by Markus Heitz
The undergroundlings appeared at the army’s flank and saw that they had arrived too late for the first battle. Kiras, their leader, called them to a halt. A few thousand more adversaries to confront the fighters from the ravine.
Is that all there’s going to be? Ireheart kept expecting another wave of Tion’s monsters to surge up out of the Black Abyss, maybe another kordrion, a dragon or two, anything that would stand at the side of these pitiful two hundred creatures for the inevitable battle. He was getting ever more concerned that no extra troops were appearing on the other side. “When’s it going to start?” he whispered. “Scholar, how long do we wait?”
Tungdil took two paces forward. “Here stands a famulus to challenge his master!” he called. “Let us see who prevails. After that, the armies can meet in battle if they still care to.”
Thundering and clanking, the contingent of humans appeared and the ubariu army crested the wall of rock. They, too, took up their formations. Thus the pincer movement was complete and the last two hundred and one enemies were surrounded.
Ireheart found the tension unbearable. “How can he remain so calm?” he asked.
“Goldhand or the other one?” responded Balyndar.
“The other one.” Ireheart scanned the gathered forces of humans, ubariu, undergroundlings and dwarves. “Even I would be a bit nervous faced with this lot.”
“Not if you had a pact with your supposed enemy,” Balyndar remarked, glancing at Goda. “It could be that we are the victims of the most scurrilous, duplicitous plot in the history of Girdlegard.”
“Nonsense,” grunted Ireheart. “The Scholar would never do a thing like that.” His fingers tightened on the shaft of his ax. “May Vraccas be my witness: If the two of them don’t start fighting soon, I will.”
Tungdil advanced toward the vraccasium-clad dwarf, his left arm stretched out in a gesture of challenge.
His opponent gave a harsh growl and stomped forward, lifting both hammers and twirling them playfully.
The armies watched closely what their leaders were doing and waited, tense and alert, for the duel to begin: Famulus versus master.
Ireheart glanced over at Lot-Ionan. The magus twitched his fingers almost imperceptibly and his lips moved in a silent incantation. What is he up to?
Before the two opponents had reached each other, the dwarf in vraccasium uttered a further sound and pointed one of his hammers at Tungdil.
The fact that nothing happened seemed to disturb both of them, as Ireheart could see from their body posture. The Scholar was the first to recover composure: He made a swift leap forward, swinging Bloodthirster at his opponent’s head.
It took a while for Ireheart to work out what had occurred. The opposing dwarf had tried to freeze the tionium armor and paralyze Tungdil, but it had not happened! Ireheart spotted a satisfied expression on the face of their own magus. Had he counteracted the spell? Had the course of action been agreed in advance with the Scholar… or was it the overture to an act of treachery?
The master warded off Tungdil’s strike, halting it with his crossed hammers, pushing back the attacker, who spun on his heel and forced the blade up against the evil dwarf’s throat.
Again the hammers were crossed, forming scissors, then their master turned them and hooked the hammer heads together so that Tungdil was prevented from extracting Bloodthirster. The dwarf-magus ducked down, wrenching back Tungdil’s lethal blade.
The maneuver was successful and the united armies let out a horrified cry as Bloodthirster flew through the air and got stuck in a bog ten paces away from Tungdil. Hollow laughter rang out from under the master’s helmet and he pushed his visor up. The repulsive sight of the disfigured face made Ireheart retch.
A whirring sound—and suddenly a bolt flew from out of the midst of the assembled dwarves, hitting the dwarf-master in the face. Slîn had obviously been waiting for precisely the right moment.
Ireheart could see clearly that the projectile had penetrated the nose plate. Blood oozed out, the injured dwarf swayed and took two steps to the side, to be caught by one of his own troops hurrying to his aid. He uttered a loud groan and made useless gestures with the hammers. Tungdil raced over to retrieve Bloodthirster while Lot-Ionan raised his arms to cast a spell.
“By Vraccas! Now it’s going to start,” said Ireheart.
Girdlegard,
Kingdom of Urgon,
Passview, in the Northeast,
Thirty-one miles from the Entrance to the Realm of the Fourthlings,
In the Brown Mountains,
Early Summer, 6492nd Solar Cycle
Rodario was just about to scold Mallenia for having got up, but then he fell silent and sat down on the edge of the bed to watch her.
She was standing at the window in her nightgown looking out over the hills of Urgon and over to Borwôl, where the troll realm had once been. The light from the window made the fabric of her night attire transparent, showing an appealing silhouette; in spite of her muscular build she still had feminine curves. In his arms, Mallenia always felt quite different from Coïra. Rodario was aware of his outstanding good fortune.
“I’m amazed,” said the Ido girl, half turning to him.
“Are you? What about?”
“How you ever managed to survive. You’ve no idea how to move silently, Rodario.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t want to startle you.” He tried to put on a stern face. “You should be in bed. You’re supposed to be resting. The journey tired you.”
“That’s what journeys do. I don’t want to miss the outcome of the battle. In all of Girdlegard there’s talk of nothing else.” She leaned out again, watching the people in the streets outside the inn. “Some of the men are going off to volunteer for the army.”
Rodario got up and came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her body and holding her tight. “The humans are drunk on their victories and their newfound freedom! It’s great! But it’ll be even better if it’s all over before they get there.” He followed her gaze; a company of young men in armor were setting off under a standard bearing the coat of arms of their town. “If they have to fight monsters they will lose.”
Mallenia turned in his arms. “Is that why we are making such slow progress? Are you trying to keep me safe?” Her eyes challenged his. “Tell me the truth, actor.”
“We’re going slowly because the coach cannot travel any faster,” he assured her. “I want to find out how Coïra is and I don’t want to leave her alone any longer.”
Mallenia nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought. So she needs your protection more than I do.”
“When she left with Tungdil and the rest it was the other way around. You were too weak even to lift a knife,” he objected.
“That’s all changed now,” she said, grinning. She gave him a playful shove that took him off balance.
“So I see,” he said, laughing. He kissed her hand. “So let’s get going.” He collected their things while she changed out of her nightgown in front of him with no false modesty, putting on her leather armor and picking up her swords. Her movements were still slow and she had some difficulty fastening all the buckles but she managed in the end.
Their bags were ready and Rodario called the innkeeper’s boy to help with carrying the luggage.
Together they loaded the coach Rodario had hired, stowing provisions on board for themselves and the coachman, and oats for the horses.
Rodario was about to help Mallenia up into the carriage when the innkeeper emerged. He held his errand boy roughly by the scruff of the neck. “One moment!” he said sharply. “This ne’er-do-well has a confession to make.”
“Must I really?” the boy whimpered.
A slap in the face convinced him. “You deserve to have your hand cut off. That’s what will happen if the fine lady and gentleman insist on the proper penalty,” he yelled at the boy. “You bring shame to my establishment! And you will pay for it with pain.”
The landlord let go of the boy’s ear and cuffed him on the nape of the neck. With his other hand he reached into his apron pocket and handed a surprised Rodario an object wrapped in cloth.
The actor immediately recognized the cloth as being his own; after all, his initials were embroidered in the corner. But he had no idea what could be wrapped in it. He took the proffered item and exchanged glances with Mallenia before carefully unpacking it.
“He said he found it on the floor in your room. Under the bed where the lady was sleeping,” he blurted out. “There’s no way I’ll believe that, the scoundrel! Things have been going missing ever since he started here.” He boxed the boy’s ears again. “I swear by the gods I’ll chop your hand off myself if these good people insist! It’ll be a pleasure!”
The boy sobbed and tried to lie his way out of trouble.
Rodario had finished unwinding the cloth and stared at the dull stone that lay there. “It isn’t mine,” he whispered to Mallenia, who looked as shocked as he was.
“A turquoise smoke diamond. What do you think it’s worth?” she replied.
So far, neither the landlord nor errand boy had noticed their surprise, so the actor wrapped their find up again.
“Thank you for being so vigilant,” he said, fishing some coins out of his purse. “Here, as a reward.” He gestured toward the youth magnanimously “Let him go. It will be a lesson to him. If he doesn’t mend his ways, chop his feet off. Then he can still work in the kitchen for you.”
The innkeeper’s face brightened. “Thank you, sire! Very generous of you indeed!” He gave the boy a few kicks on the backside to propel him back inside.
Rodario unwrapped the stone again. “A smoke diamond. It really is,” he said, enthralled. But how did it get to be wrapped up in my handkerchief?”
Mallenia took the diamond, turning it in her hand. Dark shards of metal fell from the cloth onto the floor.
Rodario picked them up and handed them to the girl. “What do you think those are?”
“Perhaps they’re part of the original setting?” She examined the fragments. “This is tionium!”
“Apart from the fact that the stone is not mine, I haven’t even got a tionium pendant it could have hung on.” Rodario stroked his pointed beard, then smoothed down his mustache.
Mallenia laughed. “For a clever man you can be quite slow at times.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Really?”
She held the smoke diamond out to him. “Tionium?”
Rodario studied the stone, then her face, and then he snatched it up. “All I can think of is Tungdil’s armor…” He hesitated. “You think this may be his?”
“But who cut the stone out and hid it in your things? And why?”
“To accuse me of theft, I suppose.” He leaned back against the carriage, tossing the diamond up into the air and catching it. “But it doesn’t make sense. Everyone knows I don’t need to steal.”
“Perhaps the real thief wanted to escape notice.”
“Then why not just chuck the stone away?” His eyes followed the diamond as he juggled it. “Perhaps they wanted to sow discord among our group on the mission.”
“But how would they know the group would split up?” Mallenia continued. “So he got what he wanted anyway.”
Rodario popped the stone in his glove and tied some string round it to stop it falling out. “Let’s assume it’s from Tungdil’s armor. What’s it for, do you think? I can’t remember having seen it before.”
“It may have been under a flap… or on the inside.”
“We must restore it to Tungdil,” said Rodario, about to spring up into the carriage.
Mallenia held him back. “That will be too slow. We’ll have to ride.”
“We?” He kissed her on the forehead. “I will ride, Mallenia. You stay here or you can follow in the carriage.”
She frowned. “So do you fancy being knocked down by a woman in full view of all these worthy citizens?”
Rodario sniffed to show his displeasure. “To underestimate the physical prowess of one’s companion is not a good basis for a successful relationship, my dear.”
“Exactly. It was just a question. No more than that.” Mallenia grinned and called the landlord to get them two good horses.
They waited impatiently in the inn, taking a simple meal of ham with bread, washed down with water.
“Do you think,” asked Rodario, taking a large bite, “that we could be responsible for bringing about a successful end to the battle?” He sighed. “Oh, this would make a great play. My forefather would have been proud of me! I seem to be walking in his footsteps when it comes to being instrumental in saving Girdlegard.” He chewed his food and reached for another slice of bread. “And then, of course, there’s my work as the bard of freedom.”
He tipped his chair backwards and forwards, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll even have earned myself a royal position!”
“Do you want to rule Idoslane?” she teased him. “Then you would have to defeat me. You can’t do that. But Urgon’s throne is empty. Why don’t you apply?”
Rodario laughed. “It would be a considerable promotion in status. Quite incredible to think…”
“… of you as the new Incredible Rodario,” she said, completing the thought and standing up. The landlord waved them over. “I’ll believe it when I see it happen.”
They went out, paid the innkeeper and swung themselves up into the saddle on their chestnut mares.
“Do you know what I’d do first if I were king of Urgon?” He checked to ensure the diamond was still fastened securely at his wrist.
“No.”
“I’d conquer Idoslane and make you my personal slave.” Rodario grinned and rode off.
“Men!” Mallenia laughed and jabbed her heels into her horse’s flanks.
XXXII
The Outer Lands,
The Black Abyss,
Early Summer, 6492nd Solar Cycle
Ireheart was burning to give the command to attack, but it was not his place, even if the duel between famulus and master had now ended. Slîn’s action had been against all the rules but had certainly decided the outcome. He had no objection to what the fourthling had done.
Tungdil reached Bloodthirster and was pulling it out of the muddy swamp with both hands when suddenly the warriors of the vraccasium-clad dwarf turned invisible. “Armies! Attack!” ordered the one-eyed dwarf. “Attack and kill!”
The dwarf-army charged forward, racing to where the opponents had been. All were uneasy, knowing they might be struck by blades they could sense but not see.
The ubariu, humans and undergroundlings moved swiftly in.
Lot-Ionan’s fingers sent blue energy flashes at the master, but the badly injured dwarf raised his right hand for long enough to catch the beams in the smoke diamond of his gauntlet; the gem glowed, but that was all that happened.
Ireheart saw their own magus grow paler by the moment and heard him call out to Coïra. Confound it, so things are getting hard for him? She nodded reluctantly and pointed her left arm at the enemy. Lot-Ionan did the same. They must be wanting to combine forces on this.
The first of the transformed enemies must have reached the ranks of the army where fighting could now be seen. Their terror-inducing scythe-like weapons were coming into their own, the cutting edge slicing through soldiers, mowing them down, severing flesh, sinew and bone in one lethal semicircle after another. Heaps of mutilated warriors piled up all around. The invisible creatures worked their way through the army as if it were a cornfield at harvest time. Those struck not by blade but by spiked shaft were thrown off their feet and tossed, mortally wounded, through the air, landing among their own comrades. The enemy could not be seen.
The effect on the army was obvious.
&
nbsp; On all four fronts the advance halted, many warriors turning tail in terror as they heard the whirr of approaching scythes.
The second battalion of opponents, armed with axes and swords, seemed to have formed small groups and were rampaging through the army lines, making inroads through the throng. None survived their blows.
How can these fiends be tackled? Ireheart saw that the warriors next to Coïra were being hurled through the air. Holy forge-fire! One of the invisible enemies must be approaching the maga! Lot-Ionan was still immersed in fabricating his spell as she stopped what she was doing and sprang aside with a shout.
Ireheart ran over to defend Coïra, puzzling over how he could make their opponents visible again.
The battle raged around them, the warriors desperately trying to defend themselves against their invisible adversaries but only succeeding in laying a few of them low. Hard to locate and harder still to fight. Worse still, it took an incredible number of blows to bring them down; as well as their invisibility they had their armor and shields for protection.
Ireheart had lost sight of Tungdil while trying to help the maga. Coïra possessed the power to defend herself but was retreating from the fray, shrieking in terror. Hers was no warrior spirit.
Lot-Ionan, meanwhile, had sent his magic force against the fallen master—the rays were met once again by a freshly erected barrier! Flames licked around the sides of a bright red dome before dying out.
“Stupid fool! See what you’ve done through your cowardice!” The magus cursed Coïra, who had tripped over the hem of her dress, tumbling to the boggy ground. The accident fortuitously saved her from the invisible sweep of the scythes, for to her right and left dwarves were felled mercilessly, injured and mutilated. Blood and severed limbs abounded.
Ireheart had almost reached her but could not believe how Lot-Ionan was behaving—ignoring Coïra instead of helping her up. He was making for the magic barrier behind which Tungdil’s former master was already pulling the crossbow bolt out of his head. The wound closed up as soon as the tip of the bolt had left the skull and he jumped to his feet as if nothing had happened. He could not be slain with ordinary weapons.