The Revenge of the Dwarves d-3

by Markus Heitz

  “What are you staring at me for?”

  The unfriendly question dragged Rodario out of his reverie. “Forgive me. I was lost in thought.” He smiled. Maybe this man could tell him more about the mysterious island. “I was wondering if you had any ideas as to what caused the giant wave? Last night I…”

  The sailor put down his needle and stared at him. “Are you mad?” He spat over the side of the boat and called Elria’s name quickly, three times. “You’ll call up Nightmare Island and kill us all.”

  Rodario was astonished to find a grown man so in thrall to a myth. “So it’s true?”

  “As true as the sun overhead,” the sailor spoke quietly in reply, his eyes on the waters that shone mirror-like in the light. “Keep quiet about it, right?”

  Rodario did not think for a moment of keeping quiet. An idea occurred. “I’ve got to know whether anyone has ever stepped onto the island and survived.”

  The sailor grabbed him by the collar and shook him hard. “If you don’t stop at once…”

  The lake began to seethe around them. Bubbles rose to the surface and a bestial stink reached their noses, making Rodario cough and retch.

  A bell clanged on deck, the crew scuttled to and fro to hoist full rig. They had to get out of the danger zone as fast as possible.

  “You damned idiot,” screamed the sailor, hitting Rodario on the chin. “It’s your fault!” He clambered up, dragging the actor to his feet. “He did it!” he yelled, drawing back his arm to hit out again. “He talked it up!”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Rodario, ducking the next blow and tripping over a folded sail; he stumbled against the railing and lost his balance.

  Instead of helping him the sailor gave him a shove backwards, overboard. “Take him, Elria! Take him, you alfar!” he shouted after him. “Spare us. Only spare us!”

  Rodario was submerged anew in Weyurn’s predominating element. The water was as cold as ever; he swallowed mouthfuls that this time tasted unpalatably bitter and smelt strongly of sulphur. Bubbles of varying shapes and sized floated up past him. Some were filled with greenish gas, some were bluish or yellow. Refracted sunlight piercing the water gave them a strange beauty and diverted attention from the peril they implied.

  He bobbed round the gas bubbles and struggled back up to the surface. Spluttering, he gasped for air, but the fumes made him choke. Bursting bubbles made the lake look as if it were boiling, though luckily for him this was not the case.

  The boat slipped past him; he had no chance of catching up. “You can’t do that!” he called out in horror. “I’m really not a good swimmer! Help me back on board!”

  At that moment a rocky formation broke through the frothing surface and continued to rise inexorably, sharp rock following rock, as the waters heaved and sloshed.

  The higher the rocks grew the broader they became until they had formed a massive unscaleable cliff. Water poured back off in great torrents.

  The lapping of small waves had turned into the heaving mass of great rollers that rose and fell in a terrifying fashion.

  The sloop provided a welcome victim. She spun round and round as her planks creaked and loosened, some falling on deck and some in the lake. She lost her mast, then listed badly to one side.

  The mountain continued to rise from the depths, exuding hissing clouds of air and gas through cracks and crannies in the rock.

  Rodario grabbed one of the wooden beams that had crashed down into the water from the stricken vessel; then, holding fast with all his might, he gave his attention once more to the horrifying spectacle before him. The sloop collided with the cliff face, shattering as the sharp rocks sliced through her wooden hull, splintering the planks. Her sails and rigging caught fast and were heaved upwards as the island rose. The boat broke up and her crew fell or jumped overboard.

  The mountain was still surging up out of the water. Rodario reckoned its peak was about two hundred paces high, and still it was rising.

  With a final horrific gurgle the process finished. Lake water cascaded off the rock, streaming and splattering down, with the sunlight setting magnificent rainbows in the spray. The sight was unforgettable.

  “Ormardin was not making it up,” he whispered in awe, staring at the impossible cliffs towering in front of him. “Nightmare Island really does exist.” The island by now must have been about one hundred paces wide and four hundred high. It consisted of dark blue, nearly black stone glittering with minerals. It seemed to resemble a piece of the night sky that had broken off and fallen to earth.

  A petrified sheet of cooled lava had formed a flat beach on the side of the island nearest to him. Tall, thin figures emerged from caves, to launch boats. The alfar were about to bring in their harvest.

  Rodario concealed himself under a floating scrap of canvas. The current was bringing him closer inland than he wanted to be. It was not his intention to explore the island, but Samusin seemed to like the idea of feeding him to the alfar.

  Peering out from under the canvas he observed how the alfar went about picking up the dead and any survivors clinging to the pieces of the wrecked vessel. The injured they left. They only wanted the dead or the whole.

  It reminded Rodario of a seal hunt he had once watched. As soon as one of the sailors surfaced to grab some air and they sensed he was injured, the iron point of a spear or whirr of an arrow brought instant death.

  The alfar took their time and went about their task assiduously. The rowed past Rodario’s hiding place, piercing it several times with their spears without touching him. The random piece of canvas was then ignored as it drifted nearer the shore.

  A gong sounded and the boats returned to the shore. The alfar pulled them up to the caves and the island emitted more clouds of stinking gas. Then the shoreline dipped under the surface and the island started to dive.

  “Ye gods, protect me,” prayed Rodario fervently, before emerging from his hiding place, struggling out of the water and running for the dark entrance into which the alfar had just disappeared.

  Girdlegard,

  Kingdom of Idoslane,

  One-time Orc Realm of Toboribor,

  Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

  T he spear-leader Hakulana observed the sparsely vegetated hillside in the midst of Idoslane’s green landscape. It marked one of the many entrances to Toboribor’s underground caves. She recognized the ruins of the old orc fortifications standing like ancient gravestones uneven against the sky.

  “It looks quiet,” she said to her companion Torant, an aspiring young equerry who rode at her side. She liked his calm nature and the care he took over any task assigned to him. “Did you find any tracks?”

  “No, spear-leader. Nothing.”

  Hakulana watched the sky, where a summer storm was brewing. Dark clouds were gathering in front of the blue; her lance-pennant fluttered in the growing breeze.

  Together with the twenty mounted scouts she led, they were now half a mile from the area to be traversed to reach the realm of the orc prince once known as Ushnotz.

  Hakulana was too young to be able to remember the monster, but some of the veterans in Prince Mallen’s army told tales of the creature and its voracious cruelty. It had attempted to move north to found a new kingdom after the lost battle of the Blacksaddle. It was thanks to the dwarves that this terrible plan had been thwarted.

  Torant glanced up at the movement of the clouds. “Should we put up the tents, spear-leader?”

  Hakulana shook her head. “No.” She pointed to the hill with the tip of her lance. “We’ll camp over there at the cave entrance; that will save us the trouble.”

  “As you command, spear-leader.” Torant called out the order and the troop of riders made off at a smart pace.

  Hakulana followed them at a slight distance, never taking her eyes off the hill whose defenses had been demolished by Prince Mallen’s soldiers shortly after the battle of the Blacksaddle. There was no sign now of the orcs’ reign or the ugly constructions of rough-hew
n stone blocks that they’d forced their human serfs to build for them.

  She was here with her scouts to make sure that it stayed that way. The slightest hint of any orc activity in the area they would report immediately and the army would march in. She had a feeling that there was something hiding in that hill.

  As the first raindrops started to fall they rode through the broken walls, past the ruined gates, and into the darkness of the cave.

  Her people, including the women, lit torches and set up camp. Each had a specific task to carry out, be it caring for the horses, preparing a meal or keeping guard.

  “Spear-leader,” Torant’s voice echoed through the cave. “I found orc bones at the back there.” He handed her an orc thigh bone. “It’s not been there more than one cycle.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Hakulana got out of the saddle and looked over at the cave mouth. The clouds were racing past low over the landscape, bellies against the hillsides; vast amounts of water cascaded down in front of the entrance in great streams, splattering onto the ground and carrying off the loose earth.

  “Absolutely sure. There are lots of them.”

  A first lightning bolt hit the hill opposite; almost immediately the rolling peal of thunder sounded. The horses whinnied in fear. Hakulana heard their panicky steps as they pawed the ground.

  “So we’ve got proof. I’d rather we hadn’t.” She turned to her troop. “It’s a good thing we didn’t put the tents up,” she said to Torant. “Go and help the others calm the horses down, or they’ll break away and trample everything. I’ll go and inspect the place straightaway.”

  But then, in the dazzle of a second lightning bolt she saw the monster approaching the camp. Fleeting though the glimpse was, Hakulana was able to take in every terrible detail of its appearance.

  It was huge, at least three and a half paces high and extremely broad. On its head a solid tionium helmet in the shape of a skull bore polished silver insignia arranged to increase the intimidating impression. The helmet had an opening for the mouth. The creature’s lips had been removed so its fangs and incisors were visible in a permanent grin. The helmet itself had long spikes bolting metal and skull together.

  Hakulana drew back and in her fear did not even realize she had left her shelter and was being soaked to the skin by the downpour. She could neither speak nor tear her eyes away.

  The creature’s body was covered with scale-like plates of tionium, nailed or wired through its flesh. The forearms had been removed between elbow and wrist and replaced by a metal pole that enclosed a core of shimmering glass. The hands were in the right place and wielded two axes decorated with runes.

  Another thunderclap sounded and the creature disappeared back into the dark, except for its huge eyes which had been lit up dark green. But for those, Hakaluna might have thought she had imagined it all.

  “Palandiell, be with us,” she mouthed, slowly regaining the power of movement. “Retreat!” she screamed, drawing her sword, “Everyone out of the cave, now!”

  At once all the torches went out.

  The unexpected pitch blackness, together with their leader’s surprise command, resulted in total confusion. The horses were terrified by now and pulled themselves free, racing out past Hakulana to her right and left.

  Immediately there came the sound of dull impacts and tearing metal, and the ugly noise of twisting limbs and breaking bones. A shrill cry, hardly to be recognized as issuing from a grown man, indicated the first death amongst the soldier-scouts.

  But for Hakulana this was only the beginning.

  The lightning bolts came thick and fast as the thunderstorm reached its peak, allowing her a clear view of the ghastly events in the cave. It was a vision of horrific brutality. The monster was hacking men to pieces with its axes; then it bit through the neck of one of her young lieutenants and crushed another man’s skull with a blow from its foot. The resulting noise made Hakulana gag.

  Her legs refused to let her re-enter the cave, however her brain might command it, to stand by her troops. She remained in the rain, shaking all over, and watched her people die.

  A shadow raced up to her out of the blackness. With a scream she stepped aside and dealt a wild blow. Too late she saw her mistake. She had slain Torant.

  A deep slash in his throat, he fell at her feet in the mud. He turned his unbelieving gaze to his leader as he breathed his last.

  “No,” she whispered, taking two strides backwards, away from the accursed caves which housed evil. The dying breaths of the young man would haunt her for the rest of her days.

  Two more soldiers stumbled out into the air; one was missing an arm and his comrade was bleeding profusely from a wound on the chest, though it looked possible he could survive it.

  Now at last Hakulana shook off the paralyzing fear. She supported the less severely wounded man and left the amputee to his fate. The loss of blood would do for him and nothing could alter that.

  “We must get away from here!” she shouted above the noise of the storm. “We have to report to the prince. There’s nothing we can do against the monster.”

  “What was that thing?” whimpered the man, his legs collapsing under him.

  She grabbed him under the arm and dragged him back down the hillside to where some of their horses still stood, having found shelter under a tree. “A new misbegotten monster of Tion’s.” She gasped. The man was heavy and she was bearing most of his weight and that of his armor.

  Something hit him on the chest. Hakulana felt the force of the blow. At once he went limp. She stared at the long black shaft of an alfar arrow sticking out of his body.

  When she looked up she saw the monster at the entrance to the cave. Right next to it there was a tall slim figure wearing fantastical black tionium armor in the style favored by the alfar. The head was concealed behind an elaborate helmet; two swords hung from its belt. It seemed almost like a monument, erected to remind people of the danger presented by the cruel race from Dson Balsur.

  The figure notched a second arrow to its curved bow and aimed straight at Hakulana.

  Dropping the corpse in her arms, the girl vaulted swiftly to one side, but felt a burning sensation in her left shoulder. She had been hit.

  With a curse she broke the arrow’s shaft, leaving the tip embedded in her arm for now. Keeping in the shelter of the ruins and rubble, she slid down to the nervous horses and tried to mount one.

  Just as she managed to grab the mane to swing herself up onto its saddleless back, it collapsed in a heap, struck in the right eye by an arrow.

  Showing great presence of mind, she quickly transferred herself to the next animal, clambering on it just before it raced off in terror. The next missile missed her by the breadth of a hand, but buried itself in the horse’s neck, spurring it to double its speed.

  Lightning struck all around. The troop leader had never experienced a worse storm. But in spite of the thunder she could hear something else. Rhythmical pounding. She looked back over her shoulder.

  The monster was pursuing her! Pursuing her with huge strides and in all its terrifying ugliness, its lipless mouth gaping wide, and issuing loud snorts. Its boots left dents in the soft earth, from which water spurted up as it bounded along.

  “Faster, faster,” she urged her horse, forcing the arrow deeper into its flesh to spur it on.

  The monster took aim with one of its axes and was about to hurl it at the fleeing girl when Hakulana received truly divine help.

  The next lightning bolt shot down from the black clouds to meet the tip of the raised ax blade. All the rune signs on the armor and weapons flashed bright green. The eyes, too, behind the helmet mask, sent out a light brighter than that of any lantern.

  The power of the lightning was too much even for a creature of Tion’s. It crashed down at speed, dropping its weapons, to lie motionless on the ground, steam rising from it.

  Hakulana did not fall into the error of stopping. She rode on through the storm to find the nearest garr
ison. If she did not reach the safety of its walls alive there would be no one to carry the news to Girdlegard of the unslayable she had seen.

  IX

  Girdlegard,

  Queendom of Weyurn,

  Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

  Rodario ran for all he was worth. The cave was long and narrow, and at the far end a path led steeply upwards to an iron gateway. The water was already lapping round his ankles, so he raced to reach the opening.

  Realizing it was unlikely to open for him he rushed past and tried to find somewhere further up where he might get inside the mountain without being seen.

  As the water mounted so did the fear that he might not survive this unexpected adventure. Finally, well hidden between the rocks he found an iron grating emitting foul gases. Before common sense could prevent him, he had opened the grating and forced himself inside, climbing up the chimney-like shaft.

  Up and up, as if the flue would open at the very top of the mountain. The all-pervasive smell of rotten eggs made Rodario gag, cough and splutter, but, using hands and feet, he continued to work his way upwards, until finally he slipped through an opening into a large chamber.

  Water was bubbling into a huge pool below him, filling more and more of the hollow space. If the iron door ten paces in front of him stayed shut he would be done for.

  Rodario hurried to the door and prayed that no sentry would be standing guard. Pushing on the bolt, which miraculously moved in his hands, he found and turned a small wheel above it. It clicked several times in succession as he continued to turn it; then the door opened and he was able to escape to safety.

  No one was expecting him, spear at the ready.

  He found himself at the end of a twisting passage with rounded walls polished like marble. Moss glimmered and spread a faint brownish light.

  Carefully he moved forwards, listening out for suspicious noises that might warn of a possible encounter with an alf. He remembered how silently Narmora, the partner of his friend Furgas, had moved. She was part alf. Presumably, then, he wouldn’t notice an alf coming until after it had cut his throat.