Goda turned up, breathing heavily. “I can only do one last spell,” she admitted.
“And that’s just the one I need,” said Lot-Ionan, facing forward without even glancing at her. “Do you know the Sarifanie words?”
“Remember, you taught me that one shortly before I quit,” she replied. “It is not good magic.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Ireheart fumed at her. “Not now, Goda! Help him to break down the barrier or the kordrion will destroy one army after another!” He waved his weapon, noticing how the blood had dried on it.
The dwarf-woman was obviously extremely reluctant but she stepped up next to her former mentor and put her left hand in his right. Each of them pointed at the barrier with the forefinger of their free hand, then shut their eyes.
At that moment Tungdil was stunned by a hammer blow to the head that hurled him right over to the edge of the barrier, barely a hand’s breadth away from Ireheart. His helmet had fallen off and blood was coursing down from a cut on the forehead.
What…? Eyes wide in horror Ireheart stared at his friend’s face: It was covered in black lines, just like an enraged alf, the lines spreading out from the golden eye patch. Ireheart half expected the whole face to shatter into pieces like broken pottery.
Tungdil shook himself and warded off the next blow, striking the master in the face with the jagged edge of Bloodthirster. The sharp tips stabbed through the skin to the bone beneath, lodging fast.
The dwarf in the vraccasium armor hit out blindly and Tungdil grabbed his hand, broke the wrist and snatched the hammer. Then he swerved aside. Smashing it down on Bloodthirster’s blade, he drove the sharpened tips further into his opponent’s face.
The master fell on his back and tried to crawl away from Tungdil, blood pouring from the neck wound and staining the ground.
A further signal was sounded on the enemy bugle.
Dropping its pursuit of the decimated ubariu, the four-headed kordrion launched itself onto the group of humans, wings flapping. They did not even try to offer resistance, but took flight at once.
The catapults on the battlements had started up. Losses among their own troops should shots go astray were regrettable but a four-headed kordrion could not be allowed to survive. Clouds of arrows and spears darkened the battlefield as battle raged against the beast.
Ireheart paid no attention to the battle. He wanted to be with his friend, and it was his friend under the magic dome. I have to get in there!
The final monster warrior drew his sword, about to intercede in the duel.
Tungdil kept his cool and raised the hammer. With all his might he slammed the hammer down-once, twice, three times-onto Bloodthirster, driving the blade right through the skull of the convulsing enemy, until the head was split in two. The sharp movements of arms and legs ceased; the limbs flopped back and were still. The famulus had taken the life of his master.
“Huzzah!” yelled Ireheart, beside himself. “He’s done it!”
Smiling grimly, Tungdil pulled Bloodthirster out of the carcass and aimed the tip of it at the final enemy, whose approaching steps were slowing now.
A loud high sound, like a storm whistling through a canyon, reverberated around them and the barrier flickered and disappeared.
“Scholar, leave Long Legs to me!” bellowed Ireheart, charging with his weapon raised high at the enemy. The monster, having been unable to save his leader’s life, raised the fateful bugle to his lips once more, forcing Ireheart to an action dwarves only contemplate if they are carrying a second weapon on their person: He hurled the crow’s beak.
The weapon hummed across toward the opponent, its spike striking him just as he was about to sound the first note, penetrating his helmet and destroying his brain. The giant fell, bugle clattering to the ground and bursting into tiny pieces.
“Ha!” rejoiced Ireheart, fists in the air, as he turned toward his friends. “Did you see that…” His jaw dropped.
Goda had sunk to her knees in front of Lot-Ionan; their hands were still joined. She was convulsed in pain, her face a grimace, and her breath coming in rapid gasps.
Lot-Ionan’s other arm was pointing forward, with a lilac ball of energy floating above his palm emitting rays of light in sudden jets. Then the color turned to deep green.
“I knew the dwarves would be able to manage without me,” he said, laughing. “I saved my magic for now.”
Balyndar was about to fall on the magus, but suddenly all the discarded weapons rose up out of the swamp and aimed themselves at him.
“Nobody comes near me unless I permit them to.” Lot-Ionan looked at the kordrion. “A useful animal. It is keeping the army occupied for me so I’ll have less killing to do before I go back to Girdlegard. My dream of reigning supreme is coming true.” He made a bow to Tungdil. “Thanks to you, foster-son. Without you I should never have achieved all this.”
“There you are,” Balyndar crowed. “He is a traitor!”
“No. Quite the opposite,” continued the magus. Lightning flashed out of the sphere, hitting Tungdil’s armor. Not a single rune shimmered in defensive warning. The energy struck his breast and hurled him backwards, where he fell next to the corpse of his former master. “He meant what he said. Only I don’t hold with making bargains and pacts with creatures who are not worthy of my discourse. However, he gave me the opportunity to concern myself more closely with the protective spells on the armor.” Lot-Ionan smirked. “Very helpfully.”
“I’m going to cut you right out of your stupid hood.” Ireheart took a threatening step forward.
“Take one more step and your wife will be blown into tiny pieces,” the magus warned him calmly.
Ireheart stopped short. “What are you waiting for then? Why don’t you go ahead and kill us both now?”
“I may need you again.” Lot-Ionan followed the kordrion’s movements as it rampaged through the undergroundlings’ ranks, killing its victims with swift bites. “On the other hand it should be sufficient if I just have you stuffed.”
The swords floating in front of Balyndar advanced. He managed to deflect three blades, but then the next ones dug into his flesh, stabbing him in the body, arms and legs. Only neck and head remained whole. He tipped over into the swamp, moaning, and lost consciousness.
“Enough!” thundered a clear voice. “I can stop you, Lot-Ionan. Your days as an insane magus are over at last!”
Ireheart was flabbergasted to see Rodario on the battlefield. In his right hand he was holding a smoke diamond… the very smoke diamond Ireheart had once handed back to Tungdil after it had been dropped in Evildam!
“This artifact will seal your destruction!” The actor spoke clearly, enunciating his words and projecting his voice as if this were the climax of a tragedy on stage. As he approached the small group he said, “I know its power and shall use it without a second thought, no matter how you may have served us in the past.” He held the stone out in front of himself as if it were a shield.
Lot-Ionan raised his eyebrows then laughed outright. “An actor, am I right? Looks like Rodario and talks like him. An excellent performance. But completely useless.” He sent a magic beam that focused precisely on the stone.
The smoke diamond flared up in Rodario’s fingers and crumbled instantly to black powder.
“By Samusin! I could have sworn it was going to be really important,” said a disappointed Rodario.
“No, it wasn’t,” gloated the magus. “Let us bring this to an end, before…”
Half a dozen red flashes shot out, crackling behind him. Lot-Ionan was forced forward and stumbled over Goda; she tore herself free and drew her dagger to stab the magus in the throat, but his sphere of energy halted her action by thrusting itself against her forehead. She collapsed without a word.