The Revenge of the Dwarves (46 page)

Tungdil remembered that this was the undergroundling’s word for elves. It seemed he and his folk were already acquainted with them. “Yes.” He described the stone, its appearance and the secrecy the elves had tried to maintain. “Does that sound familiar?”

“Yes,” nodded the undergroundling, giving him a sympathetic look. “We had broka and their stones in our land, too.” He drank some more water and washed his face, without smudging the sign on his forehead.

“What does that mean?” grunted Boïndil impatiently.

“What do you think?” The undergroundling looked annoyed now. “That we had to destroy them before they destroyed us.”

Ireheart looked at Tungdil and gulped. “Did you hear that, Scholar?”

“Loud and clear.” Tungdil sat down on the moss and leaned back against a tree. It was high time they met up with the leader of the undergroundlings. His friend and Goda both sat down next to him.

“What do you reckon? Think they like jokes?” Ireheart considered the undergroundling. “Perhaps that will lighten the atmosphere a bit.”

“But not the asking-the-way joke,” Goda rolled her eyes. “If you must, then try the one about the elf and the dwarf and the forest.”

“Yes, you’re right. The asking-the-way they might not appreciate.” He placed his fingers round the handle of his weapon. “They’re so difficult.”

“Just because they won’t laugh at your jokes? Well, that’s certainly a good reason for mistrusting a whole people,” said Tungdil lightly. “That can be your new motto: Laugh, or I’ll thump you. You could get it engraved on the side of your crow’s beak.”

Goda laughed out loud.

“Forty push-ups for you, apprentice.” Boïndil’s pride was hurt.

“No sense of humor, master?”

He pretended to be offended. “Not when the joke’s on me.” He pointed to the ground. “Forty, if you please. And right down. I want to see moss on your nose.”

Protesting, Goda stood up and did what he had ordered.

Tungdil shook his head in disapproval, but Ireheart showed his teeth.

“Get your face right down into the moss,” he reminded her after the first thirty push-ups. He was enjoying watching the play of her muscles in the upper arms. Nowadays this was a sight he was finding altogether more attractive.

The undergroundling had kindled a large fire and took no notice of the three dwarves. Flames shot up high into the night sky, sending out a clear signal.

As if from nowhere there they were: two dozen silent figures standing between the trees, in light brown and black leather armor, leather breeches and boots. Their heads were protected by helmets, none quite like the next. The faces were all hidden. Each shut visor bore a demon visage engraved on the surface. The effect was uncanny and intimidating.

In their hands or on their belts Tungdil caught sight of short blackened iron batons one pace in length. At the end of each baton flashed a slim blade and a hook. It seemed the undergroundlings did not share the dwarves’ preference for heavy weaponry.

“Show yourselves,” said the dwarf who had led them to the valley. They all opened their visors.

Tungdil watched the beardless serious faces and noted that some of them were women. This aroused his curiosity. They did not seem to have the plumpness of dwarf-women that he knew; their form was taller and slimmer—more like human females.

One of the undergroundlings, at first sight just the same as the others, stepped forward. “I am Sûndalon. You want something from me?” He rammed his staff into the mossy
woodland floor, lifted the helmet from off his short light blond hair and waited.

Tungdil and his companions stood up and he introduced them all. “We must talk about the diamond,” he said, speaking freely. “We know now that it belongs to you, but through broka magic it has become much more powerful. We can’t just simply hand it over.”

Sûndalon reached to his belt and took out a pouch. He opened it and tipped the contents out: glittering fragments and scintillating dust spilled onto the moss. “That is all that is left of the stones that we and the ubariu have captured. They were all forgeries.”

This did not make Tungdil feel more at ease. Now it was even more likely the genuine stone would fall into the hands of the unslayable siblings. And what they might be capable of doing with its magic power did not bear thinking about.

“We demand the return of our property,” said Sûndalon. “It was stolen from us by a broka. It has taken five star courses for us to complete our preparations and to have the opportunity to regain it at last.”

“Why don’t you just cut yourselves a new one and leave us in peace?” Ireheart suggested, holding his crow’s beak weapon lightly in his hands. Lightly, but ready for use. Goda held her night star ready as well.

“Because only that diamond has the quality we need,” was Sûndalon’s sharp reply. “It would be like having a key that fits but won’t turn in its lock.” He looked at Tungdil. “If the news we’ve gathered is true there are still three in the hands of your people and one has disappeared? Give us
those three and we swear we’ll protect them against all threats.”

“You didn’t manage to keep yours safe the first time,” Boïndil rubbed it in.

“And you can’t do it at all,” Sûndalon retorted. “You can’t protect them from us or from the ubariu or from these monsters.”

“If you could explain why it’s so important, perhaps we could be persuaded to let you have it.” Tungdil attempted enticement.

To his disappointment the undergroundling shook his head. “If we could explain it freely we wouldn’t have kept ourselves hidden in your homeland for so long. Our land and our town are helpless without the diamond. Our enemies are strong and would attack us at once if they were aware of our weakness.”

Tungdil took a careful step forward. “We are dwarves, as you are. We would never betray you to your foes.” He knew that his statement contained a trace of untruth. He suspected that some of the thirdlings were certainly capable of malice and deceit, but Sûndalon did not have to know this. “And anyway, the kings and queens know that it’s the undergroundlings, together with the orcs, trying to get the diamonds. You might as well talk about it. Your raids are no secret, Sûndalon.”

“He is right,” said the undergroundling who had brought them to the valley. “Tell him about the trouble we are in and then let’s talk to the kings and queens.”

“No,” said Sûndalon harshly. “What happens in this land is not our concern.”

“But they don’t understand the danger they’re in. The broka have put up white stones,” continued the undergroundling. “It’s starting here like it did with us, Sûndalon. We could help avert the worst if we warn the dwarves and the humans.”

Sûndalon fell silent and thought hard.

“I don’t know how you feel about it but baldy-patch is starting to worry me,” whispered Boïndil. “What’s all this about the white stones? Does he mean what we saw when we were with the pointy-ears?”

“Saw? You touched it, remember?” Tungdil said quietly. “Who knows what it’s done to you.”

Ireheart went pale.

The nameless undergroundling turned to them. “Don’t trust the broka now, neither their words, nor their deeds, nor their smiles. They have been staring too long at the sun and aspire to become like it. They have become blind to everything else.” His tone was insistent. “It will start with deaths and nobody will know by whose hand the victims died. Then towns and villages will burn and there will be no survivors. Your people will suffer losses and will lie dead in the tunnels because the water is poisoned…”

“By Vraccas!” Ireheart exclaimed, horrified. “Do you hear that? They’re describing what’s happening in Girdlegard…” He stopped, lifting up his crow’s beak. “Was it you that did that and now you’re all for peace because it’ll make it easier for you to get the diamond?” He lowered his head aggressively between his hunched shoulders. “I swear by the dwarves that have died that I shall take revenge on you if it was you that did this!”

“No, it was not us,” said Sûndalon. “Agreed. You shall learn the history of the diamond. Perhaps then you will believe us.” He sat down and started to relate…

The stone originated in the deepest mine of Drestadon. The finder paid for it with his eyesight because it was so dazzlingly bright. It was only possible to view and to cut the diamond when it was covered with a thick black cloth.

The gemstone-cutter needed seven star-courses to give the diamond its true form. The work took the flesh from his fingertips; his back became permanently bent and his eyes as weak as those of an old, old man. Finally he finished cutting and polishing the stone.

We took it to the ubariu rune master and he realized why the god Ubar had sent us the diamond.

The rune master prepared for war. He gathered an army and marched with it to the Black Abyss. Arising from the lightless depths and dark crannies evil had issued unceasingly to plague us. Ever since the stars started running, evil’s progeny had surged out from thence to attack us.

But there was also an age-old iron artifact, of no apparent use. It had long lost any power it once had wielded.

The runes it bore promised to close the Black Abyss for ever—if the Star of the Mountains ever returned to it.

The rune master led us and the ubariu into the midst of our enemies. There ensued a terrible battle
waged against creatures more bestial than any you may have known in Girdlegard, but yet blessed with a form of outstanding beauty. Some found their way here: creatures you know as älfar. We call them sintoìtar—they crawled out of the Black Valley over the mountains and came here.

Together with the ubariu we fought tirelessly and forced a path for the rune master through the black army to reach the artifact. That day many friends and relatives lost their lives and whole generations were wiped out.

Then the beasts realized that a greater danger was threatening them than they had ever known. If you had not seen it with your own eyes you could never imagine the merciless killing and slaughter.

The rune master floated up to the artifact. He placed the stone in its setting. It fitted! The stone awoke with dazzling beauty. Splendid and terrible beams of light transformed the ancient machine and brought it to life.

Evil’s creatures were driven back into the Black Abyss; most of them had met their deaths at our hands. Only a few of the more harmless ones managed to escape. They no longer presented any danger to us.

The artifact wove a veil of impenetrable magic, under which the abyss lay captive.

Until the day the broka arrived, overpowered our guards and stole the Star of the Mountains.

Sûndalon dipped his hand into the spring and drank. “So far the creatures in the ravine have not yet noticed that their prison has been opened. They had sought new escape routes, but the gaps they discovered were always dangerous and difficult to use. Again and again some of them managed to get out.” He lowered his voice. “If one of them should realize in the course of a sortie that the main exit path is now open, and if it returned to summon the others, they would storm out of the abyss fueled by hatred and fury. They would destroy everything they came across.” He pulled his staff out of the mossy floor and indicated himself. “Us first.” The sharp end now pointed at Tungdil. “Then you. The älfar are the least dangerous of them.”

“So do these hybrid monsters made of beast and metal perhaps come from the Outer Lands?” Tungdil wondered aloud.

Sûndalon shook his head. “We know of none such. They must have been born here.”

“That can’t be so. The älfar and all the dark creatures were destroyed by the Judgment Star. Most of them, at any rate,” said Goda, who had listened to the story as intently as the two other dwarves.

Sûndalon considered this. “Was this Judgment Star a wall of white light that swept over the land?” She nodded. He drew his dagger, plunged it into the water and held it out with the broad side facing up. “If that is your land and my finger is the wall of light,” he ran his finger along the metal, wiping off the water, “what remains under the earth?” Large drops collected on the underside of the blade.

“You mean the magic won’t have penetrated the mountains and the deep ravines?”

“That is so. We have been to regions where this had been attempted before. There were always some beasts that survived.” Sûndalon gazed at the dagger’s blade, wrapped in thought. “It didn’t work with us. The broka came and stole the stone and waited for the monsters to show themselves, to destroy them by magic so as to gain sole power. But they didn’t do her that favor, so the broka left with her retinue. Afterwards all the broka behaved strangely and we had to kill them before they destroyed us all.” He put away his dagger. “It wasn’t easy to eradicate them, but it had to be done.” He gazed at the dwarves’ thoughtful countenances. “They had lost their minds.”

“You won’t deny that our elves are behaving strangely, will you?” Boïndil asked Tungdil. “I mean more strangely than usual.”

“We must nurse the injured elf back to health as soon as possible. He is certain to be able to tell us more. It won’t be for nothing they shot at him.” Tungdil nodded to Sûndalon. “Come with me to Paland and tell the kings and queens what you have told us. Convince them! There’s no other way for you to get the true diamond because you won’t ever get inside the fortress walls. I give you my word that no one will take you prisoner, injure or kill you.” He lifted his ax.