The Fate of the Dwarves by Markus Heitz
Behind where the siblings stood the noise of the waves altered, and a man splashed up out of the water. His face was badly grazed and in his hand he held a dagger; he appeared resolute. As resolute as the figure of the woman on the dunes.
“Get away from her!” he commanded them. “Leave Mallenia be, or the maga will burn you to cinders!” He knelt down by the unconscious figure of Mallenia and pulled her away from the dangerous hooves of the grotesque nightmares. One of the animals kicked out at him with a hind leg; he avoided injury by a surprisingly adroit move.
“You are not of the Dragon’s retinue,” Sisaroth said confrontationally. “You wear no dragon-scale pendant at your neck. How is it that you threaten us with Lohasbrand as if you knew him well?”
The woman did not reply—at least not with her voice. Instead, she stretched out her right arm, palm upwards. A brilliant ball shone on her gloved hand and floated slowly toward the älfar, the light growing in intensity the nearer it came.
The night-mares snorted and hissed in fear, recoiling; the bearded young man threw himself over Mallenia to protect her from their hooves. Sisaroth and Firûsha grimaced as the rays hurt their eyes.
“At a word from me the sphere will burst open and blind you forever,” the woman on the dunes told them. “If you can find the way home blind, then do as you wish. If not, I suggest strongly that you leave Weyurn. I shall tell the Dragon that the älfar have violated the agreement. I wonder how he will react.”
Firûsha wanted to pull out her sword, but Sisaroth restrained her. Turning to his agitated night-mare he climbed into the saddle. Then he and his sister rode off east.
The sphere pursued them for a time, as if it were a full moon come down from the heavens. After ten miles or so the ball of light gradually dissolved into glittering dust that fell onto the snow, unnoticeable on the bright crystalline surface.
Immediately, Sisaroth halted the night-mare and Firûsha turned her own mount. The real moon illuminated their furious faces, on which spreading thin black lines were visible. Their tumultuous feelings could not be concealed. They would gladly have transformed their rage into murder, but they stood no chance against a maga. Not in open attack.
Looking over to the island, where numerous lights were burning now, they could make out the shape of the shaft’s iron bulkhead in the middle of the lake.
“That’s where we’ll find what is due to us,” said Sisaroth darkly, glancing at his sister. “Let us bring death to them over the water.”
“I don’t intend to leave without Mallenia,” she agreed. “She is the key to our achieving power in the three kingdoms. I want revenge for Tirîgon!”
Sisaroth noticed a fishing village nearby and turned down the path towards it. “Let us enquire who lives on the Island of the Brave. And then we’ll see if there are humans suitable for a work of art. I feel the need to create something important.”
Firûsha said nothing. But she thought that the tall island would soon be called the Island of the Dead.
VIII
Girdlegard,
Former Queendom of Weyurn,
Lakepride,
Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle
Mallenia opened her eyes to see an awning. It was mainly in orange and red, and had unfamiliar white and yellow embroidery; the air was damp and cool, as if the windows were wide open. The scent of beeswax candles gently pervaded the room, and the light flickered softly.
She turned her head and saw a black-haired woman of about her own age sitting at her bedside, wearing a bright red dress with a tight-fitting bodice that emphasized her figure; the skirt was full and elegant.
“Welcome.” The woman smiled at Mallenia. “My name is Coïra and you are on the island Lakepride in Weyurn. In the palace here you should be safe from the älfar who were pursuing you, Mallenia of Ido,” she said quietly. “We have been able to save your arm, but even with magic it will take some time to heal. The night-mare’s bite took flesh and bone.”
Mallenia looked at her upper arm, hidden under a thick bandage. She could still feel the bite. Clearing her throat, she said, “I owe my life to you. I will never be able to repay what you have done for me.”
“There is no need,” came the friendly response. “You are a freedom-fighter and have dared to do things I would never have the courage for.”
“Don’t be so modest, Princess,” said a man’s voice at the other side of the bed. “In Mifurdania you fought Lohasbrand’s orcs. That makes you a defender of freedom.” Before the Ido girl could turn her head, a man with an unkempt beard bent over her. “May I introduce myself? I am Rodario the Seventh,” he said shyly.
“He protected you from the night-mares down on the shore,” said Coïra, “while I was dealing with the älfar.” She remembered that he had not explained yet why he had not drowned. Surely he had told her he could not swim?
“Then I am in your debt, also,” Mallenia nodded.
“Oh, not really. We freedom-fighters must stick together,” he said, playing down his involvement. “And protected is an exaggeration. I just made sure you weren’t trampled by the animals’ hooves, that’s all.”
Mallenia smiled at him, before looking at Coïra. “The älfar—you defeated them? Just the two of you?”
“Even if I am not the same kind of maga as my predecessors, I still have powers enough. It was lucky for you that the älfar turned up after I had refreshed my magic energy. If they had arrived earlier I wouldn’t have been able to help.” She poured Mallenia a glass of tea. “But I’m afraid I must disappoint you: The älfar are still alive; I drove them back to Idoslane.”
Mallenia pressed her lips together so tightly that they turned white. “You don’t know them.”
“Brother and sister, aren’t they?” asked Rodario. “They looked so alike.”
“Triplets,” corrected Mallenia, taking a sip of the tea to moisten her throat.
Coïra pushed back the strands of long black hair. “As we met two of them and you were riding a night-mare, I think I know what must have happened.”
“They caught me in Topholiton, in Gauragar. My comrades were all murdered; I managed to kill one of the siblings and I escaped. Then they overtook me,” she reported. “And they will return to kill me. I heard them talking when they thought I was unconscious.”
“You understand their speech?” Rodario sat down and studied the woman. He liked what he saw. He liked it very much. At least as much as he liked Coïra, although they were so different in build and coloring. He saw that the blond Mallenia was used to working out with weapons and exercise. “Respect! How did you learn the language? It’s supposed to be extremely difficult.”
Mallenia forced a smile to her lips, but it came out crooked. “When a land has been occupied for as many cycles as Idoslane has, you get to understand the words the oppressors use.” She did not dare to touch the bandaged arm; the wound was itching and throbbing painfully as it started to heal. “How long will it take?”
“The bone was badly affected. Multiple splintering. My magic has been able to fuse the remaining pieces but it will be at least eight orbits before you can use the arm again.” Coïra stood up. “In two orbits’ time you can get up. Shall I send a messenger to tell your friends where you are?”
Mallenia gave a deep sigh. “There’s nobody left. The Dsôn Aklán, as they call themselves, killed all who were close to me or who were descendants, like myself, of Prince Mallen.”
Rodario sat up with interest. “What does that title mean?”
“Something like gods of Dsôn.”
“Quite a title!” He rubbed his chin. “But tell me, what was the reason for the slaughter? To stamp out rebellion once and for all? Or is there more to it?”
Mallenia was surprised. “What do you mean, more?”
“How should I know? You’re from Idoslane and you know the old myths and sagas. Is there a prophecy, maybe, connecting the descendants of Mallen with the overthrow of a mighty enemy?”
Mallenia wa
“The älfar are well known for mysticism. So people say,” Rodario added. “It might be like them to hunt down yourself and the others to stop a prophecy coming true.” He seemed no less excited by the idea than she was. “It sounds like a story that ought to be put on the stage, don’t you think?”
“Your enthusiasm is all well and good, but which stage would you perform it on?” objected Coïra. She was afraid the injured girl would be upset by the man’s wild speculations and not be able to get the rest she so sorely needed. “In Weyurn you have no spectators and in Idoslane you wouldn’t manage more than two sentences if the älfar in the story don’t come out the winners.”
Rodario stroked his meager beard again, as if he were trying to encourage it to grow. “That’s true,” he said pensively. “I’ll have to enquire.” He looked at Mallenia. “We’ll need to find out whether there’s more than bloodthirstiness behind the killings that the black-eyes are carrying out.”
She was about to answer, but there was a knock and a servant stuck his head round the door. “Princess, your mother wants you. A messenger has arrived. One of the Lohasbranders.” She raised her hand in acknowledgment and the servant withdrew.
“Rest, now, Mallenia. We’ll look in on you later,” said Coïra as she left, motioning to Rodario to follow her. “The more sleep you can get, the quicker you’ll recover.”
The two left the room and walked side by side through the palace, which was built at the top of the island.
Rodario could not contain himself. “What do you think the Dragon wants?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing ever since I heard there was a message,” said Coïra, deeply preoccupied. She reproached herself for having acted unwisely in Mifurdania in letting her identity be known. She had brought danger on herself and on her beloved mother. The Dragon did not forgive. Certainly he would not forgive the death of an ally or support given to a criminal.
“I could volunteer as a hostage if Lohasbrand demands one,” he began, but she waved this suggestion aside.
“Nobody is volunteering. I thought we could try to divert the Dragon’s attention to the two älfar, without letting on why they were here. The dead night-mare would be proof. Then maybe the little episode in Mifurdania would lose its significance,” she said firmly, but she was not convinced by her own words. “Are you all right? Your face?”
Rodario touched his cheek. “It’s nothing. The iron wall gave me a kiss.”
“I don’t understand how you managed to fall over the parapet. And to reach the shore. Didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?”
“Carelessness and a puddle on the slippery walkway. I think Samusin saved my life,” he lied. He had decided not to say anything about Loytan’s attack on him. He would settle the matter with the count man to man. And he’d make sure he never turned his back on him again. “It all makes sense. My clumsiness got me to the shore at just the right moment. You on your own facing those älfar—it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
Coïra laughed at how serious the actor sounded. As if he really believed that she would have been in difficulty without him. “Yes, you saved me, Rodario the Seventh,” she said in friendly tones, taking his hand. “Who would have suspected this fighting spirit in you? Forgive my honesty but, personally, I would never have thought it of you. Not after your night-time adventure in Mifurdania.”
“How should I take that?”
“The little yelp when I stood in front of you—it was quite sweet. Like a little girl.”
“Bah!” he said, overacting again.
She had to laugh. “I’m glad your true nature has come to the fore.” The maga looked into his brown eyes to add a teasing remark—but stopped, in confusion. The hesitant expression on Rodario’s face had disappeared and given way momentarily to something decidedly masculine, an air of a victor.
The impression spread briefly to his whole figure, giving him a strikingly different aura; she stared at him—but then the boyish shyness returned.
Rodario smiled and pressed her hand. “I’m glad, too.” He let go as they approached the passage and came in view of the servants. Coïra wondered what it was that had just happened.
They walked to the west wing together; this was the queen’s residence, even if it was in reality her prison and had been so for some time.
The servant opened the door to the high tower and they stepped into the room with its big round many-paned window of leaded glass. Behind the window what was left of the lake’s beauty spread out to the horizon. There were clouds over the glistening surface of the lake and individual islands stood high, like plates on pillars. Others had the form of spheres.
Wey the Eleventh, deposed queen of Weyurn, rested on a cushioned seat by the window. Round her sat, or stood, four heavily armed and armored Lohasbranders. Wey was wearing a silken wine-red dress and a cap of black lace.
What did not remotely go with her attire was the iron ring around her neck. Four chains were attached to it, each one leading to a guard. Rodario noticed a device on the ring that would cause it to close up tight if the chains were pulled. Death by suffocation. If all four men pulled at the same time, he imagined it would decapitate her.
Rodario admired Wey, who pretended to ignore the humiliating chains. He had heard that the guards never left her side, in order to prevent her having access to the magic source. The ruler was the most powerful maga in Girdlegard, people said, more powerful even than Lot-Ionan. Nobody knew how old she was.
The Dragon, Rodario remembered, had somehow managed to defeat her and had promised to spare her daughter, and her land, if she agreed to submit to this imprisonment. The Scaly One must have had only the narrowest of victories. Rodario wondered why nobody had killed the four Lohasbranders. Concern for the population?
Wey nodded to them and the chains clinked slightly. Coïra and the actor bowed and took their seats on chairs the serva nts brought.
A fifth Lohasbrander came out from behind a set of bookshelves with a heavy volume in his hands. Rodario thought he might be about fifty; he had short brown hair and a burn scar under his left eye. He was flanked by two orcs: Both of them tall, armed to the teeth and quite horrible. He noted the new arrivals, studied them in turn and sat down at the desk that really belonged to the queen.
“Wrong seat,” Coïra said rudely to the man. “Unless you are in reality a woman under your armor and entitled to the crown of Weyurn.”
The man laughed out loud. “The wildness of youth,” he chuckled, opening the book to browse through its pages. “You are always so direct in your words. Considering what you have been up to your conduct might be described as audacious and unwise in the extreme.”
Rodario viewed the scale of horn that the envoy wore on a chain round his neck. It was engraved with a design that showed the man to be one of the Dragon’s privy councilors, meaning that his words would be command and law, as if he were speaking for the Scaly One himself. Rodario thought it was not a promising sign, and so he got up from his seat. “I admit everything; the guilt was mine alone.”
“Guilt?” The man looked bewildered. “By Tion! Now I see: It’s yet another of the would-be Rodarios.” He groaned. “They should all be done away with. I can’t stand that face.” He leaned forward. “Let me see: Yours is too fat, the beard is ridiculous, you don’t speak your lines properly; it’s as if you had stuffed cotton wool in your cheeks. Quite the opposite of the one we executed in Mifurdania. I’m sure he would have won the contest.”
Rodario and Coïra stiffened.
The man grinned at them. “Yes, and now you’re not quite so full of yourselves, are you?” He pointed to the scale he wore. “Let’s get back to the real reason for my visit. I am Präses Girín and I have been sent by Lohasbrand to investigate incidents that have occurred in Mifurdania. It is said,” and he turned his attention to Coïra, “you were involved. Things happened which only a maga could
Rodario had not sat down again. “Präses, who did you execute?” he stammered.
Girín rolled his eyes. “There are so many of you. How should I know who everybody is? I think it was The Incomparable Rodario.” He smirked. “The sword did for him in the end. He wasn’t as elusive as he thought. So the rebellion has lost its head, in all senses of the word. All that nonsense about liberty and resistance has gone with the wind.”
Coïra held her hand to her mouth. Rodario swayed on his feet. “Stand tall,” he murmured, pulling himself together.
Girín looked at Coïra. “Let’s get back to you…”
“You are accusing the wrong person,” the actor interrupted, pulling himself to his full height. Stand tall! “It was me!”
“You?” Präses burst out laughing. “What’s your game? You want me to die laughing?”
“As actors we have a few ways to trick our audiences. We can produce illusions with a little powder, we can turn out the lamps and we can call up demons, given a little time to prepare and the wherewithal,” he explained. “You will be acquainted with the old stories of the wonderful magister technicus Furgas? I had time enough at my disposal to arrange the escape. A friend of mine disguised himself and the two of us stormed the tower to free The Incomparable One. The orcs were stupid enough to fall for it.”
Girín stood up, then raised his left arm and beckoned. “Come here, actor.”
Wey and Coïra exchanged horrified glances.
The princess found it touching how Rodario was trying to help her but was in a quandary. If the Lohasbrander came to the conclusion that she had overstepped the terms of the agreement, her mother’s life would be in danger; but at the same time she did not want the actor to make this sacrifice. She was amazed at the bravery he was exhibiting. There was more man in Rodario than she had assumed on first meeting him.