by Markus Heitz
Rodario dodged two attacks, ducked under a third before showering a concerted hail of blows on his opponent, so that blood started pouring out of the cuts on his face. Loytan collapsed, fighting for breath. “You know,” Rodario explained to his injured rival, “when you’re an actor you need many talents. In order to portray a valiant warrior, for example, it’s not enough simply to put on some armor; I have to actually be like a warrior. To fight like him, do you understand? I won’t deny that it sometimes comes in very useful.”
Loytan dragged himself up on the wall, coughing and spluttering. “That took more than a few hours to learn,” he mumbled. Three teeth lay on the floor.
Rodario made a bow. “Thank you for your kind words. You should see me fence. I’m a real master with the rapier.” He laughed. “Another time, perhaps. When you feel like a duel again and have recovered from your injuries.” He thought for a moment. “Now what was it that you were wanting to ask me?”
Loytan reached under his coat and threw a lump of cotton wool to the floor. “I found this in your room.”
“Ah yes, my stage props. What a discovery.”
“You have your face padded out all the time, don’t you? And that beard and mustache are only stuck on,” Loytan went on, wiping the blood off his mouth. “Who are you really? Why do you keep up this masquerade from dawn to dusk?”
The expression in Rodario’s eyes altered and became deadly serious. “Curiosity has killed more than just a cat, my friend.” He took a sudden step forward, grabbing the count by belt and collar. “So you’ll be in good company.” He lifted the thin man and pushed him over the wall.
There was no scream.
Maybe I didn’t push him far enough out? Rodario leaned over the balustrade and saw Loytan four paces down hanging by one hand from a drain pipe. “Your excellent reflexes won’t get you very far, except downwards.” He ran to a nearby brazier, the coals in it cold now, and started to drag it over to the wall.
The count was still attempting to climb up the pipe.
“Wait! I’ll throw you something to hold on to.” Grinning, he rolled the wrought iron container over the side. “Here! Catch! It’ll take you quickly and safely to the bottom.”
Rodario saw how the brazier smashed the pipe, plunging Loytan down toward the water. The iron basket followed at speed. No splash was audible from up here. “Give my regards to the älf woman,” he called down.
Then he made sure that his actions had not been observed. The windows on that side were dark and the chambers un occupied. Rodario allowed himself a broader grin as he picked up the cotton wool and stowed it under his coat. He preferred people to go on underestimating him.
He was about to turn on his heel and continue on his way when he saw a vague outline against the evening sky. It looked at first sight like a bird.
The nearer the shape came, the larger it grew and the closer it came to the magic source, the surer Rodario became that this was no bird, but…
“Lohasbrand,” he yelled and ran off. “To arms! To arms! The Dragon is coming!”
XVII
Girdlegard,
Former Queendom of Weyurn,
Eight Miles from Lakepride,
Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles
The kordrion’s assault had cost Tungdil twenty-one Black Squadron dwarves and three Zhadár. They burned the bodies of the dead warriors and took their ashes to be buried back in the Red Mountains with all ceremony. Dwarf-remains belonged in the mountains, not in a desert and certainly not in an älfar realm.
But they had also lost the majority of the ponies. There was nothing for it but to cover the initial miles to the northwest border of Phôseon Dwhamant on foot before buying in more stock bit by bit from the farmers of the former kingdom of Tabaîn.
It was inevitable that a marching column such as theirs would attract attention. Tungdil urged them on. Orbit for orbit they marched on through the dried-up lakebed, now covered with ice and frozen fog which crackled underfoot.
They passed islands towering high on stalks, reminding Ireheart of huge stone mushrooms. There were also many small islands that had collapsed without the buoyancy provided by surrounding water. They had toppled over and broken apart.
It looks unreal. As if the gods were planning to make a new country. Particularly fascinating were the places where reefs had been. They soared up like sharpened mountains, sometimes a good hundred paces high. The travelers came upon stranded wrecks of ships and the remains of mighty fish. The dwarves guided their ponies through the arched bones, which they could ride through without banging their heads, such was the size of the skeletons.
I know now why I have always avoided deep water like the plague. Ireheart looked at the fish and at the thick skulls with their incisor-lined jaws. No prey would escape those sharp teeth.
“You’d think our high king was trying to avoid any conflict with the Lohasbranders and the orc contingents,” Slîn remarked as they rode along.
“Yes, indeed,” Ireheart agreed. “But it’s not a question of being frightened of battle,” he stressed. “It’s about making swift progress. Our priority is to reach the Red Mountains and the Dragon’s hoard to relieve him of the most valuable pieces of treasure, so that he’ll attack Lot-Ionan in revenge.”
“So why the diversion to see Queen Wey the Eleventh in Lakepride?” Slîn asked.
“Could it be that you weren’t paying attention? Because the Scholar wants to suggest we wage a joint campaign against Lot-Ionan as soon as the Dragon and his orcs have left for the south,” replied Ireheart. “On the way back, when we’re nicely loaded up with the Dragon’s valuables, we can come and collect her answer.” He looked around at the landscape. “This is the kind of lake I like,” he said with satisfaction. “Back home they’ll be astonished when I tell them I’ve been walking around on the bottom of a lake and Elria can’t get me!”
“Unless it rains,” Slîn pointed out.
Ireheart gave him a suspicious glance. “What do you mean?”
“If it rains hard the water won’t soak in. It will collect on this hardened surface like in a dish. If we happened to be at the deepest part of the dish at the time we’d end up having to swim.” Slîn enjoyed catastrophizing. “And we all know the dwarf-race is none too good at swimming.”
Ireheart checked the sky. It was growing steadily darker. “Vraccas, send us anything, send us molten rock—anything but Elria’s rain. Don’t let her water us like a crop of peas.”
Tungdil pointed. “We need to get back to the bank and head south. We should end up directly opposite Lakepride. From there it’s only a short boat-ride to the maga’s island.”
Ireheart’s good mood was now thoroughly dispersed. The thought of those fish skeletons came back to him. “Curses! So I shall have to set foot on a boat, after all.”
“It’s been fine so far,” Slîn attempted to cheer him up. “And so what if we do fall in? I like a good bath.”
“That’s because you’re a pansy fourthling,” came the mocking response from under a helmet. It was a Zhadár laughing at him.
Ireheart remembered that coarse voice. It was the same warrior who had tried to provoke Slîn with remarks about bolt length when they were up on the roof. He fell back to come level with the armored voice. “Was that you just now?”
“Was that me what?”
It was not the right voice. “No, it wasn’t you. But you know who I mean: The one who’s trying to stir things up—the troublemaker.” Ireheart pushed the man’s visor up. A blackened face with a short beard. As a dwarf Ireheart was finding it extremely difficult to tell one of these Invisibles from another. The dye gave them all the same appearance. It was really a kind of protection to stop them being identified; no one would be able to describe an attacker. “Whichever helmet you’re hiding under,” he called out, “hold your tongue. I won’t have this sort of thing.” He guided his pony to the front of the column again.
Tungdil had already changed direction and w
as riding with Barskalín, heading for the dunes. The remnants of the lake must lie behind them.
Ireheart urged his mount up. Its hooves sank in the loose dune sand. Then they reached the top and could see the edge of the lake. There was an island some four miles out, resting on a basalt stone pillar. To the left of it iron walls could be seen rising out of the water.
“That’s Lakepride over there,” said Tungdil. “We’ve arrived.” He pointed to the iron building. “The source is underwater so I suppose that’s a mineshaft of some sort.”
“Yes,” said Balyndar. “My mother sent her fifthlings as a favor to help one of Weyurn’s queens with the construction.”
“A masterpiece!” Ireheart was extravagant in his praise. “The pressure on the walls must be enormous.”
Balyndar did not conceal his pride in his tribe’s achievement. “Our engineers put in the wall supports to keep the water out. If it were a marine environment, like in the Outer Lands, where there are tides to cope with, it wouldn’t have worked.”
“That’s the advantage held by the fifthlings. They took in the best of all the tribes and so they’re way ahead with all the special skills the dwarves have, “Slîn said generously. “I’d be interested in taking a look at that shaft. I can’t really imagine what it must be like.”
Barskalín pointed out a village about half a mile away. The upturned boats and fishing nets drying on the sand looked promising. “We’ll get ourselves a little fleet to take us over to the island.”
Tungdil turned his pony’s head toward the village. “Or one boat that can take ten of us. I don’t want to arrive with the Black Squadron. You can get somewhere to stay in the village. We shan’t be spending long with the queen.”
They galloped off to the village.
Ireheart was not surprised to hear a tinny alarm bell greeting them; it sounded as if the bell itself was frightened. “Not quite the joyful fanfare of welcome we’re used to, is it, Scholar?” he said, watching what the humans were up to. “They’re running to the lake.”
“They’re launching the boats.” Slîn pointed to those who were making a break for it.
“I bet they think we’ve been sent by the älfar.” Balyndar touched his own black armor. “We don’t really look like friendly visitors. The last time any dwarves were here will have been ages ago when they were building the shaft.”
Hargorin laughed. “They seem to know my Black Squadron.”
“Send a couple of men over quickly to tell them we come in peace,” Tungdil ordered. “You’re right, Balyndar, I should have thought of that… We’re spreading fear even when we don’t want to. Back where I’ve come from that would have been a good thing. But not here. I’m sorry.”
Ireheart sent his friend an encouraging look. He really seems bothered about it.
Two of the Black Squadron rode ahead, calling out as they went.
Ireheart looked up at the glowing evening sky before it disappeared into the gloom of night—and he made out the shape of a flying monster making for Lakepride from the east. He could not say exactly what it was but it was moving fast. And it looked pretty determined. He called out to Tungdil. “You know more about monsters than I do: What is that?”
The dwarves watched as the creature approached the island and royal palace.
“I don’t know,” said the one-eyed dwarf. “But I don’t think it’s bringing Her Majesty a nice present.”
“Then we’re here right on time.” Slîn was getting excited. “We can help her and then she’ll be in our debt. We won’t even have to ask her to come with us. She’ll do it anyway because it will be the decent thing.”
“That’s how I see it, too.” Tungdil got the squadron to stop on the bank where the villagers were standing by the boats listening suspiciously to their messengers. “Let’s get ourselves over to the island.”
Ireheart studied the water in apprehension as the waves lapped against the bank. “I hope Elria didn’t hear me just now,” he muttered into his beard, “and that all the fish bigger than my little finger are now dead.”
Rodario ran back into the palace and was relieved to note his warnings had been acted upon. Shouts came from all sides and alarm gongs sounded. Heavy boots thudded along the corridors. It was not only the fortress out at the shaft that was preparing for an attack—the defense positions here at the palace were also being manned.
He reached Mallenia’s quarters, where he found her in the doorway, already in half her armor, buckling the leather straps. “Do you know what’s happening?”
“That alarm is being sounded for me,” he said proudly.
“You? But you’re not dangerous.” Mallenia drew her sword and laughed. “No, seriously. Do you know what all the commotion is about?”
“I saw something flying toward the shaft. I thought it would be wise to alert the palace so they can greet the attacker properly…” He stopped, noticing that she was only half listening and was looking past him over his shoulder.
Mallenia lifted her arm. “Queen Coïra. Are you looking for us?”
He turned to find the young maga hurrying toward them, surrounded by guards. She was wearing a black robe embroidered in white, her hair covered by the white veil. “It’s the Dragon,” she cried. “Lohasbrand has arrived.”
“To attack us or to discuss what you wrote?” Mallenia sketched a curtsey. Rodario forgot to bow.
“I don’t know. Wasn’t he going to send me a hundred orcs to help capture the älf?” She ran on and waved them to follow her.
“Where are you off to?” Rodario asked. “Is there a safe room at the bottom of the island’s base where you can wait to see what happens?”
“I need to get to the magic source.”
“Don’t make the mistake of destroying it without thinking carefully…”
“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to demolish the shaft. I haven’t got enough magic in reserve to defend us against the Scaly One.”
Rodario and the Ido girl exchanged relieved glances. “We’re pleased to hear you’ve made your decision.”
“And it is down to the two of you that I am able to do this. I have thought a great deal about what you both said and I agree that I must face up to my responsibilities. My mother will not have trained me in vain.” She gave them a brisk smile. “But it won’t be easy. I’m not a fighter at heart.”
She reached the platform from where the cable gondola could take her to the shaft. Coïra was about to get in to the car but Rodario held her back. “Wouldn’t it be better to take the stairs? Our lives might hang from a rope.”
“It’ll be fine.” The queen got into the gondola. “Trust me.”
“I trust the construction but not that dragon that’s circling round the island.” He looked for the creature but it was not visible. “Where has it got to?”
“It’s underneath the island!” Mallenia shouted, coming over. “Let’s pray to Elria and Palandiell that we can get to the shaft in one piece.”
“Count Loytan will cover us with his catapult fire.” Coïra ordered four of the guards to join her, and the last of them shut the door after her as the steep downward trip began.
“Count Loytan is not at the fort, Highness,” said one of the men. “We met him up on the palace walls but no one has seen him since.”
Rodario was glad he had turned his face away: No one could read his expression. He considered himself a gifted enough actor to conceal his grin, but better safe than sorry.
The gondola swayed in the evening breeze and Mallenia went very pale. The rocking movement was not too severe, however, as the anchoring bolts were all secure.
It was all too slow for Coïra’s liking, and she told the guards to release the brakes a little further.
“But Your Highness, that’ll mean we’ll be too fast to stop at the landing stage.” The man risked an objection. “It’s not safe to go any quicker.”
The gondola had already dropped further away from the island when Rodario spied th
e creature again. “There it is! It’s hanging underneath the rock!”
Mallenia, Coïra and the soldiers leaned out for a better view.
It was like a lizard with the wings of a grasshopper. The scaled body was ten paces long, the mouth large enough to swallow a whole cow, and the black skin was shimmering damply in the last of the evening light: Rodario could pick out yellow and blue markings. It was wearing an iron chain around its neck, bearing an onyx pendant the size of a handcart.
“Why aren’t the catapults on the fortress firing?” He was worried now.
The stony eyes had the gondola in their sights.
Mallenia looked down at the arrow slings, which seemed to be aimed straight at them. “It’s because of us. We’re in the line of fire so we’re giving the creature cover.”
“It can’t be the Dragon—no, it’s certainly not Lohasbrand.” Coïra stated.
“Perhaps a small friend of his? Has he been sent out as an advance messenger?” Rodario could not make head or tail of the creature’s appearance. He had never met the like in any of the sagas he was conversant with. “It’s staring at me,” he said, moving away from the window. “As if it really likes actors.”
“I’m sure it only eats good ones,” Mallenia teased him, aware once more that she was behaving like a silly girl in love—and that this was a highly unsuitable time for such behavior.
“It’s staring at all of us,” said Coïra.
“To be honest, that’s not much of a comfort…” Rodario turned to the queen. “Can’t you send some magic his way? Zap him on the ugly bonce!”
She refused. “We don’t know yet what it wants. Perhaps it’s a peace-loving creature.”
“In Girdlegard? Looking like that?” He watched, shuddering, as the creature dangled a blue tongue. “There! Do you see? It’s getting up an appetite.”
Their gondola was two-thirds of the way across.
The creature dropped down and spun round as it fell, spreading its horny wings to come gliding over to the gondola. It opened its mouth and showed a row of very sharp teeth.