Tassia skirted round him as he fell, and grabbed his cudgel. Resolutely she landed a great thud with it on the chin of the second bully, stunning him. He tottered backwards and before he could get his balance, Rodario hit him over the head with a crate of rotten fruit. He sank down motionless.
“We make a damn good team,” he crowed. He was about to kiss Tassia when the back door flew open and four new opponents tumbled through.
The girl raised her club: “Be off with you! That necklace belongs to me!”
“Let’s get out of here!” Rodario took her by the hand and pulled her after him. Together they raced around the corner, not stopping until they came to a landing stage. The path ended too abruptly for his liking.
However, the boats that had been tied up together formed a rudimentary if unstable bridge to the other side.
“Follow me!” Rodario jumped and, in danger of being thrown off, balanced on the boats that were bobbing on the water like a handful of walnut shells. He managed to reach the narrow footpath on the other side. “What are you waiting for?”
“Quiet, you!” Tassia made her way across after him. It was harder for her because he had already set the boats rocking. She ripped her skirt to give herself more freedom of movement.
In the meantime Rodario had taken hold of the rope from the last of the barges and pulled it taut till she was by his side. Then he gave the boat a shove out onto the water. The bullies in hot pursuit were faced with a gap to jump.
Two of them fell off into the ice-cold water. The third was about to attempt a leap across. Then Tassia saw a shadow fall over her from behind. An older man in local Mifurdanian attire stood in the doorway, about to empty some slops into the canal. He saw Rodario on the deck. “You?” He lifted his bucket to strike. “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, you damnable seducer I’ll feed your manhood to the fishes!”
Girdlegard
Kingdom of Gauragar
Late Spring, 6241st Solar Cycle
T ungdil was rocking back and forth, his head fit to burst. His brain throbbed and thumped and seemed keen to escape by way of his ears, but his throat was as dry and dusty as if he had been eating sand for three long solar cycles.
He groaned, opening heavy lids, and blinked in the bright light, catching sight of his fingertips hanging an arm’s length away and gravel and scree passing by just underneath them. There was a strong smell of pony and he could hear the sounds of at least one other horse.
If he put two and two together, he thought, he must be on a journey. Against his will.
“Where…?” he croaked as he tried to sit up. This made him fall head first into the dust. His startled pony gave a leap to one side and the pack mule that was following bellowed in panic.
“Calm down,” Boindil soothed. “He won’t hurt you-he’s just fallen out of the saddle.” A concerned face showed itself over his own, a black beard tickling Tungdil’s nose. “Are you awake, Scholar?”
Tungdil sat up and brushed the dirt from his breeches; he took a look around and saw trees, bushes and grass. It was not like this in the middle of the mountain. “Where am I?” He pulled himself up on the saddle and felt his head was ready to explode.
“You’re with me,” was the dwarf-twin’s roundabout answer.
“I can see that.” He turned round and recognized the outline of the Gray Range in the distance. You could still see the stronghold, if you knew it was there. The tower reached up to the sky like a torch made of stone. “What are we doing here?”
“They’ve sent us on a mission. We’re the high king’s envoys to Alandur,” Ireheart finally admitted.
“Why? Is this punishment for my behavior?”
“Actually… it was only me he sent,” Boindil said awkwardly. “But I thought a scholar might come in useful with the Sharp… with the Elves.” He swung himself up into the saddle. “So I brought you along.”
“Gandogar doesn’t know I’m here?”
“I left a message for him.”
“Have you kidnapped me?”
“No, by Vraccas, I certainly haven’t.” Ireheart was indignant. “I found you in your room and when I asked you if you would like to keep me company, you said yes.”
“Loud and clear?”
Boindil laughed. “Seemed like a yes to me!” He indicated Tungdil should get back up. “To be honest, I thought it would do you good to have a change-see something new. Going to pay our respects to the Lord of the Elves is not that bad a job. And anyway, you two know each other already. It’s probably a good thing if their prince sees a dwarf face that’s familiar.” He quickly explained why they were heading for Alandur. “As soon as all the dwarf delegates are assembled, Gandogar will send for us. We shan’t be missing anything. They need heroes like us.”
Tungdil looked in silence at the far Gray Mountains, then at the road ahead. “Right,” he said and got clumsily back into the saddle.
The ponies trotted along next to each other and Tungdil drank some water out of the leather bottle at his side and kept quiet; his head hurt too much for him to want conversation.
Not till late afternoon did he come to life and start to think of what had been said back at the high king’s court, and of what they had seen in the Outer Lands. He could not remember what Gandogar and the elves had said about the piles of orc bones, so he asked Ireheart, who looked at him in surprise. “Nothing at all. Eldrur stopped me and wanted to know how many snout-faced orcs had fallen foul of the unknown beasts.” He made a face and tossed his black plait back over his shoulder. “Do you think the thirdlings just ate them?”
Tungdil saw an inn at the crossroads they were nearing: This had to mean a bed and a beer. At least one beer. “We’ll stop here,” he decided. “Thirdlings wouldn’t eat orc flesh any more than we would. Not even if they were starving.”
“And… what about… the Undergroundlings?”
“Boindil, what rubbish!” said Tungdil in surprise. “No dwarf would ever do such a thing.” He thought of Djer n, the bodyguard of Maga Andokai. Himself sprung from the evil one, he had nevertheless devoured the creatures of Samusin and Tion. Tungdil gave voice to his thoughts: “We know there are more of them than merely Djer n. Think of the one the avatars sent to kill Andokai.”
“That would explain why the other monsters haven’t attempted the North Pass,” grinned Ireheart. “If a whole family of Djer ns has set up home in the Outer Lands by the Stone Gateway then we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Tungdil nodded. “Perfect for the thirdlings, if it’s them behind all this. They block the tunnels and dig passageways in secret right into our territory to send their machines through, while the likes of Djer n fend off the orcs and other monsters.”
His friend stayed silent for quite a while. “What do you think? Will the high king be sending an army to the Outer Lands to sniff out the thirdlings?”
“In my view Gandogar has no other choice,” said Tungdil, reining his pony to a standstill outside the inn, which seemed to have extensive stabling. Obviously the crossroads was a popular place for travelers and merchants to get fresh horses.
A boy came running up to lead away their animals. “Good evening, Master Dwarves. May Vraccas be with you,” he greeted them politely. “Fresh grass and oats for the ponies and a good room for the night for yourselves?”
Boindil threw the boy a silver coin. “Will that get you to see to the animals and give them the best of care?”
“Of course, Master Dwarf,” the boy said happily. “I’ll soon have their coats shining!” He led them off to stand under the shelter and got to work grooming.
Tungdil and Boindil stepped into the inn, amazed at the souvenirs and trophies displayed on the walls. The landlord had hung up old orc and alfar weapons and a collection of animal teeth. Long nails through the eye sockets fastened the skulls of monsters to the wooden beams.
“Take a look at that,” murmured Boindil, nodding toward the corner by the taproom bar. A life-sized stuffed orc was mounted on a stand, right arm lifted as if to strike; in its left hand was a shield that bore the words: GILSPAN KILLED ME. In large letters on the armor stood the prices for the drinks on offer.