The Revenge of the Dwarves (83 page)

“No one will forgive me what I have done. There’s no making it worse,” Furgas cut in. “I built the machines to hound the dwarves. I didn’t take a lot of persuading when Bandilor suggested it. And I was happy enough to side with the unslayable. I knew exactly what I was doing and I planned it all in detail. Now I am at my goal. Why would I stop now?”

“We’ve found your tunnel. Evil won’t be getting through there anymore,” Tungdil told him, as he gave Goda a signal; Ireheart understood as well. “How ever did you manage to make those bastard hybrids out of machines and monsters?”

“There’s always room for coincidence in my plans,” he smiled. “When we were prospecting for iron ore on the lake bed we noticed the rocks were quite different. I thought of the source in Porista and started to suspect a connection. And it occurred to me we had found the metal that conducts magic.” He looked over to the abyss. The shower of body parts did not seem to be drying up. “I wondered if the machines could use it. Narmora had told me about the magic dormant in älfar. When the unslayable left his bastards with me I just tried it out.” Pride shone in his eyes. “The two thirdlings smelted me the special metal and then I created the new machines. Nobody before me had ever thought of combining magic, iron and living bodies.”

“You turned them into well-nigh undefeatable monsters.”

“That was my plan, Tungdil.” He folded his hands and was deathly calm. “I just wanted a distraction. While you were chasing the machines nobody worried about me. My tunnel could have been finished without anyone noticing. But the Black Abyss serves my purposes better.” Furgas turned to the mighty incision in the earth and nodded. “Hard to credit, isn’t it? I was playing you this farce all along, ever since Rodario turned up on the island.” Furgas turned to the actor. “My simulated suicide made it all perfect. You believed me and you told me all your secrets. Because of you my revenge will be sweeter than I could ever have imagined. Yes, if we did but know certain things in advance… Like the existence of the Black Abyss.”

The thudding had stopped and the horn sounded once more. The Black Abyss launched its horrors onto the defenders.

Tungdil was too far away to see exactly, but the monsters surging out of the chasm seemed far worse than anything known previously in Girdlegard: some had four arms and claws, others had two long necks and heads like snakes.

He noted a big fat creature as tall as a tree, with a red body shimmering moistly like raw meat, and half a dozen tentacles waving in the air, grabbing at anything in range. When it caught its prey it simply squashed it up against its own flesh until clouds of steam rose. The victims were dissolved in acid and ingested directly via countless mouths.

Similar ghastly beings came running and riding out of
the ravine; large and small, unspeakably ugly and horrific to see.

Winged monsters as tall as a house crawled up the ravine sides and threw themselves off to take advantage of updraughts and prevailing winds. They sailed over the heads of the ubariu and with their long claws ripped open the scalps of the defending warriors.

The catapults had opened fire now and were keeping up an answering barrage on the attackers.

Flying beasts attacked the armored wagons, landing on them or climbing on top to destroy the wind sails, or to strip off the iron plates to get inside. The allied army had to support the vehicles under attack.

Suddenly the shrillest of screams issued from the depths of the chasm; it was louder than any other noise. The voice was so loud that it cracked the rocks at the side of the chasm. Friend and foe alike stopped in their tracks in utter horror and the monsters ceased their onslaught. They were terrified of their own kind.

“Ubar protect us,” whispered Sirka, flinching and stepping back involuntarily. “A kordrion! Only the cry of a kordrion can split rocks, it says in the books. Nothing can hold it back if it escapes.”

Furgas scuffed. “And there isn’t anyone to hold it back, Sirka.” He pointed to Lot-Ionan. “Your last hope lies there. The old man has failed.”

The hand of the magus moved. Assumed dead, he still managed to direct a dark green beam at Furgas.

It swept the technical genius off his feet and sent him flying up toward the hub until suspended exactly above it.
Then the wizard broke off the ray and Furgas sank down. At the last moment he put out a hand to grab one of the reinforcements.

The woman took a shot at Lot-Ionan but the arrow never made it. Magic forced it to hang in the air. Lot-Ionan had been prepared for the attack.

“Great! The stone is up there now. It’s just got to get into the setting.” Ireheart ran to confront the archer-woman, Goda at his heels. “I’ll take her, Scholar. You find a way to get Lot-Ionan up to the diamond.”

Tungdil and Sirka helped the magus to his feet.

Lot-Ionan drew the arrow out of his flesh and discarded it. “It’s not so easy to kill a magus,” he said with a peculiar smile. “Evil will not prevail.” He grasped the iron rings to start the climb.

A bolt of lightning struck from the center of the artifact, sending the wizard sailing through the air to land four paces away. He lay groaning as smoke poured out of his body.

“Lot-Ionan!” Tungdil ran to his side. The wizard’s hand was badly burned and the skin was flaking off onto the ground. Blood seeped out of the blackened flesh. His eyes had turned back in his head and he was convulsing.

Sirka stared. “It’s because his soul is not true,” she realized with horror. She watched the battle rage. “What now?”

Their army was holding their ground on nearly all sides, but a few of the creatures had broken through the defense line. And it was these misbegotten beings that were now heading toward the artifact. They were well aware what
had held them prisoner for so long in their black ravine. They were desperate to destroy it.

“I don’t know,” Tungdil replied quietly. Raising
Bloodthirster
he mounted his befún and rode to confront the monsters. “I’ll keep them busy. Then we’ll have to see. Look after the magus.”

I
reheart had reached the archer and smashed her bow just as she was notching her next arrow. It fell harmlessly to the ground and she leaped back in fury, drawing her sword.

His eyes flashed. “So, you cowardly murderess. Let us see what battle skills you have now that I’ve broken your favorite toy.” He dealt her a blow with his crow’s beak.

She sidestepped deftly and launched a kick but he was able to ward it off with the handle of his ax. He drove the jagged point, where the spike had broken off, deep into her flank, tearing a gaping wound. She fell back, gasping.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, you crafty bitch,” he crowed and, whirling his ax, was about to strike when she threw her sword.

It missed him and he heard Goda cry out.

Up until recently there would have been nothing that could have distracted him in combat, but his concern for Goda did so now. He turned.

The archer’s sword was stuck deep in Goha’s arm, and the impact had forced her backwards—right up against the rings of the artifact.

“Vraccas! No!” yelled Boïndil, thinking of what Flagur had said. In his mind’s eye he saw Goda transformed to ashes, torn by lightning bolts, consumed by flames…

But nothing happened.

Before he could realize how surprised he was, he felt a sharp pain in his side. It had a hellish kick. Turning, he faced the flying fist of the archer-woman.

“Not so fast!” he exclaimed and hit at her hand with the flat of his battleax. There was a loud crack on contact and the finger bones crunched. Without waiting to see what she was doing, he dealt her an uppercut with the jagged edge, shattering her chin.

She fell to the ground but still slashed out with her dagger.

Ireheart sprang to one side and the glistening knife-tip missed him. “My turn,” he laughed, lifting his weapon high over his head to slam it down with all his strength. “What does a skull do when it bursts?”

The woman had no answer. Under the blow from his ax her head demonstrated the solution to his riddle.

From far above Furgas shouted. He had found his footing on one of the cross-bars and sat there, condemned to watch and wait, which was what he had demanded the others should do.

“We’ll deal with you in a minute,” Ireheart called up. He raced to Goda’s side. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was careful, master.” Laying his hand on the sword handle he pulled it out of her arm. Goda gave a quiet moan. He showed her the sword. “Never throw your weapon unless you have a second one,” he reminded her. “She still had her little toothpick.”

Goda noticed the blood trickling out of his side. “I can see.”

“That? Only a scratch.” He inspected her back for any scorch marks on the armor. Nothing. A slight giddiness forced him to plant his feet firmly on the ground.

“Goda, Ireheart!” called Sirka. “Come over here. The magus has something to say.”

It was only now that the two dwarves saw Lot-Ionan stretched out on the ground next to Rodario. “Oh no! Did he fall?” asked Boïndil somberly. “Now we’ll need a catapult to get him up there.”

They ran to the magus. His breath was short and he was obviously in great pain. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “I didn’t fall. The artifact rejected me,” he explained.

Ireheart looked up at Furgas. “Fine artifact this one is. Why doesn’t it grill him instead of you?”

Lot-Ionan turned his pale blue gaze on Goda. “You must go and complete the task.”

“Me?” The dwarf-maiden raised her night star as if in excuse. “I’m a warrior and—”

“The rune master knew and I saw it with my own eyes, too,” he interrupted, speaking hoarsely. “Goda, you bear within you the gift to use magic. And unlike mine your soul will be pure and innocent.”

“Innocent?” Rodario scoffed. “It’s a good thing the artifact does not have ears, after what I heard in Pendleburg.”

Goda blushed. Ireheart looked sternly at Rodario. “We were doing wrestling drills, actor. She is still untouched.”

Lot-Ionan gazed steadily into Goda’s brown eyes. “I don’t know how—perhaps from the magic source, or perhaps you’ve had it from birth.”

“Is that what you and the rune master were talking
about at the campfire that night?” Rodario remembered the evening he had shared the strange spice with Flagur and seen the two men talking.

“Yes. I did not want to tell Goda until we had completed our mission. You might have been my famula.” He shut his eyes, and his teeth were chattering. “Climb up, Goda.” His words could hardly be heard now. “Kill Furgas, put the diamond in the setting and save Girdlegard.”

“And my homeland, too,” added Sirka.

O
n the left more and more beasts were breaking through, heading for the artifact. Tungdil rode back and forth, felling one creature after another, but there were far too many. Three dozen were coming their way.

Sirka pillowed Lot-Ionan’s head on her mantle, then she took her combat stick and nodded to Ireheart. “I think we’ve got work to do.”

Rodario broke the arrow off close to the entry wound and got to his feet. “Well, you’ll be needing me, as well. I can’t miss a third opportunity to be a hero.”

Ireheart gave Goda a tender kiss. “Hurry. But not too fast. Leave a few for me and my crow’s beak.” He turned to face the foe. Again the world seemed to waver in front of his eyes and he needed to blink before his sight cleared.

“Irrepressible,” was all Goda said. She went to the nearest ring and sought a hold for her fingers as she started to climb.

“Just you try,” shouted Furgas. “I’ll kill you.”

Sirka twirled her weapon and looked at Ireheart. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Tell me the joke about the orc and the dwarf?”

“Now?”

“Might be our last chance.” Sirka grinned. The first monster was ten paces away, swinging a huge sword.

“Hurry.”

“Well, one orbit, a dwarf meets an orc at the Stone Gateway.” Ireheart raised his crow’s beak. “The orc saw him and said, ‘Little man, can you tell me where…?’ ”

Sirka’s adversary arrived and grabbed her attention with a hefty swipe.

“Later,” she called to Ireheart as she put her heart and soul into the fight.

Tungdil spurred his befún across the battlefield, striking at the monsters’ heads with
Bloodthirster
. Each strike took a life.

The refashioned älfish blade raged amongst the enemy throng. It seemed as if the sword were helping of its own accord, directing its own attack, and seeking out the most vulnerable places to strike. The weapon was uncanny but fascinating.

But whatever efforts the ubariu and the undergroundlings made, more and more creatures broke through the defenses, as soldiers were lost.

The winged monsters could not be stopped. They seemed immune against attack by arrow or crossbow bolt and had overturned two of the armored wagons, falling in swarms on the others. Swift as the wind they tore off the heavy plating to slaughter the crew inside.

The remaining vehicles gave the infantry some cover and kept up a spear attack, but they too were damaged.

“Curses!” Tungdil halted his befún to study the artifact. He saw Furgas was at the top and that a small figure was making its way up on the outside ring. “Goda?”