by Markus Heitz
"I…" Goпmgar teeth were chattering furiously. "I slipped."
Boлndal covered him with two blankets. He can't even pee without getting himself in a fix. Tactfully, he refrained from comment: Goпmgar had humiliated himself sufficiently already. Why Tungdil had picked the troublesome artisan was beyond him, especially with four perfectly acceptable diamond cutters to choose from. Vraccas is bound to have his reasons, he thought philosophically, as the bundle of misery slowly began to thaw. His beard, hair, and eyebrows were streaming with icy water.
Boлndal leaned over to talk to him. "Were you trying to get yourself killed out there?"
"No," came the eventual reply.
"Be more careful in the future. We need you for our mission."
"You mean the impostor needs me to help him steal the throne," the shivering artisan muttered darkly.
Boлndal didn't bother to reply: The fourthling still hadn't grasped that more was at stake than the succession, despite Tungdil's well-meaning attempts to set him straight. How can anyone be so obtuse? Everything depends on the success of our mission, but he's too stubborn to see it.
Goпmgar stopped shivering and stared straight past him toward the rear of the temple, where the marble gods were grouped. He gulped. "How many?" he whispered.
"I beg your pardon?"
"How many statues were here when we arrived?"
Boлndal thought for a moment. "Seven. Four big ones and three small ones."
Goпmgar closed his eyes. "There are eight of them," he hissed. "Five big ones. What are we going to do?"
"Which one wasn't there before?" Boлndal's fingers were already wrapped round the haft of his crow's beak. He tensed his muscles.
"The third from the right."
"Fine. I'll go in for the attack and shout to wake the others. Meanwhile, you grab your shield and back me up until Boпndil takes over."
"Me?"
"Who else am I supposed to ask?"
Before Goпmgar could protest, the crow's beak swung up in a half circle, its long tip speeding toward the area just above the hips where there were no bones to slow its path. The wound would be deep and deadly. Like a miniature pennant, Boлndal's plait traced the weapon's movement in the air.
"For Vraccas!" he bellowed.
The statue shattered under the force of the blow, the crow's beak smashing through the crumbling stone and dashing it to pieces. The damage to the deity, carved lovingly by humans, was absolute and irrevocable.
"Sorry," Goпmgar said contritely, "I meant third from my right." By then it was too late.
The hitherto inanimate statue suddenly came to life. Its eyes glowed lilac beneath its visor.
"Of all the dumb mistakes…" Boлndal swore under his breath and made to strike again.
His titanic adversary had other ideas. Moving with a speed that belied its size, the statue seized the dwarf's forearms in its enormous hands and lifted him clean into the air. Boлndal found himself dangling two paces above the ground. His weapon clattered to the cracked marble floor.
His brother was on his feet already. "Let go of him!" Whipping out his axes, he was about to launch himself on his colossal opponent when he was blinded by a flash of light. The glare was so bright that he had to look away.
"That's enough, Boпndil," commanded a distinctive female voice. The glare softened to a weak glow, allowing them all to see.
The speaker emerged from behind the remaining statues and joined the giant's side. Her crimson cloak was streaked with melting snow and she was holding a glowing sphere. "You can put Boлndal down now, Djerun. I think they know who we are."
"Andфkai!" cried Tungdil in astonishment, lowering his ax. "You're back!" She threw back her hood to show them her face.
"Andфkai? Andфkai the maga of Brandфkai? Andфkai the Tempestuous?" inquired Rodario. He didn't seem to notice that his cheeks were covered in fish scales and that he was scarcely looking his best. "Isn't she supposed to be dead?" He stared at her brazenly. "Confound it, you're right!" He turned to Furgas and Narmora. "Andфkai's alive. We'll have to rewrite the play."
"What play?" Slipping the globe inside her cloak, the maga strode to the fire and warmed her hands. Djerun lowered Boлndal to the floor. "What's he talking about? Who is he, anyway?"
"An impresario," Tungdil said apologetically. It took all his self-control not to bombard her with questions.
"I see. I've been immortalized in a play already, have I? I hope the actress is suitably-"
Rodario was about to launch into a flattering explanation when Boлndal rounded on the maga.
"What the blazes was your giant up to? How was I supposed to know he was spying on us? I could have killed him!"
"He wasn't spying; he was guarding your camp. And no, there was never any danger of you killing him," she informed him in a condescending tone. She took off her cloak to allow the warmth to penetrate her other clothes. Underneath she was wearing full armor, thick winter garments, and a sword. She was broad-shouldered by nature, and the layers only added to her bulk. "He was here at my request to protect you from the дlfar. They've been following you since Mifurdania."
"I knew they were hunting us," wailed Goпmgar.
Boпndil laughed. "I'd rather die in a fight with the дlfar than be saved by a beast. Leave the pointy-ears to me." He stroked the short hafts of his axes.
"I doubt you would have spotted them in time. They managed to follow you this far without you seeing them," the maga said gravely. "Djerun killed a couple of them three miles from here, but two escaped. I sent Djerun ahead in case they tired of tracking you and decided to attack."
"So it was him who rescued me in Sovereignston! I thought as much," said Tungdil.
Andфkai nodded. "I'm afraid your attacker got away."
"I wouldn't have let the pointy-eared murderer escape with his life," growled Boпndil. "My enemies never get the better of me, even if I have to chase them down."
"I'm assuming you've never been shot at by an дlf archer." She gave the dwarf a pitying look. "And anyway, warriors who run after their enemies should be careful about being trapped."
"My enemies never trap me," Boпndil said mulishly. He took up his old position atop the fallen pillar.
The extra height brought him level with the giant. He peered through the visor, curious to see what lay among the shadows, but his eyes, despite being accustomed to darkness, failed to penetrate the gloom. It was as if Djerun's helmet contained nothing but bottomless space. The others sat down in a circle around the fire.
By this time the players were wide-awake. While Narmora returned her fantastical weapons to her belt, Rodario whipped out his notepad and quill, only to discover that the ink was frozen solid. Djerun had already retreated to the rear of the temple, where he transformed himself into a statue and waited in the gloom.
Tungdil waited for everyone to settle. "What changed your mind, maga?" he asked at last. "How did you find us?" " Your new companions can be trusted, I assume?"
"They helped us get here. You can trust them."
Boпndil grunted disapprovingly from his perch.
"You can trust us with your lives," Rodario declared expansively, seizing the opportunity to introduce the troupe in characteristically florid style. "We know all about Keenfire, of course. In fact," he said, waving his arms extravagantly, "we rescued these future heroes, these champions of legends as yet unwritten, from a fate most foul by plucking them from the claws and swords of a pack of vicious bцgnilim. We're completely reliable, most Estimable Maga."
Under normal circumstances his smile had the power to melt the thickest ice and soften the hardest stone, but this time it failed: Andфkai was unmoved.
"You made me come back," she said accusingly, glaring at Tungdil. "It's your fault for hounding me about my duty. Everything you said kept running through my head until I couldn't take it any longer. My conscience wouldn't let me abandon Girdlegard and so I returned. Besides, there are a thousand reasons why Nфd'onn de
serves to die."
Her face seemed less severe in the flickering light of the fire, her features somehow softer, more feminine. Rodario couldn't take his eyes off her and was hanging on her every word. He seemed to regard her forbidding charm and stern manner as a challenge to his seductive powers.
"So I went back to Ogre's Death and took another look at the passage that I hadn't been able to make sense of. You remember, don't you? The only remaining uncertainty in the plan…" Gazing into the flames, she motioned with her hand, marshaling the sparks into the script of the common tongue. One by one the words flared up and faded in an instant.
Rodario read them aloud: "Keenfire must be forged by the undergroundlings, then wielded by the undergroundlings' foe." He snatched up a piece of charred wood. "I need to write it down before I forget. What use is a quill without ink? I could kick myself for letting it freeze."
"You write, and I'll kick," Bavragor said magnanimously.
"The gods save me from your hulking boots," exclaimed Rodario, shooing him away. "Wait and see, we'll have the best play ever performed in Girdlegard!" His hand moved busily across the page. "They'll be fighting to get through the door!" He was about to launch into another effusive speech, but Furgas jabbed him in the ribs.
"The undergroundlings' foe," murmured Tungdil, unable to mask his disappointment. What could it mean?
Boлndal couldn't make sense of it either. "We've got no shortage of foes. Ogres, for example"-he cast a sideways glance at Djerun-"not to mention orcs, bцgnilim, and all the other beasts created by Tion to plague the kingdoms of men, elves, and dwarves. Come on, scholar, surely you can think of something. A bit of book-learning might be exactly what we need."
Bavragor took a swig of his brandy. "We could have a bit of fun with this. Why don't we catch an orc and torture him until he agrees to clobber Nфd'onn? Or maybe we could talk an ogre into taking a swipe at him with our ax."
"I guess that's the end of the expedition, then," said Goпmgar, readily accepting defeat. He suddenly paled. "Who's going to tell the others? King Gandogar doesn't know!"
Tungdil expelled his breath in a long sigh. "Are you absolutely sure of the meaning?" he asked slowly.
The maga nodded. "I'm afraid so. I read it over and over again."
"Do you have any suggestions?" He glanced at Djerun.
She smiled. "Djerun isn't your foe, if that's what you're thinking. He can't do it."
Tungdil scratched his beard, which had grown to something approaching its former length. "Then we're facing a considerable obstacle." He looked into the faces of his companions. "I don't know what to suggest." He lay down and pulled up his blanket. "Maybe Vraccas will send me some inspiration in the night. Get some rest; we're bound to need our strength for whatever lies ahead."
They settled down by the fire while Djerun kept watch.
I have to think of something. I'm in charge, thought Tungdil, tossing and turning restlessly. If I don't come up with a solution to the riddle, Girdlegard will be doomed. It wasn't the sort of thought that would lull anyone to sleep.
***
Tungdil still hadn't received divine inspiration by the time they broke camp at first light. They decided to carry on regardless: With a bit of luck, one of them would think of something on the way, and if not, there was always a chance that the firstlings would be able to help.
We'll get there in the end, Tungdil told himself firmly, slipping his freshly oiled and rust-free mail shirt over his leather jerkin.
Andфkai rode with Rodario. The impresario had imagined himself sitting behind her on the saddle, with his arms wrapped chivalrously around her waist, but she insisted on riding bareback to give them both more space. Not only that, she forced him to take his place in front of her while she held the reins-much to Furgas's amusement.
More snow had fallen overnight, adding to the existing coating by the length of a forearm or so. The horses had to plow a path for the short-legged ponies to follow, and so they proceeded in single file with Djerun trudging behind them. From a distance it looked as if one of the marble deities had left the tedium of the temple and joined the procession instead.
The going was tough for the unusual band of travelers. Winter slowed their progress considerably, and Tungdil realized the advantage of traveling underground. They needed to get to the Gray Range as fast as possible, and by foot, or even on horseback, the journey would take too long. In a week, they advanced two hundred miles, a distance that could be covered in one or two orbits on the underground rail.
That afternoon, while they rested their horses, he pestered Andфkai to tell him how she had tracked the company down.
"It was no great challenge," she said dryly. "I left the Outer Lands, went back to Ogre's Death, and persuaded the secondlings to show me the tunnels. We came up near Mifurdania, Djerun found your tracks, and the rest was easy. People tend to notice a group of traveling dwarves. It wouldn't have been hard for the дlfar to find you either."
Tungdil glanced at Narmora, who was helping Furgas shovel snow into a pan and melt it over the fire.
The maga's gaze settled on Rodario. "These actors… How did you meet them?" Tungdil recounted the story. "Aha," laughed the maga on hearing how Narmora had got them out of Mifurdania by picking the locks, "so she's a woman of many talents. Have you seen their play?'
"I certainly have! The production was a sellout. It's called The Truth About Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty and the Grisly Circumstances Leading to His Reincarnation as Nфd'onn the Doublefold and Resulting in Girdlegard's Demise.'"
"A snappy title," she observed.
For the first time Tungdil saw the corners of her mouth turn upward and it occurred to him that smiling suited her better than her usual stern expression. Rodario chose precisely that moment to look over his shoulder and naturally assumed that the friendly smile was meant for him. He beamed back delightedly.
"And that's the star of the show, the fabulous Rodario. According to the others, he keeps a mistress in every town."
"I don't doubt it. Who plays me?"
"I'm afraid I left early, Estimable Maga. I had to chase a thief." He beckoned to Rodario. "You'll have to ask him."
The impresario bounded over to be cross-examined by the maga. "My players are the most accomplished in all Girdlegard. Your role was played by the talented Narmora, who alone could emulate your prowess with a sword." At her request he embarked on an explanation of the plot, but she cut him short when he was halfway through.
"The rise of the Perished Land, Nфd'onn's visitation, his compact with evil-what gave you the idea?"
"I listened to the rumors, combined them with some ancient legends, and added a dash of inspiration of my own." He looked at her brightly. "Does it meet with your approval?"
"It's incredibly accurate, at least as far as Nudin's transformation is concerned."
"Really?" Rodario seemed genuinely surprised. "But then, truth is at the heart of all great art, wouldn't you say?"
"Thank you, Rodario, you can go now," Andфkai told him briskly. "And don't forget to rewrite my part in your play. I'm not dead yet."
"My dear maga, you're positively blooming," he said, turning on the charm and gazing seductively into her clear blue eyes. "No man could-"
"I'm busy," she informed him, turning back to Tungdil.
Rodario's magnificent smile was wiped off his face. His pointed beard seemed to droop in dismay. "I respect your wishes," he said in a dignified tone.
"The maga has sent the peacock packing," chuckled Bavragor, who had followed the little scene. "Poor Rodario, his magnificent feathers are trailing on the ground. I'd advise him to back off now while he's still in possession of his plumage." He rummaged around for his drinking pouch and started humming a ballad under his breath.
"No chance," said Furgas. He lay back in the snow. "When Rodario's got his eye on a woman, he never gives up. Her sternness will only encourage him." He kissed Narmora and pulled her close. "One day he'll stop playing the field
and settle down."
"If he doesn't get beaten to death by a pack of angry husbands," put in Boпndil, guffawing. "He must be pretty good at running because he certainly can't fight."
After a short rest, it was time for the company to continue. Tungdil and Andфkai broke off their conversation and Djerun bent down on one knee, joining his hands to create a chair for the maga. The crestfallen Rodario was consigned to riding alone.
In the orbits that followed they battled through Weyurn's snowdrifts, sometimes struggling to find a safe path. Whenever the lead horse sank up to its belly, they knew for certain that the ponies would never get through. Djerun, burdened with the weight of the maga, spent much of his time hip-deep in cold snow.
On several occasions they were forced to retrace their steps and seek another route, but at last the Red Range was firmly in their sights. The mountains towered before them, guiding them on their way, the red slopes blazing like fire whenever the winter sun scored a hard-fought victory against the somber clouds.
At last they reached the mouth of a narrow gully that meandered toward a blood-red peak. The entrance to the gully was sealed by a wall, as were each of its five sweeping curves. The firstlings had taken extensive precautions to secure their kingdom against unwanted guests.
"Well, we made it," Tungdil said happily. He rubbed his beard, dislodging a collection of tiny icicles that had formed beneath his nose. He was tired, his feet were numb, he felt cold to the core, and he couldn't risk touching his chain mail for fear that his hand would stick to the frozen steel. It's nothing a tankard of dwarven beer won't fix. "Look," he told them, "there's the entrance."
The twins followed his gaze, taking note of the six stone barriers in their path. "It makes you wonder what all the fortifications are for," said Boлndal, giving voice to their concern. His plaited hair was wrapped around his neck like a scarf to protect him from the cold. "Anyone would think Tion's hordes were approaching from this side and not the western pass."