The Triumph of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  “I am safe here. No one can hurt me,” she blurted out. “It must not happen again. All that suffering and then running away, my family all dead …” Sha’taï sobbed. “But I’m really looking after Girdlegard,” she sniffed. “Have you noticed how well everyone is looking? And everybody gets on famously. They’re all friends and there’s no suspicion or feuding any more. All the kingdoms are full of harmony.”

  “And it’s harmony that you have brought about.” Tungdil kept his hand raised. This is true. The peace is down to her. “I would let you live however you wish, if I knew you would never commit any evil deeds.”

  “Me?” Sha’taï’s eyes were red with crying. “I had to go through so much. Why would I want to do evil?”

  I’ve got through to her. “I swear by Vraccas that we shall look after you,” he said firmly. “But I must ask you this: please take your spell off my friends and all the humans and elves whose minds you have manipulated.”

  Mallenia strode forward and thrust the tip of her sword at his throat. “One false move and you die.”

  Sha’taï pushed past the queen and touched Tungdil’s outstretched index finger. The result was no more than a tickling sensation in his hand. She was startled at first, but it was followed quickly by disbelief and then curiosity. “It’s true,” she said in surprise. “I can’t make you do what I want. I suspected it, but I wasn’t sure until now.”

  “No dwarf ever obeys a botoican.” Tungdil was hoping he had got through to her. She only needs to understand we are her best hope of protection.

  Sha’taï returned to her seat at the table. Her eyes narrowed as she spoke. “That means the dwarves are my enemies.”

  He had not expected this turn of events. “No, we are not.” Tungdil was upset. I don’t want to have to kill her.

  “If I can’t control you, how would I deal with you? You’ll travel around making trouble and spreading lies about me. There’ll be disagreements, fighting, and good soldiers will die that I need to protect me. To protect me!” she repeated, accusingly. “You must all die or leave Girdlegard for ever and find yourselves somewhere else to live. There are mountains in other regions.”

  Mallenia’s sharp sword tip was still at his throat. “That would be a possibility,” Tungdil said, pretending to consider the suggestion.

  Ocâstia suddenly appeared on the scene and vaulted feet-first, kicking Mallenia and knocking her flying to the other side of the room where the queen crashed into a set of shelves that fell on her. Executing a forward roll, the elf-woman pulled Rodario’s feet out from under him so that she could get close to Sha’taï. She whipped her drawn dagger towards the young woman.

  “Don’t!” Tungdil prepared to leap to the botoican girl’s defence. If only I had more time to talk to her. “Let her live!”

  A magical protective sphere formed around Sha’taï—but it did not include Coïra, who had cast the spell. The dagger’s path was deflected by the aura and plunged straight into the maga’s breast, piercing through the blue robe. Coïra collapsed with a groan and her spell immediately lost its potency.

  What a tragedy! Tungdil knocked into Ocâstia and brought her down. They both fell to the floor behind Sha’taï. Sha’taï screamed and touched Ocâstia on the leg.

  The elf-woman immediately fell under the young botoican’s spell. She turned on Tungdil, stabbing at him. He was able to dodge the blow before drawing his own weapon, the blade of acronta origin.

  “You have killed the maga!” Sha’taï shrieked in horror.

  “It was your power that started this all,” Tungdil called out, holding off the elf-attacker. “See sense, child! No one wants to harm you.”

  “I never wanted her hurt.” Sha’taï knelt down at Coïra’s side, trying to close the wound and stop the bleeding.

  Tungdil had seen the injury. It went straight through her heart. There’s no saving her. He overcame his shock. There was a further catastrophe that had to be prevented. “See what your powers can do. Set my friends free and release Girdlegard.”

  “I didn’t kill her.” White-faced, Sha’taï stared at her bloodied fingers and at the red blotches forming on her light-coloured dress. “It was her own sphere. It deflected the knife tip.”

  “Nothing will happen to you.” Tungdil saw Mallenia getting up. Rodario was already on his feet. Both of them were armed.

  “That would never have happened if you hadn’t charged in here, dwarf! You and that elf-woman,” Sha’taï shouted. “The dwarves must clear out of Girdlegard and then everything will come right. It will be peaceful.” She stood up. “One more death and then it’s enough.”

  Ocâstia raised her daggers and approached Tungdil, who found himself confronting three experienced warriors.

  “Then what must be must be,” he murmured. And I was all set to spare your life.

  His attention turned to the adversaries he would have to overcome without killing them. Mallenia’s long blade came near and Tungdil parried with the acronta dagger, then he ducked under Rodario’s attack and leaped to one side. He did not wish to get stuck in the middle of this affray.

  The blonde Ido queen struck again diagonally, wielding her blade with both hands. Tungdil had seen this coming and got ready to receive a mighty blow that would land heavily on hands and shoulders. But Ocâstia’s daggers came between them and diverted the queen’s murderous thrust—sending it directly in to Rodario’s side. The king fell with a cry.

  “I thought I’d make the fight a little more balanced. A nice duel was what I fancied.” The elf-woman laughed, stabbing at Mallenia, aiming at the vulnerable spot under her arm and kicking her so she fell on top of the actor. Their red blood combined in pools on the floorboards. “There you are: the lovers are lying in their own blood, united in death.”

  Sha’taï screamed again. “What do you think you are doing? It’s the dwarf you’re supposed to be killing! The dwarf! Not the others!”

  Tungdil held his knife in front of him and watched Ocâstia’s blank features. An even duel. Warrior versus warrior. Elves’ code of honour? “I’ll kill him for you.” Ocâstia put one of her daggers away and picked up Mallenia’s sword, trying it for weight. “But then you’ll owe me.” In the next heartbeat her expression had changed. It was no longer distant. Her face bore a cold smile. Her eyes were free of any veil. “My mind is not so weak as theirs. Your power is not as great as you imagine, botoican child.” Without warning, she hurled the dagger and hit the young woman on the temple with the handle. Sha’taï fell down behind the table. “When you wake up again, we’ll have a chat about how you’re going to make me ruler of the whole of Girdlegard. Three thrones are now vacant.”

  Tungdil launched his attack, crying, “Traitor!”

  Ocâstia parried the blow with a disdainful laugh. “I am no traitor. There is nothing wrong with staying true to oneself.”

  There followed an exchange of blows. Tungdil was inexperienced with this particular weapon and struggled to defeat Ocâstia. Didn’t one of the captains have an axe hanging at his belt? The men in question lay near the doorway with their throats cut. Imperceptibly Tungdil directed the fight towards the corpses and dropped down.

  Ocâstia mocked him. “And you’re Girdlegard’s famous hero?” She looked down. “You’ve not inflicted a single scratch. This was as easy as killing Gosalyn.” She stopped to listen to something—the chains were starting to move in the lift shaft. “Before the next uninvited guest turns up, I want to finish this. And then I’ll find out how Girdlegard’s throne suits me.”

  Gosalyn is dead? Tungdil wrenched the captain’s axe from his belt and tossed the acronta dagger aside, getting swiftly to his feet. “That won’t be happening. I had hoped the new elves would know how to abide by their own laws, but you seem to be the exception.”

  Ocâstia spied the axe. “Feel more at home with the axe, do you?”

  “Let me show you.” Tungdil attacked abruptly, immediately noticing how much better this weapon lay in his hand. Ocâstia
was scornful, but after the dwarf had attacked her three or four times, she fell silent and started to fight for breath. Tungdil knew exactly what he was doing and anticipated every trick she attempted. His time in Phondrasôn had served him well in that respect.

  When the lift arrived it held Beligata. Seeing the fight, she brought the platform to a halt. Tungdil was able to take advantage of his opponent’s slight hesitation: he feigned a high strike, but then ducked down and aimed for her ankles. Ocâstia jumped up and the axe swept harmlessly under her feet. I’ll get you. Tungdil tucked his helmeted head between his shoulders and butted the elf-woman in the belly. She sailed through the air, the impact hurtling her backwards.

  The dwarf pursued her and used his heavy weapon to attack her from above. The blade missed the tip of her nose, but cleft the chin and sliced her breast to the navel. “That’s for your treachery and the murders you committed!” Ocâstia staggered back against a wooden chest, enveloped in a cloud of blood. Her guts spilled out and splashed onto the floor. She dropped Mallenia’s sword with a clang and her eyes misted over.

  “Look to the wounded!” Tungdil commanded Beligata. “The king and queen must be saved.” He hurried over to where Sha’taï lay unconscious. “What happened to Gosalyn?”

  “She fell to her death.” Beligata answered from across the room. “I saw her body on a rooftop.” Ocâstia arranged for her to fall. Beligata was unaware that she would have shared the same fate, had the opportunity arisen.

  The dwarf stood over the young girl, who was curled into the foetal position. There was a cut on her temple but her breathing showed she was still alive. Her eyes were open but vacant. She was in a state of deep shock. Ocâstia’s dagger lay temptingly close. It would be so easy. There would be no more subjugation of people’s minds and no more devious creatures like the elf-woman desperate to get their greedy hands on the child’s power in order to take over Girdlegard.

  Tungdil gritted his teeth. Vraccas, no. There must be some other way. He gently rolled Sha’taï onto her back. She’s a confused child, she’s not evil incarnate. She can be made to see reason. Her gifts may prove useful, to preserve peace in the homeland, come what may.

  He noticed she had a splinter of glass in her right eye. It had not pierced the eyeball but had entered her skull through her eye socket. She was breathing steadily. Her gaze was fixed on the dwarf but her eyes were blank. There was no sign she recognised him.

  Unconscious and with open eyes. How long her condition might persist, the healers would have to deliberate on. But could it be that … He hurried to the window to look out.

  He was overjoyed to see the first unusual troop movements in the army at the foot of the tower: there were shouts and gestures as the soldiers questioned what was happening. It was as though they had just woken up; confusion reigned. The dwarf forces had withdrawn to a nearby hill, readying themselves to feign a further attack.

  I’ve got to stop them. He glanced quickly at Sha’taï, at the dead Coïra and at the injured humans who were being treated by Beligata. Her expression indicated Mallenia and Rodario were in a bad way.

  The living have priority. “I shall end the fighting,” he called to Beligata. He limped over to the murdered captain to take the bugle at the man’s belt, before hobbling to the lift.

  On the way down, he was a jumble of emotions. Gosalyn, too, was the victim of a delusional, power-crazed elf. Grief, anger and relief—he could only give way to these feelings once the violence outside had ceased.

  It occurred to him that he had guessed wrong. The tower itself was not held together merely by Coïra’s spell. It will be the power from the magic source. Tungdil sent a prayer to Vraccas. May the walls hold. If it collapsed everyone in the vicinity would die.

  “Wait!” The platform had reached ground level and Tungdil hurried towards the exit. He kicked the door open. “Hold back on the attack!”

  He put the horn to his lips.

  Girdlegard

  United Kingdom of Gauragar-Idoslane

  Idoslane

  6497th solar cycle, late autumn

  “I hereby relinquish the title of emperor.” Rodario announced his abdication with all due ceremony in the presence of the dwarf kings, the human monarchs and the Naishïon, who had insisted on being present. The actor had retained his penchant for ostentatious clothing. Too loud. Too showy. “I did not attain the imperial crown through rightful means. I shall in future limit myself to Urgon’s throne.”

  They were gathered in the glass-walled hall in Coïra’s tower. Girdlegard was visible on all sides.

  I don’t think that is a wise move. Tungdil looked over at Boïndil before speaking. “With respect, sire. Please remain emperor until the human kingdoms have recovered. You would be able to provide the necessary stability and support until such time as they feel able to elect one of their own. A replacement is also needed for the maga. Under your safe leadership, they will feel able to begin their search.”

  Mallenia tapped the table to indicate her support. Her left arm was in a sling. According to the healers’ prognosis, she would never regain its use. Ocâstia’s blade had severed tendons and nothing could be done, not without magic. And that was the trouble—with the last maga gone, there was no one who could do it. This meeting was the first time the Idoslane queen had left her bed, having nearly died from extreme blood loss.

  Tungdil saw from her face how near she had been to death. She had lost her normal wild and warlike posturing and had become much more thoughtful. The realisation that she had long been little more than a puppet had taken its toll. The assertive and confident ruler of the past would never have dreamt that possible.

  Rodario, on the other hand, had retained his accustomed manner. The theatrical vein, as he termed it, was still fully functional, even though it, too, had bled inordinately. He had lost two ribs to the sword and his breathing was audibly impaired. “Oh, you want me to mount the throne again?” He grinned. “Not bad at all. And without external assistance. I shall show myself worthy of it.”

  “Let us hope for some peace and quiet,” murmured Isikor.

  “There has never been unrest. Apart from the army summoned by Sha’taï, Girdlegard was getting along fine. Everyone was content.” This objection came from Dirisa. “Even in my country there was peace, once the succession was sorted.”

  “The emperor will ensure that peace continues,” said Mallenia. “I would offer the gods my leg as well if it meant another couple of decades free of the need to wage war.”

  “How about for ever?” asked Balyndar. “The strongholds are as good as empty. The dwarf folk will need time to build up strength and bring new life to the mountains. There are”—and his voice broke—“many losses to mourn.”

  Tungdil watched his son. They would be travelling to the Grey Mountains together.

  No one guessed that there were other ways of opening the portal. Everyone believed Balyndis had entrusted the formula to him as she lay dying. She did not. Instead, she gave me her curse. What he would do when the Fifthlings asked him for the gate-code, he had yet to decide.

  Ataimînas got to his feet. Dressed in robes of silver and gold silk, outdoing Rodario in elegance and taste, he said, “I feel the need to speak. As Naishïon, and also as the commanding officer of the deceitful elf-woman who committed such heinous treason at a time when cooperation was more vital than ever.” He directed his speech to Mallenia and Rodario. “We elves can only beg your forgiveness. Whether you are willing to pardon us is up to you. We pray to Sitalia that none of us will ever be tricked in that way again.”

  Ataimînas turned to Tungdil and took out a ring. “This is my gift to you. It bears the Naishïon seal. Show it whenever you need an elf to do something and he will obey instantly. No matter what it is you demand. You might be asking for a drink of water or requiring him to go into battle at your side. Despite all the terrible things that have recently occurred, this orbit represents the triumph of the dwarves. You managed to save our home
land twice over. No one else could have done that.”

  The elves watched Tungdil slip the Naishïon’s gift on to the middle finger of his own left hand. A perfect fit. If they knew the things I got up to in Phondrasôn … “Watch it, Scholar,” mouthed Boïndil. “They’ll be appointing you High King whether you like it or not.”

  “Is there any news of the dead maga’s apprentices?” Tungdil asked quickly, wanting to get in before anyone started cheering. “Do we have famuli and famulae that could eventually take her place?”

  “We have two,” Boïndil replied. “Coïra sent them to me in the Blue Mountains, equipped with teaching volumes. They are there now, acquiring basic competence. They were supposed to report back to their maga when they were finished.”

  “But they mustn’t return to this tower. The source would not let them go,” Mallenia pointed out, “and we will need them mobile to defend us.”

  “There is a much less powerful source in the elf realm they can investigate, as well as the one in the Blue Mountains,” said Ataimînas. “I am happy to put ours at their disposal and we can give them accommodation. The learning they will have to do on their own, of course. We don’t have any sorcerers among us.”

  This offer was greeted with applause.

  “What about Sha’taï? Has she succumbed to her injuries?” Hargorin asked, his voice blatantly hopeful. “I know she is a young woman who only acted out of fear. But consider what a danger she represented for us all.”

  “She won’t be able to do anything like that ever again.” Tungdil had spoken to the expert healers before coming to the Assembly and spent time in the medical archives, studying similar cases concerning damage to the faculty of the mind. One learned paper in particular had impressed him: it dealt with calming measures suitable for sedating a patient in a troubled mental state. The procedure it described was effectively what had happened to Sha’taï. Many writers credited the älfar with inventing the procedure while others argued it had been developed following an accident involving a nail.