by Markus Heitz
Bramdal nodded. “Gemmil and others before him used to send me out on missions to observe the humans and report what they said about the dwarves. We were waiting for the right moment for the towns to start trading with them.” He installed himself on the anvil, drawing his cape off and hanging it up to dry. “We knew the dwarves would resent it and that we would have to think carefully about this move. Your visit helped. But the future isn’t going to be easy.”
“It seems to me that recently the free towns have chosen to align themselves with the humans.”
“Your impression is correct. We are very concerned about developments up in the mountains. I heard the exchange between Ginsgar and Balyndis. What Ginsgar thinks of the towns is an open secret. That’s the reason we’ll soon be making open advances to the humans. The death of Gandogar was the last straw.”
“You’re here to tell me that?”
Bramdal nodded slowly. “Yes. The town kings think you are a sensible smith-child and they’re placing their hopes on you. They expect you will be the facilitator between the dwarf folks in the coming dispute about the high kingship. There is no hero greater than yourself, so they want you to be the first to learn their plans. It’s pretty certain that the dwarf folks won’t understand our motives.”
“The freelings are afraid of their own kinsmen? And so they are looking to the humans for allies? Is that how far it’s come?”
“If Ginsgar is the new high king, yes.” Bramdal picked up his cape and reversed it to dry the other side. “We heard Ginsgar wants to annex the free towns and get his hands on their wealth.”
“And you want to increase trade with the humans so they’ll come to your aid if you’re in trouble. I can see what you’re driving at. But why must no one know we’re talking?”
“Gordislan is afraid Ginsgar already has a plan up his sleeve and will implement it at once if he hears the towns are preparing for an attack. We’d have no time to arrange an alliance with the humans.”
Tungdil fed the furnace, stirring the glowing coals and using the bellows to encourage the flames. There was a crackling response and the temperature started to rise. “Tell the monarchs that I’m honored by their trust. But I don’t intend to come back to Girdlegard any time soon.” Tungdil saw the fire’s glow reflected in Bramdal’s pale brown eyes. “And that’s a secret, too. The free kings must know I won’t be there for them if there is a clash. They will have to sort things out by themselves.”
“You’re going to abandon your responsibilities?” Bramdal was astonished.
“I have no more responsibilities here. It is enough. I have saved Girdlegard twice and together with my friends I’m about to do it for a third time. Others must take over. I am for distant horizons.”
The executioner returned his gaze. “How would you feel if you came back and saw war had broken out? War amongst the children of the Smith? That the gates were broken and hordes of monsters had overrun Girdlegard?”
He strode nearer. “And knowing you could have prevented it?”
Tungdil smiled, unmoved by his words. “I would say that others had failed to think and act. I have been Girdlegard’s protector for so long now and I am not the only dwarf with a head on his shoulders. Tell the kings that they may rely on Bylanta’s wisdom. They should appeal to her for support.”
“But your word is weightier with the clans.”
“I am a thirdling, Bramdal, and have never sought to conceal my lineage. Ginsgar would use that to undermine my reputation.” He went to the door and stepped across the threshold. “Give Gordislan my message. I shall not change my mind.” He nodded goodbye. “So it was never just coincidence that we kept meeting?”
“Nothing in life is pure coincidence, Tungdil Goldhand.” Bramdal moved closer to the fire. “I shall take them your message. And I shall pray to Vraccas that he will change your mind.”
“You’re welcome to try. It’s not going to work.” Tungdil closed the door behind him and marched through the puddles to cross the yard. He knew this exchange was going to trouble him but he was determined to leave Girdlegard to its fate. Deep in thought he entered the room where his meal had been waiting for him. He still avoided beer and wine and took only water.
“There he is, our scholar!” Ireheart entered, for a change not wearing his mail shirt but only the leather undertunic. And it had not been properly fastened. It looked as if he had put it on in a hurry. Tungdil showed him the weapon he had been forging. “So is that the unslayable’s sword?”
Wordlessly chewing his food, Tungdil pushed the blade over to his friend, handle first.
“It’s sharp. I’ve never seen anything like it. What are you calling it?”
Tungdil shrugged his shoulders.
The warrior lifted it up, weighing it in his hands, attempted a few swipes and looked round for something to try it out on. A footstool fell victim to the blade.
The cutting edge had sliced through the finger-thick wood without a splinter.
“By Vraccas!” Ireheart laid the blade on the table. “Extraordinary. Light as a dagger, cuts like the sharpest of swords and behaves like an ax.” He contemplated his own hand and saw a drop of blood on the ball of his thumb. “And it’s thirsty for my blood,” he laughed. “There are sharp metal bits still to be filed off.”
Tungdil’s brow furrowed. He knew it had been smooth as marble to hold just now. That was why rough-textured leather was used to wrap the grip. He took a deep breath. “I’ll have to give it another going-over.”
“Why not Bloodthirster?” Ireheart joked. “It would be a good name.” He took some of the water and grabbed a large slice of ham.
“What particular exercise are you and Goda working on at the moment?” Tungdil liked the name Ireheart had suggested. “Wrestling moves?”
Boïndil felt himself go red. “Very observant, scholar.”
“You’re practicing enough to make the walls shake.” Behind them they heard the scornful voice of Rodario, who was joining them at table.
“I shan’t be taking instruction from you,” said the twin, sinking his teeth into the ham. “You are a master of a different sort of wrestling.”
“There hasn’t been any wrestling with anyone for some time, Master Hot Blood.” Rodario sat down at his side. “I’m staying true to my Tassia.”
“Of course you are.” Ireheart waved aside the protest. “If that’s the truth then this piece of meat will fly.” He picked it up and let go. It dropped straight onto the table. “Not looking good, sir actor.”
Tungdil laughed and Rodario joined in. “I’m happy for you, Ireheart,” he said. “A lady at last to soften your warrior soul and to harden other parts.”
Boïndil grinned broadly. “It’s all ended well. I would never have thought it possible.”
“There can’t only be bad things in life, otherwise the world would cease,” said Tungdil. “Enjoy what you have.”
“They’re doing that all the time,” said Rodario, poking fun again. His well-meant mockery revealed the friends’ joy at the young love of these two dwarves.
“We’re wrestling. That’s all. We want to keep fit for the adventures that await us in the Outer Lands. I shall be going with you,” Ireheart told Tungdil. “This adventure will be my greatest yet.”
Rodario clapped. “Before either of you asks: I too would deem it an honor to accompany you. In those far-off lands there are scenes and stories with which I shall delight my valued audiences.”
“You too?” Ireheart exclaimed. “Vraccas help us! He’ll talk us to death. Or make something explode at the wrong time.”
“Huh, very funny.”
“Word gets round. Like what you did in the belly of the machine. Could all have been done differently, you know.”
“Yes, mock away, you destroyer of bedsteads. But I tell you I shall be of supreme use on the trip.” He stood up, pretending to be offended. “Just so’s you know: Ortger has chosen a different route. The roads are narrower but they’re passable. We
can leave in the morning, Lot-Ionan says. Chop chop, off to bed now, my heroes. And no more wrestling, Ireheart. Not tonight. Or at least pull the bed away from the wall.” Rodario disappeared with a grin on his face.
Tungdil was pleased. The delay had been long enough to finish making the weapon. Excellent.
“If it’s true what the Emperor of Boasters and Big Mouths has just said,” Ireheart said, “I’ll get some rest.” He laid his hand on Tungdil’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to leave Girdlegard forever?” he asked, his voice earnest now.
“Yes, Ireheart. I don’t want to see them slip into the next catastrophe, and this time one they’ve made for themselves.”
“You mean Ginsgar’s work?”
“What else? In the worst case it’ll mean dispute amongst the dwarf folks. Some will join Ginsgar the Self-Appointed and the others will insist on their traditions, call an assembly and choose a different high king.” He took a drink of water and thought of what Bramdal had said. “Where will it end, Boïndil? Can you tell me?”
Ireheart lowered his head. “Ginsgar asked me to take command of his bodyguard,” he admitted quietly. “I told him I’d think about it.”
“That you’d think about it?” Tungdil was about to reproach his friend but stopped. “Yes, you are right. You must work it out for yourself. I have no right to tell you what you should do. I’m leaving here.”
Ireheart sat down again. “It’s not easy, Scholar. Some of Ginsgar’s views are sensible but on the other hand he is a warmonger. He will prove a high king devoid of any mercy.” Ireheart ran a hand over his short black plait.
“Think on my words: the freelings and the thirdlings will be his new foes.” Tungdil cut off a slice of cheese. “If you take command you’ll be fighting all the time. I know it’s what you love to do but shouldn’t you be happier fighting orcs and monsters, not your own kind?” He put the food in his mouth and got up. “Think about that while you’re deciding. Ginsgar Unforce will be going down in the chronicles as a notorious figure. Not as a good high king.” He patted him on the shoulder. “Good night, Ireheart. Speak to Goda and make up your mind. You’ve time enough before you return to Girdlegard.” He picked up his weapon and walked out past his friend.
On the way he ran his hands over the blade and tested the sharpness, but now it felt rough on his hands. He had not been careful enough and it had cut him—not deep but enough to draw blood.
“That name is the right one for you,” he said to his weapon. “From now on you shall be known as Bloodthirster. You will drink the blood of many monsters, I promise. And you shall serve me well.” He studied the red drops on the blade. “But you shall never taste dwarven blood. If you do, I shall shatter you into a thousand pieces.”
A soft shimmer was visible down the length of the blade. It may have been a reflection of the lamplight but Tungdil chose to read it as acceptance. The pact had been made.
Girdlegard,
Fourthling Realm,
Brown Mountains, Fortress Silverfast,
Early Autumn, 6241st Solar Cycle
Bylanta held out her hand to Tungdil. “May Vraccas protect you from all the dangers of the Outer Lands and bring you safely back to us.”
“He will indeed,” he replied courteously as he shook the queen’s slender hand. He was not about to let her know that he didn’t intend to return.
They were standing beneath the four intact towers on the stronghold walls at Silverfast. This was where the acronta had long maintained the illusion of an enemy siege. There was no trace of their presence now. All you could see were piles of orc bones with the flesh chewed off them. The fourthlings had decided to leave them as a deterrent.
“I hope that Ginsgar Unforce may soon meet his death.” He expressed his thoughts openly. “If not, there will be grim times ahead for the dwarves.”
“Honestly spoken.” Balyanta looked at him appraisingly. “Then let us be frank, Tungdil Goldhand: the dwarf folks need someone who can stand up to Ginsgar. Not easy after his victories in landur. He has so many followers and much clandestine support in the dwarf realms.”
“Glaïmbar…”
“No, it’s you who are needed, I think. Balendilîn the Second is not strong enough anymore; with one arm he doesn’t stand a chance. No one will listen to Malbalor because he’s from the thirdlings and Ginsgar has spread poison about them.”
“I’m a thirdling, too…”
Bylanta remained as resolute as toughened gold. “You are a hero, Tungdil. Nobody doubts you. You have done great deeds. And Glaïmbar makes no secret of his admiration of Ginsgar, so I can’t rely on him.” She smiled. “That leaves Xamtys and myself. Two dwarf queens against unreason a hundred times stronger than we are. We could use a hero at our side.” She pressed his hand and laid her other hand on his arm. “So come back quickly, Tungdil.”
He bowed to her and mounted his pony to catch up with the head of the march. Tungdil wished he had been spared her softly spoken words; they had touched him more than he wanted. They went on working where Bramdal’s from the evening before had left off. Bylanta had appealed to his sense of responsibility, calling on him to accept the duties in Girdlegard that could be expected of a dwarf of his heroic stature.
“Damn,” he cursed out loud and dug his heels so fiercely into his pony’s sides that the animal gave a startled leap, galloping off as if a pack of wolves were at their heels. The heavy scent of the ubariu and their steeds had already spooked it.
“Someone’s in a hurry to see new lands,” Rodario commented as Tungdil rushed up to join his friends. He wrapped the cape Ortger had given him tighter round himself. “My goodness, it was cold enough in Urgon’s mountains, but here it feels like winter.”
Flagur sat up tall in the saddle and gave the trumpeter a sign. The bugle call echoed back from the mountainside and the army set off at once, with the stamp of nailed boots, the sounds of the horses, the bumping and jangling of the baggage train.
“They may fight monsters, but…” said Ireheart, turning back to look at the long column, “but they’re enough to put the wind up anyone.” When he caught Tungdil’s and Sirka’s disapproving looks he quickly added, “But I know they’re all right, of course.”
Goda rolled her eyes. She insisted on riding behind him and to one side, out of respect, as in her view he was still her weapons master, whatever love she bore him and whatever they now shared. She said, “You are hopeless.”
“That’s right, you lot. Have a go at me. I might as well be a snout-faced orc.” He rode off, grumbling. “I do try. Vraccas and Ubar are my witnesses.”
Rodario laughed. “Progress indeed. He actually got the name of the foreigners’ god right!”
“But it took second place to Vraccas, of course. That’ll never change.”
“I’m off to check on my troops. See you later!” Sirka rode back to join the undergroundling ranks.
Tungdil followed her with his eyes then looked ahead. The tension was mounting. Soon he would be seeing things no dwarf had seen before.
Every twist in the mountain roads made him hope for some revelation but it was several orbits before they had left the tortuous chasms behind.
By now he was riding out to reconnoiter with the ubariu scouts, so keen was he to catch a first glance of Sirka’s land.
He was so obsessed by the need to explore that he forgot everything else. He only wanted to get out of Girdlegard, away from a responsibility he now totally rejected.
They traveled through the maze of rocks and somber gorges, along giddying precipices, with dank fog swirling round them so that each step was a deadly risk.
The route for their return would have to be located anew, because the mountains refused to accept any guiding marks they tried to set, whether a painted or a chiseled sign. Some of the scouts claimed the rock walls even moved.
Tungdil caught himself wondering about turning back, but without a real reason. It was not that he was afraid. But there was something round him
and the scouts that made him nervous. Impatience was getting the better of him. It demanded that he either arrive in Letéfora immediately or else that they return to Girdlegard. If he turned round he could clearly see the path inviting him. Turning forward again, there was only fog and vague outlines of cloud and rocks. He must pull himself together.
From time to time the scouts pointed out dark side paths from where perhaps the monsters might have emerged to march off to the pass and toward Silverfast. Probably one of these paths led to the Black Abyss.
Tungdil sensed that he would have got hopelessly lost without their guidance. So it was with enormous relief that after fifteen orbits he noticed the landscape gradually changing.
The mountains became hills and grew broader and greener while bare rock was replaced by verdant slopes studded with windswept trees. A final twist in their road revealed a new world.
They were standing on a plateau, maybe two miles high, and the view took Tungdil’s breath away.
A broad plain spread at their feet and in the center lay a city of gigantic size. He had never seen so many buildings in one place. It was far bigger than any of the human cities in Girdlegard and was threaded through with wide straight streets bustling with activity; concentric rings of thick walls provided defensive ramparts. The highest buildings were in the middle; round, oval, or rectangular. The tallest must have been at least three hundred paces high. You could see the birds circling overhead and diving in great flocks down into the artificial canyons.
“How is that possible?” Tungdil was amazed. “Who lives there? Giants?”
A scout pointed out particular areas in the cityscape. “That is Letèfora directly in front of us. There are some humans there, a few of my own kin, but mostly ubariu and a handful of acronta. All in all I’d say there were about two hundred thousand.” His hand was raised toward the west where, close to the horizon, they could see another city. “That one is the largest city this side of the ocean. It’s called Hòphoca and it offers shelter to ten times a hundred thousand.” He turned to the east. “Over there is the region of the monsters. They’ve taken over the ruins of old settlements where humans used to live; they were abandoned when Letèfora was built. The monsters defend the area stubbornly. We let them live there because the acronta enjoy hunting them.”