Spray from the waterfall moistened his suntanned skin. Sand skipped through the air, the granules sticking uncomfortably where the water had dampened him. This rare gust of wind ruffled the Dwarf's mane of hair and sent the golden curls dancing around his massive shoulders. There it was again - the bellow of Nurgor war-cries. Galar leaned further on the head of his axe, surveying the lay of the land with a myopic squint.

'Jevel,' the Dwarf cursed under his breath. He had forgotten his spectacles, yet again. His axe, on the other hand, he didn't even need to think about, strapped as it was to his back - unless it was in his chunky hands, like it was now.

Galar jumped to run and stopped on one foot, poised between darting back to his hut to retrieve his spectacles, and investigating at once. If battle were to come, it was always a compromise between looking fierce and seeing clearly. The decision was made in an instant as the momentum of his charge conquered considerable inertia. Then Galar was flying down the mountainside, bare feet flinging up sand like a camel. Short, quick strides carried the warrior through the desolate terrain that was a blur to either side of him.

Were they trees or Nurgor? Galar had lived here for years, and yet it was impossible to judge between vegetation and monsters without his glasses. The land had a mind of its own. And it liked to change its mind frequently. The Dwarf ignored the hazy blobs and kept his course, figuring that if they had been Nurgor, they would either be rushing him or fleeing by now.

The glaring sun suddenly faded for a moment, throwing the mountain range around him into gloom. Galar had just mounted the top of a hill, and it was at this moment that he found what he was looking for. No Nurgor were in sight, but their prey was. Out of breath by now, and cursing for the hundredth time the climate of the land he had made his home, Galar hurried to the stranger's side.

'Friend!' he called. 'S'alright, yer safe!'

As he approached, the figure became, in Galar's sight, with ever more certainty, a man. Was he dead?

After throwing a wary look around him, Galar stooped to look at the man. He was in a nasty state, battered and bloody however, miraculously all in one piece. Alive, but barely so. Although the fight had not taken place all that long ago, the man's wounds had already dried. That wasn't much of a surprise in this accursed heat.

A sigh escaped the man's lips. He tried to sit up, but collapsed under the strain and gasped in pain.

'Monsters,' he finally stammered.

'O'course,' Galar rumbled. 'What did yeh expect, butterflies?'

The Dwarf felt sorry for the man, but what had he expected? Anyone nosing around this part of Calaspia was asking for trouble. It was home to the worst of creatures, although thankfully it no longer supported certain predators. A ludicrous thought popped into Galar's mind, and he chuckled at the notion of the Ministry for Ecology or whatever the Numenii now called it, labelling the monsters here 'endangered species'. No, nobody was sad that these beasts were dying out. And no one regretted obliterating the monstrous Ostentum.

'Come on, let's get yeh outta here,' the Dwarf said gently to the whimpering man, 'before they return.' He would get to ask him who he was and what stroke of insanity had led him here later. But the man resisted Galar's powerful arms, shaking his head and muttering, as if to ward off a nightmare.

'Sun must've got to yeh head, but we'll have yeh sorted in no time. Here, this'll help.' Galar fumbled around in his beard until he found what he was looking for. Retrieving a crystal vial, Galar bent over his wounded charge and prepared to administer the liquid. Again a feeble protest ensued, and so instead the Dwarf cradled the man's head in one enormous hand and helped him to sit up. The man took several gulps of the scorched air. His eyelids fluttered as he fought to keep them open. He opened his mouth to speak and his cracked lips struggled to form the words. 'Not Nurgor,' he panted. 'Worse.'

Galar frowned. There wasn't much worse in existence, not in the Visible World at any rate. He looked uneasily around him.

'I can deal with whatever lives here,' he said.

'Os ... ten,' the man choked in a barely audible way. His voice shook. 'Ostentum.' Galar froze.

'Yeh must be mistaken.'

'No!' Suddenly the man was caught in a fit of jerks and his eyes rolled madly in their sockets. Galar gently slapped his patient's cheek and grabbed a different, bigger flask that was tied to his belt. He sat the man up once more as soon as the fit had subsided and supplied him with water. The man spluttered and coughed before returning to moaning. This time his voice was clearer.

'Leave me! It's too late ... save yourself!'

'Nah, it's you who needs the savin',' Galar asserted.

Before he could continue, the man grabbed his shoulder and hauled himself up. 'You don't understand! It's a trap! Begone, Dwarf!' Galar moved the handle of his axe to a readily accessible point. 'I am bait; why do you think they didn't kill me? Ostentum are at the Pinnacle of Insanity, and the Master knows you will foil his plans.'

'Who is this master?' Galar asked sharply.

The man tried to say something, but his body was wracked by another spasm, and he fell back into the dirt, foaming at the mouth.

Galar's wide features became a mask of worry. The man lifted his head, neck chords straining, and uttered a final syllable. 'Flee!'

All at once the air bristled with noise and movement.

'Yer comin' with me,' Galar said firmly. He was going to kneel and pick up his wounded companion before he realised how very close the enemy was. Instead he leapt to his feet, swinging the golden axe in a swishing arc around his head before charging the foe.

Nurgor, not Ostentum, he noted with relief, catching sight of horns and fur. The feeling was short-lived as he saw their numbers. Even he could not last long against such forces. He realised with sudden hope that this part of the countryside was, surprisingly, the same as it had been some days ago, when last he had visited. If he could only reach the other side of the pass before they did, all would be well ... he would be able to challenge them in close-combat one at a time, in which case he could easily hold his own.

Galar ran, wiping sweat from his brow and thinking as he did so that he should have brought his spectacles after all. Dismay slowed his approach when he saw that the Nurgor had beaten him to the narrow passage. Then he saw that they had him surrounded, too. A trap indeed.

The Dwarf wasted no time in getting down to business. He would probably be able to cut an escape route through the enemy for himself, but what of the man? Bellowing a cry of his own, Galar launched himself at the Nurgor. His advance was welcomed with a volley of stones and spears. Although he was unable to see sharply, his senses were keen. None of the missiles took him down, and the few stones that did find their target only angered him the more. Just in time he caught sight of another weapon hurtling towards him from a different direction and jumped aside. It was enough to avoid the javelin impaling him, but not enough to miss it altogether. Searing pain shot along the top of his right arm and shoulder where the sharp metal inflicted a glancing wound. But it did not stop him.

The monsters came into full focus just before he made contact. Anatomically they resembled men, but were taller and broader, with massive heads that jutted directly forward from their necks, giving them a stooping appearance. The first few of them wavered before the muscled man bearing down on them, but it was too late. Several deft swings and slices of the axe left just as many Nurgor dead on the ground. Galar turned to the right and met his next opponents, who fought boldly now that the Dwarf had run into their midst. He fought mightily and beautifully too. Whereas usually axes only chop and hack, Galar wielded his golden tool with fluidity and elegance despite its great wide head, swinging the grand weapon like an extension of his body. Its burnished surface glinted in the cruel sun, flashing with each savage stroke, gleaming despite the blood it drew.

Across the plain, the wounded man watched in amazement as the Nurgor melted before Galar's onslaught. Even several of them at a time were no match for him. The fearsome creatures fell before his blade like blades of grass to a scythe, a parody of battle.

But something wasn't quite right. Galar could feel his beloved axe growing heavy in his hands. His breath came in ragged bursts with every stroke of the weapon now; his legs were becoming leaden and slow compared to some minutes ago. The graze on his shoulder stung, bringing tears to his eyes. The Dwarf could feel his movements becoming sluggish and tired.

Suddenly Galar realised what must have happened. Poison! With a roar he cut down the nearest foe, before retreating to higher ground. He brought his shoulder to his mouth and desperately sucked at the wound. Along with the blood he drew into his mouth he thought he tasted something bitter. Galar spat in disgust and looked up in time to parry a downward blow. He kicked the beast in the stomach, briefly feeling coarse fur beneath his foot as it stumbled down the incline, and quickly removed throwing-axes from straps on his back. These had small heads, many times lighter than his golden axe, but with long handles. Before the Nurgor could get back to its feet, its skull was split with one swing of Galar's arm. The Dwarf's muscles knotted as he threw the other two axes at the nearest of his opponents, both of which hit the dust.

Sensing their victim's weakening power, the Nurgor surged up the rise in a triumphant assault. Galar struggled to fight off the first few blows before a heavy stave found its way through his defences and knocked him into darkness.



'Master, your humble servant reports: we have the Dwarf.'

It was a triumphant call, even if the figure who proclaimed this news looked in no condition to be happy. Though battered and bruised, he walked upright, without the least sign of pain, a grim smile twitching at the sides of his mouth. As the man drew nearer the hulking figure before him, the smile faded and he knelt humbly with outstretched arms.

'He heard the Ostentum have returned.' The voice was impossibly deep, and earthy, the very voice of the mountain, it appeared. It reverberated around the cavern, the bass vibrating inside the man's chest.

'Yes, Master.'

'Has he seen evidence?'

The man worded his response carefully, suppressing his confusion. Only the Master understood all aspects of the plan, even if they did seem self-contradictory to lesser beings. 'Not yet, Master.' 'Very well.'

The room was dark and damp, cave-like. In truth they were hundreds of feet above the ground. The figure looked out through a slit in the stone wall into blinding sunlight, although the room remained dark, as if the shadows here were resistant to being penetrated by the sun's rays. The Master turned to face him, and the man immediately hugged the ground.

The thundering voice spoke again. 'You have done well, Apostate. Arise.' Breathing a sigh of relief, the man, who looked so small, thin and pathetic in the shadow of his demonic master, stood. He quickly walked to a marble basin at the far end of the room and proceeded to wash. The Master did not move, but watched impassively as his servant cleaned off the signs of battle: grime, sand, blood and even the wounds themselves.

'We have been planning long enough,' the Master's voice boomed. 'Now it is time to unleash upon Calaspia what is overdue ... a lot has changed in fifty years. You know what you have to do.' 'It will be arranged, Lord, even as you have commanded. The Dwarf will see what he is meant to see; nothing less, and nothing more. He will not undo our plan this time.'

'See to it.'

The colossal warrior turned again to stare out of the slit in the rock. He might have been a statue. The servant, understanding the conversation was over, bowed to the floor and hurried out of the room. If he failed his Master in this, he would wish he had indeed been killed by Nurgor. Or, for that matter, the Dwarf.

© 2006 Suresh and Jyoti Guptara