The Fate of the Dwarves

V

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Fortress Evildam,

Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle

Ireheart stood on the south tower watching the approach of the hideous and variegated monsters emerging from the chasm: A hotchpotch collection of horror about to swarm over the entire land.

Goda was at his side, a mantle draped around her shoulders. She was listening inside herself to her own remaining magic powers. The store of energy should be sufficient. For now.

Her hand slid to the little bag at her belt where she kept the fragments of the diamond she had retrieved from the site of the damaged artifact. These tiny shards still held residual energy and every minute particle would be needed.

Before the destruction of the artifact she had been able to draw down limitless force by placing her hands on the barrier. No longer.

The nearest magic source was only a few orbits’ journey away, but lay in the region ruled by the älfar. Goda doubted she would reach it alive.

The other source was in Weyurn, much further away, and she could not think of traveling there when at any moment the Black Abyss could be spewing out rampaging hordes against Evildam. Rumor had it that the Dragon Lohasbrand was sitting on a further magic source in the Red Mountains—right in the middle of a dwarf realm, at that.

Goda sighed. All she had was a bag of diamond splinters with a fraction of the strength of the original artifact. The more of them she used up the worse the position of Evildam’s defenders would be. She reckoned that, in the long run, the fortress catapults would not be able to repel Tion’s evil creatures. They would have to find a new way to protect themselves.

“Where is Tungdil?” Ireheart asked the ubari next to him. “Have you sent a soldier to find him?”

“Yes, General.” The warrior saluted. “His chamber was empty.”

“He’s probably left to go to Girdlegard,” interjected Goda, arranging her mantle. “After all, he told us very clearly that he wanted nothing to do with fighting here. He’ll be surprised to see what awaits him at home. If Girdlegard is his true home. Let us hope to Vraccas that we’ve not let the worst of the evils simply slip away like that!”

“I think we were pushing him too much,” Ireheart ventured. “We all know what it’s like to wage a war that lasts one, two or three cycles. But for over two hundred cycles he’s done nothing else but fight battles.” He glanced at his wife. “It may be late, perhaps too late, but I do understand his refusal.”

“What is there to understand?” she replied dismissively. “I cannot…”

“No, Goda. Save your breath,” he interrupted her. “Let Tungdil go off to Girdlegard and witness with his own eyes what has happened to the land and, you’ll see, he’ll be back to lead us against our tormentors. We can’t talk him into it. He has to want to do it.” Ireheart gave the order to fire the catapults; the spear-slings sent their missiles flying to the targets. “He’ll be back soon. Of his own free will,” he said quietly, observing the beasts being killed by the sharp iron-tipped missiles. Their screams and groans came in a wave of sound that crashed against the walls of Evildam.

He had not wanted to tell Goda why he had collapsed in the corridor. No one else knew what had happened. But still he held fast to the conviction that it was indeed his friend, the Scholar, who had returned to them.

The armor, he told himself, might have been a gift from some magic being. Or perhaps there were metals used in its composition able to store protective magic for the wearer. That will have been why Goda’s investigative spell had not worked. These metals would not notice the difference between a friendly touch and an attack. If it wasn’t Tungdil, why didn’t he kill me? On the contrary, he went to fetch a healer for me.

Ireheart sighed. All the same, his best friend seemed so alien to him. Different. Those cycles spent in the dark had wrought terrible changes in the Scholar. He had once driven out the demon alcohol successfully enough, but how do you rid the mind of what it has experienced?

“I’ll get my old Tungdil back,” he vowed, remembering how the three of them—his twin brother, himself and Tungdil—used to sit, beer in hand, laughing together, telling jokes and fooling around. He remembered how they had chased the orcs, how they’d sat under a tree to shelter from the rain, telling stories and making up things to tease each other with, how they had fought against the long-uns. How things used to be. “Vraccas and I will shake the darkness out of him.”

The ubari raised his telescope to see how much damage the catapults were achieving. “They’ve dealt with the first wave of beasts, General,” he reported. “But I can see that the next…” He stopped. “No. It’s not monsters. It’s something else,” he said excitedly.

“The kordrion?” Ireheart took the wax ear plugs out of his pouch in readiness. All the soldiers had orders to use these to protect themselves from being paralyzed by the terrible roar of the winged monster. The catapults must not stop firing if the kordrion was threatening to emerge.

“No, more like…” The ubari passed him the telescope. “Have a look for yourself, General.”

The dwarf squinted through the lens and tried to make out what was happening in the dark cleft of the abyss. “Some construction, long, narrow and tall,” he reported for Goda’s benefit. “It looks as if it’s made out of bones. Or very light-colored wood. And they’re keeping it behind the rock walls.”

“An assault tower?” suggested the ubari. “Or a stack of storm ladders?”

“Probably,” said Goda. “It would be the only way to conquer the fortress.”

Ireheart adjusted the end of the telescope to improve the focus. If he were not mistaken, the construction was being bent back. “They’re pulling it back… like a bow,” he called out. “Tell the men on the catapults to aim for the middle of the abyss,” he ordered the ubari. “I don’t want that… thing shooting at us. Who knows what they’re planning.”

While his commands were being conveyed to the troops by bugle signals, the beasts on the other side were acting fast.

Ireheart saw the construction shoot forward like a young tree held down under tension. Behind it, four long chains were thrown up into the air. White balls hung from them, each perhaps a full pace in diameter, and they had the appearance of spun cocoons. At the height of their trajectory the chains released them and the balls hurtled toward Evildam.

“Much too high,” commented the ubari, grinning. “Stupid beasts! Too dumb to aim straight.”

The nearer the strange spheres came the more obvious it was that they really were composed of spun threads.

“No, they intend them to go that high,” countered Ireheart. “They’ll come down behind the fortress! Tell the crews on the southwest ramparts to find out what happens when they come down. Maybe it’s a diversionary tactic to keep us busy on both sides.” He directed his gaze to Goda. “Can you stop them?”

She tilted her head and thought hard. “Wouldn’t it be better to wait and see? It might just be a harmless distraction and then I’d have wasted my powers on something trivial.”

Ireheart agreed and ordered the catapults to aim flaming arrows at the cocoons to send them up in a blaze. He watched what happened.

One of the shots was so true that it hit a ball in mid-flight. Flames consumed the sphere as if it had been soaked in petroleum; Ireheart heard the sizzling and crackling sound it made.

The casing turned to ash in the blink of an eye, releasing countless long-legged spider-like creatures the size of small dogs; they rained down, already fully aflame, crashing to the ground and causing a shower of sparks.

Most were destroyed by the fire, but three survived. They raced toward the bastion on their hairy legs, their long mandibles clicking and clacking.

The remaining spheres landed and bounced a few times before bursting open to let more of the little beasts escape. The arrows fired at them found no hold on their chitin plating.

Boïndil cursed. “Use the spears…”

“General, they’re reloading,” shouted the ubari, prompting Ireheart to turn to the front again. The slender throwing device was being attached to the chains once more and pulled back toward the ground.

“Goda, destroy that thing,” said Ireheart. “Or we’ll never be able to cope with these animals. Who knows how many cocoons they have waiting to send out.”

The dwarf-woman nodded and took the telescope to have a closer look at the sling mechanism. Otherwise she would not be able destroy it with her magic spell. With her other hand she groped in her bag for the diamond fragments and pulled one of them out. Before she exhausted her own store of energy it would be better to use the strength left in the splinters.

Goda sent out a destruction spell directed at the upper edge of the cliff wall of the ravine. Dazzling lightning shot from her hand and screamed into the stone, breaking off boulders to crash to the depths. Then came the sounds of things falling followed by cries of dismay from inside the ravine. The beasts had lost their new weapon and presumably some of their fighters as well.

Goda felt the splinter of diamond in her hand crumble into dust, which clung to her fingers.

“Well done,” said Ireheart. He realized that Tungdil had been correct. They would have to force the monsters away from the ravine mouth, and then bring the whole cliff down on top of them. Bringing down whole mountains—who could do that kind of thing better than his own folk?

Suddenly he heard the clank of weaponry.

Boïndil looked along the walkway to his left and saw that the spider creatures had climbed the fortress walls.

The ubariu, undergroundlings, humans and dwarves were fighting them with all their strength, but what he saw made Boïndil doubt that the creatures could be subdued easily. Only heavy weapons such as axes, cudgels and morning stars were having any effect on the hardened body cases. Swords were useless, ending up blunt and damaged.

“We need Vraccas to crush them with his hammer!” A glance to Goda was enough—she turned to the fight, her first since the building of the fortress.

She took another diamond fragment into her hand, preparing herself to hurl another spell, but suddenly a flash came from the right side of the Black Abyss. Where the steep slopes fell away almost vertically, a figure stood, casting a sulphur-yellow ball of pure magic in the dwarf-woman’s direction.

The ubari had noticed the threatened danger and warned her with a shout.

She managed to form a barrier in front of the battlements so that the missile of magic crashed and exploded against it. A pressure wave whirled up the dust in front of the gate, obscuring their view of the Black Abyss, shields, helmets, flags and banners flying through the air as if in a hurricane. They would not be able to see a second wave of attackers approach.

“By the creator! Now evil has a magus on its side!” Ireheart coughed, pulling up his neck cloth to cover mouth and nose. “I call that a proper challenge!” He heard triumphant cheers resounding from the ramparts, and he peered through the veil of dust.

Tungdil was standing with the defenders, thrashing away at the spider creatures with Bloodthirster. His weapon smashed through the chitin armor plating of the insects, hurling their innards in all directions. Bluey-green blood spattered everywhere. Tungdil had taken off his helmet so that all the soldiers could see him.

The hero marched forward grimly, confronting the spider creatures, the inlay on his black armor flashing and glowing by turns. One of the beasts threw itself at him from behind, touching him with two of its legs, and instantly there was a loud bang, the creature exploding as if it had been detonated from within.

Boïndil gulped. Exactly that fate could have been his own end.

The warriors sprang back into combat with renewed vigor. Tungdil gave short commands and steered their counterattack better than any dwarf-king ever commanded his army. Ireheart had to hand it to him. He was already playing with the idea that he might pass command of the fortress to his friend—if he would accept it, of course.

The wavering veil of dirt and dust was starting to settle, allowing the fortress troops a view of the Black Abyss. Goda had a defense spell at the ready.

They were all astonished to find there was a new energy sphere in place over the abyss. It had an uneven reddish shimmer, seeming thicker here and there. But this time the edges reached nearly up to the four gates and the walls.

“Was that you?” Ireheart stared at Goda.

“No,” she replied in surprise. She could still feel the fragment of diamond between her fingers. “It must be the enemy’s magus.”

Tungdil came up to them. He was accompanied by frenetic cheers and shouts and the thundering of weapons on shields. He was not remotely out of breath after his exertions.

Goda did not look at him, pretending instead that she had to keep her eyes on the Black Abyss. Ireheart stretched out his hand in welcome. “Excellent stuff, Scholar! Excellent! Like old times! Vraccas can be proud of you, just as I am!”

“Very flattering. In the old days I wasn’t anything like as good,” he responded with a curt smile, before turning to watch the pulsing red shield, his face draining of all color.

“Goda reckoned you’d gone straight off to Girdlegard and left us high and dry,” Ireheart continued, moving to his friend’s side. “Praise be to Vraccas that you stayed. Who knows how the orbit would have ended otherwise.”

“The orbit isn’t over yet. Let’s see how useful I can be to Evildam.” Tungdil ignored Goda totally and stepped forward to the parapet to observe the energy dome, turning to his friend. “It’s worse than I thought,” he confided. “We must travel to Girdlegard at once.”

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about helping…” began Boïndil; then he paused, rubbing his silvery black beard. He didn’t understand quite what Tungdil had meant. “Why do we have to go there? Here’s where the threat is! And, by Vraccas, a threat indeed!”

“A threat you can do nothing about,” replied Tungdil quietly. “Not you, not Goda and not me.”

“But…” began Ireheart helplessly.

Tungdil beckoned him over and pointed to the ravine. “They will gather under the protection of the barrier, right up to its edges; no one will be able to stop them,” he predicted. “They’ll build towers and ladders at their leisure; they’ll make battering rams and put them in position. The whole of the plain at all four points of the compass will be swarming with those cruel beasts. Then the dome will go and they’ll attack.” He placed his hand on Ireheart’s shoulder. “You took immense trouble constructing Evildam, Boïndil, and it is a proud fortress, but it will fall.” He stretched out the hand that held Bloodthirster. “They have someone on their side I thought was long dead. We need a magus to combat him. And, from what I hear, only Lot-Ionan could do that.”

“But Lot-Ionan is evil,” retorted Goda. “He no longer serves the cause of good.”

“Exactly. That’s why we need him,” said Tungdil gently, looking at her; she dropped her gaze to hide her guilty conscience.

Ireheart had not noticed. “That won’t work. He’ll destroy us if we get close!! He has vowed to become the sole ruler of Girdlegard. He’ll never help us voluntarily.”

Tungdil replaced Bloodthirster in its sheath. “Then we will have to defeat him and force him to serve us.” His smile was colder than frost.

“You’ve gone mad, Scholar!” the dwarf-twin exclaimed. “By Vraccas, you’re talking about Lot-Ionan, the magus! Your foster-father! Do you remember what power he possessed when you left us? Can you imagine what he is capable of now?”

“We’ll get a nice little army ready for him. An army of his enemies.” Tungdil remained calm. “That would be, if I’ve understood you correctly: A dragon, a kordrion and Aiphatòn with his älfar,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Perhaps we can get the thirdlings to join in as well. If they can dig up a magus or maga in Girdlegard that hates Lot-Ionan as much as your Goda does, then we’re well away.”

Boïndil gave a hollow laugh, fell silent, then he laughed again a couple of times, raising his arms in a gesture of mock despair. “We are lost. I have a madman here who believes in all seriousness that his ridiculous project will succeed,” he cried, grabbing hold of his crow’s beak. “Vraccas, you are cruel!”

“Stop complaining, Ireheart,” Tungdil laughed at him. “Perhaps I’ll have another idea, a better one. And anyway, it was you who always liked a challenge.” He nodded to the dwarf-woman. “Goda and your children will stay here to help the soldiers should the beasts attack before we get back.” He looked deep into his friend’s eyes. “I need to meet with the remaining dwarf-rulers. And don’t forget the freelings.” He looked at the sun. “We’ll leave at first light.” Without waiting for an answer he returned to the battlement walkway, where the soldiers cheered him anew.

“Tell us who it is that’s opposing us, and why you thought he was dead!” Goda called after him.

Tungdil looked back over his shoulder, revealing his golden eye patch, as though he could see with it. “His name wouldn’t mean anything to you. And I thought he was dead because my sword ran him through and I took his armor.” He walked on.

Goda followed him with her eyes. “I don’t trust him,” she said. “It could be a trick to get the worst of the magi together after we’ve wiped out all the other opponents in Girdlegard…”

Ireheart whirled round. “Stop it, Goda!” he snapped at her. “I’m going to Girdlegard with the Scholar and I’ll do whatever he suggests. Because I,” and he placed his right arm across his breast, “trust my heart.”

He left her standing there and went after Tungdil to see to the soldiers who had been wounded in the fighting with the spider monsters. Beside them, the dead had been laid on their shields. One of them was Yagur. The injuries he had sustained were strange: His forearm had been pulled off and there was a stab wound to his throat. Not what you would expect if you were fighting a spider.

His astonishment grew.

Next to the ubari lay three of his closest friends, their armor pierced by something very sharp, judging by the smooth edges of the lacerations. They did not look like mandible bites.

The vague doubts within him were starting to turn into a mass chorus, fighting to be heard. They grew so loud that he decided, against his initial firm intention, to ask a few questions of the Scholar as they journeyed.

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Lakepride,

Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle

Coïra had not thought it possible, but somehow she had managed to throw off her pursuers. She had acquired three extra horses, loaded them up with heavy weights, and led them alongside their own group for some time. After half an orbit’s journey riding along the bed of a stream, she had let these three animals go free, while she herself rode on toward Lakepride. That had foxed whoever was following her. For now.

But her name was on the list of Weyurn folk with a high price on their heads, should anyone think of betraying her and taking hers to the Dragon. That had not made her journey an easy one.

She looked at Rodario riding beside her, bravely clinging on to the horse’s back. They’d had to stop and wait four times already for him to remount after a fall.

“Not long now and we’ll be safe,” she said, to encourage him. “Can you see the island? It’s one of the few proper islands left in my mother’s realm. We’ll have to go by boat.”

A cry of dismay escaped his lips. “Deep water? I can’t swim.”

“In the old days every child in Weyurn could swim,” tutted Loytan disapprovingly.

“That must have been a really long time ago. I’d say about a hundred cycles, at least? And anyway, I’m not from Weyurn,” Rodario returned, sharply. “There was never any need for me to get to grip with the waves. A stream is quite sufficient for a good wash, and for rivers there are always bridges and ferries.”

“This time we don’t have a bridge to offer you,” laughed Coïra. “It’s only a short boat-ride. But, of course, if you can walk on water, please go ahead.”

“Very funny, Princess,” said Rodario, sounding hurt, though whether he really meant it or was just pretending it was impossible to tell.

They rode to the top of a sand dune, the sparse vegetation of which waved in the wind. There was hoarfrost on the grass stems, giving the appearance of glass; they rustled against each other, shimmering in the sunlight.

“Oh, how beautiful!” said Rodario, enchanted. “I wish I had pen and paper right now to write about it!”

Loytan groaned. “If you write stuff as bad as that act you did in the market square, give it a miss, for goodness’ sake.”

Coïra threw her companion a reproving look but said nothing.

Rodario’s eyes narrowed. “One of these orbits you’ll get a surprise when you see what I can do, Count Loytan,” he prophesied. “And I bet you’ll come running to apologize.”

As he spoke, something in the actor’s gaze brought Loytan up short. Was it a sudden manliness? Probably just imagination. “And you’ll probably save my life and then marry the princess, I suppose?” He laughed, startling the seagulls.

“Why not?” The actor grinned at Coïra and rubbed his ungroomed beard. “Do you find me so ugly, or may I dream of a life at your side…?”

She raised a finger in warning. “You are speaking out of turn, Rodario the Seventh! Consider who it is that you are addressing.” She rode down the dune, heading for a narrow quay where a skiff lay moored, its small sail furled.

Rodario looked over to the island. It had to be a good mile from the shore.

But island was not really the expression to use. Ever since the water level in Weyurn’s lakes had started to drop, cycle after cycle, many of the islands stood high above the surface, while others had been left completely isolated, far from the waterline. The inhabitants had installed pulley lifts and built flights of stairs to enable them to leave their islands. Fishermen had been forced to become farmers, turning the lakebed into agricultural land—not always very fertile land, at that.

The situation for Lakepride was not so critical. It seemed to float above the lake maybe sixty paces up, balanced on a stone pillar, resembling a tulip flower on its stem.

Rodario noted seven barges, three ships and eighteen smaller vessels moored at a landing stage below the island; the landing stage was secured by heavy chains and there was a precarious-looking spiral staircase leading up to where the people lived. He could see windlasses and pulleys among the equipment on the landing stage. The residents of Lakepride had made the best of their predicament.

“The island looks as if it might break off at any moment and come crashing down into the lake,” said Rodario to Loytan, who nodded.

“Yes, you’d think so, but the pillar of stone it rests on is volcanic rock. Nothing can bring that down.” He urged his horse onward down the side of the dune, more sliding than walking down. Rodario followed suit. “The people of Lakepride are lucky; at least they can still work as fisherfolk.”

They waited by the low-slung sailing barge for the ferryman to emerge from his little hut. He wore a long dark-blue garment that did not disguise the strong shoulder muscles rippling beneath the fabric. Round his neck he wore the white kerchief of his guild, and his wrists were protected by leather supports to aid in the heavy work of propelling the boat. He recognized Coïra immediately and bowed low. “It will be an honor, Princess, to take you back to your palace,” he said respectfully, inviting her onto his boat.

As always she attempted to pay for his services and as always the payment was declined. She smiled at him. “If any orcs turn up looking for us…”

“I’ll tell them I haven’t seen you,” said the man. “And if they want to cross I’ll tell them the boat has sprung a leak.”

Coïra stepped into the boat and patted her horse’s neck. “Don’t put yourself in danger on my account. Ferry them over if they insist, but I don’t think they’ll dare. The island is my undisputed realm. They know they can’t harm me there.”

Rodario and Loytan dismounted, as she had done, and held their animal’s reins tightly while the ferryman hoisted the sail and started the crossing.

He had to tack against the wind, so they reached the landing stage in a wide arc. It brought huge rusty iron walls into view rising from the water below the island and a little to the east.

Rodario had noticed the structure and craned his neck to see more. “What is that? A groyne to protect the island?”

“No. It’s a bulkhead.” Coïra instructed the ferryman to change course so that they could inspect it.

“Bulkhead? What’s that when it’s at home?”

“It’s to support the sides of a shaft. It’s where we’re heading first, so you’ll have the chance to admire the dwarves’ engineering skill,” she explained. “The fifthlings built it at my great-grandmother’s request.”

“A shaft. In the middle of a lake. But… what for? And how deep does it go?” He was so excited that he walked forward to the bow. The breeze lifted his brown hair and played through his beard.

The ferry headed straight for the structure and Rodario could soon make out the dwarf-runes on the walls. A single iron plate was four paces wide and one pace thick. Ten of these placed side by side formed one wall, and hefty steel girders braced them diagonally. Algae and barnacles covered the outside and there was a metallic smell.

“But it’s…” Rodario was at a loss for words to describe this impressive structure.

“It goes down two hundred paces below the keel of our boat,” said Coïra, amused at the man’s childlike enthusiasm. She took her scarf and tied it round her hair to keep it back. “That’s how deep those metal walls go. At the bottom you can walk about without getting your feet wet, but I shan’t take you with me when I go down, so you won’t be able to see.”

He turned to her. “Go down? You’re going down there? What for?”

“Have a think and see if you can work it out for yourself.” She raised her hand in greeting to a helmeted figure and called out three words that Rodario could not understand, an answer coming back in return. “I was giving the password. If they don’t hear it the guards will sink any ship that approaches,” she told him.

“So there’s something down there that’s very precious, very valuable to you…” He paused. “But of course! A magic source!”

“The last magic source in Girdlegard that can still be accessed,” Loytan corrected. “Most of the others have dried up and only a few new ones have formed. There’s one in the land of the älfar, and one in the Blue Mountains, of course, where Lot-Ionan has set up his realm and is training his famuli.”

“As if I didn’t know that,” snapped Rodario.

Loytan grinned maliciously. “Obviously not. Or you wouldn’t have had to ask.”

The boat went round to the side of the shaft and moored at a floating landing stage where four guards stood waiting. They wore only light armor, in case they fell in and had to swim.

Coïra and her companions disembarked and climbed the iron steps to the narrow door at the top. Behind it was a walkway. Huts stood at the four corners of the shaft so that the guards could rest, or shelter in inclement weather.

Rodario could see a number of plaited wire ropes going from here to the top of the island, with cage-like gondolas attached. That would be how the guards, and their food and weapons, would be transported.

“There’s a second level beneath the walkway,” said Loytan, taking off his cap. “They’ve got catapults down there. No ship can withstand their fire.”

“You’re really prepared for anything.” Rodario ventured closer to the inner parapet to take a look down. The wind tugged at his clothing, blowing it this way and that.

The shaft was a vast black hole down to nowhere. A damp moldy smell rose up from the depths, a bit like a cellar where metal had been stored.

“Not quite the type of accommodation for a princess, though, is it?” he said, holding tight to the edge. “Couldn’t they have made it… a little more attractive?”

“That’s never been a priority,” laughed Coïra as she greeted the commander, who bowed to her. “Get the gondola ready to go down,” she told him and the armored man hurried off. “It’s kept over there in the eastern corner,” she told Rodario. “You and Loytan will wait for me there.”

“I’d love to see the magic wonder with my own eyes,” he confessed. “Couldn’t I watch?”

“It’s quite unspectacular. Just a few sparks.” Coïra went ahead. “Nothing worth seeing.”

“You didn’t tell him you bathe in the source naked,” interjected Loytan, eyeing Rodario.

“Naked?” The actor blushed. “Oh, now I understand why I can’t go with you. Though I envy whoever accompanies you.”

“You don’t know what is concealed under my clothes,” she replied, embarrassed in her turn. “Your compliment is somewhat premature.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. I was talking about being able to see the source…” he went on, but noted that Coïra’s expression had turned icy.

Loytan laughed out loud. “Oh, a true descendant of the Incredible Rodario. You certainly know how to charm a woman and wrap her round your little finger.”

“Hold your tongues,” she said sharply. “You’re both making me very uncomfortable.” She entered the little hut, where a gondola with a wire cage stood at the back. It was secured by two ropes through a loop at the top.

Coïra went over, stepped in and closed the door behind her, nodding to the guard. She moved a lever and the cabin dropped quickly down through a hole in the floor.

“Naked!” Rodario shook his head and sighed, going over to the hole and looking down. If he was not very much mistaken, the princess had already slipped out of her mantle and was unbuttoning her blouse. “I’d have been so glad to hold her clothes for her.”

“You’re not the only one, but there’s only one man she cares about: The unknown poet,” said Loytan crossly, helping himself to tea. “Do you want a cup? To warm you up?”

Rodario looked down again and thought he could catch sight of shimmering skin. One’s imagination could play such tricks… “Something to cool me down, rather,” he replied, and his rejoinder was met with laughter.

“Good one!” the count laughed. He handed over a cup of hot tea regardless. “I think the unknown poet’s days are numbered,” he continued. “Now that we know who he is.” Loytan’s expression became thoughtful, the stubble giving him an older, manly look. “The Lohasbranders will wipe out his family and village.”

“But they won’t be able to destroy the dreams of freedom,” Rodario replied as he sipped his tea, his eyes never shifting from the bottom of the shaft. “Impossible.”

In the depths there came an azure shimmer, illuminating the bottom third of the shaft walls like blue jewels in the sun. He could see the silhouette of the young woman, and in his mind’s eye he could imagine her naked. Unclothed and desirable.

He gave a deep sigh and turned away. “She will never love a man such as me,” he murmured, downcast.

Loytan raised his cup in salute. “That makes two of us, my actor friend!”

He glanced at the nobleman. “But you are married!”

“Of course,” he said awkwardly. “I just wanted you not to feel so alone.” Loytan drank his tea. “As for being alone, what about your own family? You’ve been seen at the side of a notorious rebel—is there someone that needs to be protected from the Lohasbranders?”

Rodario shook his head. “No. My parents are long dead and there’s no one else. Apart from the descendants of the Incredible One, and I don’t think the Dragon would go as far as to kill all of them.”

“You never know.” Loytan sat down. “You’ve been up for the contest eight times now and came last again. Why don’t you give up?”

Rodario smiled sadly and fiddled with his beard. “I promised someone I’d keep entering until I won.” He emptied his cup. “I know what you’re going to say: An impossible endeavor. But one day, I swear…”

Loytan raised his hand. “You said that before and I still don’t believe it. Especially now they’re looking for you. You won’t be able to return to Mifurdania and go on stage.”

“Except maybe for my own execution,” he joked. “And that would be a performance… Nobody could steal that show.” He tossed his hair back theatrically.

“Hear, hear! Another flash of wit. And coming from you! Respect, friend. You’re improving. I agree.” Loytan placed his feet on the table, folded his hands and prepared for a nap. “It may be a long time before the princess gets back up.” He closed his eyes. “Help yourself to more tea. And think up something appropriate to say in greeting to the rightful queen of Weyurn. Unlike her daughter, she’s a stickler for etiquette.”

Rodario drank his tea, placed the empty cup on the table and wandered over to the spy-hole again. The lighting effects in the shaft were still in full swing.

He looked over to Loytan, already snoring, then studied the ropes going down into the depths of the shaft. “You’re a descendant of the Incredible Rodario,” he told himself, screwing up his courage and pulling his gloves out of his belt and putting them on. He discarded the mantle; it would get in the way. “Here we go. Try something that would have impressed the Incredible One. You’ve made a fool of yourself often enough, even though it was in a good cause.”

With one bound he reached up and grabbed the wire cables. Then, with more agility than he’d ever shown on stage, he went down the rope, hand over hand, letting himself down toward the bluish light.

In some places gaps between the iron plates were allowing trickles of water through; elsewhere, regular mini-fountains shot between corroded elements in the structure. However, the walls were holding solidly, despite the rust that had formed in thick layers. The structure had presumably not been intended for long-term use.

Rodario could not assess whether the Weyurn folk had the necessary skills for the upkeep of these iron walls. And the dwarves certainly had more pressing things on their minds than to come round and carry out repair work. They were battling away in the mountains, fighting for their very existence. Against dragons. Against the kordrion.

The bottom of the shaft was only about ten paces below him now. Planks had been laid across it so that the princess would not sink in the mud.

Rodario took a sharp breath and clung fast to the cable.

Loytan had told the truth: Coïra was indeed naked—apart from the leather gauntlet on her right arm.

She was floating in the middle of the shaft in the blue light, her long black hair drifting as if under water. The young woman had her eyes closed and was smiling. She was enjoying her energy bathe.

Rodario looked his fill, wondering when he was likely ever to see such a perfectly formed female body naked again. But how strange that she had not removed her glove.

Suddenly he was overcome with shame. What he was doing just was not right.

I shall win her for myself, he vowed, and then looked away, embarrassed. He started the upward climb, inching his way up the wire rope.

The next time he saw Coïra without her clothes, he thought, she should be undressing for his eyes alone and doing so willingly. “Stand tall,” he told himself. “Attitude is everything.”

At that moment he heard someone shouting excitedly at the top of the shaft.

Hot and cold shivers ran down his spine. The guards had discovered him committing this inexcusable indiscretion!