The Revenge of the Dwarves Read Online Free

clear that with their help he would be able to crown himself ruler of all Girdlegard. But for that he needed power over the tribe.
    His plan was simple and effective: he would kill Flagur when he got the chance and then he would proclaim himself ruler, according to the custom of the orcs. No one would doubt his superiority ever again, if he were able to kill this giant of an orc. “Illustrious One, do I get your warriors or not?” he asked, adding emphasis to his words.
    Flagur, who had by now managed to stop laughing, fell into hysterics again and collapsed onto the rugs and cushions.
    That was what Gronsha was waiting for. He hurled himself forward, reaching for his dagger, aiming the blade directly at the prince’s heart.
    Still laughing, Flagur grabbed his sword from behind and slashed at the attacker.
    It was a brutal blow. Not only was Gronsha thrown off his stroke, but the short sword sliced through his armor and the flesh beneath; streams of his dark green blood were spilling fast and he tipped forward onto the couch where Flagur lay.
    “I knew he would try that,” grinned the prince, wiping his blade on the dead orc’s clothing. “It’s a classic move for them. Violence. That’s all they know how to do.”
    To make sure, Kamdra stabbed Gronsha in the back with her lance, inserting the barbed tip and using it to haul the corpse off to the door. “Your Noble Lordship was brilliant, as ever,” she said, bowing to him.
    But Gronsha was not dead in the least. He used his dagger to slash away behind him, severing the shaft of the lance; he jumped up. The gaping wound in his chest had closed up, with the Blood of the Perished Lands effective as always.
    He hurled the dagger at Kamdra and hit her in the left shoulder. Three swift paces brought him face to face with Flagur. He pulled one of the swords out of the weapons stand and brandished it. The prince used his short sword to hit at him and Gronsha stood firm to demonstrate his limitless superiority, taking the blow on his left forearm.
    The wound was deep and painful, but it healed over in front of Flagur’s very eyes.
    “Look what I can do!” Grunting he turned to Kamdra. “Pull my dagger out of your shoulder and see if you can do the same thing.”
    But Flagur, rolling back over his shoulder away from the carpets, selected a spiked mace from the stand, wieldingthis in one hand and the short sword in the other. “It has a little secret,” he grunted with delight, his pink eyes shining. “You’re not immortal, are you?”
    “Yes,” squeaked Gronsha in his excitement, his voice too high and too loud. One stroke, another, and he would be leader of all the orcs. “Unlike you!”
    His opponent grinned like a wild animal. “Let us find out.”
    He attacked Flagur, who swerved out of the way and had the mace raised in his hand to strike at Gronsha’s back. Expecting the move, Gronsha dived underneath the whirling flail and rammed his sword up to the hilt deep into his enemy’s belly. “Die!” he rejoiced. “I am the new ruler.”
    His joy died abruptly as Flagur dropped the sword and grasped Gronsha’s throat in both hands, lifting him bodily into the air, right up to the roof of the tent, at full stretch. The sword in his belly didn’t worry him at all.
    Gronsha kicked the hilt of the sword. His foe should have been screaming with pain, but he gave not a murmur.
    “Let us talk, Noble One,” Gronsha gasped, terrified for his life. He didn’t attempt to struggle his way out of the vice-like grip. He groped for the leather flask he carried at his belt. “There, in there. That’s my secret. The Black Immortality.”
    The fingers pressed harder still and he could feel the vertebrae grating in protest.
    Gronsha threw the flask onto the floor. “Take it, by the dark forces of Tion, take it! Take it but let me live,” he whispered. “I want…” His voice failed him; he could get no breath.
    Suddenly his neck broke under the enormous pressure. The