The War of the Dwarves (31 page)

The woman slapped him. “You almost had me fooled.” She glanced at the men. “Kill him. We’ll escape through the back.”

“They’ve covered both exits,” said Rodario quickly, managing to sound confident and disdainful in spite of his fear. “Give
yourselves up and your lives will be spared. I’m sure the maga will be merciful, provided you confess.”

“Confess? We haven’t committed any crime. No, I’d rather die than throw myself on the mercy of the usurper.” She drew a dagger
from the leather belt across her shoulder and tried to plunge it into his heart.

Rodario kicked her as hard as he could in the crotch. “Count yourself lucky you’re not a man!” he muttered unsympathetically
when she groaned. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed the back of the chair and brought it down on the head of the man who was
rushing toward him. A wooden leg snapped off, flew through the air, and shattered the crown glass window.

“They’re coming!” shouted the other man, unsheathing his sword. “Death to the supporters of Andôkai!” He darted outside and
charged toward them. Rodario couldn’t see what happened next, but he knew from the sound of clattering steel that the famulus
and the thieves had met.

Meanwhile, the woman had recovered sufficiently to launch a new attack. He fended her off with the broken chair while her
companion rushed out to help his friend. Lightning crackled and Rodario caught a glimpse of a flickering red glow on the pavement
outside. Voices shouted in panic; then a man let out an agonized scream.

“Die, villain!” The woman’s dagger hurtled toward him.

Rodario had enough time to step aside and thrust the back of the chair into her belly. Then, flipping it over, he slammed
it seat-first against her head. The chair broke apart, tearing her hood. She slumped to the ground, blood gushing from her
head. The dagger embedded itself in the floorboards.

The impresario swooped down and crouched over her, clamping her arms to the ground with his knees. Her breath came in short
gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “It seems the gods are on my side,” he laughed, ripping off her mask with a theatrical
gesture.

He saw a charming little face. Blood was trickling through her long dark hair and into her eyes, which gave her a slightly
rakish look. He guessed her age at twenty cycles.

“Well, pretty one, it’s time for you to talk,” he said, fighting back his natural exuberance, which was urging him to celebrate
his unexpected victory with a kiss. “You said you saw the maga. What was she doing?”

She tried to shake him off. “You know perfectly well what she was doing,” she said, gasping for breath. Her resistance subsided,
and she resorted to threats. “Let go of me this instant or I’ll send you up in flames.”

Rodario grinned and stroked his beard. “I’d like to see you try. Why would you use a dagger if you could attack me with magic
instead? You’re just a novice, aren’t you?” He pulled the blade from the floor and placed the tip above her heart. “Tell me
what you saw. What was the maga doing?”

“Talking to two men,” she said angrily. “Why am I bothering? You know all this already.” Her legs shot up and wrapped themselves
around his neck, her calves pushing against his throat. Bracing herself, she pulled back with all her might.

Rodario’s neck creaked in protest. Fearful that his spine was about to break, he shifted his weight.

The famula freed her arms and slid away with the slipperiness of a serpent. Scrambling to her feet, she kicked him in the
crotch. “Too bad that you’re a man,” she said spitefully.

He doubled up, holding the dagger in front of him while he recovered from the pain.

Just then one of her companions appeared in the doorway. Blood was pouring from a gash in his arm and he could barely hold
himself upright. By now the whole neighborhood was awake and people were shouting for the guards. “Quick, Nufa,” he panted.
“We need to get out of here.”

The woman ran over and half carried him out of the room toward the back door. Before she disappeared, she shot a final, murderous
glance at the impresario.

But Rodario wasn’t finished with her yet. According to the famula, Andôkai had left the palace in the dead of night to meet
two men, but Andôkai was mistress of Porista; she could summon anyone to the palace whenever she liked.

Something’s going on here, and I’m going to find out what
. He straightened up carefully and shuffled out of the room. Little Rodario and his two plump brothers were throbbing in protest,
and the pain was almost more than he could bear.

Nufa and the famulus were at the door. “Get back!” she shouted, grabbing her wounded comrade’s sword and waving it threateningly
at Rodario. “Next time I set eyes on you, I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a part in my play?” he asked, still clutching his groin. “I’m looking for a new actress and when
I see you standing there, sword in hand, so daring, so courageous… You’d be a natural on stage.”

A dark figure landed behind her and straightened up, revealing his imposing height. There was a sound of grating metal.

“Watch out!” shouted Rodario, who, for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to him, wanted to save her.

The famula ducked as a blade measuring two full paces whistled through the air. The gleaming metal sliced through the ends
of her long dark hair and bit into the man’s torso. The two halves of his body fell to the ground.

Rodario knew that Andôkai’s bodyguard would carry out his mission with ruthless efficiency, but still he hobbled forward,
positioning himself in front of Nufa. “Do as I say if you want to survive,” he whispered over his shoulder. “You’d better
tell me everything you know about Andôkai.” She nodded, her eyes wide with fear. “Don’t hurt her, Djer
n,” he told the metal
visor. “We need her alive.”

A terrible purple light shone through the eyeholes. Djer
n waited, frozen in position. His hand was outstretched and his
sword was perpendicular to the ground. The famulus’s blood trickled down the blade, collected around the hilt, and splashed
onto the cobbles.

“ Djer
n,” he said slowly, “I need you to spare her. She hasn’t answered my questions, and Andôkai will be angry if you kill
her. The woman can’t hurt us; she’s not armed.” He stepped aside to prove that Nufa wasn’t a threat.

There was nothing he could do to prevent what happened next.

The giant’s arm shot up in a flash of metal, and his long sword whizzed over Rodario’s head, past his face, and into Nufa’s
collarbone. Screaming in agony, she sank down, blood gushing from the wound.

“No!” cried Rodario, throwing himself onto his knees. “I’m so sorry, Nufa. I didn’t think he would… I mean…” He glanced at
the open wound and felt a rush of nausea.

Her bloodied fingers reached for his collar; she pulled his head toward her and whispered in his ear. “The maga… two men…
a pouch,” she gasped. “Dagger… magus’s crest…”

He was suddenly struck by an improbable thought. “Do you know their names?”

Nufa nodded. “Gran…” Her eyes filled with fear. “No!” The sword brushed past his shoulder and sliced through her mouth, cleaving
her skull from top to bottom.

Rodario looked at Djer
n in horror and disbelief. He stroked Nufa’s arm and straightened up to face the giant. “You killed
her, you monster! Don’t you realize she was about to…” It dawned on him that the famula had been killed for a reason; another
ill-considered word, and he would share her fate. “She was about to tell me the names of the other conspirators,” he continued.
“Andôkai will be furious.”

The maga’s bodyguard sheathed his sword. It wasn’t possible to tell whether he had heard or understood anything that Rodario
had said. There was nothing but darkness behind his visor. Turning, he strode down the alleyway and disappeared.

Rodario, shaken by what had happened, sat down on an empty barrel beside the back door and gazed at the bodies.
She would have made a good actress
, he thought sadly as he looked at the famula’s once-pretty face.

Djer
n had brought the sword up and down so cleanly that the famula almost seemed to be asleep. But the giant’s ruthless
deed was the spark that ignited Rodario’s smoldering suspicions. His worst fears had been confirmed.
I might have guessed that no good would come of spying for Narmora.

Dsôn,

Kingdom of Dsôn Balsur,

Girdlegard,

Spring, 6235th Solar Cycle

T
he black velvet glove caressed the diamonds on the blade, stroked the shimmering inlay of precious metals, and slid down the
haft of the ax. The fingers closed around the sigurdaisy wood and lifted the weapon gently from its bed of dark brocade. “It’s
heavy,” said the melodious voice of a male älf.

The bearer of the gift was kneeling at the bottom of the black marble steps that led up to the pair of thrones. She held the
cushion aloft, but her gaze was fixed on the stairs; ordinary älfar were forbidden from looking at their rulers. “Indeed it
is, Nagsor Inàste. For many miles I bore its weight.”

“You should have sought our approval beforehand, Ondori,” the female älf said gently. “By rights you should be punished, but
the success of your mission absolves you of your guilt.”