Ireheart could contain himself no longer: He embraced his friend with a laugh, slapping him on the back over and over. “You were amazing, Scholar!”
“Without you, old friend, none of this would have been possible,” the one-eyed dwarf replied, holding out his hand. Then he turned to Slin, Balodil and Balyndar. “Without each and every one of you it would not have been possible. You all shared in our success.” Finally he turned to address the assembly. “We can celebrate later,” he said, waiting for quiet. “Let us think now of those who have given their lives in this mission and have been welcomed into the eternal forge of Vraccas.”
To Ireheart’s astonishment Tungdil reeled off every single name of the fallen, from the dwarves to the Zhadar.
“And now,” he said to Goda, “I want to hear what has happened here since we have been gone.”
The maga made her report. She told of the attack the monsters had launched, of their own counterattack, the appearance of the enemy magus, the abduction of her daughter, the injury to her son. She told of all the events round the Black Abyss.
Ireheart’s euphoric mood plummeted and concern for his children made him start to his feet.
But Goda held him back with her eyes, warning him not to leave the assembly. “They are both safe now. Go and see them when the audience is over,” she told him. “There has been no change since my daughter escaped and returned to us. The monsters have rebuilt their towers taller than before. Their camp has now regained its former size,” she summed up. “But there has been no sighting of their magus.”
Tungdil nodded. “You have heard now why we need Lot-Ionan to combat the dwarf who calls himself Vraccas. In the cycles I spent in the Black Abyss I made him my mortal enemy, but I assure you he would have broken out some time or other even without my provocation. His thirst for power is insatiable.” He had them bring out the scale model of the ravine, which showed the locations of all the tents and towers. “He is our prime target. Once he is dead the beasts will lose heart. Then it will be an easy fight and we will be in a position to make the rocks collapse on top of them, making sure no evil ever escapes again!”
“When do we start fighting?” Hargorin asked, puzzling over the model.
“In two orbits’ time. I need to rest after my journey.” Tungdil tapped the glass dome that represented the barrier. It shattered. “Lot-Ionan will do that for us and he will ride into battle at my side. We’ll finish the monsters off, and as soon as the dwarf-magus notices he’s nearing defeat, he’ll come out.” He gave the assembled kings a piercing warning look and urged them, “No one is to confront him! He belongs to me and Lot-Ionan. No one else could stop him. Goda has already described his power. Nobody would stand a chance.”
“Apart from me,” interrupted Balyndar. He pulled Keenfire out of its sheath and showed it to the assembly. A loud murmur ran through the crowd. “The weapon which vanquished the demon, which defeated Nod’onn and many of Girdlegard’s foes, has returned to its own kind. And it will serve us once more.”
“The diamonds are glowing,” one of the dwarves called out in alarm. “Who is among us? The ax is trying to warn us.”
The Zhadar stepped forward. “It’s me,” he chuckled. “I may look like a dwarf, but I changed ages ago. The alfar implanted the seed of evil in me but I used its power to do good. That,” he whistled softly, indicating Keenfire, “is why it is sparkling so nicely. It can sense my presence.”
Goda looked at Tungdil and was about to say something but Ireheart gestured emphatically to her to keep silent. He guessed she was going to cast new doubts on the integrity of the Scholar. Not now, he mouthed.
“He is the last of his kind,” said Tungdil. “His friends and comrades have all fallen, fighting the good fight and giving their lives for Girdlegard. With his help we can find and kill every last alf, wherever he may be hiding, as soon as we have our victory here in the Outer Lands.”
The assembled dwarves applauded or clattered their weapons on the table.
“Then go back to your warriors, and tell them what is to happen the orbit after next. And take your rest.” The high king bowed his head to them. “Vraccas will be with you.” Turning, he nodded to Ireheart and left the chamber.
Goda came over to her husband. “You heard it.”
“What?”
“Vraccas will be with us.” She watched Tungdil’s retreating back. “But who is with him?”
“Oh, come now, Goda.” Ireheart sighed and shook his head. He left her standing there and went to see his children.
One orbit later, when Ireheart had stretched out for a nap, there was a knock at the door and a messenger asked him to go to the conference chamber. The high king had summoned him.
Ireheart made his way there as quickly as he could. He was thinking through the next orbit’s battle. Evildam echoed to the sound of blades being sharpened on whetstones, and the clink of hammer on metal where armor was being repaired. Final preparations were underway. They were agreed on tactics. Nothing would be changed now.
He worried less about himself and his own survival; he was concerned for Sanda in particular. I would give anything for her to recover from what has happened. While his injured son was obviously getting better, he had seen in his daughter’s eyes that Sanda had not got over her treatment in captivity.
He had noticed a similar effect in Coira, who had still not recovered from her near-death experience at Sisaroth’s hands. For this reason he had put the two of them together, hoping they would share confidences and help each other.
Balyndar was another problem. Ireheart feared the fifthling might do something reckless with Keenfire, endangering the outcome for the dwarves. The looks that Balyndar and Goda had exchanged were almost conspiratorial. It would be no use trying to talk sense to his spouse. She had made up her mind and was not going to change it. All Tungdil’s achievements meant nothing to her.
“Vraccas, why did you make us so stubborn?” he complained under his breath before going down the corridor that led to the conference chamber. Coira was also on her way there.
He lifted his arm in greeting and she slowed her pace. She was wearing a dark-blue robe with long sleeves, and a black cap on her head. Ireheart recognized Weyurn’s coat of arms in the embroidery on the sleeves. “How are you, Majesty?”
“Well, thank you.” She smiled. “You’ll be wanting to know if I’ve spoken to your daughter?”
Ireheart tilted his head and his braid fell forward. “I’m so worried about her… she’s so low and seems very confused. So different.”
Coira frowned. “Have your wife’s suspicions taken hold of you, too?”
“What suspicions?”
“That it is not really your daughter.”
Ireheart threw up his hands. “Is she saying that? First it was the Scholar she had doubts about and now she thinks her own daughter has been replaced! It’s persecution mania!”
“Yes, yes,” said Coira mildly, to calm the dwarf down. “It obviously is your daughter. She has told me many personal details.” She stopped at the door. “She has endured the most terrible thing that a woman can ever go through. The dwarf that abducted her announced his intentions and put the blame squarely on Goda for not accepting his conditions. Her spirit has been damaged by the thought of this betrayal.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I can do nothing for her, Boindil Doubleblade. My fate was harmless in comparison.”
Ireheart could find no reply, so great was the hatred raging in his soul. Hatred for the enemy in the vraccasium armor, against whom all his fighting prowess would be useless in battle. I shall desecrate his corpse.
In a fury he stepped into the hall with Coira-but stopped dead in his tracks: As well as Tungdil, Slin, Balyndar and Balodil there were two white-clad elves in the room, wearing light palandium armor under their robes.