The Revenge of the Dwarves (72 page)

Above his head he heard the sound of metal striking metal; a flickering green light gave a ghostly glow to the stern of the ship. He could hear curses and shouts. This was no time to take a rest.

“There! There he is!” Rodario had leaned over the harbor wall and seen him. “Praise be to Palandiell—he’s not food for fishes yet.” He disappeared again, obviously keen to participate in the fighting.

Tungdil reached the pier; only eight ubariu were left standing now. The guards all lay dead or gravely injured. The creature had formed two small shields from its iron bands, and was using them to protect its flanks while it wielded its snake-sword, forcing the ubariu to keep their distance.

Tungdil lifted a halberd in both hands and ran straight for the creature’s back.

It sensed his approach and whirled round to attack, but Tungdil was too far away to fall victim to the segmented sword. One of the shields was raised to protect the monster’s face, but Tungdil thrust his halberd at the monster’s right foot. The sharp tip penetrated the armor plating, and black blood gushed out of the wound. It wasn’t a deadly wound but that hadn’t been Tungdil’s intention. He had something else in mind. A quick turn and a swift pulling movement and the long hook at the head of the weapon lodged between the armor plates.

“Take the halberds,” he called to the ubariu. “Keep
stabbing at its legs, then we’ll have it over and into the water. Hold it fast so it doesn’t escape.”

The iron bands slammed down in an attempt to break off the halberd shaft, but it was sturdy enough to withstand the blow. Tungdil responded by shaking the weapon to and fro.

The ubariu picked up the weapons of the fallen guards and came to assist the dwarf, managing to force the monster ever closer to the edge of the pier. It hit out with the snake sword in fury, slicing through one halberd shaft after another. “I shall kill you,” its clear voice called.

“For Girdlegard!” came a rallying cry above their heads and Rodario swung down on the crane’s rope, feet outstretched, to crash into one of the monster’s shields.

The irreverent assault took it by surprise. Weight and momentum allowed the actor to sweep the monster over the pier edge and into the harbor. As it fell it aimed a final blow at Rodario, cutting the calf of one leg. Then it sank below the surface.

“Oh, ye gods,” groaned the actor, swinging back again, to be helped down by the ubariu. “Oh, that hurts like stink.” He sat down on the pier. “But I was incredibly incredible again, wasn’t I?” he joked, in spite of his injury.

“Yes, incredible,” Lot-Ionan confirmed. There was nothing more he could do for the rune master, so he was kneeling next to the actor to inspect the wound. “That will have to have stitches,” he said. “It will leave a fine scar.”

“It’s a good thing that accursed weapon didn’t get me in the face. My good looks would have gone forever.”

“Well done.” Tungdil was staring into the water, and
the ubariu were standing to his right and left, halberds raised, ready to hurl them at the monster should it resurface.

Bubbles came up and there was a glow from the depths.

“Sirka,” called Tungdil, pointing at a heavy ship’s anchor hanging from a nearby vessel. “Drop it. Quick!”

She took a plank, leaned it up against the side of the ship, ran up and along the deck to the bows, and released the anchor. It shot into the water with an enormous splash, and the next bubbles that rose brought black liquid with them.

“Right,” said Tungdil to the waiting ubariu, “heave up the anchor and drop it again.”

They did what he asked, noticing bent strips of iron with scraps of flesh attached to them caught on the tip of the anchor as they hauled it up. When they dropped it a second time, the water quickly changed color as though there were a thunder cloud directly under the surface.

They repeated the procedure a few more times until they could be positive there was no life left in the monster. Even if the injuries had not killed it, it would certainly have drowned by now.

More guards had arrived on the scene; Lot-Ionan described to their leader what had occurred, but he struggled to grasp what had befallen his men. They looked as though a millstone had flattened them.

For the ubariu rune master, too, the encounter with the monster had meant the end. This meant Lot-Ionan was the only being who could confront the unslayable with magic.

“Bring some nets and drag the bottom,” he commanded.

Tungdil shook Rodario by the hand. “Excellently done, Incredible One. Without you it would have gone badly awry.”

“Only a relatively small contribution. And only a slight wound.” His gaze wandered over the bodies lying on the pier. “Compared with the toll of victims.”

Lot-Ionan got to his feet. “We must make haste. I think the unslayable is already on his way to the island.”

“Will you be all right?” Tungdil helped Rodario up.

“I’ll have to be,” he replied through clenched teeth. “Who else could put on a performance like that?” Together they made their way up the gangway and boarded the ship.

Sirka took command without further ado. The sailors were surprised but obeyed without question. There were forty of the royal guard on board now and the
Waveskimmer
had been commandeered in the queen’s name. Mutiny was punishable by death.

“Here,” called one of the soldiers in a rowing boat, making for the place where the monster had sunk. They threw hooks overboard and came up with a torn-off arm. The ironclad fingers moved with a clicking noise; to produce this monster thin bolts and rivets had forced the flesh to join metal and limb. Shrieking with disgust, the guard threw the find back into the water. Another man pulled up a distorted metal rucksack, lumps of bloody flesh clinging to the bands of metal that had previously transfixed the body of the monster. This catch was likewise tossed back into the waters of the port.

Sirka gave the order to cast off and for all sails to be set. They left harbor, taking course for the island.

“It’s dead,” sighed Rodario with relief. “One less of them.”

“There’s still one at large. And then there’s the unslayable.” Tungdil sat down and was given something to eat and drink. He was completely exhausted. The journey and fighting had taken everything out of him. And his empty eye socket was burning like red-hot coals.

After Sirka had dispensed a dose of pain-killing powder, he dozed. The fog worried him before he fell asleep: it was playing tricks. It looked as though the executioner Bramdal was standing on the quay.

Girdlegard
,

Queendom of Weyurn
,

Twenty Miles Northeast of Mifurdania
,

Late Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

T
he fog refused to lift. On the contrary, it seemed keen to protect the unslayable one.

It was folly to head out over the lake in such visibility with all sails set. A collision with a floating log or rock could scupper them, yet, not knowing how far ahead their enemies were, they took the risk.

“If only I knew how they managed to overtake us.” Flagur was infuriated.

“You saw what strength these creatures possess,” Lot-Ionan consoled him. “And no one knows what an unslayable is capable of.” On his own and about to face an opponent who could use magic, he was feeling apprehensive.
There was no Dergard to help him out. And no rune master either. “Will you still be able to put the stone in the artifact?”

“How do you mean, Lot-Ionan?” asked Flagur, noticing that Sirka was getting the sails furled. The helmsman had told her they were approaching the place where the island had last been sighted.

“Your rune master is dead. Wouldn’t you have needed him to activate the artifact?”

“Absolutely.
Our
rune master is dead. But there is another one. The acronta have one, though it won’t be easy to get him to help.” The ubari looked worried at the prospect. “They like the challenge of facing the Black Abyss beasts in battle. It’s like telling a small child not to fight the older boys. They don’t understand that they can’t win in the long run.” He looked at the wizard. “You are a magus. It would probably be simple for you to implant the diamond.”

“I’m not familiar with these artifacts, you know,” he confessed. “But I will certainly come with you. Otherwise it may be too late for both your homeland and ours.”

Peering out into the mist, the watch called out a warning; then something collided with the sailing ship’s bows.

“What was that?” shouted Sirka. “Any damage?”

“The planks are sound,” came the reassuring reply. “It was driftwood probably. Maybe from another vessel; part of the hull, perhaps.”

Tungdil was glad Sirka had reduced their sail area. If they had been traveling any faster the impact would have holed them.

As they got nearer to the island the
Waveskimmer
hit
more floating wreckage. A troubling thought occurred to Tungdil: What was it they were sailing through?

“Where are Queen Wey’s warships? The ones sent to protect the island?” a worried Rodario asked. “They should have…” He fell silent. “Curse the älfar!” he said, catching sight of Tungdil’s expression. “He’s sunk them?”

“Do you have another explanation, Fabuloso?” Land loomed up through the mist. “The island’s still there. We…”

A column of blazing flame shot out from the mountainside, penetrating the mist; then a second one flashed bright fire into the night. Although they were a good hundred paces from the shoreline a wave of heat rolled over them. Smaller tongues of fire emerged from the main flame, forming a corona round the tip of the island. The light-show caught everyone’s appalled attention.

“It’s going down!” Tungdil could see what was happening. The unslayable was burning off gas and flooding the chambers to sink the island so that it would be out of reach. Would Lot-Ionan be able to magic himself down there to overcome the immortal enemy and the bastard? He thought it unlikely. “We’ve got to get there before it disappears. Full ahead, Sirka. Don’t worry about the ship now.”

The mariners looked at each other fearfully, uncertain what to do.

Tungdil went up to the nearest of them. “We must take this risk or else be blamed for all the misfortunes Girdlegard will suffer,” he insisted. “We can only defeat the evil by landing on the island.”

The sailors started to move, acting on his orders although aware it could mean the end for their ship. Tungdil recalled
how the initial capture of the island had cost two ships. It must not happen again.

The
Waveskimmer
increased speed and with each new bump they feared they might be taking in water. Prayers to Elria were offered ceaselessly; the sailors would do nothing without asking the goddess for her protection.

The island sank quickly, flames extinguished now that the gas had been burned off.

Under Rodario’s direction the helmsman maneuvered them close enough for the ubariu, Tungdil and company to jump onto the slowly submerging island. The flat shoreline was already under water.

Rodario gasped in pain when he landed. His injured leg hurt hellishly. “That way,” he said, indicating a narrow rock chimney. “Climb down there. It ends in a chamber leading inside.”

The last bit they had to jump. It was a good twenty paces down but there was already enough ballast water at the bottom to make it safe for them to do so.

“What have I let myself in for?” sighed Rodario. Lot-Ionan nodded in silent sympathy.

One by one they dropped into the foaming water, then climbed the stone steps to get through a hatch to the passageway. Water was pouring from their clothing and shoes, the drops leaving a dark trail. A trail that could betray them.

“I know where we are.” Tungdil had used his dwarf instincts well on his first visit: he pointed to the right. “That leads to the furnace, I think. If we go through it we come to the operating room for the boilers, don’t we?”

Rodario nodded. “We should find the unslayable one there. Somebody must be using the controls.”

They advanced cautiously, amazed at the appearance of the cave where once the furnaces had stood.

The molten iron that had cascaded down, threatening to engulf Tungdil and his friends, had hardened below into solid blocks like gray ice floes. Above, dripping ore had formed stalactites, or solidified on the rock in sheets of metal. It was a weird and wonderful sight.

“Go on,” mouthed Tungdil, approaching the damaged hatch in the boiler room. It had been struck by a heavy object of some kind; distorted, the round door hung from its hinges.

“Do you think the älfar is still here?” asked Rodario, drawing his sword. “Three to fight would be too many.”

“No, I don’t think he’ll have waited for us,” Tungdil said to allay his friend’s anxiety. He entered the area that had once housed the gigantic furnaces and boilers.

Their first foe was already there.

A huge monster three and a half paces high stood next to the nearest furnace. Its arms were poles of glass and metal bars. On its head sat a tionium helmet formed like a death’s head. It was whimpering and trying frantically to get the valve wheels to work, obviously trying to prevent the island from submerging. So far it had not noticed the intruders. Rune-adorned axes were stowed on its back in a large quiver resting on top of its black armor.