The Dwarves Omnibus

by Markus Heitz

  “Isn’t your wife a maga? And two of your children, too?” Tungdil jumped over a fallen tree with ease, as if the armor didn’t represent any additional weight.

  Ireheart took a little longer to get over the obstacle. “That’s a different sort of magic,” he corrected. “Dwarf-magic. It’s never hurt me, not in two hundred cycles. Never harmed me or anyone else.”

  “But if Goda had remained with Lot-Ionan, who do you think we would have been campaigning against now?” Tungdil’s voice sounded like a chief negotiator picking holes in the argument of the other side. “And perhaps it would have been you wearing my sort of armor.”

  “Never,” Boïndil blurted out. “I mean, Goda would never have allied herself to evil…”

  “Fair enough. I was only putting an idea out there.”

  Tungdil swung to the left at a signal from the Zhadár. The trees were thinning out and they found the queen face down on the scorched earth.

  “Vraccas, don’t let her be dead,” Ireheart prayed, leaping forward and waving his crow’s beak threateningly. “Ho, you mad magus-inspired creatures! Stay in your hiding places!” He lowered his head. “Or, better still, come out and let me rearrange your limbs for you!”

  Tungdil knelt down next to the girl and turned her over; the Zhadár surrounded them, keeping a sharp lookout over the surrounding area. “She’s still breathing,” he said to Ireheart. “I can’t see any injuries. Perhaps she’s just overcome with exhaustion.”

  Coïra’s eyelids flickered. “Take care,” she whispered weakly. “They have set a trap for you… a famulus…”

  A bright stream of magic shot out from behind the trees and struck one of the Zhadár full in the face. His head vaporized and his torso tumbled convulsing to the ground, as if the body was trying to carry out avoidance tactics. Blood came spurting out of the stump, splashing everyone.

  “Get under cover!” Tungdil leaped forward, trying to locate the famulus in the shadows.

  Ireheart certainly was not going to be seeking shelter. “He’s mine!” He ran four paces at Tungdil’s side to face the perfidious attacker. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, Franek!” he vowed, utterly convinced the famulus they had found must have overpowered the actor and fourthling and followed them to attack from behind! “You won’t get away with this!” he shouted angrily.

  He was all the more bemused, then, to see a man appear before him in a pale gray hooded tunic and knee-high boots and with a broad sword hanging from his weapons belt. He was wearing light brown gloves and had his arms half raised. Presumably this unknown figure was in the middle of casting another spell.

  “How many more of you are there in this accursed forest?” yelled Ireheart, launching an attack. “You’re worse than mushrooms!” Then he realized he had misjudged the distance between himself and his foe.

  Before he could reach his adversary he saw the left hand release three lilac-colored rays that fused into one, heading his way!

  Just before the ray touched him, a black wall sprang up to protect him and then Ireheart saw a number of runes glowing brightly in front of his face as a wave of heat passed over him.

  The dazzling light affected his eyes. No matter which way he turned his head, he could only register the afterimages of those symbols, making it well-nigh impossible to attack the famulus. “Scholar?” he called, listening for a response.

  There was a hissing sound and again it grew as bright as day.

  “Blast! Things were just getting better!” Ireheart complained. He could hear the clank of metal on metal, then there was a roar, and brightness and dark alternated swiftly—until there was a loud shout and a body fell onto the ash-strewn forest floor.

  “Tungdil!” At least Ireheart was now able to recognize outlines. The squat black shape in front of him must be his friend. A human lay dead on the ground. “Thanks be to Vraccas,” he said, relieved and disappointed at one and the same time. He had badly wanted to be the one to fell the enemy. “This hocus pocus is getting on my nerves. How did he get here?” He rubbed his eyes until he could see clearly again.

  Tungdil had sliced the magician right through, and then finished him off with stabs to the heart. “These are Lot-Ionan’s personal signature runes on his tunic,” he mused.

  “Was it him and Franek together, do you think, setting up that ambush? Or is he here by coincidence?” Ireheart went over to join Tungdil. The two of them looked at the young man’s corpse.

  Tungdil rammed Bloodthirster into the ground and searched the body and the rucksack. Apart from a bag of coins he found two keys, some provisions, and maps of Sangpur and Rân Ribastur. “Not very much there.”

  “No. Not very much.” Ireheart leaned on his weapon. “Let’s get back to the barn. Franek can tell us who this fellow is.”

  Tungdil ordered two of the Zhadár to carry the corpse. Mallenia supported the half-conscious Coïra. She was too weak to be able to speak much but hinted that the famulus had ambushed her and struck her down with a spell.

  “Oh, my blessed forge,” Ireheart murmured, stroking his beard. “If she can’t stand up to a poxy famulus, how is she ever supposed to cope against Lot-Ionan?”

  “Victoriously,” was Balyndar’s reply. “I don’t doubt her abilities. If you get an arrow in the back what earthly use are your crow’s beak and all your courage?”

  Ireheart had to admit the young dwarf was right. But he was not happy about it and for some time went on searching for what would have been the perfect riposte.

  Slîn had climbed up to the hayloft and opened the loading hatch above the gate. Lying flat on his stomach, he held the crossbow in front of him, his bolts stacked at one side.

  As he watched the scorched forest, he made out several figures approaching the ruined building. His dwarf-eyes enabled him to detect the enemies in the twilight.

  Whatever the famulus Vot had done in his experiments, merging humans and animals, these creatures were horrific!

  Slîn saw a massive man’s body which bore an ox head; where flesh met fur a stream of pus was oozing out. A pair of arms had been exchanged for the paws of a bear; on another monster he saw the hind legs of a horse, and yet others had tentacles instead of arms.

  Some of the experiments were even worse: Vot had given human limbs and heads to animals. In three cases the chimerae had extra heads.

  The clothes of these former human beings hung in shreds; some of the monsters were completely naked, while others wore blood-soaked rags.

  Slîn was more deeply disturbed by the sight of these abused and mutilated bodies than he would have been by a host of Tion’s own monsters. Knowing that these had once been ordinary humans, not evil beasts, affected him greatly.

  Even as he aimed at the heart of the first approaching enemy, his conscience told him he should spare the creatures and try to help cure them. Perhaps Coïra can do something was his first thought. But it was no good. She would have to conserve her magic powers in order to prevail against Lot-Ionan.

  It’s no use putting things off. Slîn doubted the horde of chimerae would be persuaded to stop on the strength of a vague promise or two. He had no choice. “Vraccas, you know this is the only way.” He fired the bolt.

  The shot pierced the naked breast of the bull-headed man, who stumbled and measured his length on the ash-covered floor. Clouds of dust rose up.

  Slîn reloaded. The chimerae were a good three hundred paces away. It’s impossible to shoot all of them. I haven’t got the ammunition or the time. He yelled down to the others to hide and to keep their weapons at the ready. “I shan’t be able to hold them all off.”

  His next victim was a woman with the legs of a horse. She was quicker on her feet than the others. She fell to the ground with a scream, losing her sword.

  Two wolf-based chimerae were coming through the trees; they had human heads, but Vot had grafted on animal snouts, which gave them a grotesque appearance.

  Slîn managed to shoot one of them, but the second had already reached the gate.r />
  “Watch out! There’s one at the gate!” he warned Rodario and Franek, reaching for his bugle. He desperately needed the support of the Zhadár, otherwise his mission to find fame and adventure in the burned-out forests of Rân Ribastur would be meeting an untimely end.

  He let out a blast on the bugle and the chimerae reacted with shock to the sudden booming noise. Then he concentrated on doing away with the biggest and most dangerous-looking of the monsters. In some cases he shot them through the heart, but they only seemed to die after he had sent several bolts through their heads. Magic had made them almost invulnerable. Or perhaps their hearts are not in the normal place?

  The selection he made led to some of the smaller chimerae getting through to the gate. They set up a cacophony of roars, shrieks and barks, sending shivers up the dwarf’s spine.

  Suddenly there was a crash and the creatures’ noise was now coming from the inner courtyard.

  Where else am I expected to be, all at the same time? Slîn turned round and aimed at the first thing he saw.

  Rodario and Franek had not sought hiding places. Instead they had lit an enormous fire in the middle of the yard and armed themselves with burning planks.

  “Charming. The long-uns are keen to do the hero thing,” Slîn mumbled into his beard, shooting one of the wolf figures, which had been about to spring at the actor. In contrast to normal animals, these beasts did not seem worried by the heat and flames.

  Something whipped through the air behind him and there was a tight feeling round his ankle, as a tentacle trapped his leg. He turned, reloading as he did so.

  A chimera man with tentacle arms had pulled himself up the wall and was halfway through the hatch; one arm was wrapped around Slîn’s leg and with the other he was hanging from a beam. “Come over here to me, dwarf!” he growled. The tentacles tightened.

  “I’d rather send you something over!” Slîn fired, but because his leg was being tugged from under him, he lost his footing and the bolt went astray, piercing not the creature’s heart but its shoulder.

  The chimera man screamed and pulled Slîn over, while climbing further up through the hatch. The second tentacle grabbed a beam and broke a piece off to use as a club. The makeshift weapon thundered down but the dwarf had seen it coming and was able to dodge. Holding the crossbow steady with both hands, he swung it like a pick-ax against the massive tentacle, but it was not enough to sever it.

  Now he was at the feet of the chimera man. The enemy pressed his boot into Slîn’s face; the tentacle round the leg slackened, and then was placed round his throat.

  The dwarf employed the second mechanism on his crossbow, making a hidden dagger shoot out. He sliced through the tentacle and his adversary hopped backwards.

  “I don’t need the bolts!” Slîn shouted as he followed through, stabbing again and again.

  But his adversary had been paying attention. He swerved and the stump of his tentacle swept the crossbow aside. The second long snake-like arm was going for Slîn’s head.

  Slîn ducked and pulled a hatchet out of his belt. He limped over to the right to put a support pillar between himself and the monster. The leg that had been mangled felt swollen. He was struggling to avoid further attacks.

  Two more hybrids swung up through the trap door; they also had tentacles instead of arms. Vot had given the woman the head of a boar; the man had the skull of a bear on his shoulders.

  The three of them united to hunt Slîn down, sending out their whip-like arms time and again to block off any escape.

  Slîn was at his wits’ end. “You asked for it,” he told the chimera, brandishing his hatchet. “I’ll do for you all!” With a loud war cry he launched himself at the creatures. A second tentacle dropped, severed, to the floor, where it executed a macabre spiraling dance.

  But then four tentacles surged forward and swarmed round to encompass his upper body, legs and throat.

  Slîn felt himself lifted up, then the pressure became pain and his head swam. He wanted to call out, but the bonds round his throat were too tight and he failed to utter a single sound.

  Rodario dodged the attacking bear claws and smashed the burning plank against the chimera’s head. Red and yellow sparks flew up and the head snapped round; the neck broke with an audible crack and the chimera fell dead.

  “Another over by you, Franek!” he warned the famulus.

  The man avoided the fangs from the wolf’s head and hit back with both the planks he was holding, crushing bone between the two pieces of wood.

  Rodario glanced over at the open gate where the monsters were flooding in. Slîn had already sounded a bugle call for assistance, but if Tungdil and the Zhadár did not arrive soon, help would be too late arriving. “Why doesn’t he shoot?”

  Suddenly the dwarf appeared in the loft opening, took aim and dispatched a wolf chimera with a single shot; then he disappeared.

  “What’s Beardy doing up there?” Franek was thrashing about with the planks but the attackers kept returning for more. They had smelled blood and were not going to give up or be frightened off.

  Rodario exchanged one of the planks for his sword. Fire was not working for them, so it would have to be steel. “And all this just because Coïra got the wrong end of the stick,” he muttered, as he stabbed a horse-headed woman. Her claw-like fingers failed to grab him and she careered past into the flames. “I could be lying by the pond with her doing all sorts of nice things.”

  “The pond?” Franek was running a creature through, half-dog, half-man. “Not the one by the waterfall?”

  “Yes, that one.”

  “Then you were lucky. There’s a monster at the bottom of that pool. Vot created that one, too.” Franek was having to step back to avoid a man who had giant crab’s pincers instead of hands. “Sometimes it comes out and eats everything it can grab.”

  Rodario groaned. I might easily have had Coïra’s death on my conscience. “It sounds like you’ve been around these parts some time?”

  “I had no choice.” The famulus leaped through the flames to escape the clutches of a monster, which promptly turned its attentions on the actor.

  Rodario struck out, but the crab claw caught the blade and snapped it off! “Oh Samusin and Palandiell! Can one of you gods spare a second and come down and help us here?” He hurled the remains of the shattered weapon, injuring the chimera on the head. But he was not able to kill it.

  The foe sprang forward, pincers agape.

  Ireheart suddenly appeared and hit out with his crow’s beak. The flat side smashed the armor and the claws were broken into tiny pieces. Blood sprayed out of a wound. “Ho, a fish-man!” Ireheart rammed the spike through the creature’s throat and dragged it to the flames. A quick flick of the wrist and the sharp end of the crow’s beak slid out of the creature’s flesh and the creature stumbled into the fire. “Mmm, that smells good! A little bit of mayonnaise on the crab and supper is ready!” He laughed out loud.

  Rodario saw the Zhadár attacking the monsters from the rear. The chimerae had no idea what was happening to them. They didn’t have a chance. Only Ireheart had been too proud to be one of a crowd. He had stormed all the way to the front of the throng to get first choice of the enemy. It had been the saving of Rodario.

  “Slîn’s up there!” he called, pointing to the loft. “He’s not alone.”

  “He’ll be all right,” said Ireheart, hurrying to get to one of the last of the hybrids before a Zhadár did.

  “They are huge beasts up there fighting him. Bigger than all these,” Rodario shouted.

  Boïndil turned and looked toward the hayloft above the gate. “Then I’ll go and check. Fourthlings aren’t known for their stamina in battle.” He grinned and made his way over, felling a lynx-chimera as he went which Barskalín had had his eye on. “Ha! I got there first!”

  Rodario was impressed by the speed and precision with which the Invisibles had moved in. The battle in the courtyard was over before he knew it. Surrounded by the dead bodies of that
intimidating horde of rampaging monsters, he was struck also by how quiet everything suddenly was.

  Tungdil had taken no part in the general slaughter. He was talking to Mallenia, who was still supporting Coïra. Balyndar stood guard over Franek.

  “My queen!” Rodario hurried over to the young woman. She looked exhausted.

  Lifting her eyes hesitantly, she instinctively hugged her right arm closer to her body. “I’m all right. The famulus tried but he couldn’t kill me.”

  “Franek didn’t warn us until it was too late. Maybe he forgot on purpose.” He looked at the famulus, then at Tungdil. “I’d advise you to have a word or two with him. He seemed more eager to talk when you were being persuasive. Maybe his memory has improved a bit.”

  A loud dwarf-laugh rang out from up in the hayloft, then came the sound of steel on flesh. And then a scream.

  “What’s happening?” Tungdil looked at the hatch.

  “I sent Boïndil to do some tidying up,” Rodario explained. “I think Slîn was having trouble and it seems to be giving your friend a great deal of pleasure to help him out.”

  They heard Ireheart laughing again, and then angry voices, curses and noise of the crow’s beak smashing home.

  Balyndar gave a command to the Zhadár, but Tungdil interrupted with a gesture. “No, let him do it on his own. Why shouldn’t he have a bit of fun?” He stomped over to Lot-Ionan’s former pupil.

  Rodario asked Mallenia to leave him and the maga alone for a few moments. After a swift exchange of glances with the queen, the Ido girl followed Tungdil.

  Coïra looked up shyly, “Did you…?”

  “No, I haven’t told anyone what I saw. And I shan’t.” Rodario took her left hand. “Back there at the pond you misunderstood me.”

  “What was there to misunderstand?” she flashed, hurt. “You said, How ghastly!” Her anger vanished and her shoulders drooped. “But you were right. Let me explain what you saw.”

  “But first I want you to know what I was really trying to say: ‘What a ghastly injury, Coïra.’ That’s what I was saying.”