The Triumph of the Dwarves

Book 5: The Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

Genres: Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

The Dwarves are back! International bestselling fantasy author Markus Heitz returns to his best-loved series.

After decades of occupation by the älfar, the dark elves have been defeated and peace has finally been declared.

But the nations still distrust each other, and when a child is found in the Grey Mountains who speaks the language of the älfar, the dwarves believe this little girl heralds a new threat. And they will be right—just not in the way they thought.

Under the orders of Ireheart, now High King of the dwarves, a small delegation is sent to search for Tungdil Goldhand, the true High King, who many believe dead. Against all odds, Tungdil has survived his mission to the terrifying realm of Phondrasôn. But is he truly the legendary hero of the dwarves, or an impostor at the heart of a deeper conspiracy?

And does he realise that the fiends from Phondrasôn themselves aren't far behind . . . ?

The action never lets up in this next exciting story in the saga of the dwarves!

Release date: June 12, 2018

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 784

Sample

Girdlegard

Elf realm of Ti Lesinteïl

(formerly the älfar realm of Dsôn Bhará)

6492nd solar cycle, early summer

Raikan Fieldwood reined in his horse at the edge of the barely perceptible old crater; this was where the realm of the hated älfar Triplets had been based. His escorts, two men and two women, rode up to him, fanning out to the right and left of Tabaîn’s crown prince. Still in the saddle, all of them in rich clothing and light cloaks, the five surveyed the scene in amazement. They would never have believed such a transformation possible.

“Good thing I’m not a betting man.” Dark-haired and tall, Raikan was widely expected to take over as regent when his sickly, older brother Natenian gave up the throne as envisaged. Thus it fell to him to conduct negotiations with the elves who had settled here after their liberation from the älfar.

“I’d have lost that wager, too,” said his friend Tenkil Hoge, shielding his eyes and brushing strands of dark hair aside as he studied the scene. The warrior’s chainmail had more than the usual number of metal rings to accommodate his powerful build. He had not wanted to leave his armour behind and had more weapons on his belt than the others, despite the fact this was supposed to be a peaceful neighbourly visit. “How on earth …?”

Lilia, Ketrin and Irtan gazed on, still speechless with astonishment.

Raikan thought back to the previous autumn, winter and spring, and the heroic deeds, deaths and victories recent orbits had brought.

Wave after wave of warriors had set out to destroy the Dsôn Aklán and the last of the black-eyes in Girdlegard’s northern region. In the end their courageous fighters had won—but the losses had been horrific.

Afterwards they had begun to demolish the älfar buildings, to tear down the palace mount and to fill in the hole; the elf Ilahín and his wife Fiëa had overseen the works. Now, one sun cycle after the end of Lot-Ionan, the älfar, the dragon Lohasbrand, his orcs and the kordrion, Girdlegard was settling into peace. The human monarchs had been restored to power and chaos had given way to the rule of law.

Although there were still a few princelings and upstarts in the kingdom who needed seeing to, Raikan considered Tabaîn, the granary of the northwest, well on its way to establishing peace and prosperity. Together with his brother, he had been preparing for the planned abdication when Ilahín and Fiëa had invited them to Ti Lesinteïl.

To come to the court.

Raikan had not been aware that the elves, so few in number, had already chosen a king, or that enough of them had arrived to constitute a court. “Let’s go over and take a closer look at this marvel.”

The little group turned their horses to take the gentle slope of the broad highway.

You could only guess how deep the crater had previously been if you knew the old stories; this was where the northern älfar had ruled from. By filling in the crater, the elves had now managed to turn the place into a circular dip in the landscape, a good mile wide, but in Raikan’s eyes the real miracle was the flourishing woodland.

The forest treetops formed a rich green, waving sea of foliage into which he and his companions plunged. They seemed to sink to an ocean floor as they rode between trees that were more than a hundred paces tall.

Raikan was enchanted by the interplay of light and shade, the various hues of leaf, bark and bud. The air smelled like honey, exotic spices and incense. His senses were aroused and entranced.

“I have never seen trees with blossom like this,” said Tenkil, sounding suspicious. “Or ones that grow that fast.”

“I can’t object—they hide the horror that lay beneath it all.” Raikan started to feel very positive about their coming visit to the elf court. He was sure he would return to Tabaîn with extremely advantageous agreements.

Secretly he was quite ready to make pacts with all three elf realms. It would put Tabaîn ahead of Gauragar and Idoslane.

It was true that a new era was being launched in Girdlegard, but Raikan did not trust the ruler of United Kingdom of Gauragar-Idoslane, Queen Mallenia. She might be a powerful and determined leader but he did not approve of her chosen lifestyle. What kind of a monarch sets up with an actor, of all things—and one known to flaunt an open dalliance with a maga, at that?

Raikan did not think Mallenia would attack him, but considered her moody and unpredictable. To have the elves on his side would make a good impression. His own people would be reassured, too. He wanted his country to be safe; that was all.

The Tabaîn delegation made their way along the winding road flanked by the mighty tree trunks.

The woodland was flooded with light; moss and ferns covered the floor but there was no dense undergrowth. From time to time, Raikan noticed animals watching the riders. The wildlife sensed it had nothing to fear from these humans.

“Over there on the right,” said Tenkil. “Looks like the elves haven’t been quite as thorough as we thought.”

Raikan turned to catch sight of an imposing sculpture of unmistakably älfar origin: it was composed entirely of bones. It portrayed the upper body of a powerful warrior, rising up to launch himself on enemies. Woodland creepers had almost covered the horrifying work of art, growing tight across the bone surface.

“The ivy will soon pull it down,” said Raikan, shuddering. The älfar are being eliminated, together with everything they created.

The five riders reached a wide clearing containing a dozen or so stone-built houses and a colossal tree at its centre, spreading its branches as a natural shelter over the settlement. Raikan tried to work out how deep the tree’s root system must go to support the weight. The houses were grouped in the soft shade, each constructed like a small fortress but with playful decorative elements that stopped them looking like a giant’s discarded building bricks. The carved blocks were painted in various shades of green and decorated with swirling ornamentation. Vegetation on the walls ensured the buildings blended perfectly with the surroundings.

Tenkil was already concerned. “If you wanted to take this settlement you’d have to fight house to house.”

Raikan did not take the remark amiss. The warrior had long fought the enemies of Tabaîn; he always viewed any location from a strategic aspect rather than observing it with peaceful eyes.

There were elves, male and female, on the streets, smiling at the newcomers. Raikan reckoned there were at least forty of them walking around. He signalled to his escorts to stop. “I thought only a handful of elves had come to Girdlegard.”

“More than that.” Tenkil exhaled sharply. “Many more.”

“But they’ve no weapons.” Raikan smiled at his friend. “They won’t harm us.”

In the middle of the little settlement, at the root of the tree, stood a large house, a hundred paces square, with a curving roof a good fifty paces above their heads. Four long balconies, ten paces wide, were placed at intervals along the front.

The construction was mostly wood and the beams had been artfully carved; countless white lanterns decorated with red runes dangled in the light breeze. Two enormous black banners with glowing white designs hung all the way down to ground level where they framed a massive, bronze double door, inscribed with yet more runes.

“Elves are the fastest builders I’ve ever seen,” observed Tenkil, his tone implying that he did not believe things had been done in an honest and straightforward way.

That’s enough of that. Raikan was about to reprimand his friend when the door opened and an elf in wide, dark green robes emerged, carrying a tray with a carafe and five goblets. His short black hair was combed back severely, showing his slightly pointed ears; the dagger in the belt around his slim hips was as long as his forearm.

He approached the delegation with steady steps.

Raikan did not consider it fitting to accept the refreshment while still in the saddle, so he dismounted. Tenkil, Lilia, Ketrin and Irtan followed suit.

A slight breeze travelled through the trees, setting off the gentle sound of bells fastened in the branches, giving the occasion a ceremonial atmosphere.

The elf bowed his head and proffered the drinks. “Welcome, humans from Tabaîn. My master is delighted you have accepted his invitation.”

“We thank you.” The riders each took a goblet.

It was delicious from the first mouthful. The water tasted pure and more refreshing than anything the heir to the Tabaîn throne had ever drunk before. He could not place the faint aroma but it left a pleasant cooling after-effect in the throat.

When they had returned their empty goblets to the tray, the elf smiled at them. “Step this way, please. My master awaits.”

Raikan followed the elf, keeping an arm’s length or two behind. “Ketrin, you stay with the horses.”

The blonde girl nodded and gathered the leading reins in her hand.

Tenkil looked up. “Guards. Nine bowmen. They’re standing in the shadow of the second balustrade.”

Raikan would have been surprised if this had not been the case. “Let’s assume they’re there for our protection.”

So that meant yet more elves here in Ti Lesinteïl. Where are they all from?

Tenkil let out a coarse laugh. “Oh, yes. Like the spies hidden in the woods, the ones aiming at us as we passed?”

Raikan did not answer. He had not noticed the elf-soldiers in the woods. His friend’s remark ruined his cheerful mood.

They passed through the double doors into a large, bare hall that smelt of incense and flowers. On the walls there were symbols as well as stylised pictures of landscapes and birds. The colours shimmered as if liquefied metal had been used to varnish the images.

At the far end of the hall, an impressive figure of an elf with brown hair knelt back in an uncomfortable-looking posture on a platform with mats of plaited reeds. He wore an elegantly-cut robe of white fabric woven through with gold and silver threads. Rays of sunshine fell in from three directions from skylights, turning the elf into a figure of light. He kept his ringed hands open, resting on his thighs, as he directed his gaze to the visitors.

Raikan was surprised—he had only met Ilahín and his wife Fiëa, and thought that he was the king. But Ilahín was nowhere to be seen, nor was the sumptuous throne Raikan expected. The simplicity of the surroundings was as surprising as the unknown figure sitting in front of him. Who is this?

Their guide bowed and spoke in the elf tongue.

“Let us use human language,” the ruler interrupted in a sing-song voice, cutting the words sharply.

“It is impolite. Raikan might think we had something to hide.” The elf made an elegant gesture with his right hand, less inviting than commanding. Raikan nodded and moved to comply but Tenkil grabbed him by the arm.

“I’m not kneeling down for anybody,” he muttered; the emptiness of the room made his remark audible to all.

“The elf ruler is also kneeling.”

“He can do as he likes but I’ll only bend the knee when I’m dead. I’ve fought enough battles in my time not to—”

That’s enough. Raikan glared at him. “Then go outside and wait with the horses.”

Tenkil opened his mouth to object but saw sense. He turned on his heel and left the hall.

He’s been at war too long. Together with Lilia and Irtan, his remaining two companions, Raikan went over to the raised dais and knelt down at some distance from the elf, resting back on his heels in a similar posture. The ruler exuded an aura of power and self-assurance. The gaze from those bright grey-green eyes spoke of superiority.

There had not been much time for practising diplomacy in recent cycles and thus the young Tabaîner felt unsure of himself; he had no idea how he was supposed to conduct himself when faced with an elf ruler. There was nothing in the books. I’ll wait and see.

The bronze door closed with a metallic clang as loud as a gong. The sound reverberated and then bells started to tinkle through the fading echo. Nothing happened for quite some time. They sat opposite each other and waited.

Raikan was forced to suppress a yawn. Because of the incense and the harmonious tones of the bells he found the atmosphere in the room increasingly relaxing. Although sitting on my heels like this is getting less comfortable from heartbeat to heartbeat. He felt the tension leave his body.

That was apparently what his host had been waiting for.

“I am Ataimînas, regent of Ti Lesinteïl and Naishïon of all elves. As I see it, Tabaîn has sent me its coming monarch.” He placed his hand on his breast at heart level. “I am honoured.”

“The honour is mine.” Raikan felt flattered as he shifted uncomfortably; his feet and ankles were tingling. Before long this posture would make his legs go to sleep. “You have created a miracle here.”

Ataimînas gave a grateful smile. “Maga Coïra and our own humble gifts have worked together to ensure the horrors of the past are well and truly buried and forgotten.” He spread out his arms. “Let us speak of the future, young king. That is the only thing that matters now.”

Raikan agreed. “How can Tabaîn be of assistance?”

“By providing corn.” Ataimînas placed his hands in his lap, where the jewelled rings sparkled and shone. “The elf realms are in the process of re-forming and there has been little opportunity to pay attention to agriculture. During the course of the next ten cycles we intend to source the corn we need from the fields of Tabaîn. From what I hear, your harvests promise to be plentiful, as usual.”

This is going well. We’re heading for an alliance. Raikan could not help smiling. “We should be able to do without a few sacks of rye.”

“I speak of all the elf realms: Ti Âlandur, the Ti Singàlai you refer to as the Golden Plain, and Ti Lesinteïl. All in all we calculate our requirements to be eleven hundred twentners.” Raikan heard how Lilia next to him caught her breath in surprise.

“How many mouths do you need to feed, Regent Ataimînas?”

The elf seemed astonished at the question. “I thought the Children of Vraccas knew all about our immigration campaign? We have made no secret of it.”

“The dwarves send regular briefings to the Council of Kings, but the last meeting was half a cycle ago,” Raikan explained. “There has been a lot to do.”

“Of course. So you will learn that we have arrived from the south, the west and the east, responding to our Creator’s sign that the threats to our people are now over.” Ataimînas pointed to the door. “This is only one of our many settlements, King Raikan. We are re-forming our race and we shall not, in future, be cutting ourselves off from humans and dwarves as our ancestors were wont to do.” The elf straightened up, his robes brilliant in the light. “I know what reputation goes before us in Girdlegard and I fear it was justified. But in less than a human generation that reputation will have changed.” He pointed to Raikan. “Trade negotiations are the start. If you wish it.”

Of course I do. Raikan held back from confirming his willingness out loud. “But you still have not said how many elves have come.”

“Up to the present orbit it will be about ten thousand.” Ataimînas registered the surprise on his visitors’ faces and gave a friendly laugh. “You should see yourselves, young king. We are not here as conquerors. We are merely returning to the place where our Creator formed us. And for that we shall be needing more corn.”

The chance of a business deal and an alliance was extremely tempting. Raikan ought to be excited. However, he felt undeniable unease about the sheer numbers involved. That many elves in Girdlegard? It was as if Tenkil had left his suspicious attitude behind when he marched out of the hall. Annoying.

“We will provide extra seed corn for Tabaîn to plant,” Ataimînas went on. “It’s a particular sort of wheat, very high quality. You will guard the crops for us. For that we will pay you handsomely.” He gave a condescending smile. “I shall make you rich.”

He went on to specify these payments and the price for a twentner of corn.

Raikan did not even attempt to bargain with him. The amount of gold lay far beyond what he had expected.

Instead he replied, “I am pleased to be able to assist the elf realms.” After an agreement of this kind it should be easier to put forward his suggestion of an alliance.

“Let us not waste any time.” Ataimînas made a sign and a hitherto hidden door in the wooden panelling opened to admit two elves.

They brought parchment and quill; the contract had already been drawn up and only the mutually acceptable details on price and volume needed to be inserted before both parties signed.

Raikan was aware that he was overstepping his authority here, as his brother had not yet abdicated, but he felt this was an opportunity that shouldn’t be missed. Tabaîn’s future was at stake.

“Many thanks,” he said to the elf, as he was handed the completed agreement. “Might I use the occasion to …”

“Then that business is settled.” Ataimînas looked pleased. “Now let us talk about something else: land.”

The royal heir was taken by surprise. “I don’t understand. Did you want to purchase the fields for your own type of crop …?”

“The elf realm in which you and your friends currently find yourselves is to be merged with the other two. We are buying up the land that falls between the regions.” Reaching behind him, Ataimînas drew out a map and unrolled it. The new borders were already marked. “We wish to acquire the part of Tabaîn that lies to the north of Âlandur and goes up to the mountains. The land does not strictly lie between our realms but it would complete our territory to perfection.”

Raikan realised that the elf was not expecting any objections. This was inevitably going to cause problems. An alliance with the elf kingdom ceased to be a suitable proposition: instead of security, it would only bring dispute. It seemed to Raikan that he had made the whole journey in vain. “I expect you will put this idea to the Council of Kings? Queen Mallenia would be most affected by your plan.”

“That is so. I fear there will be petty objections. She has a relationship, of course, with the King of Urgon, which makes her a double monarch. This could mean there would be three votes against me.” Ataimînas looked Raikan up and down. “You will be taking my side, I hope.”

Now the young man understood why the grain price had been set so generously. “I will have to speak to my brother about this.” Raikan tried to avoid a direct answer. “This is a matter of far greater implication than the decision concerning grain supply.” Tenkil’s suspicions appeared to be well-founded. The next war was waiting in the wings, only one cycle after the liberation.

The elf’s smile was non-committal; gold and silver light was reflected on his handsome face. “Yes, do that, Raikan Fieldwood. I’m sure you will convince him. Who would not want to have the Naishïon as a friend?”

Raikan recalled that Ataimînas had used this term earlier in their talks. “Forgive my ignorance, but for the last two hundred and fifty cycles there was no contact between our peoples. This title means …?”

“It would translate in your language as ruler with unlimited powers.” The elf’s manner continued to be friendly. “Ruler over my own people, of course. Not over Girdlegard,” he added with a mischievous smile. “We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Of course not.” Raikan was glad that Tenkil was outside with the horses. His warrior would have launched immediately into an argument. There was a lot to consider on the journey home. An alliance would have to be thought about very carefully.

“Have you heard about the child they found in the Grey Mountains?” Raikan asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

“The young girl?” Ataimînas became tight-lipped; he stretched and leaned back slightly. “If you ask me, I’d say Belogar Strifehammer should have killed her. The dwarf and I are of one mind here. I fear, as does he, that the child will prove to be anything but a blessing for our shared homeland.”

He’ll have to explain what he means. Raikan was about to put forth another question when suddenly a loud shout was heard outside. A whoosh of arrows was followed by further shouts and the whinnying of terrified horses.

The man soon to be king of Tabaîn jumped to his feet, followed by Lilia and Irtan—but like him, they collapsed back onto the rush mats immediately. The circulation in their lower limbs had been badly affected by the unusual kneeling posture they had felt obliged to adopt. Sitting back on their heels like the elf meant that they had no feeling in their legs; they were essentially paralysed from the knees down. They lay there helpless: easy victims.

“Tenkil!” Raikan looked over to the closed door, then turned to face the elf ruler.

But Ataimînas was no longer there.

Girdlegard

United Kingdom of Gauragar-Idoslane

Freestone

6492nd solar cycle, early summer

How quickly things change,” Boïndil “Ireheart” Doubleblade of the clan of the Axe Swingers muttered into his splendid, carefully combed, black and silver beard.

Armoured, armed, and mounted on a black and white pony, he was riding into the little town of Freestone, where a cruel massacre had taken place less than two cycles previously. The älfar had taken a fancy to the bones of the local population and had driven the townspeople into the market square and killed them all. They had then used the bones they found suitable for their artworks.

The town had bled to death that day, but with the destruction of the black-eyes, the settlement had re-emerged as a source of life. The King of the Secondlings, and very recently also titled High King of all the Dwarf Tribes, proceeded slowly through the town’s busy streets.

It was mostly young people who had come to settle here in the deserted houses. The fields were being cultivated again and had the makings of a rich harvest; the orchards promised a wonderful crop of fruit. The town was flourishing after decades of terror and darkness.

Ireheart was meeting with the Council of Kings here in the town that had come to stand for the transformation of Girdlegard and the dawn of a new age. The elf Ilahín was also expected at the talks.

Half a cycle had passed since the last meeting and the ruler of all the Children of the Smith reckoned it was high time everyone got together and exchanged views. It was one thing sending messages, but nothing could replace a face-to-face discussion.

There were things that needed saying. Preferably over a tankard of black beer. He turned his pony off the road and through an entrance over which the banners of all the kingdoms fluttered. The name on the sign read proudly House of Heroes.

The sound of hooves clattering over the cobbles was magnified by the half-timbered walls of the inn yard.

Two human soldiers standing just inside the entrance noted the dwarf’s emblem and saluted with their spears. The one on the right yelled out the name of the new arrival to inform those within.

“Is that really necessary?” Ireheart grumbled. “Shouting right in my ear? Noiser here than on all the battlefields I’ve fought on. Enough to make a dwarf go deaf.” The soldier gave a shamefaced grin but did not dare respond.

The dwarf slid from the saddle in front of the barn, had a good stretch and patted the pony. “You’ve done me proud. But I still don’t like riding.”

Ireheart had decided not to come with a retinue. An experienced warrior like himself had no need of an escort; they just held you back. The journey from his kingdom in the Blue Mountains had been a long one but a single rider will always find fodder and stabling for the night as well as a good meal, black beer and a bed.

Ireheart tossed his black and silver plait back over his shoulder and reached for the crow’s beak hammer that was fastened to the saddle. At that moment, the inn door flew open.

Out came Rodario the Incomparable, Urgon’s king, new to the status of ruler. He was the descendant of the original and greatest actor in the land. He wore a dazzling white robe with brightly embroidered motifs and a black belt; draped round his shoulders hung a brown shawl with pictures of mountains stitched in green. His aristocratic features were enhanced by a short pointed beard and an audacious moustache and he wore his well-groomed brown hair in curls.

“O most glorious among the glorious,” he called out in an exaggerated manner, spreading his arms wide in welcome. “Behold, here he is, small of stature but with the heart of a giant …”

Ireheart looked him up and down. “What in the devil are you wearing?” He yanked the crow’s beak out of its fixture and shouldered it with a grin, the rings on his chainmail clinking as he did so. “A dressing gown?”

“This, you ignoramus, is the height of fashion in my country.” Rodario, king of Urgon and lover to both Mallenia and Coïra, twirled around theatrically, letting the skirts of the garment fly out. “It’s my own design.”

“Ho, has it slipped your mind? You’re not on the stage any more. You sit on a real throne and you’re supposed to be a ruler, not just play the part of one.” Ireheart stroked his beard. “And you’ve put on weight. They’ll have to make the throne wider.”

“There we have it, politeness personified in a dwarf.” Rodario put his hands on his hips and laughed. “What a fine exchange of pleasantries!”

“You called me small of stature, didn’t you? You were asking for it.” Ireheart went up to the one-time actor and held out his hand in greeting. “But I’m still glad to see you, King Rodario the First.”

As their fingers touched, the man inclined his head, free now of any teasing expression. “An honour to welcome you, my friend, High King Boïndil.”

Smiling at each other, they clasped hands warmly and then went inside together.

“When did you stop shaving the sides of your head? You look different.”

“There was never any time.” Ireheart did not indulge him. He’s an actor and he’ll always be one. I’m not here to chat about hairstyles.

The high-ceilinged hall had been decorated to host the coming meeting of the Kings’ Council and black-haired Ilahín stood waiting. He was wearing a garment like Rodario’s, but the white was less dazzling and without ornamental embroidery. Ireheart thought the elf looked much more dignified than Urgon’s king.

Armed guards wearing the colours of the various rulers stood in the corners of the room. They were equipped with short shields and short swords; their task, to work together to protect the lives of the monarchs.

The innkeeper and his servants had gone to a great deal of effort and had even hung floral garlands at the windows; the whole place smelled faintly of the sugar soap used to scrub the floor. Add to the mix the fragrance of roasting meat—food was being provided—and the atmosphere was welcoming.

Ilahín nodded to the newcomer. “Greetings, High King. It is good to see that you have arrived safely.”

Mallenia, in heavy armour as always, was already seated at the table studying news bulletins; she was concentrating so hard that she did not notice Ireheart come in. Rodario went over to interrupt her but the dwarf held him back. “Time enough for that. Let her finish reading.”

Ireheart was handed a pitcher made of carved tusk ivory. He raised the black beer in toast to the assembled heads of state, all without removing his crow’s beak from his shoulder. “To Vraccas and the Council of Kings. May the road home be less dusty.”

He emptied the tankard in one go and called for the next, which Rodario obviously noted.

“Now then, Actor; we’ve got one of your women sat over there. Where’s the other one?”

Mallenia’s blonde head jerked up from her papers, her eyes narrowing.

“Don’t make me think your mind has suffered from your many battles,” she said with a spiteful smile.

Ireheart swapped the empty mug for a full one. “Am I wrong?”

He gazed at Ilahín with innocent eyes. “Tell me I didn’t say anything wrong?” He pointed his tankard at Rodario, slopping a little foam over the top as he did so. “He won’t dare to. Her sword is bigger than his.”

The elf tried hard not to laugh.

Voices from the gate announced the arrival of Sangpûr’s Queen Astirma and of King Natenian of Tabaîn. From the sound of hooves it seemed both of them had come with large retinues.

“Wonderful! Let’s go and greet them.” Rodario was visibly relieved. He left the room.

What a little coward. Ireheart laughed into his beer. “So the only ones missing now are Coïra and Isikor from Rân Ribastur.”

Ilahín shook his head. “The maga won’t be coming. She’s sent me a sealed letter giving her point of view in her own words.”

“Aha,” said the dwarf and went over to his seat at table. The banner of the High King hanging from the balcony above made it obvious where he was intended to sit. Ireheart put his crow’s beak aside now and the heavy iron weapon with its curved prong crashed on to the floorboards. “So why’s she not coming?”

The elf took his seat next to Ireheart. “She wants to continue investigating whether there are other magic sources. She has discovered our own has failed.”

I