The Dwarves

IX

Underground Network, Elven Kingdom of Вlandur, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Unbelievable!" Boпndil had no intention of letting the matter go. He sat down heavily in a wagon. "How can they need more time? Time to think about what? I've never heard anything so ridiculous! They'll be sorry when Nфd'onn rules Girdlegard and the дlfar chop down their forest to make a bonfire! They won't need time for thinking then!" He thumped the handrail angrily. "I'd like to slice four of those elv-er, orcs-in two!"

What a blow for Gundrabur, thought Tungdil disappointedly. He took a seat beside the warrior. "I know how you feel," he confessed. "I thought Liъtasil would overrule the doubters, but obviously I was wrong."

Furgas, who had been examining the track, took a few steps into the tunnel to assess the condition of the rail. "It looks pretty solid. There's a bit of rust, but nothing serious. It's almost as good as new." Satisfied, he returned to the wagon and sat down beside Narmora. "Let the journey begin."

The company had stayed the night in the forest while the elves were conferring. Вlandur's beds were the softest in Girdlegard, which suited the humans very well. The dwarves, unaccustomed to such luxury, had slept badly and woken up with sore backs. After a simple breakfast, they had packed their things and set out in search of the tunnel. The trapdoor, built into a boulder and camouflaged by a thicket of ferns, had opened without a hitch. Once inside, they had discovered four empty wagons and a ramp.

"Finished," said Rodario, putting away his quill. "You'll be pleased to know that the elves play a none-too-courageous role in this epic." He beamed at them. "Girdlegard will hear how the warriors of Вlandur declined to come to its rescue."

"At least we found the entrance to the tunnel," Balyndis said brightly, trying to lift the mood.

Boпndil ran his finger experimentally along his blades. "I suppose that's something. The question is, will we reach our destination, or end up being ambushed and eaten by a war band of orcs?" A menacing smile crept over his face. "Don't worry, my axes will take care of them. I'm longing to slit their runty throats." As always on such occasions, he glanced sharply at Djerun to remind him not to interfere.

Tungdil turned to Narmora, who seemed calmer now that they were leaving. "How are you feeling?"

She smiled. "Better. It was hard for me in the forest, surrounded by so much elvishness. I've got my mother to blame for that."

He cleared his throat. "Are you nervous?"

"About the showdown with Nфd'onn?" She squeezed Furgas's hand. "No, not really-although once the magus is standing in front of me it will be a different story. Still, I've rehearsed what to do, so it should be all right."

"Of course it will be all right!" roared Boпndil. "We'll pop up behind the army and plow through the ranks. Before the runts know what's hit them, you'll whip out Keenfire and strike the magus in the back. He'll die, and Girdlegard will be saved!"

Narmora smiled. "A fine plan, but I'd like to try something a little more daring. How about I pretend to be an дlf? I can play the part to perfection. I'll be able to get past Nфd'onn's guards and apprentices without arousing suspicion."

"I don't mean to be rude," Andфkai said doubtfully, "but why would Nфd'onn be interested in an ordinary дlf? You'll never get close enough."

Narmora rearranged her head scarf. "I'll think of something."

Of course! Tungdil broke into a grin. He had just remembered a story from one of Lot-Ionan's books. The heroes had used a simple but effective trick that could work for them as well. "He'll be interested, all right, when you deliver the hostages that he's been waiting for."

"What kind of hostages?" asked Boпndil. Then it dawned on him. "What? You want us to give ourselves up?" he protested. "No, we'll fight our way through like I said!"

"My dear fellow," Rodario interrupted sweetly, "I don't wish to reawaken painful memories, but remember what happened in the fifthling kingdom? Your axes made little impression on the hordes of baying beasts."

"Precisely my point." Tungdil nodded. "We'll be outnumbered. That's why Rodario, Furgas, and Andфkai will pretend to be mercenaries who helped Narmora to capture us. Djerun will have to stay here; his presence would give us away."

"It's a risky strategy, but it might just work," Andфkai said earnestly. "I'm in favor."

Rodario tapped his lip pensively. "Haven't I read something like that before?"

"Do you mean The Death of Herengard? In the story the heroes need to kill the evil monarch. They use the same tactic and it works," explained Tungdil, owning up to his source.

"You mean you borrowed it from a book?" Boпndil protested, aghast. "But you can't-"

"Remember what I told you when we met? Reading is important!" Tungdil clapped the warrior on the back. "Maybe you'll believe me now. Let's have a show of hands."

The motion was passed with only one objection. Offended at not being listened to, Boпndil sulked in silence, not even cheering and whooping when the wagon plunged downhill.

Tungdil chose not to mention the end of the story: King Herengard's valiant killers had been slain by his guards. It was a good strategy nonetheless.

Once again their journey took them deep below the surface of Girdlegard. They were headed for the Blacksaddle, where Nфd'onn was mustering his army of orcs and other vile beasts.

Little did they know that the tunnel was preparing to surprise them again.

On rounding a corner, they saw upturned wagons and mounds of orcish corpses piled on both sides of the rail. There must have been at least two hundred bodies in all. They couldn't stop because of the momentum, so they leaned out of the wagon to get a better look.

"By my beard, this is the work of axes if ever I saw it," growled Boпndil. "You can bet they were slaughtered by dwarves. Our kinsfolk must be doing better than we thought."

"It seems funny to be fighting in the tunnels when there's a perfectly good stronghold in the Blacksaddle. Why haven't they ensconced themselves there?" Tungdil dangled over the side to inspect the corpses, which were stacked neatly away from the rail. Someone wanted to make sure that nothing and no one got in our way. He was instantly reminded of the spirits whom they had encountered twice before. "The ghosts! They helped us in the fifthling kingdom, remember?"

Balyndis pointed to a niche in the tunnel, where a small figure lay contorted on the floor. An orcish spear protruded from its side. "That's not a ghost!" she said. "Ghosts don't have corpses."

"I wonder if there's such a thing as tunnel-dwelling dwarves," speculated Furgas. "It struck me a while ago that the rail looked nice and shiny. Someone's been using it regularly, I'd say."

Tunnel-dwelling dwarves? The network had been abandoned for such a long time that a band of dwarves could easily have settled in the tunnels. Tungdil could only guess at an explanation. They must have been banished by the ancient folks.

He was gripped by excitement. It was entirely plausible that outcasts from the various clans and folks had learned of the tunnels and founded their own community many cycles ago. Perhaps they didn't want to go back to their kingdoms?

"Quick, lend me your quill, Rodario!" he said, grabbing the ink and parchment and scribbling a hurried thank-you letter. His handwriting was almost illegible because of the juddering wagon. They sped past a stalagmite, and he pinned the note on top.

"Can spirits read?" inquired Andфkai.

"They're not spirits," he answered. "If my suspicions are correct, they're dwarves-outcasts from the five kingdoms who claimed the tunnels for themselves. We've been trespassing on their territory." He gave a quick explanation. "Remember how they kept warning us? The hammering, the collapse of the tunnel, the faces in the cavern. They were trying to make us leave."

"Fascinating, fascinating," said Rodario. "And when the orcs turned up, they decided to help their kinsfolk instead of scaring them away. Blood is thicker than water, I suppose." Rodario snatched back his quill. "I'll add it to my notes."

"We've seen so many new things-good as well as bad," murmured Balyndis. "I hope the good outweighs the bad when it's over."

"It will," Tungdil said confidently. As they rattled around the next corner, he took a last look at the stalagmite. Unless he was much mistaken, a small figure was clutching his note.

Their arrival in the former realm of Lios Nudin gave Andфkai an opportunity to replenish her powers. She closed her eyes and waited. Almost immediately the walls of the tunnel began to glow, revealing the veins and pockmarks in the rock. Andфkai's breathing quickened; the light became brighter and intensified to a dazzling glare, then faded abruptly.

Slowly the maga opened her eyes, turned to the right, and vomited over the side of the wagon.

"What's the matter?" Tungdil was about to pull on the brake, but she stopped him with a wave.

"It's nothing; just keep going. Nфd'onn corrupted the force fields." She leaned back, and Balyndis handed her a pouch of water. "I channeled some of the energy, but it would probably kill me if I took any more." Her mouth snapped shut as she struggled to contain the next wave of nausea.

After traveling for two orbits they reached a set of points and continued alongside another rail. Suddenly a second wagon rolled up and drew level with theirs. Its passengers, a dozen or so orcs, seemed just as surprised as they were.

Ireheart was the first to recover from the shock. He reacted true to type.

"Oink, oink! Come here, you runts," he screeched excitedly, whipping out his axes. He glared at the others. "Leave them to me."

Before anyone could stop him, he had launched himself out of the wagon and landed ax-first among the startled beasts. In his battle-crazed fury, he accidentally killed the driver, leaving no one in charge of the brakes. The wagon hurtled through the tunnel while the scuffle continued inside.

Ireheart spotted a row of stalactites ahead and used them to his advantage. Maneuvering skillfully, he tricked a careless ore into dodging his ax and colliding face-first with the hanging calcite. There was an explosion of gore and a peal of maniacal laughter; then the dwarf pushed the headless creature over the side.

The runts struggled to defend themselves as Ireheart slashed through their ranks; the suddenness of the attack and the cramped circumstances worked in his favor, and his frenzied cackles, along with the shrieks and howls of his victims, vied with the noise of the wagons. Soon he reached the last of the orcs, a muscular beast whose armor was superior to his companions'.

"Stop! Don't kill their leader!" shouted Tungdil. "I want to interrogate him."

But the warrior was in the grip of his fiery spirit. Brandishing his axes, he charged toward the orc, who didn't stand a chance of deflecting both blades at once.

Andфkai barked an order, and Djerun seized the doomed beast by the scruff of his neck. Like the boom of a crane, the giant's metal-plated arm swung toward the company's wagon and deposited the creature at the rear. The orc stopped struggling as soon as he felt the giant's sword against his throat.

"Hey! That's cheating!" Undaunted, Boпndil leaped back into their wagon, still intent on hacking the orc to pieces, but Andфkai barred the way.

"Don't be foolish, Boпndil," she warned him coldly. "I've replenished my powers, remember. Stop of your own accord, or I'll make you. Tungdil's right; we need to find out what we're up against."

Reason and fury struggled for mastery of the warrior's mind. Panting for breath, he returned to his seat: Good sense had triumphed. "Question him if you must. I'll kill the other runts when we get to the mountain."

Tungdil turned to the orc and looked at him keenly. "What's Nфd'onn doing at the Blacksaddle?" he asked in orcish.

"I'm not telling you anything, groundling."

"Maybe you'd prefer to tell my friend." He reached toward the seated giant and flipped back his visor. Violet light bathed the hideous features of the prisoner, who looked away in horror and fear. Tungdil took care not to look at Djerun; what he had glimpsed in the desert village would haunt him forever. "Or do you want him to bite off your arms?"

The orc squealed something that Tungdil couldn't understand, then said more clearly, "No, don't let him touch me!"

"What are you doing at the Blacksaddle?"

"We're besieging the groundlings," the orc answered, his voice cracking with fear. "They tried to hide from us, but Nфd'onn wants them dead."

"Why?"

"How should I know?"

"Is he there?"

The orc fell silent but kept a wary eye on Djerun.

Tungdil could practically smell his fear. "Is the magus at the Blacksaddle?" he repeated. When nothing happened, the giant seized the initiative. His head sped forward, and they heard a loud crunch.

Screaming, the orc stared at the mangled stump where his arm had once been. "You're right, you're right," he cried, howling with pain. "The magus is at the Blacksaddle!"

"When is he going to attack?" Tungdil asked pitilessly.

"I don't know. I was ordered to be there in four orbits." The beast groaned, trying to stop the gushing blood with his other hand. Green gore spurted through his fingers. "That's all I-"

Djerun hadn't eaten for ages, and the sight of a fresh meal was too tempting to resist. Without consulting Andфkai or Tungdil, he seized the orc, killed it, and devoured its twitching corpse. His back was turned, so none of the dwarves could see his face.

At the sound of the maga's voice, he dropped the body like a shot, closed his visor, and sat back down. Drops of green blood trickled from his helmet and there was a sickening smell of orc guts.

"Throw the rest away," Andфkai ordered. Djerun dropped the remains of the beast over the side of the carriage.

"By the hammer of Vraccas, if we didn't need the giant for our mission…" Ireheart broke off his threat. "He's a monster-a tame one, but a monster all the same." He glanced at the maga. "I hope your god doesn't get tired of you and turn the brute against us." His axes disappeared back into his belt. "I'm here if you need me; just say the word."

Andфkai declined to comment.

So Samusin's son devours his father's creatures. Tungdil stared in fascination at the demonic visor. Djerun's helmet was still glowing violet as if an eternal fire were blazing inside his head. Tungdil caught Narmora's eye. "The orcs were supposed to be there in four orbits. We've got a new deadline." He turned to face the front and felt a rush of air that cleared his nostrils of the smell of dead orc. Girdlegard will soon be free of evil-or forever in its thrall. Underground Network, Kingdom of Gauragar, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Later on they came across another fifty orcs whose bodies had been stacked to the side of the track. Their mysterious protectors had been at work again, although they continued to hide themselves from view.

The rest of their journey was uneventful, and they surfaced in the former kingdom of Gauragar, not far from the Blacksaddle.

Tungdil recognized the area straightaway. "It's this way," he told them, leading them to the hill from which he had first seen the Blacksaddle. Crouching low, they scrambled to the top, hoping not to be spotted by sentries. They weren't ready to don their disguises yet.

"Vraccas almighty, we're not a moment too soon," he whispered.

The murky forest of conifers was gone, replaced by a ring of wooden structures whose platforms were crawling with miniature figures that looked like orcs. The towers were already dizzyingly high, but the beasts were adding extra stories in the hope of storming the stronghold from the summit or the upper slopes. They must have tired of banging their heads against the solid base of the Blacksaddle or perhaps the growling mountain had shaken them from its flanks. It looks more sinister than ever without the trees.

Every now and then black torrents cascaded from the hidden stronghold, forcing the besiegers to flee the steaming liquid or perish in its flow. Elsewhere, fiery projectiles rained down on the army from chinks in the rock, landing among the beasts and dousing them in oil. Countless troopers were incinerated in the blaze.

They've resurrected the old defenses.

But despite their losses, Nфd'onn's soldiers continued undeterred. The beasts were swarming like ants around the base of the Blacksaddle, scouring the flat ground for anything that could be used in their assault on the flanks.

A detachment of ogres had been put to work splitting tree trunks and building siege engines. The defenders focused on toppling the towers or setting light to them before the orcs could climb high enough to pose a threat; but it did nothing to discourage the ogres, who collected the debris and started again. Their smaller comrades milled about impatiently, desperate for the attack to begin.

"It's strange, isn't it?" said Tungdil to his dwarven companions. He kept his eyes fixed on the mountain ahead. "The thirdlings built the stronghold to wipe out the other dwarves, but now it's the only thing protecting us from Nфd'onn." He suddenly remembered the runes that he had found on his first visit to the mountain. Roused by the thirdlings / Against the will of the thirdlings. / Drenched again / In blood, / The blood/ Of all their / Line. He wondered what it could mean.

"I've never seen so many of them," said Balyndis, staring wide-eyed at the beasts below.

The enemy had pitched their tents in a circle around the mountain about a mile from its base. Their shelters barely looked sturdy enough to withstand the snow and winter winds. Here and there black puffs of smoke rose skyward.

"Eighty thousand at a guess," Boпndil said evenly. He thumped Tungdil on the back. "I'm not saying you were right about books, but I'd need more than my axes to deal with a rabble like that. Your plan will work better after all."

Rodario pointed west. "Do you think those are Nфd'onn's quarters?" He indicated a stately tent, far larger than the others and draped in malachite-colored cloth. "I'd certainly want a tent like that if I were the magus. Canvas is all very well for the riffraff, but a man of authority deserves something better."

Furgas sighed. "Thank goodness you weren't born a nobleman. Your subjects would have strung you up cycles ago."

"Not if you were around to invent a slower way of killing me." They smiled at each other companionably.

"Speaking of inventions." Furgas gestured away from the main battleground and pointed to a band of ogres who were constructing a rolling siege engine. It towered two hundred paces above the ground and looked far more robust than its foregoers. "That should do the trick for them. They've used tiles on the outside to make it less flammable."

Hundreds of orcs descended on the contraption, swarming over its many platforms, arming it with crossbows and catapults, and stocking the slings with missiles and spears. The ogres finished the building work and bent down to push the tower toward the mountain. Bugles were sounded, heralding an all-out attack.

"It's time we did something," ruled Tungdil. "Narmora, bring the prisoners to Nфd'onn." She nodded resolutely and donned her disguise.

A few moments later they were faced with one of the deadliest creatures in Tion's creation. The transformation went deeper than the change of clothes; with each piece of дlf armor, Narmora looked crueler and more menacing, her face hardening and paling. As she straightened up, her voice sounded oddly sinister. "And now for the most important part…" The whites of her eyes darkened, leaving nothing but fathomless blackness, the distinguishing feature of the дlfar by day.

If I didn't know better…To Tungdil, she looked exactly like a real дlf, which was precisely what they needed for their plan to succeed. "Perfect," he praised her.

Andфkai got out the dark blue amulet that belonged to the dead дlf in the desert and hung it around Narmora's neck. "The crystal will ward off Nфd'onn's magic," she said. "I want you to wear it in case we get separated and you find yourself fighting on your own."

Narmora smiled at her. "Wait here. I'll fetch the armor for my mercenaries." She slipped away noiselessly and disappeared.

Tungdil noticed that Balyndis had reached for her ax. "She's… she's changed," the dwarf said defensively. "She's all sinister and threatening, just like a real дlf."

"What if her dark side takes over?" asked Boпndil, who didn't mind voicing his doubts. "She'll have Keenfire and we can't kill Nфd'onn without it. The maga won't be able to hurt her because of the amulet. How are we supposed to stop her if she turns against us?"

Furgas rushed to his mistress's defense. "She's still Narmora, you know," he said fiercely. "Don't forget that she's an actress. No matter what she says or does, you mustn't doubt her. She's had plenty of opportunity to-"

Narmora returned with an armful of bloodied armor belonging to some careless sentries. She threw the garments into the snow. "You'll have to wipe them clean," was all she said.

Once Rodario had taken some "special precautions," as he mysteriously referred to them, the company began the most perilous phase of their journey yet.

Tungdil, Gandogar, Balyndis, and Boпndil took their places at the heart of the group, surrounded by their captors, whose faces were hidden by their foul-smelling helmets. Narmora had swaddled Keenfire in rags and was carrying the weapon on her back. Djerun stayed behind, poised to charge down the hillside and cut down the enemy if his mistress should signal for help.

Boпndil found it especially difficult to be separated from his beloved axes. Worse still, his hands were bound, a circumstance he tolerated only because they couldn't get to Nфd'onn by any other means. A worrying thought occurred to him. "Tell me again how the story ended."

Rodario opened his mouth to enlighten him, but Tungdil cut him off. "Happily," he said firmly. He locked gazes with the impresario, pleading with him to let the falsehood stand. Rodario rolled his eyes, but refrained from comment.

"Just as well," growled Boпndil, who luckily wasn't interested in specifics.

Furgas had stowed the dwarves' axes in a sack and was ready to return them to their owners at the first sign of trouble. The captives were bound with leather manacles that would rip at the jerk of a wrist. All that mattered was that they looked like prisoners.

The afternoon shadows were growing long when they finally entered the enemy encampment.

Narmora glared menacingly at the sentries, three orcs and four bцgnilim, and demanded to be allowed to deliver her prisoners to Nфd'onn in person. The company was allowed to pass.

One of the bцgnilim rushed ahead to announce the arrival of the heroic дlf. The company strode purposefully between the tents, heading in the direction that the bцgnil had taken.

"So I was right," came a muffled voice from Rodario's helmet. "I knew it had to be Nфd'onn's tent."

"Silence," commanded Narmora in her sinister дlf's voice, and the impresario refrained from further comment.

By now they had a clear view of the dark green cloth that was housing the source of Girdlegard's ills. They were only twenty paces away when the tent opened and an old acquaintance emerged: pointy ears, handsome features, and long fair hair. "Sinthoras," gasped Tungdil in horror.

Boпndil leaned over. "Was he in the story too?"

The дlf was smiling maliciously. He was wearing a tionium breastplate and a long tionium mail shirt that reached as far as his knees. He was prepared for battle. "It's always a pleasure to see you," he said to Tungdil with a bow. Then he turned to Narmora. "Congratulations on capturing the prisoners, Miss…?"

"Morana," she said, furnishing herself with an дlf name.

"Morana," he repeated. "Tion must prize you highly. Caphalor and I hunted the groundlings across the length and breadth of Girdlegard with no success." His cruel eyes roved coldly over the little band. It was impossible to tell exactly who he was looking at. "We inflicted some casualties, it seems."

"And yet they evaded you," she said scornfully. She decided not to be intimidated and to play the part of the arrogant stranger.

"Yes, they evaded us." Sinthoras sighed with feigned regret. "But we have them now. I'll take them to Nфd'onn. You may go."

Narmora stood her ground. "I captured them. Why should I let you steal my reward?"

Sinthoras circled her menacingly. "You've got courage, young дlf. It's strange that I've never heard your name."

"Dsфn Balsur is a big place. I don't believe we've met."

"You're from Dsфn Balsur? I know every inch of our kingdom; I founded it." He stopped in front of her. "What of your mother and father? Where do you live, Morana?"

"That needn't concern you," she retorted, unmoved. "Hurry up and tell Nфd'onn I'm here to see him-or get out of my way."

"The magus is asleep."

"Then wake him."

Tungdil was still reeling from the shock of meeting Sinthoras. What are we to do? Should we walk past him? If it comes to a fight, some of us will die. He glanced at Nфd'onn's tent, which was tantalizingly close. If we wait too long, we'll only attract an audience, which is the last thing Narmora needs. He couldn't see that they had a choice.

"Come and listen to this, Caphalor." Sinthoras threw back his head and laughed. "I've got a young дlf here who isn't afraid of her elders. It could be the death of her one day."

"She ought to be taught some respect," someone said behind them.

Rodario was caught off guard by the voice and whipped round, almost taking Balyndis's head off with his lance. His armor, which was slightly too big for him, clunked noisily.

Behind them was an дlf with long dark hair. Tungdil recognized him immediately as the sinister bowman who had shot at him in Goodwater and tracked the company through the Red Range. He knew they had to do something, but he couldn't for the life of him think what.

"I knew a Morana once, but she didn't look like you. Besides, the Morana I'm thinking of is dead." Caphalor's fathomless eyes settled on Narmora. He was wearing tionium-plated leather armor that seemed to swallow the sunlight. "You're not from Dsфn Balsur, are you?" He laid his slender fingers on the hilt of his sword. "Why did you lie to us? Tell us where you're from."

By now Boпndil was becoming restless. His eyes darted back and forth and he glanced at Tungdil, waiting for his command.

Should we attack? If we do, they're bound to overpower us. Tungdil didn't know what to do. The дlfar's ambush was entirely unexpected and it looked as though neither Sinthoras nor Caphalor had any intention of allowing Narmora to deliver her prisoners to Nфd'onn.

"I've had enough of your games," she said, her voice trembling slightly. For all her acting experience, she couldn't control her fear. "If you won't take me to him, I'll call him myself." She shouted out to Nфd'onn.

The дlfar laughed.

"That's too bad," Sinthoras said spitefully. "You're not the only one who's been lying. The magus is mustering his troops by the tower. We're just about to join him. My spear is looking forward to whetting itself on dwarfish blood."

"The tower?" She glanced at the mercenaries and the dwarves. "Then that's where I'll take them." She was about to push past Sinthoras when he whipped out his sword. Before the blade reached her neck, she parried the blow. "Another trick like that and I'll kill you," she said menacingly.

A knife whistled over the dwarves' heads, its sharp point embedding itself in the half дlf's armpit. She cried out in pain.

"My Morana sounded different as well," Caphalor said grimly.

Furgas couldn't contain himself any longer and lunged at the aggressor. The дlf stepped nimbly out of the way of his spear, drew his sword, and feigned a swipe at his head. Furgas fell for the ruse and readied himself to parry the blow. The dark-haired дlf rammed his sword into Furgas's belly. The prop master sank to his knees, groaning.

"Quick," Tungdil shouted to Rodario, who was rooted with shock. The impresario grabbed the sack and tossed the weapons to the dwarves. Throwing off their leather manacles, they seized their axes and hurled themselves on their hated foes.

As Rodario backed away from the smiling Sinthoras, Ireheart leaped into the breach, his axes twirling ferociously.

"So you want to dunk your toothpick in some dwarf blood, do you, hollow eyes?" He slashed at the дlf's hips, forcing him away from Rodario. The impresario seized his chance and fled. Ireheart took another step toward his opponent. "You'd better be quick because my axes are hungry for дlf flesh." They fell on each other, and Balyndis and Gandogar threw themselves into the mix, ignoring Boпndil's indignant shouts.

Andфkai and Tungdil were left to deal with Caphalor, while the injured Narmora went to Furgas's aid.

The half дlf's wound was relatively minor. The knife had missed the vein, nicking the flesh and drawing blood, but Furgas was in a critical state. By the time Narmora got to him, he was breathing shallowly, fumbling with his visor, and struggling for air.

"Furgas, my love," she said soothingly, pressing on his abdomen to stem the bleeding. The color returned to her eyes as she tended to him anxiously. Blood continued to gush from the wound. With a wild curse, she jumped to her feet, pushed Andфkai away from Caphalor, and harried the дlf with a series of blows. "I'll take care of him. You see to Furgas," she ordered. "He'll die if you don't." Her eyes darkened to hollows.

Andфkai retreated with a nod.

"How moving," Caphalor said scornfully. "I shouldn't worry, though. You'll be united in death." He dodged her weapon and kicked Tungdil elegantly in the chest. The dwarf fell backward and sat down with a thud. Caphalor smiled at Narmora. "Let's have some fun before I kill you."

He parried her next blow and punched her in the face. Struggling to keep her balance, she managed to duck beneath his sword, but his knee powered into her nose and she straightened up, placing herself unknowingly within reach of his blade.

Without stopping to think, Tungdil hurled his only ax at the дlf. Boпndil would have disapproved of the tactic, but he didn't know what else to do.

The blade whistled as it arced through the air, alerting Caphalor to the danger.

In a movement so swift that Tungdil scarcely saw it happen, Caphalor caught the weapon by the haft and tossed it back. The дlf used the momentum to whirl like a spinning top toward Narmora and knock her sideways. He raised his sword to kill her as she fell.

Tungdil had no time to dodge the flying ax, which hit him poll-first in the chest. His ribs cracked audibly and the pain was terrible, but it could have been far worse.

"Leave her to me, Caphalor," a hoarse voice commanded. The дlf froze and turned to see Nфd'onn, who had appeared out of nowhere.

"But, Master, you…"

His confusion lasted long enough for Narmora to sit up and thrust her blade into the crouching дlf's neck. The blow almost parted his head from his shoulders, but Caphalor took one last lunge at her, slashing at her throat, then toppling over and burying her beneath him.

Sinthoras let out a terrible howl. He realized that his friend was dead and that the distraction was the work of an impostor. Glancing at his opponents, he decided that the odds were against him. He had sacrificed his amulet already and was no match for the maga on his own. "We'll meet again," he promised. "Sinthoras will be your death." With that he disappeared into the tent.

Tungdil and his companions chased after him but found the magus's quarters deserted. Damn that дlf! He's tricked us again.

Rodario, still posing as the magus, had stayed outside to disperse the crowd of startled beasts. He instructed them to return to the battle and kill any of their comrades who weren't fighting savagely enough. "I'll take care of the treacherous sorceress myself." He stabbed a finger at Andфkai and muttered a few unintelligible words. "Take that!" The maga sank obligingly to the ground. Impressed by the magus's power, the orcs and bцgnilim backed away, bowing respectfully.

"An unsophisticated audience is a gift from above," he murmured gratefully into his malachite cowl. His heart had been in his throat throughout the scene. He checked that the coast was clear and beckoned to Andфkai. "No one's looking. Come quickly, Estimable Maga! Narmora needs your help!"

The maga crouched over the half дlf and began a healing incantation to close the wound, while Rodario stood in front of them, spreading out his voluminous robes to hide them from view. "Incidentally, you'd make a wonderful actress. I've never seen anyone die with such conviction."

"This is no time for flattery," she rebuked him, concentrating on her charm.

As quickly and discreetly as possible they carried the dead дlf and their two wounded companions into the tent and held a whispered conference. Boпndil peered out of the flap and kept watch.

"Sinthoras is bound to tell the magus about us," said Tungdil. He glanced down at Furgas's motionless form. Andфkai had induced a deep healing sleep in the hope that he would recover. Narmora was stroking his hand comfortingly, but she herself was shaking all over and her throat was smeared with blood.

"Nфd'onn will be expecting us," said Andфkai, glancing around the tent. "It won't make things any easier, but at least we've got another дlf outfit." She stripped the dead Caphalor unceremoniously of his mail and strapped it to her body. It was tight in some places and loose in others, but with her visor down and in the company of Narmora she looked reasonably convincing. "With any luck, Nфd'onn won't notice the difference until it's too late."

"How do you feel about posing as the magus again, Rodario? Do you think you'd be able to get us as far as Nфd'onn?" Tungdil was already working on a new plan.

"With pleasure." He tugged on the straps that looped beneath his improvised stilts. He was standing on a pair of helmets. "I get quite a kick out of being a notorious wizard." Grinning, he made a final check of his flamethrower and rearranged the air-filled leather pouches that inflated his girth. "Let the show begin! Our beastly spectators are waiting."

"Don't lay it on too thick or they'll tear you to pieces before we can stop them," warned Tungdil. "All right, here's the story." He pointed to Balyndis, Boпndil, Gandogar, and himself. "The four of us are defectors. We're under your spell, and we're showing you how to infiltrate the stronghold."

Andфkai picked up Furgas's helmet and placed it on her head. It didn't look right with the elaborate дlf armor, but at least it hid her face.

"Blasted ogres," gasped Boпndil, peering through the tent flap. "They've pushed the tower right up against the mountain. They're going to do it this time." He screwed his eyes up in concentration. "I think I can see the magus. He's on the middle platform and he's-" He stopped short, too anxious to continue.

The others rushed to the door to see for themselves what was happening.

The Blacksaddle was quaking under the force of Nфd'onn's attack. Black bolts sped from his staff and zigzagged over the slopes. The noise of crackling, spluttering lightning carried as far as the tent.

The stubborn mountain stood firm, resisting the assault. Just then a mighty bolt slammed into its flank, forcing it apart.

A mass of fractured rock thundered down the slopes, raising vast clouds of dust. Ledges and overhangs collapsed, laying open the passageways that led into the stronghold.

The troops on the tower prepared to disembark. Each platform was equipped with hastily constructed gangplanks, which the beasts angled toward the pitted surface of the once-sheer slope. The first orcs were halfway across before the planks had touched down. They stormed into the stronghold, to be met by dwarven axes.

Nфd'onn made certain that enough troopers were inside, then stepped onto a gangplank and followed them unhurriedly into the stronghold.

At least we know where he is. Tungdil took a deep breath. "We'll have to leave Furgas here," he decided. "It's safer than taking him with us. Are you ready?"

Narmora and Rodario nodded.

As they strode past rows of kneeling beasts who were too dim-witted to see through their disguise, Boпndil had a sudden feeling that they had forgotten something important, and he couldn't think what.

They remained on guard, knowing that Sinthoras was still at large and could ambush them at any moment. Mercifully, the crowds were too thick for him to take aim at them with his bow, so he would be forced to attack at close range. He hadn't shown himself yet.

No one challenged them as they headed for the tower. Farther away, four smaller siege engines had started attacking the stronghold. They ascended the broad steps that led up to the platforms and strode over the gangplank that Nфd'onn had used.

To their intense relief, they survived the defenders' hail of stones and arrows and made it safely into the Blacksaddle. Orcish shrieks echoed through the passageway, accompanied by the peal of colliding swords, axes, and maces. A battle was raging deep within the stronghold.

"I'll see to it that we don't have to worry about enemy reinforcements," said Andфkai. She turned and focused on the besiegers' main tower. Ogres were scaling its sides, hoping to use the uppermost platform as a stepping-stone. Unable to squeeze through the tunnels, they were intent on assailing the defenders from the mountain's flat summit.

"You mustn't exhaust yourself," warned Tungdil, scanning the area for orcs. "We're bound to need your magic when it comes to tackling Nфd'onn."

"Don't worry; I know how to deal with them." The fair- haired maga conjured luminous blue runes that coalesced into a sphere. Hissing furiously, the ball of energy swooped toward the base of the tower and exploded on Andфkai's command.

The air crackled with the sound of an oncoming storm, and a gale blew up, blasting through the tower's solid timber and blowing away the tethers. The lower platforms folded like cardboard, causing the tower to wobble and tilt dangerously to the side.

The walls blew out, and the ogres were thrown backward, arms and legs thrashing frantically like upturned beetles. They fell to earth amid the milling mass of orcs, bцgnilim, and beasts. A moment later, the tower collapsed entirely, burying several hundred more creatures under its weight. The shrill screams of terror sounded sweeter than the sweetest music to Tungdil's ears. The wreckage of the tower lay directly below the entrance to the stronghold, so the debris would have to be cleared before any of the smaller siege engines could be wheeled into place.

"That should keep them busy for a while," said Andфkai, eyeing her work with satisfaction.

"Now for the traitor. We'll have to fight our way through to him, I'm afraid." Tungdil gave up all pretense of being enslaved to the counterfeit magus. "Enough of the act, Rodario. If our kinsfolk mistake you for the real Nфd'onn, they'll rip you limb from limb."

Rodario stepped down from his makeshift stilts and took off his robe to reveal his armor. He stowed the props hastily in his bag.

Balyndis was still scanning the besieging troops. A cloud of dust had appeared on the horizon. "We need to hurry," she said in alarm. "There are more of them. Where the deuce are they coming from?"

Tungdil didn't care where they were coming from, provided that he and the others could beat them back. How are we ever going to defeat them? Even if we kill the magus, we'll never get rid of them on our own. It would take a combined army of dwarves, elves, and men to see off the threat. He drew closer to Balyndis and took her hand, drawing strength and courage from her touch. "We'll deal with Nфd'onn; then we'll worry about his troops."

They raised their weapons and prepared to charge into the tunnels and overwhelm their enemies from behind. Boпndil was in his element.

"This is the way it should be," he whispered, eyes glinting as his fiery inner furnace took control. "A narrow tunnel, more enemies than we can count…The first ten are for my brother, but Vraccas can have the rest."

"Narmora is our priority," Tungdil reminded them. "She's the only one who can kill Nфd'onn, but the rest of us must protect her as best we can."

Gandogar patted his double-headed ax. "No one will touch her while I'm alive to stop them. Destroying Nфd'onn is all that counts."

Rodario was happy to settle for a less heroic role and stood back politely to let the others pass. While they stormed down the tunnel, he took a last look outside.

"Come back, everyone, it's…" He stared at the fluttering banners of an army approaching from the east. "Aren't those the colors of Ido? Surely Prince Mallen wouldn't ally himself with Nфd'onn?" His eyes roved over the other banners flying above the rows of troops. The crests of all the human kingdoms!

The first wave of warriors flowed into the back of a unit hurrying to lend Nфd'onn their support. Rodario watched in astonishment as the new arrivals mowed down the startled beasts.

Not having reckoned with enemy troops, Nфd'onn's soldiers took a while to realize that they were under attack. A moment later, the sky darkened and a hailstorm of arrows ripped through the air. The iron-tipped missiles glittered in the light as they sped toward the beasts. The magus's warriors forgot about the humans and tried to locate their other mysterious foes. Firebombs were already whining toward them, crashing down and engulfing them in flames. Panic broke out.

"Bravo for the elves!" cheered Rodario, relaying the news to his friends.

Gandogar grinned. "So the pointy-ears have found their courage, have they?"

"What are we waiting for?" demanded Ireheart, fired up by the prospect of orc blood. "Do you want to kill Nфd'onn or not?"

They charged into the tunnel, their confidence buoyed.

As it turned out, they had nothing to fear from the orcs. Not expecting to be attacked from the rear, the runts put up almost no resistance, and the first forty died without knowing what had hit them. The company found themselves at a junction with no sign of beasts or dwarves.

"That was brilliant fun! Where to now?" Ireheart panted eagerly. "You know your way around here. Which direction will Nфd'onn have taken?"

"He's probably helping his troops at a spot where he can't get any farther by brute force alone," Tungdil said, wishing fervently that the walls of the stronghold would speak to him as they had once before. Nothing happened. "The trouble is, I can't think where." There was a hint of desperation in his voice. "It's…"

A dull rumble shook the ground beneath their feet, and a fierce red light radiated from the passageway to their left. Flames licked the walls in the distance; then the glow faded and was gone.

Tungdil didn't need to give the order: He and the others were already sprinting toward the blaze. The smell of charred flesh hung thick in the air, the black fatty smoke stinging their eyes and burning their lungs.

They stormed out of the passageway and entered the first of three halls. The chambers were divided by roughly fashioned walls, but vast archways, each nine paces or more in height, allowed them to see through to the final hall.

A fierce battle was raging between the dwarves and the beasts. They seemed to be fighting for control of a wide door at the far end of the third hall, where the clatter of blades was at its most deafening. Bright pennants fluttered above the warriors of Borengar, Beroпn, and Goпmdil.

Poorly fashioned pillars supported the ceiling, fifty paces above. Crumbling staircases without kerb or rail wound up the columns, which were connected by bridges that ran the length of the halls. The fighting had spread to the walkways too.

"Come on, we're bound to find him here," Tungdil said firmly.

At first the company passed undetected through the turmoil, but their fortunes changed in the final hall when they spotted Nфd'onn pacing along a bridge. He was watching the dwarven warriors struggling to defend the door against his troops.

"Look! I bet he's going to help them with his wizardry." Boпndil ran ahead, speeding toward the staircase that would take them to the magus's walkway. The rest of the company made to follow, but fate had ordained that they should fight a different battle.

A dark arrow sang toward them from the right. Tungdil felt a searing pain in his leg and looked down to see an arrow embedded in his thigh.

"Sinthoras will be your death," hissed the дlf. He was leading a band of fifty orcs and a second arrow was notched on his bow. "I will take your life and the land will take your soul."

Not mine, you won't, Tungdil thought stubbornly. He saw Sinthoras release the bowstring and managed to raise his shield to ward off the feathered shaft of death.

Cursing, the дlf bounded toward them and ordered the orcs to attack.

"Quick, Narmora and Boпndil, you take the steps," instructed Tungdil. "Kill Nфd'onn before he sees us. We'll watch your backs." With a muffled groan he reached down and snapped the arrow shaft in two. Stand by us, Vraccas. Bracing himself, he raised his ax to strike an orcish knee.

The stone staircase crumbled as they ran. The thirdlings had chosen their material badly and over the course of time it had chipped and fractured. Narmora and Boпndil were risking their lives with every step.

They swept up the spiral stairs, winding their way to the top and never once glancing at the fighting below. All their thoughts were focused on the bloated man in malachite robes who was standing on the walkway. With every turn of the staircase he flashed in and out of sight. The air was getting warmer, and there was an overpowering stench of blood and orc guts.

Only a few steps remained. Narmora rounded the final corner, only to be confronted by a famulus who was standing guard behind the pillar.

"Who said you could come up here?" he asked rudely, mistaking her for one of Nфd'onn's дlfar. "You're supposed to be commanding the orcs, not-"

Boпndil charged past Narmora and rammed his left ax into the famulus's crotch. The next ax sliced into the man's right shoulder, and he staggered against the pillar and collapsed.

"Ha, I guess wizards aren't always in favor of surprises." The dwarf grinned. He peered round the corner. "There's no one else in sight. I'll wait here, or Nфd'onn will get suspicious. Just call if you need me." He looked at her keenly. In the darkness of the underground hall, Narmora's eyes looked like hollows once more. "Are you sure you can do this?"

Narmora tossed the rags to the floor and practiced reaching for Keenfire. "You're worried that my dark side will make a traitor of me."

He nodded. "Yes."

"Well, Boпndil Doubleblade, at least you're honest." She bent down and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you think it's a little too late to doubt my loyalty?" Her expression was as hard and cruel as an дlf's and she looked more terrifying than ever.

He tapped his axes together nervously. Her words and gestures were making him jumpy. "Just do something so I know what's what," he said grumpily.

She smiled and left the shelter of the pillar. "Very well. I'll do something." Her face remained an inscrutable mask.

Nфd'onn was standing halfway along the walkway. He raised his right arm and traced a symbol in the air, conjuring the first runes of a devastating spell that would put pay to the defenders' determined resistance. In his bloated left hand he held his onyx-tipped staff of white maple. The black jewel was glimmering malevolently.

Narmora could tell that it was no use sneaking up on him and that an all-out assault would be equally doomed. She would have to rely on cunning and dissimulation to get within striking distance of Girdlegard's most dangerous and powerful wizard.

She held her hand to her bloodied neck, pressing on her wound. All her efforts were focused on appearing injured, and she made her performance as authentic as possible, swaying and stumbling along the bridge.

"Master," she groaned, "they've destroyed the tower… It was Andфkai…"

He froze and turned sharply. His waxy skin wobbled as if it were filled with rippling water. "Andфkai?" he rasped. "Where is she?"

"Outside, Master. She's using her magic against our troops." She took a few faltering steps toward him. Only ten paces remained, an impossibly long distance. "How can we stop her?"

Nфd'onn shuffled round to face her. She saw his huge girth, the puffed-up face that bore no resemblance to Nudin's, the blood seeping from his pores and running in red trickles across his skin and soaking his robes. Dark patches, some still glistening moistly, stained the green cloth that was caked with blood and grime. The smell was enough to make anyone retch.

"She's too powerful for you," he said, his voice cracking as if two people were speaking at once. "You won't be able to stop her. Show me where you last saw her and I'll take care of her myself. Lead the way."

Five paces.

I need to get closer to him. Narmora stumbled and sank to her knees. "Master, I'm hurt. Have pity on me and heal my wounds so I can serve you better."

"Later," he told her sharply. "Get up and…" His gaze had fallen on a particularly ferocious skirmish at the center of which was Tungdil, still locked in combat with Sinthoras and his orcs. "Lot-Ionan's groundling? But that's not…I mean, I thought the artifacts were…" He fell silent and collected his thoughts. "Well, things have got a good deal easier."

The magus closed his eyes. Narmora saw her opportunity and decided to act.

Slowly and silently so as not to attract attention, she rose from her knees and took a nervous step toward him, then another.

Four paces, three paces, two paces. She reached for Keenfire. One more pace.

"Master, look out!" someone shouted across the hall.

Narmora drew the ax and brought it down with all her might. Nфd'onn turned away from Tungdil and directed the curse at her.

Narmora felt as if she were staring into the sun. The dazzling light seared into her eyes, and before she knew it, she was flying backward through the air. She thudded down, landing heavily on the walkway, still blinded, but with Keenfire gripped tightly in her hand.

She couldn't see Nфd'onn, but it was obvious that he'd evaded her blow. Why am I still alive, then? She ran her hands over her body and felt the smooth surface of the amulet given to her by Andфkai. That must be it.

"Finish her off, and bring the ax to me," she heard the magus order. The clicking of his wooden staff against the flagstones receded into the distance.

Little by little her eyes cleared and she caught a hazy glimpse of the malachite robe disappearing down the staircase. Gasping with pain, she struggled up, intent on running after the traitor and cutting him down. The amulet would protect her.

She was almost on her feet when a shadow hurtled out of nowhere. Whooshing over her head, the dark figure landed lightly on the walkway in front of her. Two short swords pointed menacingly at her chest.

"You should have known that the Perished Land would allow me to avenge myself," said Caphalor.

Narmora stared at the deep wound where her blade had gashed his throat. "If I thought you were a danger, I would have beheaded you," she said coldly. "You're no threat to us." She held the ax on high, knowing that Caphalor would kill her if he sensed she was afraid.

The дlf lunged at her, snarling, and Narmora realized that she would never keep pace with his attack. She retaliated with an offensive of her own and laid open the undead warrior's shoulder. The ax cut into his flesh, but Caphalor was undaunted.

"I'll cut you to ribbons, eat your flesh, and paint a portrait of your ravaged body with your blood," he spat, raising his weapons again. Harrying her with his swords, he maneuvered her closer and closer to the edge of the walkway. Belatedly she noticed that she was only a hand span away from plummeting to her death.

Caphalor dropped down suddenly and swiped at her calves. She leaped over him, whirled around, and swung her ax to finish his undead existence.

But the дlf had thrown himself to the floor and rolled over, ready to thrust his swords toward her as she delivered the final blow.

The ax head scraped along the stone floor, sparks flying everywhere, then sliced sideways into the дlf's neck, settling the matter forever. Caphalor's eyes widened.

But his final maneuver had not been in vain.

His swords had pierced Narmora's armor and embedded themselves beneath her collarbone. The half дlf found herself skewered above his corpse, unable to think or move. Through the haze of her consciousness she saw the amulet fall from her neck, hit Caphalor, and bounce off the walkway. The leather band, sliced in two by the дlf, unraveled onto his chest.

I still haven't… She tried to call to the others, but her gored chest and her ebbing strength turned her shout to a whisper. She could feel herself slipping out of consciousness and there was nothing she could do.

Her legs gave way and she slumped over Caphalor, her chest still propped up by his swords. Suddenly she felt unbearably cold. Incapable of even the smallest movement, she dangled above her foe.

Furgas… She had nothing left to give. Her fingers opened against her will, and Keenfire fell from her grip. Clattering to the walkway, the ax bounced against the flagstones and flew over the edge.