The Dwarves (53 page)

Gingerly, he stepped over the corpses and poked about in the jumble of body parts until his staff uncovered the injured beast.
Lying beneath the vast torso of a troll was a bögnil, unable to free itself from the colossal weight. It looked rather like
a stunted orc.

“Don’t be afraid,” Nudin reassured it in the language of Tion’s beasts. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The bögnil stuck out its tongue and fumbled for its sword.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” said the magus. “I’ll get you out of your predicament, but only if you answer my questions. I
want to know about your species: where you come from, what kind of society you live in, and how you employ your time when
you’re not invading Girdlegard.” He produced a roll of parchment and an inkpot from his satchel. “Remember: I have the power
to ensure that you speak nothing but the truth.” The creature stared back at him with soulless eyes and blinked in confusion.
It didn’t know what to make of the crazy stranger who was proposing something more complicated than rescue or death. It still
hadn’t responded when a long black arrow bored through its throat and pinned it to the troll.

“Andôkai?” Nudin wheeled round and blanched. Even a confrontation with the tempestuous maga would be preferable to this. He
watched in horror as four älfar slipped through the magic girdle, effortlessly breaching the unseen barrier. The lead älf
set another arrow to his string and leveled the bow at Nudin.

Just you try it!
Nudin’s hastily conjured charm stopped the quivering arrow in midflight and sent it speeding back toward the archer. A look
of panic crossed the creature’s dark eyes in the instant before he died.

Nudin raised his left hand and killed two of the älfar with searing bolts of light. He restricted himself to stunning the
fourth älf with the intention of interrogating him.

Stooping down, he examined their faces. Their elegant features reminded him of their cousins, the elves of Âlandur and the
Golden Plains, whom Turgur admired for their flawless beauty. His gaze settled on the amulets fastened around their necks.

Protective charms,
he muttered in astonishment, taking one of the crystals in his hands. The mystery of how the älfar had crossed the girdle
was solved.
The Perished Land has found a way of sending its most lethal emissaries through the magic barrier. I must tell the council
of this.

He disarmed the stunned älf with a curse, then roused him from his faint. The creature’s eyes opened, revealing fathomless
pits. In the bright sunlight, Nudin could see that he possessed neither pupils nor irises. The magus held up the amulet. “Who
gave you this?”

The älf returned his stare.

Nudin invoked a truth spell to coax out his secrets, but the creature spoke in an unintelligible tongue. Like elvish, the
language was melodious and elegant, but with a sinister, darker tone.

The learned magus was none the wiser. He stood up, took a few steps back, and incinerated the creature in a towering blaze.
Its three companions and the bögnil met a similar fate.

“It won’t be long before the Perished Land renews its attack,” he muttered fretfully.

Still,
he thought to himself,
there’s no need to spoil the celebrations. The news of the amulets can wait until breakfast.
After exhorting the sentries to be doubly vigilant, he retired to his tent.

* * *

T
hat night Nudin was visited by the strangest of dreams.

Fog settled around his tent, pushing through the canvas and swirling around his bed. Tiny streaks of black, silver, and red
rippled through the gloomy mist as it snaked through the bedposts, encircled the mattress, and contracted warily around the
sleeping man. At last it was so close that Nudin appeared to be hovering on the glimmering cloud.

A wisp of vapor, long and spindly as a finger, slid toward him and touched his hand. The magus awoke at the soft, velvety
touch.

“Don’t be afraid,” a voice whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Nudin sat up slowly and examined the flickering mist. “Afraid? My name is Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty, not Nudin the Timorous,”
he informed it calmly. “Who are you?”

“The soul of the Perished Land,” came the whispered reply. “It is time for you to make your choice.”

“What choice? The Perished Land kills its enemies. Is that what you mean by choice?”

The mist rose a few inches and wrapped itself around Nudin’s feet, stealing slowly along his legs. It felt warm and soft.
“You can choose to rescue Girdlegard — or join the other magi in hastening its doom. That is your choice.”

“The magi are committed to rescuing Girdlegard. You are its doom,” the magus said firmly.

“My power can protect these lands and the races that inhabit them — men, elves, and dwarves,” the mist replied. “I want to
secure Girdlegard against the coming threat, but your magic won’t let me.” The mist arranged itself into a human face, opening
and closing its mouth in time with the voice. “The tide of evil will soon be upon us, streaming through the Stone Gateway
or surging over the western ranges to swamp Girdlegard and wash me away. The belt of mountains will stay standing, but everything
within them will be destroyed.”

“Why should I believe you? What kind of soul nourishes itself on the souls of the dead?”

“The greatest of souls,” the voice purred. “I do not feed on them; I gather them to me for their protection. When the threat
has passed, I shall release them to their gods. For now, while Girdlegard is in danger, I need their power.”

“Be gone,” Nudin commanded. “I have heard enough of your lies.”

The mist began to dissolve away. “Listen to my proposal,” it whispered. “I need your body. Lend it to me for a while and acquire
my knowledge while I borrow your form. You will learn things beyond your wildest dreams, things whose existence exceeds the
power of your imagination. I know charms devised by illustrious magi in faraway lands; I know nature, life, and the stars;
I know mankind in ways that you will never glean from books. With my knowledge, you will be the wisest, most powerful magus
in the history of Girdlegard and your name will be Nudin the All-Knowing.” The particles melted into nothingness. “The All-Knowing…”

The All-Knowing…
Nudin woke with a start, sitting upright in bed and glancing frantically round the tent. Unable to discover anything unusual,
he told himself off for being foolish and settled back to sleep.

At breakfast the next morning he sat in silence, his mind on other matters, while his colleagues discussed their projects
and plans.

He said nothing of his peculiar dream and omitted to mention his encounter with the älfar, keeping the news of the amulets
to himself.

* * *

T
he messenger arrived just as Nudin was preparing for bed. He read the letter and froze.

Lesinteïl, the elven kingdom of the north, was in the hands of the älfar. They had breached the magic girdle and overwhelmed
the unsuspecting elves.

According to the letter, the first settlements had been taken in a matter of orbits. The älfar had overrun the kingdom before
the elves had had time to raise a proper army, and the outcome of the battle had never been in doubt.

Now the northern pestilence was creeping through the exalted lands of Lesinteïl, destroying the blossoming beauty that centuries
of nurture had elevated to its highest form.

Nudin hurled the roll of parchment to the floor and clambered into bed. In less than forty-eight hours, the council would
meet to erect a girdle around the fallen kingdom. Already the älfar were using their newly conquered land to send war bands
into Gauragar, Idoslane, and Urgon to extend the boundaries of the Perished Land.

Nudin felt a stab of conscience. Unlike the other magi, he had a good idea of how the älfar had breached the girdle. He tried
telling himself that nothing could have stopped them, even if the council had known.

That’s not quite true,
his conscience contradicted him.
If you’d shown them the amulet, they would have studied the inscription and erected a barrier impervious to its power. By
saying nothing, you allowed the älfar to advance.

“But I…”

Lesinteïl fell because of you. You broke faith with the council and betrayed the elves.

Pulling the covers over his head, Nudin tried to silence his troublesome conscience by falling asleep.

But sleep brought no delivery. That night the soul of the Perished Land cajoled its way into his dreams and the whispering
mist paid another visit to his bed.

“Have you made up your mind? Has Nudin the All-Knowing resolved to rescue Girdlegard?”

“You breached the barrier and took Lesinteïl. How did you do it?”

“Nudin the All-Knowing wouldn’t need to ask.” The mist slipped beneath the covers, where it soon became pleasantly warm. “The
first elven kingdom is mine. Âlandur will be next, and the magi can do nothing to stop me. My protective power will extend
deep into the south of Girdlegard, but I’m running out of time.”

“Protective power? You’re seizing the lands by force!”

“Only for a heartbeat in the continuum of time. Remember, Nudin, no one relinquishes freedom gladly. Rulers and races are
like children and I am their mother. I protect them from harm.” The swirling mist became a human face. “Imagine a small boy
whose mother won’t let him play with a dog. She picks him up because she knows that the dog is dangerous, but he resents her
intervention. He kicks, screams, and struggles against her, not realizing that the dog would bite him as soon as it had the
chance.” The voice paused for a moment. “The mother chases the dog away, then sets her son down and lets him play as he pleases.
The boy is too young to understand, but in time he’ll see that she did the right thing. His resentment will turn to gratitude
because she helped him
in spite
of his protests.”

The analogy made perfect sense. Nudin’s conscience warned him against the silver-tongued whisperer, but he shut out his inner
voice. “You’ve explained it to me, so why can’t you explain it to the rulers of the other realms and kingdoms? And why ally
yourself with beasts? Orcs and älfar are feared by men and loathed by elves and dwarves: Why choose them to carry out your
will?”

The mist swathed the bed, covering every inch of his body and shrouding his eyes. It felt like the caress of a thousand soothing
hands. “Girdlegard is in danger. I didn’t have time to choose my allies; I had to take what I could find. My creatures can
be counted on to bring me rapid victories. It’s the best way of protecting Girdlegard from the threat.”

“And this threat, have you fought it before?” Nudin asked sleepily. He was struggling to focus.

“More times than I can remember, but the enemy is powerful, swift, and wily. Victory has always eluded me. We need time to
prepare ourselves properly if we are to win.” The caressing intensified, the whispers multiplying and echoing through Nudin’s
mind. “I need your body, Nudin. Lend me your form and I will give you my knowledge, a knowledge greater than any possessed
by mortal man. Remember, when our enemy has been vanquished, your body will be your own. You will always have the power to
drive me out. You must make your decision, Nudin.”

“What if your knowledge isn’t as spectacular as you claim?”

“Watch. I will show you.” The mist contracted around his temples, pulsing furiously with streaks of black, silver, and red.

The soul of the Perished Land gave Nudin’s dreaming consciousness a glimpse of the marvels that would soon be his.

Strange runes danced before the awestruck magus and unintelligible languages filled his ears. Images flashed through his mind
— snatches of spells and curses, strange and formidable landscapes in the Outer Lands, and faraway cities and palaces more
splendid than anything known to men, elves, or dwarves.

He drank in the wonderful sights and sounds, thirsted for more, and was rewarded. Plunged into an endless stream of images,
he bathed in knowledge and imbibed its wisdom until the vision was brought to a halt.

“Don’t stop,” Nudin said greedily. “Show me more.”

“Will you lend me your body?”

“Let me —”

Runes glimmered in the air while distant voices reverberated in unknown tongues. The sun dimmed over a breathtakingly beautiful
meadow and the landscape dissolved away. Stacks of books swayed dangerously and learned volumes of spells and incantations
moldered, leaves perishing and turning to dust.

“Will Nudin the All-Knowing save Girdlegard?” the mist whispered. “Will he help a mother protect her child?” The magus’s defenses
crumbled.

“I will help you,” he whispered hoarsely, peering into the mist. By letting the spirit in, he would be able to control it,
or so he told himself.
If I find out it’s lying about the threat to Girdlegard, I’ll force it to give back our lands and send its servants over the
Northern Pass. Whatever happens, I’ll get the promised knowledge and Girdlegard will win.
“What must I do?”

The mist glimmered excitedly. “Nothing. Lie still and don’t stop me. Open your mouth, empty your mind, and think of nothing.
You’ll know when I’m in.”

Nudin lay back and did as instructed.

Three tendrils of mist snaked toward him and slipped between his lips. It felt as if they were reconnoitering the territory
in preparation for an invasion.

What happened next took Nudin by surprise. Suddenly, the mist contracted and forced itself inside his mouth. The pressure
was so great that his jaws seemed to break apart and his ears were filled with the sound of cracking. His hands dug into his
bedclothes, ripping the sheets.

Once inside him, the mist pushed onward with no regard for his body. It expanded along his gullet, cutting off his airway
and expelling the breath from his lungs. His veins throbbed frantically, his blood racing at four times its usual speed.

Red fluid spurted from his nose and eyes and he realized with horror that he was losing blood from every pore. His lifeblood
was seeping from his body, streaming over his skin and staining his sheets.