by Markus Heitz
They needed a good plan if they were going to defeat the enemy.
The dwarf hardly noticed the ground shaking any more, even though the rumblings and the shaking occurred more frequently.
Wouldn’t it be great if we were all sitting on an ancient volcano about to erupt? Tungdil grinned. No need for a battle at all.
Beligata’s plan would have to be modified, given the new numbers. With so many extra troops, the enemy could respond to anything they had to offer and outflank them. The best tack would be to get the mines to collapse, burying all the soldiers who are sitting and waiting for orders to go out and fight.
Tungdil scraped at the wall to study its composition. The top layer of the quarry was made up of soft sandstone, but there was granite lower down with coal seams mixed in, and at the bottom it looked like basalt. He had never seen this combination of rock layers before, neither in Girdlegard nor in Phondrasôn. Volcanic? Sadly, no. It’s not the right sort of rock. A volcano would have basalt and more granite through it.
On the floor of the crater he detected cracks that had formed round the furnaces. The mountain’s anger-lines. On further study, he noted other cracks going up the side walls and spreading throughout the terraces. Perhaps the works equipment was proving too heavy. Was the subsoil giving way? Maybe I can use that to my advantage.
Beligata came along in high excitement, screeching to a halt to avoid colliding with Tungdil in her enthusiasm and sending him flying out into the crater. “They’ve come!” she squeaked. “I’ve seen their scouts!”
“Did you signal to them?”
“Yes. They’re expecting us.”
“They’re expecting you. I’m staying here, keeping my eye on what happens.”
Beligata shook her head. “Oh no, you’re not. We need heroes like you with our troops.”
“You’ll have Ireheart. He is the greatest hero. His fame outshines my own. I was in Phondrasôn while a false Tungdil did my work for me.” He smiled at her. “Off you go, and don’t forget to take the notes with you.” He handed her the latest page.
When she perused it, her delight at the army’s imminent arrival faded. “Three hundred thousand!”
“It changes our Tharc strategy, doesn’t it?” Tungdil pointed down into the mine, indicating where he thought they were concealed. “That’s why it’s vital I keep watch here and let you know what’s happening. As soon as things look dicey, I’ll pull out.”
“How will you get in touch with us?”
“That’s easy. I’ll run to and fro.” He laughed and shooed her off. “Hurry up! They’re waiting to see what we’ve discovered. Let the High King know exactly what’s happening down in the crater. He and his planners will need a tailor-made strategy and you’ll have to help them form it. But don’t mention Tharc, whatever you do.”
Beligata did not look happy, but she nodded and left.
Tungdil had wanted to suggest they smuggle a small unit in via their narrow tunnel, but in view of the new circumstances, that would be suicide. And anyway, the tunnel ended too high up on the crater side for there to be any possibility of wielding Keenfire against the ghaist and Aiphatòn.
Many hundreds of paces, many terraces and thousands of beasts stand between us. On his own, with only an acronta dagger and armour that was patchy at best, he would achieve nothing at all. Everything depended on having all the dwarves work together to ensure Balyndar got a chance to use Keenfire.
My son. Tungdil felt pride surge in his breast, matched with fear for his warrior son. He wanted to get to know the lad. The way to Balyndar went via Balyndis, for whose safety he was even more concerned. Phondrasôn had opened his eyes for him. I have been a fool. More than once in my life. He kissed the ring. A meal together. That’ll be the start. Vraccas will decide how it goes on from there.
Tungdil forced himself to concentrate on the task in hand. He had not told Beligata about it. It was time to entice the botoican out into the open.
In all the time Beligata and Tungdil had been at their posts, the botoican had made no move, preferring to let Aiphatòn and the ghaist represent him. And sometimes it had been the blonde-haired elf-woman who gave orders to the workforce and the troops. Tungdil was starting to feel uneasy about this mystery.
At nightfall he set off. Pulling the filthy cloth away from the entrance, he hung it round his shoulders. Vraccas, stay with me. The pungent smell of dirt, earth and sweat would ensure the guards did not detect the presence of a Child of Vraccas. As long as he kept his face covered, he ought to be able to get through. He was familiar with the various languages the monsters spoke; he ought to be able to pass as one of them.
He started a mini-landslide of sandstone fragments as he rolled down to the next terrace. Such incidents were frequent in the mine and rubble was only cleared away if it impeded progress directly or if it landed on the tents. Sliding down with his self-induced rock fall, he reached the terrace below and waited for a moment to see if anyone paid any attention to the pile of stones clattering down. When it was clear nobody had noticed, he made his way stealthily down to the place where the ground looked in imminent danger of cracking under the weight of the works equipment.
He managed to carry out the first part of his plan without attracting attention. He slipped through the array of ancient blast furnaces, examining them to see where they had originated. It seemed that on this particular orbit, not much was required in the way of pig iron. The fires were burning but only one of the huge pear-shaped vessels, measuring about seventy paces high and forty wide, was full. Only a few slaves were working. This aroused Tungdil’s suspicions. Have they already got wind of our dwarf army?
The cracked, rusty signs on the furnace sides led him to believe the equipment had been left behind by the quarry’s original users. The writing employed simple pictograms, easy enough for him to interpret. The acronta had detailed everything in their archives. The notices warned what to be aware of during the smelting process and stressed it was essential not to touch the molten metal, however enticing it might look. No surprise there. Tungdil rubbed the golden mark on his hand that he had acquired during the competition to be appointed High King.
When some beasts and slaves turned up, he moved back to the edge of the smelting area, staying in the dark and testing out the fundament. Most of the cracks in the ground were fresh and a different colour from the rest of the surface. Kneeling and placing his ear against a narrow gap, he picked up a crackling sound. The stone was constantly moving. When one of the pear-shaped containers was lowered to facilitate loading, there was an audible thump in the ground, followed by substantial vibration.
Have we got a hollow cavern under here? Could it be a part of Phondrasôn? Tungdil had to find out what was going on. He placed a hand on the basalt, looking, as he did so, at the heavy furnaces. If he were to release all of them from their fittings, one at a time, the impact of the colossal ovens crashing down on this porous ground would have the effect of mighty hammer blows. With the help of Vraccas, maybe the earth would open up and swallow the entire mine.
All of it, I hope. Then nobody would have to do battle at all and we would not lose a single dwarf in combat. And the botoican would be forced to reveal himself.
Tungdil knew the operation would have to be carefully thought through. He would need enough time to get out before it collapsed. He decided to implement his plan of action when the first battle alarm sounded in the camp. The diversion would work in his favour.
I’ll have to get used to hanging around; it could be a while. He crept about, collecting tools: tongs, a heavy hammer, and a number of steel levers with which to break chains and fastenings. He took his loot to the dark niche by the heaps of coal, then crouched down to wait, finding a smooth place in the wall to rest against.
His gaze swept over the sloping sides of the quarry and the terraces in the middle, where he noticed a huge chiselled message, half-obliterated by weathering and deliberate damage. It was located higher up than the cave wh
ere he and Beligata had conducted their observations and that was why he had never seen it before.
The writing was not dissimilar to dwarf runes but much less sophisticated in form, as if aped by a simple human.
Flee!
Flee the curse of this mine
The curse of the stone
The curse of the depths.
We realised too late
the price we paid for our gems
was too high by far.
If the dome is broken
the curse will increase.
Its hunger for life
is without limit.
Flee this place!
Tungdil looked at the galleries. Hunger without limit. He thought of the incalculable amounts of food being brought to the quarry. A curse that demands living beings. Are they feeding something else in there? Phondrasôn had produced the biggest and ugliest monsters imaginable, such as the kordrion. Is there something similar living here in the mine? A dragon, perhaps? Tungdil got up carefully. Curses.
If this were a game of Tharc, he would have run out of winning strategies. His plans were in disarray and all his suppositions were dissolving in the air. The dwarf army was totally unaware of what awaited them, and would be expecting to be confronted with a force of three hundred thousand.
I need to find out for certain. Tungdil had paid attention to where the food supplies were taken. That’s where I’ll start my search. The botoican won’t be far away. But as soon as he took the first step, he heard a raucous, threatening horn blast coming from one of the lookouts at the top of the crater. The Girdlegard army had been spotted.
Drums summoned the beasts out of the tents and shelters. They surged out of the galleries, climbed ladders and ramps and stairs and hastened to form units on the terraces, all of them armed with different kinds of weaponry. Tungdil was amazed. They’re well-disciplined. No panic and uproar. Aiphatòn seemed to have trained them well. Strategy and mass hypnosis made for a dangerous combination.
The ghaist and Aiphatòn turned up, with Irïanora at their side wearing armour. It seemed she was also in a commanding role.
No botoican. What could …
The quarry shook again. There was a sudden glow at the top of one of the vertical shafts and a flare erupted into the sky. It was like a column of light and energy, forming a connection between the stars and the underworld.
Tungdil grasped his hammer firmly and held his breath. A sparkling worm with pincers and enormous black eyes in a snake-like head forced its way out of the tube. The body had the girth of five tree trunks, and the mouth gaped open to reveal further spikes and pincer-sharp teeth; the heat came rolling over in a wave to where Tungdil stood.
What’s that sticking to it? Gold! The creature must live in the passageways of the mine. Its high temperature must have caused the metal ore to drip out of the stone onto itself, where it remained molten. Its body a good eighty paces long, the worm hissed and writhed to get nearer to the vicinity of the furnaces.
It craves heat. The scholar in Tungdil racked his brains to determine what kind of creature this might be. He had once read in the annals of his ancestors about such beings, greedy for precious metals and posing a serious threat to the dwarves’ treasure hoards.
Goldfireworms, that’s what they were called. They had first appeared a thousand cycles previously in the Red Mountains where there were extensive lakes of lava. Under Queen Vraccaina the worms had been exposed and driven out by dint of cooling the lava. This was affected by diverting rivers into the lakes. The creatures were thought to be relatives of the dragons, if very much less intelligent. Tungdil noticed the reptile had a long gash in the golden membrane that covered it. It is about to slough its skin.
The botoican would surely have appeared by now to calm the dangerous creature before it attacked his beasts and humans. Tungdil saw the ghaist leaping down with enormous strides. So the botoican only sends his henchman? Hardly a wise move. Unless …
The ghaist reached the floor of the crater and strode up to the huge beast, the eye slits on its copper helmet turned toward the snake-head that was big enough to swallow him whole. The worm dragon hissed—and took up a submissive pose.
So I was right. Tungdil was convinced now that the idea that had come to him a few nights previously was correct. The ghaist itself was the botoican. It was not following the decree of any master, but still let others believe it was merely a lackey like the rest of its kind. It took me too long to realise that.
The heat streaming over increased and the air shimmered with it. The goldfireworm was the ghaist’s newest ally. That’s why he has been saving his skills. It has to control the worm so that it doesn’t reap carnage among his own army.
Tungdil imagined the eighty-pace-long creature creeping up the slopes of the Grey Mountains and surmounting the portal to Girdlegard, destroying the defences and allowing the ghaist and Aiphatòn to take over his whole homeland. It will squirm its way through the ranks of the dwarves, burning anything it touches.
He was amazed to see a lizard’s foot emerging from the gash as the tear in the worm’s skin widened. It’s a larva. It’s hatching out a larger monster still! There had been no word of this aspect in the ancestral tomes. The Firstlings had never given the goldfireworm time to reach its next developmental stage. Can this one turn into a genuine dragon? The transformation certainly entailed a great deal of pain; the ghaist was having trouble getting the beast to settle.
Tungdil took a quick glance round. The terraces and galleries were full of silent enemies, eyes fixed on what was happening in the depths of the quarry. Their terrifying faces—some adorned with war paint, some covered with masks—were highlighted by the glow from the golden creature. The fighting force was waiting for the creature to come up and start the battle against Girdlegard.
The ghaist stretched out one hand. The worm dragon hesitated but came nearer, ready to submit.
If that happens, then … The dwarf had an idea. This has to work! Tungdil took the hammer and a steel wedge and went over to the furnaces, where the fires were still smouldering. His expert eye had seen a weak point in the crumbling fixture. He climbed up the wobbly ladder to the scaffold platform twenty paces above ground where the coal and the slack were stored.
Vraccas, give me the strength I need. He secured the sharp end of the wedge under the rusty arch that anchored the vessel on the right-hand side, directly on the bolt, pushing the wedge into place as well as he could. He took careful aim. After a quick kiss on his ring he swung his hammer up above his head in both hands.
The hammer head smashed down on to the broad part of his lever. Metal clanged against metal and the sharp blade of the wedge fractured the bolt at the very first attempt. But the huge vessel only tilted forward slightly. The second bolt showed no inclination to give way.
The ghaist snorted and turned round and the goldfireworm gave an angry hiss. If it had not been for the creature, the botoican would surely have stormed over, but he obviously did not dare to leave the worm unsupervised before submission was complete.
Come on! Drop, confound it! Tungdil let the hammer swing again, this time striking the pear-shaped vessel itself. Finally it gave way and tipped over. Molten metal surged and boiled onto the floor, splashing out towards the ghaist and the worm. As it rolled, the vessel felled two other furnaces and more liquid metal flowed in wavelets across the floor, seeping down into the cracks and dispersing. Sparks and steam shot up.
The ghaist had no trouble escaping the flood; it simply stepped up onto a rock. The dragon-worm was not adversely affected; in fact, it seemed to relish the hot bath. Tungdil’s plan—to strike the ghaist with molten metal and destroy it—had failed. The long worm wriggled and disported itself in the molten metal, its black tail tip flicking to and fro with delight.
I’ve got one more go. Surrounded by glowing molten iron, Tungdil stepped forward on his scaffolding. My last chance. Scorching heat came up in a wave, making him break out in a sweat. His hair shif
ted in the hot air.
“I am Tungdil Goldhand,” he called out clearly, his voice loud enough to drown out the sound of the boiling metal. “Vraccas has sent me to stop you in your tracks. Whatever you are: you will be destroyed!” He hurled the hammer—but not in the direction of the last furnace. The hammer was aimed at the goldfireworm; it dodged out of the way in fury, tensing its body to attack. A roared instruction from the ghaist held it back. But the creature’s waving tail caught the last of the furnaces and pulled it out of its anchorage.
The pear-shaped vessel tipped forward. The ghaist was attempting to calm the irate creature, and this took every ounce of its concentration, preventing it noticing the new danger.
“Look out!” Aiphatòn came bounding down the terraces. But by this time a seething wave had hit the botoican on the shoulders, melting its human body away. The weight of the glowing red-hot liquid brought the ghaist down, and the molten cast iron swept it under—submerging even the copper helmet.
Out of here, now! Tungdil made a mighty leap from the high platform edge and landed on the terrace above it. He struggled to his feet. Ignoring the throng of perplexed beasts, he forced his way through and climbed the nearest ladder. He knew what was about to happen and he did not want to get caught up in it.
The monsters started to shift themselves. The expressions on their faces told him they did not know where they were or why they were there. The hypnosis spell is fading. Tungdil hurried on without looking back. That means …
The first explosion reverberated. After this incredible noise, the pressure wave swept along, followed by enormous heat and utter destruction. The terrified screeches of the dragon-worm were swallowed up in the general shouts of horror coming from beasts and humans on the ramps and terraces.
A searing hot wind blew past Tungdil, forcing him from the ladder and sending him hurtling further up the side of the quarry. The terraces flew by and he landed just below the top with a thump. The impact could have been greater but he landed in a heap of beasts. Instead of getting to his feet, he rolled himself into a ball and took shelter amongst them, covering his head with his hands. It’s not finished yet. The detonation had left his ears ringing.