by Markus Heitz
Sûndalon reached to his belt and took out a pouch. He opened it and tipped the contents out: glittering fragments and scintillating dust spilled onto the moss. “That is all that is left of the stones that we and the ubariu have captured. They were all forgeries.”
This did not make Tungdil feel more at ease. Now it was even more likely the genuine stone would fall into the hands of the unslayable siblings. And what they might be capable of doing with its magic power did not bear thinking about.
“We demand the return of our property,” said Sûndalon. “It was stolen from us by a broka. It has taken five star courses for us to complete our preparations and to have the opportunity to regain it at last.”
“Why don’t you just cut yourselves a new one and leave us in peace?” Ireheart suggested, holding his crow’s beak weapon lightly in his hands. Lightly, but ready for use. Goda held her night star ready as well.
“Because only that diamond has the quality we need,” was Sûndalon’s sharp reply. “It would be like having a key that fits but won’t turn in its lock.” He looked at Tungdil. “If the news we’ve gathered is true there are still three in the hands of your people and one has disappeared? Give us those three and we swear we’ll protect them against all threats.”
“You didn’t manage to keep yours safe the first time,” Boïndil rubbed it in.
“And you can’t do it at all,” Sûndalon retorted. “You can’t protect them from us or from the ubariu or from these monsters.”
“If you could explain why it’s so important, perhaps we could be persuaded to let you have it.” Tungdil attempted enticement.
To his disappointment the undergroundling shook his head. “If we could explain it freely we wouldn’t have kept ourselves hidden in your homeland for so long. Our land and our town are helpless without the diamond. Our enemies are strong and would attack us at once if they were aware of our weakness.”
Tungdil took a careful step forward. “We are dwarves, as you are. We would never betray you to your foes.” He knew that his statement contained a trace of untruth. He suspected that some of the thirdlings were certainly capable of malice and deceit, but Sûndalon did not have to know this. “And anyway, the kings and queens know that it’s the undergroundlings, together with the orcs, trying to get the diamonds. You might as well talk about it. Your raids are no secret, Sûndalon.”
“He is right,” said the undergroundling who had brought them to the valley. “Tell him about the trouble we are in and then let’s talk to the kings and queens.”
“No,” said Sûndalon harshly. “What happens in this land is not our concern.”
“But they don’t understand the danger they’re in. The broka have put up white stones,” continued the undergroundling. “It’s starting here like it did with us, Sûndalon. We could help avert the worst if we warn the dwarves and the humans.”
Sûndalon fell silent and thought hard.
“I don’t know how you feel about it but baldy-patch is starting to worry me,” whispered Boïndil. “What’s all this about the white stones? Does he mean what we saw when we were with the pointy-ears?”
“Saw? You touched it, remember?” Tungdil said quietly. “Who knows what it’s done to you.”
Ireheart went pale.
The nameless undergroundling turned to them. “Don’t trust the broka now, neither their words, nor their deeds, nor their smiles. They have been staring too long at the sun and aspire to become like it. They have become blind to everything else.” His tone was insistent. “It will start with deaths and nobody will know by whose hand the victims died. Then towns and villages will burn and there will be no survivors. Your people will suffer losses and will lie dead in the tunnels because the water is poisoned…”
“By Vraccas!” Ireheart exclaimed, horrified. “Do you hear that? They’re describing what’s happening in Girdlegard…” He stopped, lifting up his crow’s beak. “Was it you that did that and now you’re all for peace because it’ll make it easier for you to get the diamond?” He lowered his head aggressively between his hunched shoulders. “I swear by the dwarves that have died that I shall take revenge on you if it was you that did this!”
“No, it was not us,” said Sûndalon. “Agreed. You shall learn the history of the diamond. Perhaps then you will believe us.” He sat down and started to relate…
The stone originated in the deepest mine of Drestadon. The finder paid for it with his eyesight because it was so dazzlingly bright. It was only possible to view and to cut the diamond when it was covered with a thick black cloth.
The gemstone-cutter needed seven star-courses to give the diamond its true form. The work took the flesh from his fingertips; his back became permanently bent and his eyes as weak as those of an old, old man. Finally he finished cutting and polishing the stone.
We took it to the ubariu rune master and he realized why the god Ubar had sent us the diamond.
The rune master prepared for war. He gathered an army and marched with it to the Black Abyss. Arising from the lightless depths and dark crannies evil had issued unceasingly to plague us. Ever since the stars started running, evil’s progeny had surged out from thence to attack us.
But there was also an age-old iron artifact, of no apparent use. It had long lost any power it once had wielded.
The runes it bore promised to close the Black Abyss for ever—if the Star of the Mountains ever returned to it.
The rune master led us and the ubariu into the midst of our enemies. There ensued a terrible battle waged against creatures more bestial than any you may have known in Girdlegard, but yet blessed with a form of outstanding beauty. Some found their way here: creatures you know as älfar. We call them sintoìtar—they crawled out of the Black Valley over the mountains and came here.
Together with the ubariu we fought tirelessly and forced a path for the rune master through the black army to reach the artifact. That day many friends and relatives lost their lives and whole generations were wiped out.
Then the beasts realized that a greater danger was threatening them than they had ever known. If you had not seen it with your own eyes you could never imagine the merciless killing and slaughter.
The rune master floated up to the artifact. He placed the stone in its setting. It fitted! The stone awoke with dazzling beauty. Splendid and terrible beams of light transformed the ancient machine and brought it to life.
Evil’s creatures were driven back into the Black Abyss; most of them had met their deaths at our hands. Only a few of the more harmless ones managed to escape. They no longer presented any danger to us.
The artifact wove a veil of impenetrable magic, under which the abyss lay captive.
Until the day the broka arrived, overpowered our guards and stole the Star of the Mountains.
Sûndalon dipped his hand into the spring and drank. “So far the creatures in the ravine have not yet noticed that their prison has been opened. They had sought new escape routes, but the gaps they discovered were always dangerous and difficult to use. Again and again some of them managed to get out.” He lowered his voice. “If one of them should realize in the course of a sortie that the main exit path is now open, and if it returned to summon the others, they would storm out of the abyss fueled by hatred and fury. They would destroy everything they came across.” He pulled his staff out of the mossy floor and indicated himself. “Us first.” The sharp end now pointed at Tungdil. “Then you. The älfar are the least dangerous of them.”
“So do these hybrid monsters made of beast and metal perhaps come from the Outer Lands?” Tungdil wondered aloud.
Sûndalon shook his head. “We know of none such. They must have been born here.”
“That can’t be so. The älfar and all the dark creatures were destroyed by the Judgment Star. Most of them, at any rate,” said Goda, who had listened to the story as intently as the two other dwarves.
Sûndalon considered this. “Was this Judgment Star a wall of white light that swept over t
he land?” She nodded. He drew his dagger, plunged it into the water and held it out with the broad side facing up. “If that is your land and my finger is the wall of light,” he ran his finger along the metal, wiping off the water, “what remains under the earth?” Large drops collected on the underside of the blade.
“You mean the magic won’t have penetrated the mountains and the deep ravines?”
“That is so. We have been to regions where this had been attempted before. There were always some beasts that survived.” Sûndalon gazed at the dagger’s blade, wrapped in thought. “It didn’t work with us. The broka came and stole the stone and waited for the monsters to show themselves, to destroy them by magic so as to gain sole power. But they didn’t do her that favor, so the broka left with her retinue. Afterwards all the broka behaved strangely and we had to kill them before they destroyed us all.” He put away his dagger. “It wasn’t easy to eradicate them, but it had to be done.” He gazed at the dwarves’ thoughtful countenances. “They had lost their minds.”
“You won’t deny that our elves are behaving strangely, will you?” Boïndil asked Tungdil. “I mean more strangely than usual.”
“We must nurse the injured elf back to health as soon as possible. He is certain to be able to tell us more. It won’t be for nothing they shot at him.” Tungdil nodded to Sûndalon. “Come with me to Paland and tell the kings and queens what you have told us. Convince them! There’s no other way for you to get the true diamond because you won’t ever get inside the fortress walls. I give you my word that no one will take you prisoner, injure or kill you.” He lifted his ax.
“I swear this on the blade of Keenfire.”
The undergroundling with no name nodded to his leader encouragingly and finally Sûndalon agreed. “We shall accompany you, Tungdil Goldhand.” He stood up. “But we would have got into the fortress,” he said with a smile of utter conviction.
Girdlegard,
Kingdom of Gauragar,
Porista,
Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle
Tungdil, Boïndil, Goda, the fifthling contingent and the undergroundlings did not have to go all the way to Paland.
In Porista the royal banners of the human realms stirred in the breeze above the city walls indicating that the mighty rulers of Girdlegard were once more assembled. And the banners were flying at half mast.
The dwarves marched through a town that was eerily quiet. The atmosphere in the streets was muted from oppression and fear, with any pleasures or delights smothered. On the way to the assembly tent they heard what had happened in Paland and how the defense force had been destroyed.
When Tungdil, Ireheart and Sûndalon entered the royal marquee in the early part of the afternoon, humans, dwarves and elves were debating what they should do next. Goda waited outside, as always.
Prince Mallen’s seat was empty and on the throne-like chair that had once been Liútasil’s Tungdil saw an elf-woman in white robes and bearing the insignia of a sovereign. In her long pale hair costly gems were set; the bright gaze of her blue-green eyes scanned the newcomers. A successor to Liútasil had been found and she surpassed all others here in her beauty and her presence. She was introduced to him as Princess Rejalin. Tungdil immediately thought of the eoîl.
King Bruron received the dwarves with a half-hearted smile and looked in surprise at the beardless dwarf who was taller than Tungdil by a hand’s breadth. “You will have heard about Paland?”
Tungdil nodded and bowed to the other rulers. “I was shocked to hear the news. So now there is only one diamond in Girdlegard. And nobody knows where it is.”
“One?” said Isika, deep foreboding in her voice. With her black hair and lined face she presented a dark contrast to Rejalin. The robe of the elf princess made her own sumptuous attire seem inferior. “Were you routed by these beasts as well?”
“No, I was defeated by Sûndalon.” Rejalin stepped to one side to let the undergroundling be seen. “He comes from the Outer Lands, from a town at the foot of the mountain range. And he is on a quest to regain what belongs to them. Listen to his story.”
And Sûndalon told them, as previously agreed with Tungdil, about the artifact whose power had stopped up the evil chasm. He told them how the eoîl had stolen it, without mentioning that this eoîl was a broka—an elf-woman. “We couldn’t tell anyone. We feared there would be long-drawn-out negotiations, even though it rightfully belongs to us. We also feared the monsters would hear about the missing artifact.” He stepped up to the table and spread out the fragments of the gemstone copies. The rulers looked despondently at the shimmering pile of crystalline remains.
“Either the beasts already have the real diamond or the one that’s got lost is the one with the incomparable magic power.” Tungdil’s voice broke the silence. “I think the beasts have long been in possession of the one that’s disappeared.” He turned to address the kings and queens. “We must put all our efforts now into getting it back. Two reasons: It must not be allowed to serve the sinister purposes of the unslayables and its power must be used to permanently seal up the evil ravine. Otherwise Girdlegard will not be safe.”
Rejalin turned her head to one side and observed Sûndalon. “You formed an alliance with the orcs to get the stone back. Is that correct?”
Sûndalon wrinkled his face in distaste. “I would never fight side by side with those creatures. The ubariu are honorable and are sworn enemies of the orcs. They are our brothers; our races were both created by the god Ubar.”
“They are like the orcs apart from the tusks, aren’t they?” Rejalin smiled. For that smile men would worship her as a goddess.
It had no effect on Sûndalon. “They are taller in stature than orcs. Their eyes are the red of the rising sun and their philosophy is a thousand times better than that of a broka,” he retorted sharply. “If you regard them as your enemy you must take us as enemies also.”
“Strange,” said the elf-woman thoughtfully. “And what are… broka?”
“They are like you, but corrupt and false. They pretend to be benign and wise and keen to befriend all other folk. In reality they are trying to spread their own ideas. With no thought for others. They must be eliminated.”
Sûndalon had spoken in dark tones. He was finding it hard to restrain himself.
“He means the älfar,” Tungdil came to his aid. “We cannot judge by appearances, Princess Rejalin. Your people know that only too well.”
She dropped her penetrating gaze. “I ask your pardon, Sûndalon. I did not want to offend.”
“This is not good news that you bring us, Tungdil Goldhand,” sighed King Bruron. “It will be best if you set off for Idoslane straightaway with Keenfire in your hand. Prince Mallen is laying siege to the caves of Toboribor. We think the monsters are hiding their prize there. It will be extremely dangerous to fight these monsters without a magus at your side. We have been shown that superior numbers are no threat for them.” He contemplated the wonderful engravings on the head of Tungdil’s ax. “Only Keenfire will be able to withstand attacks from the sorcery of the unslayables and their allies.”
“As soon as the sun rises, I’ll be on my way,” nodded Tungdil.
A messenger hurried into the marquee, stepped up to Bruron and whispered to him. Tungdil feared that their planned daybreak departure would already be too late.
“We have a delegation wishing to bring us news,” said the king, turning to the doorway. “Send them both in.”
The curtains parted with a theatrical flourish and in stepped Rodario, in flamboyant robes as magnificent as any worn by the assembled monarchs. “My respects to you all, mighty sovereigns of Girdlegard, you humans, dwarves and elves, one and all.” He made a deep bow.
Tungdil was delighted to see his friend. This type of grand entrance was typical. For Rodario it was in fact quite restrained. No drums, no fanfare, no herald?
The kings and queens watched the dramatic approach of the new arrival with amazement, but limited their reactions to an
amused raised eyebrow here, an expression of slight disapproval there.
“Wherever heroes are gathered and history is written, I must also be to hand. For who else would take true note and show events on the stage to future generations, if not myself?” Rodario granted the company the benefit of his dazzling smile.
“What ho! Lock up your women! The Fabulous Rodario has returned!” grinned Boïndil.
Rodario smiled and stroked his elegant beard—shorter now than Tungdil recalled. “I have not come on my own, Your Gracious Majesties. I bring you a man who is able to answer many of the open questions puzzling Girdlegard.” He gestured to the door with his cane.
A moment later a man appeared. His short black hair and his thin moustache gave him a fleeting resemblance to Furgas, except for how old he looked. He was wearing a simple pair of breeches, a shirt over them, boots and a cloak. His clothing all seemed too big for him and flapped around his shrunken body.
“I have come to…” he whispered and threw Rodario an uncertain look. “I have come to atone for my deeds. I cannot ask forgiveness for what I have done.”
“By Vraccas! It really is Furgas,” Boïndil said, horrified. He had recognized the magister technicus only by his voice. “Rodario the Incredible has incredibly managed to dig him out.”
“No, I did not dig him out, but freed him, good friend Boïndil Doubleblade. On my own. Freed him from the clutches of thirdlings known as Bandilor and Veltaga, who have made their home on an island that they can submerge or bring up to the surface as they choose. In the middle of Weyurn’s waters.” The actor used every rhetorical trick in his repertoire as he described the meeting with Furgas. His narrative arts were such that the entire audience hung on his every word. “Finally we swam the five miles through the wild waters and arrived at Mifurdania. From thence we journeyed with the traveling Curiosum outfit to reach Porista,” he told them, concluding his tale. “So we have found the culprits who send out death devices to hound the dwarf peoples.”
“Masterly, indeed, Rodario,” said Isika graciously. “Magister Furgas. What deeds were you speaking of? Why did you say forgiveness could not be sought?”