A loud cheer went up as the pair shook hands and looked each other in the eye. No one could tell that their gazes were locked in an oath of eternal enmity.
"As a sign of my good faith, I should like to suggest that we begin our crusade against evil this very moment," announced Bislipur. "Will we stand by while orcs murder and pillage before the gates of this stronghold?" He turned to the crowd and raised his voice to a rallying shout. "We must clear Ogre's Death of this plague!"
On hearing the cheers, he knew he had judged the mood right. "My messenger is heading through the tunnels to the fourthling kingdom, as I speak. He will return with five thousand of our finest warriors," he proclaimed to the astonished Balendilнn and the crowd. "Together the dwarves of Beroпn and Goпmdil will chase the orcs from these gates. United our folks will prevail!" He threw up his arms and brandished his double-bladed ax, dazzling the dwarves with reflected light. "This is our chance to realize Gundrabur's dream of a common dwarven army!"
The cheering redoubled and the mountain shook with the drumming of axes.
Balendilнn bore the treachery smilingly and gazed intently into Bislipur's hard face. You don't fool me, you devious bastard. Are the warriors meant for your protection, or are you after the high king's throne? Would you stage a coup so you can have your elven war?
Bislipur stared back, his cold eyes boring into him mercilessly. "May the hunt begin, King Balendilнn," he said, descending from the dais. Balendilнn was left to wonder who the quarry might be.
II
Enchanted Realm of Oremaira, Girdlegard, Late Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle The following morning, after a cold night that heralded the coming of winter, they loaded the ingots onto the ponies and headed west. The smoke had cleared above the deserted streets of Mifurdania and tiny black dots lay unmoving at the foot of the settlement's walls. Every dot was a corpse and they covered the area in a sea of black.
Tungdil hated Nфd'onn and the orcs more violently than ever. First Goodwater, then Greenglade, and now Mifurdania and all the other villages, hamlets, and farms: Half of Girdlegard has been razed to the ground. He spotted a cloud of dust on the horizon: The army of orcs was heading northwest. I'll do whatever it takes, he promised himself.
Much to the dwarves' disgust, their provisions for the journey consisted almost entirely of bread and dried fruit, which they were forced to eat for want of anything else. In their haste to leave Mifurdania, they had forgotten to stock up on victuals and no one was inclined to venture back. They were all the more grateful when Goпmgar found a few wild mushrooms, even though they had to eat them raw.
"Do you really mean to take them with us?" asked Boпndil, casting a quick look over his shoulder at Rodario and his companions, who were bringing up the rear.
"We'll decide when we get to the tunnel," said Tungdil.
"It's eighty miles to the next entrance, and if we can't find it, we'll continue on foot."
"On foot? Can't you buy us each a pony?" demanded Goпmgar.
Boпndil harrumphed. "A bit of exercise might be just the thing for your puny little legs. It's time you pulled yourself together and started acting like a dwarf. Even the female long-un is tougher than you."
After two orbits of marching in the pouring rain, they reached a low-lying area bounded to the north by imposing mountains-the Sovereign Stones, as they were labeled on the map. Nestled in the foothills was the human settlement of Sovereignston, which Tungdil remembered was famous for its wealth. It was the fashionable place for Weyurn's gentry to build their palatial villas and stately homes. The attraction was not so much the mountain air, but the prestige to be gained by living there-and of course, the social whirl.
"We'll stay only long enough to buy some ponies," Tungdil told his companions on approaching the gates. "It'll be cheaper and safer to look for provisions and ponies in the poorer parts of town. We'll leave the rich folk and their villas well alone."
"What a terrible pity," said Rodario in an exaggeratedly aristocratic voice. "It seems churlish not to visit our wealthy neighbors after living on their doorstep all this time." He was relieved to see that the solid city walls were lined with armed guards: The orcs would never be able to get hold of them once they passed through the gates. He turned to his companions excitedly. "Why don't we put on a play? Nothing long or complicated-just a short, impromptu performance. We'd earn enough bronze coins to fill our bags with victuals and keep the proverbial wolf from the door."
"Can't you speak normally for a change?" growled Boпndil, scratching his stubbly cheeks, which were long overdue for a shave.
"I shall speak in whichever way I choose, master dwarf," the actor said huffily. "Some people are blessed with communicative talents beyond the level of primitive grunts, burps, and growls. I don't see why I should disguise the magnificence of my education when you do nothing to hide the paucity of yours."
"Fine," Boпndil muttered malevolently. "We'll see how far your fine words get you when we meet a pack of orcs."
His brother changed the subject by asking how the impresario had breathed fire at the bцgnilim.
Rodario beamed. "You can thank Furgas for that. The trick is to fill a tube with lycopodium spores, put on the dragon mask, and blow through the tube. The spores pass over a burning wick at the mouth of the mask, and the monster spews fire." He rolled up his sleeves. "I use a smaller version when I'm playing the magus. The tube runs down my forearm, connecting a leather purse of spores at my elbow with a miniature tinderbox just inside my cuff." He held up his arm and gestured expansively to demonstrate the technique. "I squeeze the purse like so, and the seeds shoot down the tube. Meanwhile, the pressure on the pouch activates a cord that pulls the flint backward and produces a spark. Presto, the seeds are ignited as they exit my sleeve!" His hands mimicked the flight of a fireball. "So there you have it: a magic trick for magic flames."
Boлndal, who had been following the explanation carefully, shot Furgas an admiring look. "An ingenious invention!" The prop master accepted the compliment with a nod.
They joined the back of a queue of wagons and carriages owned by Mifurdanians and merchants who had fled the unfortunate city.
Sentries were checking the vehicles, noting exactly what they were carrying, and demanding a toll. No distinction was made between farmers, traders, and other travelers, so the city of Sovereignston made a considerable profit from the dwarves. Not only that, but as visitors to the kingdom of Weyurn, Tungdil and the others were restricted to the poorest districts of the city and given the address of a boarding-house in which they were required to stay.
Thus constrained, they trudged up a narrow street and turned into a passageway that was barely wide enough for single file. Both sides of the alley were crammed with timber houses whose upper stories jutted out dangerously, almost meeting overhead. The uneven cobblestones never saw daylight. All in all, it wasn't dissimilar to an underground gallery, except for the stench of sewage and detritus. Mounted on one of the bulging walls was a sign showing a prancing pony; they had found their address.
With a shudder of disgust, Rodario searched the pockets of his rain-drenched coat, pulled out a handkerchief, and pressed it to his mouth and nose.
"With all due respect," he said firmly, "nothing could induce me to sleep in such a hovel." It was evident from their expressions that Furgas and Narmora felt the same. "Fortunately, I have a solution to our dilemma. My companions and I will spend the night in more salubrious accommodations, and we'll meet you tomorrow morning at the gates. You'll have time to buy your ponies and so forth, and we'll find a venue and put on a play. How does that sound?"