The beast rose from the debris with a cry; it staggered and crashed head first into a wall.
Ireheart had reached the kordrion again. “You’ll be quiet soon enough!” He swung his arm back and whacked his crow’s beak into the area of the soft underbelly where he supposed the genitals to be. The skin ripped open and the monster uttered a shrill cry. “Ha! That’s what I like to hear,” Ireheart bellowed merrily. “Let’s have another!” He repeated his winning strike. “Sing it for me again!”
Aiphaton and Tungdil moved in to help the sturdy warrior finish the beast off. They had to keep dodging the wildly flailing taloned limbs; its vast wings opened and closed convulsively, causing yet more damage to the fabric of Phoseon.
“Stop! Now!” Ireheart clambered boldly up the creature’s long neck and brought the spike of his weapon forcefully down through the kordrion’s skull. “Let’s have you dead, you wretched fiend!”
And now, indeed, the vast body of the kordrion slumped. With a last groan it thrashed its tail for a final time, then fell over, destroying more of the buildings. Clouds of dust rose up.
Ireheart used his plait to wipe away the sweat and other unpleasant liquids from his forehead and beard, but there was too much of it. He was merely smearing it over his face as if he had been using a paint brush. There would have to be a bath. A shallow one, though.
“By Vraccas, the dwarves done good!” he crowed, lifting his weapon so that the kordrion blood dripped off it. Close by he saw his one-eyed friend nodding approvingly. Aiphaton was back down on the ground staring up at the bulk of the huge beast.
There were still occasional bumps, bangs and crashes as more of the plaster and brickwork came down; the distress of any surviving ponies could be also heard, mixed with the moans of the wounded.
Then there was a single cry of relief, taken up by more and more of the alfar as they realized the creature had been slain. The call echoed in chorus through the alleys and ravines of the city.
Ireheart clambered over the neck and onto the belly to join Tungdil. “I don’t get what they’re saying but it sounds as if they like us,” he said brightly, lowering the crow’s beak and putting both hands on the shaft. He looked extremely pleased with himself. “At last-my kind of adversary. There won’t be many dwarves who can outdo my deeds today.” He looked around and through the settling dust saw the faces of the alfar rejoicing.
Tungdil slapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, Ireheart. They are saying…”
“Don’t tell me, Scholar,” he interrupted. “That way I can imagine the black-eyes are adoring me instead of wanting to kill me.” He looked down at his injured foot, where the feathered arrow shaft still stuck up through the boot. “Perhaps that was one of them trying it on just now.”
Tungdil laughed and started to climb down. “Come on. I want to find out what Aiphaton has to say about our help.”
At sunset Tungdil, Ireheart, Slin, Balyndar, Hargorin and Barskalin assembled in the emperor’s throne room; five of the Zhadar came along as well.
They were invited to sit at a table where goblets and jugs of wine stood ready. Nothing was poured out yet. Beforehand, Aiphaton had arranged for them to be shown to chambers where they could rest from their exertions.
They met up in the room they had first seen on arrival. The paintings on the walls had changed. The black and white silhouette designs were now full-color floor-to-ceiling landscapes of absurd beauty and if you looked carefully, the shrubs and trees were not depictions of real plants but were made up of tiny painted corpses, with wounds and cut throats.
“Just as barmy as their relations,” said Ireheart in disgust. “But that ointment they gave us really works. I can hardly feel the hole in my foot.”
“Who knows what it’s made of,” muttered Slin. “But I’m not complaining. They treated me like a king.”
“Apart from the bath,” murmured Ireheart. “I had to get rid of most of the water before I got in. It was nearly up to my knees!”
“You mean because of Elria and her water curse?” Slin’s face bore a broad grin. “I’ve never heard of a dwarf drowning in a bath.”
“And I didn’t want to be the first!” He lifted his hand to show the amount of water for a proper bath. “From my fingertips to my wrist, that’s all it needs.”
Slin burst out laughing. “That’s only about enough to wet your manliness.”
“I understand the fourthlings are smaller in all areas than the other tribes,” Balyndar threw in.
“My bolt always reaches the target. I can always hear it hit home,” said Slin, pointing to the morning star. “But you will be built like your weapons: Too much force in the balls and only a little spike.”
Ireheart roared with laughter.
Aiphaton’s entrance put a swift end to the dwarves’ banter. He shook everyone’s hands-except for those of the Zhadar-then took his seat at the head of the table. Two alfar came up to pour out a variety of wines.
The emperor studied his visitors closely, his eye sockets black as night.
So he does not wish to put aside the blemish-or perhaps he can’t? Ireheart wondered.
“You and your friends have amply demonstrated that you are not among Phoseon’s enemies.” Aiphaton’s voice was calm and steady as he raised his cup in salute. “For this and your support in our hour of need I thank you.” He drank a toast to them.
“The kordrion young we found on the packhorse had been smuggled into our train,” replied Tungdil. “In my view Tirigon is the only one who could have done this. And that means that at least one of the Dson Aklan is against you.” He looked at the emperor expectantly.
Aiphaton slowly replaced his goblet. “Your tone suggests to me that you know more, Tungdil.” He gestured to his alfar to leave the chamber, then ran his eyes over the dwarf-faces. “Before we go on, I should like to ask that only those permitted to hear all the truth remain in the room with us.”
Tungdil nodded, but continued, “As some of them still do not trust me because I returned after two hundred and fifty cycles of forced exile and they doubt my integrity, I shall not ask anyone to leave the room. I want all of them to hear what the emperor of the alfar and the high king of the dwarf-tribes have to say to each other.”
Ireheart breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that only he would be allowed to stay. That would have meant yet more bad blood.
“Our original plan was different,” Tungdil began, after taking a swig of wine. He explained to the alf leader what they had first intended to do with the kordrion’s young. He described what was waiting in the Black Abyss and told him they needed Lot-Ionan and what they planned to do with the Dragon and his treasure: To get the Dragon to the magus and provoke a war between them.
Aiphaton listened with no sign of emotion.
“Things have happened differently,” Tungdil summed up. “And a good thing too, because I think the southern alfar will be better as our allies than as our foes when we march against Lot-Ionan. That was what you were planning, yourselves.”
“To march against a magus is pure suicide,” answered Aiphaton soberly. “That is why I gave in to what my subjects from the south have been urging.” He poured himself more wine and smiled. “I see you are surprised?”
Ireheart looked around. Nobody spoke, so he said, “I thought you meant to go to your own death?”
Aiphaton leaned slightly forward, chin on his hand. “I never wished to be like my father. I always said that. And yet I have become like him. It would be too easy to find excuses for what I have done to Girdlegard, but I admit it all. That is why I shall lead them to the south to ensure their eradication in battle with Lot-Ionan.”
“Hurrah! That’s the right attitude!” Ireheart applauded in spite of himself, and then coughed to cover his embarrassment.
“I have been dazzled for too many cycles, inebriated by my own power. I have made conquests, taken lives and broken the will of the people. Not because I had to but because I could. Because I was stronger,” the emperor explained. “That terrible intoxication has passed now, but the memory of my guilt remains. With every new day I see the suffering I inflicted on Idoslane, Urgon and Gauragar. It has to end. And I shall end it.”