Tungdil laughed and Rodario joined in. “I’m happy for you, Ireheart,” he said. “A lady at last to soften your warrior soul and to harden other parts.”
Boindil grinned broadly. “It’s all ended well. I would never have thought it possible.”
“There can’t only be bad things in life, otherwise the world would cease,” said Tungdil. “Enjoy what you have.”
“They’re doing that all the time,” said Rodario, poking fun again. His well-meant mockery revealed the friends’ joy at the young love of these two dwarves.
“We’re wrestling. That’s all. We want to keep fit for the adventures that await us in the Outer Lands. I shall be going with you,” Ireheart told Tungdil. “This adventure will be my greatest yet.”
Rodario clapped. “Before either of you asks: I too would deem it an honor to accompany you. In those far-off lands there are scenes and stories with which I shall delight my valued audiences.”
“You too?” Ireheart exclaimed. “Vraccas help us! He’ll talk us to death. Or make something explode at the wrong time.”
“Huh, very funny.”
“Word gets round. Like what you did in the belly of the machine. Could all have been done differently, you know.”
“Yes, mock away, you destroyer of bedsteads. But I tell you I shall be of supreme use on the trip.” He stood up, pretending to be offended. “Just so’s you know: Ortger has chosen a different route. The roads are narrower but they’re passable. We can leave in the morning, Lot-Ionan says. Chop chop, off to bed now, my heroes. And no more wrestling, Ireheart. Not tonight. Or at least pull the bed away from the wall.” Rodario disappeared with a grin on his face.
Tungdil was pleased. The delay had been long enough to finish making the weapon. Excellent.
“If it’s true what the Emperor of Boasters and Big Mouths has just said,” Ireheart said, “I’ll get some rest.” He laid his hand on Tungdil’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to leave Girdlegard forever?” he asked, his voice earnest now.
“Yes, Ireheart. I don’t want to see them slip into the next catastrophe, and this time one they’ve made for themselves.”
“You mean Ginsgar’s work?”
“What else? In the worst case it’ll mean dispute amongst the dwarf folks. Some will join Ginsgar the Self-Appointed and the others will insist on their traditions, call an assembly and choose a different high king.” He took a drink of water and thought of what Bramdal had said. “Where will it end, Boindil? Can you tell me?”
Ireheart lowered his head. “Ginsgar asked me to take command of his bodyguard,” he admitted quietly. “I told him I’d think about it.”
“That you’d think about it?” Tungdil was about to reproach his friend but stopped. “Yes, you are right. You must work it out for yourself. I have no right to tell you what you should do. I’m leaving here.”
Ireheart sat down again. “It’s not easy, Scholar. Some of Ginsgar’s views are sensible but on the other hand he is a warmonger. He will prove a high king devoid of any mercy.” Ireheart ran a hand over his short black plait.
“Think on my words: the freelings and the thirdlings will be his new foes.” Tungdil cut off a slice of cheese. “If you take command you’ll be fighting all the time. I know it’s what you love to do but shouldn’t you be happier fighting orcs and monsters, not your own kind?” He put the food in his mouth and got up. “Think about that while you’re deciding. Ginsgar Unforce will be going down in the chronicles as a notorious figure. Not as a good high king.” He patted him on the shoulder. “Good night, Ireheart. Speak to Goda and make up your mind. You’ve time enough before you return to Girdlegard.” He picked up his weapon and walked out past his friend.
On the way he ran his hands over the blade and tested the sharpness, but now it felt rough on his hands. He had not been careful enough and it had cut him-not deep but enough to draw blood.
“That name is the right one for you,” he said to his weapon. “From now on you shall be known as Bloodthirster. You will drink the blood of many monsters, I promise. And you shall serve me well.” He studied the red drops on the blade. “But you shall never taste dwarven blood. If you do, I shall shatter you into a thousand pieces.”
A soft shimmer was visible down the length of the blade. It may have been a reflection of the lamplight but Tungdil chose to read it as acceptance. The pact had been made.
Girdlegard,
Fourthling Realm,
Brown Mountains, Fortress Silverfast,
Early Autumn, 6241st Solar Cycle
B ylanta held out her hand to Tungdil. “May Vraccas protect you from all the dangers of the Outer Lands and bring you safely back to us.”
“He will indeed,” he replied courteously as he shook the queen’s slender hand. He was not about to let her know that he didn’t intend to return.
They were standing beneath the four intact towers on the stronghold walls at Silverfast. This was where the acronta had long maintained the illusion of an enemy siege. There was no trace of their presence now. All you could see were piles of orc bones with the flesh chewed off them. The fourthlings had decided to leave them as a deterrent.
“I hope that Ginsgar Unforce may soon meet his death.” He expressed his thoughts openly. “If not, there will be grim times ahead for the dwarves.”
“Honestly spoken.” Balyanta looked at him appraisingly. “Then let us be frank, Tungdil Goldhand: the dwarf folks need someone who can stand up to Ginsgar. Not easy after his victories in Alandur. He has so many followers and much clandestine support in the dwarf realms.”
“Glaimbar…”
“No, it’s you who are needed, I think. Balendilin the Second is not strong enough anymore; with one arm he doesn’t stand a chance. No one will listen to Malbalor because he’s from the thirdlings and Ginsgar has spread poison about them.”
“I’m a thirdling, too…”
Bylanta remained as resolute as toughened gold. “You are a hero, Tungdil. Nobody doubts you. You have done great deeds. And Glaimbar makes no secret of his admiration of Ginsgar, so I can’t rely on him.” She smiled. “That leaves Xamtys and myself. Two dwarf queens against unreason a hundred times stronger than we are. We could use a hero at our side.” She pressed his hand and laid her other hand on his arm. “So come back quickly, Tungdil.”
He bowed to her and mounted his pony to catch up with the head of the march. Tungdil wished he had been spared her softly spoken words; they had touched him more than he wanted. They went on working where Bramdal’s from the evening before had left off. Bylanta had appealed to his sense of responsibility, calling on him to accept the duties in Girdlegard that could be expected of a dwarf of his heroic stature.
“Damn,” he cursed out loud and dug his heels so fiercely into his pony’s sides that the animal gave a startled leap, galloping off as if a pack of wolves were at their heels. The heavy scent of the ubariu and their steeds had already spooked it.
“Someone’s in a hurry to see new lands,” Rodario commented as Tungdil rushed up to join his friends. He wrapped the cape Ortger had given him tighter round himself. “My goodness, it was cold enough in Urgon’s mountains, but here it feels like winter.”
Flagur sat up tall in the saddle and gave the trumpeter a sign. The bugle call echoed back from the mountainside and the army set off at once, with the stamp of nailed boots, the sounds of the horses, the bumping and jangling of the baggage train.
“They may fight monsters, but…” said Ireheart, turning back to look at the long column, “but they’re enough to put the wind up anyone.” When he caught Tungdil’s and Sirka’s disapproving looks he quickly added, “But I know they’re all right, of course.”
Goda rolled her eyes. She insisted on riding behind him and to one side, out of respect, as in her view he was still her weapons master, whatever love she bore him and whatever they now shared. She said, “You are hopeless.”
“That’s right, you lot. Have a go at me. I might as well be a snout-faced orc.” He rode off, grumbling. “I do try. Vraccas and Ubar are my witnesses.”