The Revenge of the Dwarves (82 page)

The acront was speaking again and, as his spouse transmitted his words, Sirka translated for the others. “It seems the news of the army’s destruction was false?”

“Who brought that news, Celestial Acront?” asked Flagur.

“It was a stranger, a woman who knew magic. She came to Letèfora some time ago and told us how badly things
were going in Girdlegard. She said she had managed to get here with the last of her strength.
With
the diamond.”

“She showed it to you, Celestial Acront?”

“She did. I gave her an escort to go to the Black Abyss.”

“But that cannot be,” exclaimed Lot-Ionan in agitation, opening his palm and displaying the true diamond. “You have been tricked by a forgery.
We
have the real stone!”

Rodario took a deep breath. “I have absolutely no idea what is happening but it’s not going to be good.”

Tungdil stepped forward. “Did she give her name, Celestial Acront?”

The acront’s uncanny eyes focused on the dwarf and the creature spoke once more, its voice transfixing Tungdil; the import was transmitted to the consort and then translated by Sirka.

“Yes. She called herself Narmora. Narmora the Forgotten.”

The Outer Lands
,

East of the City of Letèfora
,

One Mile from the Black Abyss
,

Early Autumn, 6241st Solar Cycle

T
he noise created by twenty thousand swift-moving befúns and the jangling of weapons and armor was enough to send the monsters crawling deeper into their hiding places in the ruins of the old houses. Not one dared emerge.

The acront of Letèfora was not relying purely on the combined strength of ubariu and undergroundlings. With the army he sent war machines as complex as any Furgas had devised. Four armored vehicles, each forty paces long, ten wide and ten high, rolled at the head of the march and four at its rear. Iron plating across wooden frames made them look like hulls of overturned ships.

Catapults in the bellies of the machines were ready to launch flurries of spears and arrows through the slits; placed high up, these afforded a superior range of around three hundred paces and could fire in three hundred and sixty degrees and so cover any part of the battlefield.

These colossi were driven by a simple but efficient system of wind sails. On the upper side there were large rotating towers and sails to catch the wind’s power, which was transmitted by shafts to the driving axle, much as wind
power drives a miller’s wheel. The machines labored along on a series of small rollers and could match the speed of a furious dwarf. Not to be sneezed at.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” Rodario said to Tungdil. He, too, had changed mounts and was now riding a befún; they were so much quicker than other animals. “Did you see how quickly the vehicles change direction? The rollers work individually, so they can turn on the spot and even go sideways.”

At the roadside Tungdil noted the corpses of creatures shot in encounters with the first wave of troops. The beasts had learned not to attempt the same thing again. “With just one of those vehicles the orcs could have been cleared out of Girdlegard ages ago.”

Rodario seemed to be studying the wagon but he was preoccupied with what the acront had told them. “It can’t be Narmora. We saw what was left of her. The Star of Judgment burned away all that was älfish in her. She can’t possibly have survived.”

“Magic and love are powerful forces—and not always benign,” Lot-Ionan chimed in, riding at Tungdil’s side. “Don’t forget it was Furgas who located the magic wellspring. In his madness he might have constructed a machine out of her remains, similar to those he made out of the unslayable’s beasts.”

Rodario gave himself a shake. “Narmora turning up again—a dead thing with a mechanical heart made of iron springs and cogs, and only moving because of magic in her veins? Furgas could never have done that to her. He loved her too much for that.”

“He loved her so much
that
he could do it. He did not want to be without her,” contradicted Tungdil. “Let’s hope we can stop her before she destroys the artifact.”

“What terrible vengeance to wreak on Girdlegard. What would be the motive?” asked the magus.

“But it’s exactly what he swore in Porista that he would do,” Tungdil recalled, thinking back to when he had broken the news to Furgas of the deaths of his daughter and his life-partner. The hatred in the magister’s eyes had been greater than any smoldering in a thirdling.

“The Judgment Star cost her all she held dear: her children, her whole life.” Rodario looked at where the ground fell away and no grass grew: only sand and dead earth, as if life itself were afraid to approach what lay below.

The armored vehicles at the head of the column broke formation now, slowing down and fanning out so that the ones from the rear could join them.

Sirka had been listening in silence. Now she heard the fanfare. “We’ll soon be at the Black Abyss. We need to take the diamond up to the front.”

The befúns altered their pace to powerful leaps. Strangely enough, the unpleasant swaying motion was reduced at these high speeds.

A wide bare indentation appeared in the landscape with the chasm at its center. The Black Abyss was a good half-mile in length and a hundred paces wide and looked like a slash cut in the body of the earth, its edges dark and smooth. Steep paths led up on either side.

“Like a gangrenous wound,” commented Ireheart, spitting in disgust. “The beasts are the pus.”

Flagur gestured south to a strange device at the entrance. “That’s the artifact.” He gave a sigh of relief. “It seems to be intact. I had feared the worst.”

Tungdil forced himself to say nothing; he must not kill their optimism. Narmora had been a powerful maga. Who knew what a demi-älf was capable of? “Have those exits guarded,” he said to the ubari. “To be on the safe side. We don’t want to be ambushed while we’re activating the diamond.” He turned to Lot-Ionan. “Are you prepared, honored magus?”

He studied the vast crater. “If it is possible to be prepared for what awaits here.”

Ireheart looked around him. “What’s happened to the advance party? We’ve seen no trace of them.”

“The escort will have gone down the ravine. But I can’t think why. Perhaps a battle? Or maybe Narmora had a trick in store and she’s woken the beasts of the abyss.”

The army split into two sections, with ten thousand ubariu and undergroundlings positioned in front of the exits from the Black Abyss, a living barrier to whatever might come storming out. They kept a hundred-pace safety margin from the precipice edges of the dread ravine.

The armored vehicles moved into position sideways-on behind the troops. Inside the tanks adjustments were made; the wind sail-wheels were running but as yet not engaged.

Flagur had explained that the sails were not just a driving mechanism but also produced energy for additional catapults. If the wagons were stationary it was possible to activate mechanical slings. These could fire off constantly using wind power and the crew only had to ensure the aim
was correctly adjusted. They used their own supply of munitions or could scoop stones up from the ground below the vehicle through small hatches.

The vehicles were ready.

In the meantime Sirka, Tungdil and friends had reached the artifact. It consisted of several upright linked metal rings in roughly the form of a globe with a diameter approaching twenty paces. Symbols, runes and chiseled marks and patterns adorned the rings. A series of reinforcing rods radiated out to the circumference from a central decorated hub.

“The diamond needs to go in there, I assume,” said Lot-Ionan, getting down.

Ireheart shaded his eyes against the sun and looked up. “How do we get up? I can’t see a ladder.”

“That’s why we need a rune master.” Flagur bowed to Lot-Ionan. “Or our magus, of course. You must have a flying spell?”

“No, why would I?”

“Then you’ll have to climb.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you carried him on your back into the center?” Rodario ventured. “You look stronger.”

Flagur shook his head. “I can’t touch the artifact. Only a rune master or a magus who is pure in spirit. Anyone else will be pulverized if they try.”

At that moment a horn sounded. It was a leaden tone issuing from the depths of the ravine, a dark, ear-splitting screech full of hatred and elation. It summoned its subjects with the promise of freedom, murder and destruction.

The friends could do nothing until the last echoes died away.

“It’s been heard,” Sirka mouthed fearfully. “We…”

Out of the ravine surged an angry chorus from thousands of throats.

“Here they come!” Flagur leaped onto his befún. “I must join my warriors. They must see I am not deserting them.” He drew his sword and nodded to Lot-Ionan. “Revered sir, it was an honor to meet you.” Flagur raced off; his commands could soon be heard in the distance.

The first rows of soldiers knelt down holding long iron spears to impale the first wave of beasts; in the ranks behind, the archers made ready their bows, while others held their huge shields to form a protective cover for their heads. The wagons opened up their shooting flaps.

Lot-Ionan approached the artifact, which was sending out enough energy to make the individual white hairs of his beard and on his head bristle and stand out. His steps slowed the nearer he got to it. He glanced behind to where the others were waiting and following his every move.

“I…” He was trying to say something, but he felt a blow in his chest. He stumbled backwards and fell in the dust, a black älf arrow in his breast. It had struck him right in the heart.

A shadow fell over him and a man leaped over his body, grabbing the bag at his belt that held the precious stone.

Warm blood spread as Lot-Ionan’s damaged heart continued to pump. Then it stopped. With a groan, Lot-Ionan closed his eyes…

F
urgas?” Rodario had recognized the man who had sprung from behind one of the iron rings.

“We are in the Outer Lands. Here the dead return.” The magister snatched the diamond from the dying magus and walked slowly backwards. “I tricked even you, Incredible Rodario,” he smiled in satisfaction. When Tungdil took a step forward, Furgas raised his arm. “Stay where you are! Or the arrow will get you.” He indicated the other end of the artifact where a woman was standing with a bow spanned ready. “We shall see evil released from the Black Abyss. With my assistance it will march into the heart of Girdlegard.” He put the diamond in his mouth and swallowed it.

Ireheart raised his weapon slowly. “What a stupid idea,” he growled. “Now I’m really going to hurt him.”

“You can’t prevent it.” Furgas looked over at the ravine. “
That
is the revenge I wanted for Girdlegard. The land will be submerged in waves of the beasts and will be annihilated. A fitting punishment for its arrogance and for having followed the dwarves and their false beliefs.” He stared at Tungdil. “The eoîl were never a danger. It was you misbegotten dwarves interfering that robbed me of my family.”

“That isn’t Narmora,” murmured Ireheart. “She would be doing magic.”

Rodario said nothing but knew he was right. It could be the woman he had seen on the boat in Mifurdania. He was cross with himself for not having thought about her again. Now that the name of Narmora had been mentioned he was clear who she had resembled. That was why Furgas would have selected her as his ally. Perhaps in his twisted
mind he actually thought she was his beloved spouse come back to life? “All that, the destruction of a whole land, all for the sake of vengeance? Do you think that’s what Narmora would have wanted? She fought with us against the danger.”

“She did not want to die!” Furgas cut in. “No, you will all pay by mourning your loved ones as I have been mourning mine. For over five cycles now.” He shook his fist and moved away. “In Girdlegard there will be not a single soul who does not experience the pain I feel.”

“And then?” Rodario carried on the train of thought. “Then Girdlegard is finished.”

“Why not? For all I care the lands can go hang.” He shrugged. “None of the worlds are anything without her; she gave me children and she saved my life.”

“You deceived me, Furgas.” Rodario went up to him.

The archer let her arrow loose and it hit Rodario in the right thigh. He fell next to Lot-Ionan. The archer woman notched a second arrow with lightning-swift and practiced moves.

“I told you. Stay there and watch.” Furgas stared at his former friend without a trace of remorse. “It’s your own fault you were hit.”

From out of the ravine the roar continued to belch.

An ugly hail fell on the allies: the remains, severed limbs and heads and chopped flesh, of the advance party, whom Furgas and his assistant had lured to their deaths. The dull thuds were sickening as the gruesome missiles fell on upturned shields and armor plating. The spraying blood and appalling smell did not fail in the intended effect.

Sirka became resolute. She had lost friends and relations and was determined to avenge their deaths.

“You have made terrible mistakes,” Rodario groaned, clasping his hand over the arrow wound. “Don’t make it worse.”