The Dwarves

X

Blacksaddle, Kingdom of Gauragar, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Tungdil glanced up and saw Narmora on the walkway.

The sight of her impaled on Caphalor's swords filled him with helpless rage. Meanwhile, Nфd'onn was descending the final steps of the staircase only paces away from Tungdil and the others. They were running out of time. We'll be lost without Keenfire.

"I'll get the ax," he shouted to Balyndis. "Keep the orcs busy and watch out for Nфd'onn. Andфkai will have to take care of him until I get back."

The firstling nodded grimly and felled a beast that was about to lunge at Tungdil. "Hurry!" Tungdil detached himself from the scrum and blew his horn to summon the warriors of the three dwarven folks who were fighting in the other halls. His call was answered by blaring bugles and the sound of dwarven axes on orcish mail. He hoped that the upsurge in fighting would preoccupy the enemy and allow him to slip past unnoticed.

"Vraccas, your name will be worshipped forever if you help me now." He finished his quick prayer, took a deep breath, and charged into the jumble of stinking armor and legs.

No matter how tempting it was to clear a path with his ax, he knew that his safety depended on stealth. Crouching low, he tried to scurry past the beasts without brushing against them. It would have been easy for a scrawny gnome like Sverd, but Tungdil was considerably broader.

Every now and then he was spotted by an orc, but he kept moving to avoid being caught. Twice he was seized by a clawed hand and had to use his ax to slice his way free.

At last he reached the place where Keenfire had fallen to the ground. He scanned the flagstones, but the ax had vanished.

"Tungdil, I've got something for you. Over here!" He turned in time to see the back of a dwarven warrior disappear from view. Keenfire's ax head glittered in his hands. "Come and get it."

This is no time for silly games. Tungdil set off in pursuit, dragging his wounded leg across the floor. He left the muddle of orcish shins and made for the shelter of a pillar. The beasts rushed on, too focused on defeating the dwarven army to notice what was unfolding behind them.

To his surprise, the dwarf turned and held out Keenfire toward him. Tungdil stared at him in bewilderment. "You?"

"Looking for this?" asked Bislipur. His body was twisted out of shape, his face a mass of shattered bone. Judging by his fractured skull, he had fallen from a great height. Tungdil could barely stand to look at him.

"I see you've been punished for your plotting, then," he said grimly, gripping his ax in readiness. He must he a revenant. "I told King Gandogar-"

"I don't give a damn about Gandogar."

"You lowered yourself to all kinds of trickery to have him crowned and now he means nothing to you?"

"All I ever cared about was having a high king who would do my bidding, a high king whom I could control." He swung the ax playfully. "A war against the elves-that's what I wanted. I even murdered Gandogar's father and brother so I could blame the elves and stoke his fury. How was I to know that I wouldn't need the pointy-ears? It's turned out better than I expected." He pointed to the dwarves locked in combat around them and laughed. "Don't you get it, Tungdil?" he said, noticing the other's uncomprehending stare. "I'm a thirdling-and so are you."

"No," whispered Tungdil. The shouts, screams, and ringing metal seemed to fade into nothingness as he stared into Bislipur's knowing eyes. He tried not to remember how he had initially felt drawn to him. "A thirdling? But I can't be. I'm a fourthling, a dwarf of Goпmdil."

"Like me, you mean?" Bislipur laughed in his face. "Tungdil, our destiny is revenge. Lorimbur was scorned by his brothers. They wouldn't share their talents and they mocked the thirdlings because they thought they were better. The gifts they received from Vraccas made them arrogant like the elves. Don't you see how they treated you?" He took a step forward. "Noble Gundrabur and his loyal counselor, Balendilнn, used you to suit their purpose. Why else do you think they were interested in you? If Lot-Ionan's letter had arrived at any other time, they would never have bothered fetching you from the long-uns. That's how much they care! They're worthless, every last one of them. They all deserve to die."

Tungdil felt the words cut into his heart and found himself succumbing to Bislipur's hypnotic stare. "No," he said hesitantly. "Balyndis…"

Bislipur laughed spitefully. "So you've fallen for someone, have you? And how do you think she'll react when she finds out you're a dwarf killer and a traitor? Your future is with the thirdlings, not here. You'll die with the others if you stay."

"A traitor?" Tungdil stared at the battle in sudden understanding. At last he grasped the full meaning of Bislipur's words. "It was you! You betrayed us to Nфd'onn!"

"Nфd'onn is a great ally, the greatest. I promised him that the thirdlings would do nothing to stop him, provided that the other kingdoms were destroyed. It was the perfect opportunity."

Tungdil swallowed and tightened his grip on his ax. "You're crazy. You delivered up Girdlegard just because-"

"No!" the thirdling screeched suddenly. "Not just because of anything! This is our destiny! For thousands of cycles we've been waiting for a moment like this. No deed could be more glorious, Tungdil. Our folk, the dwarves of Lorimbur, will rule all five ranges of Girdlegard once the others are dead!"

"I don't want anything to do with you or your folk! I came here to stop Nфd'onn and save the dwarves. I don't belong to Lorimbur!"

"You're one of us," Bislipur told him fiercely. "I knew it from the moment I saw you. Look inside your heart and embrace your hatred. You're a thirdling, believe me."

"Believe you? Why should I believe a traitor?" Tungdil glared at him scornfully and took a deep breath. "Now give me Keenfire."

Bislipur stared at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"So Nфd'onn can be killed. As for your punishment, I'll leave that to Gandogar and the others to decide."

"It's like that, is it?" He thumped the ax regretfully. "I'm afraid I'll have to kill you, Tungdil. You risked everything for Keenfire, and now the weapon will be your death. It seems a shame to-"

Tungdil raised his ax without warning, but Bislipur countered his blow. From then on, both dwarves fought mercilessly, but neither could win the upper hand.

"So you still think you're not a thirdling, do you?" the traitor asked mockingly. "How else would you have learned to fight so well in such a short space of time? You were born a warrior."

"No!" thundered Tungdil, slashing at him furiously. "I'll never be a thirdling."

The two axes collided, and Keenfire shattered Tungdil's weapon. The ax head spun into the air and struck Tungdil's nose guard with enough force to make him see stars.

Bislipur didn't wait for him to recover, but moved in fast. Tungdil tried to step out of the way and stumbled. At the last moment he pulled Bislipur with him, and they wrestled each other to the ground.

The battle continued on the floor, the two dwarves hacking at each other until Keenfire fell from Bislipur's grasp. He whipped out a dagger and rammed it into Tungdil's arm. Gasping, Tungdil grabbed his knife and plunged it into Bislipur's throat.

"You're wasting your time," Bislipur said derisively. "See what Balendilнn did to me? He couldn't kill me; the Perished Land wouldn't let him." He landed a punch that knocked off Tungdil's helmet, then seized his chance to scramble to safety. A well-aimed kick sent Tungdil's knife flying out of his hand. "It's not a fair fight, Tungdil, and you're about to lose."

His fingers wound their way into Tungdil's hair and hauled him up. "I'll give you one last chance because you're a thirdling," he snarled. "Do you want to die with the other scum, or come back with me and celebrate our victory?"

Tungdil had run out of weapons and had only one option. Fumbling in his pouch, he pulled out Sverd's collar and looped it around the startled Bislipur's neck.

"The gnome's choker? What good will that do? I'm dead already! I don't need air!"

"Sure, but you can't do without your head." Tungdil shoved him backward. The maneuver cost him a clump of hair, but allowed him to reach for the magic wire on Bislipur's belt. "And it's your head that I'm after."

A sudden jerk, and the noose closed around Bislipur's neck. The collar tightened, cutting into Bislipur's throat. At last the thirdling realized what Tungdil was intending to do.

Grunting inarticulately because of the pressure on his throat, he jabbed his dagger toward Tungdil, who tugged on the wire. The choker passed through Bislipur's neck, slicing through his spinal cord. The wire ran through its clasp, the noose sprang open, and the traitor's head rolled across the floor. The hateful collar fell apart, its evil charm broken.

There was no time for Tungdil to savor his victory. Gathering up Keenfire, he ran as fast as his injuries would permit him, determined to stand by his friends in the fight against the magus.

The ax was back in their possession. Now all they needed was an enemy of the dwarves who could wield it against Nфd'onn.

The orcs drew back to let the magus through. Suddenly everyone stopped fighting.

"Hello, Andфkai," rasped Nфd'onn, inclining his head toward her. "You should have allied yourself with me from the beginning, instead of squandering your strength in futile resistance. I'll need your power to fight the peril from the west."

"The peril is here already. It lives within you, confusing your thoughts and steering your deeds." She focused her energy on maintaining her protective shield. "The demon is using you, Nudin."

"He's my friend, a loyal friend of Girdlegard." He shook his head despairingly. "You don't understand. No one understands."

"You're right, Nudin; we don't understand. How many men, elves, and dwarves must die so you can protect our kingdoms? It seems a high price to pay, especially when the supposed peril is a figment of your poisoned mind."

"My name is Nфd'onn/" His voice became a shrill, nasal shout. "When you see what's coming from the west, you'll be grateful that my friend and I protected you. Lay down your weapons, and I'll spare you." There was an urgency to his doublefold voice; he seemed fully convinced of everything he said. "I did what I did because you gave me no choice. If you'd relinquished your power, it would never have come to this."

Andфkai's sword flashed as she raised her arm defiantly. "How I am supposed to believe you after all the suffering you've caused?"

He looked at her sadly. "In that case, we'll have to finish things properly. You've had your chance." With a wave of his hand, he shattered her protective spell.

Sinthoras heard the shield collapse and lunged at the maga. She batted away his spear, only to find herself under attack from three orcs who crowded round her, cutting her off from her companions.

Suddenly the дlf was beside her and this time his spear was headed straight for her chest. It collided with a shimmering shield.

Sinthoras was sheathed in violet light. A terrible roar shook the hall, then Djerun's sword swooped down. The дlf barely had time to raise his weapon.

No wood in the world, not even sigurdaisy wood, could have withstood such a blow. The giant's sword sliced through the spear and sped on. A wide sweeping blow parted the disbelieving дlf's head from his shoulders, and Sinthoras's headless body slumped to the ground, never to rise again.

Grunting in terror, the orcs shrank back from the king of the beasts as he straightened up, howling, and opened his visor. His face was invisible in the blinding light, but the orcs were rooted with fear, allowing the company to regroup.

Tungdil, still clutching Keenfire, limped toward the maga. "I've got the weapon." He pointed to Djerun. "Is he an enemy of the dwarves?" he asked, panting for breath.

"I don't know. Are you prepared to give him Keenfire?"

"We don't have a choice." He tossed the weapon to the giant.

Without hesitating, Djerun discarded his sword by ramming it through two orcs and reached out to catch the ax.

Let's get this over with. Tungdil raised his horn and sounded a long, powerful call. The dwarves of Beroпn, Borengar, and Goпmdil answered with cheers and blaring bugles. "For Vraccas and Girdlegard!" he shouted, leading the charge against the magus. Balyndis and Gandogar were already at his side; the others stormed after them.

They hewed down the orcs and bцgnilim in their way, cutting a path of gory destruction that brought Djerun within striking distance of their foe. Andфkai conjured a bolt of lightning, whose purpose was to dazzle the magus, then gave the command for Djerun to strike.

Before Nфd'onn had time to compose himself, the mailed giant brought down the ax. It hit the magus's unprotected back, sliced through his body, and sped out of his chest. Stinking black fluid spurted everywhere, showering the transfixed onlookers.

Nфd'onn let out a terrible howl. The hall was still echoing with his screams when the wound began to heal.

"No," whispered Tungdil in horror. "It's not possible. Keenfire was supposed to…"

Nфd'onn hurled bolts of black lightning at the giant, who fell backward and lay still among the orcs. "I told you that nothing can hurt me," thundered the magus. He bore no sign of injury, save for the gash in his robes.

We can't let it end this way! Filled with desperate fury, Tungdil went on the offensive. While his friends tried to preoccupy the magus by engaging him in an increasingly hopeless battle, he set off a second time in search of the ax.

He found Keenfire in Djerun's stiff metal grasp. Prizing away the giant's fingers, he picked up the ax and felt a strange sensation in his hand. What…?

Light pulsed through the intarsia, and the diamonds came to life, shining and sparkling like a thousand miniature suns. At first he thought Nфd'onn had worked a spell on it, but then he saw that the ax itself had wrought the change. Keenfire was readying itself to fight the demon.

By Vraccas, Bislipur was right: I'm a thirdling. No sooner had he grasped the significance of what was happening than he decided to turn his heritage to the good.

He tightened his grip on Keenfire, squared his shoulders, and charged. Orcs tried to block his path but perished in a blaze of white fire as he swung the shimmering ax. A trail of smoke followed the swinging Keenfire, and Tungdil could feel the heat from its blade. It burned with the fierce ardor of the fifthlings' furnace.

Nфd'onn recognized the danger before it was upon him. His self-assurance vanished, replaced by pure terror. His magic could do nothing against the charging dwarf; Tungdil was protected from harm by Keenfire's runes.

"Kill me, and Girdlegard will be doomed," the magus prophesied. "Terrible forces are gathering in the west and you won't be able to stop them." He thrust his staff at Tungdil, who deflected the blow and lunged closer. "You'll be to blame for Girdlegard's destruction. You must let me live!"

Tungdil slashed at the magus's onyx-tipped staff. The black jewel shattered in a shower of dark crystals.

"No, Nфd'onn, evil will never triumph over Girdlegard. We'll protect our kingdoms, just as we protected them from you." Tungdil swung his ax again. For Lot-Ionan, Frala, and her daughters.

The corpulent magus tried in vain to sidestep the blow. Even his final incantation failed to halt the blade, his hastily conjured runes flickering briefly as Keenfire smashed through them. The diamond-studded ax head buried itself in Nфd'onn's waist.

Like an overripe fruit, the magus burst, spilling a foul mess of flesh, blood, and entrails. A finger-length splinter of malachite shot out and was swept away in the reeking cascade.

Slowly, a shimmering wisp of mist detached itself from the wreckage. It expanded rapidly, coursing with black, silver, and crimson flashes and looming five paces in the air. Fist-sized orbs burned red within its cavernous eyes as it stared with hatred and malice at Tungdil. Then it shifted its gaze to the maga.

It needs a new victim.

The swirling mist reached out toward Andфkai, who took a step backward. She raised her sword, but the blade slid straight through it. The mist shrank, sprouting thin transparent arms and imprisoning the maga in its grasp.

Groaning, Andфkai staggered and fell to her knees as fingers of mist prized themselves experimentally between her jaws. The being was determined to find a new home, with or without her permission.

Tungdil leaped toward her, bringing down his ax just as the flickering column of mist readied itself to glide down her throat.

Keenfire's runes sparkled as it hewed the mist in two. There was a loud hiss as the mist drew back like a wounded beast. Tungdil closed in, swinging his ax and slashing at the mist. Thin wisps floated through the hall and dispersed into nothingness, but the demon was still alive and seemed intent on escaping to the ceiling.

In that case I'll have to try another tactic. Tungdil climbed onto an upturned pillar. Pain shot through his wounded arm and leg as he sprinted forward, casting himself into the air and brandishing Keenfire. "For Vraccas!"

He had timed the leap well. Soaring into the middle of the mist, his blade found its target. Runes blazing, the ax head left a cometlike trail of light. The diamonds sparkled fiercely.

For the span of a heartbeat Tungdil hovered at the heart of the demon. At first it seemed as if the mist had stopped his fall; then there was a tearing noise and a terrible groan.

Tungdil plunged through the mist, skidded across the floor, and was saved by his chain mail from serious cuts and grazes. Looking round, he saw he had punched a hole through the flickering demon. Slowly the being sank to the ground, turning first gray, then black, then disappearing altogether. In the end there was nothing left.

No one moved. Dwarves and beasts alike had witnessed the death of the magus and the destruction of the demon. It was deathly still.

One of the дlf, who moments earlier had been spurring the hordes against the dwarves, reached to his neck, screaming with pain. Suddenly his amulet burst apart, tearing him to pieces. Soon the other дlfar and a number of orcish chieftains were dead or dying, slain by the magus's gifts.

A bugle sounded the attack, and the dwarves of the three kingdoms fell upon their foes.

The bцgnilim were the first to flee, followed by the orcs, but the children of the Smith showed no pity or mercy, funneling them into the narrow passageways where the battle continued. In the vast halls, the ceilings echoed with the clatter and ringing of furious axes.

Slowly Tungdil picked himself up from the floor. Balyndis was beside him, helping him to his feet. "You did it!" She leaned forward and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips.

It was a moment he had dreamed of, but the truth about his lineage spoiled it. "Only because I'm a thirdling," he said bitterly. A dwarf killer, he added silently.

She nodded. "Praise be to Vraccas! Nфd'onn would still be alive if you weren't!" She smiled. "You're a true dwarf, Tungdil. I don't care which folk you belong to. I know in my heart that I can trust you, and that's what counts."

He gave her hand a grateful squeeze. Let's hope the others are as understanding.

Meanwhile, Andфkai and a unit of dwarves had stormed the walkway and were attending to the wounded Narmora. Boпndil had been cut down by Caphalor and needed the maga's attentions as well. Djerun was back on his feet again, his visor firmly closed and his face still a mystery.

Dwarven healers hurried over with water, balms, and dressings. Now that the duel with the demon was over, Tungdil was acutely aware of his injuries and allowed himself to be salved and bandaged. He found a worthy place for Keenfire in Giselbert Ironeye's belt.

He didn't have much opportunity to relax. Already Rodario was hurrying toward him.

"My apologies for bothering Girdlegard's valiant hero, but I think we should check on Furgas," he said anxiously. "Who knows what…"

"Valiant hero?" Tungdil grinned. Not bad for a scholar. I hope Frala and Lot-Ionan can see me now. He straightened up and checked his bandages. "In that case, I'll have to rejoin the battle. In books the hero always keeps fighting to the end."

"Blasted дlfar, they always creep up on you. I didn't hear him coming. He loomed up like a shadow and attacked me from behind." Boпndil, his chest swathed in bandages, hobbled down the stairs. "That's right, scholar, just like in a book. My brother would be proud of you."

"Boпndil!" Smiling with relief, Tungdil thumped him gently on the back: The thought of losing another friend had been too much to bear. "Let's check on Furgas."

Tungdil, Rodario, Balyndis, Boпndil, and Djerun hurried away. Andфkai caught up with them after a few paces: They had started the journey as strangers and wanted to end it as friends. Blacksaddle, Kingdom of Gauragar, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle A chill wind was buffeting the flat summit of the Blacksaddle, but shafts of sunlight shone through the clouds and warmed the earth, heralding the coming of spring.

"For many cycles this mountain was known as a place of foreboding, a dreaded stronghold where a plot was hatched to destroy the dwarven race. Today's events have changed all that. From this day forth, the Blacksaddle will be seen as a symbol of hope, a symbol of a better future in which elves, men, and dwarves will work together for the good of Girdlegard." Gandogar paused for a moment and surveyed the assortment of leaders and warriors gathered on top of the Blacksaddle.

Half a cycle ago he would have ridiculed the idea of elven, human, and dwarven rulers uniting on the accursed peak to celebrate a battle fought as allies, not foes.

His eyes traveled over the faces before him. Prince Mallen of Ido was sitting beside Lord Liъtasil of Вlandur. Next came King Balendilнn Onearm of the clan of the Firm Fingers and Queen Xamtys II of the clan of the Stubborn Streaks, and behind them were Nate, Bruron, and the other human sovereigns, not forgetting Andфkai, of course.

After that, there was a short gap to the first row of commoners, made up of Girdlegard's most distinguished warriors-dwarves, elves, and men. They were straining to hear what their leaders were discussing. Gandogar could see Tungdil and Balyndis among them, with Djerun towering like a pinnacle at their side.

"Together we defeated the monstrous issue of Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty's alliance with a demon from the north. Nфd'onn is dead, the Perished Land has been banished from Girdlegard, and nature is returning to her ancient ways. Together we achieved all this, and our kingdoms were saved, saved because we buried old grudges, overcame our mutual distrust, and joined forces in Girdlegard's hour of need." He raised his arms. "We prevailed! Is this not reason enough to forget our past quarrels?"

He waited for a moment, allowing his words to take effect.

"You, Prince Mallen of Ido, rallied the human warriors after their defeat at Porista and led the united army to the Blacksaddle in a courageous stand against Nфd'onn." He smiled solemnly at Idoslane's ruler, then turned to face the elven leader. "And you, Lord Liъtasil of Вlandur, welcomed us into your kingdom when we asked for your help. Your heart must have counseled you against it, but you came to our aid." He looked at Balendilнn and Xamtys. "And you, worthy children of the Smith, you reforged the bonds between our kingdoms and honored the duty entrusted to us by Vraccas." He raised his voice triumphantly. "Friends, together we rescued Girdlegard!"

The warriors of the assembled races thumped their shields and banged their weapons together.

"We must rid our hearts of hatred. Our past battles are just that: They belong in the past and are best forgotten. This orbit marks the start of a new age: one of peace, cooperation, and friendship." He held his ax aloft, and the other monarchs rose to their feet to pledge a new era of friendship.

This time his speech was met with deafening cheers. Swept away by the excitement, Balyndis planted another kiss on Tungdil's lips. Even in the last moments of the battle she hadn't known whether or not they would succeed, and now she was overcome with gladness and relief. "You must be really proud," she said.

"Proud of what? Being a thirdling?" he retorted, only half joking. His voice was edged with resentment.

"Proud of being the only thirdling to save the dwarven folks instead of trying to destroy them." She smiled. "Come on, Tungdil, we're lucky to have made it alive."

He thought of Narmora and Furgas lying side by side in the stronghold. They would have shared a different fate if Andфkai hadn't summoned the last of her strength to invoke a healing charm. Dwarven physicians were still tending to their wounds. Then there were those who had been gathered to Vraccas's smithy: I haven't forgotten you, Bavragor and Goпmgar.

He looked up to see Gandogar pointing straight at him.

"But above all we owe our thanks to Tungdil Goldhand," announced the dwarven king. "Step forward, Tungdil."

Nervously, he obeyed.

"Take a good look at him, for without Tungdil, without his stubbornness, his ingenuity, and most important, his unshakable faith in our mission, none of us would be standing here today. Without Tungdil Goldhand, Nфd'onn would have killed or enslaved us all."

Suddenly it seemed to Tungdil that every dwarf, elf, and man on the Blacksaddle was staring at him. He blushed and felt terribly embarrassed. He reached down and rested a hand on Keenfire, which made him feel slightly less shy.

"We will never be in a position to repay our debt," said Gandogar gravely. "But know this: For as long as you live, Tungdil Goldhand, I will do everything in my power to satisfy your every wish."

Liъtasil turned his slender, graceful face toward him. "We have never numbered among the dwarves' closest friends, but we are beholden to you, Tungdil Goldhand. We too will grant you whatever you desire."

The human sovereigns swore similar oaths of gratitude while Tungdil squirmed in embarrassment.

"Prithee, stop, Your Majesties," he interrupted.

Boпndil rolled his eyes. "Here he goes again. Wake me up when he's finished."

Tungdil took a deep breath. "You don't owe me anything. My only wish has been granted already: All I want is for dwarves, elves, and men to come together in friendship, not war. You pledged an end to our quarreling, and what more could I desire? Gold and riches count for nothing without peace. I can't accept your gifts, but I shall gladly accept your thanks, especially on behalf of my companions, Bavragor Hammerfist of the clan of the Hammer Fists and Goпmgar Shimmerbeard of the clan of the Shimmer Beards. Bavragor and Goпmgar risked everything for Girdlegard, and they paid the highest price. Keenfire would never have been forged without them."

The elven lord inclined his head toward him. "You speak with the wisdom of a true leader, Tungdil Goldhand. If ever we are in danger of resuming our old rivalries, you must remind us of the oaths of friendship sworn today. You will always be welcome in Вlandur."

There was thunderous applause from the warriors, who hammered on their shields, sounded their bugles, and cheered tirelessly. Tungdil scurried back to Balyndis's side.

Boпndil pretended to scowl at him. "Show us your tongue," he demanded. "I bet you've talked it into knots."

Tungdil just grinned. He was happy that his lessons in rhetoric had been put to proper use.

After a while the assembly dissolved and the allied armies retired to the stronghold to celebrate their victory and negotiate their newfound friendship.

Balendilнn and Gandogar joined the others. "What an orbit this has been!" the secondling king said happily. "Who would have thought it would turn out so well?" He thumped Tungdil on the shoulder. "Vraccas sent us the dwarf of all dwarves, and if anyone cares to dispute it, I'll set up another contest with five new tasks." He laughed and the others joined in.

Gandogar noticed that Tungdil's jollity seemed a little forced. "Is something the matter?" "It's nothing."

"No, something's wrong. Is it because you think you're a thirdling?"

"I am a thirdling! How else could I have awoken Keenfire's power?"

"Then be proud to be a thirdling, Tungdil," Balendilнn exhorted him solemnly. "Show your kinsfolk, show every dwarf in Girdlegard, that Lorimbur's descendants aren't all as dastardly and conniving as Bislipur and Glamdolin. Incidentally," he added with a mischievous smile, "were you planning to return to Ogre's Death or is there somewhere else you'd rather be?"

"Balyndis and I won't be going to the firstling kingdom, if that's what you mean," he said, grinning bashfully. "We're both smiths at heart, and our interests and experiences have soldered us together. We've decided to go to the Gray Range. Boпndil's coming with us and we'll pick up Boлndal on the way. I promised Giselbert Ironeye that I wouldn't abandon his kingdom and I intend to keep my word."

The rising winds carried a foul smell to their nostrils. It came from the plains around the Blacksaddle, where the corpses of ogres, orcs, bцgnilim, and дlfar were strewn. The combined army of elves, dwarves, and men had laid waste to the enemy battalions. A few undead troopers had survived the massacre, only to lose their lives forever with the defeat of the Perished Land. Their corpses were rotting in the winter sunshine, but the carnage would soon be frozen overnight.

"It will take time to bury all the bodies," Gandogar said grimly. "I hope the earth can suffer so much death."

Rodario joined them, quill and notebook in hand. "A magnificent finale for a play, don't you think? Too many corpses for practical purposes-we'd never fit them on stage." He stopped making notes and extended his hand toward Tungdil. "It was a privilege to accompany you. If you find yourself in Mifurdania, be sure to visit the Curiosum. We'll be celebrating our grand reopening." He winked at Tungdil. "As the star of the show, you'll qualify for free admission-and Balyndis as well."

"When are you off?"

"As soon as my prop master and my leading lady are fit to ride. A fortnight or so, I expect. In the meantime, they've found room for us here."

Andфkai strode toward them. "Djerun and I are leaving. I need to get back to my realm and find some new famuli."

"Why the hurry, dear heart?" Rodario said lightly.

The maga refused to be drawn. "I don't want to spoil the mood."

"Impossible!" he declared with overblown enthusiasm. "Nothing could spoil a victory like this!"

"I wouldn't be so sure." Her lips were unsmiling. "What if Nфd'onn wasn't lying after all?"

"About the western peril?" The impresario laughed incredulously. "My dear lady, you shouldn't be fooled by a cheap trick like that. You disappoint me!"

"Say what you like, but I intend to be vigilant." She laid her hand on Tungdil's arm. "At least I'll know where to find Keenfire and its valiant bearer, should Nudin prove right." At last her stern face relaxed. "You're stubborn enough to take on any kind of peril single-handed," she told him.

She took her leave of the company, giving everyone except Rodario a long embrace. He pouted and stalked away, only to turn after a few paces and wave. "Farewell, enchanting maga. I shall take your advice and devote my attentions to women who know how to appreciate me-and believe me, they do!"

Andфkai hurried away, followed, as always, by Djerun. The others watched in silence as the strange pair passed from sight. Balendilнn called the group to attention by clearing his throat.

"I must take my leave as well, dear friends. The assembly will soon be meeting to decide the succession, and I need to make sure that everything's in place." He inclined his head toward Gandogar. "I don't doubt that the delegates will vote in your favor. You have proven yourself a worthy heir since stepping out of Bislipur's shadow; I know you will make an excellent high king."

"I'd even vote for him myself," said Tungdil with a grin. He held out his hand to Gandogar, who shook it firmly and seemed moved. "Don't forget to send a hundred of your best warriors and artisans to the fifthling kingdom. That goes for all the folks-Balyndis and I will appreciate the company, and we won't be able to defend the Stone Gateway on our own. I want to rebuild Giselbert's kingdom." He paused for a moment, remembering the promise he had made. "The Gray Range will belong to the children of Vraccas. Who knows, perhaps our mysterious rescuers will join us? They might be glad to leave the drafty tunnels for a more comfortable home."

"You should certainly ask them," Gandogar concurred.

"Vraccas will be proud to see us forging a folk of our own. But what should we do about the thirdlings?" Balendilнn asked.

Tungdil turned to the east and gazed in the direction of the Black Range, where Lorimbur's descendants had made their home.

"I can't be the only thirdling who wasn't born to hate his fellow dwarves," he said softly. "Once things are settled in the fifthling kingdom, I'll pay them a visit and see what they have to say." He looked into the eyes of the three dwarven rulers. "I meant what I said when I asked for peace. The thirdlings are no exception."

Balyndis smiled and took his hand. He gave it a little squeeze.

Gradually the others made their way down from the mountain. Balyndis and Tungdil lingered on the summit until the sun dropped below the horizon and stars filled the sky. There was a crisp chill in the air, reminding them that Girdlegard was still in the grip of winter.

Tungdil had wrapped his fingers around Balyndis's hand and had no intention of letting go.

Just then a shooting star left a glittering trail from east to west, the white light turning red as it shot across the sky. There was a brief red flare; then the light dispersed into myriad crimson dots that reminded Tungdil of scattered blood. At last they were swallowed by the darkness of the sky.

"Was that a good or a bad omen, do you think?" Balyndis asked uncertainly.

He gave a shrug, then stepped back and hugged her from behind. "A good omen," he said after a short silence, running his hand over her downy cheeks.

"How do you know?"

He studied the night sky and spotted the distant lights of settlements. He was glad of the stillness that peace had brought with it. The prospect of spring, when trees and plants would blossom throughout Girdlegard, was exciting. All Girdlegard will be covered in greenery for the first time in a thousand cycles.

"After everything we've been through, it has to be a good omen," he whispered in her ear. "It was red, the color of love, so it must mean something good. Come on, let's find the others. We've got something to celebrate."

Hand in hand they made their way down from the Blacksaddle, whose looming presence had lost its terror for the dwarven folks.

They were halfway down the steps that led into the stronghold when a second streak of light flashed above them.

Unseen and unnoticed, the comet sped toward the west. Still shining brightly, it dipped toward the earth, sailing through the clouds and leaving a deep red trail in the sky. At last it disappeared on the horizon beyond the firstling kingdom. It hit the ground with a muffled thud, sending a shudder through Girdlegard. Even the Blacksaddle trembled.

Then everything was quiet…

Dramatis Personae