The Revenge of the Dwarves (90 page)
Goda gave him a little push and he pulled himself together. He knew his reservations were unjustified, but he couldn’t help it. Vraccas had hammered a hatred of orcs and all of Tion’s
creatures into the Girdlegard dwarves. The ubariu had the misfortune to look like Evil—and yet there was no way out of working together to guard the Black Abyss.
Ireheart gave the gate keeper a signal.
Shouts were heard, strong arms moved chains and pulley ropes, setting the heavy cogs in motion to open the main door. With a screech of iron the massive gate, eleven paces by seven, rose up to make a gap through which the column could march out toward the artifact.
“We’ll check the edges of the shield today,” Ireheart told Pfalgur, the ubari standing next to him. “I wouldn’t put it past these beasts to have a dug an escape tunnel. You go one way, we’ll take the other. I’ll start at the artifact. You get along.”
“Understood, general,” the ubari’s deep voice responded, passing on the orders.
They traversed the basin which held the Back Abyss. The sides were smooth and black as colored glass, and steep paths led off to the right and to the left, ending at the protective sphere.
Ireheart turned right toward the artifact; the ubari led his troops in the other direction.
While Goda used her telescope to inspect in minute detail both the diamond and the structure, which was enclosed in the same kind of energy dome as the abyss itself, Ireheart went over to the corpse of the abyss creature. On his side of the barrier lay the ugly thin legs that didn’t look capable of ever having moved along properly in those heavy boots. On the other side Ireheart could vaguely make out its upper body, pierced with arrows. Greenish blood had formed puddles and little rivulets.
“Freak,” he said under his breath, kicking the creature’s left leg. “Your moment of freedom only brought you death.” Ireheart looked up and stared into the chasm. “Did you come on
your own when you saw the shield was failing?” he asked quietly, as if the creature could hear him.
“Boïndil!” he heard Goda call, her voice excited.
Something wrong with the diamond? He was just about to turn round to speak to her when he thought he noticed a movement in the darkness.
Ireheart stopped and stared without blinking.
The strength of the magic barrier was making his moustache hairs stand on end. Or was it a feeling of unease?
“Boïndil, come on!” his wife attempted to get his attention again. “I’ve got something to…”
Ireheart raised his right hand to show he had heard her but that he needed quiet. His brown eyes searched the twilight for vague figures.
Once more he noticed a slight scurrying movement—something going from one rock to the next. There it came again. And yet another!
There was no doubt in his mind that more monsters were creeping up. Had they sensed the poor state of the barrier? Did they have the advantage here with their animal instincts?
“I want…” he called over his shoulder. Surprise cut off his words. Wasn’t that a
dwarf helmet
?
“This confounded distortion!” he called out, taking a step forward. “Tungdil!” he yelled, full of expectation, standing dangerously close to the sphere so that he could hear the humming sound it made, varying in pitch. “Vraccas, don’t let my eyes be deceiving me,” he prayed. He nearly laid his hand on the energy screen; Ireheart gulped in distress; his throat had never felt so constricted before.
Then a huge blue claw as broad as three castle gates appeared out of the shadows, and gave a thundering blow to the sphere, producing a dull echo. The ground shook.
Ireheart jumped back with a curse, hitting out with his weapon as a reflex. The steel head of the crow’s beak crashed against the barrier, but ineffectually. “The Kordrion is back!” he bellowed, noting with grim satisfaction that the alarm trumpets on the battlements immediately sounded a warning to the soldiers to man the catapults. All those drills he made them do were paying off.
The pale claw curled, its long talons scraping along the inner side of the shield, creating bright yellow sparks. Then the Kordrion retreated and a wall of white fire rolled in, slapping up against the barrier like a wave and washing all around.
Ireheart retreated, dazzled, stumbling backwards to the artifact. “It won’t hold for long,” he shouted to Goda. “The beasts know it and they’re gathering.”
“The diamond!” she called back. “It’s crumbling!”
“What? Not now, in Vraccas’ name!” At last he could see again: behind the force wall stood a range of monsters brandishing weapons! “Oh, you fiendish…”
Most were like the creature that had been cut in half; but there were others, significantly broader in the beam, much stronger and of intimidating appearance. No terror dream could have come up with better.
“By Vraccas,” Ireheart breathed, bereft. His friend had not come, after all. He issued brisk orders to the ubariu, telling them to spread out in front of the artifact to protect Goda. The warriors formed a wall of bodies, iron and shields, their lances pointing forward like so many defensive tentacles. Ireheart turned to Goda and saw that she was touching the shimmering sphere. “What’s happening?” he called.
She was deathly pale. “A piece… of the diamond has come away,” she stammered. “I can’t hold it…”
There was a loud crack, like the noise of ice breaking. They
all stared at the jewel. It had suddenly gone a darker color and there was a distinct fissure on its surface. The barrier fizzed and flickered. Layer upon layer was flaking off the edges of the diamond and falling to the ground. It was nearing the end.
“Get back!” commanded Ireheart. “Get back to the fort! We stand no chance here.” He took Goda’s hand and ran with her. In recent cycles he had grown to know the difference between courage and the insanity that used to overtake him in battle. His sons, too, had needed to learn the same lesson. The madness wasn’t something he was proud of handing on to them.
The large ubariu warriors kept pace, even though they could easily have covered the distance much more swiftly than the dwarves. Goda, who found it well nigh impossible to tear herself away from the artifact, was dragged along by her colleagues.
With a brilliant flash and an ear-splitting detonation the diamond burst asunder; the strength of the explosion brought the whole structure down. Parts of the vertical iron circles broke off and flew through the air to bury themselves in the ground several paces off. Goda saw the ends were glowing. There must have been incredible heat involved.
At the same time—the barrier at the Black Abyss fell.
The maga could clearly see the army of beasts—there was no immovable power to hold them back now. The wind carried an unbelievable stink over to her, a mixture of excrement, stale blood and sour milk. Grayish white clouds of dust and bone meal flurried up like mist in front of the somber rockface. Figures appeared out of the fog.
Behind the army the pale dragon-like head of the Kordrion reared up out of the chasm, horns and spikes erect. The four gray upper eyes were assessing the walls of the fortress as if to judge what force might be used against it and its followers. The
two, lower, blue eyes beneath the long bony muzzle were fixed on the ubariu and the fleeing dwarves.
“Vraccas!” exclaimed Goda, who was gathering her magic powers ready for defense. She had spotted a helmet among the first row of smaller monsters—a helmet as worn by children of the Smith.
Then a dwarf stepped forward, head to foot in dark armor made of tionium; glimmering inlay patterns glowed in turn. The creatures all drew back in respect.
In his right hand he held a weapon that was a legend in Girdlegard and in the Outer Lands alike: black as the blackest shadow and longer than a human arm. On one side the blade was thicker and had long thin teeth like a comb, and on the other side it thinned out like a sword.
“Bloodthirster,” breathed Goda and stopped in her tracks.
Ireheart was brought to a halt. He turned—and froze. Words failed him.
The dwarf in the night-colored armor raised his left hand to lift his visor. A familiar face with a golden eye patch could be seen, but the features were hard and marked with bitterness. His cold, cruel smile promised death. Then he held his weapon aloft and looked to the right and to the left. The creatures responded with shouts.
“Vraccas defend us: he has returned!” whispered Goda in horror. “Returned as the Commander of Evil!”
At that moment discordant trumpets blared out from the abyss, echoing off the bare rock. The Kordrion opened its muzzle to utter a furious roar.
The Dwarves
The War of the Dwarves
The Revenge of the Dwarves
Copyright © 2005 by Piper Verlag GmbH, Munich
English translation copyright © 2011 by Sheelagh Alabaster
Excerpt from
The Fate of the Dwarves
English translation copyright © 2011 by Sheelagh Alabaster
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First eBook Edition: November 2011
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ISBN: 978-0-316-19335-1
