by Markus Heitz
At last Balendilнn's vision cleared and he could see his antagonist above him-just in time to avoid the furious blow rushing his way. He rolled to the side and the ax hit the bridge.
This time Bislipur was prepared and the weapon rose again, swinging up toward Balendilнn. The blade sliced through his chain mail, penetrating his wounded chest. The spike on top of the ax head embedded itself in the metal rings.
"Fly away, you one-armed cripple," laughed Bislipur. He gripped the ax with both hands and pulled his enemy toward him, only to hurl him against the balustrade. Balendilнn slid to the edge of the bridge and saw the chasm beneath him. "That's if you can fly with one hand."
"Let's see if you do any better," cried the king, reaching out to stab him with his dagger. The blade entered the traitor's forearm just as Balendilнn rolled over the side.
Hanging on to the dagger with all his might, he pulled the screaming Bislipur with him. I'm taking the traitor with me, he vowed.
To his great surprise, his flight ended after only two paces as he slammed onto a ledge that was all that remained of an ancient archway erected beneath the bridge. The dagger tore through his enemy's arm.
Bislipur shot past him, letting go of the ax to make a grab for the protruding stone. He succeeded in stopping his fall, but dangled by one hand; the dagger had slit his other arm from the wrist to the elbow.
"It isn't over yet," he gasped, choking with pain and exertion as he dragged himself onto the ledge. His eyes blazed with hatred. "I only need one hand to strangle you, Balendilнn." He crawled across the stone toward him.
With a terrible shriek, the king seized the ax embedded in his chain mail and tore it out of his chest. "Oh, it's over, all right," he shouted, smashing the blade against the traitor's helmet. There was a cracking and splintering noise as the metal crashed into his skull. Blood streamed down Bislipur's face. "I promised to kill you, and I've kept my word."
He let go of the haft, thrust his foot into the traitor's face, and pushed him over the edge. The bleeding body plunged down, hitting the ground twenty paces below with a muffled thud and splattering over the stone.
May your soul smolder forever in Vraccas's flames. Balendilнn closed his eyes and lay down on the ledge. The next moment he blacked out with pain.
They found him barely conscious and dangerously close to falling from the narrow shelf. He was carried to the tunnels, where his wagon was the last to leave. Kingdom of Tabaоn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle The snow sparkled for the last time that afternoon as the sun dropped below the flat horizon. Thousands of glittering diamonds studded the immense white plain as daylight faded to dusk.
Suddenly, in the middle of the untouched snow, a boulder began to stir. Cracks opened in its white cladding; then it rolled to one side and a woman struggled out of the ground beneath it. She stood up and took a few paces, cutting a channel through the immaculate blanket of flakes.
"Samusin protect us," gasped Andфkai as she surveyed the perfectly flat land. In the far distance, dark splodges marked the site of settlements, and each was topped with a column of smoke. She knelt down to make herself less visible and pulled her cloak tighter to keep out the biting cold. "The orcs are here already. They must have invaded from the north." The winter air, fresh and frosty, filled her lungs and made her cough.
Looking around, she saw black flecks moving across the horizon on their way to a town, village, or hamlet, wherever was next on their mission of destruction.
Andфkai closed her eyes and focused her mind. Almost immediately she sensed the weak force field running through the earth beneath her, its energy harnessed by Nфd'onn for his black art.
"We're in what's left of Turguria," she said slowly. "The enchanted realm was rich in magic energy, but there's almost nothing left." All the same, she took the opportunity to replenish her powers, her face contorting with pain as she siphoned the magic from the land.
A helmet popped out of the hole in the snow, followed by a pair of keen brown eyes that flicked to and fro. "The sooner we get out of here, the better," Boпndil said surlily. He emerged into the open, while the others hurried up the last few steps. "Now I know why I've been feeling so peculiar. It's this magical malarkey; it never did anyone any good." He gave himself a shake and pushed the boulder back over the hole, thereby concealing the entrance to the underground network. "Let's go."
"Wait." Tungdil had followed Andфkai's gaze. He shivered. His breath left plump white clouds in the air and his beard was already frozen solid. "You're right, maga. The orcs must have crossed over from the Perished Land. The hordes from Toboribor could never have got here this quickly."
"That makes it worse," commented Goпmgar in his customary whine. "I-"
"If you don't shut up, I'll make you," Boпndil threatened. "Can't you see we're trying to think?"
"You're trying to think? You're not even capable of-"
Ireheart whirled around and threw himself on the artisan with a wild shriek. Goпmgar ducked behind his shield and cried for help.
"Stop that, Boпndil!" The warrior paid no attention. He'll tear him limb from limb. Tungdil launched himself on Boпndil, and Bavragor followed suit. The three dwarves disappeared in a cloud of snow from which loud curses, the sound of punches, and a great deal of coughing could be heard.
With Djerun's help they succeeded in pulling Boпndil away. By some miracle, he had refrained from using his axes, thus sparing the others more serious injuries. Their bloody noses and bruised faces were proof enough of his formidable strength.
"I'm sorry," panted Boпndil. "It's my fiery spirit." He scrabbled in the snow for his helmet and tried to come up with an appropriate excuse. "He provoked me and then I…"
"Let's forget about it." The right half of Tungdil's face was throbbing painfully and he wasn't in the mood for delivering a lecture. "You're welcome to slaughter the next lot of orcs by yourself."
Balyndis took care of their wounds by clumping snow together and pressing it against their bruised and battered limbs. They set off in silence on a northeasterly bearing.
Andфkai drew alongside Tungdil. "There's no smoke ahead," she said. "Nфd'onn must have ordered the orcs to quell any resistance in Turguria and the other enchanted realms before taking on the human kingdoms." She pointed to the east. "There's a fortified city in Tabaоn, just across the border from here. I vote we find ourselves a room. We're not dressed for sleeping in the open, especially not when it's freezing outside. Besides, the citizens will be glad of a few extra swords."
Tungdil nodded his agreement. It was nighttime when the company reached the gates of a city marked on the map as Roodacre. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle No sooner were the wagons rolling along the rail than Balendilнn and Xamtys encountered the next setback. Nфd'onn's troops had already started to occupy the tunnels and barricade the tracks.
They managed to speed past the first band of waiting orcs, but a little farther along the tunnel they were pelted with stones by ogres and trolls while the second band of orcs charged onto the rail.
The ambush cost them four wagons, but the remaining carriages turned off at a junction, only now they were heading north and not west.
Before they reached the next corner, Xamtys signaled for them to halt. She made her way to the king's wagon to confer with Balendilнn. "They've blocked the rail to my kingdom," she said, clenching her jaw in frustration. "It's too dangerous for us to use the tunnels. For all we know, the orcs have sabotaged the tracks and we'll plunge straight into a chasm."
"Bislipur must have told them about the tunnels some time ago," said Balendilнn. His attendants saw their chance and redressed his wound. It doesn't bear thinking about. The dwarves built these tunnels for the protection of Girdlegard and now Tion's creatures are using them to conquer our kingdoms.
"We can't go overland, Balendilнn." Xamtys inspected his wound and shook her head. "It's winter and we won't find anything to eat on the way. None of us
are equipped to trudge through snow and ice. We'd be lucky if half of us survived without freezing or starving." She took off her helmet and two plaits unfurled, draping themselves over her shoulders. "We'll have to come up with another idea. The Red Range-"
"No, Xamtys." He stopped short, gasping with pain. His strong hand gripped the side of the wagon while the dressing was removed. "The Red Range is out of the question." He pulled out a map and placed his finger over a dot at the heart of Girdlegard. "This is where we'll go. It's a somber place, I know, and a curse hangs over its history, but it's our only safe bet."
She ran a hand over her face as if to wipe away the dark thoughts and tiredness. "What makes you so sure?"
"It's not connected to the tunnels and there's no other way in. We'll have to cover a few miles overland, but once we're there, the women and children will be out of danger. The surrounding area is flat and easy to survey. We'll be safe until Tungdil or Gandogar finds us." He cursed Bislipur silently; he could barely move because of the wound in his chest, and he felt dangerously weak.
"Girdlegard is a big place. We can't count on sending messengers." Xamtys studied the section of map beneath Balendilнn's hovering finger. "I've never heard of the place."
"We won't need messengers. Provided we make sure everyone knows where we're going, our two friends will find us in the normal course of events. They're bound to realize that the orcs have seized the tunnels and they'll start making inquiries."
"Hmm." The queen didn't seem entirely convinced. "But then the beasts will be able to find us too. Is that what we want?"
"Absolutely." He nodded vigorously, his brown eyes gazing earnestly. "That's exactly my intention. I want Nфd'onn to lead his army to us."
Xamtys looked at him as if he were out of his mind. "He'll never show up in person, and if he does, we'll be dead. If you want a swift end, Balendilнn, you should have stayed in the Blue Range. We needn't have bothered to escape."
"No, Nфd'onn must come to us. He's been scouring Girdlegard for the books and relics. If he thinks we've got them, he'll gather his hordes and attack us in person."
"But why would we want him to attack us?" She leaned over the side of the wagon and looked at him imploringly. "Balendilнn, I need to know why I should lead my warriors to certain death."
He met her worried gaze. "We need to draw Nфd'onn close to us so Gandogar and Tungdil can find him. Otherwise he'll barricade himself somewhere in the depths of Girdlegard and we won't get a chance to use Keenfire against him."
At last the queen saw the logic of the plan. "So we'll act as bait. Of course, the only drawback is that no one knows when Gandogar or Tungdil will arrive."
"Or if they'll make it at all," he admitted frankly, closing his eyes. The loss of blood was sapping his strength, making him dizzy. "But it's our only hope."
"Very well." Xamtys let go of the wagon. "But I must warn my subjects first."
"It's too late for that. The orcs know all about the tunnels; they'll be there already. It's the obvious thing to do." He gripped her hand. "Your Majesty, we must resign ourselves to being the last dwarven army in these lands. The task of destroying Nфd'onn falls to us alone."
She took a deep breath and stared at his chapped hand. "To think that they're butchering my folk and I can't even stop them." A tear trickled down her soft cheek. "We must avenge ourselves a thousand times over, Balendilнn. The fields of Girdlegard will be awash with orcish blood, and I shall pursue our enemies tirelessly, stopping only when my royal mace shatters on an ogre's skull." Balendilнn could see from a glance that her weapon would never break. Suddenly Xamtys looked concerned. "But what if Nфd'onn defeats us before either expedition returns?"
He smiled at her, trying to look more confident than he felt. "We won't let him," he said firmly.
Xamtys held her head high, her brown eyes scanning the rows of anxious, determined faces in the wagons. Some of the children were crying, their wails rising above the clunking armor and weaponry as the other passengers fidgeted in their seats. The air smelled stuffy and old.
"As you wish, Balendilнn. I will follow your lead." She shook his hand and returned to her wagon.
The news of their destination spread like wildfire through the carriages. The secondlings had left their kingdom with misgivings, but on hearing where Balendilнn was taking them, they reacted with disbelief, horror, and, in a few cases, unmitigated fear. Roodacre, Kingdom of Tabaоn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Once again the company passed the sentries' muster without anyone remarking on Djerun's great size.
Roodacre was a vast place. The population was listed as seventy thousand in one of Lot-Ionan's books, but the study had been written some time ago and the city was still expanding.
"I don't blame the orcs for not touching it," commented Boпndil. "I'll wager that Roodacre could rally thirty thousand trained defenders, not to mention the rest."
"It won't take long for the orcs to gather an army to rival them," said Andфkai. "Either that, or the дlfar will capture the city by stealth." Mifurdania had taught them that nowhere was safe from Tion's hordes. "If all else fails, Nфd'onn will send one of his famuli to tear down the walls and let the orcs in. Once they're inside the settlement, Roodacre will be lost. Humans are no match for orcs." She pointed to a tavern where a light was still burning in the bar. "Shall we go in?"
"I wouldn't want to live in a place as flat as this," Bavragor said to Balyndis. "How are you supposed to hide from the sun when there isn't any shade? It must be baking in the summer."
"I've nothing against warmth, provided it comes from my forge," said the smith, ushering him in front of her.
"Yes, there's nothing better than smiting red-hot iron on the anvil and letting the hammer sing." Tungdil sighed. "I miss my smithy."
"Your smithy?" echoed Balyndis, surprised. "I thought you were a fourthling. Aren't Goпmdil's dwarves supposed to be gem cutters?"
"Exactly," said Goпmgar in an I-told-you-so tone of voice. "Gem cutters and diamond polishers. But he's not one of-"
"I'm a fourthling, all right, but I've always felt more of an affinity for a craft beloved of all our folks," Tungdil cut in.
"He's not one of us," Goпmgar continued dismissively. "He's just a foundling. He lived with the long-uns until someone talked him into thinking he was a fourthling, and then he took it upon himself to steal the crown."
"Oh," she said in confusion, "but if you were raised by men, who taught you to love the smithy?"
"I've always loved metalwork," he confided. "Even with sweat pouring into my eyes, arms as heavy as lead, and sparks singeing my beard, there's nowhere I'd rather be than at the anvil."
Her eyes lit up as she laughed. "I know what you mean." She rolled up her mail shirt to show him the scar on her right arm. "Look, that's what Vraccas did to me when I tried to forge a sword. He doesn't approve of dwarves fashioning anything but axes and maces. He sent a message through the anvil, and I've never been tempted to make another one since."
Tungdil pulled off his glove enthusiastically and held out his left palm, which was marked by a deep red scar. "It was a horseshoe. I knocked it off the anvil and put my hand out to catch it before it landed in the dirt. It was my best-ever horseshoe, and I wasn't about to see it ruined."
Balyndis was swept away by Tungdil's hitherto unsuspected passion for the forge. Soon they were deep in conversation about the particulars of metalwork and had quite forgotten their companions.
Andфkai called them to order by clearing her throat. "There'll be plenty of time for talking later. First we need to find somewhere to stay."
Tungdil glanced around for the first time and saw that they were in a large room of staring humans. Djerun towered above them like a statue. The enormous warrior would have looked more at home on a plinth outside the town hall than in the front room of a tavern.
The innkeeper lodged them in a dormitory usually used by traveling merchants. Because of the threat facing Girdlegard, trade between to
wns had practically ceased, and so Tungdil and his friends had the place to themselves at no extra cost. None of them felt like talking to the locals, so they ordered their meal to be brought to their room.
Feeling sidelined by Balyndis's and Tungdil's enthusiasm for the smithy, Bavragor tried to interest Balyndis in the art of masonry, with only moderate success.
He was a few notes into a traditional song of the Hammer Fists when Tungdil delved into his knapsack and brought out the sigurdaisy wood. Balyndis saw him inspecting it and leaned over to get a closer look. The melody stopped abruptly, ending in an unintelligible grunt.
"Is it metal?" The firstling frowned as she stared in fascination at the surface. "I've never seen anything like it. We don't have it in our kingdom."
Tungdil gave her a brief account of the wood and its purpose and handed her the relic. "The trees were all chopped down, so this is the last piece in Girdlegard-except Gandogar's, of course. Without it, we'd never be able to make Keenfire."
She ran her hands over it reverently, trying to feel the details with her fingers. Bavragor looked on jealously.
"Ha, look at him stare!" cackled Goпmgar, hiccuping with glee. "His one eye is falling out of its socket! Don't you get it?" he jeered. "She's not interested in you anymore. You're a stone splitter, not a fancy smith! It's too bad you've got the wrong gift." He stopped to fill his pipe, then jabbed the stem toward Tungdil. "Charlatans are in the habit of taking what doesn't belong to them."
Tungdil's cheeks reddened with anger and shame. "That's enough from you, Goпmgar," he said harshly. "Don't you see that spitefulness doesn't do you any favors?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thanks for asking," he hissed back. "How would you feel with everyone picking on you all the time?"
"Why can't you see that this isn't about Gandogar or the succession? We're here to stop Nфd'onn because-" Tungdil was about to launch into yet another explanation, but opted instead for the truth. "But you know that, don't you? You don't want to understand. You like being the one with a grievance!"