by Markus Heitz
"Pardon me, Your Majesty," Goпmgar broke in indignantly. "King Gandogar has Vraccas's blessing. He's the high king's rightful heir!"
"It isn't my place to judge," the queen said kindly before returning her attention to Tungdil. "I shall be happy to help. What better time than now to renew the bonds between our folks." She lowered her mace and pointed to Balyndis. "This is your new companion. Not only is Balyndis the firstlings' best warrior, she's also our finest smith."
"I don't mean to speak out of turn," interrupted Rodario, "but I was wondering if Her Majesty could tell us how she came to be queen. I thought the line of succession was always male…"
"The long-un has an inquisitive mind, I see. Very well, he shall have his explanation. It all began with a quarrel. Boragil, my father, valued my mother's advice, but considered her incapable of ruling the kingdom on her own. That angered my mother, who demanded to be given the opportunity to try. After much argument, it was decided that my mother should govern the firstlings' destiny for a period of fourteen orbits. It was during this time that the trolls attacked, but my mother had no intention of relinquishing the crown. Instead she marched at the head of the army and defeated the enemy with a combination of cunning and military skill. In so doing, she proved to be a more proficient ruler than my father, and when the fourteen orbits were over she reneged on their agreement and refused to step down. The clans stuck by her and that was that." She rose. "My mother died thirty-two cycles ago, and I ascended the throne."
"I thank Her Majesty for indulging a humble dramatist's curiosity. I shall write her a magnificent part in my play."
An attendant entered the hall with news that Boлndal was seriously hurt. The maga had rushed to his bedside and was doing her best to treat his wounds.
The three dwarves were filled with dread.
"Someone will show you to your quarters so you can get some rest. Our tailors will provide you with warm clothes and fur coats to keep out the cold. I assume you mean to continue your journey tomorrow?" She didn't wait for a response. "In any event, I'll show you the way to the tunnels once you've recovered your strength."
"You know about the tunnels?" Tungdil said, surprised. He was so tired that he could barely suppress his yawns. "Why haven't you used them?"
"My mother wasn't sure what the other rulers would think about a dwarven queen. She kept quiet for fear of conflict and I did the same."
"In that case, Your Majesty, you must send a delegation to Ogre's Death," Tungdil said urgently. "In the name of the assembly, I invite you to join the other rulers and chieftains in deciding our future. You spoke of renewing the bonds between the folks; this is your chance."
"The situation is every bit as serious as he says," Rodario seconded him. "The Perished Land is a formidable foe. I've seen with my own eyes what the orcs have done to Girdlegard, and without your kinsfolk, Nфd'onn will prevail. Speak to the other folks and don't worry about what they might say. This isn't a time for caution."
Tungdil looked at him gratefully. Who would have thought it?
Xamtys tapped her scepter firmly against her throne. "As soon as you and your company have commenced your journey to the Gray Range, I shall lead a delegation of firstlings to Ogre's Death and the folks shall be reunited after many long cycles." She smiled at them munificently. "You are right: There is no time to lose."
I know you're only trying to help," said Boлndal, gritting his teeth with pain, "but I don't want your magic. The wounds will get better by themselves."
The firstlings had laid him in a warm chamber, removed his mail, and exposed the afflicted flesh. He had already bled through the first set of bandages and was waiting for the next.
Andфkai, her face as ashen as her patient's, was leaning over him, inspecting the damage. His body was struggling to cope with the puncture wounds: Some of his internal organs had been damaged and he was rapidly losing blood. "I know a great deal about injuries, and quite frankly, I can't share your optimism," she said candidly, her blue eyes clouded with concern. "Put aside your pride, Boлndal, and think of the mission."
"Pride? This isn't about pride!" protested his brother from across the bed. He was determined to keep an eye on things and had refused all offers of refreshment, barely stopping to take off his coat. "It's your sorcery that's the problem. It's not right! Your wretched Samusin might conjure some devilry into his soul."
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.
Boлndal closed his eyes, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Leave…me…alone!"
"By rights you should be dead," she said coolly. "If it weren't for your dwarven constitution, you wouldn't have made it this far. Sheer bloody-mindedness is keeping you going, but your life is in the balance. I need to help while I still have the power. My magic is waning."
Boлndal was in no state to answer. His brother nodded to the door. "Save your hocus-pocus for your own patient, maga. We dwarves can take care of ourselves."
Andфkai got up, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword, and walked silently to the door.
"He didn't mean to offend you," Boлndal whispered. "We appreciate your offer, really we do, but Vraccas will see me through this."
Andфkai flung her cloak over her shoulders. "I hope for your sake that he does." The door slammed and silence descended on the chamber.
"Perhaps she's right…" ventured Boлndal.
"That's enough," Boпndil shushed him. "Vraccas has seen your plight and he'll keep you alive for many more cycles. If either of us deserves to die, it won't be you, so stop fussing and get some rest." He gave his brother another sip of water and hurried to see why the physicians were taking so long with the dressings.
His armor seemed a thousand times heavier than usual and his legs were bowing beneath the overwhelming weight. All he could think about was his brother. "Vraccas be with him," he muttered, remembering Boлndal's deathly pale face. His twin was languishing on the threshold of the eternal smithy and what the maga had said about dwarven resilience and stubbornness was true: A human would never have survived such injuries, and whether or not a dwarf could withstand them, only time would tell.
On his way down the corridor, he bumped into Tungdil, who was hurrying to visit the wounded dwarf. "How is he?" Tungdil asked anxiously.
"Sleeping. He needs new bandages. The first lot are drenched already," said the warrior, visibly distressed. The crazed spark in his eyes had given way to profound concern.
"What about Andфkai? Can't she do anything for him?"
"We don't want her sort of help," Boпndil shut him off. "I always said magic was no good, but Samusin's magic is worse." He hurried away, calling out to the physicians, who came running with bandages.
Tungdil knew it was pointless to argue; the twins had made up their minds. Determination was a virtue, whereas intransigence…Boлndal would rather die than he healed by the maga.
He tiptoed into the chamber and saw Boлndal lying waxen-faced in the bed, seemingly dead but for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The physicians washed away the dried blood and carefully sewed the gaping flesh together, then applied a compress of moss to ease the pain.
"We'll have to go on without him," Tungdil said softly. "He won't last more than a hundred paces in his present state."
"I'll be fine, scholar," came a faint but determined whisper from the bed. Boлndal looked at him pleadingly and readied for his hand. "Another few orbits, and I'll be back on my feel. It's just a couple of scratches, that's all."
Tungdil glanced at one of the physicians, who promptly shook his head. "It's out of the question. The wounds are deeper than they look and there's the internal damage to consider. Any movement will make things worse and he'll die in agony. He's not fit to go anywhere."
"I'm sorry, Boлndal," Tungdil told him, heavy-hearted, "but you have to stay here and rest. You've done your bit for now; just be sure you're back with us when it comes to the great battle against Nфd'onn."
"I'm coming, like it or not," B
oлndal threatened. "Boпndil and I stick together! Forging Keenfire is the most important mission in dwarven history and I won't-" He tried to sit up but had barely succeeded in moving when he gave a low groan, his fresh dressings flushing crimson with blood. "I suppose that settles it," he said through gritted teeth. He looked up at his twin. "It's up to you now to protect Tungdil and the rest of the company."
Boпndil was standing stiffly by the bed, searching for the right thing to say. "All our lives we've been together," he said thickly, "and now I'm leaving you behind. It won't be the same fighting without you." He squeezed Boлndal's hand. "The first hundred runts will be for you."
"You've got great plans, then," said his brother, smiling weakly. "Don't overreach yourself, Boпndil; I won't be there to watch your back." They embraced, tears streaming down their bearded cheeks. Never before had they faced a parting such as this.
"You'll have to keep a better check on your temper when I'm not around. Promise you won't let it run away with you?"
Boпndil gave his solemn word. "Get some rest now, brother." He and Tungdil left the chamber. "When do we leave?"
"As soon as possible. Andфkai has done her best to patch up Djerun with her magic and he's fit to travel. He might be too big for the wagon, though."
"We'll be cramped as it is. There's the three long-uns, Andфkai and her pet warrior, Hammerfist and Shimmerbeard, not to mention the materials for Keenfire-we'll need a couple of wagons at least."
"Don't forget Balyndis," Tungdil reminded him.
"Who?"
"Our new smith."
"A woman?"
"You sound as enthusiastic as Bavragor."
"I've got nothing against women, don't get me wrong. I like a nice well-built lass with plump cheeks and big bosoms, a real woman who you can hold on to and warm yourself against, but-"
"Come on, Boпndil, you know as well as I do that some of the secondling women are excellent smiths. They can be handy on the battlefield as well. Smeralda could fight like a-" He checked himself. Blast.
Boпndil stiffened at the mention of his dead lover's name. "Fine, we'll take the woman. If you'll excuse me, I'm tired." He disappeared along the passageway in the direction of his chamber.
Tungdil watched him go. That was stupid, he remonstrated with himself. I need to watch what I say.
"I'm no stranger to the smithy, believe me," said a high-pitched voice behind him. He whipped round in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Balyndis was still dressed in her mail, and her long dark hair framed her rounded face. "I wanted to tell you that it's an honor to be chosen for your mission."
His heart gave a little leap. He was so taken with the idea of traveling through Girdlegard in the company of the female smith that he almost forgot his worries about the twins. He gazed into her brown eyes, unable to say a single word.
"I can handle an ax as well as a hammer, you know."
Tungdil smiled weakly, still incapable of summoning his voice.
Balyndis didn't know what to make of his silence. "If you don't believe me, I can show you."
"Vraccas forbid!" he cried, raising his arms hurriedly. "I believe you, absolutely. I daresay that women are good at fighting too."
The new smith seemed to take offense at his words. "In that case, Tungdil, I insist," she said, reaching for her ax.
Tungdil's eyes were drawn to the formidable muscles in her arms and chest. "Honestly, Balyndis, I didn't mean it like that," he said, trying desperately to repair the damage. "I was worried you might get hurt."
"I see. So you think you can hurt me, do you?"
I wish she'd stop twisting everything I say! "Of course not," he explained hurriedly while Balyndis hefted her ax belligerently and took a few experimental swipes. "Not unless you weren't paying attention. Really, Balyndis, there's no need to prove anything. I believe you!"
"Well, I don't!" boomed a baritone voice. Bavragor stepped up to the smith, his war hammer at the ready. "It's bad enough that Goпmgar fights like a girl. The firstling must prove that she won't be a burden."
She squared her shoulders menacingly. "For that, mason, your one eye will soon be seeing stars." Already the war hammer and the ax were hurtling toward each other, and Tungdil barely succeeded in leaping clear.
The weapons collided forcefully. It was clear from Bavragor's grunts that he was impressed, but he soon got into difficulties, having failed to allow for Balyndis's strength and speed. By lunging at him from his blind side, she kept forcing him to turn his head. He was so intent on parrying her blade that he didn't notice when she raised her ax suddenly and whacked him on the head. He took a few dazed steps backward and slumped against the wall.
For a moment he looked at the grinning Balyndis in astonishment, then slowly raised his hand and felt his head. His shoulders shook slightly, rising and falling with increasing rapidity until he was roaring with laughter, the passageways echoing with his mirth.
"No one could say I didn't deserve it," he said, still chuckling as he clambered to his feet and extended a rough, calloused hand, which she gladly shook. "You're a fine lass, all right. There's no messing with you."
"Thank goodness we've cleared that up," Tungdil broke in, thankful to have been spared the ordeal. He nodded to Balyndis. "I think everyone agrees that you're an excellent fighter, so maybe we could go to bed and get some sleep before our early start."
The firstling smiled and was about to retire when Bavragor hauled her back. "I've got a better idea. How about taking me to the Red Range's finest tavern so I can taste a draft of your firstling beer? There'll be a song in it for you," he promised. Balyndis didn't need further persuasion and the two of them started down the corridor.
"Aren't you coming, Tungdil?" she shouted as they rounded the corner.
"He's our leader, remember! He's got maps to read, tunnels to check…Of course he's not coming!" said Bavragor, only half joking.
"Don't overdo it," Tungdil warned them. "Those tunnels have got lots of sharp curves!" He saw them off with a wave and retired to his chamber to ponder the events of the orbit. No matter how tempting it was, he knew it wouldn't be wise to fall for Balyndis; the mission required his full attention.
Inside his chamber, the light from the lone oil lamp steeped the polished walls in a gentle glow. It was the perfect ambience for relaxing before the big journey.
"Tungdil?"
He swung round to confront the voice behind him. Ax at the ready, he peered warily into the shadows by the door. "Narmora? Is that you?"
The actress was wearing her black leather armor and exuded a vague air of menace. For some reason Tungdil found himself thinking of Sinthoras.
He kept hold of his ax, his secret antipathy toward the woman growing all the time. Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. She's an ordinary woman. "What can I do for you?" he asked, trying to smile convincingly.
"Remember what Andфkai said about wielding the ax," she said hesitantly.
"Keenfire must be wielded by the undergroundlings' foe. Do you have a suggestion?" he said, perking up.
"What about the дlfar?" she said cautiously. "The дlfar are your enemies, right?"
"Real дlfar are our enemies," he corrected her. "Actresses won't do, but it's kind of you all the same."
She pulled off her head scarf, revealing two pointed ears.
Tungdil took a step backward and tightened his grip on the ax. Long moments of horrified silence passed. "But that's not… I mean, y-you can't be an дlf…" he stuttered. Then he laughed out loud in relief. "You almost had me going there, but I know your eyes don't look black in the light!"
Narmora stretched a hand toward the lamp, turned her palm to the ceiling, and muttered unintelligible words. The flame dwindled until there was nothing but a smoldering wick.
She must know some trick. Alchemy or… He stared at the candle in amazement, then turned to Narmora and discovered she was gone. "Narmora?"
Suddenly she loomed behind him. "Half human, half дlf
," a voice whispered in his ear. "I inherited my mother's gifts and her weapons. My father left me little of value, but his eyes are a boon." The next moment her menacing air was gone. She went over to the lamp and restored the flame by blowing on it gently. "I'm sorry I scared you. Do you believe me now?"
Tungdil composed himself. That explains why I've never really taken to her. "I certainly do," he said with a vigorous nod. "I think you've solved the dilemma as to who should wield Keenfire." He looked at Narmora with new respect. "It can't have been easy for you to tell me-but it's nothing compared to the challenge ahead."
"I can't see any other solution," she said simply, her savagery and malevolence suddenly gone. "It's not as though we could ask an orc or a real дlf." She stroked the hafts of her weapons. "I've never really fought with an ax. The magus won't have much to fear from Keenfire unless you drill me in axmanship first."
"We'll have to tell the others, you know."
Narmora considered. "Yes, I suppose so-although I don't know how they'll react." It was clear she was thinking primarily of Boпndil.
Tungdil smiled encouragingly. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise."
She smiled roguishly, and for a moment there was something дlflike about her after all.
On receiving Tungdil's summons, the rest of the company hurried to his chamber, where he told them of the turn of events. "Which means we'll be able to defeat the magus after all," he finished, waiting anxiously for their reaction.
"Strictly speaking, I ought to kill her," Ireheart said slowly. He showed no sign of making good on the threat.
"Strictly speaking," Tungdil corrected him, "you ought to kill half of her, but which half would that be? Is the left side human and the right side дlf, or the other way round? What if it's top and bottom?" He sighed. "Seeing as she's agreed to save Girdlegard, I think Vraccas will let us spare her. There's no other way."
Furgas was hugging the half дlf and looked worried, which seemed natural to Tungdil, who realized what a risk Narmora was taking in pitting herself against such a formidable foe.
