by Markus Heitz
“Where is Tungdil?” Ireheart asked the ubari next to him. “Have you sent a soldier to find him?”
“Yes, General.” The warrior saluted. “His chamber was empty.”
“He’s probably left to go to Girdlegard,” interjected Goda, arranging her mantle. “After all, he told us very clearly that he wanted nothing to do with fighting here. He’ll be surprised to see what awaits him at home. If Girdlegard is his true home. Let us hope to Vraccas that we’ve not let the worst of the evils simply slip away like that!”
“I think we were pushing him too much,” Ireheart ventured. “We all know what it’s like to wage a war that lasts one, two or three cycles. But for over two hundred cycles he’s done nothing else but fight battles.” He glanced at his wife. “It may be late, perhaps too late, but I do understand his refusal.”
“What is there to understand?” she replied dismissively. “I cannot…”
“No, Goda. Save your breath,” he interrupted her. “Let Tungdil go off to Girdlegard and witness with his own eyes what has happened to the land and, you’ll see, he’ll be back to lead us against our tormentors. We can’t talk him into it. He has to want to do it.” Ireheart gave the order to fire the catapults; the spear-slings sent their missiles flying to the targets. “He’ll be back soon. Of his own free will,” he said quietly, observing the beasts being killed by the sharp iron-tipped missiles. Their screams and groans came in a wave of sound that crashed against the walls of Evildam.
He had not wanted to tell Goda why he had collapsed in the corridor. No one else knew what had happened. But still he held fast to the conviction that it was indeed his friend, the Scholar, who had returned to them.
The armor, he told himself, might have been a gift from some magic being. Or perhaps there were metals used in its composition able to store protective magic for the wearer. That will have been why Goda’s investigative spell had not worked. These metals would not notice the difference between a friendly touch and an attack. If it wasn’t Tungdil, why didn’t he kill me? On the contrary, he went to fetch a healer for me.
Ireheart sighed. All the same, his best friend seemed so alien to him. Different. Those cycles spent in the dark had wrought terrible changes in the Scholar. He had once driven out the demon alcohol successfully enough, but how do you rid the mind of what it has experienced?
“I’ll get my old Tungdil back,” he vowed, remembering how the three of them—his twin brother, himself and Tungdil—used to sit, beer in hand, laughing together, telling jokes and fooling around. He remembered how they had chased the orcs, how they’d sat under a tree to shelter from the rain, telling stories and making up things to tease each other with, how they had fought against the long-uns. How things used to be. “Vraccas and I will shake the darkness out of him.”
The ubari raised his telescope to see how much damage the catapults were achieving. “They’ve dealt with the first wave of beasts, General,” he reported. “But I can see that the next…” He stopped. “No. It’s not monsters. It’s something else,” he said excitedly.
“The kordrion?” Ireheart took the wax ear plugs out of his pouch in readiness. All the soldiers had orders to use these to protect themselves from being paralyzed by the terrible roar of the winged monster. The catapults must not stop firing if the kordrion was threatening to emerge.
“No, more like…” The ubari passed him the telescope. “Have a look for yourself, General.”
The dwarf squinted through the lens and tried to make out what was happening in the dark cleft of the abyss. “Some construction, long, narrow and tall,” he reported for Goda’s benefit. “It looks as if it’s made out of bones. Or very light-colored wood. And they’re keeping it behind the rock walls.”
“An assault tower?” suggested the ubari. “Or a stack of storm ladders?”
“Probably,” said Goda. “It would be the only way to conquer the fortress.”
Ireheart adjusted the end of the telescope to improve the focus. If he were not mistaken, the construction was being bent back. “They’re pulling it back… like a bow,” he called out. “Tell the men on the catapults to aim for the middle of the abyss,” he ordered the ubari. “I don’t want that… thing shooting at us. Who knows what they’re planning.”
While his commands were being conveyed to the troops by bugle signals, the beasts on the other side were acting fast.
Ireheart saw the construction shoot forward like a young tree held down under tension. Behind it, four long chains were thrown up into the air. White balls hung from them, each perhaps a full pace in diameter, and they had the appearance of spun cocoons. At the height of their trajectory the chains released them and the balls hurtled toward Evildam.
“Much too high,” commented the ubari, grinning. “Stupid beasts! Too dumb to aim straight.”
The nearer the strange spheres came the more obvious it was that they really were composed of spun threads.
“No, they intend them to go that high,” countered Ireheart. “They’ll come down behind the fortress! Tell the crews on the southwest ramparts to find out what happens when they come down. Maybe it’s a diversionary tactic to keep us busy on both sides.” He directed his gaze to Goda. “Can you stop them?”
She tilted her head and thought hard. “Wouldn’t it be better to wait and see? It might just be a harmless distraction and then I’d have wasted my powers on something trivial.”
Ireheart agreed and ordered the catapults to aim flaming arrows at the cocoons to send them up in a blaze. He watched what happened.
One of the shots was so true that it hit a ball in mid-flight. Flames consumed the sphere as if it had been soaked in petroleum; Ireheart heard the sizzling and crackling sound it made.
The casing turned to ash in the blink of an eye, releasing countless long-legged spider-like creatures the size of small dogs; they rained down, already fully aflame, crashing to the ground and causing a shower of sparks.
Most were destroyed by the fire, but three survived. They raced toward the bastion on their hairy legs, their long mandibles clicking and clacking.
The remaining spheres landed and bounced a few times before bursting open to let more of the little beasts escape. The arrows fired at them found no hold on their chitin plating.
Boïndil cursed. “Use the spears…”
“General, they’re reloading,” shouted the ubari, prompting Ireheart to turn to the front again. The slender throwing device was being attached to the chains once more and pulled back toward the ground.
“Goda, destroy that thing,” said Ireheart. “Or we’ll never be able to cope with these animals. Who knows how many cocoons they have waiting to send out.”
The dwarf-woman nodded and took the telescope to have a closer look at the sling mechanism. Otherwise she would not be able destroy it with her magic spell. With her other hand she groped in her bag for the diamond fragments and pulled one of them out. Before she exhausted her own store of energy it would be better to use the strength left in the splinters.
Goda sent out a destruction spell directed at the upper edge of the cliff wall of the ravine. Dazzling lightning shot from her hand and screamed into the stone, breaking off boulders to crash to the depths. Then came the sounds of things falling followed by cries of dismay from inside the ravine. The beasts had lost their new weapon and presumably some of their fighters as well.
Goda felt the splinter of diamond in her hand crumble into dust, which clung to her fingers.
“Well done,” said Ireheart. He realized that Tungdil had been correct. They would have to force the monsters away from the ravine mouth, and then bring the whole cliff down on top of them. Bringing down whole mountains—who could do that kind of thing better than his own folk?
Suddenly he heard the clank of weaponry.
Boïndil looked along the walkway to his left and saw that the spider creatures had climbed the fortress walls.
The ubariu, undergroundlings, humans and dwarves were fighting them with a
ll their strength, but what he saw made Boïndil doubt that the creatures could be subdued easily. Only heavy weapons such as axes, cudgels and morning stars were having any effect on the hardened body cases. Swords were useless, ending up blunt and damaged.
“We need Vraccas to crush them with his hammer!” A glance to Goda was enough—she turned to the fight, her first since the building of the fortress.
She took another diamond fragment into her hand, preparing herself to hurl another spell, but suddenly a flash came from the right side of the Black Abyss. Where the steep slopes fell away almost vertically, a figure stood, casting a sulphur-yellow ball of pure magic in the dwarf-woman’s direction.
The ubari had noticed the threatened danger and warned her with a shout.
She managed to form a barrier in front of the battlements so that the missile of magic crashed and exploded against it. A pressure wave whirled up the dust in front of the gate, obscuring their view of the Black Abyss, shields, helmets, flags and banners flying through the air as if in a hurricane. They would not be able to see a second wave of attackers approach.
“By the creator! Now evil has a magus on its side!” Ireheart coughed, pulling up his neck cloth to cover mouth and nose. “I call that a proper challenge!” He heard triumphant cheers resounding from the ramparts, and he peered through the veil of dust.
Tungdil was standing with the defenders, thrashing away at the spider creatures with Bloodthirster. His weapon smashed through the chitin armor plating of the insects, hurling their innards in all directions. Bluey-green blood spattered everywhere. Tungdil had taken off his helmet so that all the soldiers could see him.
The hero marched forward grimly, confronting the spider creatures, the inlay on his black armor flashing and glowing by turns. One of the beasts threw itself at him from behind, touching him with two of its legs, and instantly there was a loud bang, the creature exploding as if it had been detonated from within.
Boïndil gulped. Exactly that fate could have been his own end.
The warriors sprang back into combat with renewed vigor. Tungdil gave short commands and steered their counterattack better than any dwarf-king ever commanded his army. Ireheart had to hand it to him. He was already playing with the idea that he might pass command of the fortress to his friend—if he would accept it, of course.
The wavering veil of dirt and dust was starting to settle, allowing the fortress troops a view of the Black Abyss. Goda had a defense spell at the ready.
They were all astonished to find there was a new energy sphere in place over the abyss. It had an uneven reddish shimmer, seeming thicker here and there. But this time the edges reached nearly up to the four gates and the walls.
“Was that you?” Ireheart stared at Goda.
“No,” she replied in surprise. She could still feel the fragment of diamond between her fingers. “It must be the enemy’s magus.”
Tungdil came up to them. He was accompanied by frenetic cheers and shouts and the thundering of weapons on shields. He was not remotely out of breath after his exertions.
Goda did not look at him, pretending instead that she had to keep her eyes on the Black Abyss. Ireheart stretched out his hand in welcome. “Excellent stuff, Scholar! Excellent! Like old times! Vraccas can be proud of you, just as I am!”
“Very flattering. In the old days I wasn’t anything like as good,” he responded with a curt smile, before turning to watch the pulsing red shield, his face draining of all color.
“Goda reckoned you’d gone straight off to Girdlegard and left us high and dry,” Ireheart continued, moving to his friend’s side. “Praise be to Vraccas that you stayed. Who knows how the orbit would have ended otherwise.”
“The orbit isn’t over yet. Let’s see how useful I can be to Evildam.” Tungdil ignored Goda totally and stepped forward to the parapet to observe the energy dome, turning to his friend. “It’s worse than I thought,” he confided. “We must travel to Girdlegard at once.”
“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about helping…” began Boïndil; then he paused, rubbing his silvery black beard. He didn’t understand quite what Tungdil had meant. “Why do we have to go there? Here’s where the threat is! And, by Vraccas, a threat indeed!”
“A threat you can do nothing about,” replied Tungdil quietly. “Not you, not Goda and not me.”
“But…” began Ireheart helplessly.
Tungdil beckoned him over and pointed to the ravine. “They will gather under the protection of the barrier, right up to its edges; no one will be able to stop them,” he predicted. “They’ll build towers and ladders at their leisure; they’ll make battering rams and put them in position. The whole of the plain at all four points of the compass will be swarming with those cruel beasts. Then the dome will go and they’ll attack.” He placed his hand on Ireheart’s shoulder. “You took immense trouble constructing Evildam, Boïndil, and it is a proud fortress, but it will fall.” He stretched out the hand that held Bloodthirster. “They have someone on their side I thought was long dead. We need a magus to combat him. And, from what I hear, only Lot-Ionan could do that.”
“But Lot-Ionan is evil,” retorted Goda. “He no longer serves the cause of good.”
“Exactly. That’s why we need him,” said Tungdil gently, looking at her; she dropped her gaze to hide her guilty conscience.
Ireheart had not noticed. “That won’t work. He’ll destroy us if we get close!! He has vowed to become the sole ruler of Girdlegard. He’ll never help us voluntarily.”
Tungdil replaced Bloodthirster in its sheath. “Then we will have to defeat him and force him to serve us.” His smile was colder than frost.
“You’ve gone mad, Scholar!” the dwarf-twin exclaimed. “By Vraccas, you’re talking about Lot-Ionan, the magus! Your foster-father! Do you remember what power he possessed when you left us? Can you imagine what he is capable of now?”
“We’ll get a nice little army ready for him. An army of his enemies.” Tungdil remained calm. “That would be, if I’ve understood you correctly: A dragon, a kordrion and Aiphatòn with his älfar,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Perhaps we can get the thirdlings to join in as well. If they can dig up a magus or maga in Girdlegard that hates Lot-Ionan as much as your Goda does, then we’re well away.”
Boïndil gave a hollow laugh, fell silent, then he laughed again a couple of times, raising his arms in a gesture of mock despair. “We are lost. I have a madman here who believes in all seriousness that his ridiculous project will succeed,” he cried, grabbing hold of his crow’s beak. “Vraccas, you are cruel!”
“Stop complaining, Ireheart,” Tungdil laughed at him. “Perhaps I’ll have another idea, a better one. And anyway, it was you who always liked a challenge.” He nodded to the dwarf-woman. “Goda and your children will stay here to help the soldiers should the beasts attack before we get back.” He looked deep into his friend’s eyes. “I need to meet with the remaining dwarf-rulers. And don’t forget the freelings.” He looked at the sun. “We’ll leave at first light.” Without waiting for an answer he returned to the battlement walkway, where the soldiers cheered him anew.
“Tell us who it is that’s opposing us, and why you thought he was dead!” Goda called after him.
Tungdil looked back over his shoulder, revealing his golden eye patch, as though he could see with it. “His name wouldn’t mean anything to you. And I thought he was dead because my sword ran him through and I took his armor.” He walked on.
Goda followed him with her eyes. “I don’t trust him,” she said. “It could be a trick to get the worst of the magi together after we’ve wiped out all the other opponents in Girdlegard…”
Ireheart whirled round. “Stop it, Goda!” he snapped at her. “I’m going to Girdlegard with the Scholar and I’ll do whatever he suggests. Because I,” and he placed his right arm across his breast, “trust my heart.”
He left her standing there and went after Tungdil to see to the soldiers who had been wounded
in the fighting with the spider monsters. Beside them, the dead had been laid on their shields. One of them was Yagur. The injuries he had sustained were strange: His forearm had been pulled off and there was a stab wound to his throat. Not what you would expect if you were fighting a spider.
His astonishment grew.
Next to the ubari lay three of his closest friends, their armor pierced by something very sharp, judging by the smooth edges of the lacerations. They did not look like mandible bites.
The vague doubts within him were starting to turn into a mass chorus, fighting to be heard. They grew so loud that he decided, against his initial firm intention, to ask a few questions of the Scholar as they journeyed.
Girdlegard,
Former Queendom of Weyurn,
Lakepride,
Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle
Coïra had not thought it possible, but somehow she had managed to throw off her pursuers. She had acquired three extra horses, loaded them up with heavy weights, and led them alongside their own group for some time. After half an orbit’s journey riding along the bed of a stream, she had let these three animals go free, while she herself rode on toward Lakepride. That had foxed whoever was following her. For now.
But her name was on the list of Weyurn folk with a high price on their heads, should anyone think of betraying her and taking hers to the Dragon. That had not made her journey an easy one.
She looked at Rodario riding beside her, bravely clinging on to the horse’s back. They’d had to stop and wait four times already for him to remount after a fall.
“Not long now and we’ll be safe,” she said, to encourage him. “Can you see the island? It’s one of the few proper islands left in my mother’s realm. We’ll have to go by boat.”
A cry of dismay escaped his lips. “Deep water? I can’t swim.”