by Markus Heitz
“Enough, now,” said Mallen harshly. “I offer my apologies for my companion, Your Majesty,” he continued, addressing King Nate in measured tones. “He is a warrior, longing to return to battle; when there is peace he does not know what to do with his sword.” He stood up. “We will withdraw and refresh ourselves with a bath and then return rested to your presence.”
“It is forgiven,” said Nate; Rejalin nodded and met Mallen’s eyes again with her gaze. “I shall have a selection of costumes brought to your chambers.”
Mallen inclined his head and left the hall with his officer. They walked in silence, not even speaking when they reached their respective rooms. The dispute between Rejalin and Alvaro had spread to the two men.
By evening it was to be settled.
Not only was the masked ball about to begin, but the sky had suddenly changed, so when Prince Mallen awoke he found only lowering darkness as far as the eye could see.
From the window of his chamber just above the crenellated battlements he could discern the various shades of gray in the clouds, interspersed with strips of ragged black, racing across with the wind, and curtains of rain falling to the ground to soak the fields of Goldensheaf.
The wind had picked up noticeably, with the fresh breeze now a gale, undecided about whether it should get stronger still or start to die away. On the horizon lightning flashed, and Mallen heard a rumble of distant thunder.
There was a knock. “Excuse me, my prince. We are awaited,” called Alvaro from outside the door. “Put on your costume and let us go down.”
“I’ll be ready soon,” Mallen replied, looking through the selection of masks King Nate had supplied. At first he could not find anything to suit his mood. He wanted neither to be an airy fantastical form in blue floating cloth and wire contraptions, nor to represent an oversized ear of barley; nor to wear a robe of gold pieces that would be heavier than his armor.
He decided on wearing his own armor instead and with it a black and white feathered mask studded with rubies. Then he went to open the door, to be met with a surprising vision of Alvaro. He laughed out loud.
The officer had forced himself into a gnome costume. The false nose of papier-mâché and a foolish cap with bells on showed how he was having to present himself at the ball. “There was no choice,” he growled. “I’ll wager this is King Nate’s idea of revenge for the quarrel at table.” He looked at his master enviously. “So what are you supposed to be?”
“I am going as my father. He wore this armor, and I’m about the size he was in the pictures,” replied Mallen, not able to suppress his grin. “If there’s a prize this evening you can be sure of my vote.”
“Too kind, my prince.” Alvaro waited until Mallen had started down the corridor, then followed him, a little to one side. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me,” he said at last. “But I couldn’t help saying what I did. You know I’ve got nothing against the elves. But as long as they can’t provide any explanation apart from the one you gave to Rejalin, I’m staying on my guard.”
“Let it go,” said Mallen, clapping him on the shoulder. “You are forgiven. Just make sure you don’t go on like that again when I’m around. Otherwise you’re free to say what you like.” He knew that many of the army veterans shared his officer’s views. Forbidding them to voice their opinions would only encourage their prejudice against the elves.
“Thank you, my prince.” Alvaro bowed. They reached the stairs down to the ballroom where the guests were assembling. The costumes were brightly colored, some eccentric, many daring in the extreme. There were animals in the throng as well as imaginary beings; even an orc or two and an älf were spotted by the visitors from Idoslane.
“Rejalin won’t like that,” grinned Alvaro, pointing to the älf.
“Now you’re a gnome, the spitefulness suits you. Mind you don’t stick like that.”
They went down the steps and their arrival was announced. They were met with applause—it was a double honor to be bowing to a hero and to a prince.
Mallen found himself looking out for Rejalin. He caught sight of her near the door, wearing a dress that could only have been woven by elves: it seemed to consist of silver threads and stars. Together with the jewel-studded coronet of plaited hair her appearance was that of an elf goddess, a constellation of the night sky come to life and wandering now among mortals.
Rejalin smiled over at him and bowed.
For the prince the world stopped turning; he only had eyes for her. Even when King Nate in the costume of a magus arrived to bid him welcome and stood directly in front of him, Mallen’s gaze slid round to where the elf maiden was. Nothing could match her immaculate beauty, not the flawless crystal on the tables, the shining gold on the walls or the wonderful paintings on the ceiling… Apart from her everything paled into ugly insignificance.
“Prince Mallen—can you hear me?” King Nate tried to get his attention. “I was telling you that you will be given an opportunity to admire the diamond.”
Now he had to tear his eyes away. “What diamond?” he asked, distractedly. Then he remembered. “Oh, you mean that diamond?”
Nate’s eyes smiled knowingly. “It is the only thing that could compete with Rejalin’s own faultless beauty.”
Mallen looked over to her again, but she had slipped from sight among the throng of guests. Disappointment filled him and he turned to Nate. “You would show me the stone? Why?”
“Do you fear a danger, Prince Mallen?” the king asked. “In this hall there are only people that I trust. None here would dare to lay a hand on my possessions.” He raised his right hand, a movement noted on the dais nearby. The soft music died away, to be replaced by fanfares, calling the attention of all the guests to their royal host. Tabaîn’s ruler mounted the steps to his throne. “Trusted friends! The winds may rage outside, but we shall not let them affect our welcome for our honored guest, Prince Mallen, ruler of Idoslane and hero of many battles fought to protect our land, and for whom this celebration ball is held.” The crowd clapped enthusiastically. Nate gestured toward Rejalin, who had come to where Mallen was standing. “The people of landur likewise have honored us by sending a wise and dazzling beauty. Rejalin is my guest and is having discussions with me about how our two realms can help each other with the knowledge we have each amassed.” The crowd applauded once more.
“Dazzling beauty is usually to distract from some hidden flaw,” muttered Alvaro. One of the guests in orc costume turned his head.
King Nate signed to the guards to open the door. As Tabaîn’s anthem sounded, a servant brought out a velvet cushion bearing a diamond. The people held their breath. The stone caught the light from the chandeliers and glowed with cold fire.
“Humans and elves are here assembled. And so I want to complete the circle of peoples by repeating the words of Gandogar Silverbeard, the high king of the dwarves, when he handed this gift to me.” Nate cleared his throat. “Just as this and thirteen further stones all resemble each other, may our thoughts henceforth be in harmony and our hearts beat for the benefit of all our lands. If doubts arise within the community of our peoples, let us look at the stone and remember.” He lifted the diamond in both hands and held it above his head. “Let us remember these words! For Tabaîn! For Girdlegard!”
Cheers resounded as the assembled guests were swept on a wave of enthusiasm. But Alvaro grimaced. He thought the king’s words were aimed at him.
“Though it shine never so brightly,” said Mallen to Rejalin “it is a lifeless thing and cannot match your living beauty.” He held out his hand. “Will you do me the honor of taking the floor with me?”
The elf nodded and laid her left hand on his outstretched palm. “You will have to show me how. I am not familiar with the dance steps humans use.”
The prince led her to the middle of the ballroom, oblivious to all else. “Simply follow my lead, Rejalin.”
Nate came over to Alvaro, who was furiously watching the spellbound prince. “You will have taken
note of my words, Alvaro?” enquired the king, holding out the stone. “Harmony is the order of the day.”
The officer bowed. “Certainly, Your Majesty.” He looked at the diamond. “But you are aware that only one of the fourteen gems is the real diamond,” he said, so quietly that none of the others could hear. “That is the way with false beauty. Many allow themselves to be dazzled by it,” he added regretfully, his eyes on the dance floor, “while others recognize it for what it is.”
King Nate closed his fingers over the diamond, his voice angry now. “Alvaro, you are an incorrigible warrior, blinkered and unwilling to recognize goodness even when it is dancing in front of your nose. The costume of a gnome is indeed well suited to you tonight.”
“Whereas the garb of a magus that you wear is pretentious on your shoulders,” retorted Alvaro with anger. “I say what I mean, even to the most powerful in the land.” He tapped himself on the chest. “For I have fought for this land. In the front line, man to man. It is to a blinkered, incorrigible warrior such as myself that you owe your title.” He glanced over at the guest in the älfar costume. “Excuse me, I will join the other monsters. I have wise phrases, too: it was always mistrust that averted disaster, never trust.” His heart beating fast, Alvaro made his bow, only too well aware of the enormity of the words he had spoken to the ruler.
At that moment the door of the ballroom balcony flew open as a mighty gust of wind blew out most of the candles; only those in glass lanterns resisted staunchly.
A fizzing, crackling object swept through, throwing off sparks, and clanking and clattering as it bounced down from step to step. It looked like two hemispherical iron braziers fused together, but in its center there was not burning charcoal but a strange figure. Stone flags cracked under the weight of the contraption.
The dancers pushed each other out of the way in horror and the guards rushed up with their halberds at the ready to protect the king.
The huge metal globe, a cage of strong iron bands each the width of two fingers, crashed through the crowd, mowing down two of the men; there was the sound of breaking bones. The guards were left screaming in agony.
In full view of the terrified spectators the grim object came to a halt. Locks clanked open and the metal bands folded away, disappearing into a kind of iron sack on the creature’s back.
What the frightened guests had only vaguely been able to see up to now emerged grinning and baring its teeth. It was as tall and broad as an orc, with shimmering gray skin streaked with black and dark green. The creature’s face had a terrifying grace and symmetry that the humans here had heard of in tales of quite another people: the älfar. Sharp ears protruded through the long black hair, and as it drew its mighty sword, it opened its mouth in a roar, revealing a powerful set of pointed teeth.
“Stay back!!” Mallen pushed Rejalin aside and ran over to the king. There was no doubt in his mind that the creature wanted the diamond. The diamond.
He raced to the head of the line of guards who stood in front of their ruler with lowered spearpoints at the ready. Someone quickly handed him a shield.
The prince took a closer look at the strange monster. On its legs it wore a flexible armor covering so that its lower body looked to be made of iron. Chest, upper arms and throat were protected by metal plates with runic decorations: these plates, Mallen was shocked to notice, were fastened directly into the creature’s skin by means of thick metal wire.
“Stone!” it commanded in a voice as clear as glass, thrusting its hand out toward King Nate. The fingers clicked open and reflected the lamplight; like the rest of the creature’s forearm they were covered in metal. Mallen saw the countless bolts and thin rivets holding body and armor welded together.
“By Palandiell! Is the evil one reincarnated?” asked Alvaro, appearing at the prince’s side and holding a sword he had grabbed from one of the injured guards. “Whatever it is, it should by rights be dead. Do you see what it has on its back?”
Mallen took a closer look. It was not a rucksack but a kind of metal box held in place by six long rods piercing the body. The ends protruded from the creature’s chest and were reinforced with crossbeams so that they were not torn out of the flesh by the sheer weight of the metal. No living being could withstand such torture.
“Stone!” it repeated forcefully, stepping forward; an iron shoe landed with a crash on the flagstone, cracking it in half. The runes glowed an intimidating green—all except one. Mallen would not otherwise have noticed it, but it was very different in appearance from the others—namely, elvish!
“What are you?” asked King Nate, who continued steadfastly to hold the gemstone concealed in his hand. “What do you want with the stone?”
Mallen turned round to Rejalin, who had remained out on the dance floor, white-faced as a corpse, staring at the monster. He could read recognition in her eyes. What can this mean? he thought.
Then the monstrosity sprang. Without noticeable effort it jumped over the row of soldiers and landed next to the king; the marble cracked noisily where it came down. Before anyone could act, it had grabbed hold of the monarch, tearing the diamond out of his hands and taking three of Nate’s fingers with it. He screamed and sank to his knees, blood gushing over his hand and staining the costly garments he wore.
Alvaro and Mallen both attacked at once: one from the right, one from the left.
The monster roared and parried Alvaro’s blow with its bare hand. The runes on the armor glowed green, and the creature shattered the descending blade as easily as if it had been made of balsa wood. Then it kicked the officer in the chest so hard that he shot against the guards as if from a catapult, knocking three of them flying.
Mallen was sure at least his own attack would be successful, but his opponent turned with unbelievable speed, so that Mallen’s blade landed on the armored breastplate. The sword thrust was deflected harmlessly.
The response was a flying iron fist.
Mallen ducked and the blow shattered his shield rather than his face. He had an idea how a wall might react to the blows of a battering ram. In spite of the weight of his armor it knocked him over so that he lost his footing and sailed two paces back through the air. He fell heavily against the wall and saw stars dancing before his eyes. “What are you waiting for?” he yelled. “It’s taken the stone! Don’t let it get away.” He threw down the useless shield and launched another onslaught.
By this time the soldiers had been shaken out of their trance and were pinning their hopes on the superiority of their numbers.
The monstrous being thrashed around itself with a captured sword, bringing down one of the men. The rune-glow grew stronger, seeming to give the creature immense power. Picking up its victim by one leg, it screamed and hurled him against the attacking guards, who reeled back in horror to avoid the human cudgel. This provided the monster with the gap it needed to dash through and escape. It had what it had come for. The bloody cadaver of the unfortunate guard was dropped, horribly twisted and battered.
At the stairway Alvaro confronted the fleeing creature; crouched forward in readiness, he brandished his outstretched sword in the direction of the beast. “The face of an elf, the body of an orc and the magic runes of Dsôn Balsur on your armor; what are you?” he demanded to know.
Mallen raced after the monster, five guards in his wake. He was desperate to retrieve the stone. Alvaro knew he had no chance of vanquishing the beast on his own. He wanted to give his prince time to attack from behind.
But the monster had seen through the plan. It glanced back over its shoulder at its pursuers, bared its teeth, threw down its sword and dashed past Alvaro.
“Halt!” The officer raised his weapon to strike.
The ghastly thing touched him on the head with its left hand; runes flashed and a lightning bolt was released, incapacitating everyone in the room with the dazzling light.
When Mallen could see again it was clear that the intruder had disappeared. Rejalin was kneeling next to Alvaro cradling his
head; blood gushed from his throat in a stream impossible to staunch.
The guards bolted up the steps to look outside for the escaped monster, while Mallen dropped on his haunches by the side of his mortally wounded comrade. “No, my friend. Do not let your soul depart.” He pulled off the false gnome mask, took the man’s hand in his own and pressed it hard. He tried to hide the depth of his concern at his friend’s condition so that Alvaro would not realize how close he was to death. Hope was essential. “I beseech you.”
Alvaro attempted to speak, his gaze sliding over to the elf maiden. But he was coughing blood and his croaking voice could not be understood; finally his body fell back and his eyes relinquished all signs of life.
Tears flowed down Mallen’s cheeks. He was not ashamed to weep. He had lost a man at whose side he had ridden and fought through countless battles, against enormous odds—and yet they had always survived. What no orc sword had ever achieved this monster had brought about with a single touch of the hand. “There, you see what has come of your longing for combat,” he murmured as he gently closed the dead man’s eyelids. “You shall not be forgotten. Your death shall not stay unavenged.” He nodded over to Rejalin, who was watching him, compassion in her gaze. “Is it true what he said?”
“What do you mean, Prince Mallen?” She carefully laid the officer’s head back on the ground, dismayed at the sight of the blood sticking to her fingers. Mallen thought this must be the first time in her sheltered existence that she had been confronted with violent and brutal death in such a way. She had lived among art and poetry, not warfare.
“Alvaro recognized the runes on the armor as being of älfar origin. I, too, found them familiar in some way. They were similar to those I saw on enemy armor at Porista. What can you tell me?”