by Markus Heitz
The band of thirty or so orcs stormed toward him. He knew there was no chance of him surviving the attack.
If I'm going down, one of you is coming with me. Tungdil squared his shoulders and tightened his grip on the ax. He could imagine how the fifthlings had felt when the northern hordes had assailed the Stone Gateway. There was nothing for it but to follow their example and die an honorable death.
The lead orc was only ten paces away when a bright, defiant bugle sounded close by. He heard clattering armor and a peal of colliding blades; then shouts went up as dying orcs tumbled to the ground. To Tungdil's astonishment, reinforcements had arrived. He was too grateful to worry about who they were.
"The groundling has friends," roared the chief of the band. "Bring me their flesh!" The green-hided beasts turned away from Tungdil to confront the enemy that had attacked them from behind.
The elf maiden must have sent her warriors. I can't stand by while they risk their lives on my behalf. He ran after the orcs, darting forward to drive his ax into the back of a dark green knee. The beast toppled like a tree.
That makes two, Tungdil thought grimly.
One of the orcs engaged his blade while the rest piled in on the new arrivals, hiding them from Tungdil's view.
Tungdil soon realized that his unexpected victories had given him more confidence than was merited by his skill. His third opponent saw through his feints and swiped at him relentlessly.
The dwarf checked five savage blows before his luck ran out. A fierce strike dashed the ax from his hand and it landed in the grass. For want of another weapon, he drew his bread knife. "Come here, you brute!"
"Gladly, groundling!" The orc gave a grunt of delight as he eyed Tungdil's knife. "What's that, a toothpick? Just what I need to clean your flesh from my jaws!" He raised his sword. Kingdom of Urgon, Girdlegard, Early Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle A joint army?" Lothaire laughed out loud. Urgon's sovereign was a youth of twenty-one cycles. He flicked his long blond hair and gestured for more water. "You want us to fight together against the Perished Land?"
King Tilogorn nodded. At forty cycles, he had a thin, earnest face and shoulder-length brown hair. He had journeyed to Urgon with the sole purpose of forging an alliance, but after four hours of discussion in the gloomy chamber there was no indication that the message had got through. In the meantime, the sun had passed over the mountains of Urgon and was sinking behind their peaks.
"It is rumored that the girdle is weak. If the magic fails, the orcs will attack our lands with a strength and ferocity more devastating than anything that has gone before." Tilogorn pointed to the map. "The seven human kingdoms of Girdlegard must unite. Your help is vital if I am to persuade Umilante, Wey, Isika, Bruron, and Nate of our cause."
Lothaire sipped his water and stared at Tilogorn over the rim of the glass. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Absolutely. Our survival depends on it."
"Shouldn't we leave it to the magi to repair the girdle before we-"
"The magi will take care of the magic, but we must be prepared to fight. I've dispatched a messenger to Lios Nudin to request a meeting with the council. I'm expecting word any orbit."
"Why would the magi deign to meet with mere mortals? Andфkai has never honored me with a visit, despite claiming swathes of my kingdom as her own."
"Consider yourself fortunate; it's not for nothing that she's called the Tempestuous." He laughed, then became serious. "The magi rarely show themselves, and they tend to keep out of our affairs, but this is different, I assure you. They know their duty."
Lothaire studied the map, pondering the Perished Land, whose frontier posed no immediate threat to Urgon. "I don't know, Tilogorn. My kingdom is as tranquil as ever."
"But will it stay that way?" Tilogorn replied patiently, doing his best to talk Lothaire round. "I know your lands are easier to defend than the plains of Gauragar or Idoslane, but the Perished Land commands orcs, дlfar, and other foul creatures. Nowhere is safe."
"The beasts shall be thrown from my mountains and drowned in my lakes. Their heavy armor will be the death of them," announced Lothaire with customary haughtiness. "My men are hardened warriors. Every day they seek out trolls in our ranges and put them to the sword. I ride with a single bodyguard, knowing that he will defend me single-handedly against a hundred foes."
"Do not confuse the дlfar with simple-minded trolls. All it takes is a well-aimed arrow and your bodyguard will be dead. The hordes in the north are more numerous than you can imagine; their power is infinite, yours is not." With a sweep of his hand, Tilogorn gestured to the former elven kingdoms. "They insisted on fighting alone and were conquered. Isn't it our duty to learn from their mistake? We must fight like with like: Only a vast army can protect us from the beasts."
"But what of the Perished Land's curse? Those who die on its territory are said to join its ranks."
"I've heard the stories too. We must burn the corpses so none can return as soulless warriors. We shall create a battalion to follow our army and set fire to the dead." Tilogorn sensed that Lothaire was almost persuaded. "Then you'll fight with me, King of Urgon?"
"Our armies shall follow my lead."
"The command will be shared. Our strengths will complement each other." Tilogorn paused. "Besides, my men will never take orders from a ruler younger than themselves." He held out his hand. "Are you with me?"
Lothaire smiled. "Very well. Our army will be the mightiest in the history of Girdlegard, powerful enough to lay waste to Dsфn Balsur and hound the дlfar across the Northern Pass. Although maybe we should kill them and be done with it… Yes," he said excitedly, "we'll destroy them altogether and then we can deal with the orcs. Peace will return to our kingdoms. It's a worthy plan." He shook Tilogorn's outstretched hand; then an anxious look crossed his face. "Er, there's one more thing. You remember Prince Mallen of Ido?"
Tilogorn snorted. "How could I forget the last of the great Idos? He lives in your kingdom, does he not?"
"He heads my army," Lothaire corrected him. "Rest assured, when the time comes to rid your lands of orcs, he will forfeit his command. No one shall accuse Lothaire of Urgon of scheming to plant the last of the Idos on Idoslane's throne."
Tilogorn took little comfort from the speech. "What if he incites rebellion in our troops? He is sure to have supporters among your men."
Lothaire sipped his water. "He's a reasonable man at heart. Perhaps your powers of persuasion will work on him as effectively as they worked on me." Before Tilogorn had a chance to reply, the young king rose and walked to the door. "I'll summon him to you. If you can convince him of our cause, the kings and queens of the other five kingdoms will be no trouble at all." He disappeared into the corridor.
His guest leaned over the table to study the map.
"Greetings, King of Idoslane," a voice said sardonically. "Who would have thought that we would ride to battle side by side? Fate plays games with the best of us, irrespective of rank."
Turning, Tilogorn saw Lothaire reentering the room with the speaker, a man of some thirty cycles, his features nondescript. His finely crafted armor bore the insignia of the Ido and testified to his wealth, although fashions had changed in the meantime.
"Prince Mallen of Ido?" It was less a greeting than an expression of surprise. "I remembered you differently."
"Yet you recognize the coat of arms to which Idoslane rightfully belongs… Are you comfortable on my throne?"
"You need not worry about my comfort, Prince Mallen. You and your coconspirators have not unseated me yet. The people are clearly fonder of my family than they were of yours. You serve Urgon's army, 1 hear?" Tilogorn asked brusquely.
"I am an exile. I have to do something to earn my keep."
"The Idos have a reputation for fighting-especially among themselves. Your bloodthirsty feuds brought suffering on the people and cost you your throne." He bit his lip. Barbed comments were hardly going to help his cause. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to-"
> "Oh please, King Tilogorn, spare me the history lesson," Mallen said dismissively. "Tell me something interesting, such as what I can do to aid my country and return a free man."
"If you wish to help your country, bury our quarrel until Girdlegard is safe," Tilogorn entreated. "I'm sorry I spoke so harshly."
"You're sorry." Mallen was as distrustful as ever. "Well, we agree on one thing: An invasion of orcs or дlfar would only harm Idoslane." He glanced at the map. "It may surprise you to learn that I'm in favor of a truce between us. I agree to your proposal, on the condition that I can enter Idoslane at will."
Tilogorn hesitated.
"I miss my country and the few friends loyal to my line," Mallen said evenly. "There'll be no more conspiracies, I swear. May Palandiell be my witness."
This time the king held out his hand. "I can see in your eyes that your concern for Idoslane is genuine. I shall take you at your word."
"Make no mistake," Mallen warned him. "There is no friendship between us. Only the gods know what will become of us once the hordes have been defeated, but let us focus on saving our kingdom for now."
Lothaire, who had been hanging back, stepped in. "Excellent. Good sense has prevailed, it seems. I propose that we inform the other monarchs and make haste to raise our troops." He escorted them through the corridors of his palace.
Tilogorn stole sideways glances at the other two, trying to read their expressions.
Lothaire was visibly excited at the prospect of battle, but Mallen's face was inscrutable, revealing only that he shared Tilogorn's profound anxiety about the future.
Just then, they fell into step, their boots ringing out in unison against the marble floor.
"Hark," said Tilogorn, drawing their attention to the harmony of their stride. "Past cycles have driven a wedge between our dynasties, but now we move as one. If only it didn't take a common enemy to bridge the gulf between neighbors."
"It's no use dwelling on the past," replied the sovereign of Urgon. "Blaze a trail for others to follow, and follow they will. It's the only reasonable thing to do."
"Well spoken, King Lothaire," Tilogorn said approvingly. "I think the two of us"-he nodded at Mallen-"have shown that we are reasonable men."
VI
Kingdom of Gauragar, Girdlegard, Early Summer, 6234tb Solar Cycle Over here, you runt," a voice cried lustily in dwarfish.
"Come here so I can slaughter you!" A squat figure pushed its way between the orc's legs, whipped out two short-hafted axes, and planted them in the orc's vulnerable nether regions.
Oinking derisively, the diminutive warrior jerked the weapons out of his opponent's crotch and launched himself into the air like an acrobat, seemingly unhampered by his heavy mail. On his way down he struck again, hewing the neck of the orc who was doubled up in pain. The axes sliced from both sides, almost meeting in the middle. The beast crumpled to the ground.
"By Beroпn's beard," the warrior scolded Tungdil, "what were you doing dropping your ax?"
"You're a…dwarf!" Tungdil gasped in surprise, scrambling to his feet.
"Of course I'm a dwarf! What did you think I was? An elf?" He bent down, picked up the ax, and tossed it to Tungdil. "Don't let go of it this time. We'll save the talking for later." With a grim laugh he threw himself back into the frenzied scrum.
Tungdil spotted a second dwarf, identical to the first in every detail except his beard. He was slashing vigorously at his opponents with a crow's beak, a kind of spiked war hammer equipped with a curved spur as long as his lower arm.
"I thought you said you wanted our flesh? Too bad you didn't bring more of your friends!" shouted Tungdil's rescuer, taunting the orcs. "Your pig-ugly mothers must have slept with a hideous elf to make monsters like you," he boomed. "With a one-legged, mangy, no-eared elf. She probably enjoyed it!" When one of the orcs lunged forward, snarling with rage, the dwarf dispatched him with a flash of his axes. "Come on, don't be shy," he harried them. "You can all take a turn."
His fellow warrior preferred to work silently, wreaking his own brand of deadly havoc, slicing through limbs and hewing torsos with well-aimed swipes.
By now the orcs numbered just four, their slain comrades littering the ground around them and drenching the soil with their blood. Closing ranks, the last of the beasts prepared for a joint attack. The dwarves immediately drew together, standing back-to-back.
"Huzzah! That's more like it!" shouted Tungdil's savior, his eyes gleaming maniacally.
Rather than wait for the orcs to engage them, they whirled their way forward into the mob, spinning on their axis like a dancer in a music box, each warning the other in dwarfish of any threats from behind.
This unconventional strategy secured the dwarves a speedy victory against their more numerous foes. The last ore went to his death to the sound of their laughter and cries of "oink, oink!"
Tungdil was profoundly impressed. The dwarven warriors had dispatched an entire band of orcs without incurring so much as a scratch. He gazed at them in dumb admiration, then realized he had done nothing to help.
"May the fire of Vraccas's furnace burn in you forever," the second dwarf greeted him. "My name is Boлndal Hookhand of the clan of the Swinging Axes and this is my twin brother, Boпndil Doubleblade or Ireheart, if you prefer. Secondlings, the pair of us." His friendly brown eyes studied Tungdil shrewdly.
"You can see straightaway that he wouldn't stand a chance against a band of orcs," his brother said, guffawing. "He had enough trouble with just one of those runts. What kind of idiot drops his only ax?" He checked himself and looked at Tungdil. "I'm assuming you weren't planning to strangle them with your bare hands?"
"Oh no, sir," said Tungdil. "I'd be dead by now if you hadn't come along." He blinked. There was something peculiar about Boпndil's eyes, a strange flicker that gave him a rather frenzied look. He was probably still fired up from the battle.
"There are no sirs here," said Boлndal with a smile. "We dwarves were all hewn from the same rock."
"Absolutely, I'm sorry. All the same, you saved my l-life," stuttered Tungdil, his relief at being rescued already eclipsed by the excitement of meeting others of his race: For the first time since Ionandar-for the first time ever-he was face- to-face with real dwarves. A thousand questions jostled for attention in his head.
Boлndal's plait rippled down his back like a long black snake as he shook his head good-naturedly. "You don't have to be grateful. We'd do the same for any dwarf."
"Even a thirdling," chortled Boпndil, "although we'd give him a good hiding as well." He bent down to wipe his gore-encrusted axes in the long grass.
"It took us a while to find you." Boлndal paused. "You are Tungdil Bolofar, aren't you?"
"What a name!" his brother grumbled. "Bolofar! It's not some magical piffle paffle, is it?"
Tungdil's astonishment was stamped on his face. "Yes, that's me," he said slowly. "But how did you-"
"What's the name of your magus and the purpose of your journey?" the twins demanded.
"Lot-Ionan the Forbearing is my magus, and as for my journey…" He paused, then continued firmly. "You have my undying gratitude and deepest respect, but the purpose of my journey is my own private business and I'm not ready to share it with you yet."
Boпndil roared with laughter. "Pompous as a scholar, but I like his spirit." He clapped Tungdil on the back. "Don't worry. Lot-Ionan told us that he'd sent you to look for Gorйn. We wanted to be sure that we had the right dwarf."
"The right dwarf?" For a moment Tungdil was mystified; then he remembered Lot-Ionan's letter to the secondlings. "My clansfolk want to meet me!" He could barely keep the excitement from his voice. "But why the escort? Is it because of the orcs?"
"That too, but it's more a matter of getting you safely to the high king. Gundrabur is expecting you as a matter of urgency," explained Boлndal, tearing a scrap of cloth from an orcish jerkin and carefully wiping his crow's beak.
His brother produced an oily rag and polished his gle
aming axes. "Someone should get the orcs an escort," he chuckled. "Vraccas knows they need all the help they can get."
"The high king," Tungdil whispered, awestruck. "What an honor! But why would he want to see me?"
"We're supposed to get you back to Ogre's Death so you and the other contender can stake your claims to the throne." He made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.
"My claim?" Tungdil echoed incredulously. He looked at the twins' craggy faces. "What claim? Which throne? What's this got to do with me?"
"He should change his name to Baffledbrain!" wheezed Boпndil. "Well, fry me an elf if the poor fellow isn't quite ignorant! Let's get away from these snout-features before the stench makes me vomit. I say we walk another mile or so, set up camp, and tell him everything, agreed?" He looked to his twin for confirmation.
Tungdil wasn't consulted on the matter, but luckily for the others, he was dying of curiosity and followed without a fuss. They marched for a while, then left the path and camped in the woods.
"There's nothing better than a decent meal after a hard-fought victory." Boпndil kindled the fire, skewered some cheese, and held it above the flames.
"And after a defeat?"
"If you're dead, your belly won't bother you. In any event, Vraccas will give you some victuals from his smithy."
The smell of molten cheese was overpowering. Tungdil choked. "I think I know that aroma. I smelled it when I pulled off my boots after twenty-one orbits of walking."
"Oh, our food isn't good enough for you, is it?" said Boпndil, trying to copy Tungdil's look of disdain. "This is the best cheese in the kingdom, I'll have you know. Come on, give him a piece, Boлndal. It's time he got used to the taste. Living with humans has spoiled his palate."
His brother cut a slice of bread and handed it to Tungdil with some cured ham and cheese. "Right, I suppose you want an explanation. I'll make it brief: The high king is dying and a fourthling must claim his throne. Gundrabur found out about your secret because of the magus's letter."