The Revenge of the Dwarves (61 page)

“I’m lost as well,” he sighed. “It all stands or falls with how the elves behave. I won’t risk a guess.” He forced his gaze away from the banners of the town.

“I don’t want to guess, either. Esdalân didn’t seem the type to be telling lies, though there must be other reasons for elves to fire on elves. At any event it was better that we left him in the village back there. I want to make up my own mind.” The magus indicated the tent bearing Mallen’s standard. “Let’s ride over. I think we should tell him
everything. From what you say he is a level-headed ruler. Even if he is an Ido.”

Bramdal must have given warning of their approach. They were received with shouted greetings and much approving pounding of fists on shields from the soldiers. Men bowed respectfully to the magus, delighted to see him returned.

The unusual noise drew Mallen out of his tent. He was attired in the impressive suit of armor his ancestors had worn and his fair hair streamed free. “Welcome to Idoslane, noble Lot-Ionan.” The prince bowed. “And welcome to you all.” He shook hands with Rodario and Ireheart. “Master Bramdal told us you would be joining us soon. The greatest heroes are now assembled. We will meet the unslayables head-on.” Holding the tent flap open, the ruler invited them inside. “If you are not too tired I’d like to explain what we’ve achieved in the past few orbits.” He sent messengers out to summon the dwarf commanders. Then he addressed Lot-Ionan. “You will forgive us for not putting on an adequate celebration in honor of your return, but we have no time to lose.”

The magus nodded. “But of course, Prince Mallen. There are more important matters. Celebrations can wait until our victory.”

Like all the others he noticed the peculiar painting on the inside of the tent walls.

“A map,” Mallen explained. “This is the dwarves’ work. They have surveyed and drawn out all the caves they have penetrated here.” He pointed to the blue-shaded area. “These parts they have taken over already. They have set up small strongholds within the cave complex.”

“But are the unslayables really in the caves?” the magus wanted to know, seating himself at the table; the others followed suit.

“We’re certainly working on that assumption. The dwarves have had sight of all their monsters. I think they are supposed to be diverting our attention from the unslayables themselves. That’s why the dwarves are fighting their way in to the sections where resistance initially was low.” Mallen showed them the part he was referring to, marked in green. “They were right. Suddenly, fierce resistance was encountered and it looks as if the last of the älfar are holed up in this cave area.”

Gandogar strode in and Tungdil and the other Girdlegard dwarves bowed respectfully in greeting. A little way behind came the freeling commanders—and Bramdal. He gave them an inscrutable smile.

“What a pleasure to see all of you safe and well,” Gandogar exclaimed. “And you, magus, I have only known as a stone statue. So you must be Lot-Ionan the Forbearing.”

“Not all escaped with their lives. Far too many were carried off to Vraccas’s Eternal Smithy,” Tungdil interjected, giving a concise report of what had occurred in Weyurn. “We lost Furgas on the island. He burned to death in molten iron. We saw it happen and could do nothing to save him.”

Mallen and the high king both fell silent at this news.

“So Furgas is dead?” Mallen leaned forward on the table. “We shall miss his genius. In the past he wrought good as well as bad. I don’t want to sound heartless, but did he at least say where his machine creatures’ weak points might lie?”

“Yes.” Rodario, eyes glistening at the thought of his dead friend, took out a folder he had carried in his saddlebag and put it on the table. “He left me several drawings to show where each monster will be most vulnerable.” He cleared his throat, choked with emotion. “The points in question are small. Steady hands and a true aim will be needed when they are attacked.”

Passing the folder of drawings to a servant to have copies made, Mallen said, “Trust me: I regret his death, but now is not the time to mourn the passing of friends. It will have to wait until the älfar have been defeated.”

The tent opened again to admit Rejalin; she brought an escort of three guards and two unarmed elves.

“No one told me that a meeting had been arranged,” she said with a gracious smile. “If I hadn’t seen Gandogar entering the tent I would have missed it. Did you not wish to hear the view of the elves?”

Ireheart opened his mouth. “You can be—”

“Boïndil was about to say that you can be sure we would have called you,” Tungdil interrupted smartly. “Because we need your warriors as soon as possible in Toboribor and not in the dwarf realms any more.”

“Why is that? Surely you need us to keep the gateways safe while so much of your fighting force is here in Toboribor. The monsters still present an undeniable threat. The monsters and the undercover thirdlings in your own ranks.” However charming and considerate her tone of voice, criticism was clear in Rejalin’s message. It was her opinion that the thirdling traitors should have been assiduously sought out.

Tungdil was not surprised by what she said. Not anymore. She was walking the paths of the eoïl. “We have received information that the caves have a connection to the Outer Lands. Under the very feet of the besieging army a new horde is waiting. The dwarves in the caves are good warriors but even they and the army of humans would not be able to withstand this horde without the elves.” He knew that she would fall for this lie. She would not be able to help herself, even if she had seen it coming.

“Where do you get this knowledge from, Tungdil Goldhand?” she asked in surprise.

“The thirdlings we captured told us.” And he related the Weyurn adventures in an adapted version without mentioning the role Furgas had probably played. He left it with the thirdlings and unslayables being the evildoers. “Bandilor had made common cause with the älfar. He told us the unslayables’ plans; they suited his own intentions.”

The elf princess looked at him searchingly. “And you believe the word of a dwarf who allied himself with the evil?”

“I trust words spoken in fear of death,” Tungdil corrected. “He thought that I would spare him. And Lot-Ionan tested the truth of his words with magic.” Tungdil looked at the others with silent pleading in his expression.

He received support from an unexpected quarter. “We shall be needing Âlandur’s elf warriors here, Your Highness. Right now, before the enemy hordes spill out and swamp us. Do you want to carry the responsibility if Idoslane and the whole of Girdlegard fall under their sway?” It was more a demand than a request that Prince Mallen
was putting to Rejalin. Two issues coincided. It was his own land that was threatened and he was starting to like the elf-woman less and less. And though it might not be wise to speak boldly, he did not hold back.

Tungdil was relieved. It made his own lie sound more credible.

“Now you are demanding my support, Prince Mallen?” Rejalin lifted her cup of water and sipped long and slow. “Did you not recently expel my envoys from your court?”

“There is a difference between a delegation and an army, princess,” he said. “It was not in my mind to hold intellectually sophisticated conversations at a time when I am concerned with protecting our homeland from new and potentially disastrous threats.” He leaned forward. “As soon as we have won, I shall be delighted to receive your delegates for a cultural exchange, but until then please understand that I cannot accept your offers. Instead please send an army. That I shall welcome with open arms.”

Gandogar nodded. “Do not worry, Rejalin. We are aware of the value of your assistance, but we can defend ourselves well enough. And to reassure you further, we have already identified and imprisoned seven dwarf-haters who had been living under cover amongst us. We found them without the use of torture,” he added. “The thirdlings who are intent on becoming assimilated helped us with this.”

There was no way out for the elf princess. “Then let it be so,” she decided, smiling away her defeat. “Messengers shall leave today to bring my warriors to Toboribor.” She studied the cave-map. “The dwarves should move more
quickly. The more we know about the tunnels and chambers underground, the better prepared we shall be to meet the hordes from the Outer Lands. It will be useful to be able to lay traps and ambushes.”

“I agree with you.” Gandogar raised his tankard and drank to her health. “The miners shall find the best places to set traps and start work at once.”

“Do we know anything about when this new army might appear?” asked Rejalin. “Perhaps my forces will be too late?”

“No. Bandilor spoke of preparations. We still have time in hand,” he reassured her. “Forgive me, but my friends and I are tired from the journey. We can hold an official meeting tomorrow to inform the other commanders. Now I would like to rest.”

The elf princess concurred and withdrew, followed by the town commanders and Bramdal.

Hardly had they left than Tungdil arranged with Gandogar and Mallen to hold a secret meeting outside the camp at nightfall. “No guards, no retinue. Just you two,” he insisted before he went. “Trust me. It is important, so tell no one.”

Surprised by the urgency of his appeal the leaders agreed.

A
s the stars started to appear over Idoslane the three of them met at the appointed place. Mallen and Gandogar were both intrigued, but Tungdil asked them to be patient and he then stayed silent. Lot-Ionan soon joined them and the four of them rode off to the Deichseldorf inn, where they had left Esdalân.

Tungdil thought the elf was looking even more handsome since recovering from his fever. Better, he seemed fresher, more dazzling than any other living being in the vicinity. Just like Rejalin.

Gandogar and Mallen were sitting in the empty parlor of the inn listening to the elf’s story by candlelight, their faces grave.

“Then I was right to distrust them,” said the prince, “even if I would have preferred to be convinced of the goodness of the elves instead of hearing this news.”

“It is appalling that they killed their leader.” Gandogar could not credit it.

“And because I think the elf warriors are capable of anything, I invented a subterfuge to recall them to Toboribor,” said Tungdil. “I prefer to have them all in one place, where we have our armies, rather than strewn throughout Girdlegard where they could do untold damage.”

“You spoke of magic.” Mallen raised his eyes and looked at Lot-Ionan. “Do you know anything about elf-magic, noble magus?”

“Not really. The elves, just like their dark cousins the älfar, are capable of casting minor spells in connection with their way of life. According to my old books these are mostly to do with the realm of flowers and decorative arts. Liútasil never mentioned his folk having the power to use magic in the same way as a magus or maga.”

“That may be only partly so,” Esdalân chimed in. His voice sounded impossibly pure to human ears. “The elves of Âlandur were never reputed to be very interested in magic. But others of my people, the elves of the Golden
Plain, who were persecuted by the älfar, were more open to such arts. I remember hearing that the small number of Golden Plain elves that survived the älfar ravages fled to us in Âlandur.”

Tungdil noticed that the elf’s speech was changing, becoming more flowery and, to his ears, unbearable.

“That makes things different. So we cannot exclude the possibility of there being a descendant of these magically endowed elves in the ranks of the atár. Perhaps the eoîl gave him part of the knowledge.” Lot-Ionan was summarizing. “That explains why they want the diamond.”

Gandogar furrowed his brow. “Please don’t think I am being unreasonable, noble magus, but what if you or Dergard had the power of the stone. How powerful would that make you?”

“If it is as Tungdil tells me, then this power would be…” He rubbed his white beard as he searched for the right word. “Immeasurable,” he said finally. “The power would be immeasurable.” He laughed slyly. “Have no fear, High King Gandogar. It does not entice me and for Dergard it is the same. We have the magic source to give us the same power. It would be nothing special for us. And then of course neither Dergard nor I are attracted to evil.”

“Are you so sure?” Gandogar disappeared behind the bar and poured them all some simple country wine. “He was one of Nudin’s pupils. We know what happened to that magus.”

“But don’t forget the particular circumstances, Your Majesty,” Lot-Ionan said, taking young Dergard’s part. “There is no daemon, sending out insidious messages. Our
opponents are mighty but they are physical enemies. And thus we can confront them.” He held out his hand to receive the crockery mug, but gasped with pain. His back was troubling him with the movement. His eyes glazed and grew dim… Then he thought he saw a figure by the door. A strangely familiar figure. “Nudin?”

“Noble Lot-Ionan, what is it?” The bearded face of Tungdil appeared suddenly in his field of vision, looking very worried. “Is it your back again?”

The magus shook his head, emptied the mug of wine and asked for more. “There are probably still tiny fragments of stone embedded in my body,” he said slowly. “They affect my mind and make me see things that cannot be there.” He stood up and went over into the dark corner of the room where he had seen his old friend. But however hard he looked, to his great relief he could find no trace.

“What is the matter, noble magus?”