by Markus Heitz
"Furgas and Rodario will stay here in the firstling stronghold until we-"
"She's not going without me," the prop master said flatly. "Besides, someone with my technical ability would be an asset."
"And you're bound to need a first-rate impresario," added Rodario. A moment later, it occurred to him that the company had no obvious use for his talents, so he settled for looking handsome and putting on a winning smile.
"He's right, you know," said Boпndil unexpectedly. "The enemy won't be able to concentrate with his incessant jawing."
The other dwarves smiled, save for Goпmgar, who seethed quietly in the corner until he finally erupted. "Gandogar is in the Gray Range already," he hissed. "He'll be the one to forge Keenfire, just wait and see! You'll never be made high king." He looked scornfully at Narmora. "I don't know what you're relying on her for. She's only half an дlf." He flounced to the door and stormed out.
"Fine," said Bavragor, breaking the strained silence. "Narmora can half kill Nфd'onn, and we'll do the rest." Whipping out a tankard that he had smuggled from the tavern, he took a long sip.
The tension dissolved and they laughed in relief.
The following morning Queen Xamtys and her entourage of chieftains and elders accompanied Tungdil and the others over the shimmering bridges and deep into the stronghold's passageways and galleries that reminded the secondlings of home.
Bavragor kept stopping to inspect the masonry, tapping on the walls, running his fingers over the stone, and stamping critically on the floor. "It's certainly not superior," he said with unusual diplomacy, "but it's still very good."
At length they came to a vast steel door inlaid with runes of glittering gold. The queen recited the formula and they entered a chamber whose every detail Tungdil recognized from its counterpart in Ogre's Death. At the center of the room were eight rails, and around them a jumble of vats, pulleys, and gears. The engineers soon got the machinery going, and the air filled with hissing, steaming, and rattling, not to mention a smell of hot metal and grease.
"You've taken good care of the equipment," observed Furgas. "No rust, no dust. You could have been out of here in minutes, whenever you decided to go."
"I should have done this cycles ago," Xamtys said regretfully. She gave instructions for two convoys to be made ready for departure-the first for her own delegation, and the other for Tungdil and his friends.
Djerun had made a full recovery and was allocated a carriage of his own. The firstlings had repaired his armor over-night and it looked almost as good as new. Owing to his great height, they decided to remove the seats from the wagon so he could lie down on the floor. That way he wouldn't run the risk of beheading himself if the height of the tunnel changed.
The rest of the company were spread over two wagons: the five dwarves and the ingots in one, and Andфkai, the players, and the gems in the other.
She looks tired, thought Tungdil. He went up to the maga. "How are you feeling? You said yesterday that you nearing the end of your strength."
Andфkai tied her blond hair with a strip of leather to stop it from blowing in her eyes during the blustery ride. "Are you prepared for the truth?"
"You don't have to lie to me."
She sat down on the side of one of the wagons and watched the bustle. "My magic will soon be exhausted. Unless we pass through a force field, I won't be able to replenish my stores."
"Is that why wizards like to keep to their realms?"
Her eyes settled on Tungdil's bearded face. "Yes it's our secret weakness. As you've seen, we can still use our magic outside the enchanted realms, but we can't store it effectively. Straying from the force fields turns us into leaky pouches that lose their contents even when they're not in use. It takes only a powerful charm or two, and our energy is spent" She glanced at Djerun. "I don't like the idea of being defenseless when my magic runs out. That's why I learned to fight and why I always keep Djerun with me."
Tungdil thought for a moment. "Maybe we could see to it that Nфd'onn runs out of magic too."
She shook her head. "The spirit inside him has lent him extraordinary powers. I'm sure it won't work."
The dwarf caught sight of Narmora and remembered her trick with the lamp. "Narmora can use magic, can't she?"
"Not exactly. I don't know much about the дlfar, but they don't use real magic. It's more a case of innate abilities: the power to conjure up darkness, extinguish fire, influence dreams-small things that strike fear into human hearts and add to the дlfar's aura of power."
"But things have changed, haven't they? Sinthoras broke through your magic shield."
"That was cunning, not magic. Remember how the дlfar in the desert warded off my magic with amulets? The amulets were a present from Nфd'onn to protect them from the magi. Sinthoras tied his to an arrow and broke my spell." Andфkai rose. "We may as well get going." Their vehicles were ready, and the queen's wagon had been lowered onto its rail. "You mustn't rely on my intervention, Tungdil. I need to conserve my strength."
"I'll tell the others," he promised. Don't you worry, Keenfire will be forged, with or without your magic, he added silently to himself.
They joined Xamtys at the top of the ramps. The queen was studying a map. "I can't wait to find out what it's like in the tunnels," she said excitedly, stroking her downy cheeks. "Just think of the looks on their faces when I arrive; those menfolk won't know what's hit them." She jumped into the wagon and released the brakes. "Fashion Keenfire and make haste for the secondling kingdom. We'll be waiting for you." The wagon rolled away and vanished through the mouth of the tunnel. "May Vraccas be with you!"
"And with you!" Tungdil called after her. He climbed up the next ramp and took his seat in the wagon. The map of the tunnels, given to him by the queen, was tucked safely beneath his chain mail. Boпndil took his place next to him, while Bavragor and Balyndis sat together, laughing and joking, on the bench behind.
"Keep it down, can't you?" Boпndil said crossly. Leaving without his brother made him irritable and uneasy, and he felt thoroughly out of sorts.
Rodario made a few scribbled notes, then replaced the cork on his inkwell. He took particular care to seal the bottle tightly so as not to spill its recently thawed contents all over his clothes. "My, my," he said excitedly, "what an adventure! We should build a contraption like this for our theater. The audience could experience for themselves the thrill of traveling through a tunnel like the heroes of our piece."
"It's not an adventure and it won't be thrilling," Goпmgar contradicted him. "Just wait: Your stomach will turn somersaults, your beard will blow in your face, and you'll want to be sick."
"It can't be that bad," the player said blithely. He fastened the safety rope around his waist. "I'm not as soft as you think."
The wagon reached the end of the ramp and plummeted almost vertically into the tunnel. At that moment Rodario emitted a terrified scream, closing his mouth only when he felt an uncontrollable urge to vomit. For the first time in ages, Goпmgar looked genuinely pleased. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Balendilнn was in his chamber, ax in hand. He raised it tentatively and took a few practice swipes to check if he could swing it one-handed.
"There's more of them coming, Your Majesty," came an anxious shout from outside. "You ought to see for yourself."
Anyone would think Bislipur's warmongering had lured them to our gates, he thought darkly, leaving his chamber and striding past row upon row of grim-faced warriors until he reached the highest battlements of Ogre's Death and surveyed the land below.
The enemy was everywhere. Black figures, some larger than others, were milling about on the ground, and the air reeked of rancid fat. An unwholesome stench of orcs wafted over from their encampment a mile from the gates where they were preparing to attack. The muffled sound of their shouts reached the battlements.
In the distance, gigantic wooden siege engines, each forty or more paces in height, were rolling toward the strongh
old. They'll be over the first rampart in no time with the help of those things.
To the dwarf's eyes, the contraptions looked crooked and ungainly, but the beasts cared nothing for the engines' durability or elegance, provided that they fulfilled their purpose, which was to breach the outer defenses so the real invasion could begin. The timber towers had been draped with human skin to protect against firebombs, and the orcs intended to keep them watered for the duration of the assault.
"I didn't expect them to attack so soon," said Bislipur, joining him on the battlements and looking down at the hordes. Dressed in full armor, he looked every bit the dwarven warrior. "There must be ten thousand of them at least. What a blessing I'd already sent word to my kingdom and summoned our troops." He waited for a word of praise, but none came.
"Orcs, bцgnilim, a handful of ogres, some trolls, and a contingent of дlfar," enumerated Balendilнn, surveying the enemy ranks. "Nфd'onn is determined to annihilate us, just as Tungdil said." He watched the combined force of secondlings and fourthlings take up position behind the first rampart and prepare for the attack. The magus would never send an army of such proportions without securing the human kingdoms first. There's something not right about this. "If the ramparts fall, we'll retreat inside the mountain," he decided.
"Then what?"
"They'll be lost if they follow us. We know the territory and they don't."
"Are you saying we might not hold the ramparts?" Bislipur asked, surprised. "With two armies of five thousand warriors apiece, we should be able to defend the stronghold for as long as it takes."
"In these dark times nothing is certain. I'm saying we shouldn't count on it." He sent some of his finest warriors to buttress the troops at the entrance to the underground network. Just in case, he thought bleakly.
On ascending the parapet, he obtained his first full view of the invading hordes, a motley collection of beasts, vile products of Tion's creation, poised to massacre the dwarves and open the High Pass to their foul kinsfolk in the Outer Lands.
The orcs and bцgnilim are wearing armor stolen from Umilante's men. Her soldiers could do nothing to halt their advance. Balendilнn watched as the enemy troopers marshaled themselves into disorderly groups, ready to launch their assault and test the dwarves' defenses. "We need two thousand soldiers behind the main gates," he commanded firmly. "Be ready to fight!"
He waited until the snarling, grunting orcs had almost reached the rampart; then he signaled for the gates to be opened, and his warriors sallied forth.
To his satisfaction, the dwarven axes wrought havoc among the brutes who were caught off guard by the counterattack and tried to flee, only to be rounded up and driven back into battle by the trolls.
By then, the dwarves were safely behind the solid walls of Ogre's Death. Three dozen of their number had suffered minor injuries, while several hundred beasts lay dead or dying on the dry earth before the gates. There was great rejoicing among the united armies of Beroпn and Goпmdil.
"See what a formidable force we are when we fight side by side!" Balendilнn shouted down to them proudly. He glanced around to see if Bislipur had anything to say.
The fourthling was nowhere in sight. Underground Network, Kingdom of Weyurn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle The wagons shot through the tunnels, tearing cobwebs from the walls and ceilings and stirring up clouds of centuries-old dust. Every now and then a shadow took flight from the rattling, rumbling carriages and scampered out of the torchlight into the darkness of a side shaft. What life there was beneath the surface of Girdlegard was of a harmless, nervous variety that left the travelers well alone.
Tungdil and company were approaching the fifthling kingdom from the west. He kept count of the markers on the walls, calculating that they had traveled 250 miles by the end of the first orbit.
He shared the good news when they stopped for a while and lit a fire. "At this rate, we'll be there in four orbits. We're making excellent progress."
They were in a large chamber that served as a junction between two rails. The ceiling of the cavern was supported by naturally formed pillars and carefully hewn arches engraved with runes that testified to their dwarven origins. The wood now spluttering merrily in the flames had come from a leftover stockpile of moldering timber.
"We'll never be able to outwit the dragon," Goпmgar said dismally. "She'll burn us to cinders with her fire."
"We could always shove a long-un down her throat; that should do the trick," retorted Boпndil through a mouthful. "This is delicious, Balyndis. You firstlings certainly know a thing or two about salting and smoking meat." He plucked dried herbs from the rind of the ham and tasted them experimentally.
Bavragor gave Tungdil a nudge. "Isn't she lovely? I've never seen a more handsome-I mean, beautiful-smith." His chestnut eye gleamed contentedly. "And look at her chain mail! She's a master with a hammer."
"Since when do you know anything about smiths?" teased Tungdil, although he too had been admiring the metalwork. He grinned. "You've changed your tune, haven't you?"
"That was before our duel," Bavragor chuckled. "I took a blow to the heart."
Apparently so. The pair had bonded from the moment Balyndis had conquered the mason with her ax and they seemed to be getting closer all the time. Tungdil couldn't begrudge the one-eyed dwarf his happiness. "I thought she whacked you on the head, not the chest."
"Don't talk so fast," Rodario scolded. "I can barely keep up." Sprawled next to the fire, the impresario had been eavesdropping on their whispered exchange and was frantically transcribing every word. "I want the script to be as authentic as possible."
Meanwhile, Furgas had got up to examine the rail and Narmora was beside him, keeping watch. Djerun was sitting a few paces away from the others, his weapons laid out around him. As usual, he kept completely still.
"I wish she'd thumped him a bit harder," muttered Goпmgar in a voice so low that only Tungdil could hear. "Oh, Gandogar, if you weren't my beloved sovereign, I'd hate you for lumbering me with such insufferable companions." Like most nights, he was the first to pull up his blankets and settle down to sleep.
The impresario had brought his bag of costumes with him. Bavragor was amused to see that he refused to be parted with them. "Couldn't you have left them with the firstlings?"
Rodario gave him a disapproving look. "Absolutely not! There's no telling when I might need them, and besides, do you know how much they're worth?"
He was interrupted by a sudden bang. It sounded like a single rap of a hammer on stone. The echo rumbled through the tunnels, then faded.
They turned to look at Furgas, who was bent over the rail. "It wasn't me," he said quickly. "It came from the next stretch of tunnel."
Goпmgar sat up. "I know that noise." He reached nervously for his shield. "The spirits of the dead masons are haunting us," he whispered, cowering behind his steel screen. "Vraccas protect us from their ghosts!"
The sound was familiar to Tungdil too. "We heard the exact same noise just before our wagon was derailed near Mifurdania," he said softly. I wonder if it's a signal. But what would it be conveying? And to whom?
"Quiet, everyone." Boпndil's warlike instincts had been stirred. He got up and jogged to the mouth of one of the tunnels, while Narmora stood guard by the other. Sticking his head into the darkness, he listened intently. They held their breath for what seemed like an eternity.
Only Andфkai looked untroubled, rummaging casually for her pipe. She filled it and lit it with a burning splint. Balyndis smiled broadly and followed suit, picking up a smoldering ember with her gloved hand and holding it to the tobacco. The two women, who couldn't have been more different in appearance, disappeared in clouds of smoke.
At length Boпndil returned to the fire. "Nothing," he reported. "No noises, no smell."
"We don't want any more accidents," Tungdil told them. "We'll have to be careful." He settled down to get some sleep.
Furgas and the half дlf took their places beside him. "I t
hink we're not the only ones on the move down here," Furgas confided in a whisper. "There's not a speck of rust on the rail ahead."
"So the tunnel is being used on a regular basis," Tungdil conjectured.
"I thought you should know."
"Thank you, Furgas. I'd rather you didn't tell the others. We don't want Goпmgar dying of fright." Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle What can I do for you, Bislipur?" asked one of the two sentries politely as the fourthling approached the door to the underground network.
"Die," he said smilingly. "Die nice and quietly." His ax whipped up and swooped diagonally toward the sentry's unprotected throat.
There was no time to escape the double-handed blow and the guardsman succumbed with nothing but a muffled groan.
His companion managed to reach the bugle with his left hand and the hilt of his club with the other, but already the bloodied ax was slicing through the flesh beneath his chin. The blade jerked upward, cleaving his skull.
Well, that wasn't too hard. Bislipur wiped the blood from his face and gave a short whistle, whereupon two hundred of his most loyal soldiers appeared in the corridor.
"You know what to do," he said tersely before reciting the runes that opened the door to the tunnels. "Show Gandogar's enemies no mercy: They will show none to you." Underground Network, Kingdom of Weyurn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Just as they reached the three-hundred-mile marker, disaster struck. Moments earlier they had exited the tunnel and turned onto a narrow bridge. As far as they could tell, there was nothing but thin air and darkness beneath them.
The first carriage was traveling at full speed when the dwarves felt a sudden judder and the wheels were thrown from the track, tilting the wagon to the side. Sparks flew everywhere as they skidded along on two wheels, trying to right the wagon before it tipped too far. The next moment, they hit the ground and flipped over.