The Revenge of the Dwarves (86 page)

Goda smiled. “Girdlegard will be glad to have your support. Will you take me on as your famula when the four cycles have passed?”

He stroked her blond hair. “Who knows what you will have learned in that time?” he hinted. “Perhaps you will discover a style of magic all your own. I know nothing about ubariu magic. You will be way ahead of me in that. Even for one such as myself the ways of magic are unfathomable. It likes to keep something up its sleeve. I can only warn you not to be prodigal with your powers.” He stood
up and shook hands with each in turn. “We shall surely meet again. And we shall see Tungdil again. I feel it in the depths of my soul, and so my spirits are high.” He turned his bright blue gaze on Sirka. “You will live to see him again. Don’t despair. Look forward to the dawn when he returns to you from the Abyss.” He nodded and left.

Sirka also bade her friends farewell. Boïndil let her depart, even though he still had not told her the punchline. It was not the right time for jokes at the moment.

The two dwarves were alone.

“Do you know what’s bothering me?” said Ireheart thoughtfully, after the last steps had died away. “Why did the artifact reject Lot-Ionan?”

“Well, if anyone is pure in spirit then it has to be Lot-Ionan,” said Goda springing to the defense of the magus. “And who expects a magus to sacrifice his life to chastity? I’m sure he doesn’t get up to anything like that now, but I’m sure he remembers what he did when he was younger…” She took his hand. “He is good.”

Ireheart was thinking. “Yes, you’re right.” He let himself be persuaded. Then his face took on a worried expression. “You know what this means for our iron band?”

“We shall have to wait another four cycles.”

He sighed. “That will be hard. As hard as any diamond.”

Goda laughed. “In the meantime you can train me up to be the very best warrior maiden there’s ever been in Girdlegard or the Outer Lands. Your efforts and your noble restraint will receive their reward after four cycles.” She gave him a long kiss. “And we’re not forbidden to kiss.” She smiled. For a second it crossed her mind that they still
had to fight the duel she had vowed to her dead grandmother. That could wait.

Ireheart touched her cheek, stroking the pale down on her skin. “It will be the best and the worst four cycles of my life,” he joked. “Vraccas hates me for some reason.” He kissed her and then became earnest. “I pray daily to our creator that he may keep Tungdil safe.” He stood up and went to the doorway, opened it and looked over toward the Black Abyss under its shimmering globe. “I wonder where he is? And what he’s doing, alone with the misbegotten offspring of strange gods?” Again he wiped the perspiration from his brow.

Goda took his hand. She could give him no answer and she certainly did not share his optimism about Tungdil’s fate. She presumed him dead. But she was not going to say so.

In silence they both watched the glowing sphere under which lay both hope and horror. You could not have the one without the other.

Girdlegard
,

Porista, Royal Capital of Gauragar
,

Winter, 6241st Solar Cycle

O
nce more Girdlegard’s rulers were meeting to confer.

King Bruron escorted his guests into the first completed chamber of his royal residence. Huge stoves ensured a pleasant temperature despite wintry blizzards without.

Bruron had ordered sumptuous decoration of the hall,
commissioning furnishings, frescoes, tapestries and sculptures with taste and care. The impression given was that the rest of the palace was already in place. However, only the outlines of the main structure were visible. The elf Esdalân, the monarchs of the human realms, lords of the dwarven kingdoms and heads of the freeling cities were gathered to hear Rodario’s reports from the Outer Lands: eloquently and with compelling and colorful detail he described recent events at the Black Abyss.

“… and so—with the sacrifice brought by Tungdil Goldhand—the battle ended. We have lost a great hero. He gave his life for Girdlegard…” He bowed to his audience. “… for your sake and to enable you to sleep soundly in your beds. May this courageous dwarf forever remain in your thoughts, and let us ensure that it is not only the children of the Smith who mourn him.” With these words he took his seat to deafening applause, in particular from the dwarves, on whose faces many a tear glistened.

Lot-Ionan rose to his feet. Dressed in a light blue robe, he wore white gloves to hide the disfiguring burns he had received from touching the artifact. In his left hand he held a long, superbly carved walking stick of birchwood. “I see it as our task to utilize this new peace accorded us by the sacrifice of my foster-son Tungdil and his companions, some of whom remain in the Outer Lands. It is time for reconciliation.” He looked at Esdalân. “The elves have been subjected to horrendous treatment meted out in anger. Are you prepared to let bygones be bygones and excuse the deeds targeted at the atár?”

Esdalân looked at Ginsgar calmly. “I insist on an apology
for the cruelties received and for the devastation suffered in Âlandur. The grand palaces and temples were laid waste, and this was fitting. But it was not right that settlements were torched and destroyed when the inhabitants had nothing to do with the blinkered obsessions of some of my people. Sincere words of atonement and some redress are essential here.” His gaze wandered over the faces of the assembled dwarves. “With your help we shall reconstruct our elf realm. When that is done, then there shall be forgiveness for the children of the Smith.”

Ginsgar opened his mouth to let out a hearty laugh. “Sure thing, Esdalân. We can build a few houses for thirty-seven elves, no bother. That forgiveness will be winging its way to us.”

If offended by the words and tone, Esdalân chose not to show it. He was too sensible to allow himself to respond in kind. “And how about the words of apology from you, Ginsgar Unforce? You led your troops through our groves, plundering and killing.”

The laughter ceased abruptly. “And your own apology for the poisoning of the dwarves?”

“That was the atár, not the elves.” Esdalân looked past Ginsgar and appealed to Xamtys. “Atár and elves have nothing in common.”

“Hair-splitting,” said Ginsgar with contempt. “If I don’t hear an apology, then you’ll have to wait, too.”

“In that case I don’t want the dwarves’ help in Âlandur.” Esdalân nodded to the self-appointed high king. “As soon as you are ready to apologize our two peoples may make a fresh start. But not until then.” The elf leaned back
in his seat, making it obvious that he had no more to say. But the door of reconciliation had not been slammed shut.

Lot-Ionan sent a disapproving look Ginsgar’s way. “How can you do this, Ginsgar Unforce?”

“Easily,” he replied curtly. He, too, had no more to add. The gulf between the two peoples had not grown any narrower. The dead heaped in that gulf prevented any peace.

“You will come to your senses,” predicted Lot-Ionan. He addressed the whole assembly. “We have heard that the kordrion has escaped and taken to the hills. It is feared that it will be hiding somewhere between the fifthling and fourthling territories, to lick its wounds. It is vital that the dwarves patrol not only the passes but also the remote mountain regions. As soon as the kordrion is sighted, I must be told.”

“Didn’t Master Rodario say the creature cannot be overpowered?” Isika asked.

“As far as the ubariu and the undergroundlings are concerned, yes.” Lot-Ionan indicated his wand. “I am looking into acquiring new famuli and famulae to train. We shall soon have young people versed in the high art of magic. No one has tried to combat the kordrion with magic. The rune masters of the ubariu used their powers differently from my own ways.” He smiled reassuringly. “You see, Queen Isika, I am optimistic.”

Queen Wey started to speak. “Then let me add something here, venerable magus, to make you more confident still, even if it has been with great concern that I and my subjects have observed it.” She went to the map of Girdlegard and indicated her own realm. “The water level in the
lake is sinking all the time. It’s as if someone had pulled the plug out of a bath tub.”

Rodario and Lot-Ionan exchanged swift glances.

“How much has been lost?” the actor asked. He was aware of a possible reason. The force and weight of water gushing in had foiled the magister’s attempt to complete the tunnel. Somewhere in the western part of the Outer Lands a mighty river must be bringing potential devastation.

“My citizens who live on solid islands report the level has fallen by as much as ten paces. Ports and harbors are having to be resited. In some places the lake waters have shrunk so much that people have to walk a whole day to collect fresh water for their homes.” Queen Wey surveyed the assembly solemnly. “The lake is running dry. Soon, my subjects will be living not on islands but on mountain peaks soaring a thousand paces up into the sky. It may be good news for you, Lot-Ionan, because access to the magic source will be easier, but my people are distraught. You can’t make farmers out of fishermen.”

“I think I can guess what has caused the water to vanish,” said the magus. He explained his theory. It coincided with Rodario’s ideas. “We could deal with the cause if we collapsed the tunnels. I would prefer to undertake a dive to the bottom of the lake for the magic before I see a water-based country turned to desert laid bare. Weyurn without its lakes is unthinkable. The whole of Girdlegard would suffer: its lakes give rise to our rivers and streams. The consequences would be dire indeed.”

Mallen asked to be allowed to speak. “In the name of the human kingdoms I suggest the dwarves permit our
warriors to share guard duties at each of the passes into Girdlegard.” He stood up. “It is only fair that we don’t leave the defense of the whole of Girdlegard up to the dwarves. We too want to make our contribution to our safety and security. It will be our gesture of acknowledgment and thanks for them having stood guard loyally these thousands of cycles, losing thousands of their people in the course of that defense.”

“No,” interrupted Ginsgar. “We’ll have no humans in our mountains. We are carrying out our duties properly on our own. Humans would get in the way. They understand neither our way of life nor our way of thinking and fighting. If there were an attack our soldiers would be hindered by them, not helped.”

“
You
have no kingdom under you,” Xamtys corrected him. “You have appointed yourself high king, that’s all.” She inclined her head toward Mallen. “As for the firstlings, let me say that humans are welcome to join their efforts to our own. We have suffered too many losses recently and would be grateful for more soldiers to help fill the gaps in our ranks, until our own new recruits are trained up.”

Bylanta and Balendilîn agreed with her, but Glaïmbar and Malbalor refused to cooperate. From the looks exchanged between Ginsgar and Xamtys it seemed the dwarven folks were headed for a massive clash of wills about who should have overall power. Never had their enmity been displayed so openly. In the past they had given outsiders the impression of unity or had formed a common front of silence when disputes occurred.

Mallen expressed his thanks. “Let us discuss numbers
tomorrow: how many soldiers the firstlings, secondlings and fourthlings will take.”

The council now moved to the topic of what line to take with the ubariu and the mighty empire in the northeast of the Outer Lands. Against Ginsgar’s will—unsurprisingly—it was decided to invite initial contact, if for no other reason than to tackle the kordrion. The monarchs resolved to leave it in the lap of the gods as to how the relationship developed after that.

As it was already late Bruron closed the meeting. The potentates of Girdlegard were to reconvene in the morning. The kings and queens of the human realms left the hall and the dwarves remained behind to continue negotiations.

Immediately Xamtys slammed her fist down on the table and hissed accusingly at Ginsgar, “How can you dare to appear here as high king?”

“The matter is settled,” he snorted, dismissing her with a smile and gesture.

“You
think
it is settled. You have a handful of followers, Ginsgar, and they swore loyalty to you when they were high on battle victory. Not more than that.”

“Not in my view.” Glaïmbar spoke. “Ginsgar did what we should have done. Elves or atár, what’s the difference? When the next eoîl turns up, the thirty-seven pointy-ears will go mad and try to found another empire of purity. We’re better off without the elves.” He pushed back his chair and knelt before Ginsgar, proffering his weapon. He bowed his head. “I acknowledge you as my high king, Ginsgar Unforce.”

Malbalor also rose and dropped to one knee, repeating the ceremony.

Xamtys jumped up. “So much hot-headed madness from my own realm is insufferable!” She looked at Glaïmbar. “I can’t think why you are supporting him.” Then she turned her eyes to Malbalor. “You are afraid of losing authority because you are a thirdling. You think you’ll hang on to power and your people will be left in peace if you join the dwarf who calls freelings and thirdlings his enemies.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are both wrong. You have split the dwarf folks with your decision. I will never accept Ginsgar as high king.” She stood up and knelt before Bylanta, to be joined by Balendilìn. “We swear allegiance to you, High Queen Bylanta Slimfinger of the clan of the Silver Beards,” they chorused.

Then the freeling city representatives, Bramdal amongst their number, rose and stood at the side of the fourthling queen. They swore no oath but made their commitment plain.