The Dwarves

IV

Borengar's Folk, Firstling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle It's a woman," said Bavragor, clearly nonplussed.

"Oh, well spotted, Master Hammerfist," she teased smilingly. "What sharp eyes, I mean, eye, you have!" Turning to her guards, she gave orders for the injured Boлndal to be taken care of. Four firstlings shouldered the shield and carried it like a stretcher to the next set of gates. After waiting for Tungdil to nod his assent, Boпndil hurried after them.

"The rest of you come with me. Her Majesty will be waiting in the great hall." The guardswoman looked Tungdil up and down curiously, then turned and led the way. No sooner had Tungdil warned her about the дlfar than she instructed a group of warriors to take up position by the trebuchets and ballistae on the third rampart.

"What prompted you to build the defenses?" he asked.

"Many cycles ago we had a problem with trolls. Tion tried to sneak them in through the back entrance. Our forefathers built the walls to keep them at bay and eventually the beasts were defeated." She glanced up at the sentry, who gave the all clear. "Looks like the дlfar have retreated. Why were they following you?"

"That's something I'll have to discuss with your queen," said Tungdil, lowering his eyes to avoid her probing stare.

"A dwarven queen!" exclaimed Rodario. "I wonder how the women came to wear the breeches." He sighed. "If only my blasted ink hadn't frozen. I'm never going to remember it all. Was it a female revolution?"

Balyndis laughed. "A revolution? No, it's all very peaceable here. I thought men and women always shared the work."

Djerun had stopped carrying Andфkai and was stumbling at the back of the group. On reaching the final set of gates, he came to a halt and leaned against the wall.

He's badly hurt, thought Tungdil in alarm. In a way, he felt responsible because the giant had sustained his original injury in Sovereignston while fighting on his behalf.

"It's not far now," the guardswoman reassured them. "I'll send for our healers as soon as we're inside." It didn't seem to occur to her that Djerun was far taller than any ordinary man.

"That won't be necessary," Andфkai said quickly. "You go ahead, and I'll see to his injuries. He's too far gone for a physician; only my art can save him." The giant slid down the wall and slumped into the snow. Andфkai knelt beside him. She was exhausted from her confrontation with the дlfar, but she summoned the last of her strength. "We'll catch up with you," she said sharply. "Just go!" Her companions complied.

So this is the firstling kingdom. Tungdil gazed up at the mountain's red flanks. Hewn into the lower slopes was a stronghold with nine giddy towers. The architectural style was different from that of Ogre's Death, the lines more flowing and not as angular and severe, although the building was similarly sturdy. Curiously, Borengar's masons had dispensed with ornamentation altogether.

Abandoning their ponies, they made their way onto a wooden platform at the base of a tower. "Try to keep still. It'll probably feel a bit funny at first." Balyndis threw back a lever and up they shot, racing toward the top of the tower, past a narrow spiral staircase that led up to the battlements.

On the way up, Tungdil heard the rattle of chains uncoiling and scraping over metal. Some kind of pulley system, but for passengers, not supplies. "You don't like stairs, then?"

The guardswoman smiled, and Tungdil thought she looked awfully pretty. "It's less effort like this," she said.

They drew level with the top of the tallest tower and walked out onto a parapet that led toward the main entrance via a single-span arch bridge.

On either side of the walkway was a two-hundred-pace drop. Crows and jackdaws circled overhead and the chill wind blew stronger than ever. Narmora kept a hand on her head scarf to stop it from flying away.

The vast gates, ten paces wide and fifteen paces high, remained closed as they approached. Instead, Balyndis led them into the great hall via a separate door.

Bavragor glanced around and smiled smugly. "Just as I thought…" He didn't have to elaborate: His assessment of the masonry was sufficiently clear.

The stronghold made little impression on the master mason, but Furgas, Narmora, and Rodario were blown away.

"You hear stories about vast halls hewn into the mountain, but I never thought they were true," said Furgas, lowering his voice to a reverential whisper.

"We'll have to build a new theater," the impresario told him. "A bigger stage will give the audience a better sense of the splendor." He reached out to touch the stone. "It's real, all right. I almost suspected it was cardboard. Ye gods, it's incredible, nay, miraculous/"

The copper statues and bronze friezes proved popular, especially with the dwarves, who delighted in their intricacy. The artwork commemorated battles against Tion's minions, immortalizing great firstling warriors such as Borengar, founding father of the kingdom, and other great heroes and heroines of his folk.

"This way," called their guide, hurrying ahead of the dawdling group toward the next of the kingdom's wonders, a series of breathtaking bridges.

This time Bavragor was forced to admit that in matters of engineering, the firstlings were unsurpassed. There was insufficient rock to span the plummeting chasms, so gleaming plates of metal had been added to straddle the gaps, the sides secured with wrought-iron balustrades tipped with silver.

When they came to the last of the bridges, their hobnailed boots rang out against the metal, each plate creating a different tone. The notes echoed through the cavernous passageway in a simple but pleasing tune.

"I give in," said Rodario, overwhelmed by the magnificence of it all. "We'll go back to performing idiotic farces and forget the whole idea. No illusion in the world could do justice to this."

"Nonsense," Furgas said briskly. "We can do it, but it'll cost a bit of coin."

They slowly began to thaw out, the snow and ice melting from their garments and running down their mail, leaving them feeling immensely tired but warm.

At length Balyndis came to a halt and knocked on a vast door. A shaft of gold shone through the crack, heralding the glories within.

The rectangular chamber was clad from top to bottom in beaten gold. Warm light emanated from countless candles and lamps, reflecting off the burnished walls. The statues were cast from gold, silver, vraccasium, and rare precious metals quarried from the heart of the mountain. Each gleaming figure was draped with trinkets that could be swapped around at will.

The queen was seated twenty paces away on a throne of pure steel. Guards of both sexes, all dressed in gold-plated mail, watched over her. The ceiling sparkled with ornate mosaics made of beaten silver, gold, and vraccasium tiles.

"Did I say a bit of coin?" Furgas whispered to Rodario. "I meant, a lot."

"Borengar's folk welcomes you," the queen said benevolently, signaling for them to approach.

They filed into the hall, with Tungdil at the head of the procession. He bowed courteously, then sank to one knee. The other dwarves followed, but the players contented themselves with a bow. Tungdil introduced them, not forgetting Andфkai, Djerun, and the absent twins.

"As for me," he concluded, hoping that his speech conformed to protocol, "I'm Tungdil Goldhand of Goпmdil's folk. A matter of grave importance brings us to your court."

"Thank you, Tungdil Goldhand. My name is Xamtys Stubbornstreak the Second of the clan of the Stubborn Streaks, ruler of the Red Range for thirty-two cycles. Your visit intrigues me. I have been without news of my royal cousins and their kingdoms for a good long while." Her mail was made of golden rings and she carried a four-pronged mace as a scepter. Her brown eyes regarded them keenly but kindly.

They were offered refreshments: beakers of piping-hot drink. Rodario sipped contentedly, sighing as the warmth returned to his body for the first time in orbits.

"You say you were brought here by a matter of grave importance?"

"I'm afraid it's bad news," said Tungdil, launching into an account of the danger threatening Girdlegard, the deaths of the magi, the high king's frailty, and the trouble surrounding the succession. At last he turned to the purpose of their mission.

"Which is why we're here, Your Majesty. We need you to lend us your most talented smith, a smith who can forge the blade by which Nфd'onn will fall. Help us, Queen Xamtys," he implored her. "Help us and save your folk."

The firstling queen turned her brown eyes upon him and stroked the fair down on her cheeks. Suddenly she stopped fiddling and sat up straight. "It seems from your report that Girdlegard is in danger," she said thoughtfully. "We haven't seen the other candidate, which makes me fear the worst. The дlfar are accomplished marksmen, and perhaps Gandogar's expedition wasn't blessed with such protection…"

"Pardon me, Your Majesty," Goпmgar broke in indignantly. "King Gandogar has Vraccas's blessing. He's the high king's rightful heir!"

"It isn't my place to judge," the queen said kindly before returning her attention to Tungdil. "I shall be happy to help. What better time than now to renew the bonds between our folks." She lowered her mace and pointed to Balyndis. "This is your new companion. Not only is Balyndis the firstlings' best warrior, she's also our finest smith."

"I don't mean to speak out of turn," interrupted Rodario, "but I was wondering if Her Majesty could tell us how she came to be queen. I thought the line of succession was always male…"

"The long-un has an inquisitive mind, I see. Very well, he shall have his explanation. It all began with a quarrel. Boragil, my father, valued my mother's advice, but considered her incapable of ruling the kingdom on her own. That angered my mother, who demanded to be given the opportunity to try. After much argument, it was decided that my mother should govern the firstlings' destiny for a period of fourteen orbits. It was during this time that the trolls attacked, but my mother had no intention of relinquishing the crown. Instead she marched at the head of the army and defeated the enemy with a combination of cunning and military skill. In so doing, she proved to be a more proficient ruler than my father, and when the fourteen orbits were over she reneged on their agreement and refused to step down. The clans stuck by her and that was that." She rose. "My mother died thirty-two cycles ago, and I ascended the throne."

"I thank Her Majesty for indulging a humble dramatist's curiosity. I shall write her a magnificent part in my play."

An attendant entered the hall with news that Boлndal was seriously hurt. The maga had rushed to his bedside and was doing her best to treat his wounds.

The three dwarves were filled with dread.

"Someone will show you to your quarters so you can get some rest. Our tailors will provide you with warm clothes and fur coats to keep out the cold. I assume you mean to continue your journey tomorrow?" She didn't wait for a response. "In any event, I'll show you the way to the tunnels once you've recovered your strength."

"You know about the tunnels?" Tungdil said, surprised. He was so tired that he could barely suppress his yawns. "Why haven't you used them?"

"My mother wasn't sure what the other rulers would think about a dwarven queen. She kept quiet for fear of conflict and I did the same."

"In that case, Your Majesty, you must send a delegation to Ogre's Death," Tungdil said urgently. "In the name of the assembly, I invite you to join the other rulers and chieftains in deciding our future. You spoke of renewing the bonds between the folks; this is your chance."

"The situation is every bit as serious as he says," Rodario seconded him. "The Perished Land is a formidable foe. I've seen with my own eyes what the orcs have done to Girdlegard, and without your kinsfolk, Nфd'onn will prevail. Speak to the other folks and don't worry about what they might say. This isn't a time for caution."

Tungdil looked at him gratefully. Who would have thought it?

Xamtys tapped her scepter firmly against her throne. "As soon as you and your company have commenced your journey to the Gray Range, I shall lead a delegation of firstlings to Ogre's Death and the folks shall be reunited after many long cycles." She smiled at them munificently. "You are right: There is no time to lose."

I know you're only trying to help," said Boлndal, gritting his teeth with pain, "but I don't want your magic. The wounds will get better by themselves."

The firstlings had laid him in a warm chamber, removed his mail, and exposed the afflicted flesh. He had already bled through the first set of bandages and was waiting for the next.

Andфkai, her face as ashen as her patient's, was leaning over him, inspecting the damage. His body was struggling to cope with the puncture wounds: Some of his internal organs had been damaged and he was rapidly losing blood. "I know a great deal about injuries, and quite frankly, I can't share your optimism," she said candidly, her blue eyes clouded with concern. "Put aside your pride, Boлndal, and think of the mission."

"Pride? This isn't about pride!" protested his brother from across the bed. He was determined to keep an eye on things and had refused all offers of refreshment, barely stopping to take off his coat. "It's your sorcery that's the problem. It's not right! Your wretched Samusin might conjure some devilry into his soul."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

Boлndal closed his eyes, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Leave…me…alone!"

"By rights you should be dead," she said coolly. "If it weren't for your dwarven constitution, you wouldn't have made it this far. Sheer bloody-mindedness is keeping you going, but your life is in the balance. I need to help while I still have the power. My magic is waning."

Boлndal was in no state to answer. His brother nodded to the door. "Save your hocus-pocus for your own patient, maga. We dwarves can take care of ourselves."

Andфkai got up, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword, and walked silently to the door.

"He didn't mean to offend you," Boлndal whispered. "We appreciate your offer, really we do, but Vraccas will see me through this."

Andфkai flung her cloak over her shoulders. "I hope for your sake that he does." The door slammed and silence descended on the chamber.

"Perhaps she's right…" ventured Boлndal.

"That's enough," Boпndil shushed him. "Vraccas has seen your plight and he'll keep you alive for many more cycles. If either of us deserves to die, it won't be you, so stop fussing and get some rest." He gave his brother another sip of water and hurried to see why the physicians were taking so long with the dressings.

His armor seemed a thousand times heavier than usual and his legs were bowing beneath the overwhelming weight. All he could think about was his brother. "Vraccas be with him," he muttered, remembering Boлndal's deathly pale face. His twin was languishing on the threshold of the eternal smithy and what the maga had said about dwarven resilience and stubbornness was true: A human would never have survived such injuries, and whether or not a dwarf could withstand them, only time would tell.

On his way down the corridor, he bumped into Tungdil, who was hurrying to visit the wounded dwarf. "How is he?" Tungdil asked anxiously.

"Sleeping. He needs new bandages. The first lot are drenched already," said the warrior, visibly distressed. The crazed spark in his eyes had given way to profound concern.

"What about Andфkai? Can't she do anything for him?"

"We don't want her sort of help," Boпndil shut him off. "I always said magic was no good, but Samusin's magic is worse." He hurried away, calling out to the physicians, who came running with bandages.

Tungdil knew it was pointless to argue; the twins had made up their minds. Determination was a virtue, whereas intransigence…Boлndal would rather die than he healed by the maga.

He tiptoed into the chamber and saw Boлndal lying waxen-faced in the bed, seemingly dead but for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The physicians washed away the dried blood and carefully sewed the gaping flesh together, then applied a compress of moss to ease the pain.

"We'll have to go on without him," Tungdil said softly. "He won't last more than a hundred paces in his present state."

"I'll be fine, scholar," came a faint but determined whisper from the bed. Boлndal looked at him pleadingly and readied for his hand. "Another few orbits, and I'll be back on my feel. It's just a couple of scratches, that's all."

Tungdil glanced at one of the physicians, who promptly shook his head. "It's out of the question. The wounds are deeper than they look and there's the internal damage to consider. Any movement will make things worse and he'll die in agony. He's not fit to go anywhere."

"I'm sorry, Boлndal," Tungdil told him, heavy-hearted, "but you have to stay here and rest. You've done your bit for now; just be sure you're back with us when it comes to the great battle against Nфd'onn."

"I'm coming, like it or not," Boлndal threatened. "Boпndil and I stick together! Forging Keenfire is the most important mission in dwarven history and I won't-" He tried to sit up but had barely succeeded in moving when he gave a low groan, his fresh dressings flushing crimson with blood. "I suppose that settles it," he said through gritted teeth. He looked up at his twin. "It's up to you now to protect Tungdil and the rest of the company."

Boпndil was standing stiffly by the bed, searching for the right thing to say. "All our lives we've been together," he said thickly, "and now I'm leaving you behind. It won't be the same fighting without you." He squeezed Boлndal's hand. "The first hundred runts will be for you."

"You've got great plans, then," said his brother, smiling weakly. "Don't overreach yourself, Boпndil; I won't be there to watch your back." They embraced, tears streaming down their bearded cheeks. Never before had they faced a parting such as this.

"You'll have to keep a better check on your temper when I'm not around. Promise you won't let it run away with you?"

Boпndil gave his solemn word. "Get some rest now, brother." He and Tungdil left the chamber. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible. Andфkai has done her best to patch up Djerun with her magic and he's fit to travel. He might be too big for the wagon, though."

"We'll be cramped as it is. There's the three long-uns, Andфkai and her pet warrior, Hammerfist and Shimmerbeard, not to mention the materials for Keenfire-we'll need a couple of wagons at least."

"Don't forget Balyndis," Tungdil reminded him.

"Who?"

"Our new smith."

"A woman?"

"You sound as enthusiastic as Bavragor."

"I've got nothing against women, don't get me wrong. I like a nice well-built lass with plump cheeks and big bosoms, a real woman who you can hold on to and warm yourself against, but-"

"Come on, Boпndil, you know as well as I do that some of the secondling women are excellent smiths. They can be handy on the battlefield as well. Smeralda could fight like a-" He checked himself. Blast.

Boпndil stiffened at the mention of his dead lover's name. "Fine, we'll take the woman. If you'll excuse me, I'm tired." He disappeared along the passageway in the direction of his chamber.

Tungdil watched him go. That was stupid, he remonstrated with himself. I need to watch what I say.

"I'm no stranger to the smithy, believe me," said a high-pitched voice behind him. He whipped round in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Balyndis was still dressed in her mail, and her long dark hair framed her rounded face. "I wanted to tell you that it's an honor to be chosen for your mission."

His heart gave a little leap. He was so taken with the idea of traveling through Girdlegard in the company of the female smith that he almost forgot his worries about the twins. He gazed into her brown eyes, unable to say a single word.

"I can handle an ax as well as a hammer, you know."

Tungdil smiled weakly, still incapable of summoning his voice.

Balyndis didn't know what to make of his silence. "If you don't believe me, I can show you."

"Vraccas forbid!" he cried, raising his arms hurriedly. "I believe you, absolutely. I daresay that women are good at fighting too."

The new smith seemed to take offense at his words. "In that case, Tungdil, I insist," she said, reaching for her ax.

Tungdil's eyes were drawn to the formidable muscles in her arms and chest. "Honestly, Balyndis, I didn't mean it like that," he said, trying desperately to repair the damage. "I was worried you might get hurt."

"I see. So you think you can hurt me, do you?"

I wish she'd stop twisting everything I say! "Of course not," he explained hurriedly while Balyndis hefted her ax belligerently and took a few experimental swipes. "Not unless you weren't paying attention. Really, Balyndis, there's no need to prove anything. I believe you!"

"Well, I don't!" boomed a baritone voice. Bavragor stepped up to the smith, his war hammer at the ready. "It's bad enough that Goпmgar fights like a girl. The firstling must prove that she won't be a burden."

She squared her shoulders menacingly. "For that, mason, your one eye will soon be seeing stars." Already the war hammer and the ax were hurtling toward each other, and Tungdil barely succeeded in leaping clear.

The weapons collided forcefully. It was clear from Bavragor's grunts that he was impressed, but he soon got into difficulties, having failed to allow for Balyndis's strength and speed. By lunging at him from his blind side, she kept forcing him to turn his head. He was so intent on parrying her blade that he didn't notice when she raised her ax suddenly and whacked him on the head. He took a few dazed steps backward and slumped against the wall.

For a moment he looked at the grinning Balyndis in astonishment, then slowly raised his hand and felt his head. His shoulders shook slightly, rising and falling with increasing rapidity until he was roaring with laughter, the passageways echoing with his mirth.

"No one could say I didn't deserve it," he said, still chuckling as he clambered to his feet and extended a rough, calloused hand, which she gladly shook. "You're a fine lass, all right. There's no messing with you."

"Thank goodness we've cleared that up," Tungdil broke in, thankful to have been spared the ordeal. He nodded to Balyndis. "I think everyone agrees that you're an excellent fighter, so maybe we could go to bed and get some sleep before our early start."

The firstling smiled and was about to retire when Bavragor hauled her back. "I've got a better idea. How about taking me to the Red Range's finest tavern so I can taste a draft of your firstling beer? There'll be a song in it for you," he promised. Balyndis didn't need further persuasion and the two of them started down the corridor.

"Aren't you coming, Tungdil?" she shouted as they rounded the corner.

"He's our leader, remember! He's got maps to read, tunnels to check…Of course he's not coming!" said Bavragor, only half joking.

"Don't overdo it," Tungdil warned them. "Those tunnels have got lots of sharp curves!" He saw them off with a wave and retired to his chamber to ponder the events of the orbit. No matter how tempting it was, he knew it wouldn't be wise to fall for Balyndis; the mission required his full attention.

Inside his chamber, the light from the lone oil lamp steeped the polished walls in a gentle glow. It was the perfect ambience for relaxing before the big journey.

"Tungdil?"

He swung round to confront the voice behind him. Ax at the ready, he peered warily into the shadows by the door. "Narmora? Is that you?"

The actress was wearing her black leather armor and exuded a vague air of menace. For some reason Tungdil found himself thinking of Sinthoras.

He kept hold of his ax, his secret antipathy toward the woman growing all the time. Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. She's an ordinary woman. "What can I do for you?" he asked, trying to smile convincingly.

"Remember what Andфkai said about wielding the ax," she said hesitantly.

"Keenfire must be wielded by the undergroundlings' foe. Do you have a suggestion?" he said, perking up.

"What about the дlfar?" she said cautiously. "The дlfar are your enemies, right?"

"Real дlfar are our enemies," he corrected her. "Actresses won't do, but it's kind of you all the same."

She pulled off her head scarf, revealing two pointed ears.

Tungdil took a step backward and tightened his grip on the ax. Long moments of horrified silence passed. "But that's not… I mean, y-you can't be an дlf…" he stuttered. Then he laughed out loud in relief. "You almost had me going there, but I know your eyes don't look black in the light!"

Narmora stretched a hand toward the lamp, turned her palm to the ceiling, and muttered unintelligible words. The flame dwindled until there was nothing but a smoldering wick.

She must know some trick. Alchemy or… He stared at the candle in amazement, then turned to Narmora and discovered she was gone. "Narmora?"

Suddenly she loomed behind him. "Half human, half дlf," a voice whispered in his ear. "I inherited my mother's gifts and her weapons. My father left me little of value, but his eyes are a boon." The next moment her menacing air was gone. She went over to the lamp and restored the flame by blowing on it gently. "I'm sorry I scared you. Do you believe me now?"

Tungdil composed himself. That explains why I've never really taken to her. "I certainly do," he said with a vigorous nod. "I think you've solved the dilemma as to who should wield Keenfire." He looked at Narmora with new respect. "It can't have been easy for you to tell me-but it's nothing compared to the challenge ahead."

"I can't see any other solution," she said simply, her savagery and malevolence suddenly gone. "It's not as though we could ask an orc or a real дlf." She stroked the hafts of her weapons. "I've never really fought with an ax. The magus won't have much to fear from Keenfire unless you drill me in axmanship first."

"We'll have to tell the others, you know."

Narmora considered. "Yes, I suppose so-although I don't know how they'll react." It was clear she was thinking primarily of Boпndil.

Tungdil smiled encouragingly. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise."

She smiled roguishly, and for a moment there was something дlflike about her after all.

On receiving Tungdil's summons, the rest of the company hurried to his chamber, where he told them of the turn of events. "Which means we'll be able to defeat the magus after all," he finished, waiting anxiously for their reaction.

"Strictly speaking, I ought to kill her," Ireheart said slowly. He showed no sign of making good on the threat.

"Strictly speaking," Tungdil corrected him, "you ought to kill half of her, but which half would that be? Is the left side human and the right side дlf, or the other way round? What if it's top and bottom?" He sighed. "Seeing as she's agreed to save Girdlegard, I think Vraccas will let us spare her. There's no other way."

Furgas was hugging the half дlf and looked worried, which seemed natural to Tungdil, who realized what a risk Narmora was taking in pitting herself against such a formidable foe.

"Furgas and Rodario will stay here in the firstling stronghold until we-"

"She's not going without me," the prop master said flatly. "Besides, someone with my technical ability would be an asset."

"And you're bound to need a first-rate impresario," added Rodario. A moment later, it occurred to him that the company had no obvious use for his talents, so he settled for looking handsome and putting on a winning smile.

"He's right, you know," said Boпndil unexpectedly. "The enemy won't be able to concentrate with his incessant jawing."

The other dwarves smiled, save for Goпmgar, who seethed quietly in the corner until he finally erupted. "Gandogar is in the Gray Range already," he hissed. "He'll be the one to forge Keenfire, just wait and see! You'll never be made high king." He looked scornfully at Narmora. "I don't know what you're relying on her for. She's only half an дlf." He flounced to the door and stormed out.

"Fine," said Bavragor, breaking the strained silence. "Narmora can half kill Nфd'onn, and we'll do the rest." Whipping out a tankard that he had smuggled from the tavern, he took a long sip.

The tension dissolved and they laughed in relief.

The following morning Queen Xamtys and her entourage of chieftains and elders accompanied Tungdil and the others over the shimmering bridges and deep into the stronghold's passageways and galleries that reminded the secondlings of home.

Bavragor kept stopping to inspect the masonry, tapping on the walls, running his fingers over the stone, and stamping critically on the floor. "It's certainly not superior," he said with unusual diplomacy, "but it's still very good."

At length they came to a vast steel door inlaid with runes of glittering gold. The queen recited the formula and they entered a chamber whose every detail Tungdil recognized from its counterpart in Ogre's Death. At the center of the room were eight rails, and around them a jumble of vats, pulleys, and gears. The engineers soon got the machinery going, and the air filled with hissing, steaming, and rattling, not to mention a smell of hot metal and grease.

"You've taken good care of the equipment," observed Furgas. "No rust, no dust. You could have been out of here in minutes, whenever you decided to go."

"I should have done this cycles ago," Xamtys said regretfully. She gave instructions for two convoys to be made ready for departure-the first for her own delegation, and the other for Tungdil and his friends.

Djerun had made a full recovery and was allocated a carriage of his own. The firstlings had repaired his armor over-night and it looked almost as good as new. Owing to his great height, they decided to remove the seats from the wagon so he could lie down on the floor. That way he wouldn't run the risk of beheading himself if the height of the tunnel changed.

The rest of the company were spread over two wagons: the five dwarves and the ingots in one, and Andфkai, the players, and the gems in the other.

She looks tired, thought Tungdil. He went up to the maga. "How are you feeling? You said yesterday that you nearing the end of your strength."

Andфkai tied her blond hair with a strip of leather to stop it from blowing in her eyes during the blustery ride. "Are you prepared for the truth?"

"You don't have to lie to me."

She sat down on the side of one of the wagons and watched the bustle. "My magic will soon be exhausted. Unless we pass through a force field, I won't be able to replenish my stores."

"Is that why wizards like to keep to their realms?"

Her eyes settled on Tungdil's bearded face. "Yes it's our secret weakness. As you've seen, we can still use our magic outside the enchanted realms, but we can't store it effectively. Straying from the force fields turns us into leaky pouches that lose their contents even when they're not in use. It takes only a powerful charm or two, and our energy is spent" She glanced at Djerun. "I don't like the idea of being defenseless when my magic runs out. That's why I learned to fight and why I always keep Djerun with me."

Tungdil thought for a moment. "Maybe we could see to it that Nфd'onn runs out of magic too."

She shook her head. "The spirit inside him has lent him extraordinary powers. I'm sure it won't work."

The dwarf caught sight of Narmora and remembered her trick with the lamp. "Narmora can use magic, can't she?"

"Not exactly. I don't know much about the дlfar, but they don't use real magic. It's more a case of innate abilities: the power to conjure up darkness, extinguish fire, influence dreams-small things that strike fear into human hearts and add to the дlfar's aura of power."

"But things have changed, haven't they? Sinthoras broke through your magic shield."

"That was cunning, not magic. Remember how the дlfar in the desert warded off my magic with amulets? The amulets were a present from Nфd'onn to protect them from the magi. Sinthoras tied his to an arrow and broke my spell." Andфkai rose. "We may as well get going." Their vehicles were ready, and the queen's wagon had been lowered onto its rail. "You mustn't rely on my intervention, Tungdil. I need to conserve my strength."

"I'll tell the others," he promised. Don't you worry, Keenfire will be forged, with or without your magic, he added silently to himself.

They joined Xamtys at the top of the ramps. The queen was studying a map. "I can't wait to find out what it's like in the tunnels," she said excitedly, stroking her downy cheeks. "Just think of the looks on their faces when I arrive; those menfolk won't know what's hit them." She jumped into the wagon and released the brakes. "Fashion Keenfire and make haste for the secondling kingdom. We'll be waiting for you." The wagon rolled away and vanished through the mouth of the tunnel. "May Vraccas be with you!"

"And with you!" Tungdil called after her. He climbed up the next ramp and took his seat in the wagon. The map of the tunnels, given to him by the queen, was tucked safely beneath his chain mail. Boпndil took his place next to him, while Bavragor and Balyndis sat together, laughing and joking, on the bench behind.

"Keep it down, can't you?" Boпndil said crossly. Leaving without his brother made him irritable and uneasy, and he felt thoroughly out of sorts.

Rodario made a few scribbled notes, then replaced the cork on his inkwell. He took particular care to seal the bottle tightly so as not to spill its recently thawed contents all over his clothes. "My, my," he said excitedly, "what an adventure! We should build a contraption like this for our theater. The audience could experience for themselves the thrill of traveling through a tunnel like the heroes of our piece."

"It's not an adventure and it won't be thrilling," Goпmgar contradicted him. "Just wait: Your stomach will turn somersaults, your beard will blow in your face, and you'll want to be sick."

"It can't be that bad," the player said blithely. He fastened the safety rope around his waist. "I'm not as soft as you think."

The wagon reached the end of the ramp and plummeted almost vertically into the tunnel. At that moment Rodario emitted a terrified scream, closing his mouth only when he felt an uncontrollable urge to vomit. For the first time in ages, Goпmgar looked genuinely pleased. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Balendilнn was in his chamber, ax in hand. He raised it tentatively and took a few practice swipes to check if he could swing it one-handed.

"There's more of them coming, Your Majesty," came an anxious shout from outside. "You ought to see for yourself."

Anyone would think Bislipur's warmongering had lured them to our gates, he thought darkly, leaving his chamber and striding past row upon row of grim-faced warriors until he reached the highest battlements of Ogre's Death and surveyed the land below.

The enemy was everywhere. Black figures, some larger than others, were milling about on the ground, and the air reeked of rancid fat. An unwholesome stench of orcs wafted over from their encampment a mile from the gates where they were preparing to attack. The muffled sound of their shouts reached the battlements.

In the distance, gigantic wooden siege engines, each forty or more paces in height, were rolling toward the stronghold. They'll be over the first rampart in no time with the help of those things.

To the dwarf's eyes, the contraptions looked crooked and ungainly, but the beasts cared nothing for the engines' durability or elegance, provided that they fulfilled their purpose, which was to breach the outer defenses so the real invasion could begin. The timber towers had been draped with human skin to protect against firebombs, and the orcs intended to keep them watered for the duration of the assault.

"I didn't expect them to attack so soon," said Bislipur, joining him on the battlements and looking down at the hordes. Dressed in full armor, he looked every bit the dwarven warrior. "There must be ten thousand of them at least. What a blessing I'd already sent word to my kingdom and summoned our troops." He waited for a word of praise, but none came.

"Orcs, bцgnilim, a handful of ogres, some trolls, and a contingent of дlfar," enumerated Balendilнn, surveying the enemy ranks. "Nфd'onn is determined to annihilate us, just as Tungdil said." He watched the combined force of secondlings and fourthlings take up position behind the first rampart and prepare for the attack. The magus would never send an army of such proportions without securing the human kingdoms first. There's something not right about this. "If the ramparts fall, we'll retreat inside the mountain," he decided.

"Then what?"

"They'll be lost if they follow us. We know the territory and they don't."

"Are you saying we might not hold the ramparts?" Bislipur asked, surprised. "With two armies of five thousand warriors apiece, we should be able to defend the stronghold for as long as it takes."

"In these dark times nothing is certain. I'm saying we shouldn't count on it." He sent some of his finest warriors to buttress the troops at the entrance to the underground network. Just in case, he thought bleakly.

On ascending the parapet, he obtained his first full view of the invading hordes, a motley collection of beasts, vile products of Tion's creation, poised to massacre the dwarves and open the High Pass to their foul kinsfolk in the Outer Lands.

The orcs and bцgnilim are wearing armor stolen from Umilante's men. Her soldiers could do nothing to halt their advance. Balendilнn watched as the enemy troopers marshaled themselves into disorderly groups, ready to launch their assault and test the dwarves' defenses. "We need two thousand soldiers behind the main gates," he commanded firmly. "Be ready to fight!"

He waited until the snarling, grunting orcs had almost reached the rampart; then he signaled for the gates to be opened, and his warriors sallied forth.

To his satisfaction, the dwarven axes wrought havoc among the brutes who were caught off guard by the counterattack and tried to flee, only to be rounded up and driven back into battle by the trolls.

By then, the dwarves were safely behind the solid walls of Ogre's Death. Three dozen of their number had suffered minor injuries, while several hundred beasts lay dead or dying on the dry earth before the gates. There was great rejoicing among the united armies of Beroпn and Goпmdil.

"See what a formidable force we are when we fight side by side!" Balendilнn shouted down to them proudly. He glanced around to see if Bislipur had anything to say.

The fourthling was nowhere in sight. Underground Network, Kingdom of Weyurn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle The wagons shot through the tunnels, tearing cobwebs from the walls and ceilings and stirring up clouds of centuries-old dust. Every now and then a shadow took flight from the rattling, rumbling carriages and scampered out of the torchlight into the darkness of a side shaft. What life there was beneath the surface of Girdlegard was of a harmless, nervous variety that left the travelers well alone.

Tungdil and company were approaching the fifthling kingdom from the west. He kept count of the markers on the walls, calculating that they had traveled 250 miles by the end of the first orbit.

He shared the good news when they stopped for a while and lit a fire. "At this rate, we'll be there in four orbits. We're making excellent progress."

They were in a large chamber that served as a junction between two rails. The ceiling of the cavern was supported by naturally formed pillars and carefully hewn arches engraved with runes that testified to their dwarven origins. The wood now spluttering merrily in the flames had come from a leftover stockpile of moldering timber.

"We'll never be able to outwit the dragon," Goпmgar said dismally. "She'll burn us to cinders with her fire."

"We could always shove a long-un down her throat; that should do the trick," retorted Boпndil through a mouthful. "This is delicious, Balyndis. You firstlings certainly know a thing or two about salting and smoking meat." He plucked dried herbs from the rind of the ham and tasted them experimentally.

Bavragor gave Tungdil a nudge. "Isn't she lovely? I've never seen a more handsome-I mean, beautiful-smith." His chestnut eye gleamed contentedly. "And look at her chain mail! She's a master with a hammer."

"Since when do you know anything about smiths?" teased Tungdil, although he too had been admiring the metalwork. He grinned. "You've changed your tune, haven't you?"

"That was before our duel," Bavragor chuckled. "I took a blow to the heart."

Apparently so. The pair had bonded from the moment Balyndis had conquered the mason with her ax and they seemed to be getting closer all the time. Tungdil couldn't begrudge the one-eyed dwarf his happiness. "I thought she whacked you on the head, not the chest."

"Don't talk so fast," Rodario scolded. "I can barely keep up." Sprawled next to the fire, the impresario had been eavesdropping on their whispered exchange and was frantically transcribing every word. "I want the script to be as authentic as possible."

Meanwhile, Furgas had got up to examine the rail and Narmora was beside him, keeping watch. Djerun was sitting a few paces away from the others, his weapons laid out around him. As usual, he kept completely still.

"I wish she'd thumped him a bit harder," muttered Goпmgar in a voice so low that only Tungdil could hear. "Oh, Gandogar, if you weren't my beloved sovereign, I'd hate you for lumbering me with such insufferable companions." Like most nights, he was the first to pull up his blankets and settle down to sleep.

The impresario had brought his bag of costumes with him. Bavragor was amused to see that he refused to be parted with them. "Couldn't you have left them with the firstlings?"

Rodario gave him a disapproving look. "Absolutely not! There's no telling when I might need them, and besides, do you know how much they're worth?"

He was interrupted by a sudden bang. It sounded like a single rap of a hammer on stone. The echo rumbled through the tunnels, then faded.

They turned to look at Furgas, who was bent over the rail. "It wasn't me," he said quickly. "It came from the next stretch of tunnel."

Goпmgar sat up. "I know that noise." He reached nervously for his shield. "The spirits of the dead masons are haunting us," he whispered, cowering behind his steel screen. "Vraccas protect us from their ghosts!"

The sound was familiar to Tungdil too. "We heard the exact same noise just before our wagon was derailed near Mifurdania," he said softly. I wonder if it's a signal. But what would it be conveying? And to whom?

"Quiet, everyone." Boпndil's warlike instincts had been stirred. He got up and jogged to the mouth of one of the tunnels, while Narmora stood guard by the other. Sticking his head into the darkness, he listened intently. They held their breath for what seemed like an eternity.

Only Andфkai looked untroubled, rummaging casually for her pipe. She filled it and lit it with a burning splint. Balyndis smiled broadly and followed suit, picking up a smoldering ember with her gloved hand and holding it to the tobacco. The two women, who couldn't have been more different in appearance, disappeared in clouds of smoke.

At length Boпndil returned to the fire. "Nothing," he reported. "No noises, no smell."

"We don't want any more accidents," Tungdil told them. "We'll have to be careful." He settled down to get some sleep.

Furgas and the half дlf took their places beside him. "I think we're not the only ones on the move down here," Furgas confided in a whisper. "There's not a speck of rust on the rail ahead."

"So the tunnel is being used on a regular basis," Tungdil conjectured.

"I thought you should know."

"Thank you, Furgas. I'd rather you didn't tell the others. We don't want Goпmgar dying of fright." Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle What can I do for you, Bislipur?" asked one of the two sentries politely as the fourthling approached the door to the underground network.

"Die," he said smilingly. "Die nice and quietly." His ax whipped up and swooped diagonally toward the sentry's unprotected throat.

There was no time to escape the double-handed blow and the guardsman succumbed with nothing but a muffled groan.

His companion managed to reach the bugle with his left hand and the hilt of his club with the other, but already the bloodied ax was slicing through the flesh beneath his chin. The blade jerked upward, cleaving his skull.

Well, that wasn't too hard. Bislipur wiped the blood from his face and gave a short whistle, whereupon two hundred of his most loyal soldiers appeared in the corridor.

"You know what to do," he said tersely before reciting the runes that opened the door to the tunnels. "Show Gandogar's enemies no mercy: They will show none to you." Underground Network, Kingdom of Weyurn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Just as they reached the three-hundred-mile marker, disaster struck. Moments earlier they had exited the tunnel and turned onto a narrow bridge. As far as they could tell, there was nothing but thin air and darkness beneath them.

The first carriage was traveling at full speed when the dwarves felt a sudden judder and the wheels were thrown from the track, tilting the wagon to the side. Sparks flew everywhere as they skidded along on two wheels, trying to right the wagon before it tipped too far. The next moment, they hit the ground and flipped over.

There was a screech of brakes as the second wagon stopped just paces from the scattered bodies.

Tungdil, Balyndis, and Boпndil were in luck: They landed on the bridge, tumbled over, rolled for a bit, and slowed to a halt. Their gloves and armor saved their skin from serious cuts and grazes.

Tungdil discovered to his embarrassment that he was lying on top of Balyndis. His cheeks reddened. She gazed up at him and seemed about to say something, but swallowed her words and just stared.

The spell was broken by the sound of Goпmgar frantic screams. "Sorry," Tungdil said awkwardly, picking himself up to see what was wrong.

The little dwarf was dangling from the side of the bridge. His hands clung desperately to the stone coping, but his knapsack and his armor were exerting an inexorable downward pull. "Somebody do something!" he whimpered desperately. "I'm falling!" Tungdil broke into a sprint.

Bavragor was lying near the edge of the bridge, a few paces from the stricken artisan. He got up, muttering, groaning, and clutching his head. "I think an ogre just kicked me." Suddenly he noticed the plight of his companion and threw himself forward to grab his arm.

It was too late.

Goпmgar panicked face vanished from view, his shrill scream fading rapidly.

"Vraccas forfend," stuttered the mason. Boпndil, Tungdil, and Balyndis reached the spot a moment later, only to watch helplessly as the shrinking figure was swallowed by the darkness.

"Move!" Andфkai sped past them, bounded onto the coping, and pushed off forcefully, arms outstretched like a diver.

Her scarlet cloak billowed behind her like a flag; then she too was gone.

The dwarves could hear the swoosh of her cloak but were powerless to intervene. Rodario lit his torch and dangled it into the gloom, but the light was too weak to cut through the blackness.

Long moments passed and at last they saw a faint blue glow in the murkiness below.

"Do you think she hit the bottom and died?" asked Boпndil. "It might be her soul."

Tungdil shot a quick glance at Djerun, who was immobile as ever. He didn't seem overly concerned about his mistress's safety, which gave Tungdil grounds for hope. I'm sure she knows what she's doing.

"It's getting closer," Balyndis shouted excitedly. "It's flying up."

A fierce gust blew toward them, propelling two figures out of the chasm below. The current of air carried the maga and her passenger to the bridge, set them down gently, and died away.

Andфkai's long blond hair was tousled, and the artisan's shimmering beard seemed to have been ransacked by mice. His face was ashen but he wasn't in the least bit hurt.

"That was incredible, Estimable Maga!" exclaimed Rodario. "Absolutely incredible! How selfless and courageous of you. To think that you risked your own precious life to save the dwarf!" He turned to Goпmgar apologetically. "Not that your life is any less precious, of course."

Andфkai seemed determined not to dwell on the incident. "Have you checked the wagon?" she asked Furgas. She gave her cloak a tug and set about plaiting her hair. "Can you fix it?"

The prop master walked over to the vehicle and shook his head. "The wheels have buckled. We won't get them back on the rail." He bent down. "Someone's been busy," he said. "We're lucky that the other wagons didn't meet the same fate."

"The gold and tionium," cried Boпndil, who had crawled round to the other side of the wagon to check the cargo. "They're gone."

Bavragor gazed gloomily into the chasm. "It's not hard to guess where they are: on a never-ending journey to the bottom of the world." He looked at the maga hopefully.

"No," she said, dismissing his unspoken request. "We'll have to think of something else."

They fell silent. Two key components of the magic weapon had been wrenched from their grasp.

"I knew we'd never make it," whined Goпmgar, unable to hide his glee.

"A fat lot of use you are," Boпndil growled. "I say we throw him back down again. We've lost half the ingots, so we may as well get rid of the pesky artisan as well."

"So what if we've lost a few ingots?" said Tungdil, determined to raise their spirits. "We're on our way to a dwarven kingdom, remember! We're bound to find enough gold and tionium to make a solitary ax."

"Problem solved." Andфkai nodded, giving her leather armor a final tug.

"Excellent. If we've all recovered sufficiently, we may as well get going. Divide yourselves up between the wagons," ordered Tungdil, who was beginning to warm to being in command. "We'll take turns pushing until we reach a downward pitch."

"Don't worry about that," said the maga. She motioned to Djerun. "Leave it to him." Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle This time Nфd'onn's army attacked from the sides.

Dwarven missiles sped toward the approaching siege engines, passing through the moist cladding of human skin, punching holes in the timber and shattering the joists. The sheer scale of the invasion ensured that some of the engines approached unscathed.

At length three wooden towers drew alongside the parapets. As the ramps clapped down, hordes of screeching orcs spewed forth, but the ferocious dwarves stood firm.

Balendilнn proved himself an able commander, defending the stronghold so successfully that not a single assailant made it through the dwarven lines.

"Pour oil on the wood," he shouted as soon as the first wave of invaders had been repelled. Already the next wave of beasts was streaming into the towers.

The plan worked. In no time the siege engines disappeared in a blaze of yellow flames. The wood burned like cinder, the flammable sap fueled the fire, the ropes ignited, and the towers collapsed, raining debris to the ground. The enemy retreated, yelping with fear.

Victory came at a price. Fourteen dwarves were slain by an дlf who concealed himself on the ramp of the third tower and bombarded them with arrows, showing no regard for the hungry flames. At last his cloak caught alight, but the onslaught continued, ending only when his bowstring was consumed in the blaze.

In spite of the casualties, the mood was upbeat. There was no reason to believe that Ogre's Death would fall.

"You fought bravely and well," Balendilнn praised his troops. "Our fallen brothers will live on in our memories and their names shall be etched in gold in the kingdom's great hall." His eyes roamed over the rows of defenders. Their bearded faces gazed back at him, sweaty but smiling; there was plenty of fight in them yet. "Vraccas gave us-"

"Orcs!" The shout came from a sentry who had turned his back to the gates and was listening to the king. "They've got into the stronghold!"

There were hundreds of them. The snarling, roiling brutes were demolishing anything and anyone in their path. In no time they had seized the inner rampart. They held up their swords, axes, lances, and shields triumphantly, taunting the assembled dwarven army.

The tunnels. They must have come up through the tunnels'. "The High Pass must not be breached! Children of the Smith, I call on you to destroy the invaders!" cried Balendilнn, rousing his soldiers from their shock. "Every beast must die!"

The dwarves jolted into action, storming up the mountainside to fight their ancient foe. Among them was their one-armed king whose courage and tenacity were an inspiration to them all.

At that moment an ogre emerged from the underground hall, lips pressed to an enormous bugle. His piercing call drew cheers and roars from the troops outside the stronghold. The second assault on the ramparts began.

V

Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle They shouldn't have got this far. Why weren't they stopped by the guards? Balendilнn had no time to consider what had happened to the warriors who were guarding the entrance to the tunnels: He and his army were battling a seemingly endless onslaught of ogres, orcs, and bцgnilim. For every beast he felled, two more appeared before him, and he could always be sure of hewing flesh.

At last Balendilнn's guards managed to turn the tide of the surprise attack and drive the invaders back to the tunnels. The battle was bloody and cost many dwarven lives, but the king's troops finally reached the threshold of the hall where the underground network began. They could advance no farther.

How many more? Balendilнn's heart sank as he surveyed the waiting beasts. They were trapped in the hall, but by no means defeated, and their numbers were swelling as the tunnels disgorged more orcs.

A messenger pushed his way through the dwarven ranks, bringing more bad tidings for Balendilнn. "The beasts have outmaneuvered us," he gasped. "They've attacked from the rear. The gates of Ogre's Death are open and the first two ramparts have been taken."

By now Balendilнn was beginning to suspect that the dwarves had been betrayed. "Flood the ramparts with boiling oil," he ordered. "That will-"

"We can't. They've destroyed the vats."

Destroyed? A moment ago, he had been confident that the enemy would be defeated; now his faith seemed misplaced. To destroy the vats they'd have to know where to find them, in which case… "Give the order to retreat. We'll defend the stronghold from within. Close the gates and abandon the ramparts." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Hurry!"

The messenger nodded and sped away.

Balendilнn was certain that the secondlings' predicament had nothing to do with bad luck. Not only had they been attacked through tunnels whose existence had been secret for hundreds of cycles, but their defenses had been sabotaged by enemies who seemed to know the stronghold inside out, and now they were in danger of being outmaneuvered.

Someone with intimate knowledge of Ogre's Death had helped them to plan the invasion. What kind of dwarf would do such a thing? Balendilнn could think of no one who would stoop so low as to ally themselves with orcs. Nфd'onn must have used his sorcery to draw out our secrets. There was no time to hesitate: He had to act fast.

"I need two hundred warriors. The rest of you stay here and hold back the orcs," he commanded, turning and marching away.

He was on course for the High Pass, where he intended to destroy the bridge before the orcs got hold of it and allowed fresh hordes to flood into the stronghold from the Outer Lands. His fury and hatred of Nфd'onn grew stronger with every step.

Underground Network, Kingdom of Weyurn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Surely he must be tired by now," said Rodario, puzzled. "I'd be exhausted if I had to push both wagons."

"Unlike some people, Djerun is no stranger to hard work," the maga said sternly.

The impresario gave her an injured look and stuck out his chin. "Perhaps the Estimable Maga could tell me what I've done to be treated with such contempt?"

She turned her back on him. "Climb in, Djerun; there's another downward pitch."

The armored giant squeezed into the rear wagon, trying to make himself as small as possible so as not to injure the others or crack his head on any low archways.

"Very well," said Rodario, refusing to give in. "You can ignore me if you like, but prepare for the consequences. I happen to be writing a drama in which you play a leading role. You'll have only yourself to blame if you make a bad impression."

The maga's eyes bored into his. "Perhaps Djerun should attend the first performance. You'll know from his reaction whether I like your play. If he raises his ax, you should run." The impresario held her gaze, but she refused to back down. "It isn't because of anything you've done, Rodario. Quite frankly, I don't like your manner. It's foppish."

Rodario frowned, his mood completely spoiled. "Why don't you come straight out and tell me that I'm not a real man? In your opinion, a man must have muscles, know how to wield a sword, and command the mystic arts."

"You understand me better than I thought," she said scathingly. "Since you fail on all three counts, you should stop your tiresome flirting. It's getting on everyone's nerves."

The maga's put-down was delivered in her usual strident voice. Rodario went a deep shade of red and was about to retaliate when the wagon plunged and picked up speed. Ink spilled out of the open bottle, washing over the parchment and onto his clothes. He fell into a wounded silence.

With one hand resting on the brake, Tungdil peered ahead, hoping to spot any potential obstacles before it was too late. Of course, if the rail was broken, nothing would save them. Boпndil was sitting beside him, eyes straining into the darkness too.

There was a generous gap between the two wagons and soon they were traveling at top speed. Suddenly the temperature seemed to rise, and the warm wind buffeting their faces acquired the sulfurous odor of rotten eggs.

"There's light ahead," shouted Boпndil. "It looks orange."

Shooting out of the tunnel, they raced toward another bridge whose basalt pillars spanned a vast lake, the surface of which was incandescent with light. Lava twisted and snaked its way along the bottom, causing the crystal-clear water to bubble and boil. The rising vapors warmed the air and made the atmosphere so humid that sweat started streaming from their pores. Breathing was difficult, not least because of the stench.

The molten lava lit up the cavern, a vast irregular hollow of two or more miles across, with a ceiling some five hundred paces above the water.

Their wagons trundled over the long bridge. Tungdil glanced over the side. A spectacular place, but I'll be glad to get out of here.

At that moment they heard hammering again.

It began with a single rap, a piercing tone that rose above the gentle bubbling of the water.

Goпmgar's head whipped back and forth as he strove to locate its source. "It's the ghosts of our forefathers," he whispered. "My great-grandmother told me stories about bad dwarves who trespassed against the laws of Vraccas. They were barred from the eternal smithy and condemned to roam the underground passageways. They avenge themselves on any mortal who crosses their path."

"I suppose you believe the stories about man-eating orcs as well," said Bavragor with a scornful laugh.

"Oh, those stories are true," Boпndil growled from the front. "I can vouch for that. His great-grandmother was probably right." Goпmgar shrank down farther into the wagon until only his eyes were visible over the side.

"That's enough, Boпndil," Tungdil said sharply. Even as he spoke, a second rap echoed through the grotto, reverberating against the glowing stone walls.

This time it didn't stop.

The raps grew louder and the intervals briefer until the hammering swelled to a deafening staccato that shook the rock, dislodging loose stones from the ceiling. Small fragments rained down on them, missing the bridge by a matter of paces and splashing into the bubbling lake.

"Look!" shrieked Goпmgar, beside himself with fear. "Vraccas have mercy on us! The spirits are coming to drag us to our deaths."

They looked up to where he was pointing. Figures detached themselves from the rock and stared down at them. Tungdil counted at least three hundred before he gave up.

Still they kept coming. There was no denying that they looked like dwarves: Some were wearing armor, some dressed in normal garb, others clad in little more than a leather apron. Male, female, warriors, smiths, and masons, their pale faces stared accusingly at them and the hammering increased. Suddenly their arms flew up in unison and pointed in the direction the travelers had come.

"They want us to leave," whispered Goпmgar. "Turn back, I beg you. Let's walk across Girdlegard; I'll fight the orcs, I promise."

Spirits. Tungdil's blood ran cold at the sight of their empty stares. The molten lava stained their ashen faces with its blood-red glow. He had read about ghosts in Lot-Ionan's books and now he'd seen the living proof. I'm not going to let you ruin our mission.

They swept into the next tunnel, away from the cavern, the lake, and the spirits. After a while the hammering faded too. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle It was just as Balendilнn had feared.

On reaching the High Pass, he and his warriors found dead dwarves strewn across the ramparts, blood trickling across the stone. They hadn't had time to draw their weapons and defend themselves, which seemed to suggest that the murderer had been a friend. A friend bewitched by Nфd'onn and turned traitor. Confound the wizard and his magic!

The air was foul with the stench of orc and they could hear the rattle of cogs and the clatter of stone as the bridge unfolded, slab by slab. The traitor had beaten them to it.

"Run!" shouted Balendilнn. There was no need to say more; everyone knew what had to be done if disaster was to be averted.

Tearing up the steps, they made for the chamber that housed the mechanism operating the bridge. On the other side of the chasm, the beasts were braying and cheering in excitement as the gangway unfurled. The dwarves tried not to listen to their shouts.

Suddenly they found themselves confronted by a guard of one hundred orcs, tall, powerful specimens, bristling with weaponry. Balendilнn and his warriors would have to fight tooth and nail to get through.

Both sides threw themselves into the battle with ferocity, each more determined than ever to wipe their enemies from the face of the earth. Green blood mingled with red, limbs were severed, teeth sent flying, and the bloodcurdling noise of the fighting competed with shouts and jeers from the hordes across the chasm whose rapacious hunger could barely be contained.

Balendilнn's arm grew heavier with every blow. His muscles were tiring from the strain of wielding his ax, but stubbornness kept him from flagging. "Show no mercy!" he cried. "The bridge must be destroyed before it's too late."

"It's too late already, Balendilнn," said Bislipur. The words echoed through the stone stairway, but of the speaker there was no sign. He didn't sound particularly troubled by the secondlings' plight. "The dwarves of Beroпn and Goпmdil will meet their doom together. It was easy enough to arrange, once the orcs were acquainted with the tunnels."

"You told them?" The king's ax slashed the vile visage of an ore. There was a sound of shattering bone and the beast toppled over, his skull a bloodied wreck. The path was clear and the dwarves surged into the chamber to attack the last dozen foes who were prepared to die rather than lose control of the bridge. Gasping for breath, Balendilнn stopped for a moment. "Why?"

"This isn't what I wanted, but you thwarted my plans with your ridiculous challenge to the succession. Thanks to you and the high king, I had to improvise a little, but I'm not one to mourn what might have been. I wanted a war against the elves, but orcs will do the job just as well-if not better."

Balendilнn tried to see where the voice was coming from, but the echo was deceptive. "I'll kill you for your treachery," he vowed, full of loathing.

His words were met with mocking laughter. "Others have threatened the same, but they've never made good on their promise. You won't either, King Balendilнn, not now that I've deprived you of your subjects and your stronghold."

Balendilнn lingered no longer, rushing instead to join the surviving warriors in the battle for the chamber. At last he risked a glance through an embrasure.

Two-thirds of the bridge had been lowered already and a few of the beasts, unable to restrain themselves, were jumping the gap. Some fell to their deaths, others caught hold of the edge and dangled for a moment before plummeting into the chasm below.

We have to stop them. Balendilнn let out a ferocious battle cry and threw himself against the last remaining orc, driving his ax with all his might into the creature's side. The blade ate its way through the grease-smeared armor, releasing a jet of dark green blood. He pulled out his weapon, parried his antagonist's sword, and struck where he had hit before. After a third blow, the beast staggered and died.

It was only then that Balendilнn caught sight of the twisted levers and broken handles that served to operate the bridge.

"The bridge is down," one of his soldiers reported. "The beasts are storming the kingdom, Your Majesty."

Frozen in horror, Balendilнn stared at the mangled machinery. He grabbed the lever on which the future of his kinsfolk, the future of all Girdlegard, depended, but it was jammed.

"Don't forsake your children, Vraccas," he cried in desperation, leaning against it with all his force. Changing his tactics, he tore out the lever, rammed his blade into the slot, and pulled down on the shaft. He looked out.

It was working! The columns retracted and the walkway dropped a few paces, sagging dangerously in the middle. Balendilнn heard the vast stone slabs snapping and cracking; then the noise was drowned out by screams of terror as the invading beasts realized that nothing could stop them from plunging to their deaths. At that moment the bridge gave way, pulling the creatures with it. The assembled hordes on the far side of the chasm howled in disappointment.

"Your Majesty, you're wounded," said one of his warriors in concern. Balendilнn looked down to see blood seeping from the left side of his torso. There was a huge slit in his chain mail where an orcish sword had struck.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, wrenching his ax from the slot. "We'll finish off the creatures who made it over the bridge, then go back to help the others. We'll deal with the traitor later."

As they battled their way back to the tunnels, it became apparent that the Blue Range was riddled with enemy troops. Every corridor, every passageway, every chamber brought forth more orcs and bцgnilim patrolling the territory in small groups or big gangs.

How much longer will we be able to hold them back? Balendilнn prayed to Vraccas for help.

On approaching the entrance to the tunnels, they heard the bestial cries of dying orcs. From the sound of it, the enemy troops were being massacred.

"I gave the warriors strict instructions not to attack! A pitched battle would be fatal. We'll be outnumbered!" The king and his company hurried to the aid of their comrades, but were greeted by an entirely unexpected-and inexplicable-sight.

Advancing in the opposite direction was a battalion of dwarves who had popped up behind the orcs and taken them by surprise. While the battalion cut its way through the beasts from the rear, Balendilнn's own troops had seized the initiative and launched an offensive, thereby squeezing the enemy between two fronts.

Balendilнn ordered his company to attack, and they joined the fray. At length the two dwarven armies met in the middle, their gleaming axes making quick work of the last orcish troopers.

"I don't like to be late for a battle," declared a warrior in beautifully fashioned mail. The voice was a little high-pitched, the beard on the thin side, and the armor revealed two large bulges that seemed distinctly unmanly. The dwarf was clutching a golden mace, now stained with orcish blood.

"I am Xamtys II of the clan of the Stubborn Streaks, queen of Borengar's folk and commander of the firstlings." She turned one of the corpses over with her foot. "I came here for a meeting of the assembly, and what do I find? Orcs! I suppose it's one way of letting off steam between debates."

Balendilнn quickly recovered from the surprise. "Queen Xamtys, you are most welcome here. Thank you for coming to the aid of your cousins in their hour of need. My name is Balendilнn Onearm of the clan of the Firm Fingers, king of the secondlings. Was it Tungdil or Gandogar who asked you to come?" He prayed silently that it was Tungdil.

"It was Tungdil. He convinced me to put an end to the cycles of silence." She held out her hand and he shook it. "What's going on here?"

He described in as few words as possible the fate that had befallen Ogre's Death and the betrayal of the dwarves by their own. He was interrupted by a messenger bearing news that the main gates were about to fall to the besiegers.

"Leave the range," Xamtys advised him. "If you've been betrayed, they'll know every passageway and every cavern." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come to my kingdom and shelter with the firstlings until Nфd'onn has been defeated and the beasts thrown out of your lands."

"I can't," he said quickly.

"King Balendilнn, this is no time for stubbornness," she said gently. "You and your folk will be overwhelmed by the enemy, and for what gain? My warriors will have their work cut out saving Girdlegard without you. I propose that we take the tunnel back to my kingdom and send messages to Tungdil and Gandogar to inform them of the change of plan." She studied Balendilнn's face and saw with relief that he knew she was right.

"Get the womenfolk and children out of here," he instructed his guards. "Squeeze as many of them as possible into the wagons. Anyone left behind will have to wait for our return; lone dwarves will have no trouble concealing them-selves in the mines and quarries. Destroy the key bridges. The orcs will be hard-pressed to track them down."

Withdrawing the troops and abandoning the kingdom amounted to a defeat, but Balendilнn had no choice if his folk were to survive. We wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for Bislipur, he thought bitterly.

He put his mind to organizing the retreat and dispatched volunteers to convey the news to the far reaches of the kingdom and warn the clans that the army had withdrawn. "Tell them it won't be for long," he commanded. "I give my word that I'll be back in a few weeks to kill the orcs."

He hurried away to the great hall, anxious to save the ceremonial hammer from desecration by the beasts. There was no need to worry about the secondlings' hoard: The treasures were protected by a runic password known only to the king.

Balendilнn picked up the hammer from its place beside the abandoned throne and listened to the battering rams thudding against the main gates. The pounding noise went straight through him, heralding the doom of Ogre's Death as clearly as if Tion himself were thumping on the door.

He took a last melancholy look at the throne, the stone pews, the tablets inscribed with Vraccas's laws, the lofty columns, and the beautifully sculpted bas-reliefs. Golden sunshine sloped through the chinks in the ceiling, bathing the hall in warm light. How much of this will be left when I return?

"Surely the king isn't abandoning his realm?"

"Bislipur!" Balendilнn whipped round toward the marble tablets. The traitor stepped out from behind one of them, the stone trinkets in his beard tinkling softly as he walked.

"I was hoping to meet you alone without any of your slavish attendants. It was tiresome of you to destroy the bridge. I was sorry to see it go." He raised his ax and drove it into one of the sacred tablets, cracking the stone and breaking it apart. "But patience is a virtue. The orcs will destroy your kingdom, just as I will put pay to your laws."

The king descended from the dais. "You can shatter the tablets, but the words will be carved again. You shan't destroy us, Bislipur. The children of the Smith stand united. Haven't you heard? The firstlings have come to our aid, and many of your allies have been slain by their axes."

"They're not allies; they work on my behalf. The orcs are only instruments of my revenge," Bislipur said calmly. He demolished the remains of the tablet. "Enjoy your little victory while you can. You'll never defeat Nфd'onn: He's dangerous in his insanity, and he's far too powerful for you." The second tablet shattered, splinters of polished stone striking the flagstones and scattering across the floor.

"Enough!" Balendilнn was at the foot of the dais and nearly upon the traitor. Without stopping he dropped the hammer and drew his ax from his belt. The fourthling was stronger, he knew, but his lameness made him slow and clumsy. "Tell me why."

"A fine duel this will be," laughed Bislipur. "Two cripples locked in combat."

"This isn't a battle of words," the king said grimly.

Bislipur smiled. "I guess the dwarves of Beroпn will have to find a new leader." His ax hurtled out of nowhere, but Balendilнn ducked, flinging out his arm and using his momentum to strike.

Cursing, Bislipur leaped back, but the metal spike on Balendilнn's ax head caught his unarmored calf, ripping through leather and fabric. Blood oozed from the wound.

"Why are you doing this?" Balendilнn demanded. "Is it because your favorite wasn't elected high king? Are you so obsessed with waging war on the elves that you betrayed your own kin? Is that it?"

Bislipur rushed forward and launched a series of feint attacks, but Balendilнn saw through them and drew back, steeling himself for the real assault. They had crossed the breadth of the vast hall and were battling along a passageway that led to a bridge. The ground was twenty or more paces beneath them.

"The succession never interested me," spat Bislipur. "My only desire was for war. The elves would have destroyed you."

He dealt the blow so forcefully that it was impossible to parry. At the last moment Balendilнn managed to deflect it, but he almost lost his ax.

"It makes no sense, Bislipur. Has Nфd'onn bewitched you? Why would you betray your folk?"

"My folk? The fourthlings aren't my folk! You were closer to the truth than you realized." His ax whistled through the air. Balendilнn blocked it, but the force of the blow numbed his hand.

"I'm too strong, too warlike to be a puny son of Goпmdil. Remember, you said so yourself." He struck again and this time the ax flew out of Balendilнn's fingers and clattered to the bridge. "I'm a child of Lorimbur, and I will go down in history as the thirdling who brought misery on the other dwarven folks," he said darkly. "I have succeeded where all others failed."

Balendilнn grabbed his arm and stopped the next blow, but the traitor head-butted him with his helmet. The king staggered backward, his vision starry and bloodied. Bislipur's cocky laughter rang in his ears.

"What a blow to you that Tungdil is a thirdling or he could have succeeded you on the throne. Oh, he'll weep when he sees the ruins of Ogre's Death. I've a good mind to stick around and ambush him. Killing him and his miserable company would give me pleasure."

"A thirdling? Never." It was all Balendilнn could do not to fall from the bridge.

"I know my kind when I see them. It's an instinct we've got. Trust me: Your protйgй is a thirdling, a dwarf killer. You may as well get used to the idea-before I kill you and feed your entrails to the orcs."

"You lie!" The king leaned back against the parapet, his legs giving way.

Smiling malevolently, Bislipur raised his ax. "What if I do? You're going to die anyway."

The blade swooped down but Balendilнn saw only a fleeting shadow. Underground Network, Kingdom of Tabaоn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234tb Solar Cycle The sound of falling rock gave Tungdil just enough warning to pull on the brake. Even so, the force of the collision sufficed to throw the wagon from the rail and give its passengers a thorough shaking.

"The spirits need to work on their timing," said Bavragor, wiping the dust from his brow. He turned to Balyndis, who let him wipe her face. "I bet the ceiling was meant to collapse on us." He reached for his drinking pouch and took a sip of brandy.

"It's nothing to worry about." Rodario scowled, springing from the wagon. "Our industrious giant will clear away the debris and we'll soon be on our way." He glanced at Andфkai. "Unless, of course, the Estimable Maga would prefer to blast through the tunnel with one of her gusts." His tone was deliberately sniffy: He was still cross with the maga for spurning his advances in front of the group.

Goпmgar, pale with fear, kept his eyes suspiciously on the ceiling and refused to leave the safety of his seat. Meanwhile, Andфkai was already inspecting the blocked tunnel and giving instructions for the rubble to be cleared. It soon became apparent that the task was too much even for Djerun.

"By the look of things, the ceiling has gone entirely," said Bavragor, who was clambering over the fallen rock and studying the walls. "I'd say someone went to a lot of trouble to organize this."

Furgas hurried to take a closer look. He ran his hands over the rock, then nodded. "You're right. The roof of the tunnel is riddled with holes. Whoever it was wanted to make certain that the ceiling would collapse once the struts were knocked away."

"Ghosts," whispered Goпmgar tremulously. "We should have listened to their warning. They're trying to get us killed."

Boпndil turned on him fiercely. "I never thought I'd say this, but Hammerfist's drunken singing is a thousand times more bearable than your complaining." His inner furnace had been burning high for some time, and he needed to let off steam.

"Keep a check on yourself, Boпndil," Tungdil pleaded. "I know it's hard and it's been a long while, but you mustn't let your temper get the better of you." He rummaged through his knapsack and brought out Xamtys's map. "We have to turn back. There's an exit about a mile from here." He turned to Goпmgar. "The spirits have answered your prayers: We're going back to the surface."

"Whereabouts are we?" asked Andфkai.

"According to my calculations, we're in the southeastern corner of the kingdom of Tabaоn. It shouldn't be too much of a problem to find the next entrance. Tabaоn is dead flat; it's just one vast plain."

"It's not fair," Bavragor grumbled moodily. "Why should cowardly little Shimmerbeard get his way? All that blasted riding was bad enough. I'm not built for traipsing around overland, and I can't say I'm fond of the sun."

"You'll get used to it soon enough," snapped Boпndil. "If you'd taken your turn at the High Pass with the rest of us, you'd know that sunshine can be pleasantly warming."

"It wasn't worth the risk," Bavragor snapped back. "I didn't want to end up like my sister."

Balyndis stiffened. Sensing the sudden tension, she stepped in front of Bavragor to stop things from getting out of hand. He grabbed her arm and pushed her away.

"Be careful," he warned her. "Don't turn your back on him when he's angry. His ax moves faster than his mind."

The warrior's muscles tensed, his hands gripping the hafts of his axes. "Is that right?" he growled, lowering his head belligerently.

"Stop it, both of you!" commanded Tungdil. "The two of you can carry the ingots until you've used up your excess energy. Djerun will take over when you're tired." They reluctantly obeyed.

Tungdil fell into step with Balyndis and briefly recounted the history of the feud. "Neither will give an inch. One of them is overburdened by grief, the other by anger."

"It's sad," she said, her plump face full of compassion. "Sad for both of them."

He dropped his voice, stopped walking, and leaned toward her. "Maybe we'll run into a pack of orcs so Boпndil can work off his anger. I'd rather we didn't have to, but it might be for the best." Her scent filled his nostrils: She smelled as delectable as fresh oil or polished steel.

"What are you waiting for, Tungdil?" shouted Goпmgar, who had finally left the wagon and was hurrying after the others. "Maybe I'm mistaken, but I thought leaders were supposed to lead…"

"You're absolutely right." He hurried past him and joined Boпndil and Bavragor, who were carrying their burdens in silence. Neither wanted to appear weaker than the other by handing their ingots to Djerun and admitting defeat.

Suddenly they heard a loud rattling ahead. The next instant, a wagon sped down the rail toward them. In the nick of time they leaped aside.

Djerun whipped out his ax and brought it down in one fluid movement. The wagon flipped off the rail and flew into the wall. At once the giant was beside it. He turned it upside down to check for passengers. There were none.

"That's funny. I suppose someone must have left it in a side passage, and now it's worked its way free," said Rodario. "Luckily I've got the reflexes of a panther; otherwise I'd be dead." Furgas responded with an incredulous look.

"The ghosts," whimpered Goпmgar. "They're trying to kill us."

"Don't be ridiculous," Boпndil said witheringly. He set down the ingots, went up to the wagon, and sniffed at it. "Well, it certainly hasn't been near any orcs. I'd be able to smell the fat on their armor." He crawled into the wagon and emerged only when he had something to show for his efforts. "A shoe buckle," he announced, lifting it up for the others to see. "Silver alloy. It's not especially old, but it looks quite worn, judging by the dirt and scratches." He pocketed it.

I've seen that buckle somewhere before, thought Tungdil to himself. "We can't do anything about it now," he told the others. "Let's carry on."

Boпndil scooped up his ingots and the company marched off. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Balendilнn flung himself to the ground. The blade whistled over his head and crashed into the side of the bridge. He kicked up at Bislipur, driving his foot into his groin, then drew his dagger and rammed it into his boot. In an instant, the traitor's groan became a bellow.

At last Balendilнn's vision cleared and he could see his antagonist above him-just in time to avoid the furious blow rushing his way. He rolled to the side and the ax hit the bridge.

This time Bislipur was prepared and the weapon rose again, swinging up toward Balendilнn. The blade sliced through his chain mail, penetrating his wounded chest. The spike on top of the ax head embedded itself in the metal rings.

"Fly away, you one-armed cripple," laughed Bislipur. He gripped the ax with both hands and pulled his enemy toward him, only to hurl him against the balustrade. Balendilнn slid to the edge of the bridge and saw the chasm beneath him. "That's if you can fly with one hand."

"Let's see if you do any better," cried the king, reaching out to stab him with his dagger. The blade entered the traitor's forearm just as Balendilнn rolled over the side.

Hanging on to the dagger with all his might, he pulled the screaming Bislipur with him. I'm taking the traitor with me, he vowed.

To his great surprise, his flight ended after only two paces as he slammed onto a ledge that was all that remained of an ancient archway erected beneath the bridge. The dagger tore through his enemy's arm.

Bislipur shot past him, letting go of the ax to make a grab for the protruding stone. He succeeded in stopping his fall, but dangled by one hand; the dagger had slit his other arm from the wrist to the elbow.

"It isn't over yet," he gasped, choking with pain and exertion as he dragged himself onto the ledge. His eyes blazed with hatred. "I only need one hand to strangle you, Balendilнn." He crawled across the stone toward him.

With a terrible shriek, the king seized the ax embedded in his chain mail and tore it out of his chest. "Oh, it's over, all right," he shouted, smashing the blade against the traitor's helmet. There was a cracking and splintering noise as the metal crashed into his skull. Blood streamed down Bislipur's face. "I promised to kill you, and I've kept my word."

He let go of the haft, thrust his foot into the traitor's face, and pushed him over the edge. The bleeding body plunged down, hitting the ground twenty paces below with a muffled thud and splattering over the stone.

May your soul smolder forever in Vraccas's flames. Balendilнn closed his eyes and lay down on the ledge. The next moment he blacked out with pain.

They found him barely conscious and dangerously close to falling from the narrow shelf. He was carried to the tunnels, where his wagon was the last to leave. Kingdom of Tabaоn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle The snow sparkled for the last time that afternoon as the sun dropped below the flat horizon. Thousands of glittering diamonds studded the immense white plain as daylight faded to dusk.

Suddenly, in the middle of the untouched snow, a boulder began to stir. Cracks opened in its white cladding; then it rolled to one side and a woman struggled out of the ground beneath it. She stood up and took a few paces, cutting a channel through the immaculate blanket of flakes.

"Samusin protect us," gasped Andфkai as she surveyed the perfectly flat land. In the far distance, dark splodges marked the site of settlements, and each was topped with a column of smoke. She knelt down to make herself less visible and pulled her cloak tighter to keep out the biting cold. "The orcs are here already. They must have invaded from the north." The winter air, fresh and frosty, filled her lungs and made her cough.

Looking around, she saw black flecks moving across the horizon on their way to a town, village, or hamlet, wherever was next on their mission of destruction.

Andфkai closed her eyes and focused her mind. Almost immediately she sensed the weak force field running through the earth beneath her, its energy harnessed by Nфd'onn for his black art.

"We're in what's left of Turguria," she said slowly. "The enchanted realm was rich in magic energy, but there's almost nothing left." All the same, she took the opportunity to replenish her powers, her face contorting with pain as she siphoned the magic from the land.

A helmet popped out of the hole in the snow, followed by a pair of keen brown eyes that flicked to and fro. "The sooner we get out of here, the better," Boпndil said surlily. He emerged into the open, while the others hurried up the last few steps. "Now I know why I've been feeling so peculiar. It's this magical malarkey; it never did anyone any good." He gave himself a shake and pushed the boulder back over the hole, thereby concealing the entrance to the underground network. "Let's go."

"Wait." Tungdil had followed Andфkai's gaze. He shivered. His breath left plump white clouds in the air and his beard was already frozen solid. "You're right, maga. The orcs must have crossed over from the Perished Land. The hordes from Toboribor could never have got here this quickly."

"That makes it worse," commented Goпmgar in his customary whine. "I-"

"If you don't shut up, I'll make you," Boпndil threatened. "Can't you see we're trying to think?"

"You're trying to think? You're not even capable of-"

Ireheart whirled around and threw himself on the artisan with a wild shriek. Goпmgar ducked behind his shield and cried for help.

"Stop that, Boпndil!" The warrior paid no attention. He'll tear him limb from limb. Tungdil launched himself on Boпndil, and Bavragor followed suit. The three dwarves disappeared in a cloud of snow from which loud curses, the sound of punches, and a great deal of coughing could be heard.

With Djerun's help they succeeded in pulling Boпndil away. By some miracle, he had refrained from using his axes, thus sparing the others more serious injuries. Their bloody noses and bruised faces were proof enough of his formidable strength.

"I'm sorry," panted Boпndil. "It's my fiery spirit." He scrabbled in the snow for his helmet and tried to come up with an appropriate excuse. "He provoked me and then I…"

"Let's forget about it." The right half of Tungdil's face was throbbing painfully and he wasn't in the mood for delivering a lecture. "You're welcome to slaughter the next lot of orcs by yourself."

Balyndis took care of their wounds by clumping snow together and pressing it against their bruised and battered limbs. They set off in silence on a northeasterly bearing.

Andфkai drew alongside Tungdil. "There's no smoke ahead," she said. "Nфd'onn must have ordered the orcs to quell any resistance in Turguria and the other enchanted realms before taking on the human kingdoms." She pointed to the east. "There's a fortified city in Tabaоn, just across the border from here. I vote we find ourselves a room. We're not dressed for sleeping in the open, especially not when it's freezing outside. Besides, the citizens will be glad of a few extra swords."

Tungdil nodded his agreement. It was nighttime when the company reached the gates of a city marked on the map as Roodacre. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle No sooner were the wagons rolling along the rail than Balendilнn and Xamtys encountered the next setback. Nфd'onn's troops had already started to occupy the tunnels and barricade the tracks.

They managed to speed past the first band of waiting orcs, but a little farther along the tunnel they were pelted with stones by ogres and trolls while the second band of orcs charged onto the rail.

The ambush cost them four wagons, but the remaining carriages turned off at a junction, only now they were heading north and not west.

Before they reached the next corner, Xamtys signaled for them to halt. She made her way to the king's wagon to confer with Balendilнn. "They've blocked the rail to my kingdom," she said, clenching her jaw in frustration. "It's too dangerous for us to use the tunnels. For all we know, the orcs have sabotaged the tracks and we'll plunge straight into a chasm."

"Bislipur must have told them about the tunnels some time ago," said Balendilнn. His attendants saw their chance and redressed his wound. It doesn't bear thinking about. The dwarves built these tunnels for the protection of Girdlegard and now Tion's creatures are using them to conquer our kingdoms.

"We can't go overland, Balendilнn." Xamtys inspected his wound and shook her head. "It's winter and we won't find anything to eat on the way. None of us are equipped to trudge through snow and ice. We'd be lucky if half of us survived without freezing or starving." She took off her helmet and two plaits unfurled, draping themselves over her shoulders. "We'll have to come up with another idea. The Red Range-"

"No, Xamtys." He stopped short, gasping with pain. His strong hand gripped the side of the wagon while the dressing was removed. "The Red Range is out of the question." He pulled out a map and placed his finger over a dot at the heart of Girdlegard. "This is where we'll go. It's a somber place, I know, and a curse hangs over its history, but it's our only safe bet."

She ran a hand over her face as if to wipe away the dark thoughts and tiredness. "What makes you so sure?"

"It's not connected to the tunnels and there's no other way in. We'll have to cover a few miles overland, but once we're there, the women and children will be out of danger. The surrounding area is flat and easy to survey. We'll be safe until Tungdil or Gandogar finds us." He cursed Bislipur silently; he could barely move because of the wound in his chest, and he felt dangerously weak.

"Girdlegard is a big place. We can't count on sending messengers." Xamtys studied the section of map beneath Balendilнn's hovering finger. "I've never heard of the place."

"We won't need messengers. Provided we make sure everyone knows where we're going, our two friends will find us in the normal course of events. They're bound to realize that the orcs have seized the tunnels and they'll start making inquiries."

"Hmm." The queen didn't seem entirely convinced. "But then the beasts will be able to find us too. Is that what we want?"

"Absolutely." He nodded vigorously, his brown eyes gazing earnestly. "That's exactly my intention. I want Nфd'onn to lead his army to us."

Xamtys looked at him as if he were out of his mind. "He'll never show up in person, and if he does, we'll be dead. If you want a swift end, Balendilнn, you should have stayed in the Blue Range. We needn't have bothered to escape."

"No, Nфd'onn must come to us. He's been scouring Girdlegard for the books and relics. If he thinks we've got them, he'll gather his hordes and attack us in person."

"But why would we want him to attack us?" She leaned over the side of the wagon and looked at him imploringly. "Balendilнn, I need to know why I should lead my warriors to certain death."

He met her worried gaze. "We need to draw Nфd'onn close to us so Gandogar and Tungdil can find him. Otherwise he'll barricade himself somewhere in the depths of Girdlegard and we won't get a chance to use Keenfire against him."

At last the queen saw the logic of the plan. "So we'll act as bait. Of course, the only drawback is that no one knows when Gandogar or Tungdil will arrive."

"Or if they'll make it at all," he admitted frankly, closing his eyes. The loss of blood was sapping his strength, making him dizzy. "But it's our only hope."

"Very well." Xamtys let go of the wagon. "But I must warn my subjects first."

"It's too late for that. The orcs know all about the tunnels; they'll be there already. It's the obvious thing to do." He gripped her hand. "Your Majesty, we must resign ourselves to being the last dwarven army in these lands. The task of destroying Nфd'onn falls to us alone."

She took a deep breath and stared at his chapped hand. "To think that they're butchering my folk and I can't even stop them." A tear trickled down her soft cheek. "We must avenge ourselves a thousand times over, Balendilнn. The fields of Girdlegard will be awash with orcish blood, and I shall pursue our enemies tirelessly, stopping only when my royal mace shatters on an ogre's skull." Balendilнn could see from a glance that her weapon would never break. Suddenly Xamtys looked concerned. "But what if Nфd'onn defeats us before either expedition returns?"

He smiled at her, trying to look more confident than he felt. "We won't let him," he said firmly.

Xamtys held her head high, her brown eyes scanning the rows of anxious, determined faces in the wagons. Some of the children were crying, their wails rising above the clunking armor and weaponry as the other passengers fidgeted in their seats. The air smelled stuffy and old.

"As you wish, Balendilнn. I will follow your lead." She shook his hand and returned to her wagon.

The news of their destination spread like wildfire through the carriages. The secondlings had left their kingdom with misgivings, but on hearing where Balendilнn was taking them, they reacted with disbelief, horror, and, in a few cases, unmitigated fear. Roodacre, Kingdom of Tabaоn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Once again the company passed the sentries' muster without anyone remarking on Djerun's great size.

Roodacre was a vast place. The population was listed as seventy thousand in one of Lot-Ionan's books, but the study had been written some time ago and the city was still expanding.

"I don't blame the orcs for not touching it," commented Boпndil. "I'll wager that Roodacre could rally thirty thousand trained defenders, not to mention the rest."

"It won't take long for the orcs to gather an army to rival them," said Andфkai. "Either that, or the дlfar will capture the city by stealth." Mifurdania had taught them that nowhere was safe from Tion's hordes. "If all else fails, Nфd'onn will send one of his famuli to tear down the walls and let the orcs in. Once they're inside the settlement, Roodacre will be lost. Humans are no match for orcs." She pointed to a tavern where a light was still burning in the bar. "Shall we go in?"

"I wouldn't want to live in a place as flat as this," Bavragor said to Balyndis. "How are you supposed to hide from the sun when there isn't any shade? It must be baking in the summer."

"I've nothing against warmth, provided it comes from my forge," said the smith, ushering him in front of her.

"Yes, there's nothing better than smiting red-hot iron on the anvil and letting the hammer sing." Tungdil sighed. "I miss my smithy."

"Your smithy?" echoed Balyndis, surprised. "I thought you were a fourthling. Aren't Goпmdil's dwarves supposed to be gem cutters?"

"Exactly," said Goпmgar in an I-told-you-so tone of voice. "Gem cutters and diamond polishers. But he's not one of-"

"I'm a fourthling, all right, but I've always felt more of an affinity for a craft beloved of all our folks," Tungdil cut in.

"He's not one of us," Goпmgar continued dismissively. "He's just a foundling. He lived with the long-uns until someone talked him into thinking he was a fourthling, and then he took it upon himself to steal the crown."

"Oh," she said in confusion, "but if you were raised by men, who taught you to love the smithy?"

"I've always loved metalwork," he confided. "Even with sweat pouring into my eyes, arms as heavy as lead, and sparks singeing my beard, there's nowhere I'd rather be than at the anvil."

Her eyes lit up as she laughed. "I know what you mean." She rolled up her mail shirt to show him the scar on her right arm. "Look, that's what Vraccas did to me when I tried to forge a sword. He doesn't approve of dwarves fashioning anything but axes and maces. He sent a message through the anvil, and I've never been tempted to make another one since."

Tungdil pulled off his glove enthusiastically and held out his left palm, which was marked by a deep red scar. "It was a horseshoe. I knocked it off the anvil and put my hand out to catch it before it landed in the dirt. It was my best-ever horseshoe, and I wasn't about to see it ruined."

Balyndis was swept away by Tungdil's hitherto unsuspected passion for the forge. Soon they were deep in conversation about the particulars of metalwork and had quite forgotten their companions.

Andфkai called them to order by clearing her throat. "There'll be plenty of time for talking later. First we need to find somewhere to stay."

Tungdil glanced around for the first time and saw that they were in a large room of staring humans. Djerun towered above them like a statue. The enormous warrior would have looked more at home on a plinth outside the town hall than in the front room of a tavern.

The innkeeper lodged them in a dormitory usually used by traveling merchants. Because of the threat facing Girdlegard, trade between towns had practically ceased, and so Tungdil and his friends had the place to themselves at no extra cost. None of them felt like talking to the locals, so they ordered their meal to be brought to their room.

Feeling sidelined by Balyndis's and Tungdil's enthusiasm for the smithy, Bavragor tried to interest Balyndis in the art of masonry, with only moderate success.

He was a few notes into a traditional song of the Hammer Fists when Tungdil delved into his knapsack and brought out the sigurdaisy wood. Balyndis saw him inspecting it and leaned over to get a closer look. The melody stopped abruptly, ending in an unintelligible grunt.

"Is it metal?" The firstling frowned as she stared in fascination at the surface. "I've never seen anything like it. We don't have it in our kingdom."

Tungdil gave her a brief account of the wood and its purpose and handed her the relic. "The trees were all chopped down, so this is the last piece in Girdlegard-except Gandogar's, of course. Without it, we'd never be able to make Keenfire."

She ran her hands over it reverently, trying to feel the details with her fingers. Bavragor looked on jealously.

"Ha, look at him stare!" cackled Goпmgar, hiccuping with glee. "His one eye is falling out of its socket! Don't you get it?" he jeered. "She's not interested in you anymore. You're a stone splitter, not a fancy smith! It's too bad you've got the wrong gift." He stopped to fill his pipe, then jabbed the stem toward Tungdil. "Charlatans are in the habit of taking what doesn't belong to them."

Tungdil's cheeks reddened with anger and shame. "That's enough from you, Goпmgar," he said harshly. "Don't you see that spitefulness doesn't do you any favors?"

"Oh, I'm fine, thanks for asking," he hissed back. "How would you feel with everyone picking on you all the time?"

"Why can't you see that this isn't about Gandogar or the succession? We're here to stop Nфd'onn because-" Tungdil was about to launch into yet another explanation, but opted instead for the truth. "But you know that, don't you? You don't want to understand. You like being the one with a grievance!"

"What I think is my business, not yours! Anyhow, I was forced to join this expedition against my will and I don't see why I should suffer in silence. It wasn't my idea to come on this mission, and I'm going to keep reminding you of that."

"Actually, Goпmgar, you're not. No more insults, no more snide comments, no more cussed remarks, or I'll solder your lips together with red-hot metal. Do you understand? We need your hands and your craftsmanship, not your poisonous tongue." Eyes flashing, he turned to Bavragor and Boпndil. "As for you two, you're to leave him in peace. The teasing stops now."

Goпmgar puffed furiously on his pipe, sending clouds of blue smoke shooting toward the ceiling. He got up and walked to the door. "Don't worry, I'm not running away," he said scornfully when he saw the alarmed expression on Tungdil's face. "I'm going outside so I can walk up and down and be as insulting, snide, and cussed as I like-and you'd better not get in my way!"

He marched out, letting the door slam behind him.

Rodario was the first to break the silence. "Would anyone like the last of this delectable sausage?" he inquired. "I'm still a little hungry, but good manners dictate that…" He broke off when no one showed any sign of responding, and decided that the lack of interest entitled him to help himself. Having finished the sausage with gusto, he dipped his hands in the tub of warm water provided by the publican and lathered the soap in preparation for a wash.

He was watched by Boпndil, who sighed incredulously to communicate his opinion of washing and water in general. The secondling stared up at Djerun, who had taken his place on the floor while Andфkai stood at the window and drew the rudimentary curtains. She had taken off her cloak. "Well, long-un," he said to the giant, "you and I are both dying to slay a dozen runts, but don't forget: If we come across a pack of them, the first ten belong to me."

Djerun maintained his customary silence.

Boпndil shrugged, went to the window, and climbed out onto the roof. He soon spotted Goпmgar. "You should see this," he called out to the others. "The artisan is marching up and down the street."

"Tell him to come back in," said Tungdil, who was poring over the map. The city walls did nothing to assure him of their safety. We've had proof enough that the дlfar can slip past sentries with ease. If their enemies had spies anywhere near the city, they would know by now that the odd-looking group had found its way to Roodacre. They'll come for us and they won't give in until they've seen their mission through.

"He says he won't," Boпndil bellowed through the window.

"Pretend you've seen an дlf," suggested Bavragor, offering a morsel of genuine dwarven cheese to Balyndis. "That should do the trick." Andфkai wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell, but said nothing.

Sure enough, a few moments later they heard the rush of footsteps on the stairs; then the artisan burst into the dormitory, banging the door behind him and dropping the heavy oak panel into the latch.

Boпndil abandoned his post and climbed back inside, his chain mail clinking softly. "You were lucky," he said gravely. He curled his long plait into a pillow and lay down. "The дlf was right behind you."

Goпmgar turned a deathly shade of pale.