The Dwarves (75 page)

Tungdil ran a hand over the panels.
They must have known we’d be in need of precious metals.
At the risk of angering the dead fifthlings, he decided to break off sections of the portraits for use in making the ax.
Djerůn snapped the metal with ease and soon they had enough of each material for the inlay. All that was missing was the iron
for the blade. He glanced at the ax that Lot-Ionan had given to him.
I could smelt it, I suppose.

The company had been marching through the lost kingdom for some time when Boïndil signaled for them to stop. “There’s something
ahead,” he said, tensing in anticipation. “Beasts of some kind, but not orcs.”

Tungdil sniffed the air and detected the odor too. “They’re in front of us.” He turned to Narmora, who nodded briefly and
set off to investigate.

“Come here, you cowards,” thundered a deep voice from somewhere along the passageway. “It takes more than that to scare a
dwarf!” A moment later, blades crashed against shields and high-pitched squeals rent the air. “I may be the last one standing,
but I’ll slay at least four dozen of you before you cut me down. Vraccas is with me!”

I know that voice,
thought Tungdil. He was still trying to place it when someone got there first.

“King Gandogar!” shouted a jubilant Goïmgar. “Stand firm, Your Majesty, I’m on my way!” Discarding his heavy cloak, he grabbed
his shield, whipped his sword from its sheath, and stormed forth.

“Such courage!” exclaimed Rodario. “What’s got into old Shimmerbeard? I never thought he had it in him.”

“Me neither,” said Boïndil. “All the same, we shouldn’t let him fight alone.” The prospect of clashing blades with Tion’s
beasts filled him with visible euphoria. “As for you,” he threatened, nodding at Djerůn, “you know the rules. Keep an eye
on our undead mason. I don’t want him stabbing me in the back.” He threw off his cumbersome cloak and looked expectantly at
Tungdil.

The company’s leader hefted his ax, having already decided that the fourthling monarch deserved their aid. “Stand by our rivals
like true children of the Smith,” he told them, preparing to charge. “Death to our enemies!”

They barreled along the corridor and found themselves in a small, dimly lit hall filled with hairy, hunchbacked bögnilim.
Clad in armor several sizes too big for them and wielding maces and notched swords, the squawking creatures were shoving their
way up a stone staircase at the top of which towered a statue of Vraccas cast in gold.

Blocking their path was Gandogar, as godlike in his heavy armor as the sculpture he was protecting. Gripping his double-bladed
ax with both hands, he mowed down the first wave of aggressors with a single swipe. His diamond-studded helmet showered the
walls and pillars with dappled light, adding to his heavenly aura.

At the bottom of the steps lay dead or dying beasts that had fallen from a height of ten paces. The stairs dripped with slimy
olive and bottle-green blood, which further hindered the bögnilim’s attack.

Yet the enemy showed no sign of retreating. Pushing and shoving, the beasts fought their way to the front, only to be cut
down by Gandogar’s swooping blade.

Boïndil raced ahead of his companions, sounding his bugle to herald their advance.

“Here’s another dwarf who’s not afraid of Tion’s beasts!” Laughing maniacally he threw himself into the battle, becoming Ireheart
the Furious from whom there was no escape. His axes seemed to seek out his enemies instinctively, zeroing in on unprotected
flesh and damaged mail. At the end of his first sally, six bögnilim lay twitching on the floor.

Ireheart powered on, channeling a path through the hordes, with Tungdil and the others following in his wake. Even the usually
timorous Goïmgar launched himself into the battle. For the first time he was prepared to fight and even die.

During the commotion Bavragor succeeded in tearing off his leather manacles. Not possessing any weapons, he tore the creatures
apart with his hands, thrusting his blood-smeared muscular fingers deep into their flesh to inflict the fatal wound. The bögnilim
fought back with their swords, but the revenant continued undeterred, stopping only to seize two maces and swing them with
terrible strength.

Stooping low, Djerůn swiped at the knee-high creatures with his club. They crashed down amid their comrades, squashing some
of them with their weight.

“To the stairs!” bellowed Tungdil on seeing that Gandogar was overextended. The king seemed to be the only survivor among
his group; none of the others were visible amid the mass of heaving bodies.

The company closed ranks to thrash their way forward. Djerůn stayed at the foot of the steps and repelled the advancing bögnilim
with murderous force, while the others worked their way up, engaging their enemy from behind until the last beast on the stairs
had fallen. The ruler of the fourthling kingdom stood before them on the steps.

Gandogar looked dreadful, his face pale, haggard, and drawn. A mighty weapon had left two deep gashes in his bloodied chain
mail.

“My king!” Goïmgar said joyfully. Not even the present danger could prevent him from sinking to one knee.

Tungdil gave him a brief nod. “Where are the others?”

“Dead,” he said, struggling to regain his composure. “We need to get out of here before —”

Five figures, broader, uglier, and nastier than orcs, appeared at the far end of the hall. They were four paces tall and looked
incredibly strong.

“Ogres!” Boïndil clapped excitedly. “This is where it gets really fun! Hey, Armor-Face, I’m leaving the tiddlers to you.”
He knocked the butts of his axes together and licked his lips. “This is more like it.”

The smaller beasts drew back without a murmur, allowing the ogres to pass.

“The rest of you run,” commanded Andôkai. “Djerůn and I will keep them busy. We’ll see how far my remaining magic gets us.
Go!”

Even as she lowered her sword and began the incantation, a thunderous rumble filled the hall and a giant tore itself out of
the flesh of the mountain, taking shape beside the statue. Cavernous eyes stared at the maga from a long stony face, and a
fist sped down toward her.

Andôkai spotted the danger just in time and diverted her magic toward the unexpected foe. She managed to stop the blow, but
was brought to her knees by the effort. “A golem,” she coughed. “There must be a wizard controlling it. Find him and kill
him before my strength deserts me. I can’t hold off the creature for long.”

A great cry went up among the surviving bögnilim when they saw their apparently invincible enemies struggling to repel the
new threat. The squawking and shouting grew louder until the creatures resolved to try their luck again, advancing in a wave
of arms, legs, teeth, and whirling weapons.

The onslaught of bögnilim drove Djerůn slowly up the stairway until he stopped and opened his visor, steeping his assailants
in a beam of purple light. The hall echoed with his terrible, menacing roar and the whimpering bögnilim fled from the armored
giant. Djerůn followed them, lashing out with his sword and mace to regain the lost ground.

“He’s over there!” Narmora pointed to a man-sized figure in the malachite robes of Nôd’onn’s school. He was standing a hundred
paces away, flanked by a mob of muscular orcs who served as his bodyguards. It was clear from his gestures that he was responsible
for steering the golem’s attack.

“They’re determined not to let us near the furnace,” said Tungdil.
Nôd’onn doesn’t want us to forge Keenfire. We’re on the right track.

Gandogar looked at the swelling ranks of beasts that were piling into the hall. “It’s hopeless. The door to the furnace is
on the far side of the adjoining hall. It’s sealed with dwarven runes so the beasts can’t get in. We were almost inside when
they ambushed us. They must have known we were coming.”

Tungdil’s mind whirred feverishly. “Everyone with a role to play in forging Keenfire needs to make it through that door. You
or I will go with them. Since I never intended to be crowned high king, I cede my place to you, King Gandogar. My only concern
is the safety of Girdlegard and our kinsfolk.” He looked his rival in the eye. “Narmora will explain her role in this later,
but I need you to promise you’ll do everything you can to help her slay the magus.”

Gandogar bowed his head. “I swear in the name of Vraccas our Creator and by the memory of Giselbert Ironeye, founding father
of this kingdom, that I shall fight the magus to the end.” They shook hands. “Which doesn’t mean to say you won’t be there
too,” he added.

They turned to face the enemy and raised their weapons. Tungdil placed the bugle to his lips and sounded the attack.

Giselbert’s Folk,

Fifthling Kingdom,

Girdlegard,

Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle

D
jerůn led the advance, flanked by the dwarves, with Rodario, torches in both hands, following close behind, shielded by Furgas,
who was doing his best to fend off the bögnilim and protect the precious flames.

Back on the steps, Andôkai was still under siege from the golem. All her efforts were focused on defending herself, leaving
her no time to deal with the famulus and stop the attack at its source. “Hurry!” she shouted hoarsely. “Another couple of
charms and my magic will be spent.”

“Leave it to me,” volunteered Narmora. Launching herself into the air, she alighted on Djerůn’s shoulders and pushed off again,
soaring another five paces to land on a bögnil’s head. In no time she was away again, using the heads and shoulders of the
bewildered beasts as stepping stones. She had almost reached the famulus when a dagger nicked her calf. She missed her step
and fell among the howling brutes.

“Narmora!” cried Furgas, so overcome with horror that he neglected his duty as Rodario’s guard. In a flash the beasts surged
forward and closed in on the impresario.

“Shoo!” he shouted, thrusting the torches in their direction. Squealing, the bögnilim backed away from the tongues of fire,
only to be struck by flying sparks. In an instant they were reeling backward, consumed by flames. The dragon fire burned them
to ashes before they had time to retreat.

Rodario’s strategy guaranteed his own safety, but at the cost of the torches, whose light was ebbing after numerous brushes
with the bögnilim’s swords. At length he was left with a single torch. “Furgas,” he shouted, trying to alert his companion
to his plight. “Furgas, I need your help!”

But Furgas was still staring anxiously at the spot where Narmora had fallen.

“For the love of Vraccas, wake up!” Balyndis scolded him. She fought her way through the fray and thrust herself between the
bögnilim and the impresario.

All of a sudden Narmora appeared out of nowhere, looming up behind the famulus’s bodyguards and hewing the first orc’s head
with a mighty blow. She dispatched the other beasts before they had time to respond.

“Very impressive,” the famulus said furiously, pointing his staff in her direction, “but not as effective as this.”

A thick bolt of light shot toward Narmora, who darted nimbly aside. The bolt latched on to her movement.

Just as it seemed certain that Narmora would be hit, the bolt struck an invisible obstacle and dissipated harmlessly. It was
instantly followed by a powerful flash of lightning that arced toward the famulus from the direction of the statue. There
was a terrible crackle as it seared through his flesh, the flames subsiding only when nothing remained but a pile of reeking
cinders. The next moment, the golem collapsed. Huge chunks of rock rained down on the enemy troops, squashing dozens of bögnilim
and flattening three of the ogres who were too ponderous to escape.

The two remaining ogres stopped in their tracks and stared fearfully at the triumphant maga before retreating into the adjoining
hall and vanishing from sight.

Narmora gave Andôkai a wave and the maga returned the greeting, then drew her sword in a single fluid movement. It was the
only defense she had left.

“Excellent, excellent, so Narmora’s still alive. Unless there’s another lead actor you’d rather work with, you might want
to lend me a hand,” the impresario said to Furgas. “At this rate, the fabulous Rodario will die a heroic death.”

Andôkai abandoned the statue and stormed down the staircase, her blade wreaking havoc among the enemy troops.

“She always ruins everything,” Boïndil said testily. “I was looking forward to those ogres.” He threw himself with added fury
on the fleeing bögnilim. “At least I can have some fun with you.”

Disregarding Tungdil’s warnings, Boïndil chased after his victims, slicing into their necks from behind and shooing them along
as if he were herding pigs. On reaching the doorway to the adjacent hall, he came to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me your brain’s caught up with you,” Goïmgar said spitefully, hurrying with the others to join him.
They stopped and froze as well.

“I say we leave this scene out of the play,” Rodario whispered hoarsely. “I have a feeling we won’t enjoy it.”

The hall was at least three thousand paces long and two thousand paces wide. It was obvious what purpose the chamber had once
served, for among the disused blast furnaces, ramps, and rope pulleys lay abandoned slag heaps and scattered mounds of pig
iron and coal.

Now a thousand orcs, bögnilim, and trolls occupied the fifthlings’ smelting works, sealing the entry to the Dragon Fire furnace.

The defeated ogres and bögnilim had already reached the foremost line of beasts and were hastily relaying what had happened
in the adjoining hall. An angry murmur swept through the chamber as the beasts drew their weapons, growling in readiness for
the fight.

“It’s…” Boïndil was lost for words. He lowered his axes in an admission of defeat. The vast army was more than just another
of the big challenges that he was so fond of. Even he could see that the odds were stacked overwhelmingly against the plucky
band.

“Do you think you could fly to the other side and take us with you like you did for Goïmgar?” Tungdil whispered to the maga.