The Dwarves

IX

Kingdom of Gauragar, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle It had been a long time, perhaps thousands of cycles, since Girdlegard had last seen a band of travelers as strange as the company that had been toiling through Ionandar and Gauragar for several orbits.

First to appear over the hilltop was Djerun, his formidable armored body provoking horrified panic among any peasants who happened to be tending the land.

The dwarves led the way, but their stocky figures took longer to loom into view. Boлndal and Boпndil walked ahead, with Tungdil in the middle and Andфkai and the giant a few paces behind. Djerun was forced to take miniature strides in order not to outpace his mistress and the dwarves. The maga had offered a farmer a ridiculous number of gold coins to part with his horse, which now bore the weight of her bags and the giant's spare weaponry.

Tungdil was still trying to work out whether to tell Andфkai about the books. He had no idea what was written in the scholarly tomes, but it was encouraging to know that Nфd'onn feared their contents as much as the artifacts. Who knows if I can stop him, hut Andфkai surely can. She's the last of Girdlegard's magi. He was determined to do whatever it took to make her stay. Slowing his pace a little, he fell in beside her. "I've been thinking about your magic and I can't figure out why it still works. Didn't Nфd'onn corrupt the force fields?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It's important?"

"For you or for me?"

"For Girdlegard."

"For Girdlegard! Very well, Tungdil, how could I refuse?" She smiled balefully. "I was never as kind-spirited as my fellow magi. My god is Samusin, god of equilibrium, who cherishes darkness as well as light. Thanks to him I have the ability to use both. It's harder for me to store and use dark magic, but the corruption of the force fields hasn't really affected my powers. Nфd'onn knows that, but he wasn't expecting me to survive. Not that he's got anything to worry about-my art is nothing compared to his." Shielding her eyes with her hand, she squinted into the distance. "There should be a forest ahead. I can't stand this sun much longer."

You've got to ask her now, Tungdil told himself. He summoned all his courage. "Maga, suppose there was a way of stopping the traitor. Would you try it?" he asked.

There was silence. Just as the tension was becoming unbearable, Andфkai spoke. "Would this have something to do with the contents of your bags, little man?"

"We found something in Greenglade," he told her, giving a brief account of what had happened in the woods. "Nфd'onn sent in the дlfar, but we got there first."

"Are you going to show me?"

Tungdil thought for a moment and decided that there was no point leaving the matter half-solved. He slid the package out of his knapsack, removed the wrapping, and handed over the books.

Andфkai opened each of the tomes in turn and leafed through the pages, her face remaining an inscrutable mask.

Tungdil couldn't help feeling disappointed: He had reckoned with her amazement. Seeing her dispassionate expression made him fear the worst.

At length she returned the volumes. "Was there anything with them?"

"What are they about?" he asked, deciding not to give away anything until he'd found out more.

"They're anthologies: descriptions of legendary beings and mythical weapons, and an obscure tale about an expedition across the Stone Gateway into the Outer Lands. It says in the preface that a single survivor returned, mortally wounded but bearing manuscripts that are reproduced in the book. Why Nфd'onn should take an interest in the volumes is a mystery. I suppose he's just as knowledge-lusty as before."

"What else do they say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Nфd'onn wouldn't have sacked Greenglade for nothing! He had us chased by a war band of orcs just to get his hands on the books!" He glared at the maga defiantly. "With respect, maga, I think you're wrong. There's something important in those volumes, even if you can't see it."

"Are you daring to…?" The mistress of Brandфkai stopped and erupted into laughter. "Did you hear that, Djerun? Here I am, traipsing along a dusty road, being corrected by a dwarf who thinks he knows best!"

The giant kept walking, impassive as ever.

"I didn't mean to cause offense," said Tungdil, "but at least I'm not as arrogant and sure of myself as you are. I shouldn't wonder if there's elfish blood in your veins!"

"Fighting talk, little dwarf!" she said in amusement. She nodded in the direction of the twins. "The other two would have drawn their weapons and settled the matter another way, but you learned from Lot-Ionan, I can tell." Suddenly she was serious again. "I'll take a proper look at the volumes tonight. Maybe you're right and there's more to them than I thought."

"Thank you, Estimable Maga." The dwarf inclined his head respectfully and quickened his pace to catch up with the twins. "We'll soon find out what the magus wanted with our books," he announced proudly.

"What? You didn't tell the wizard-woman about them, did you?" gasped a horrified Boпndil. "Not only that; I showed them to her."

The secondling shook his head reprovingly. "You're too trusting, scholar. It's time you became a proper dwarf and stopped acting like a human."

"I see. So you'd like me to splice her skull if she disagrees with me, would you?" said Tungdil, his temper beginning to fray.

"I'd like to see you dare," Boпndil retorted with venom.

Boлndal quickly squeezed between them. "Stop it!" he said firmly. "Spare your fury for the orcs; I doubt we've seen the last of them. For what it's worth, I think Tungdil was right to tell the maga. I don't like being hounded because of a couple of books I know nothing about."

His brother just grunted and surged on.

"I never said traveling with us would be easy," Boлndal said with a grin.

Tungdil sighed, then burst out laughing.

Dusk was falling when they set up camp. The air had cooled and there was a smell of earth and grass. A band of crickets was chirping its evening concert.

The dwarves divided up their dwindling provisions-the sight of the Blue Range's summits in the distance reassured them that they would soon be feasting on fresh dwarven treats. Meanwhile, Andфkai kept her word and studied the books.

Not wanting to distract her, Tungdil allowed the maga to read in peace, approaching only to bring Djerun his supper. Like every other evening, he placed a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a large slab of meat beside the warrior.

This time he was determined to keep an eye on the giant while he ate; so far neither Tungdil nor the twins had seen behind the metal visor.

"Djerun will sit the first watch," said Andфkai without looking up from her reading. "The rest of you can get some sleep."

"Suits me fine," said Boпndil, then burped. He shook the worst of the crumbs from his beard, coiled his plait into a pillow, and settled down next to the fire. "Listen, long-un," he told the giant, who was sitting motionless as usual, "don't forget to wake me if you see any orcs. It's about time they had a taste of my axes."

The twins seized the chance to get some sleep, and in no time loud snores were reverberating through the woods, setting the leaves aquiver.

Andфkai slammed down her book. "Now I know why they always take the first watch," she said irritably. "It's a wonder their snores never woke me. How am I supposed to concentrate when they're making such a din?"

Tungdil chuckled. "Imagine what it sounds like in Ogre's Death."

"I don't intend staying long enough to find out."

Tungdil looked at her rippling muscles as she stretched. She was impressively strong for a woman-stronger even than the scullery maids who were used to hard labor.

"Have you found anything new in the…" Tungdil checked himself. He had resolved not to ask her about the books.

Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on her hands and turned her blue eyes on him. "You think I'll change my mind if the books tell us how Nфd'onn can be defeated."

"Samusin is the god of equilibrium; surely it's your duty to strive for a balance between darkness and light," he said, appealing to her faith since honor alone was not enough to persuade her. Her decision to abandon her realm was proof enough of that.

Andфkai laid a hand on one of the leather-bound volumes. "If I could find a spell or a charm that would cause Nфd'onn's downfall, I would take the traitor on," she said earnestly, "but the books contain nothing of the kind-just far-fetched stories and myths."

"So you're turning your back on Girdlegard?"

"My art is useless against Nфd'onn's power. I was lucky to escape." She flicked through the book, opening it at random. "Maybe there is some kind of hidden meaning. All I know is that I don't have the key."

Tungdil decided to come clean. He produced the letter that Gorйn had written in scholarly script. "This was with the books. I suppose it might help."

"Is there anything else you're not telling me, or is this the last of your secrets?"

"It's the last, I swear."

Andфkai accepted the sheet of parchment, folded it, and placed it between the pages of one of the books. She rubbed her eyes. "The darkness is hardly conducive to study. I'll read it tomorrow." She returned the volumes to their wax paper wrapping, arranged the parcel as a pillow, and nestled her head on top.

"Tomorrow?" Tungdil had been expecting her to read the letter at once. He sighed; the maga was a troublesome person to deal with. He settled down next to the fire and glanced at Djerun.

The giant was still wearing his helmet, but the food was gone. Tungdil cursed: Talking to Andфkai had distracted him from looking at Djerun's visor, although, now that he thought about it, he hadn't been alerted by a telling clunk of metal. There was something unnerving about the maga's companion. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle Balendilнn barely had a moment to himself. On reaching his chamber, he discovered that two dwarves from the fourthling delegation had requested to see him.

Not a moment too soon. It's about time Gandogar put a stop to this foolishness. He turned round and hurried to the meadows, where the delegates were expecting him.

The high king's counselor was feeling remarkably upbeat. For weeks he had poured most of his energy into rebutting the rumors about Gundrabur's failing health, and rightly so: The high king had a strong heart and an even stronger will, which he employed in persuading the assembly to await the arrival of the other pretender to the throne. Such was his success that there was talk of strengthening the bonds among the folks in more permanent ways.

It's going almost too well, thought Balendilнn, gripped by a sudden apprehension. He stepped out of the passageway and onto a bridge across a chasm fifty paces wide. Deep in thought, he made his way over the disused copper mines two hundred paces below.

It bothered him that Bislipur never seemed to tire of rekindling the passions of those who favored a war against the elves. He and Gundrabur would have achieved much more if it hadn't been for the fourthling's inflammatory speeches. He's a rabble-rouser. You can guarantee his influence is at the heart of Gandogar's misplaced zeal.

Just then he noticed a movement in the mouth of the tunnel ahead. Bislipur was on the bridge in front of him, his left hand resting lightly on his ax. For a moment Balendilнn wondered whether the fourthling could have heard his thoughts through the thick stone walls. There was something threatening about his demeanor. Balendilнn stopped and waited. "Were you looking for me?"

"Do you know what they're calling it?" Bislipur shouted, his voice echoing against the rock. "The quarrel of the cripples: one-armed Balendilнn against Bislipur the lame. Is that how you see it?"

Balendilнn paused, hoping to hear sounds of other dwarves, but the tunnels were deserted. He and Bislipur were alone. "Quarrel is too strong a word," he answered. "You have your convictions, I have mine, and we're both trying to persuade the assembly of our views." He took a step forward, then another one. Bislipur did the same. "What is it that you want?"

"To serve the dwarves," Bislipur said, grim-faced.

"What is it you want from me?"

"A change of heart. How can I persuade you that the future of the folks and clans lies with Gandogar and me?"

"If you persist in campaigning for a war against the elves, I will never be able to support your king," Balendilнn said frankly. He stood his ground and Bislipur stopped too. Fifteen paces remained between them.

"Then a quarrel it is," Bislipur told him harshly. "Until Gandogar has been elected, I shall regard you as an enemy and a danger to the prosperity and safety of our race. The others will come round to my view." He walked toward Balendilнn, who was advancing along the bridge. Only an arm's length separated the two dwarves. "It's about time the high king was spared your counsel so he can come to his senses at last."

By now they were so close that their noses were almost touching.

"To his senses? That's rich, from you." Balendilнn stared at Bislipur and saw implacable hatred and enmity in his eyes. "Let me tell you this," he said, trying not to betray his fear, even though Bislipur undoubtedly intended to harm him. "Your war against Вlandur will never happen. Even the fourthling chieftains are having second thoughts."

"The throne is ours. You're no match for Gandogar and me." The words were spat violently, Bislipur's pent-up fury ready to erupt at any moment.

"I didn't realize you were bidding for a joint succession."

Neither flinched as they glared at each other, eyes locked in combat. All of a sudden Bislipur's air of menace fell away.

"Well, good luck with your lost cause," he said breezily. "May Vraccas be with you." He stepped past Balendilнn and continued along the bridge.

The high king's counselor closed his eyes and swallowed. Having resigned himself to a duel, he could scarcely believe that he was going to make it across the chasm without a fight. Bislipur's whistling reverberated through the tunnel, the simple melody repeating itself and overlapping as he strode away.

It was a relief to leave the bridge and feel solid ground beneath his feet. At least I know be means business, thought Balendilнn philosophically. He pressed on, anxious not to keep the fourthling delegates waiting.

He was just approaching a bend in the passageway when the floor seemed to shake. The movement was so slight that a human would never have detected it, but the dwarves had learned to take notice of the faintest vibrations in the rock. Something heavy was heading his way.

The next instant, he heard agitated mooing and thundering hooves. From what he could gather, a herd had been startled on its return from the meadows.

Balendilнn scanned his surroundings, searching in vain for a niche that would save him from the cattle's charge. There was no choice but to regain the bridge, climb over the parapet, and balance on the narrow ledge.

He turned and sped back along the passageway, spurred on by the sound of horns scraping against the polished walls. Panting heavily, he reached the end of the tunnel and the bridge came into view; the animals were right behind him.

Without hesitating, he swung himself over the side and steadied himself on the ledge. The momentum nearly carried him into the abyss, but the daring maneuver paid off and the cows streamed past behind him.

Vraccas be praised!

There was a jolt and the bridge cracked audibly. He could see the first fissures running through the rock.

It was only then that it occurred to him that the bridge was not designed to bear the weight of stampeding cows. It had been built for dwarves, not cattle. The herd exceeded its strength by a matter of tons and the rhythmic pounding of their hooves had a devastating effect.

The first crack opened at the midpoint of the bridge where the stone was at its thinnest. The struts beneath it snapped, heralding the next stage in the disaster.

A section of stone measuring four paces in length gave way, sending a number of cows plummeting into the abyss. From there the destruction spread along the bridge. Slab by slab the stone fell away, cows tumbling to their deaths, their moos becoming fainter and fainter. At the back of his mind Balendilнn was aware that there was still no sign that they had hit the bottom.

His position was precarious in the extreme. With the bridge crumbling before his eyes, he was faced with a choice of dying among the cows or casting himself voluntarily into the abyss.

At last the herd stopped surging and the dwarf summoned the courage to leap into their midst. Barely had his feet touched the ground when the stone gave way beneath him. Grabbing wildly at the edge, he managed to catch hold of a jagged overhang and clung on for dear life.

An able-bodied dwarf would have hauled himself to safety easily, but Balendilнn, dangling by his only arm, had no means of saving himself and no prospect of being rescued. He knew it was merely a matter of time before his muscles gave out.

"Is anyone there? Help!" he shouted, straining his voice to alert his kinsmen to his plight. With any luck, someone would be on their way to retrieve the wayward herd. "Over here!"

The cows were calmer now and answered his cries with gentle, mindless moos. Two of the animals ventured to the edge and, sniffing at his hand, licked it heartily. Their saliva collected in a pool, making his position more dangerous than before.

It seemed to Balendilнn that three grown orcs could not weigh more than he did. His arm was getting longer, while his voice grew hoarse.

Suddenly the herd parted as someone barged through their midst.

"Over here," he called, relieved that help had arrived before he lost his grip. "I'm falling!"

Dust showered over him, coating his hair and his beard, and he found himself looking into the green face of a gnome whose sizable nose was tipped with a wart of impressive dimensions. The creature's round eyes stared at him greedily and its clawlike fingers slithered down his arm.

"Nearly done." Sverd leaned over the edge and fumbled with Balendilнn's belt. "Just one moment," he told the unfortunate dwarf.

A clasp clicked open and Sverd straightened up, a look of satisfaction on his face. He brandished Balendilнn's purse and the jewel-encrusted belt. "Much indebted to you, I'm sure! You can let go now." Chuckling maliciously, he beat his retreat.

"You can't just leave me!" Balendilнn shouted, aghast. "Come back!" It was too late: His fingers slipped and in spite of his frantic efforts, he failed to get a purchase on the saliva-covered overhang. He steeled himself for the long slide into darkness.

At that moment, an ax sped toward him, the short metal spur catching in the rings of his mail shirt. Balendilнn was reeled in like an anchor on a chain.

Breathing heavily, he lay on the floor beside his rescuer, who was panting from the strain.

"Gandogar!" Balendilнn could not conceal his astonishment at being saved from his fate by the fourthling king.

"You and I may not always agree with each other, but we're hardly enemies," said the monarch, smiling wryly. "First and foremost, we're dwarves, children of the Smith. Our enemies are Tion's minions, not the other clans or folks. That's how I see it, in spite of our differences." He straightened up and helped the royal counselor to his feet. "What happened?"

Balendilнn seized his hand thankfully. Gandogar had spoken from the heart and his heroic intervention was evidence enough of his sincerity. "Something must have startled the cattle," he said.

He didn't elaborate further. He wasn't prepared to blame Bislipur and Sverd for engineering the "accident" until he had firm proof. The gnome's appearance on the scene had convinced him that Bislipur was behind his attempted murder; Sverd always acted on his master's command.

"I owe you my life," he said earnestly. "It doesn't mean I think you're right about the elves, but I'm deeply indebted to you all the same."

"Spoken like a true dwarf," the king said warmly. "Besides, I didn't do anything that you wouldn't have done for me."

"Oh really?" Balendilнn paused and smiled. "I'm not sure I would have helped."

Gandogar looked at him, shocked. "I…"

"How could I have rescued you with only one hand?" Balendilнn burst out laughing and, after a short silence, Gandogar joined in. It saddened the counselor that the fourthling monarch was so determined to go to war; he had a feeling that Gandogar would make an excellent king.

Later, when Balendilнn regained his chamber, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the whole episode had been a trap. The delegates who supposedly wanted to see him were an invention.

At least his purse and his buckle had been deposited by his door. The gnome must have thought better of harboring evidence of his despicable crime. Balendilнn replaced the purse, fastened his belt, and vowed not to give his would-be murderers another chance. Kingdom of Sangpыr, Girdlegard, Early Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle Autumn left the travelers in no doubt that it was a force to be reckoned with, particularly at night. Even though they were deep in the south of Girdlegard, having crossed the border into Queen Umilante's realm, there was little warmth to be found in the desert, only a constant barrage of tiny grains of sand.

No sooner had darkness drawn in and the sun sunk below the horizon than the air took on a nasty chill. Andфkai wasted no time in lighting a blazing fire, in spite of the twins' disapproval. To Boлndal's mind, the comfort it provided was outweighed by the risk of attracting orcs and other riffraff; it seemed foolish to court danger when they had come so far and were almost at their goal. Somewhat begrudgingly, Boпndil agreed with him. But the maga ignored them anyway and persisted in tossing logs into the flames.

They were only eight or so orbits from Ogre's Death when they came to a village among the dunes. The settlement was situated next to a tranquil lake, which made it a popular and flourishing trading post. Tungdil and the others decided to grant themselves the luxury of a night's shelter.

For merchants returning home from the secondling kingdom, the village was a last oasis before the long journey through Sangpыr, where nothing awaited them but desolate wasteland and the occasional brigand.

"It's safe here," Boлndal assured them. "The traders like dwarves because they know we offer decent, solid wares that fetch good prices when they sell them in other towns."

The party still attracted considerable attention, but only, as Tungdil realized, because they were accompanied by a walking tionium tower. Children crowded round them, marveling at Djerun, who bore the fuss with equanimity. The giant was accustomed to causing a stir.

Visitors to the settlement were accommodated in tents by the lake. Depending on the needs of each party, the canvas and wood constructions could be expanded or reduced in size, with the option of adding an extra floor to create a two-story dwelling not dissimilar to a house.

Djerun was too tall for a standard model, so they opted for a two-story tent and removed the upper floorboards. The wind was freshening, so they retreated under the canvas, lit a fire in the corner, and got the kettle boiling.

"Just think," Tungdil said excitedly, sipping his steaming mug of tea, "I'm about to meet my folk. I can hardly wait!"

"I'm not surprised," Boлndal agreed, smiling at him warmly. "And the others will be pleased to meet you too. The delegates will be dying of impatience."

"Ugh!" his brother interrupted. "Why would anyone drink this stuff? I'm off to find some beer. There aren't any sensible buildings in this village, but they're bound to sell something that tastes better than tea!" He got up and left.

"So tell me, Tungdil," said Andфkai, who had been poring over the books, "what makes you special enough to merit a royal escort?" Gorйn's letter rested on her knee. It was the first time she had taken any interest in why the twins had been sent to find Tungdil.

He hesitated. "What does it matter?" he said disdainfully. "The Estimable Maga is abandoning Girdlegard. I don't see why she needs to know."

Andфkai broke off her study, taken aback by Tungdil's harsh tone. "Dear me, I've incurred your eternal displeasure, have 1? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you're wasting your breath it you think you can stop me by appealing to my conscience."

Boлndal glanced at Tungdil, eyebrows raised.

As far as Tungdil was concerned, the maga had no right to give up on her homeland so easily. She wasn't the only one who stood to lose by staying in Girdlegard. In spite of his excitement at being reunited with his folk, he knew that his chances of survival were slim, unless of course there was something in the books that could help them vanquish Nфd'onn. But unlike the maga, he was determined to fight beside his kinsmen to the end.

Rain pattered against the canvas. Fat droplets left meandering tracks on the outside of the tent and pitted the dusty ground. Autumn showers were nothing unusual in Sangpыr's deserts. In most other places, the wet and dry weather would have been ideal for agriculture, but the soil was impossibly barren in these parts. Trees and plants rarely took root and were tended jealously by their owners.

Just then the tent flap swung open and a cloaked intruder appeared in their midst.

Like a statue conjured to life, Djerun leaped into action. His left gauntlet closed around his two-hander; then he raised the sword with both hands, dropped into a half crouch, lunged forward, and brought the blade whistling toward the stranger's throat.

"Stop!" the maga commanded. Djerun froze.

"Forgive me," stammered the man. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was told to deliver this." Hands trembling, he deposited the keg of beer and fled, worried that the giant would change his mind and cut him down regardless.

"Good work," Boлndal said admiringly. "I wouldn't have thought it possible that a man could move so fast wearing all that armor."

Djerun returned to his former position, cross-legged on the floor. Boлndal's comment failed to elicit a response from the giant or his mistress.

The secondling persevered. "The warrior is your business," he told Andфkai, "but our sentries won't let him cross the High Pass unless he's prepared to show his face and declare his lineage."

"What kind of foolishness is this?" the maga said irritably, weary of the constant interruptions. "We'll be leaving Girdlegard! What does it matter what he looks like or where he comes from? You'd be well advised to focus on your defenses, instead of interfering in the business of travelers who can't wait to leave your land."

"Whether you're coming or going is of no concern to us," Boлndal said emphatically. "No beast of Tion will set foot on our pass."

"Hang on," Tungdil told him, "he's just an elongated-"

Boлndal didn't let him finish. "I played along to keep the peace, but we're almost home now." He looked at Andфkai grimly. "When we reach the Blue Range, the giant will be bound by the same laws as everyone else. You're welcome to seek your own route through the mountains, but you won't be crossing our kingdom if you're hiding something dangerous behind that mask."

"I'll take my chances," said the maga, returning to her book.

"Your chances!" exploded Boлndal. "Do you mean we've been traveling all this way with a creature of darkness?"

"That's not what I said. Besides, I don't recall there being anything in the creed of Samusin to forbid it."

"Samusin? I won't have any truck with him." The dwarf's face hardened and he rose to his feet, the long shaft of his crow's beak clasped in one hand. "Tell me what's behind the visor."

"That does it!" Andфkai closed her book with a snap. "Nфd'onn himself could be hiding inside that armor and I wouldn't tell you! Djerun is with me." If anyone had been wondering how Andфkai the Tempestuous had earned her name, the matter was now resolved. "Who cares if he's an ogre or a dark spirit or Tion knows what? He's the perfect traveling companion and he doesn't stink like a pig-which is more than can be said for you and your brother!" Her blue eyes glinted menacingly as she swept the long blond hair from her face. "He'll raise his visor when he's good and ready, and if you don't like it, too bad!" She pointed toward the main village. "Did you notice the bathhouse on your way in? I recommend you pay it a visit. It's a wonder the birds don't die of asphyxiation when you're around."

She fixed him with an icy stare and opened the second volume with a thud.

The silence that followed was broken by the sound of someone running toward the tent. The next moment, Boпndil burst through the door.

"Pointy-ears!" he spluttered. "Pointy-ears from Вlandur! The trader said they-" He noticed the keg of beer abandoned forlornly on the floor. "I thought you'd be thirsty!" he said, shaking his head in surprise. He pierced the lid with his ax, filled his tankard, emptied it in a single draft, and burped. "Not bad," he pronounced, helping himself to more.

"You were saying?" Andфkai reminded him sharply, diverting his attention away from the beer.

"Er, elves!" Boпndil sat down on a leather stool. "I bought the keg from a trader who told me what's been happening in Вlandur. He thought we'd be drinking to the ruin of the elves. From what he said, their kingdom is all but done for. He reckoned they were scouting Girdlegard for new places to live."

"In Sangpыr?" the maga said incredulously. "Why come this far south when there's nothing but sand, dust, and stone? It doesn't make sense. What would an elf want with a treeless desert?"

Tungdil glanced at Boлndal, who was clearly thinking on similar lines.

It took another sip of beer before his brother caught on. "Are you saying they're дlfar?" he ventured finally. Ideas invariably took longer to penetrate Boпndil's mind.

"Nфd'onn wants the books," Tungdil explained patiently. "A motley company like us doesn't go unnoticed. They must have followed us here and waited until nightfall to enter the settlement. As soon as it's dark, you can't see their eyes and there's no way of telling they're not elves."

"In which case, they could be either," Boлndal pointed out. "I say we post a watch. If they're дlfar, they'll be after us. Why else would they be staying in the village, if not to steal the books? From now on, none of us leaves the tent, no matter what. We'll let them come to us."

"Nonsense, we'll go after them!" Boпndil said fiercely. "If they're дlfar, we'll kill them, and if they're elves… we'll kill them too! The pointy-ears deserve to die." It had been a while since he'd last used his axes.

Andфkai listened, then signaled to Djerun and settled down to sleep.

"No, brother," ruled Boлndal, "we'll leave them in peace. The whole village could turn against us if we start a fight. We're not in our own kingdom yet, remember. Cool your temper. I'll take the first watch."

Tungdil yawned and finished his tankard of beer before lying down on a pile of rugs. His fingers clutched the haft of his ax, making him feel a little less exposed. He wasn't sure what to think, but in some ways he was hoping that the дlfar would attack. At least that would persuade Andфkai of the importance of the books.

Tungdil was just dozing off when a shouted warning woke the desert oasis. The dwarves, were on their feet in a flash, weapons at the ready. Andфkai had drawn her sword and was monitoring the tent flap and the walls.

Ax raised and shield held in front of him, Djerun knelt by the entrance, blocking it like a wall. His helmet glinted, the demonic visor coming alive in the dying firelight. For a fraction of a heartbeat, Tungdil thought he glimpsed a purple glow behind the eyeholes.

Boлndal damped the flames lest their shadows be seen through the canvas. The three dwarves stood back-to-back, the maga beside them.

For a few moments it was quiet; then agonized screams rent the air. Now sounds could be heard from the other tents as people emerged from their flimsy shelters, their voices mingling in a clamor of questions as each tried to establish the cause of the noise. Willowy silhouettes and strange shadows flitted across the canvas walls, while all around there was a clunking of metal as shields knocked against tent poles, armor was donned, and weapons were unsheathed. Roused abruptly from its slumber, the village among the dunes was preparing to fight.

"What's going on?" asked Tungdil in a whisper. "Do you think it's a trap?"

Just then a human voice cried out in terror, "Orcs!" Swords met in a ringing din. The battle had commenced.

The beasts stopped skulking through the settlement and abandoned all pretense at stealth. Listening to their grunts and snarls, Tungdil was reminded of Goodwater, of Ionandar, of those who had died…

He was torn between staying in the tent and running to the aid of the people outside. His instinct was to help, but for all he knew, the дlfar were out there, waiting for him and his companions to emerge.

"What do we do?" he asked the battle-hardened twins.

"We wait," came Boлndal's strained reply. He tightened his grip on his crow's beak.

The clash of swords was getting louder and more violent, mingled with the screams of dying men. Sounds of fighting echoed from every corner of the village. The orcs had evidently surrounded the settlement and were attacking from all sides simultaneously, making it impossible for anyone to escape.

As the fighting raged around them, Tungdil and the others followed the progress of the battle on the walls of their tent, men and orcs locked in combat like figures in a shadow theater.

Boпndil held a whispered conference with his brother. At last a decision was reached. "We need to get out of here," he announced. "The runts will sack the settlement and we can't risk Tungdil getting-"

An orc burst through the tent flap, grunting and waving his sword. He ran full tilt into the expanse of unforgiving metal that was Djerun's shield.

Nose gushing with blood, he staggered groggily to the side, only for the giant to hew his collarbone with a downward swipe of his ax. The force of the blow cleaved armor and bones, slicing the ore diagonally in two. Blood and guts spilled from the body in a horrible, reeking mess.

"Hey! I thought I told you to leave the runts to me," protested Boпndil. "The next one's mine, all right?"

A second orc stormed into the tent, and Andфkai called out to Djerun, who swung his shield obediently to the side. The beast ran on unhindered, failing to notice his fallen comrade or the colossal warrior.

"That's more like it!" Boпndil rushed forward and stopped the beast without ado. Felled by his axes, the ore died with a final grunt.

"No more tomfoolery, Boпndil," his brother said sternly. He cut a slit in the rear of the tent and peered through the gap. "All clear." The sharp blade of his crow's beak tore neatly through the canvas and he slipped outside. When he was sure it was safe, he signaled for the others to follow.

They had taken no more than a few paces when a long, slender shadow appeared in front of Boлndal and attacked.

Only the dwarf's helmet prevented the sword from cleaving his skull. Even so, the force of the blow brought him to his knees.

"Elf or дlf, prepare to die!" His brother hurled himself at the figure with a blood-curdling shriek.

As their assailant stepped back, his cloak fell open to reveal a black metal breastplate that reached to his thighs. His beautiful face and pointed ears removed any doubts about the identity of their attacker.

Another дlf appeared out of nowhere and challenged Djerun, while a third bore down on Andфkai. Stretching out her hand, the maga conjured a glimmering black sphere and cast a bolt of lightning in his direction.

Tungdil expected the creature to burst into flames, but his hopes were disappointed. The дlf produced an amulet, which intercepted the spluttering charm, absorbing the magic and leaving the target unharmed. Cursing, the maga drew her sword.

Tungdil glanced round, looking for a possible fourth attacker. To his horror an дlf leaped from a nearby cart and landed in front of him. His eyes took in the crimson gloves, long spear, and golden hair… It was one of the two дlfar who had parleyed with the orcs near Goodwater. Sinthoras! His lips appeared to be moving.

"Speak up!" commanded Tungdil, dwarven bloody-mindedness conquering his fear. He had no intention of surrendering.

"Look at me: Sinthoras is your death," the fair-haired дlf whispered softly. "I will take your life as I have taken the life of every groundling before you."

"We'll see about that. Vraccas helped us to kill one of your kind in Greenglade and he'll help us again." Tungdil decided not to wait for the дlf to attack. "For Lot-Ionan and Frala!" Raising his ax, he charged.

Sinthoras laughed, easily evading the energetic but poorly planned attack. Realizing at once that he was dealing with a novice, he decided to have some fun with his victim before dealing the fatal blow.

His spear flashed forward, its long, tapered point boring through Tungdil's mail shirt and passing through his undergarments. The tip pierced his left shoulder, deep enough to hurt him but too shallow for serious harm. The wound enraged the dwarf further and he redoubled his efforts, little realizing that the дlf was toying with him.

Slowly but surely Sinthoras drew his victim away from his companions, leading him into the jumble of tents. While the дlf skipped and danced ahead, Tungdil blundered among the guy ropes and tent pegs, grimly focused on staying on his feet.

The дlf's weapon approached with such speed that Tungdil gave up trying to block its attack. One moment the creature would be in front of him; the next his spear would be buried in his back. He was losing blood from myriad perforations that smarted abominably.

At last Tungdil looked round and realized his mistake. Amid the confusion of ropes and tents he had lost sight of the others and even the giant was gone. A moment later, Sinthoras vanished as well. The дlf was enjoying his murderous little game.

Wherever Tungdil looked, men were fighting with a courage born of despair, knowing with grim certainty that the orcs would show no mercy. Meanwhile, the beasts kept coming at them, more determined than ever to sink their teeth into the traders and their wares.

A number of tents had been pulled to the ground and the canvas caught fire. Flames and glinting swords reflected in the surface of the lake, the watery image of destruction warped by rippling waves.

"Where are you hiding?" Tungdil was learning to his cost that дlfar were harder to deal with than orcs. He decided to rejoin his friends while he still had the chance.

But Sinthoras wasn't finished with him.

"Over here!" The дlf loomed up behind him, thrusting his spear violently into the dwarf's right shoulder.

Something seemed to tear inside Tungdil's arm, the pain surging through him like liquid fire. His hand opened and the ax fell from his grasp.

The dwarf's tormentor pulled his legs from under him, tipping him face-first to the ground. Crouching over him, Sinthoras threaded the spear through his mail shirt on a level with his heart. The metal spike ground against the rings.

"What did I tell you?" said a whisper in Tungdil's ear. "Sinthoras is your death. It would have been wiser to leave the books in Greenglade, but it's too late for that now."

"Go ahead and kill me, but answer me one thing: What do you want with the books?"

Sinthoras laughed. "Only a groundling could be so simple-minded! To think that you've been lugging around the volumes, and you don't even know what they are!" He thought for a moment. "They're precious, more precious than anything you can imagine. A single syllable is worth a sack of gold. They could make you the wealthiest being in Girdlegard-or the most powerful, if you kept the secret to yourself. Acting on their contents would make you a hero beyond compare." He leaned on his spear and lowered his voice to a malicious whisper. "All this you had-but you lost it. I'll take even more pleasure in killing you now."

Tungdil shuddered as the дlf muttered unintelligibly in his own dark tongue. At any moment the spear would reach his heart and put an end to his life.

Before the weapon could penetrate farther, a shadow fell over them and something whirred through the air. The дlf dove to safety, only this time the maneuver was anything but elegant. He hit a tent, the canvas collapsing around him.

Djerun strode past the stricken dwarf and went after the дlf. Using the lower edge of his shield as a knife, he beat down on the muffled body, first with his shield, then his ax, until the bloodied canvas lay still. Three orcs tried to stop him but were slain on the spot.

Tungdil wondered whether he was hallucinating when he saw what happened next.

The giant, whose back was turned to Tungdil, opened his visor-or so the dwarf concluded from the movement of his arm-and tore a chunk of flesh from an orcish corpse. He raised the dripping meat toward his face.

What is he doing? Grunting with pain, Tungdil lifted himself onto his knees, leaned on his ax for support, and called to the giant.

Djerun whirled round in surprise and pushed down his visor.

In the light of the burning tents, Tungdil caught a brief glimpse of a skull with wide jaws, long fangs, and slits for eyes. The helmet clicked into place and violet light glimmered through the demon's eyes. The chunk of flesh had vanished, but it was obvious from the mutilated corpse and the green blood dripping from Djerun's gauntlet that something extraordinary had occurred.

He's not an orc or an ogre, so what kind of creature is be?

Djerun gestured with his ax in the direction from which he had come. Tungdil followed his lead, relying on the giant to slay the orcs who barred their path. He was finding it difficult enough to walk with his injuries.

Before they were out of the maze of tents, Boпndil rushed toward them, a panicked look on his face. His lips twitched and his jaw tightened when he saw the blood on Tungdil's shirt; he didn't need to be told that the giant had saved his charge's life.

The trio hurried on, arriving in time to see Andфkai drive her sword through the neck of a dying дlf who was flailing at her feet. She snatched up the amulet that had warded off her magic power. Her leather armor seemed to strain at the seams as she gasped for breath, her physical strength exhausted.

She greeted Tungdil with a brief nod, then led the company out of the village on a southerly bearing. Between them, Djerun, the twins, and the maga had put pay to three дlfar.

Boлndal stoically ignored the blood trickling down his neck. It took more than a blow to the head to make a dwarf complain.

Tungdil gritted his teeth and followed at the rear. His wounds could be bandaged just as soon as they had got the books to safety, which meant throwing off Nфd'onn's henchmen and making their way to Ogre's Death as quickly as they could.

Three orcish sentries were waiting for them at the top of a dune. Djerun drew his sword.

"That's enough from you, long-un!" In no time Ireheart was at his side, hacking savagely at the beasts. The rage he felt at neglecting his duty to Tungdil was channeled into his blows and he cut down two of the beasts in the time it took Djerun to slay one.

"At least I'm faster than you," he told the giant. Down in the village, the noise of the battle was fading. From the jeering and grunting it was obvious that the orcs had prevailed against the inhabitants of the desert's lone oasis. Flames were spreading from tent to tent and the orcs were loading chopped-up corpses onto carts. A band of runts spotted the travelers on the crest of the dune and set off in pursuit. Two dozen beasts scrambled up the sandy slope behind them.

"You'd think they'd have the sense to give up." Andфkai waited until they were almost upon them, then raised her arms and uttered an incantation.

A tearing wind swept out of nowhere, gusting and circling until it formed a tornado four paces in diameter, becoming stronger and fiercer with the maga's every word. Sand, scree, and boulders were sucked into its midst; then, on Andфkai's command, the gale unleashed its force on the orcs, who were hanging back in confusion.

The wind and debris peeled the skin from their bones. Grunting and yelping, the orcs fled the lethal gust.

"Carry on without me," Andфkai told the dwarves. "I'll keep the orcs busy for a while."

The trio resumed their march and soon the maga was back in their midst, with Djerun behind them, on the lookout for any attacks from the rear.

This time, though, the orcs let them go. Unlike the дlfar, they weren't equipped to deal with magic, and the night of looting and destruction had been profitable enough.