The Fate of the Dwarves d-4

by Markus Heitz

  Tungdil straightened his shoulders, boundless arrogance in his expression. “You have a choice: Do you wish to die here in my chamber or out there on the battlefield?”

  IV

  Girdlegard,

  Former Queendom of Weyurn,

  Mifurdania,

  Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle

  Coira scuttled from one shadow to the next. She chose the town’s narrowest alleyways to avoid the orcs. The creatures never dared go down these lanes because they could only walk single file between the houses, so it was the perfect place to ambush hated enemies!

  The guards seemed to have given up searching for her, convinced she must be back in her palace on the island known as Lakepride, but the Lohasbranders had got their heavily armed orcs to patrol the streets to intimidate the townspeople and bring home to them how powerful the Dragon was.

  The situation in Mifurdania was extremely tense. The competition to select the most worthy person to follow in the footsteps of that fabulous actor of past renown, Rodario the Incredible, had attracted a large number of spectators, so the town was filled to bursting with visitors. And a popular freedom-fighter had been arrested after a number of the detested occupying forces had been killed. Even now calls were being made to the populace in leaflets issued from his very prison cell, encouraging them to resist and promising better times to come. A dangerous state of affairs.

  There was talk in the taverns. It was said that liberation was on its way. But none of the townsfolk spreading the news in low voices over beer and wine had any idea that Coira was keen for rumor to turn into reality. The people’s hero must not be allowed to die.

  The young woman knew that freeing Rodario the Incomparable from his cell was not a purely selfless act on her part. At last she would have an opportunity to speak to the man she admired so much, not just for his poetry and courage, but also for his dazzling good looks, wit and charm. Thus her heart was beating faster than usual for several reasons. Apprehension about the coming attack on the prison was only one.

  Coira approached the eastern gate’s high tower where the Dragon had ordered anyone infringing his laws to be incarcerated.

  The number of prisoners had grown in recent cycles, so the tower had been extended upwards. This had led to the nickname Reed Tower, because the slender edifice would sway from side to side in a strong wind, losing the occasional stone from the battlements, which could come crashing down through the tiles of neighboring roofs below. If they put you in one of the top levels your life was more or less forfeit.

  Coira took a deep breath and looked up. Probably they would have put The Incomparable in one of the highest cells. She would have to fight her way up and make sure that no one was able to raise the alarm, or that would mean disaster for herself, too. Her magic arts would help in some measure, but she only ever had sufficient power for a few spells before she had to return to the source near the palace to renew her energy store. This made a maga like herself vulnerable.

  “They should come up with an energy source you could carry around with you,” she said to herself, scurrying over to the tower’s entrance.

  Listening at the sturdy door she could hear nothing. She tried peering through the window grille but could only see a curtain. There was a light in the guardroom. That was all she could ascertain.

  Coira felt her blood pounding in her ears. So much was unknown and she had to confront it all. How many orcs are sitting there? she wondered. On normal orbits there would only be half a dozen guards, but now? Given the state of the town, perhaps three times that number.

  She drew her sword from underneath her mantle, gathered her magic powers and prepared herself for a spell that would send the guards to sleep. She had tried it on humans often enough, but could not gauge how the green-skinned warders would react.

  Pulling her shawl over mouth and nose, Coira pressed down the door-catch and leaped into the room. “Don’t move…” she cried, then fell silent.

  The room was-empty.

  Seven tankards stood on the table, all of them full. You could see the remains of a meal: Chewed chicken bones, crumbs and odd bits of vegetables were strewn on a large platter.

  Coira closed the door and crossed the room carefully. Perhaps the warders had gone up to bring the prisoners their food?

  Her tortoiseshell eyes caught sight of a board next to the stairs with a row of hooks intended for bunches of keys, all of them empty.

  More and more peculiar. The longer she stood there trying to figure things out, the stronger her conviction became that someone had got there before her.

  She ran up the steps to the first floor, weapon and spells at the ready.

  Arriving at the first-floor landing she saw the cell doors hanging open. Did the Poet of Freedom have friends brave enough to free him despite the overwhelming numbers? She smiled at the thought. She continued running further up the stairs, finding cell after cell open and empty. Her disappointment at not being the one to liberate The Incomparable only lasted a second. What mattered was that he was free.

  She hastened down the stairway again-and found herself face to face with Rodario the Seventh.

  He was just as shocked as she was and even gave a little yelp of fright. His dagger clattered to the floor.

  “What are you doing here?” asked the young woman.

  Rodario looked bewildered and picked up his weapon, wiping it on his cloak and holding it ineffectually, then putting it away with an embarrassed air. She saw at once that he had no idea how to use it. “Probably the same as you,” he stammered, seeing the sword she was carrying. He pushed the hair out of his eyes. “I’m here to free The Incomparable.”

  Coira laughed. “All by yourself?”

  The man frowned, looking hurt. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to endanger anyone else.” He glanced past her over to the steps. “Where is he?”

  “We’ve both arrived too late. He’s already free.” She found it so touching that this skinny figure of a man, with no physical prowess, a contender fresh from humiliating defeat on stage, had turned out intent on fighting off the orc guards to free a rival, the favorite. This Rodario possessed none of the The Incomparable’s charisma.

  Rodario smiled all over his face. “Oh, thanks be to Samusin! All the better!” He seemed truly relieved. “Then the two of us can get away from here together, then.” He watched her and obviously he liked what he saw. That was all she needed!

  Suddenly they heard deep voices outside, the clank of armor and the stomp of heavy boots. It must be a guard unit back from patrol.

  “There’s only one exit to the tower,” she whispered to Rodario, extinguishing the lamps. “Quick, hide!” He was about to run up the stairs to the first floor, but she grabbed his sleeve. “No, don’t head for the cells. It’d be making things far too easy for the guards.” She pushed him into a dark corner by the weapons stand, following him into the little niche, pressing herself against the wall where the shadows helped to conceal them. Maybe the guards would rush straight past.

  The door burst open and an orc entered the room. Hardly three steps in, he was already bellowing out orders and pulling his sword out of its scabbard.

  Eight of his soldiers stormed up the stairs with him, while four stayed down in the guardroom to secure the entrance. They lit the lamps.

  Coira knew a fight could not be avoided. And it would have to be won quickly before the other orcs came back down.

  “I’ll be needing you, Rodario the Seventh,” she whispered in his ear. He was utterly transported as her breath played on his face.

  “Anything you ask,” he said eagerly. Unfortunately, not very quietly.

  “Over there!” called one of the orcs excitedly. “In that corner!” He drew his sword; the other three followed suit and moved in to the attack.

  “Didn’t you do well?” Coira said sarcastically under her breath as she prepared to use magic against the guards. Four yellow spheres the size of marbles flashed out of her left hand to hit the four attac
kers. As the spheres burst, the orcs’ heads were enveloped in sparkling glitter.

  Two of the creatures simply collapsed, but the others showed no effects.

  “It’s Coira Weytana!” one of them yelled up the stairs. “The daughter of the maga is down here! Quick! Come and help us!”

  “Go on, do it again!” said Rodario, brandishing his dagger. “Send them to their deaths!” He dashed up willy-nilly to the nearest orc and stabbed away.

  Coira was supremely conscious that The Seventh was neither good-looking nor articulate nor a trained fighter. His hurtling attack was so obvious that even a blind man would have seen it coming and could have taken action to avoid the blade. For a warrior, the clumsy assault did not constitute a challenge, merely an annoyance.

  Accordingly the orc counterattacked with contempt. It reached for one of the tankards, stepped nimbly aside and walloped Rodario on the back of the skull as he stumbled through into thin air.

  Groaning and losing his balance, the man tipped forward and spread his length on the table. The remaining tankards scattered, crashing to the floor, beer foaming in all directions…

  Coira drove her sword at the orc nearest her. He parried at the last moment as the blade came close to his throat. Grunting, he pushed the sword away, launching a thrust of his own.

  The young woman held her sword against his, but the strength behind his thrust nearly forced her to open her fingers. Her hand and forearm went numb. She would have to try a different sort of defense, even though she had wanted to avoid this.

  She let off a lethal spell. Crackling red lightning bolts sizzled out of her eyes to hit the orc in the face. His skin boiled and blistered, his eyes melted and vaporized to tiny spots the size of a pea, and he plunged screaming to the ground.

  The orc who had felled Rodario threw his knife at the maga. She used her skills to hold the whirling blade suspended in the air. A thought and a short formula were all it took, and the metal glowed red hot.

  Coira sent the glowing ball back to the thrower, who was unable to duck out of its way; it tracked his movements! The molten steel slapped against his neck and burrowed its way through the skin. The orc tried to wipe it away in his panic, burning his fingers to the bone. Intense pain made him pass out and fall to the floor.

  Loud commands rang out and boots came clomping down the stairs.

  Coira ran to the table and grabbed the befuddled actor by the collar, pulling him upright. “Come on, you sorriest of all the sorry ones,” she shouted, slapping his face to bring him round.

  Rodario rolled his eyes and grinned at her vaguely. “Well done there, Princess.”

  “Yeah, can’t say the same for you!” she ran to the door. “Out of here!” she ordered. “Or do you want to stay and fight the greenskins in further glorious battles?”

  “But I don’t know which way to go,” he whimpered, holding a dagger in each hand. Two orcs came bounding down the stairs and stopped on the threshold.

  Coira sighed. She had suspected this would happen. “Come with me then. I’ll keep you safe, even though it should really be the other way round. You’re the man, after all.”

  “I know,” he called glumly, making for the door. “The hero is supposed to rescue the princess, not vice versa.”

  “Right! Remember that for next time,” she replied, running through the narrow lanes back to the place in the wall where she could slip through and where Loytan was waiting for her. With two horses. One had been intended for The Incomparable, but now Coira found herself shepherding The Incomparable’s pale imitation through Mifurdania. “This is simply not fair, gods,” she murmured, turning her head to look at the actor.

  He kept stumbling over his robe, then dropped his dagger and got down on hands and knees to look for it among the rubbish. Coira had to pull him along.

  They ran along in the shadow of the city walls without being pursued. The orcs were expecting her to be heading for the gates.

  All of a sudden a form appeared out of one of the alleyways, holding a lantern in his left hand and obviously waiting for them.

  Coira recognized The Incomparable!

  She ran up. He had a bloodied graze on his face and his right eye was swollen shut-evidence of orc and Lohasbrander attention. He held out his hand, first to the breathless man, then to the young woman. “I wanted to thank you both for what you were trying to do for me,” he said quickly. “I shan’t forget it.”

  “Come with us,” responded Coira, hoping he could not hear how loud her heart was beating. He had not let go of her hand. “We’ve got horses for you…”

  The Incomparable shook his head. “I can’t leave Mifurdania. There are so many people to whom my words may yet give hope. Now more than ever.” He made as if to kiss her hand. “And I’ve still got to win my title.” He nodded to Rodario and it seemed to Coira that they were exchanging silent messages. “Take my friend with you. He’s in more danger than I am. There’s nobody in the town that would give him shelter and his face is very well known.”

  Rodario the Seventh gave an unhappy smile and played with the seam of his left sleeve.

  Another wave of disappointment swamped Coira, but she promised, “I will,” conscious of her desire never to let The Incomparable go. Instead she must drag this idiot along with her while her dazzling champion stayed behind doing heroic deeds. Without her. So unfair, gods!

  She bent forward and breathed a kiss onto The Incomparable’s cheek, then went off, taking Rodario with her.

  “What a man!” said the actor delightedly. “What wouldn’t I give to be like him?”

  “And what wouldn’t I give if you were?” she added quietly, blushing. She was ashamed of herself for the mean remark, but Rodario didn’t appear to have heard.

  They reached the secret door in the town wall, an ancient one from the days of the old Mifurdania, whence spies could have been dispatched during a siege to find out the enemy’s plans. Few people knew of its existence but Coira had been shown it by Loytan. The Lohasbranders did not know about it. And who would want to show it to them?

  Coira looked for the mechanism, while Rodario kept a lookout for any orcs.

  “Oy! You down there!” The shout from above caught her by surprise and then an armored night-watchman leaned over the parapet to get a better look. “What are you up to?” He ran along till he came to the next set of steps, coming down with his pike raised, pointing down toward them, ready to stab.

  Coira took a step back and lifted her left arm to hold off the man with one of her sleep spells, but she had used up all her store of magic. A slight tingle and fluttering flames appeared on the ends of her fingers, but not enough to be effective. Harmless. A waste of effort.

  The night-watchman cursed and put his bugle to his lips.

  Then Rodario acted with, for him, great presence of mind. He hurled his second dagger upwards with great strength-but had omitted to take it out of its sheath first!

  With a dull thud it collided with the warder’s forehead. He gave a groan and disappeared behind the parapet; then they heard his body fall.

  “I’ve lost my last knife!” complained Rodario. “Damn. It was expensive! It was made of…”

  “Quiet!” Coira pressed the opening mechanism and part of the wall could now be rolled to one side. “I’ll buy you another one, but now, shift!” She hustled him out. “Even a blind chicken can find a grain of corn, they say.”

  “But I’m… not a chicken!” Rodario started to stammer.

  Loytan was waiting on the other side and looked baffled when he recognized the actor. “You know you’ve got the wrong one, don’t you, Princess?” he said to her accusingly, feeling duty-bound to point out her mistake.

  Coira sighed and swung herself up into the saddle. “Spare me,” she hissed, watching how the actor managed to catch his foot in his robe while trying to get it into the stirrup. The horses moved quickly on and he was still hopping along next to them. “Not a word! I’ll explain on the way,” she added, seeing Loy
tan opening his mouth again.

  At last The Seventh was in the saddle. “Right, we can escape now. I’m ready,” he announced.

  “I know who I want to escape from,” she mouthed to Loytan, letting her mount gallop off.

  The two men followed. “Where are we going?” called Rodario.

  “To the palace,” answered Coira, looking back at the lights she had noticed. Riders with torches were on their trail and she could hear bloodhounds baying. The Lohasbranders were not going to let her get away so easily.

  All the more reason to reach the source at Lakepride to stock up on energy.

  Otherwise…

  Girdlegard,

  Protectorate of South Gauragar,

  Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle

  Hindrek steered the sledge piled high with logs toward the house in the snow-bound forest clearing.

  He had prepared this store of timber a few cycles ago and now the time had come to bring the logs home ready to split them into firewood. The family’s woodpile was running out. There had been barely enough to light the kitchen fire that morning.

  Hindrek stopped the horses at the barn and called his sons to help with the unloading.

  The door opened and two boys came running out, aged eleven and fourteen cycles. Like their father they were wearing coats and hats made of an odd mixture of patched furs ranging from rabbit to squirrel. It did not matter as long as they kept you warm. Their mother waved from the window, holding up a freshly skinned rabbit. It was to be their midday meal.

  Hindrek stood on the back of the sledge handing the wood down to Cobert, the elder of the two boys. “So who caught the rabbit?”

  “Me,” said Ortram proudly. “It was in my trap.”

  “He always knows the places the smallest creatures go,” laughed Cobert, grinning. “But I’m better with the bow, of course.”

  “But you haven’t caught anything for ages,” said his brother, sticking his tongue out. “I’m far better than you!”

  “Yes, of course, we’d have starved to death without you, wouldn’t we?” laughed Hindrek, passing him a large chunk of wood. “Go and chop this lot up. Do something for those muscles of yours, or you’ll never be able to pull the bowstring back like your brother.”