"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 deserves 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.