OTHERS
Sinthoras and Caphalor, дlfar from the kingdom of Dsфn Balsur. Liъtasil, lord of Вlandur, kingdom of the elves. Bashkugg, Kragnarr, and Ushnotz, orcish princes of Toboribor. Sverd, gnome enslaved by Bislipur.
Acknowledgments When I finished the final volume of my Ulldart series, I decided to tackle a new project: dwarves. It was a nerve-racking prospect. Most readers have fixed ideas about how they like their dwarves to look and act; I didn't want to disappoint their expectations, but at the same time I needed to do something new.
And so I went ahead and created my dwarves. I invented clans and folks for them to belong to, and I gave them particular talents and traits. I was careful not to stray too far from the traditional dwarf, but I added bits here and there, and I gave my dwarves a chance to prove their mettle. I didn't want them to be extras or sidekicks, so I made them into proper protagonists who outshine the humans and elves. My dwarves are the valiant defenders of Girdlegard, true heroes who fight-and sometimes die-in the line of duty.
I sent Tungdil and his companions on a perilous mission, and it had me on the edge of my seat. These pages are chock-full of dwarven dedication, passion, determination, exuberance, war, and death. Writing them was great fun, and with any luck, reading them will be entertaining as well.
My particular thanks go to those who made this a better and more interesting book. Among the first to see the manuscript were Nicole Schuhmacher, Sonja Rьther, Meike Sewering, and Dr. Patrick Mьller. Their thoughtful comments and suggestions were immensely helpful, as always.
Many thanks to translator Sally-Ann Spencer, who taught the dwarves a new language.
I would also like to thank those who allowed me to send the dwarves on their very own adventure. It was time the little fellows had their big chance. extras meet the author MARKUS HEITZ was born in 1971 in Germany. He studied history, German language, and literature and won the German Fantasy Award in 2003 for his debut novel, Shadows Over Ulldart. His Dwarves series is a bestseller in Europe. Markus Heitz lives in Zweibrьcken. introducing If you enjoyed
THE DWARVES,
look out for
by Markus Heitz The tail of the comet blazed red in the sky, showering debris large enough to crush a human house. The dwarves heard a drawn-out whistle, then an ear-splitting bang. The ground shook and trembled like a frightened beast. Plumes of snow shot upward, looming like luminous towers in the dark night sky. The air hissed and angry clouds of moisture rose from the vaporizing snow. Thick white fog wrapped itself around Boлndal like a blindfold.
"To the stronghold!" he commanded, realizing that watch-towers and battlements were no match for celestial might. "We'll be safer inside!" Bracing himself against the brazier, he tried to get to his feet; a moment later, one of the sentries was beside him, pulling him up.
Boлndal lost his bearings in the strange-smelling fog, but his companion knew the way without seeing. They ran, skidding and sliding every few paces until they resigned themselves to crawling and pulling themselves forward on their axes. "Quick, we need to…"
Boлndal's command was cut off by a droning from above. He knew exactly what it meant: the battlements were about to be hit by a volley of burning rock.
There was no time to shout a warning. The fog had already turned a muddy orange, darkening to black-streaked red as an unbearable screeching filled the air.
Vraccas protect us! Boлndal closed his eyes as a gigantic slab of burning ice hurtled toward him. A moment later, it slammed into the solid stone walkway. Boлndal heard faint shrieks as dwarves in front of him tumbled to their deaths. He couldn't see where the rock had landed because of the fog.
"Turn back!" shouted Boлndal, crawling away from the shattered stone. Hampered by his injured back, he longed for his old agility. "To the northern walkway!"
Flagstones quaked beneath their feet as the colossal towers swayed like reeds in the breeze. Cracks opened in the groaning masonry and sections of battlement plummeted to the ground.
The bombardment continued as they hurried along the northern walkway to the highest tower. They came to a halt at the bridge. The single-span arch construction was the only way into the kingdom and the safety of the firstling halls. Beneath the bridge was a yawning chasm, two hundred paces deep.
A gusty wind swept the watchtowers, chasing away the mist. At last they could see the gates leading into the mountain and safety.
"Vraccas forfend!" cried one of the sentries, who had turned and was pointing back at the lifting mist.
The fortifications of East Ironhald were in ruins.
Only four of the nine towers were still standing; the rest had been crushed, toppled, or flattened, leaving five rings of masonry protruding like rotten tooth stumps from the ground. The mighty ramparts, hewn from the mountain by dwarven masons, were riven with cracks wide enough for a band of trolls to breach the defenses with ease.
"Keep moving!" Boлndal urged them. "You can worry about the ramparts as soon as we've made it to safety. Walls can be rebuilt."
He and the others had barely set foot on the bridge when they heard a low rumbling like distant thunder. Then the earth moved again.
The falling boulders from the comet's tail had shaken the fortifications and caused the walkways to quake, but this time the tremor was deeper and more powerful, causing walls, towers, dwarves, peaks, and ridges to shudder and sway.
The Red Range had stood firm for thousands of cycles, but nothing could withstand the violent quake.
Most of the dwarves were knocked off their feet, hitting the flagstones in a jangling of chain mail. Axes flew through the air and clattered to the ground, while helmets collided with stone. Two of the surviving towers collapsed with a deafening bang, raising clouds of dust that shrouded the rubble.
Boлndal thought of the vast orb that had passed overhead. He had only one explanation for the tremor: The comet had landed in the mountains to the west, sending shock waves through the ground. He tried not to imagine what was happening in the underground halls and passageways, how many firstlings were dying, how many dead.
The rumbling grew fainter, the quaking subsided, and at last it was still. The dwarves held their breath, waiting for what was next.
An acrid smell burned their throats. The air was thick with dust from the ruined masonry, and smoke rose from scattered fires.
The fearsome heat had passed with the comet, and it was snowing again. From a distance, the stillness could have been mistaken for tranquillity, but it was born of destruction. Death had visited the Red Range and ravaged the firstlings' home.
"Vraccas have mercy," whispered Boлndal's companion, his voice as sorrowful and defenseless as a child's.
Boлndal knew what he was thinking. Dwarves were fearless: They threw themselves into battle regardless of the odds and defended Girdlegard against the invading hordes. Their axes and hammers brought death to the most monstrous of Tion's beasts, but no dwarven weapon could match a foe like this. "We couldn't have stopped it," he told him. "Even Vraccas can't catch a falling star."