by Markus Heitz
There’s nothing left for them to do, he thought. Rather than wait for them to arrive, he struck out at once on a northeasterly bearing.
The journey to the Brown Range took many orbits.
Tungdil enjoyed the solitude and had plenty of time to think. He thought about Balyndis and Myr and what had happened between them, the thirdlings, the future, and where he wanted to go—to the freelings, to the fifthlings, or to Gandogar.
As he crossed the border into the hills of Urgon, his plan took shape.
His march through Urgon coincided with the preparations for the coronation. The fate of King Belletain was the talk of the boarding houses where Tungdil sought shelter and food. The mad king’s betrayal of the allied army had cost him the support of his subjects, and lost him his throne.
Tungdil was pleased to be back among humans. It reminded him of happier times in Lot-Ionan’s school when he had been nothing but an ordinary dwarf with a love of books and a talent for metalworking.
The journey through Urgon took him through green valleys, over lofty summits, and through narrow mountain passes that tested his agility as well as his endurance. At last he arrived at the fourthling kingdom. The sentries took him straight to Gandogar.
The fourthlings’ talent for cutting and polishing gemstones was on full display in the stronghold. The passageways were decorated with pictures composed of brightly colored gems: blood-red rubies, deep blue sapphires, moss-green emeralds, black tourmaline, pink quartz, finely worked agate… Every inch of the fourthling stronghold seemed to sparkle and shimmer with precious stones.
Tungdil, disheveled from his journey through Gauragar and Urgon, his clothes dusty and his boots worn, entered the throne room and inclined his head, revealing his sun-bleached hair.
“Tungdil Goldhand!” Gandogar hailed him from his throne of pure quartz. He seemed exceedingly relieved. “Thank Vraccas you’re alive. How are you?” He signaled for him to sit. “Salfalur turned up in Porista,” he continued, while stewards hurried in with refreshments for the tired and thirsty dwarf. “He killed a dozen of our warriors before he disappeared. We were worried he…”
Tungdil emptied his tankard in a single draft. “He’s dead, Your Majesty,” he interrupted. “He came after me and ambushed me in Dsôn.” He pulled Keenfire from its sheath and rapped his knuckles against the ax head. “I claimed what was mine from the älfar. Dsôn is a dreadful place and they’d hidden the ax in a tower of bones. After I’d found it, I…” It occurred to him that it might be better to keep the details of his duel with Salfalur to himself. “Well, I came back here.”
“You were gone a long time. Every orbit we kept waiting and hoping for news, but spring went by and no one knew where you were.”
Tungdil tried not to show his surprise. “Urgon is a kingdom after my heart, I thought I’d see a bit of the land…” He decided to change the subject. “I suppose you’ve finished the replicas?”
“You made an excellent job of the drawings.” Gandogar called for his master jeweler, who carried in the diamonds on a crystal tray lined with black velvet. The gems were beautifully arranged as if strung together on a necklace. To Tungdil’s untrained eye, they looked identical. They seemed to resemble each other in every detail.
He took out the real diamond and placed it among the others. “It’s impossible to tell the difference.” He counted the gems: fourteen in total. “You’ve made too many,” he said. “Seven human monarchs, five dwarves, and Liútasil—thirteen.”
The fourthling king and the master jeweler compared the diamonds and nodded. “They’re perfect,” declared Gandogar. “But we haven’t made too many, Tungdil. Five for the dwarven monarchs, including one for the future king of the thirdlings—and an extra one for you. If anyone is worthy of the diamond, it’s you. Don’t feel obliged to accept—we can destroy it if you’d rather.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’d be honored.”
Gandogar picked up the corners of the velvet cloth, allowing the diamonds to slide into the middle. Tungdil lost sight of the eoîl’s diamond among its lesser fellows. The high king gathered the corners and shook the cloth, allowing the diamonds to jostle for position. At last he let go of one end and the stones bounced onto the tray. “Summon the messengers,” he commanded.
The doors to the throne room flew open, and an elf, seven men, and four dwarves were ushered in. One by one they stepped forward to choose a diamond. Some barely glanced at the tray, while others took their time as if they hoped to pick the magic diamond.
Two stones remained on the tray. Gandogar asked the master jeweler to offer them to Tungdil. “I’d like you to choose,” he said.
Tungdil reached for the right-hand stone, wavered for a moment, then picked it up.
Gandogar took the last diamond. “These gifts are a sign of our unity,” he said, turning to the messengers. “Take them to your rulers and tell them these words: Like these stones, so will be our thoughts. Remember these diamonds in times of trouble and honor the alliance. Henceforth, our hearts shall beat as one for Girdlegard.” He waved them away. The messengers bowed and took their leave, and the doors closed behind them with a bang.
“Right, I’ve got a question for you, Tungdil Goldhand.” The high king signaled for Tungdil to be seated. “You’ve had some time to reflect on your journey. Will you be my counselor?”
Kingdom of Idoslane,
Girdlegard,
Summer, 6236th Solar Cycle
Tungdil didn’t need to tell his legs where to take him; he had traveled this way a hundred times before. The journey was full of memories, sad memories.
Summer had brought the promise of an excellent harvest to Idoslane. The fields were full of vegetables and crops, and bees buzzed between brightly colored flowers. A warm wind caressed the lush green meadows where the cows were grazing. They turned their big brown eyes toward the wayfarer, before lowering their heads to focus on the grass.
It looks exactly the same. Tungdil rounded the final bend in the road and came to a halt. Even from a distance, he could see the wreckage of Lot-Ionan’s gates. Strewn among the bushes were scraps of rusty armor and gnawed bone, all that was left of the orcs who had done battle with Tungdil and the twins on their previous visit. No, he thought somberly. Some things have changed.
The orcs were gone for good. Judging by their remains, they had infested the kingdom, but the stone of judgment had put an end to their evil souls. Prince Mallen had sent an army into the caves of Toboribor and his men had struggled through the hot, dark passageways without finding a single orc.
Guarding Girdlegard isn’t easy. He thought of his dead friends and of Boëndal buried at the High Pass. He had visited the secondling’s grave with Boïndil and they had wept for their lost companion and twin. Boïndil’s inner furnace seemed to have cooled and the glint in his eye had gone. It seemed to Tungdil that he resembled his brother more closely, and even his speech was calmer and more considered. Death leaves its mark on the living as well.
He approached the dark entrance to the tunnel, climbing over the wreckage of the gates and entering the cool, earthy passageway.
After a few paces, he stopped. The tunnel was still blocked where he and the twins had cut away the struts and brought down the roof on the heads of the furious orcs who were baying for their blood. Tons of rock had crashed to the ground, barricading the tunnel. The only way into the school was to burrow through.
Tungdil stroked the frayed neckerchief that he wore around his wrist. It was a present from Frala, the warm-hearted kitchen maid who had been like a sister to him, and who had died in the orcish massacre with her daughters, Sunja and Ikana.
A lump came to his throat and he forced himself to swallow, but the sadness was lodged inside him. It’s time I cleared up around here.
It was a monumental task. Orbit after orbit passed as he inched his way forward with a pick and a shovel, carting out the rubble and building new struts. He threw the crushed remains of the orcs into a pile a
nd burned their bones, allowing their ashes to scatter on the wind. A single skull marked the site of the battle, a reminder of the dwarven victory and a warning to future invaders.
At last he reached a section of tunnel that had survived the skirmish with the orcs. The struts and the walls looked perfectly stable, so he continued on his way.
From time to time he found an orcish skeleton. Falling debris accounted for most of the casualties, but some of the beasts had starved amid the rubble. Tungdil guessed from their gnawed bones that they had resorted to eating each other, though one of the skeletons bore no signs of damage. He eyed the creature’s skull with distaste. You were the last orc standing, were you? Even feasting on your comrades didn’t save you in the end.
He dragged the bones out of the tunnel and lit another fire, determined that nothing should remain of Nôd’onn’s hordes. Next he began a search for the skeletons of the men and women who had lived at the school, but all he found was a small collection of bones, which he decided to bury on top of a little mound opposite the gates. He found a boulder and sculpted it into a tombstone, then forged their names in metal letters and hammered them into the stone.
Laying down his tools, he sat on the mound and gazed at the hills and the human settlements. Never had the kingdom of Idoslane looked so peaceful. He wiped the sweat and tears from his eyes.
A familiar figure came into view, hurrying down the path, spotting him on the mound and running to meet him.
He got up to welcome the visitor. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, giving Balyndis a powerful hug. “I suppose they sent you to talk me into settling in one of the kingdoms. Did Gandogar think I’d agree to be his counselor if you asked on his behalf?”
Balyndis let her backpack slide to the ground and sat down on the mound. Sighing, she rubbed her ankles. “I should have brought a pony. It’s a long way on foot.” Noticing the tombstone, she gave Tungdil another hug. There was no need for words.
They sat in silence, watching the clouds as the blue sky turned red, then black and the first stars appeared overhead.
“Everyone says hello,” said Balyndis at last. “It would take too long to list all the names. You’ve got a lot of friends, you know. And Rodario wants to know about the orc who asked for directions.” She smiled. “I don’t think he got it.”
Tungdil laughed. “He’ll have to wait for the punch line.” He was silent for a while. “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell the high king that I haven’t decided how much longer I’m staying. I can’t work out where I belong. My heart belongs to the dwarves, but I like the company of humans, and sometimes I think I’m more like a human than a dwarf. They’re not as rigid in their thinking.”
“What about the freelings?”
“I can’t go back to Trovegold—not now. It reminds me of things I’d rather forget.” He looked at her gravely. “As soon as I’ve made my decision, I’ll let Gandogar know. Maybe I’ll go to the Outer Lands and look for the dwarves who carved that strange rune. If Gandogar needs me, he has only to say.”
She tried to smile. “It’s sad, you know. For the first time in history, we’ve got a real hero, and instead of living with his kinsfolk and sharing his wisdom with the high king, he worries about what to do with himself.” She tilted back her head to look up at a star that was shining more brightly than its fellows. “Maybe it’s part of being a hero. If you didn’t question yourself, you might get bigheaded.”
“Tell me about the dwarven kingdoms,” he said. “I’m tired of thinking about myself.”
Balyndis thought for a moment. “There isn’t much to report. The feud with the thirdlings is over, and the dwarves are united at last. A combined army from all five kingdoms is guarding the Eastern Pass.”
He was about to tell her about Salfalur’s threat, but he changed his mind. “What about the freelings?”
“Still free,” she reported. “King Gemmil decided to carry on as before. He’ll welcome any dwarf who wants to settle in his realm. It’s better that way. The freelings wouldn’t be happy in our kingdoms—but we’ll trade with each other and keep in touch.”
“Any news from the rest of Girdlegard?”
She shrugged. “Everything’s back to normal—except the beasts are gone. Even the dark water has disappeared and it’s fine to drink from the lakes. Every last bit of evil has been destroyed.” She sighed. “It’s almost too good to be true.”
Tungdil remembered how the malachite had shattered before his eyes. There’s nothing left that can harm us. “The dwarves will see to it that Girdlegard stays safe.”
“Oh,” said Balyndis, uncertainly. “I almost forgot. There’s a rumor that the diamond for Queen Isika hasn’t arrived. No one has seen the messenger or his guards.”
“What do you mean?” Tungdil shook his head incredulously. “What if it’s the ma…” he broke off, remembering that Balyndis knew nothing of the magic stone. “But it’s a symbol of friendship!”
“People are saying it was stolen. Queen Isika is scouring Rân Ribastur for the thieves. You can’t sell a stone like that—the culprits will be captured.”
Tungdil tried not to think about it. He was tired of being a hero. Someone else can deal with it… “What about you, Balyndis? How’s life in the fifthling kingdom?”
“It’s going well. We’ve rebuilt the halls, just as you said we should.” She flashed him a wonderful smile. “You’d be proud if you could see it—even Giselbert would be proud. Glaïmbar is doing his best to be a good king and he’s getting there, Tungdil.”
There was a short silence. “Is he a good husband as well?”
She swallowed. “He did everything he could.”
He stopped gazing at the stars and looked at her sharply. “Did?”
“He let me go,” she said tremulously. “One morning he put his arms around me, looked at me solemnly, and told me he was lifting the iron band.” She paused for a moment, regaining her composure, and Tungdil saw doubt, hope, and fear in her beautiful eyes. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “I asked what I’d done wrong.”
“What did he say?” said Tungdil, his throat suddenly dry.
“He said that he promised someone to make me happy and he couldn’t keep his promise without letting me go. He told me to follow my heart.” She hid her face in her hands, crying tears of relief. “I prayed to Vraccas every night, asking him to bring us together. Is it wrong of me to be glad?”
Even the stars seemed to be rejoicing. Thank you, Vraccas, thank you. Tungdil wanted to jump up and shout the good news across Gauragar. Vraccas has given me my heart’s desire. Restraining himself, he stroked her short hair, remembering her ordeal at the hands of the eoîl. She lifted her palms from her tear-streaked face and looked at him tenderly.
“No, it’s not wrong to be happy,” he assured her, pulling her close. Silently, he thanked Glaïmbar, whose selfless gesture commanded his unconditional respect. He kissed Balyndis, disentangled himself gently, and bent on one knee. “Balyndis Steelfinger of the clan of the Steel Fingers, daughter of Borengar, will you meld your heart to mine and stay with me always, even if we live a thousand cycles?”
Balyndis dried her tears. “My heart has been melded to yours for as long as I’ve known you, Tungdil Goldhand. It’s yours to keep.”
They embraced, squeezing each other tightly, while the moon rose above them, casting a silvery glow over Idoslane. Nothing could separate them now.
Dramatis Personae
DWARVES
Firstling Kingdom
Xamtys Stubbornstreak II of the clan of the Stubborn Streaks, queen of Borengar’s folk.
Gufgar Anvilstand of the clan of the Steely Nails, Xamtys’s deputy.
Balyndis Steelfinger of the clan of the Steel Fingers, smith and custodian of the gates.
Bulingar Steelfinger, father of Balyndis.
Glaïmbar Sharpax of the clan of the Iron Beaters, warrior.
Fyrna Goodsoul of the clan of the Ore Finders, messenger.
/> Beldobin Anvilstand of the clan of the Steely Nails, messenger.
Secondling Kingdom
Balendilín Onearm of the clan of the Firm Fingers, king of Beroïn’s folk.
Boëndal Hookhand and Boïndil Doubleblade, known also as Ireheart, of the clan of the Swinging Axes, warriors and twins.
Thirdling Kingdom
Tungdil Goldhand, scholar and warrior.
Lorimbas Steelheart of the clan of the Stone Grinders, king of Lorimbur’s folk.
Romo Steelheart of the clan of the Stone Grinders, Lorimbas’s nephew.
Salfalur Shieldbreaker of the clan of the Red Eyes, thirdling commander-in-chief.
Theogil Hardhand of the clan of the Iron Knuckles, sentry.
Fourthling Kingdom
Gandogar Silverbeard of the clan of the Silver Beards, high king and leader of Goïmdil’s folk.
Freelings
Gemmil Callusedhand, king of the freelings.
Sanda Flameheart, queen consort and freeling commander-in-chief.
Myrmianda Alabaster, medic and scholar.
Bramdal Masterstroke, executioner.
HUMANS
Andôkai the Tempestuous, maga and ruler of the enchanted realm of Brandôkai.
The fabulous Rodario, actor and impresario.
Furgas, theater technician and prop master.
Narmora, actress and wife of Furgas.
Dorsa, their daughter.
Rosild, nursemaid.
Prince Mallen of Ido, sovereign of Idoslane.
King Belletain, sovereign of Urgon.
King Bruron, sovereign of Gauragar.
Queen Umilante, sovereign of Sangpûr.
Queen Wey IV, sovereign of Weyurn.
Queen Isika, sovereign of Rân Ribastur.
King Nate, sovereign of Tabaîn.
Truk Elius, functionary in Hillchester.
Hosjep, carpenter.
Aspila, poor woman in Gastinga.
Ertil, cook in Porista.
Lirkim, courtier in Porista.
Nufa, famula of Nudin/Nôd’onn.
Vallasin, head of Belletain’s army.
OTHERS