by Markus Heitz
The maga shook her head but said nothing. They sat in silence, their thoughts with the dead. Stars twinkled in the firmament, and long moments passed.
"So you're leaving Girdlegard," Tungdil said wearily. "Where will you go? Aren't you worried about your realm?" He wiped the back of his hand across his face. He had been staring unblinkingly at the flickering flames, and the heat had dried his tears, leaving a salty residue in his eyes. "Will things be better elsewhere?"
"I'd be a fool to throw myself in front of a rolling stone when there's nothing else to stop it," she said softly. "It's not in my nature to prolong suffering without good cause. I shall give up my realm without a fight. What good would come of resisting? I may as well take my chances across the border now that Girdlegard's defenses have fallen." It was clear from her tone that the matter was closed. "I need to sleep."
After thanking the maga for her confidences, Tungdil withdrew and joined the twins to tell them what had happened in Lios Nudin.
"The wizards are really dead?" Boпndil skewered another piece of cheese from his seemingly endless supply. "So much for their miraculous powers!"
"The strongest shield is useless when the sword is wielded by a traitor," his brother said wisely, munching on a hunk of toasted bread. "The long-uns are a wretched lot. I can't imagine what the gods were thinking when they created them." He chewed his mouthful vigorously. "It's bad enough that they kill each other without dragging the rest of us into it."
Tungdil reached for a helping of molten cheese and popped it into his mouth. He had developed a taste for the pungent delicacy, which he regarded as a sign of progress as far as his dwarven credentials were concerned.
Boпndil gave him a nudge and pointed his cheese skewer at the mismatched pair on the opposite side of the fire. "Would you believe it? He's still wearing that bucket. I bet it's stuck on his head!"
Boлndal was more respectful. "It's his height that gets me. Granted, I don't know much about humans, but he's by far the biggest long-un I've ever seen. He makes orcs look like children."
"What if he's not really a long-un?" his brother said suspiciously. "He could be a baby ogre or Tion knows what." Already he was on his feet, preparing to march over and confront the giant. "I'm telling you, if there's a green-hided runt hiding in that armor, I'll kill it on the spot." He grinned dangerously. "The same goes for the lady. So what if she's a maga? She's not much use to Girdlegard now."
Tungdil's face flushed with panic. He wouldn't put it past Andфkai to have one of Tion's monsters at her side. I can't let Boпndil pick a fight with Djerun. If he starts on the giant, Andфkai will join the fray and we'll all be in trouble.
"No, he's a man, all right," he said firmly. "Haven't you heard about the human giants? I read somewhere that they join together in formidable armies. The orcs are scared stiff of them!"
It was a nerve-racking business lying to his kinsfolk, but he knew it was for the best.
"How do they get that big?" persisted Boпndil, reluctant to let the matter drop. He jiggled his axes, hoping to find some reason that would allow him to test his strength against the giant.
"Um, it's their mothers… You see, they…" Tungdil tried feverishly to dream up an explanation; almost anything would do. "Straight after birth, the mothers tie ropes to their arms and legs and stretch them as much as they can. They keep doing it, every morning and every night," he blustered, "and it works, as you can see. They've got a fearsome reputation on the battlefield. They actually grow into their armor; they can't take it off."
The brothers looked at him incredulously. "Their mothers really do that to them?" Boпndil was shocked. "It's pretty gruesome, don't you think?"
"That's what it says in the books."
Boлndal looked the warrior up and down. "I'd like to know what he weighs and how much he can lift."
The three dwarves stared at the giant, trying to work out whether or not he was asleep. His demonic visor shone in the flames, grinning at them mockingly.
Boлndal shrugged. "Sooner or later he'll show his face. He'll have to lift his visor when he eats."
IX
Kingdom of Gauragar, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle It had been a long time, perhaps thousands of cycles, since Girdlegard had last seen a band of travelers as strange as the company that had been toiling through Ionandar and Gauragar for several orbits.
First to appear over the hilltop was Djerun, his formidable armored body provoking horrified panic among any peasants who happened to be tending the land.
The dwarves led the way, but their stocky figures took longer to loom into view. Boлndal and Boпndil walked ahead, with Tungdil in the middle and Andфkai and the giant a few paces behind. Djerun was forced to take miniature strides in order not to outpace his mistress and the dwarves. The maga had offered a farmer a ridiculous number of gold coins to part with his horse, which now bore the weight of her bags and the giant's spare weaponry.
Tungdil was still trying to work out whether to tell Andфkai about the books. He had no idea what was written in the scholarly tomes, but it was encouraging to know that Nфd'onn feared their contents as much as the artifacts. Who knows if I can stop him, hut Andфkai surely can. She's the last of Girdlegard's magi. He was determined to do whatever it took to make her stay. Slowing his pace a little, he fell in beside her. "I've been thinking about your magic and I can't figure out why it still works. Didn't Nфd'onn corrupt the force fields?"
"Why do you ask?"
"It's important?"
"For you or for me?"
"For Girdlegard."
"For Girdlegard! Very well, Tungdil, how could I refuse?" She smiled balefully. "I was never as kind-spirited as my fellow magi. My god is Samusin, god of equilibrium, who cherishes darkness as well as light. Thanks to him I have the ability to use both. It's harder for me to store and use dark magic, but the corruption of the force fields hasn't really affected my powers. Nфd'onn knows that, but he wasn't expecting me to survive. Not that he's got anything to worry about-my art is nothing compared to his." Shielding her eyes with her hand, she squinted into the distance. "There should be a forest ahead. I can't stand this sun much longer."
You've got to ask her now, Tungdil told himself. He summoned all his courage. "Maga, suppose there was a way of stopping the traitor. Would you try it?" he asked.
There was silence. Just as the tension was becoming unbearable, Andфkai spoke. "Would this have something to do with the contents of your bags, little man?"
"We found something in Greenglade," he told her, giving a brief account of what had happened in the woods. "Nфd'onn sent in the дlfar, but we got there first."
"Are you going to show me?"
Tungdil thought for a moment and decided that there was no point leaving the matter half-solved. He slid the package out of his knapsack, removed the wrapping, and handed over the books.
Andфkai opened each of the tomes in turn and leafed through the pages, her face remaining an inscrutable mask.
Tungdil couldn't help feeling disappointed: He had reckoned with her amazement. Seeing her dispassionate expression made him fear the worst.
At length she returned the volumes. "Was there anything with them?"
"What are they about?" he asked, deciding not to give away anything until he'd found out more.
"They're anthologies: descriptions of legendary beings and mythical weapons, and an obscure tale about an expedition across the Stone Gateway into the Outer Lands. It says in the preface that a single survivor returned, mortally wounded but bearing manuscripts that are reproduced in the book. Why Nфd'onn should take an interest in the volumes is a mystery. I suppose he's just as knowledge-lusty as before."
"What else do they say?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Nфd'onn wouldn't have sacked Greenglade for nothing! He had us chased by a war band of orcs just to get his hands on the books!" He glared at the maga defiantly. "With respect, maga, I think you're wrong. There's something impor
tant in those volumes, even if you can't see it."
"Are you daring to…?" The mistress of Brandфkai stopped and erupted into laughter. "Did you hear that, Djerun? Here I am, traipsing along a dusty road, being corrected by a dwarf who thinks he knows best!"
The giant kept walking, impassive as ever.
"I didn't mean to cause offense," said Tungdil, "but at least I'm not as arrogant and sure of myself as you are. I shouldn't wonder if there's elfish blood in your veins!"
"Fighting talk, little dwarf!" she said in amusement. She nodded in the direction of the twins. "The other two would have drawn their weapons and settled the matter another way, but you learned from Lot-Ionan, I can tell." Suddenly she was serious again. "I'll take a proper look at the volumes tonight. Maybe you're right and there's more to them than I thought."
"Thank you, Estimable Maga." The dwarf inclined his head respectfully and quickened his pace to catch up with the twins. "We'll soon find out what the magus wanted with our books," he announced proudly.
"What? You didn't tell the wizard-woman about them, did you?" gasped a horrified Boпndil. "Not only that; I showed them to her."
The secondling shook his head reprovingly. "You're too trusting, scholar. It's time you became a proper dwarf and stopped acting like a human."
"I see. So you'd like me to splice her skull if she disagrees with me, would you?" said Tungdil, his temper beginning to fray.
"I'd like to see you dare," Boпndil retorted with venom.
Boлndal quickly squeezed between them. "Stop it!" he said firmly. "Spare your fury for the orcs; I doubt we've seen the last of them. For what it's worth, I think Tungdil was right to tell the maga. I don't like being hounded because of a couple of books I know nothing about."
His brother just grunted and surged on.
"I never said traveling with us would be easy," Boлndal said with a grin.
Tungdil sighed, then burst out laughing.
Dusk was falling when they set up camp. The air had cooled and there was a smell of earth and grass. A band of crickets was chirping its evening concert.
The dwarves divided up their dwindling provisions-the sight of the Blue Range's summits in the distance reassured them that they would soon be feasting on fresh dwarven treats. Meanwhile, Andфkai kept her word and studied the books.
Not wanting to distract her, Tungdil allowed the maga to read in peace, approaching only to bring Djerun his supper. Like every other evening, he placed a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a large slab of meat beside the warrior.
This time he was determined to keep an eye on the giant while he ate; so far neither Tungdil nor the twins had seen behind the metal visor.
"Djerun will sit the first watch," said Andфkai without looking up from her reading. "The rest of you can get some sleep."
"Suits me fine," said Boпndil, then burped. He shook the worst of the crumbs from his beard, coiled his plait into a pillow, and settled down next to the fire. "Listen, long-un," he told the giant, who was sitting motionless as usual, "don't forget to wake me if you see any orcs. It's about time they had a taste of my axes."
The twins seized the chance to get some sleep, and in no time loud snores were reverberating through the woods, setting the leaves aquiver.
Andфkai slammed down her book. "Now I know why they always take the first watch," she said irritably. "It's a wonder their snores never woke me. How am I supposed to concentrate when they're making such a din?"
Tungdil chuckled. "Imagine what it sounds like in Ogre's Death."
"I don't intend staying long enough to find out."
Tungdil looked at her rippling muscles as she stretched. She was impressively strong for a woman-stronger even than the scullery maids who were used to hard labor.
"Have you found anything new in the…" Tungdil checked himself. He had resolved not to ask her about the books.
Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on her hands and turned her blue eyes on him. "You think I'll change my mind if the books tell us how Nфd'onn can be defeated."
"Samusin is the god of equilibrium; surely it's your duty to strive for a balance between darkness and light," he said, appealing to her faith since honor alone was not enough to persuade her. Her decision to abandon her realm was proof enough of that.
Andфkai laid a hand on one of the leather-bound volumes. "If I could find a spell or a charm that would cause Nфd'onn's downfall, I would take the traitor on," she said earnestly, "but the books contain nothing of the kind-just far-fetched stories and myths."
"So you're turning your back on Girdlegard?"
"My art is useless against Nфd'onn's power. I was lucky to escape." She flicked through the book, opening it at random. "Maybe there is some kind of hidden meaning. All I know is that I don't have the key."
Tungdil decided to come clean. He produced the letter that Gorйn had written in scholarly script. "This was with the books. I suppose it might help."
"Is there anything else you're not telling me, or is this the last of your secrets?"
"It's the last, I swear."
Andфkai accepted the sheet of parchment, folded it, and placed it between the pages of one of the books. She rubbed her eyes. "The darkness is hardly conducive to study. I'll read it tomorrow." She returned the volumes to their wax paper wrapping, arranged the parcel as a pillow, and nestled her head on top.
"Tomorrow?" Tungdil had been expecting her to read the letter at once. He sighed; the maga was a troublesome person to deal with. He settled down next to the fire and glanced at Djerun.
The giant was still wearing his helmet, but the food was gone. Tungdil cursed: Talking to Andфkai had distracted him from looking at Djerun's visor, although, now that he thought about it, he hadn't been alerted by a telling clunk of metal. There was something unnerving about the maga's companion. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle Balendilнn barely had a moment to himself. On reaching his chamber, he discovered that two dwarves from the fourthling delegation had requested to see him.
Not a moment too soon. It's about time Gandogar put a stop to this foolishness. He turned round and hurried to the meadows, where the delegates were expecting him.
The high king's counselor was feeling remarkably upbeat. For weeks he had poured most of his energy into rebutting the rumors about Gundrabur's failing health, and rightly so: The high king had a strong heart and an even stronger will, which he employed in persuading the assembly to await the arrival of the other pretender to the throne. Such was his success that there was talk of strengthening the bonds among the folks in more permanent ways.
It's going almost too well, thought Balendilнn, gripped by a sudden apprehension. He stepped out of the passageway and onto a bridge across a chasm fifty paces wide. Deep in thought, he made his way over the disused copper mines two hundred paces below.
It bothered him that Bislipur never seemed to tire of rekindling the passions of those who favored a war against the elves. He and Gundrabur would have achieved much more if it hadn't been for the fourthling's inflammatory speeches. He's a rabble-rouser. You can guarantee his influence is at the heart of Gandogar's misplaced zeal.
Just then he noticed a movement in the mouth of the tunnel ahead. Bislipur was on the bridge in front of him, his left hand resting lightly on his ax. For a moment Balendilнn wondered whether the fourthling could have heard his thoughts through the thick stone walls. There was something threatening about his demeanor. Balendilнn stopped and waited. "Were you looking for me?"
"Do you know what they're calling it?" Bislipur shouted, his voice echoing against the rock. "The quarrel of the cripples: one-armed Balendilнn against Bislipur the lame. Is that how you see it?"
Balendilнn paused, hoping to hear sounds of other dwarves, but the tunnels were deserted. He and Bislipur were alone. "Quarrel is too strong a word," he answered. "You have your convictions, I have mine, and we're both trying to persuade the assembly of our views."
He took a step forward, then another one. Bislipur did the same. "What is it that you want?"
"To serve the dwarves," Bislipur said, grim-faced.
"What is it you want from me?"
"A change of heart. How can I persuade you that the future of the folks and clans lies with Gandogar and me?"
"If you persist in campaigning for a war against the elves, I will never be able to support your king," Balendilнn said frankly. He stood his ground and Bislipur stopped too. Fifteen paces remained between them.
"Then a quarrel it is," Bislipur told him harshly. "Until Gandogar has been elected, I shall regard you as an enemy and a danger to the prosperity and safety of our race. The others will come round to my view." He walked toward Balendilнn, who was advancing along the bridge. Only an arm's length separated the two dwarves. "It's about time the high king was spared your counsel so he can come to his senses at last."
By now they were so close that their noses were almost touching.
"To his senses? That's rich, from you." Balendilнn stared at Bislipur and saw implacable hatred and enmity in his eyes. "Let me tell you this," he said, trying not to betray his fear, even though Bislipur undoubtedly intended to harm him. "Your war against Вlandur will never happen. Even the fourthling chieftains are having second thoughts."
"The throne is ours. You're no match for Gandogar and me." The words were spat violently, Bislipur's pent-up fury ready to erupt at any moment.
"I didn't realize you were bidding for a joint succession."
Neither flinched as they glared at each other, eyes locked in combat. All of a sudden Bislipur's air of menace fell away.
"Well, good luck with your lost cause," he said breezily. "May Vraccas be with you." He stepped past Balendilнn and continued along the bridge.
The high king's counselor closed his eyes and swallowed. Having resigned himself to a duel, he could scarcely believe that he was going to make it across the chasm without a fight. Bislipur's whistling reverberated through the tunnel, the simple melody repeating itself and overlapping as he strode away.