The Triumph of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  Each person on the dais took his neighbour’s hand and even the soldiers joined in; the crowd followed suit. Boïndil was the only one to distance himself from it, needing one hand to hold on to the column and the other to hold his crow’s beak.

  “Long live Mallenia of Ido,” called Rodario. “Long live friendship!”

  The crowd took up his toast enthusiastically, and the people clamoured for the queen and the elf. Their voices grew ever louder and people held their clasped hands aloft before breaking into applause.

  “Allow me also a symbolic gesture,” Dirisa stretched out her hand to Tehomín. What with all the noise and rejoicing, Mallenia could barely hear what was being said. “I shall release Phenîlas as soon as I am back in Tabaîn. He was never a murderer. I shall say it was an intrigue set up by the servants.”

  “Accept my gratitude,” the elf replied.

  “I propose that Rodario bring him to your sovereign lord himself,” she said graciously.

  Boïndil jumped off the pedestal, shouldering his weapon now. It was obvious that he was dumbfounded by this rapid turn of events. “What does Rodario the Incomparable have to do with anything?”

  “As Emperor of Girdlegard he should meet with the Naishïon,” Dirisa said, as if she were stating a well-known fact. Boïndil burst out laughing. “Of course. An actor as supreme leader! What a farcical idea. Look at him: his clothes would make a rainbow feel faint.”

  Mallenia, on the other hand, was ecstatic about Dirisa’s suggestion. It would serve to counterbalance the elves’ power.

  “Brilliant!” she cried. “The dwarves have their High King and the elves have their Naishïon. We need an emperor.”

  “I agree,” Astirma said with a nod.

  “No better candidate,” confirmed Isikor, a colourless figure in simple clothing.

  Mallenia laughed and gave Rodario a kiss. “That’s how quickly an emperor can be made.”

  “We don’t have Coïra’s vote yet,” Boïndil objected, looking at the monarchs as if each and every one of them had lost their minds.

  “I have her proxy vote,” Rodario said, glowing with excitement. “And I’ll vote for myself in the name of Urgon and of Weyurn.” He accepted congratulations from the other rulers and Tehomín. “We must make an announcement to the people. What an orbit the gods have sent us today! Girdlegard will never be vanquished again.” He clapped Boïndil on the shoulder. “We’re both high kings now.”

  Lost for words, the dwarf scratched his silver and black beard.

  Mallenia was immensely proud. A triumph like no other.

  Sha’taï moved away from Mallenia’s side and went up to the kings and queens, to be patted on the head by everyone in turn.

  Mallenia came over to Rodario again. “We must make more sacrifices to Palandiell. We want your regency to last a long time.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw her little ward take the dwarf’s hand to study the High King’s ring. Boïndil grunted and pulled his hand away, turning to leave. Let’s hope full of peace. Please, ye gods, please.

  Girdlegard

  United Kingdom of Gauragar-Idoslane

  Idoslane

  6492nd solar cycle, winter

  It’ll cause a lot of trouble. Hargorin did not like this constant heavy rain. He didn’t mind snow because you could always shake it off, but this icy wet soaked through your clothes, chilling you to the bone.

  He had wanted to strike the älf’s head off after Gosalyn had released him from his fetters in the smithy. He had no doubt he could have managed it, too. Carmondai was old and no comparison with the other black-eyes Hargorin had met in battle. The Triplets would have sent him off to endingness with a couple of blows. Only Gosalyn restrained him.

  The dwarf turned his pony’s head to the east. “We should reach the foothills soon,” he called back to his companions.

  “We have to keep going south, and turn east in two miles,” the älf said, walking beside them.

  “Tell me how long you’ve been in captivity?” Beligata mocked.

  “This region has hardly changed. I could find my way blindfolded.” Carmondai stayed calm, presumably used to snide remarks since his release from the Triplet’s dungeons. The victors made the decisions. And the victors were not the älfar.

  “Let’s do as he says,” Gosalyn suggested, trying to shrink down in the saddle to escape the rain. In vain. “What happened to this area when the Triplets were in charge?”

  “I am afraid I don’t know,” Carmondai said. “I was … busy.”

  Hargorin laughed. “If you care to put it that way.” He reluctantly followed the route the älf had proposed. “I came this far south only seldom. The Triplets had forbidden the pig-faced orcs to get anywhere near Toboribor. They didn’t want another orc realm starting up after they’d finally cleared the beasts from the caves.”

  “Then that means none of us knows the territory round here,” said Beligata. “Hey, black-eyes!”

  “Hush.” Hargorin knew exactly what was coming. “He’s got the sword now. It’s better with him than in the hands of a dwarf-woman.”

  “I don’t agree. It’s me that crawled back in to Phondrasôn to rescue it.” Beligata urged her pony forward to come level with the älf. “You’re a thief.”

  “No one protests louder than a thief who’s been robbed.” Carmondai regarded her. “Much truth in the old saying, wouldn’t you agree?” He placed his hand on Bloodthirster’s hilt. “This sword and I have known each other for a long time. It is more secure with me. Should I be killed, feel free to take it back.”

  Hargorin encouraged his pony to trot faster. Their arrangement with the älf would be clarified in Toboribor. If what the älf claimed proved false, they could forget about him and go off to the Blue Mountains to search for Lot-Ionan’s archive.

  I’ll tie him up first and deliver him to Mallenia’s troops. Hargorin disliked the thought of having an älf roaming round Girdlegard unsupervised, even if this one was ancient and only capable of carrying a sword rather than fighting with it.

  He was doubtful about what Carmondai had told them about Sha’taï. But Gosalyn seemed to be taking the älf’s side, so he was prepared to allow him some credit there.

  Their path took them eastwards.

  A fortified farm reared up round the next bend; it looked like a small castle and had the Idoslane flag flying. To the left a huge horizontal tree trunk studded with metal spikes served as a barrier across the road.

  The man on watch in the five-paces-high tower was alert and spotted them immediately; he called out to those below.

  “Great,” said Beligata. “That’s all we need.”

  Carmondai slackened his pace and fell back. “Better if these people don’t see me. I’ll find you in Toboribor,” he said, taking his leave. In the next instant he had disappeared into the torrential rain.

  “However old he may be, he’s good at that.” Gosalyn rode up next to Hargorin. “What do we say when they ask us what we’re doing in the old orc realm?”

  “That we’re looking for an älf,” he replied with a grin. “There’s a reward.”

  “Not bad.” She laughed.

  “Or we could say Hargorin lost his leg at the battle in the caves and wants to have it back,” Beligata chipped in, riding up to the other side of the leader. “That way nobody’ll want to come along for the ride.”

  Gosalyn grinned. “Two good ideas.”

  The dwarves laughed.

  Arriving at the barrier, they saw the iron spikes made it impossible for anyone to get over or under it. They looked up at the windows of the tower and caught sight of a man in a simple brown coat. Armour seemed not to be de rigueur in these parts. They must be relying on the thickness of their walls for protection.

  “What brings Children of the Smith to the south?” he called, in a not unfriendly tone.

  “We’re looking for an älf on the run,” Hargorin replied.

  “Oh, I see. That’ll be the queen’s pet lap dog.” The ma
n laughed. “He’s not been through here.”

  The party joined in the merriment, even if for different reasons.

  If you had any idea what’s afoot you’d go and put on your sturdiest armour. Gosalyn wiped the rain out of her eyes.

  “Give us a chance to look around in Toboribor,” Hargorin requested. “Those caves would be an ideal hiding place.”

  “Indeed they would, my dwarf friend, but no one can get in there any more,” the man explained. “Our sovereign got us to wall up all the entrances. And before that we demolished many of the tunnels. You can save yourselves the trouble.” He pointed down. “Come on in and get dry. First round is on me. Let’s drink to the health of the new emperor.”

  “Oh! So Girdlegard has got itself a supreme ruler,” Beligata commented. “Now we’re all on the same level: humans, elves and dwarves.”

  “That’s right.” He gave the order and the gates swung open. “We’ll drink to Emperor Rodario the First.”

  All three burst out laughing.

  “Good joke,” Hargorin said. “Thank you for the offer but we want to get going.”

  “It’s not a joke. The monarchs all decided on him, the day Mallenia and the elves signed their treaty. Never been closer. All agreed.” The soldier raised his right hand. “I promise you it’s true.”

  The dwarves exchanged surprised glances.

  “Then let us hope Palandiell knows what she’s doing, letting them choose a showman to run the whole of Girdlegard. As long as it’s not one of Samusin’s dirty schemes, to set confusion in the ranks. May we pass through?”

  “Please,” Gosalyn added.

  “If that’s what you want. But you’ll quickly get bored and soaked through. We’ll have a warm fire and some beer ready for you on your return.” The man called out an order and the barrier was lifted. “Good hunting.”

  “Is the bounty still the same or have they upped the reward?” Beligata pretended they knew the exact amount.

  “Still one thousand gold pieces. Dead or alive.”

  “It was a terrible crime he committed!” Gosalyn added.

  “Between you and me,” the soldier said, “he must be the most incompetent black-eyes ever seen. They’re after him for the attempted killing of the queen’s little foster child.” He laughed out loud. “Let’s thank Palandiell that nothing happened to the girl, but what sort of an älf could fail at something as easy as that?” He waved and closed the window.

  “A very old one,” Beligata joked.

  “And one who managed to overpower you and throttle you till you passed out,” Gosalyn gloated.

  Hargorin looked at the others. “You know, it occurs to me that’s the second time an älf tried and wasn’t able to kill that girl,” he said. “There’s something amiss here.”

  “But nobody sees it,” said Beligata.

  “Except for us,” added Gosalyn. “I’ve been thinking about Belogar. He had wanted to send the girl back out over the border. He would have killed the child as soon as he heard it speak the älfar tongue, but the humans and the elf stopped him. Perhaps I was sorry for the wrong one?”

  Her companions were at a loss as to what to say. They rode through under the opened barrier, each deep in thought. They trotted along the overgrown path that in recent times had seen no traffic.

  Southern Idoslane’s rainy winters ensured everything stayed green in the countryside, but as they drew nearer to the former orc realm, things started to gradually change and grow greyer. Hargorin had heard there were several entrances to the cave system and assumed there had been connections through to Phondrasôn in certain parts of the caves.

  “Do you know about the battle that took place here?” Beligata squeezed the rain water out of her hair. She ran a finger along her scar to check whether it had opened again.

  “Must have been … more than two hundred and fifty cycles ago. In the days when the Scholar did his heroic deeds.” Gosalyn noticed a mound in the distance, showing less green than the surrounding area. The remains of a ruined building could be seen on top. “An orc stronghold, perhaps?”

  Hargorin nodded, shedding thick drops from his beard. “Prince Mallen of Ido led an army of thousands from all the kingdoms in Girdlegard and they stormed the caves. The quest was for a particular diamond with magic properties, if I remember rightly. Or was that the battle about the Inextinguishables and their incestuous bastard children? Or maybe both those things?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not really interested in the past.”

  It was obvious there had been a pronged siege. The army must have dug a ditch all around the fortress. Some ramps were still visible in the dip. On the outside of this ring, neglected fruit trees had taken over, leafless now, and the grass grew high. But the place where the monsters had been based seemed as though it had never recovered from the harmful pollution of those distant times. Nothing wanted to grow there other than grass and weeds.

  “Can you imagine what it must have looked like? The pennants flying for the different clans and the dwarf tribes’ flags flapping in the wind right and left?” asked Gosalyn emotionally. She licked the rain water from her lips. “We dwarves have always been on the side that opposed evil.”

  “Who else?” Beligata pointed to a grove of trees. “We can tether the ponies over there. They won’t manage the steep bank.”

  Gosalyn couldn’t tear her eyes away from the ruins and the wide ditch, until …

  “There’s someone there, lying down!” she cried excitedly, pointing to the north. “Over there by the heap of stones. Down there in the hollow.”

  “A human, I think,” Beligata guessed. “A woman. I can see her. Dark blue robe. No mantle.”

  Gosalyn kicked her pony’s side. “It’s Coïra!”

  Perfect ambush setup. Hargorin tried to grab her bridle. “Wait!”

  But she’d galloped off. Straight into the thick growth of grass between her and the ditch.

  Note to self: always remember

  • None of them deserved mercy.

  • They did not treat me with the respect I merited, yet I never harmed one of them.

  • Be nice. Until you have achieved your aim.

  Secret notes for

  The Writings of Truth

  written under duress by Carmondai

  XIV

  Girdlegard

  Grey Mountains

  Kingdom of the Fifthling dwarves

  Stone Gateway

  6492nd solar cycle, winter

  “Get rid of it,” Balyndar ordered from where he stood on the right-hand tower, allowing himself no rest in spite of his injuries. His hauberk wouldn’t fit over all the bandaging and he made do with lots of layers of clothes and a black wolf-fur mantle over the top. “I don’t want anyone able to use it as a guide.”

  In the mountains, winter had struck with an icy fist, affecting every inhabitant, every plant and even the solid stone. Whole sections of rock had split open with the cold. The bitter frost made everything freeze where there was no heat source. Braziers and hot honey beer had been placed at intervals on the walkway for the dwarves on sentry duty to warm them.

  Balyndar kept his eye on the artisans who had gone down on the platform outside the gate. They were looking for the mark he had noticed shortly before he passed out. I’m sure I wasn’t imagining it.

  “It’s quite high up,” Girgandor said in a concerned tone. “It must have been the highest point reached by the ramp of bodies. They hadn’t sent any projectiles.” His gloved fingers drummed on the frosty wall. “If they bring more people next time, they’ll be able to reach even higher if we can’t burn them and shoot them down.”

  “So we must get the new machines in place as fast as possible.” Up to now Balyndar had been forced to rely on the small contingent of catapults they had erected as a first line of defence. “Are the chests of ammunition in the supply chambers all full?”

  “The master armourers told me they’re at two-thirds of their potential capacity. Their workers are h
ard at it in the smithies and the watermill lathe operators are not letting up, either,” Girgandor detailed, hoping to allay any fears. “They’ve nearly got sufficient wood for all the arrows and spear shafts. And the ‘dragons’ are on their way over.”

  This was a relief for Balyndar to hear, but it did not dispel his worries. Not by a long chalk. The Fifthlings had worked miracles, setting their inborn stubbornness against the rigours of the winter weather. “It’s vital we are fully prepared, even if the next attack won’t be coming for some time.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s too cold.” Balyndar reached behind him, resisting the urge to groan with the pain. He scooped a ladleful of hot honey beer from the steaming pot and hurled the contents over the battlements.

  In spite of the heat and the alcohol, the liquid was instantly transformed into dark crystals, making a dense cloud. Some of the crystals hit the gate while the rest were carried away by the wind.

  “The ragged army that attacked us had no warm clothing,” he said. “And that was autumn. Take a look around. No one in their right mind starts a campaign in winter unless there’s reliable protection from the cold.”

  “Their soldiers weren’t undead,” Girgandor confirmed.

  “Even the undead would freeze.” Balyndar laughed, which was a mistake. His injured chest also hurt. “Now what?” he called to the dwarves outside on the platform. “That marker is still there.”

  “Can’t budge it,” one of them shouted back. “It’s become part of the stone.”

  Girgandor tutted. “Nonsense. Surely no material can do that?”

  “It might be magic,” Balyndar surmised.

  “Keep hammering till it falls off!” he instructed the troop.

  “It’s not working,” came the answer a while later. “It’s iron. And there are white runes engraved on it.”

  “I’ll get Keenfire,” he growled. “That’ll shift it. Send the platform up for me.”