The War of the Dwarves (64 page)

But Djer
n is still alive, and they had every reason to kill him. He’s a creature of evil, and he’s powerful, which makes him a hundred
times more dangerous than orcs, bögnilim, or ogres.
A shiver of excitement ran down his back.
He survived their attacks, and he survived for a reason.

Without a word to the others, he went over to the giant warrior and ran a hand over his armor, following the lines and curves
of the scorched intarsia and studying the symbols etched by Balyndis at Andôkai’s behest.
Is that the answer?

Rodario cleared his throat. “May I ask what you’re doing, illustrious hero of the Blacksaddle? I know it’s hard for a dwarf
to resist a good piece of metalwork, but don’t you think we should deal with the avatars first?”

Tungdil ignored him and turned to Narmora. “Maga, ask Djer
n what happened when the avatars attacked.”

“Ask him yourself,” she said. “He understands you.” She listened to the giant’s response, which she alone could understand.
“I see. He says they attacked him with their magic.”

Tungdil took a step back and thumped Djer
n’s armor. “So why did he survive? The thirdlings were clad in armor and they perished
in the avatars’ fires.” He turned to the others. “Djer
n is precisely the sort of creature they’re out to destroy. They must
have done everything in their power to kill him, and what did they achieve? Practically nothing—except cover him in soot.
His only injuries were inflicted by their army.”

“You think he was saved by his armor,” said Boëndal. He could tell from Narmora’s expression that she was thinking the same.
“Andôkai must have found a countercharm to protect him.”

Narmora shook her head. “She would have told us. Why keep it to herself?”

“Maybe she didn’t want to get our hopes up,” suggested Rodario. “Maybe she sent her knight in shining armor to see what happened
when the avatars attacked. She was probably going to tell us when she knew for certain that it worked.”

“Not Andôkai—she cared too much about Djer
n to put him at risk. The avatars weren’t supposed to find him, but they did.”
She signaled for Tungdil to step away from the giant. “We’ll try a little test.” After warning Djer
n, she raised her arms
and began an incantation.

“Steady on, Narmora,” protested Boïndil. “You can’t set fire to Djer
n in a tent!” The maga continued, undeterred. A tongue
of fire pulled away from the lantern above her and flew into her outstretched hands, turning from orange to ruby-red. The
flame grew and expanded until it was the size of a human head, then it cast itself, hissing and spluttering, against the giant’s
armored chest.

There was a loud explosion, and Djer
n was wreathed in flames. At once the runes on his armor pulsed with light, and the
fire went out. Djer
n didn’t so much as flinch.

“Fine, I’ll take it up a notch,” murmured Narmora, raising her right arm and summoning tongues of fire from every lantern
in the tent. They gathered in her fingers, forming a red-hot fireball that she hurled at his chest.

Again the giant was surrounded by flames. This time, the force of the impact brought him to his knees, but he straightened
up as soon as the flames had died. He growled softly.

“He says he felt the heat, but it couldn’t hurt him,” explained Narmora, who was visibly surprised by what had occurred. She
clicked her fingers, and the flames returned to the lanterns, restoring light to the tent. “You’d better not say I was going
easy on him,” she told them. “The fireball was hot enough to melt any normal metal.” She stepped up to the giant, inspected
his breastplate, and laid a hand on the metal. “It’s warm,” she said, shaking her head incredulously. “The runes are still
alight, but there’s no sign of warping.” She turned to the dwarves. “I think we can safely say that Balyndis has forged a
suit of armor that works against magic as well as swords.”

Tungdil breathed out in relief. “Vraccas knew what he was doing when he gave us a talent for metalwork. He’s given us another
chance to protect our lands.” Kneeling, he gave thanks to the dwarven deity.

The other dwarves, with the exception of Lorimbas, followed his lead.

The thirdling king let his eyes glide contemptuously over their bowed heads. He felt like cleaving their necks with his ax,
but he was their ally—for the moment, at least.
Vraccas won’t save you from Lorimbur’s children,
he vowed.

Tungdil was the first to rise. “We need to summon Balyndis,” he announced, buoyed by the thought that help was at hand. “Send
word that we need the instructions for Djer
n’s armor.” He wondered whether Vraccas was testing his character.
I tried to get away from her, but it doesn’t seem to work.