The War of the Dwarves (83 page)

“What was the point?” he asked in a muffled voice. “What was the point of all that suffering?” He raised his head and looked
accusingly at Tungdil. “We went to war to save Girdlegard, because you said there was a threat.” He jumped up and pointed
to the door. “But what happened? Nothing! My wife died in vain. The avatars wanted to free us from evil, and what did we do?
We fought them.” He sat down slowly. “If we’d helped them, it would never have come to this. Narmora and Dorsa would be alive…”

“Furgas,” Tungdil said soothingly. “You’ve lost the two people most precious to you, but the stone of judgment doesn’t work
like that. The eoîl wouldn’t—”

“We could have shown them the way to Toboribor and led them to Borwôl. We could have taken them to every single evil creature
in Girdlegard without endangering innocent lives, and they would have wiped the beasts out with their army. They only used
their murderous magic because we attacked them—and it cost me my wife and child.” He got up and looked at Tungdil bitterly.
“We attacked them because you told us to. We followed the dwarves’ advice and we trusted you—everyone in Girdlegard trusted
you—but this time you were wrong. Palandiell save me from the charity of the dwarves.”

He turned away, ignoring Tungdil’s pleas. Pulling the tent flap back angrily, he disappeared outside.

“Let him be,” advised Balyndis. “It’s no wonder he can’t think straight when his heart is full of grief. Give him some time.”

The physician cleared his throat to get their attention. “I’m afraid there’s a shard of metal in your bone. I’ll have to get
it out.” He handed his patient a metal bar wrapped in leather. Tungdil smiled and tried to give it back, but the physician
shook his head. “You’ll need it. It’s a painful business.”

Tungdil put the bar between his teeth and Balyndis squeezed his hand while the physician’s assistants exposed the bone by
pulling back the flesh with metal hooks. A pair of tongs closed around the shard and the physician began to pull. Tungdil
didn’t have time to clamp his jaws around the bar; his mind had shut down.

Porista,

Former Realm of Lios Nudin,

Girdlegard,

Winter, 6235th/6236th Solar Cycle

T
he citizens found a use for the fissures resulting from the quakes and saved themselves the effort of breaking open the frozen
earth to bury the enemy dead.

The avatars’ soldiers were tossed unceremoniously into the trenches and packed down with rubble from the palace, of which
nothing remained intact.

Faraway from the men, the fallen dwarves were laid to rest in individual graves. Firstlings were buried next to thirdlings,
and thirdlings next to freelings, a fitting end for the comrades-in-arms. Tungdil refused to believe that Vraccas would close
his smithy to honorable dwarves of any provenance who upheld his commandments. For the first time in history, the folks were
at peace.

Boëndal Hookhand of the clan of the Swinging Axes would return to the Blue Range as a hero, but not in the way that Boïndil
and Tungdil had hoped. Too severely burned for the healers to help him, the plucky secondling had died of his wounds.

Boïndil and Tungdil laid him on a shield and carried him, still dressed in his imposing armor as befitted a warrior, through
the encampment and into Porista. The funeral procession came to a halt on the southern outskirts of the city. A group of firstlings
had volunteered to help Boïndil carry his twin to the secondling kingdom where he would be laid to rest in his beloved Blue
Range.

“I couldn’t bury him here,” said a broken-hearted Boïndil. The loss of his twin was a blow from which he would never recover.
Part of his soul had died. “He wanted to be buried at the High Pass. He’ll always be keeping watch over Girdlegard and protecting
our kingdom from Tion’s hordes.”

Bowing his head, Tungdil looked sorrowfully at his dead friend and touched his cold, scorched fingers. He wasn’t afraid to
shed a tear.
Forgive me for missing your funeral,
he apologized.
I’ll visit your grave when my work is done. I hope to bring good news…
He turned to Boïndil and embraced him as they mourned the loss of the brother and companion with whom they had shared so
much.

“Who’s going to calm my fiery furnace now?” sniffed his twin forlornly. Salty tears rolled down his cheeks, adding to the
glistening pearl at the bottom of his beard.

“I’ll join you again soon,” promised Tungdil in a choked voice. “We’ll drink a tankard or two to Boëndal and remember the
old times. He’s in the smithy, you know, with Sanda and all the others who died in the fight against the avatars. Vraccas
will have given him a proper hero’s welcome.”

They bade each other farewell; then Boïndil signaled to the firstlings to help him lift the shield. Tungdil made his way dolefully
back to his tent, where an anxious Rodario was waiting for him.

“He’s gone,” he sighed.

“I know,” said Tungdil. “He left just now.”

The impresario shook his head. “I mean Furgas, not Boïndil. The best prop master in Girdlegard has vanished without trace.”
He shrugged sadly. “I don’t know what to do.”

Tungdil poured himself and his guest some tea. “With the Curiosum?”

“Who cares about the Curiosum!” snorted Rodario. “Admittedly, the special effects won’t be the same without him, but Furgas
was my
friend
.” He took a sip of his tea. “The poor fellow has been through such a lot. First he was attacked and poisoned, then his son
died before he woke up from the coma, and now, half a cycle later, he’s had to bury his baby daughter and as for Narmora…
there’s nothing left but ash. Both dead in a single orbit!” He sighed again, this time more deeply. “Can a heart survive such
sorrow? What if he tries to…”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Tungdil, doing his best to sound convincing. “If he wanted to take his own life, he’d have
done it in Porista, where his children and his wife met their end. I expect he’s gone away for a while to clear his mind.”

Rodario hoped fervently that the dwarf was right. “Fine, I’ll go with your theory, hero of Porista. It’s cheerier than mine.”

“Do you know what, Rodario?” confessed Tungdil. “I’m tired of being a hero. Furgas was upset and he said a few things that
got me thinking.” He reported their exchange and took another sip of tea. “The thing is, he was probably right: maybe I
should
have helped the avatars rather than oppose them,” he concluded sadly.

“I beg to differ,” said Rodario, watching the steam rise from his tea. “It must have slipped my friend’s mind that five towns
were destroyed when the avatars marched on Dsôn Balsur. Five towns, and forty thousand men, women, and children! Think how
many would have died if they’d marched on Toboribor and Borwôl as well! Besides, the so-called avatars wanted to carve up
Girdlegard among themselves. Lirkim said they’d be mightier than kings, omnipotent and invincible. We wouldn’t have lasted
more than a couple of orbits with them at our helm.” He sipped his tea. “No, Tungdil, we did the only thing we could. We saved
our homeland and we rid the people in the Outer Lands of a band of tyrannical magi, not to mention an unhinged eoîl.” He nodded
at Tungdil and smiled. “Furgas was right to be angry, but he was wrong to be angry with you. Girdlegard is indebted to Tungdil
Goldhand and the dwarves; there isn’t enough gold in these ranges to repay you.”

Applause sounded from the door. The dwarven monarchs—Balendilín, Gandogar, Gemmil, Glaïmbar, and Xamtys—were gathered at the
entrance to the tent, accompanied by Prince Mallen.

“Well said,” agreed the ruler of Idoslane. “Actors are prone to exaggeration, but it’s impossible to speak too highly of the
dwarves. The men and women of Girdlegard won’t forget their obligation to the children of the Smith.”

“To
some
of his children,” Tungdil corrected him. He studied the faces of the four dwarven kings and the firstling queen. His mood
was somber. “The freelings and the thirdlings defended Girdlegard in our darkest hour, and the firstlings played their part
as well, but the rest of you allowed yourselves to be fooled into leaving Girdlegard. A dwarven king should be strong enough
and wise enough to stand his ground.”

Gandogar bowed his head. “Tungdil is right; I shouldn’t have ceded to the thirdlings. I won’t fail the dwarves again.”

He left the doorway and walked to the center of the tent. Everyone took a seat. After all that had happened, the dwarven rulers
had plenty to discuss, and Mallen had indicated that he wanted to share some news as well.

“Before we start, I’d like to ask Tungdil Goldhand to be my counselor,” said Gandogar solemnly. “We’ve all seen the folly
of ignoring your advice.”

Tungdil was flattered by the offer; the king of all dwarves wanted him, a thirdling, an exile, and a foundling to be his personal
counselor. But the Nôd’onn-slaying, eoîl-killing hero had other things to accomplish before he could consider accepting such
an offer. The high king agreed to let him think the matter over.

It was Mallen’s turn to speak. “The tidings I bring will please some and grieve others, but mostly, I think, you’ll be shocked.”
He paused, looking gravely at the circle of expectant faces. “When King Belletain requested permission for his troops to cross
my land, I knew his help would be welcomed in Porista and, not realizing his intentions, I agreed. As you know, his army never
got here.” He took a deep breath. “Instead of heading west to Porista, Belletain’s army went east—toward the Black Range.”
He produced a crumpled letter from his robe. “When I realized what had happened, I demanded an explanation, and Belletain
wrote to tell me that King Lorimbas had failed to honor his treaty with Urgon, and he, Belletain, had been deprived of the
fourthlings’ gold. By way of compensation, he ordered his soldiers to raid the thirdlings’ stronghold and carry off their
gold.” He handed the letter to Gandogar. “King Gandogar, there was an alliance between Belletain and Lorimbas—an alliance
against you.”

“Are the soldiers still there?” asked Xamtys, while the high king stared at the letter in shocked disbelief.

Mallen shook his head. “I sent scouts to the Black Range. The gates were open when they got there and the watchtowers were
deserted. Inside, the corridors and halls were strewn with the corpses of dwarf women and children. Belletain had ordered
his soldiers to show no mercy to Lorimbas’s folk.”

Tungdil didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. “There must have been some survivors,” he said hopelessly.

“Dwarven kingdoms are full of passageways and secret vaults,” said Xamtys with conviction. “The thirdlings are probably in
hiding.”

To the dwarves’ dismay, Mallen shook his head. “My scouts reported that most of the passageways have collapsed. The kingdom
was all but destroyed in the quake. I’m not saying there weren’t survivors, but their number will be small.”

“A whole folk, all but wiped out,” murmured Tungdil. He had always dreamed of a time when the dwarves could live together
without fear or suspicion.
But not like this, Vraccas
. He turned to Gandogar. “You asked me to be your counselor, Your Majesty. My advice would be to send an army to guard the
Black Range. Without Lorimbas and his warriors, the Eastern Pass is open to attack.”

“I’m sure the surviving thirdlings will welcome your help,” said Gemmil. “It could be the beginning of a new era, an era of
peace for the dwarves. The most zealous dwarf killers are dead and buried in Porista—the others can’t afford to continue the
feud.”

“Belletain’s treachery won’t go unpunished,” said Mallen. “The rulers of Girdlegard shall hear of how he turned his back on
the allies for the sake of some gold. The mad king of Urgon must be stopped before he takes it into his addled head to invade
another dwarven kingdom.”

The dwarves agreed wholeheartedly.

“There’s something I’d like to tell you,” said Tungdil. “I haven’t mentioned it until now because the fewer who know, the
better.” He produced a small leather pouch containing the diamond and placed it on the table. “As kings and queens, you deserve
to hear the truth.” He took out the stone. “This is the last remaining source of magic in Girdlegard. The diamond is powerful
enough to turn a magus into a deity. The eoîl was in the process of channeling its magic when Rodario and I cut him down.”

“I was merely the sidekick,” demurred Rodario with a smile.

Everyone crowded around to examine the twinkling surface of the beautiful gem.

Gandogar, king of the gem-cutting fourthlings, was an authority on diamonds. “It’s magnificent,” he said admiringly. “The
craftsmanship is dwarven in quality, but a gem like this would be mentioned in our chronicles. The technique is different
too.” He picked it up carefully and held it in front of the candle. The flame, seemingly enamored by the flawless surface,
leaned toward the diamond, which caught and amplified the light.

The awed silence was broken by Tungdil. “The eoîl spoke of undergroundlings. He probably got the diamond from dwarves in the
Outer Lands.”

Gandogar set down the stone.

“You say it would give a magus almost limitless power,” said Mallen, frowning. “With luck, none of our enemies will learn
of its existence, but it needs to be under constant guard.”

“Exactly,” said Tungdil. He turned to Gandogar. “You’ve had a look at the stone, and I’ve made a few drawings.” He got up,
walked to his desk, and picked up a sheet of parchment. “I’ve written down the exact measurements and sketched the cut. I
propose we make copies and give them to the rulers of Girdlegard. The seven human monarchs, the dwarven rulers, and Liútasil
will each receive a diamond to guard.” He looked at them earnestly. “Build vaults, set traps, employ sentries—do whatever
is necessary to ensure the stone is safe.” Tungdil’s plan met with approval.

“How will we know which of us is guarding the original?” asked Xamtys.

“We won’t—that’s the idea. I’ll keep the diamond until Gandogar has made the replicas. Then we’ll put them in a pouch, add
the original, and shake them together. After that, we’ll trust to Vraccas and draw the stones at random. You might draw a
replica, you might draw the original, but neither you, nor I, nor anyone who chances to learn of the stone’s existence will
be able to tell.” He turned away from Xamtys to address the other monarchs. “This is Girdlegard’s biggest secret. Only the
members of this council, Lord Liútasil, and the other human rulers must know of the stone.”