by Markus Heitz
“Probably a really big snowflake.” This was Rodario speaking. “What else could it have been? Come back over here.”
“Let’s go and check on the little one,” the Ido queen said, concerned. “Then I’ll be able to sleep.”
“But I’m not going to let you sleep,” he teased.
Mallenia laughed. “So the king is paying court to the queen?”
“Something like that.”
Carmondai heard them both leaving the room. She’s left the window open.
He wriggled down on to the ledge below the window and slipped into a room that was as elaborately furnished as befitted two crowned heads, from the generously-sized bed to the luxurious carpets and tapestries.
That magic prickling feeling increased. Carmondai suspected this meant that much of the furniture and furnishings had been created with a spell, or that perhaps the magic source had spread. If so, this would make it hard to detect any traps based on magic.
Crossing quickly through the royal quarters, he spied out through the keyhole, encountering no hint that any guard was stationed there. Taking his courage in both hands, he opened the door and stepped out into the lamplight of the corridor, crouching down underneath a small table for cover. There was an unpleasant-looking sculpture on the pedestal. Not at all to his refined taste.
A bedroom door opened and out came Mallenia and Rodario, dressed in wide-fitting, comfortable mantles; they said their goodbyes to someone in the room and wished sweet dreams. Then they passed the place Carmondai was hiding and went back into their own room.
No guards on duty in the house itself. The älf stood up and listened out carefully. How can they all be so sure that nothing can happen?
He had a nasty feeling he was walking into a trap.
This was why he did not go in through the doorway the king and queen had just come out of. He went further down the corridor, looking for a stairwell. He wanted to explore the building; he would need to know the best way out soon. Finding the steps, he made his way down to the next floor, when possible stealing glances through keyholes and gaps under doors. Occasionally he was forced to take avoiding action if servants appeared, sometimes wreathing himself in shadow. The servants were all carrying trays with food and drink, which suggested the whole mansion was one big party.
He finally took advantage of an opportunity: grabbing one of the serving men, he knocked him out and stole his clothes, concealing Bloodthirster as well as he could in the folds of the garments he put on. His tall physique helped him in this endeavour. His slightly pointed ears were now hidden under a cap. He cut off the man’s long hair and tucked it under the rim to fall as his own, masking his features to some extent.
Thus disguised, he strolled at his ease through the other floors of the building. Visitors were everywhere, celebrating and carousing. Odd snatches of conversation he caught made reference to Sitalia’s prophecies and how to interpret them.
He reached a large hall where loud music was being played. The musicians were a mixed company of dwarves, humans and elves, somehow managing to harmonise, to the delight of all. A groundling sang one of the old mocking ballads, which ended with an orc dying in all sorts of extravagant ways.
A dwarf espied an orclet small
Orclet on the heathland;
So fat and asking for it.
He went to get a better look
And relished what he saw.
At this the assembled dwarves chucked their tankards in the air and thundered in with the chorus:
Orclet, orclet, orclet small,
Fat and fit for slicing.
Dwarfy spake: I’ll hack you, orc,
Into little pieces.
Orky oinked: I’ll stab you back
So you don’t forget me.
I find you quite enticing.
With the dwarves taking over the main tune, humans joined boisterously in the refrain:
Orclet, orclet, orclet small,
Fat and fit for slicing.
The lusty dwarf now biffs him hard
And cuts him up in pieces.
Orky has a blunt-edged axe
Moans in a pool of juices
Like the others of his species.
Now in response, the whole assembled company joined in:
Orclet, orclet, orclet small,
Fat and fit for slicing.
The hall resounded with cheers as the final stanzas died away.
How utterly appalling. Then Carmondai caught a movement out of the corner of his eye: a child’s figure carried on the shoulders of a soldier, who was hopping around merrily. Rhythmic applause broke out and her name was shouted: “Sha’taï, Sha’taï!”
She must have escaped from her bedroom. The älf went over to where the buffet was laid and made as if adjusting the piles of plates for the banquet. From here he was able to observe how people were behaving round the young girl, who was laughing with delight and clapping in time with the music. She made even the elves sing that ghastly dwarf song.
At this point Mallenia came storming down the stairs, her night robe sweeping behind her. She must have been very worried indeed, if she was coming down in this attire.
“So that’s where you’ve got to!” she yelled, loud enough to be heard over the voices, applause and the music. “Up to bed immediately!”
The soldier let the girl slip down to the floor. The music stopped. Mallenia came over to Sha’taï, took her by the hand and dragged her away. “Tomorrow will be a tiring day,” she explained. Turning to the party-goers she said, “Time to quieten down here. There’s no reason for celebrating as yet. The dwarf leaders are still deliberating. They have not marched off at the head of their armies.”
One or two tankards clattered. Guests got up, shame-facedly. Mallenia and the child hurried up the steps and the company dispersed.
That shouldn’t hold me back. Taking a long napkin from one of the tables, Carmondai hung it over his shoulder, picked up a tray of food and went upstairs. It would appear he was taking refreshments to one of the guests. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the queen and her ward. The girl was taken into the room Mallenia and Rodario had been seen coming out of earlier. She sleeps on her own.
When the queen came out into the corridor again to head for her own stateroom, Carmondai slipped into the girl’s chamber.
His älfar sight allowed him to see in the dark. The girl lay in bed, face turned to the window.
This is too easy. Everything in the älf told him not to approach. On top of that, there was an increase in the magic prickling sensation. Perhaps he had triggered some defence trap. But how often would he be presented with an opportunity such as this? He put the tray down carefully and put the cloth on the floor. He took out Bloodthirster and moved silently to the bed. He raised the weapon to deliver a cut, pointing the tip at the nape of the sleeping girl’s neck. She is an evil influence waiting to bring destruction to Girdlegard and many other worlds. She tried to kill me because I saw through her. The älf took aim.
“Your death bears the name Carmondai,” he whispered. “I shall take your life and your soul shall be ripped to pieces by Tion.”
He stabbed down at her neck.
The blade met an astonishing degree of resistance from the vertebrae of such a young creature. Blood gushed out of the open mouth and the child’s body slackened—only to assume the form, in front of the älf’s very eyes, of a guard, lying in the sheets. Bloodthirster had pierced the upper edge of his armour.
A trick. A trap. They were expecting me. Carmondai extracted the blade and whirled round at the sound of the door behind him opening. The prickling he had felt had come from a spell of deception. I knew it was too good to be true.
Lantern light fell on his face and a crossbow bolt whirred towards him, but he dodged it. Instead of resorting to flight, he went on the attack and struck right in the middle of the light. Several lamps clattered and broke in the hands of whoever was carrying them. Shouts were heard. The petroleum caught fire and spr
ead.
Bloodthirster flared out and wielded death in Carmondai’s cunning hands.
Wearing a quilted garment in the quarters assigned him by Coïra, Hargorin was content.
On the upholstered bench next to him stood the tin leg the Scholar had fitted for him. He kept useful items in the hollow receptacle of the artificial limb, in particular a slim knife for emergencies. His mail shirt with its reinforced shoulder armour and iron spikes hung on the stand and the short blades for the forearm protectors were on the table next to the axe awaiting sharpening. He had just finished oiling the protective skirt made up of iron plates. Everything was prepared for whatever the future held.
He picked up an engraving tool and did a few more decorations on the artificial leg, something that went well with runes and blessings. This was to be his talisman on the journey into the unknown.
The talk with the High King had ended with agreement for Tungdil’s endeavour and both Beligata and Gosalyn were keen to go along. Together with him. Hargorin. It would be easy to select the best warriors the five tribes and the Freelings could provide. Then the adventure could begin.
Boïndil had been keen on accompanying them but they had turned the offer down. He was the second greatest dwarf hero. He must remain behind and provide stability and support for his people. They knew that Girdlegard would be reacting with incredulity to the dwarves’ decision not to send a vast army. But the Children of the Smith would not shift from the spot until the prophecies were proved true and Tungdil’s group of spies reported finding an enemy in the Outer Lands.
The enemy that’s so desperate to get at the child. The Thirdling king blew the filings away and rubbed the surface of his metal leg. It was cold and felt like a part of himself that had turned to steel.
Thoughts were still whirling around in his brain, even after the meeting.
He had served the älfar; or had pretended to serve them, rather. He was guilty in this respect. But there had been no other way. His task now was to make suitable amends for any harm inflicted on others; that is what he hoped this expedition would allow him to do. Hargorin was not seeking his own death. He intended to go on living for many more cycles, should Vraccas be willing to keep his life-fire blazing. From this orbit onward, however, he would search the Outer Lands with a view to locating the all-powerful adversary.
The report Balyndis had sent from the Stone Gateway was terrifying; it showed with what degree of obsession and self-sacrifice thousands upon thousands had thrown themselves at the fortifications.
No beast would settle for destruction in the way that ragged army did. Hargorin agreed that the sorcerer responsible for them, perhaps known by Carmondai, must be found. Or at the very least, the race the enemy came from. Carmondai had been living in the Outer Lands for many cycles. We should have a thorough talk about our strategy.
They had also wanted to discuss what should happen with Sha’taï. But on account of where they were, where the walls undoubtedly had ears, they had skipped that question. Though a glance around the assembled leaders made it likely that all of them would gladly have seen the back of her.
But how? Hargorin did not believe that there was a demon in the little body. He had urged that the axe Keenfire, to be on the safe side, be brought in the vicinity of the child. If the diamonds lit up as they had done when the false Tungdil had come close, then they would know that there was evil in her. That would make even the elves and the humans think twice.
It would be simplest to incarcerate her. She won’t be able to cause any trouble once she’s safely locked up. However badly one might feel about treating a child in that way, the security of Girdlegard was at stake. They had narrowly escaped having the Stone Gateway overwhelmed by alien forces.
Hargorin realised he was both tired and hungry. The dwarf leaders’ discussions had gone on for a long time and they had missed the party and with that, the banquet.
I expect I can still find something to nibble. He stowed away his tools, strapped his leg on and got up.
He walked over to the door with scarcely a trace of a limp, opened it—and came face to face with Carmondai, covered in blood. “What the …?”
The dark-clad älf pushed him back into the room and closed the door as quietly as possible. “It’s not my blood,” he explained. “And it wasn’t my fault.” He put his ear to the door and listened out.
“What are you doing here, black-eyes?” Hargorin growled threateningly. “We agreed you should wait outside.”
“You told me to wait. But I did not agree.” Carmondai had Bloodthirster in his hand. Red drops trickled down onto the floor.
The red-bearded dwarf picked up his long-handled axe. “Who’ve you killed?”
“I reckon it will have been around a dozen guards. At least half of them were magic.” He indicated Hargorin should not speak, because shouts and the sound of thudding feet could be heard outside. Hargorin would not keep silent. “Why did you kill them?”
“By Samusin and Inàste,” whispered Carmondai. “Hold your tongue!”
“Or what?” Hargorin raised his weapon, keen for a fight. “I’ll show you who’s the better warrior.”
“The girl,” hissed the älf. “The child needed to be killed. She wanted me dead. I would have been doing Girdlegard a favour.”
Hargorin grimaced. “Well, shatter my iron when I hammer it.”
“Fine, as long as it happens quietly,” Carmondai snapped impatiently.
The hammering, however, was happening at the door.
“Hargorin Deathbringer, are you in there?” Mallenia called through the closed door.
“I am,” he answered, and then turned to speak to Carmondai. “If I save your life, will you do me a favour?”
The älf’s lips narrowed.
“Are you alone?” Mallenia wanted to know.
“Who else do you expect I might have with me? I’ve just gone to bed. If you want to know about the outcome of our session, go and ask Ireheart. I’m tired.”
“We’re looking for an älf. He tried to kill Sha’taï,” Mallenia spoke through the door. “It was that Carmondai, the älf whose life I was stupid enough to spare.”
“I remember exactly. I can picture him. Clear as if he were standing right here.” Hargorin stuck out his strong right hand and whispered, “Swear by your goddess and swear on your life, black-eyes.”
“I swear,” replied Carmondai and they shook hands.
The dwarf shoved him aside and then opened the door. There stood Mallenia in full armour and accompanied by several elf and dwarf soldiers. “Can I help?”
“You go to bed dressed like that?”
“I like to keep my axe near. Makes me feel secure.” He stepped out into the corridor. “Where was he seen?”
“We lost him.” Mallenia looked furious. “I can’t let him escape a second time. He would have stabbed Sha’taï in her sleep, the scum.”
“By Vraccas!” Hargorin raised his weapon. “Then I’ll come with you and help you look.” Taking the room key out of his pocket, he locked the door behind him. “With my blade I can cut him in pieces!”
“You are welcome to join us.” The queen hurried off.
Hargorin slipped into the throng, allowing himself to drop back somewhat each time the search party came to a turning. He arrived at the kitchen.
Making as if he were checking out the pantry for hidden älfar, he helped himself to smoked sausage, cheese and bread. He drank a beer, toasting his own cleverness. Now the älf was bound to him.
Not that I trust him an inch. But I’ll make him obey me. He downed his beer and refilled his mug.
But on his return to the room, he found Carmondai had disappeared.
After the meeting, Tungdil followed Balyndis through the corridors of the main building, not daring to attract her attention. How shall I begin?
The Fifthling queen was chatting with her retinue as they walked, seemingly giving orders to the clan leaders, who acknowledged her and turned to issue comm
ands to their colleagues. Preparations were underway for an eventual military campaign starting from the Stone Gateway. Spies and scouts were being sent out to verify the safety of conditions in the first few miles, checking for traps or unexpected dangers. This at least is what he gathered from overhearing snatches of talk.
One of Balyndis’ companions drew her attention to Tungdil’s presence. She halted and turned around, dismissing her entourage to their quarters. His heartbeat quickened as she approached. I don’t have to take the first step. She’s taking it for me.
“You’re testing me,” she said mysteriously. “This is hard. Will Phondrasôn keep sending us one Tungdil after another?”
“I think not. There was only one doppelgänger that I saw formed.” His hands were sweaty and a thousand thoughts crammed themselves into his head. Phrases exploded in his mind. “I was away a long time,” he said finally, “and now I’ll be going away again.”
“Yes.”
I’ll have to take another tack. “There was darkness in Phondrasôn. Darkness, pain and hatred. A bottomless pit of everything bad, stewing, fermenting, giving rise to yet more evil.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I have no right to ask you for anything or to demand anything from you. But should I return safely from my mission, would you allow me to visit you? I want to talk with you. Talk about the past and about what is to come.”
“What is there to come, Tungdil Goldhand? The past we have in common, it unites us, but I see nothing that could unite us in the future, apart from our common endeavours to ensure the welfare of Girdlegard.” Balyndis looked him deep in the eyes and her gaze was cool. “Nothing apart from that.”
This answer inflicted more pain than any wound or blow received in Phondrasôn, although he should have expected it. “I had many, many cycles in which to think about my feelings …”
“And so did I. Two hundred and fifty, to be exact.” There was no harshness in her tone but no softness, either. “We thought you had died. And I never trusted the other Tungdil. So for me you stayed dead.” She pointed to him. “And now another Tungdil turns up, with something of the one I knew, albeit changed. You have come back from the dead, but my heart buried you a long time ago.”