicated. Every single one!

He noted that it had grown quieter but then a painfully loud cry assaulted his ears, making him start. Balyndar turned and saw the dwarf in red-gold armor in front of new adversaries. Quickly he pushed through to reach Tungdil’s side. Lot-Ionan and Coïra joined them.

He could see the maga was frightened. This would be her first real experience of warfare, and that encounter with Sisaroth had left her with mental scars that had yet to heal. All the blood, the stink from steaming torn guts, the debris and the shouts were all hard to bear for the young woman.

Balyndar reckoned she would soon withdraw to seek safety in the fortress. So he touched her gently on the elbow and smiled at her encouragingly. It did not occur to him that he was no reassuring sight with his filthy smeared face and Keenfire dripping blood.

Coïra’s smile was more of a grimace, and he noticed that her leather armor bore traces of vomit.

There was movement on the other side of the battlefield. One of the gigantic warriors had stepped up next to the dwarf in vraccasium armor. “He who bears many names,” so echoed the voice, “demands to know where the thief is who stole his armor. Who betrayed him. Who tried to kill him as a coward kills.”

Tungdil lifted his visor and opened his mouth to reply, but a bugle sounded.

The mirrors focused the beams and targeted the unknown dwarf, whose armor glowed in response.

“Excellent!” cheered Balyndar. Magic would be no help here, as the monsters had recently found out behind their seemingly impregnable barrier. “He’ll be stewed like a rabbit in a pot.”

“What infernal idiocy,” Tungdil exclaimed, shouting out his orders. The dwarves were to gather into a single army, with himself, Lot-Ionan, Coïra and Balyndar at the head of it.

“Why? Do you call it idiocy because it wasn’t you who thought it up?” Balyndar was proud that Goda had come up with the trick with the mirrors.

“She ought to have asked me,” snarled Tungdil, sounding as dangerous as a wild animal. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to have happen.” He pointed to the dwarf. “Now he will use all his energy to make us pay.”

“Your instruction was that no one should confront him,” Balyndar began, wanting to excuse Goda’s action.

The one brown eye flashed in fury and Balyndar could see it change color as Tungdil glared at him! Uncanny green clouds and spirals whirled and black spidery lines shot out across the skin under the golden eye patch. “Trying to kill him: Would you not call that confronting him? It certainly is in my book.”

Balyndar was still reeling from shock. He had never seen weird black lines like these except on an älf: Never on a dwarf before. “Proof, at last,” he murmured, watching Keenfire’s diamonds sparkle. “My conscience will be clear.”

The vraccasium-clad dwarf clashed his hammers one against the other, and hardly had the noise rung out than the burnished shields on the battlements disintegrated. The soldiers who had been holding them and directing the light were suddenly blasted with sharp fragments and fell in chaotic disarray. Loud cries of fear and agony rang out.

“That,” Tungdil told Balyndar darkly, “was only the beginning. An initial flash of lightning before the storm proper.” He nodded to Lot-Ionan and stepped forward.

As the two sections of the dwarf-army came together, the one-eyed dwarf and magus moved away, heading toward the enemy.

Balyndar followed, pulling Coïra along by the sleeve; from the other side he could see Goda and Ireheart approach. Of Slîn there was still no sign.

The monster warrior who had served the enemy dwarf as a mouthpiece raised his voice once more: “He who bears many names laughs at your pathetic attempt to harm him. For the present he will be lenient and not impose harsher punishment. He will spare the fortress and all the lands on this and the other side of the mountains. If the thief is surrendered…”

“Save your breath,” Tungdil retorted. “You will neither pardon nor be lenient. You are here to kill.” He held Bloodthirster out. “Once, this weapon spared your life. It will not happen a second time.”

Ireheart watched the ranks of enemy warriors. They must carry special powers or why else would they confront our vastly superior numbers? Or perhaps they were extremely stupid. “What do you know about these soldiers?” he said under his breath to Tungdil.

“No idea,” his friend replied, without turning his head. “But even in those relatively small numbers they’ll be dangerous. Or he wouldn’t have brought them out.”

“He who bears many names will make this offer only once. Everything that subsequently happens will be your own fault,” the spokesman called out, while his master stood motionless at his side, hammers held loosely in his hands.

The undergroundlings appeared at the army’s flank and saw that they had arrived too late for the first battle. Kiras, their leader, called them to a halt. A few thousand more adversaries to confront the fighters from the ravine.

Is that all there’s going to be? Ireheart kept expecting another wave of Tion’s monsters to surge up out of the Black Abyss, maybe another kordrion, a dragon or two, anything that would stand at the side of these pitiful two hundred creatures for the inevitable battle. He was getting ever more concerned that no extra troops were appearing on the other side. “When’s it going to start?” he whispered. “Scholar, how long do we wait?”

Tungdil took two paces forward. “Here stands a famulus to challenge his master!” he called. “Let us see who prevails. After that, the armies can meet in battle if they still care to.”

Thundering and clanking, the contingent of humans appeared and the ubariu army crested the wall of rock. They, too, took up their formations. Thus the pincer movement was complete and the last two hundred and one enemies were surrounded.

Ireheart found the tension unbearable. “How can he remain so calm?” he asked.

“Goldhand or the other one?” responded Balyndar.

“The other one.” Ireheart scanned the gathered forces of humans, ubariu, undergroundlings and dwarves. “Even I would be a bit nervous faced with this lot.”

“Not if you had a pact with your supposed enemy,” Balyndar remarked, glancing at Goda. “It could be that we are the victims of the most scurrilous, duplicitous plot in the history of Girdlegard.”

“Nonsense,” grunted Ireheart. “The Scholar would never do a thing like that.” His fingers tightened on the shaft of his ax. “May Vraccas be my witness: If the two of them don’t start fighting soon, I will.”

Tungdil advanced toward the vraccasium-clad dwarf, his left arm stretched out in a gesture of challenge.

His opponent gave a harsh growl and stomped forward, lifting both hammers and twirling them playfully.

The armies watched closely what their leaders were doing and waited, tense and alert, for the duel to begin: Famulus versus master.

Ireheart glanced over at Lot-Ionan. The magus twitched his fingers almost imperceptibly and his lips moved in a silent incantation. What is he up to?

Before the two opponents had reached each other, the dwarf in vraccasium uttered a further sound and pointed one of his hammers at Tungdil.

The fact that nothing happened seemed to disturb both of them, as Ireheart could see from their body posture. The Scholar was the first to recover composure: He made a swift leap forward, swinging Bloodthirster at his opponent’s head.

It took a while for Ireheart to work out what had occurred. The opposing dwarf had tried to freeze the tionium armor and paralyze Tungdil, but it had not happened! Ireheart spotted a satisfied expression on the face of their own magus. Had he counteracted the spell? Had the course of action been agreed in advance with the Scholar… or was it the overture to an act of treachery?

The master warded off Tungdil’s strike, halting it with his crossed hammers, pushing back the attacker, who spun on his heel and forced the blade up against the evil dwarf’s throat.

Again the hammers were crossed, forming scissors, then their master turned them and hooked the hammer heads together so that Tungdil was prevented from extracting Bloodthirster. The dwarf-magus ducked down, wrenching back Tungdil’s lethal blade.

The maneuver was successful and the united armies let out a horrified cry as Bloodthirster flew through the air and got stuck in a bog ten paces away from Tungdil. Hollow laughter rang out from under the master’s helmet and he pushed his visor up. The repulsive sight of the disfigured face made Ireheart retch.

A whirring sound—and suddenly a bolt flew from out of the midst of the assembled dwarves, hitting the dwarf-master in the face. Slîn had obviously been waiting for precisely the right moment.

Ireheart could see clearly that the projectile had penetrated the nose plate. Blood oozed out, the injured dwarf swayed and took two steps to the side, to be caught by one of his own troops hurrying to his aid. He uttered a loud groan and made useless gestures with the hammers. Tungdil raced over to retrieve Bloodthirster while Lot-Ionan raised his arms to cast a spell.

“By Vraccas! Now it’s going to start,” said Ireheart.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Urgon,

Passview, in the Northeast,

Thirty-one miles from the Entrance to the Realm of the Fourthlings,

In the Brown Mountains,

Early Summer, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Rodario was just about to scold Mallenia for having got up, but then he fell silent and sat down on the edge of the bed to watch her.

She was standing at the window in her nightgown looking out over the hills of Urgon and over to Borwôl, where the troll realm had once been. The light from the window made the fabric of her night attire transparent, showing an appealing silhouette; in spite of her muscular build she still had feminine curves. In his arms, Mallenia always felt quite different from Coïra. Rodario was aware of his outstanding good fortune.

“I’m amazed,” said the Ido girl, half turning to him.

“Are you? What about?”

“How you ever managed to survive. You’ve no idea how to move silently, Rodario.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t want to startle you.” He tried to put on a stern face. “You should be in bed. You’re supposed to be resting. The journey tired you.”

“That’s what journeys do. I don’t want to miss the outcome of the battle. In all of Girdlegard there’s talk of nothing else.” She leaned out again, watching the people in the streets outside the inn. “Some of the men are going off to volunteer for the army.”

Rodario got up and came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her body and holding her tight. “The humans are drunk on their victories and their newfound freedom! It’s great! But it’ll be even better if it’s all over before they get there.” He followed her gaze; a company of young men in armor were setting off under a standard bearing the coat of arms of their town. “If they have to fight monsters they will lose.”

Mallenia turned in his arms. “Is that why we are making such slow progress? Are you trying to keep me safe?” Her eyes challenged his. “Tell me the truth, actor.”

“We’re going slowly because the coach cannot travel any faster,” he assured her. “I want to find out how Coïra is and I don’t want to leave her alone any longer.”

Mallenia nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought. So she needs your protection more than I do.”

“When she left with Tungdil and the rest it was the other way around. You were too weak even to lift a knife,” he objected.

“That’s all changed now,” she said, grinning. She gave him a playful shove that took him off balance.

“So I see,” he said, laughing. He kissed her hand. “So let’s get going.” He collected their things while she changed out of her nightgown in front of him with no false modesty, putting on her leather armor and picking up her swords. Her movements were still slow and she had some difficulty fastening all the buckles but she managed in the end.

Their bags were ready and Rodario called the innkeeper’s boy to help with carrying the luggage.

Together they loaded the coach Rodario had hired, stowing provisions on board for themselves and the coachman, and oats for the horses.

Rodario was about to help Mallenia up into the carriage when the innkeeper emerged. He held his errand boy roughly by the scruff of the neck. “One moment!” he said sharply. “This ne’er-do-well has a confession to make.”

“Must I really?” the boy whimpered.

A slap in the face convinced him. “You deserve to have your hand cut off. That’s what will happen if the fine lady and gentleman insist on the proper penalty,” he yelled at the boy. “You bring shame to my establishment! And you will pay for it with pain.”

Rodario had been feeling in his pockets to see if anything was missing. Neither he nor Mallenia seemed to have been robbed. “Tell me what you found on him, my good man.”

The landlord let go of the boy’s ear and cuffed him on the nape of the neck. With his other hand he reached into his apron pocket and handed a surprised Rodario an object wrapped in cloth.

The actor immediately recognized the cloth as being his own; after all, his initials were embroidered in the corner. But he had no idea what could be wrapped in it. He took the proffered item and exchanged glances with Mallenia before carefully unpacking it.

“He said he found it on the floor in your room. Under the bed where the lady was sleeping,” he blurted out. “There’s no way I’ll believe that, the scoundrel! Things have been going missing ever since he started here.” He boxed the boy’s ears again. “I swear by the gods I’ll chop your hand off myself if these good people insist! It’ll be a pleasure!”

The boy sobbed and tried to lie his way out of trouble.

Rodario had finished unwinding the cloth and stared at the dull stone that lay there. “It isn’t mine,” he whispered to Mallenia, who looked as shocked as he was.

“A turquoise smoke diamond. What do you think it’s worth?” she replied.

So far, neither the landlord nor errand boy had noticed their surprise, so the actor wrapped their find up again.

“Thank you for being so vigilant,” he said, fishing some coins out of his purse. “Here, as a reward.” He gestured toward the youth magnanimously “Let him go. It will be a lesson to him. If he doesn’t mend his ways, chop his feet off. Then he can still work in the kitchen for you.”

The innkeeper’s face brightened. “Thank you, sire! Very generous of you indeed!” He gave the boy a few kicks on the backside to propel him back inside.

Rodario unwrapped the stone again. “A smoke diamond. It really is,” he said, enthralled. But how did it get to be wrapped up in my handkerchief?”

Mallenia took the diamond, turning it in her hand. Dark shards of metal fell from the cloth onto the floor.

Rodario picked them up and handed them to the girl. “What do you think those are?”

“Perhaps they’re part of the original setting?” She examined the fragments. “This is tionium!”

“Apart from the fact that the stone is not mine, I haven’t even got a tionium pendant it could have hung on.” Rodario stroked his pointed beard, then smoothed down his mustache.

Mallenia laughed. “For a clever man you can be quite slow at times.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Really?”

She held the smoke diamond out to him. “Tionium?”

Rodario studied the stone, then her face, and then he snatched it up. “All I can think of is Tungdil’s armor…” He hesitated. “You think this may be his?”

“But who cut the stone out and hid it in your things? And why?”

“To accuse me of theft, I suppose.” He leaned back against the carriage, tossing the diamond up into the air and catching it. “But it doesn’t make sense. Everyone knows I don’t need to steal.”

“Perhaps the real thief wanted to escape notice.”

“Then why not just chuck the stone away?” His eyes followed the diamond as he juggled it. “Perhaps they wanted to sow discord among our group on the mission.”

“But how would they know the group would split up?” Mallenia continued. “So he got what he wanted anyway.”

Rodario popped the stone in his glove and tied some string round it to stop it falling out. “Let’s assume it’s from Tungdil’s armor. What’s it for, do you think? I can’t remember having seen it before.”

“It may have been under a flap… or on the inside.”

“We must restore it to Tungdil,” said Rodario, about to spring up into the carriage.

Mallenia held him back. “That will be too slow. We’ll have to ride.”

“We?” He kissed her on the forehead. “I will ride, Mallenia. You stay here or you can follow in the carriage.”

She frowned. “So do you fancy being knocked down by a woman in full view of all these worthy citizens?”

Rodario sniffed to show his displeasure. “To underestimate the physical prowess of one’s companion is not a good basis for a successful relationship, my dear.”

“Exactly. It was just a question. No more than that.” Mallenia grinned and called the landlord to get them two good horses.

They waited impatiently in the inn, taking a simple meal of ham with bread, washed down with water.

“Do you think,” asked Rodario, taking a large bite, “that we could be responsible for bringing about a successful end to the battle?” He sighed. “Oh, this would make a great play. My forefather would have been proud of me! I seem to be walking in his footsteps when it comes to being instrumental in saving Girdlegard.” He chewed his food and reached for another slice of bread. “And then, of course, there’s my work as the bard of freedom.”

He tipped his chair backwards and forwards, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll even have earned myself a royal position!”

“Do you want to rule Idoslane?” she teased him. “Then you would have to defeat me. You can’t do that. But Urgon’s throne is empty. Why don’t you apply?”

Rodario laughed. “It would be a considerable promotion in status. Quite incredible to think…”

“… of you as the new Incredible Rodario,” she said, completing the thought and standing up. The landlord waved them over. “I’ll believe it when I see it happen.”

They went out, paid the innkeeper and swung themselves up into the saddle on their chestnut mares.

“Do you know what I’d do first if I were king of Urgon?” He checked to ensure the diamond was still fastened securely at his wrist.

“No.”

“I’d conquer Idoslane and make you my personal slave.” Rodario grinned and rode off.

“Men!” Mallenia laughed and jabbed her heels into her horse’s flanks.