The Triumph of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  She did not pursue the subject. It sounded so contrived. “And Belogar?”

  Carâhnios made a snapping sound with his black teeth. “Gobbled up. Idiot.”

  “He was no idiot!” Gosalyn wanted to hit him for denigrating her friend in that way. “He sacrificed himself for my sake.”

  “No, he didn’t. He was just plain stupid.” Carâhnios seemed not to have the faintest trace of empathy. “How on earth can anyone in a situation like this start a fight with a narshân beast? I told him to follow me but he tried to play the hero. Now he’s turned into a meal. A nice snack.” He snapped with his teeth again and laughed. “It’s enough to make me hungry. Hung, hung, hungreee.”

  Gosalyn had to hurry to keep up with the zhadár as he led her into a part of the labyrinth where the slope was steeper. She had to concentrate hard to stop herself slipping; it made memorising their path nearly impossible.

  Two down already, and there might be further losses to their ranks before they found Tungdil Goldhand.

  There was a greenish glow from the moss on the rock walls. They must be in a much older part of the underground maze, perhaps directly under the crater. The air was getting warmer and there was a smell of excrement and rubbish, together with smoke. There must be a fire somewhere.

  Gosalyn’s boot soles slithered over the slippery floor. She saw she was in a tiny cave that must once have collapsed on one side and had since been smoothed over. Who would have constructed a ramp like that?

  There were several large holes out of which a mixture of solidified glass, clinker and metal had been poured, making columns that now supported the roof. Gosalyn supposed this was the result of the elves’ attempts to seal off the whole area. The molten slack must have worked its way down through the crevices. Those pillars look so strange. Bizarre but oddly beautiful.

  “We’re nearly there.” Carâhnios dragged her onwards round a heap of stones, behind which they found Hargorin sitting by a small fire to which he was adding animal dung. “Here we are,” Carâhnios whooped with glee, wrenching her arm up into the air. “We’ve done it, little warrior! You have survived. So far. But who knows? Death lurks everywhere. Everywhere, everywhere!” Then he leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes, beginning to snore and giggle intermittently.

  Gosalyn could hardly believe it. “He’s asleep,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “By Vraccas! He’s actually asleep!”

  “Leave him to rest.” Hargorin, who had obviously lost weight, handed her his water flask. “I hope Samusin will make up for our losses,” he said, his voice full of regret. “Otherwise I’m afraid we’ll never make it back alive.”

  The dwarf-woman drank from the flask. “The way Carâhnios found his way in the tunnels—he must have been here before.”

  “I expect he has. He’ll have got around quite a bit in Girdlegard in his search for älfar.” Hargorin stared at the dancing flames. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised. What could the elves have done to stop him?” He looked at the sleeping Carâhnios. “It’s good we have him with us.”

  Gosalyn felt the tension ebb from her. A feeling of emptiness started to spread, with the grief at her friend’s loss bringing tears to her eyes. She gulped and took another drink of the water before returning the flask. There must be no doubt in her mind.

  The map she knew well came to mind. There were several complex branching Phondrasôn tunnels below Girdlegard, reaching far to the east where the Black Abyss lay, and going underneath the Stone Gateway. Because of the distances involved, this mission of theirs could take cycles and cycles.

  There was one faint hope: with great luck they might come upon the abandoned express tunnel system. There’d be no crew and no time to repair the rail and pulley connections between the various dwarf kingdoms, but in places there were exits to Girdlegard.

  I wonder how often our ancestors travelled through Phondrasôn without knowing? She studied the red-haired dwarf critically. Now there’s only three of us. Hardly any supplies, and absolutely no idea where we should be looking. We’ve as much chance of success if I threw a pebble in the air expecting to hit a unicorn.

  Hargorin warmed his hands at the fire and started to sing quietly.

  The earth conceals you in the land

  Deep within the shaft

  Vraccas holds you in his hand

  And Vraccas’ eye is watchful

  So, brave dwarf, whate’er your plight

  Your trusty axe befriends you

  Your eye can see where there’s no light

  Your courage bold defends you

  Dark may be the path you walk

  And your steps may echo hollow

  What if deadly terror stalk

  And danger always follow?

  So, brave dwarf, whate’er your plight

  Your trusty axe befriends you

  Your eye can see where there’s no light

  Your courage bold defends you

  What slithers there? What whispers here?

  What seems to mock and taunt?

  Stay calm and don’t give in to fear

  The phantom flees—avaunt!

  So, brave dwarf, whate’er your plight

  Your trusty axe befriends you

  Your eye can see where there’s no light

  Your courage bold defends you

  If mountains fall and crumble

  And floods of beasts o’erwhelm

  Be bold and you’ll not stumble:

  Victorious to the end.

  Gosalyn made an effort to pull herself together. The strength of her race was in their ceaseless determination in the face of adversity and perseverance at all costs, though others might see this as pig-headed obstinacy. Hargorin’s song had reminded her of her heritage. We’ll cope. We’ll do it.

  “Did he say which way to go?” she asked, indicating the sleeping zhadár. “Has he any idea where we’ve landed?”

  Hargorin shook his head. “No. But by my calculations we must be somewhere under the city the Triplets ruled. Those columns of melted rock are a good clue. I know that Fiëa intended to fill up a hole with clinker and metal.”

  “Sounds like the place.” In the dim light from the fire, Gosalyn looked up at the cave roof, noticing the cracks threading across it. From time to time there came the clatter of small fragments falling. “There must be unbelievable pressure on these rocks.”

  “I’m no expert on these matters but as soon as the zhadár has rested, I think we need to get on our way. The roof could come down any moment. I see new cracks every time I look up.”

  “Maybe it’s the heat from the fire? Why did you make camp here?”

  “There’s fresh water just behind that boulder. That seemed reason enough.” Hargorin got to his feet. “Come on. Let’s fill all the flasks and then we’re ready.”

  Gosalyn opened her flask and shook out the remaining stale drops. All of a sudden Carâhnios leaped at her and Hargorin, his arms outspread.

  “You madman! What the—” Then she heard the hum and felt the rush of air and a touch on her shoulder. Arrows!

  The three of them tumbled to the ground; the zhadár landed in the fire, sending up sparks. The flames went out.

  The cascade of arrows did not stop but the dwarves were protected by the boulder and by the dark. They could hear the sound of wood or metal tips hitting stone as the arrows hit the rock or overshot the mark and disappeared down the tunnel.

  “Stay down,” whispered the zhadár, his black eyes glinting merrily. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that tiny flames were still licking at his armour. “They’re good. Good, good, good! Nearly didn’t hear them coming because you were singing. Your song would have been the death of us, Deathbringer. That’s a laugh.” Then he jumped to his feet and disappeared. Älfar skills. Gosalyn and Hargorin crawled closer to the boulder’s protection. Both dwarves drew their weapons and waited for an opportunity to risk a look over the top. They wanted to see where the enemy was that had used the cover of darkness to creep
up on them.

  Hargorin raised his long-handled axe with its polished metal head and used the reflection as a mirror. Dwarf vision was good in the dim light of the moss. “They’re over there in the tunnel you and the zhadár arrived through. They must be following your tracks.”

  “Phenîlas?”

  An arrow whirred and lodged in the wooden shaft of the axe. It was a long black arrow with dark feathering.

  “Älfar,” exclaimed Gosalyn. “But it can’t be!”

  “We’re in Phondrasôn, remember. Tion alone knows what devilry is assembled here.” Hargorin lowered the axe, pulled out the arrow and broke it in half with one hand. “The time of the älfar is long gone. We’ll never let them take over again.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “The zhadár will have got to them by now …”

  There came a scream that was not from a dwarf’s mouth.

  “Here we go!” Hargorin stormed out from behind the boulder and ran, doubled over, with Gosalyn at his heels.

  They headed for the ramp, zigzagging across the empty space and using the rock columns for cover where they could. The arrows were still coming but they were going wildly astray or falling short. They lacked the momentum to pierce armour now. Gosalyn gave thanks to Vraccas for his aid.

  A number of figures were coming down the ramp, still shooting. Carâhnios, behind them, struck the head off one of the älfar with Bloodthirster and severed the archer’s bow.

  How did he get up there so quickly? Gosalyn threw herself behind one of the pillars, and the arrow aimed at her shattered on the hard surface of the fossilised column. Five älfar streamed across the cavern floor while two others remained on the ramp and confronted the zhadár. But they had to negotiate the obstacles of three decapitated älfar rolling towards them. And then the heads.

  Their losses will mount. Gosalyn directed her anger towards the five adversaries who were trying to locate and surround the dark-haired dwarves. But not ours!

  She somersaulted over to the next pillar and threw a handful of pebbles far to her right to lure her enemies into the open. Two älfar stepped into view and ran over, short swords in their hands. They wore leather armour and black leather hose with greaves attached; their heads were concealed in plain helmets.

  That’s not right. Gosalyn jumped to her feet, raising her short axe and her dagger. Fighting off two älfar at the same time was more of a challenge than she had wanted. She grinned. Ireheart was always the one for challenges, as he called any totally hopeless situation. Pretend you’re the High King. That’ll be the way to deal with the black-eyes. She heard the tune of the dwarf song in her head.

  She lowered her head determinedly and made sure she kept the pillar at her back for protection. “Over here!” she yelled, and then had to duck to avoid a thrown knife. The tip glanced off the column as the älfar reached her. “I’ll show you the quickest way to endingness.”

  She parried the next lunge with her short axe. She forced her attacker’s sword arm up and tried to stab him where he was unprotected, but the second älf went for her. She fended him off with her dagger and the blades clashed in mid-air without touching flesh.

  Gosalyn saw the knee coming at her face. Instead of swerving sideways she put her head down to take the impact on her helmet. The impact was horribly loud, but her opponent screamed even louder and fell. Gosalyn immediately took her axe to the second foe, but he parried the blow and thrust at her in return.

  A swift sword fight ensued between the dwarf-woman and the älf, taking them weaving between the pillars, using the columns in turn as cover; bits of the pillars were hacked off as the fight progressed.

  The älf parried a mighty blow and Gosalyn’s axe stuck fast in one of the pillars, producing an ominous crunching sound. The bottom half of the pillar collapsed and a cloud of dust rose up; her adversary was momentarily blinded.

  Looking round she saw that Hargorin had felled one of the älfar and was striking another on the neck, forcing him to his knees. She couldn’t see the fifth älf anywhere.

  The zhadár pierced his last remaining opponent with his sword, laughing wildly. He made no effort to help either Hargorin or Gosalyn but bent down, doing something at the dead älf’s throat.

  Is that a flask he’s found? It seemed to her the zhadár was collecting the blood.

  Another cracking sound. She saw Hargorin heading at speed for the tunnel.

  The unsupported broken pillar next to her crashed down. New cracks and holes appeared in the roof.

  We’ve got to get out of here! Gosalyn saw the älf launching himself at her out of the cloud of dust and was about to crack him in the knees with her axe when he was struck on the head and shoulders by falling debris and crushed. This was the overture to a wholescale avalanche of rocks and stones.

  Her first adversary got up, cursing, and limped off towards the ramp. The fight seemed to hold no more interest for him.

  Was that oath in elvish? Gosalyn could hardly believe her ears. But when the fleeing figure shouted orders to his last, unseen companion, there was no doubt. They are pointy-ears! They wanted us to think they were älfar!

  She sprinted through the hail of falling stones and overtook the limping elf, slicing through the tendon at the back of his sound leg, bringing him down. “You’re coming with me.”

  Without listening to his screams, she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the tunnel that led out of the collapsing cavern. Hargorin and Carâhnios were waiting there. The three of them moved down the corridor, pulling their captive behind them.

  “It’s an elf,” announced Gosalyn furiously, landing a kick on the prisoner’s side. She pulled off his helmet to expose fair hair. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  He flashed a look at her.

  The zhadár lifted up a slim phial where blood was bubbling away, smokily dissolving.

  “He doesn’t need to say anything. Here’s the proof. They’re not älfar. I collect älfar blood to distil. I put an alchemist preservative in the phial so the blood keeps.” He showed the clouded glass to the elf. “The reaction is quite different.” He smashed the glass tube on the elf’s forehead. “Who sent you?”

  Behind them the cave collapsed with a loud rumbling crash and small boulders rolled along the tunnel where they were. Clouds of reddish dust surged through. It smelt of metal and sand.

  “Things aren’t always what they seem,” the captive replied with much effort, grasping his wounded knee. He did not concern himself with the blood and glass splinters on his face. “You don’t know what …”

  Another hum and a black arrow hit home with a clang, piercing the breast of the elf-warrior. He crumpled up. Gosalyn turned.

  An elf stood in the tunnel veiled in dirt, about to notch a follow-up arrow.

  Everything went black for the dwarf-woman. “Carâhnios, don’t do the dark thing now!”

  “It’s not me. That one’s a genuine älf.”

  Gosalyn’s heart thudded.

  Carâhnios’ laugh was hysterical and high-pitched. “Oh, now things are hotting up! Exciting!”

  Girdlegard

  United Kingdom of Gauragar-Idoslane

  Freestone

  6492nd solar cycle, summer

  Dirisa was seated at her dressing-table in a small room lit by lamps to supplement the meagre dawn light. She was still wearing her night attire while her attendant examined her day-clothes for any imperfections. Looking at her reflection critically, she beckoned to her maid.

  “Brush my hair again,” she ordered. “It doesn’t look right.”

  “At once, mistress.” The young woman picked up the brush and devotedly drew the fine bristles through the black hair.

  Phenîlas was standing at the window with a smile that concealed his impatience. He was dressed in a deep yellow flowing robe with black lacing at the waist; he wore a cape to enhance the appearance of his shoulders. He had brown gloves and his forearms were wound in silk protectors. “You are taking
your time.”

  Dirisa frowned at him in the mirror. “And you are wasting my time, friend.”

  “You don’t have anything to do.” The elf looked down at the courtyard, where Natenian, surrounded by his attendants, was returning from his outing.

  The invalid king was having trouble breathing and it was obvious that he was bathed in sweat in his long garments. He had insisted on visiting the sights of the little town. Only a few orbits earlier such strenuous activity would have been out of the question and a litter needed.

  He is rising to the challenge. “You can listen to me just as well here.”

  “What is there to discuss?”

  “The future.”

  Dirisa gave a scornful laugh. “Since when is the future of interest to your people? Sitalia is no goddess of fate.”

  “Sometimes we must take our fate into our own hands.” Phenîlas knew that he did not have much time to affect a change of heart. “Send your maid out.”

  “Are you going to brush my hair for me?” she snapped.

  “I can try.”

  Dirisa sent the young woman out.

  “There are the combs,” she said. “And mind you’re careful.”

  Phenîlas took up his stance behind her chair and picked up the comb with sea whale tines; it went through her hair smoothly. The polished ivory slipped through like velvet, but her hair still looked rough and brittle compared with that of an elf-woman. “Tell me why you are claiming the throne? You lead a comfortable life, you are rich and …”

  “Tell me why Natenian has sent you instead of negotiating with me himself,” she retorted cuttingly.

  “He did not send me.”

  “Then you’re his friend and you’re acting on your own initiative?”

  “I care about Girdlegard. It’s only one cycle since the end of the terror; discord amongst our races must not be allowed to arise. A dispute such as the one between yourself and Natenian will only weaken the country internally, making it vulnerable.”

  “A queen who is healthy and strong must be more to your liking than a man who has to thank the gods if he even wakes up alive in the morning.” Dirisa glanced at Phenîlas in the mirror with her nut brown eyes and held his gaze. “You are aware who my relative and good friend is?”