Boindil was sulking. “So I lost my clothes and armor for nothing?”
“It’s given us a good head start. But that seems to be over.” Tungdil spotted the kordrion between the clouds. “He’s keeping a lookout. It won’t take him long to spot us.”
“That means we’ll never make it to Lot-Ionan, Scholar?”
“Precisely.” Tungdil looked back over his shoulder. “But we can take our gift to someone else. We’ve got to use the opportunity to cause our enemies maximum damage.”
Ireheart recognized where they were heading. “Dson Bahra.”
“It would be the safest. The path will be downhill most of the way and our sledges will help. And there’ll be caves we can hide in when the kordrion gets too close.” Tungdil looked at Barskalin, who nodded in agreement.
“That sounds like fun: slipping in unnoticed among the black-eyes. What a challenge!” Ireheart signaled to Slin and Balyndar to come over; the Invisibles left their hiding places and began pushing the sledges uphill.
“I don’t intend to slip in unnoticed,” said Tungdil. “It wouldn’t work, anyway. I’ll introduce myself as a transformed Tungdil whose greatest wish is to wipe out dwarfdom completely. I’ll offer the alfar my assistance. We’ll offload the baby kordrion secretly and wait to see what happens. We’ll have an alternative plan ready.” He looked at his friend. “Ireheart, you, Balyndar and Slin will have to wear Zhadar armor.”
“Charming,” was the unhappy fourthling’s comment. “Don’t worry. They’ll have something in your size,” joked Ireheart. “One of their women’s outfits.”
Balyndar put his hands on his hips. “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it. I am your high king so you’ll do what I say.” Tungdil sounded extraordinarily calm and determined. “The kordrion is too fast for us and you can’t argue with me on that score. If there’s a chance to deploy the embryo against the enemy, we’ll do it.” He swung himself onto one of the sledges. “We’ll be in Dson Bahra in a couple of orbits. Follow me!” He pushed off and sailed down the slope.
The Zhadar followed him one by one, racing downhill; Slin and Ireheart prepared to do likewise.
But Balyndar was standing next to his sledge staring at the others. “I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing here, Boindil Doubleblade,” he said broodingly.
“The stories they write about us will show whether it was right or not, Balyndar,” Ireheart said in consolation. “I don’t know the answer, and I’m sure the Scholar doesn’t know either yet. Our plan is up the spout and we’ve got to make the best of things. With the help of Vraccas perhaps we will achieve more than we think.” He patted him on the shoulder. “Trust your father.” The words had already left his lips before Ireheart realized what he had said.
Balyndar slowly turned to face him. “What idiocy are you babbling?”
Boindil gave a forced laugh. “A joke, to cheer you up a bit.”
“Then it didn’t work. Not with that joke.” To Ireheart’s great relief the fifthling went off to his sledge and started to push it. “Don’t you know a better one?” “What about the one where an orc asks a dwarf the way?”
Balyndar made a dismissive gesture. “Boring. Every dwarf knows that one.”
“But not my version,” Ireheart replied proudly and took a deep breath. “An orc comes along and sees a dwarf and he wants to know…”
“Horsemen!” Slin called excitedly. “Down there, to the right of the sledges in the little valley. They’re heading straight for the Zhadar!”
Why does he always see the danger before I do? Ireheart looked where Slin had pointed.
Balyndar tried to calculate how many riders there were. “The Black Squadron,” he exclaimed in consternation, launching himself onto his sledge on his stomach. “Quick, we’ve got to catch the others up and warn them!” He raced off.
Slin did not wait to be told twice. He zoomed down the slope in the same daring pose.
“Hey! Hey! Wait for me!” Ireheart pushed his sledge off, ran alongside it a few paces and then jumped on. “By Vraccas! How am I ever supposed to tell a joke properly?”
XIII
Girdlegard,
Black Abyss,
Fortress Evildam,
Late Winter, 6491st/ 6492nd Solar Cycles
Goda contemplated the pulsating edges of the flickering red dome close to the walls of Evildam. The sight reminded her of waves lapping and she knew that, as with the sea, terrible monsters were lying in wait under the surface. She knew why the dwarf-race feared deep water.
Troubled, the maga pulled her cloak tighter round her shoulders. The energy sphere now reached all the way to their stone walls-but she was powerless to affect its growth.
Kiras, in breastplate and limb protectors over thick clothing, was at her side. Using a telescope she watched the enemy’s newly erected protective barrier. “The walls haven’t been damaged. I can’t see any cracks or bulges. The red glow doesn’t seem to be harming the stone. The warriors feared the force might bring down Evildam, but that’s not happening.”
“But the monsters can come directly up to our fortress walls. That is bad. I’ll need something to shrink the sphere down again.” Goda’s right hand played with the diamond splinters in her pocket. But what?
“He killed them,” said Kiras firmly, addressing the maga.
Goda knew exactly what the undergroundling was referring to. “I know. Ireheart saw the injuries on the ubariu, too,” she replied after a while. When the two women stood side by side it was obvious how different their respective dwarf-races were. Kiras, taller and slimmer in stature, was almost like a small human; Goda, in contrast, was one of Girdlegard’s archetypal thickset dwarves. Kiras did not have the darkish fluff on the cheeks that was noticeable on Goda’s round face.
“But Boindil said nothing.” Kiras could discern monsters behind the red screen running across the plain round the Black Abyss and marking certain places out with flags.
“And he never will. Unless the dwarf pretending to be Tungdil Goldhand finally admits that he is an impostor.” Their attempt to force his hand had failed. Goda looked both ways along the battlements. They were manned at all times, the catapult teams at their stations, ready to take immediate action if the fiends attacked.
“That’ll never happen. Those dead soldiers we found are evidence that he’s pursuing his own ends with every conceivable means.” Kiras lowered the telescope to look at Goda. A flash caught her eye and when she turned in its direction she saw that it came from the eastern battlements. One of the guards had polished his shield so well that it was dazzling her. She thought she could even feel the heat of the reflection it sent. “Is it true they’ve made him high king?”
The maga nodded. “And I thank Vraccas that I’m here in Evildam! This way I’m not subject to his commands.”
The undergroundling leaned against the parapet. “I wonder what happened to the real Tungdiclass="underline" Dead, captive or has he become something even worse than this thing, this fraud calling himself the hero?”
Goda sighed. “There’s no way of knowing.”
Kiras suddenly brightened up and looked across at the red sphere. “What if we captured one of the monsters for interrogation? Can’t you make a hole in the screen big enough for me and a few ubariu?”
Goda found the idea ridiculous at first but, on reflection… “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’ve got too much to think about. You have to command the fortress and be our maga, constantly on guard against sorcery.” Kiras offered this excuse with a smile, grasping Goda’s hands. “I don’t tell you this often enough: You are like a mother to me. I can never thank you enough for what you have done for me.”
“That’s why I shan’t find it easy to send you in there. Not only because of the monsters-there’s a magus over there as well. And who knows how long I’ll be able to hold the opening for you?” Goda shook her head. “No, we’ll drop that idea.”