The War of the Dwarves (47 page)

“I said, clear off,” snapped their leader. “We’re stronger than you, and we’re not afraid to prove it.”

Ondori was tempted to put the matter to the test, but an angry mob of humans, emboldened by fury, had summoned the courage
to pursue her through the trees. She could tell from the clunking armor, raised voices, and flickering torches that the men
were approaching fast.

“Are you thirdlings?” she asked sharply. “Why don’t you send an envoy to Dsôn Balsur? Together we could defeat our common
foe.”

“Clear off, or die,” their leader threatened.

Ondori decided that it wasn’t the time or the place to risk her life against four groundlings. Her failure at the Blacksaddle
had been redeemed in part by her success on the battlefield, and a foolhardy skirmish with a band of groundlings would do
little to improve her stock. Tugging on the reins, she turned and rode off to find the rest of her band, leaving the four
dwarves behind her.

Nagsor and Nagsar will welcome the news of the groundlings’ rift
.

The thirdlings’ intervention, though unexpected, was welcome. Ondori had no idea what they were plotting, but it was bound
to mean trouble for the other dwarven folks.
We’ll have to keep an eye on them
, she decided.
With luck, the children of Inàste will profit from their game.

Porista,

Former Realm of Lios Nudin,

Girdlegard,

Autumn, 6235th Solar Cycle

W
e can’t wait forever, Estimable Maga,” said Narmora, looking up from her reading. “Wasn’t Djer
n supposed to be home by now?
I thought you told him to be back within eighty orbits.”

The fair-haired maga nodded wearily. They were sitting opposite each other in the library, Andôkai with her right elbow propped
on the armrest of her easy chair. She rested her forehead on her palm, feeling the weight of the thoughts that had been troubling
her since Weyurn. “He’s been gone 132 orbits,” she murmured. “It isn’t like Djer
n to be late; something must be stopping
him…” She stood up fretfully. “I’d understand if he were an ordinary warrior, but Djer
n is—”

“He’s the king of Tion’s creation,” finished Narmora. “I know the legend. ‘The son of Samusin,’ my people call him. He keeps
order among Tion’s beasts, destroying the weak and hunting the cowardly.”

“I keep forgetting your mother was an älf. In that case, I’m sure you understand that whatever is keeping him must be tremendously
powerful.”

“How do you… I mean, where did you find him?”

“I saved him from a band of men. I couldn’t bear the thought of a magnificent creature like Djer
n dying at the hands of
fame-seekers and glory-hunters, so I rescued him, and he became my bodyguard. Over a hundred cycles have passed since then…”
She snorted angrily, snatched up a candlestick, and hurled it against the shelves. “To blazes with it all! We’ll never find
out what’s happening in the Outer Lands.”

“Didn’t Weyurn’s warriors have anything to report?” enquired Narmora, eager to learn the contents of the maga’s correspondence.

Andôkai smiled wryly. “They’ve disappeared, as I said they would.” She took a scroll of parchment from the folds of her crimson
robe. “According to Queen Xamtys, they left via the Red Range and haven’t been heard of since. Her sentries are on the lookout
for survivors, but it doesn’t look good. Xamtys thinks the fire is spreading in the Outer Lands. There’s a bright red glow
across the border, and it’s getting closer all the time.” She pointed to the rows of books. “The combined wisdom of Girdlegard’s
scholars, and what does it tell us? Nothing!” She paced to and fro, stopping behind Narmora. “You’ve worked hard,” she said,
resting her hands on the half älf’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible that a student could make such progress.
We might be strong enough to fight the avatars after all.”

“We don’t know for sure that the avatars are to blame for the fire in the Outer Lands.” Narmora took the letter from the maga
and read it, uninvited. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Queen Xamtys says no one is crossing into Girdlegard from the west.
She thinks something must be stopping traders and beasts from leaving the Outer Lands.”

“Which confirms our theory that the avatars are getting closer,” said Andôkai, straightening up and returning to her chair.

Relieved that the maga was no longer standing over her, Narmora gave herself a little shake. She could feel the imprint of
Andôkai’s hands on her shoulders, red with the blood of Furgas and her son.

The maga pulled out a sheet of parchment and inked her quill. “I hope to Samusin that Djer
n is still alive, but I can’t
delay any longer. If we don’t hold the meeting now, the dwarves, elves, and men won’t arrive before winter, and they’re bound
to get stuck in the snow.”

“They’ll come as soon as they can,” Narmora assured her. “There’s plenty to discuss.” According to reports, cracks were appearing
in the great alliance. News had reached Porista of a dispute that had arisen between the elves and dwarves during a battle
in Dsôn Balsur. Both sides were refusing to take arms against the älfar until the other apologized, but neither was prepared
to accept the blame. The destruction of the siege engines was a further obstacle to the allies’ progress, granting the älfar
a dangerous reprieve.

Narmora recalled the rumors about King Belletain’s army. “We’ll have to ask the king of Urgon why his warriors are marching
north. There’s speculation that he means to attack the fourthlings, but he’s probably after the trolls. Isn’t his physician
a dwarf?”

“Belletain is a cretinous cripple,” pronounced Andôkai, lowering her quill. “He took over from his nephew Lothaire, whom the
people loved and admired. Belletain has profited from his nephew’s popularity, although it’s more a case of pity than respect.
A mad king and an adoring populace—it’s a dangerous mix.”

“If you don’t mind, I need to check on Dorsa,” said Narmora, straightening up and striding to the door. “I’ll be back in time
for my lesson.” She left the library and hurried through the empty corridors of the palace.

Dorsa was tucked up in her cot. For a moment, Narmora feared that the weight of the blankets had crushed her little chest,
which was ridiculous, of course. The little girl was sleeping peacefully, tiny arms beside her head. Her breathing was calm
and regular, which set Narmora’s mind at ease

“How you’ve grown,” she whispered, stroking the baby’s downy head.

Her daughter was an endless source of comfort, proof that everything would be all right. A single smile from Dorsa was enough
to banish all her doubts. Narmora could gaze forever at her sweet dimpled cheeks and tiny mouth, but sometimes another face
would haunt her, the face of a tiny, lifeless baby moldering under a pile of stones.

She stooped down to kiss the pointy tip of her daughter’s left ear. Dorsa smiled in her sleep. “Sleep well, my darling,” she
whispered softly. “Your brother’s death will be avenged.” She left the nursery on tiptoe and crossed the corridor to Furgas’s
room. Hearing the door open, Rodario leaped to his feet, dagger in hand. “Oh, it’s you,” he said shamefacedly. His forehead
was lined with creases from the sheets, indicating that he had been asleep.

“Honestly, Rodario,” she said briskly. “What would the maga think if she found you in the palace with a dagger? You’ll have
to do better than this; I’m relying on your talents as an actor.” She paused to kiss Furgas and caress his pale cheeks. “Andôkai
has called a meeting about the avatars,” she continued.

Rodario sat up straight and ran a hand over his pointed beard. “Listen, Narmora… Do you really mean to kill her?”

She glared at him angrily, so he hastened to elaborate. “She’s our only maga,” he said diplomatically, trying not to rile
her. “It won’t make you any friends.”

“No one will know it was me,” she said confidently, wetting a cloth and squeezing it gently over Furgas’s cracked lips. “Andôkai
has taught me well; I know how to cover my tracks.”

“Hmm,” said Rodario, unconvinced. He took a moment to find the right words. “The problem is this: If you avenge yourself on
the maga, Girdlegard will be at risk. How are we supposed to defend ourselves if, or more likely,
when
, we’re attacked?”

She looked at him sadly. “What’s wrong with you, Rodario? You’re shielding the woman who tried to kill your closest friend.”

“Andôkai never intended to kill him, just to put him in a coma.” He slumped into his chair. “Sometimes I think I shouldn’t
have told you,” he said, sighing melodramatically. “I don’t wish to incur your fury, myopic angel of death, but Andôkai is
our one and only maga.”

“Aren’t you forgetting me?”

“You?” said Rodario incredulously. “I don’t doubt you’re a fast learner, but you’re hardly Andôkai the Tempestuous.” He shook
his head. “You’re not ready, Narmora. Wait a few more cycles until your studies are complete. You might feel differently then.”

“I didn’t realize you were an authority on magic,” she sneered. “My son is dead, Furgas is in a coma, and their suffering
will be avenged.” She nodded to the door. “Goodbye, Rodario, and thank you for looking after Furgas. I hope you enjoyed the
sleep.”