Ireheart touched her cheek, stroking the pale down on her skin. “It will be the best and the worst four cycles of my life,” he joked. “Vraccas hates me for some reason.” He kissed her and then became earnest. “I pray daily to our creator that he may keep Tungdil safe.” He stood up and went to the doorway, opened it and looked over toward the Black Abyss under its shimmering globe. “I wonder where he is? And what he’s doing, alone with the misbegotten offspring of strange gods?” Again he wiped the perspiration from his brow.
Goda took his hand. She could give him no answer and she certainly did not share his optimism about Tungdil’s fate. She presumed him dead. But she was not going to say so.
In silence they both watched the glowing sphere under which lay both hope and horror. You could not have the one without the other.
Girdlegard,
Porista, Royal Capital of Gauragar,
Winter, 6241st Solar Cycle
O nce more Girdlegard’s rulers were meeting to confer.
King Bruron escorted his guests into the first completed chamber of his royal residence. Huge stoves ensured a pleasant temperature despite wintry blizzards without.
Bruron had ordered sumptuous decoration of the hall, commissioning furnishings, frescoes, tapestries and sculptures with taste and care. The impression given was that the rest of the palace was already in place. However, only the outlines of the main structure were visible. The elf Esdalan, the monarchs of the human realms, lords of the dwarven kingdoms and heads of the freeling cities were gathered to hear Rodario’s reports from the Outer Lands: eloquently and with compelling and colorful detail he described recent events at the Black Abyss.
“… and so-with the sacrifice brought by Tungdil Goldhand-the battle ended. We have lost a great hero. He gave his life for Girdlegard…” He bowed to his audience. “… for your sake and to enable you to sleep soundly in your beds. May this courageous dwarf forever remain in your thoughts, and let us ensure that it is not only the children of the Smith who mourn him.” With these words he took his seat to deafening applause, in particular from the dwarves, on whose faces many a tear glistened.
Lot-Ionan rose to his feet. Dressed in a light blue robe, he wore white gloves to hide the disfiguring burns he had received from touching the artifact. In his left hand he held a long, superbly carved walking stick of birchwood. “I see it as our task to utilize this new peace accorded us by the sacrifice of my foster-son Tungdil and his companions, some of whom remain in the Outer Lands. It is time for reconciliation.” He looked at Esdalan. “The elves have been subjected to horrendous treatment meted out in anger. Are you prepared to let bygones be bygones and excuse the deeds targeted at the atar?”
Esdalan looked at Ginsgar calmly. “I insist on an apology for the cruelties received and for the devastation suffered in Alandur. The grand palaces and temples were laid waste, and this was fitting. But it was not right that settlements were torched and destroyed when the inhabitants had nothing to do with the blinkered obsessions of some of my people. Sincere words of atonement and some redress are essential here.” His gaze wandered over the faces of the assembled dwarves. “With your help we shall reconstruct our elf realm. When that is done, then there shall be forgiveness for the children of the Smith.”
Ginsgar opened his mouth to let out a hearty laugh. “Sure thing, Esdalan. We can build a few houses for thirty-seven elves, no bother. That forgiveness will be winging its way to us.”
If offended by the words and tone, Esdalan chose not to show it. He was too sensible to allow himself to respond in kind. “And how about the words of apology from you, Ginsgar Unforce? You led your troops through our groves, plundering and killing.”
The laughter ceased abruptly. “And your own apology for the poisoning of the dwarves?”
“That was the atar, not the elves.” Esdalan looked past Ginsgar and appealed to Xamtys. “Atar and elves have nothing in common.”
“Hair-splitting,” said Ginsgar with contempt. “If I don’t hear an apology, then you’ll have to wait, too.”
“In that case I don’t want the dwarves’ help in Alandur.” Esdalan nodded to the self-appointed high king. “As soon as you are ready to apologize our two peoples may make a fresh start. But not until then.” The elf leaned back in his seat, making it obvious that he had no more to say. But the door of reconciliation had not been slammed shut.
Lot-Ionan sent a disapproving look Ginsgar’s way. “How can you do this, Ginsgar Unforce?”
“Easily,” he replied curtly. He, too, had no more to add. The gulf between the two peoples had not grown any narrower. The dead heaped in that gulf prevented any peace.
“You will come to your senses,” predicted Lot-Ionan. He addressed the whole assembly. “We have heard that the kordrion has escaped and taken to the hills. It is feared that it will be hiding somewhere between the fifthling and fourthling territories, to lick its wounds. It is vital that the dwarves patrol not only the passes but also the remote mountain regions. As soon as the kordrion is sighted, I must be told.”
“Didn’t Master Rodario say the creature cannot be overpowered?” Isika asked.
“As far as the ubariu and the undergroundlings are concerned, yes.” Lot-Ionan indicated his wand. “I am looking into acquiring new famuli and famulae to train. We shall soon have young people versed in the high art of magic. No one has tried to combat the kordrion with magic. The rune masters of the ubariu used their powers differently from my own ways.” He smiled reassuringly. “You see, Queen Isika, I am optimistic.”
Queen Wey started to speak. “Then let me add something here, venerable magus, to make you more confident still, even if it has been with great concern that I and my subjects have observed it.” She went to the map of Girdlegard and indicated her own realm. “The water level in the lake is sinking all the time. It’s as if someone had pulled the plug out of a bath tub.”
Rodario and Lot-Ionan exchanged swift glances.
“How much has been lost?” the actor asked. He was aware of a possible reason. The force and weight of water gushing in had foiled the magister’s attempt to complete the tunnel. Somewhere in the western part of the Outer Lands a mighty river must be bringing potential devastation.
“My citizens who live on solid islands report the level has fallen by as much as ten paces. Ports and harbors are having to be resited. In some places the lake waters have shrunk so much that people have to walk a whole day to collect fresh water for their homes.” Queen Wey surveyed the assembly solemnly. “The lake is running dry. Soon, my subjects will be living not on islands but on mountain peaks soaring a thousand paces up into the sky. It may be good news for you, Lot-Ionan, because access to the magic source will be easier, but my people are distraught. You can’t make farmers out of fishermen.”
“I think I can guess what has caused the water to vanish,” said the magus. He explained his theory. It coincided with Rodario’s ideas. “We could deal with the cause if we collapsed the tunnels. I would prefer to undertake a dive to the bottom of the lake for the magic before I see a water-based country turned to desert laid bare. Weyurn without its lakes is unthinkable. The whole of Girdlegard would suffer: its lakes give rise to our rivers and streams. The consequences would be dire indeed.”
Mallen asked to be allowed to speak. “In the name of the human kingdoms I suggest the dwarves permit our warriors to share guard duties at each of the passes into Girdlegard.” He stood up. “It is only fair that we don’t leave the defense of the whole of Girdlegard up to the dwarves. We too want to make our contribution to our safety and security. It will be our gesture of acknowledgment and thanks for them having stood guard loyally these thousands of cycles, losing thousands of their people in the course of that defense.”