The Triumph of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  He walked up to the hill where Beligata, Gosalyn and Ocâstia were waiting. They were similarly dressed. The elf-woman had insisted on accompanying them. In her capacity as sorânïan she saw this as her duty. She was light on her feet and this might be an advantage if Samusin lost interest in their cause and stopped providing the necessary wind force.

  It’s a mad idea. But it’s the only one we’ve got. “We talk to Sha’taï first of all,” he reminded them. “We’ve got to persuade her that we mean her no harm. She’s to be promised safety. The enemy she so fears has been eliminated. Then we’ll see what happens next.”

  “What if she doesn’t let us talk to her?” Beligata had her short axes in her hands.

  “Then we do what the gods demand of us.” Ocâstia answered for Tungdil. She bent down and hooked the chain of her reins to the equipment lying tamely on the grass.

  “Different gods, different opinions,” said Gosalyn, copying her actions. “That’s what makes it exciting.”

  Tungdil and Beligata attached themselves likewise. Then he signalled down to the little valley and crawled underneath the construction made of wood, wire and canvas. He pushed himself forward to where he could grab the crossbar with both hands and stood erect, heaving the frame up to meet the wind. What’s this going to feel like? “Now!” he yelled.

  The crew yanked the ropes and the swirling up-wind gathered under the spanned fabric, filling the silken screen until it was taut. The kite rose up with Tungdil dangling underneath.

  His crew paid out the rope to keep the kite in the optimum air current so that it would gain height and carry him, they hoped, over to the tower. The same was happening for Beligata and Gosalyn by his side. Ocâstia, being lighter, was already high above them. Tungdil heard her shriek with delight.

  “It’s amazing,” she called down to them. “Flying! Like birds!”

  “We’re flying like kites,” Beligata corrected pedantically, but she had a broad grin on her face. The scar had not faded. “On strings.”

  “I’m praying to Samusin,” Gosalyn said, not enjoying the trip as much as the others. “Vraccas will forgive us. This is not his jurisdiction up here.”

  The earth fell away beneath their feet as the air pushed them up toward the layer of clouds.

  The harness reins allowed them to turn and investigate the best place for landing, while their speed and trajectory were controlled from below. They were totally dependent on the crew holding the strings, and also on Samusin’s grace. They hoped against hope that the wind the god was providing would not suddenly drop and send them plummeting to the ground. The kites had long tails that floated this way and that, stabilising their flight.

  They went ever higher as the cords were played out. Loops at the end of the strings allowed the crew to fasten on extension reels. Like a leaf in the wind. Or like a heavy sack filled with petroleum. Tungdil’s view of the sky was obscured by the spanned silk. But what he could see two hundred paces below was compensation enough. He had to force his attention back to the task at hand. The first few cloudlets sailed past him like curious onlookers, astonished to see a dwarf flying.

  Beneath them the dwarf force was making its first advance. The planned tactic was to storm at full speed and then turn suddenly to one side, doing no more than alerting the opposition to their presence.

  Tungdil knew his ground crews were observing them through telescopes and were awaiting his instructions. The cords were securely anchored to the ground under heavy stones to counteract the powerful drag on the ropes. He indicated he wanted to be brought closer to the building. He reached back and held tight to the crossbar to keep from rocking about.

  Beligata and Gosalyn were ten paces to his left and to his right respectively. Ocâstia was higher up.

  The grey and white clouds became denser and cloaked them from sight. The crews on the ground would not be able to pick them out clearly any more.

  The tower wall reared up in front of Tungdil’s eyes as the kite tail flapped at the stone. It’s not going to be easy. He could see neither windows nor balconies nor anything they could grab hold of. The kites did not allow much freedom of movement since they were tethered by the ropes.

  Tungdil approached the walls cautiously. The tail’s flapping affected his stability and the kite started to swirl about, losing the support of the column of air. The kite dropped. Nothing for it. Tungdil cut through the anchoring cord and the rope fell back down to the ground. He rose again.

  Before she knew it, Gosalyn had got caught up in swathes of damp, cold vapour.

  This is Samusin’s realm. She felt distinctly uneasy. She was familiar with not being able to see where she was, having being caught in mountain mist, but up there you merely had to wait until the clouds lifted or feel your way along the rock face. This time she was stuck two hundred paces above the ground and the wind was whistling slightly, filling the silk sheet. She could see nothing but the wet white softness of the cloud.

  She could not see Beligata or Tungdil. The octagonal tower could have been a trick of her imagination.

  What shall I do? Gosalyn thought about sending a message down to the ground crew: a piece of paper on a hook could be sent sliding down the cord. She wanted to be brought down until visibility improved, rather than be crushed against the walls or have the cords get tangled.

  A shadow shot down, colliding with her kite.

  I’ve been hit! Her contraption lost its equilibrium and started shaking uncontrollably. She watched in horror as the kite tail tore away and vanished in the fog.

  The shadow ceased its downward flight and floated up to her level. Ocâstia!

  “Turbulence, dammit,” explained the elf-woman, gripping the cross bar of her kite. She seemed quite adept at steering the contraption. “Samusin is not on our side, it seems.”

  “You’re right.” Gosalyn made an effort to suppress a cry of fear when her kite threatened to topple over. If that happened, it would be bound to fall. With me.

  Ocâstia realised what was happening. She stretched her arms out. “There’s no time for the ground crew to haul you back down. Hold tight to the bars and unhook yourself from the harness. I’ll bring my kite over towards you and when we’re close enough, you jump.”

  “Never!” Gosalyn was horrified. “If we miss …”

  “We won’t miss,” Ocâstia said firmly.

  A gust took the silk and pushed the kite up. Gosalyn’s faulty contraption creaked and shook and one of the bars cracked. Gosalyn felt sick with fear.

  “Now!” called Ocâstia, flying her own kite close. “Trust me!”

  Vraccas, you know I have never doubted you. Gosalyn held on to the wood with one hand while unhooking herself with the other.

  The gap between the two grew narrower.

  Gosalyn watched Ocâstia nod to her and stretch out her arms. She used the next contortion of the kite to gather her strength and then she let go. No longer floating on the air. Just dropping. Falling. The ground where dwarves really belonged was pulling her down like a stone dropping into water. All the previous sense of adventure and excitement was lost.

  I’ll never, ever do that again. Gosalyn heard herself scream. A new gust forced Ocâstia’s kite to the side. To her inordinate relief, Gosalyn felt the elf-woman’s fingertips touch her hands. Ocâstia was smiling down in encouragement.

  Tungdil’s kite tumbled, spun and scraped along the stones as he spiralled round the building.

  To his relief he saw a ledge, narrow though it was, just beneath him. Good! Without hesitation, he released himself from the flying contraption and grabbed the window ledge as he fell. He pulled himself inside, landing on a spiral staircase, while his kite careered into a corner, smashed and fell in pieces onto the town below. Samusin, that was not kind!

  The stone ledge had been decorated with coloured chalk. Someone without much of an artistic gift had tried to capture the view from this lofty window. That would probably be the work of Sha’taï. Tungdil scanned the sky. The othe
rs’ kites were in the clouds, invisible by now. He yelled out regardless: “I’m going up the stairs. Stay where you are as long as the wind allows it.”

  “Will do,” Beligata called back.

  As quickly as he could with his injured leg, he limped up the staircase, which was lit by glowing stones embedded in the walls. From time to time there were ventilation ducts like arrow slits. Panting, Tungdil kept going. He thought he had long passed the level the kites were floating at outside, but there was nowhere they could make a landing. I struck lucky, coming across that window ledge.

  He did not believe that Coïra and Sha’taï spent their days tackling this incredible number of steps. The staircase was wide but with the tower’s diameter at a hundred paces, there was plenty of room in the middle for a lift.

  He noticed a double set of shutters the height of a grown man in the outer wall. He opened them. They led onto a balcony where a table and chair stood. A pile of papers weighed down with a stone was next to an inkwell and a glass writing implement. Was someone about to return to the desk? The balcony gave on to a view to the south. Tungdil was above the cloud level and blinked in the bright autumn sunlight.

  A shadow flitted past, then a tall, delicate figure leaped on to the balcony, bending its knees to land elegantly.

  “That was a near thing.” Ocâstia stood tall and looked over her shoulder. “The kite was useless when the wind changed direction.”

  Tungdil was overcome with concern. “Beligata and Gosalyn?”

  “The ground crews got them down safely.” She nodded to him and wiped the tears from her eyes. “It is so cold out there when you drop. I thought my eyeballs would freeze.”

  “So it’s up to the two of us.” He gestured for her to join him. Sitalia and Vraccas. “An elf-woman and a dwarf will save Girdlegard.”

  Ocâstia nodded and grasped his arm as he was about to pound up the next flight of steps. “Wait! Who says they’re up there?”

  “The girl will want to get as far away as possible from those that can harm her.” Tungdil was doing a good job of convincing himself. “She’ll feel safer up high.”

  “But if she goes down, she’s nearer the troops and can manipulate them. And we’ve got no idea how tall this tower is; we could be climbing for orbits. The battle might be over and we’re gasping for breath without knowing if we’re anywhere near the top.” Ocâstia pointed to the steps going down. “I wonder which one of us is right?”

  We can’t waste time doing unnecessary climbing. “Do you think we should separate?”

  “It would be better.” Ocâstia lifted her left hand. “If I find them first, I swear I won’t kill Coïra or her protegée unnecessarily.”

  “I’m more worried about the influence Sha’taï may have on you. What use is it to us if you find her but in the blink of an eye you’re her devoted slave?” Tungdil cursed the fraught situation. “We stay together.”

  “Then it’s down, rather than up,” Ocâstia demanded. “As soon as the wind turns, Beligata and Gosalyn will make another attempt with the kites.”

  They went down the steps together, Tungdil taking things slowly because of his injured leg. They reached the painted window ledge and went past the ventilation ducts, but saw no kite strings leading up to the clouds. The wind had not turned favourable yet. Samusin had only shown them his grace for a very limited time.

  The steps went on and on. The air changed. Tungdil could smell food being prepared.

  “Looks like we made the right choice,” Ocâstia whispered.

  Ocâstia and Tungdil came across a locked door that they managed to heave off its hinges. It gave onto a large room that served as a storage chamber and passageway. There were pieces of furniture, lamps and torch holders, tables piled on top of each other, and mirrors—items that had presumably fallen out of favour with Coïra and Sha’taï. And yet more stairs.

  Then they saw grating surrounding a shaft of some sort, and behind it two slender chains. It could be entered via a door.

  “That will be the lift,” said Ocâstia quietly. “We should use it to go down. It will be easier than using the steps. We would have surprise on our side.”

  “Good idea.” Tungdil opened the arched door and looked up and then down. No platform. He took off his helmet, fastened it to his belt, then grasped the chain and slid down. Ocâstia followed his lead.

  Their progress was faster now. And quieter. On other levels, the tube apparatus was closed in with movable parchment segments. This lent privacy for the rooms the lift passed; they could only be seen vaguely. Tungdil and Ocâstia slid past bedrooms, libraries, guardrooms, dressing rooms, fencing practice halls, eating areas and kitchens. They decided to come back later to investigate.

  They saw nobody, only a few cats lounging on furniture or sitting on shelves.

  “They must be at the top of the tower after all,” Tungdil muttered as they continued without success. He was angry. I should have followed my instincts. Then Ocâstia motioned him to silence and he heard it, too: from the room they were now approaching there came a heated exchange.

  Tungdil recognised the voices of Mallenia, Rodario, and Coïra and also a childish treble. Excellent. We’re getting warm. But if they were spotted in the lift shaft, the alarm would be sounded. Slowly does it. Tungdil came to a stop, and holding on to the chain with his feet, he turned upside down. Hanging there he could spy into the room. He ignored the pain from the fresh wounds he had on hand and feet; they were throbbing badly.

  There was a large cupboard placed against the caged lift shaft, hiding him but allowing him to see through a gap. Two men in armour emblazoned with the insignia of Urgon and Idoslane stood at a map table arguing about battle tactics. He saw the pointer one of them was employing was in fact a crossbow bolt—with a padded end.

  “… understand why they’d be attacking with dummy weapons. Wooden arrows? Is it some kind of game?”

  “I think the dwarves are reluctant to hurt any of us.” This was from Rodario, seen twirling his moustache. As usual he was in flamboyant attire and had not been ashamed to put on a feather ruff. “But if they’ve set their sights on Sha’taï and they’ve been sent by the botoican, I can’t see the reasoning.”

  Mallenia was wearing armour over a dark blue robe, her black hair pinned up under her helmet. She was staring at the map, her arm around the waist of a young woman Tungdil finally recognised as Sha’taï.

  So they’re trying to work out our motives? Then maybe they will listen if we try to explain. Signalling to the elf-woman to follow him, he reversed direction, opened the door carefully and stepped inside, keeping behind the wardrobe, which thankfully did not creak. He put his helmet back on.

  “The botoican needs you alive for his army.” Sha’taï spoke forcefully. “You’re no use to him as casualties.”

  “But his dwarves may lose the battle. It’s risky for him. My soldiers are fully armed and their arrows are steel-tipped.” This was the Idoslane captain. “Why didn’t he send out some expendable orcs?”

  “You don’t know how devious and cunning he is,” howled Sha’taï. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. And so do I. You need to kill the dwarves before they defeat us. Get the troops out on the attack immediately. Believe me, I’m really sorry that we have to destroy them. You have to understand.”

  “Of course, dear. We were just taken aback by the fact they’re using dummy weapons,” said Mallenia softly. “But now you’ve explained. Thank you.”

  She didn’t explain anything. She just manipulated you. Tungdil was relieved that the girl’s powers did not seem to measure up to the botoican’s in any way. Sha’taï had to work with trickery and deceit. She exerted her charm over people to get them to carry out her plans while convincing them they had come to their own decisions. She is a far cry from being able to subjugate a goldfireworm. Thank the gods. “We have to intervene,” Ocâstia whispered. She indicated the captains. “I’ll take those two. We can’t let them issue the command to attack or the
gates in the mountains will have nobody manning them.” Pulling out her short axes with their original sharp blades, she saw Tungdil’s hesitation. “I know. I’ll do my best not to kill them. Then I’ll come over and help you.” She moved stealthily round the side of the room to where the military men were.

  And me? Tungdil hesitated. Then he stepped out into full view.

  “There!” Sha’taï shrieked, clung to Mallenia and grabbed Coïra’s hand. This made it easier for her to influence the two women directly.

  “Tungdil?” Rodario was amazed. “I shan’t ask how you got in. What could you be wanting, I wonder?” He pretended to stare at the ceiling as if thinking hard. “Let me guess: you’d like to negotiate on behalf of the botoican?”

  Ignoring him and the two women, Tungdil addressed Sha’taï. “Listen to me. We have killed the ghaist. He was the botoican himself. He can’t hurt you anymore. You are safe here with us in Girdlegard.”

  “He’s got you under his spell,” said the young woman fearfully. “No one can withstand his power.”

  Mallenia drew her weapon. Coïra kept her eyes on the dwarf and Rodario placed his hand on the hilt of his ornamental sword. Their faces went blank and the expression in their eyes changed.

  She is afraid of me. “No, that is not true. Vraccas created us so stubborn that we are strong enough to resist him. We can stand up to you, as well. You can’t influence our will. Our friends at the gates downstairs are only making sham attacks. We don’t want to kill or even harm anyone at all. All we wanted was to reach you and beg you to stop using your power to harm Girdlegard.” He raised his arm slowly and stretched his empty hand out to her. “If you touch my hand and try to influence my mind, you will fail. This should be enough to convince you of the truth of what I have been telling you.”

  Sha’taï shook her head, her dark blonde hair flying. “I don’t trust you. I trust only those in my control.”

  “Then is your future life to be spent in a permanent state of fear, sharing this tower with Coïra and an army at your gates?” Tungdil sent her a friendly smile. “That’s no life, is it?”