Andфkai rode with Rodario. The impresario had imagined himself sitting behind her on the saddle, with his arms wrapped chivalrously around her waist, but she insisted on riding bareback to give them both more space. Not only that, she forced him to take his place in front of her while she held the reins-much to Furgas's amusement.
More snow had fallen overnight, adding to the existing coating by the length of a forearm or so. The horses had to plow a path for the short-legged ponies to follow, and so they proceeded in single file with Djerun trudging behind them. From a distance it looked as if one of the marble deities had left the tedium of the temple and joined the procession instead.
The going was tough for the unusual band of travelers. Winter slowed their progress considerably, and Tungdil realized the advantage of traveling underground. They needed to get to the Gray Range as fast as possible, and by foot, or even on horseback, the journey would take too long. In a week, they advanced two hundred miles, a distance that could be covered in one or two orbits on the underground rail.
That afternoon, while they rested their horses, he pestered Andфkai to tell him how she had tracked the company down.
"It was no great challenge," she said dryly. "I left the Outer Lands, went back to Ogre's Death, and persuaded the secondlings to show me the tunnels. We came up near Mifurdania, Djerun found your tracks, and the rest was easy. People tend to notice a group of traveling dwarves. It wouldn't have been hard for the дlfar to find you either."
Tungdil glanced at Narmora, who was helping Furgas shovel snow into a pan and melt it over the fire.
The maga's gaze settled on Rodario. "These actors… How did you meet them?" Tungdil recounted the story. "Aha," laughed the maga on hearing how Narmora had got them out of Mifurdania by picking the locks, "so she's a woman of many talents. Have you seen their play?'
"I certainly have! The production was a sellout. It's called The Truth About Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty and the Grisly Circumstances Leading to His Reincarnation as Nфd'onn the Doublefold and Resulting in Girdlegard's Demise.'"
"A snappy title," she observed.
For the first time Tungdil saw the corners of her mouth turn upward and it occurred to him that smiling suited her better than her usual stern expression. Rodario chose precisely that moment to look over his shoulder and naturally assumed that the friendly smile was meant for him. He beamed back delightedly.
"And that's the star of the show, the fabulous Rodario. According to the others, he keeps a mistress in every town."
"I don't doubt it. Who plays me?"
"I'm afraid I left early, Estimable Maga. I had to chase a thief." He beckoned to Rodario. "You'll have to ask him."
The impresario bounded over to be cross-examined by the maga. "My players are the most accomplished in all Girdlegard. Your role was played by the talented Narmora, who alone could emulate your prowess with a sword." At her request he embarked on an explanation of the plot, but she cut him short when he was halfway through.
"The rise of the Perished Land, Nфd'onn's visitation, his compact with evil-what gave you the idea?"
"I listened to the rumors, combined them with some ancient legends, and added a dash of inspiration of my own." He looked at her brightly. "Does it meet with your approval?"
"It's incredibly accurate, at least as far as Nudin's transformation is concerned."
"Really?" Rodario seemed genuinely surprised. "But then, truth is at the heart of all great art, wouldn't you say?"
"Thank you, Rodario, you can go now," Andфkai told him briskly. "And don't forget to rewrite my part in your play. I'm not dead yet."
"My dear maga, you're positively blooming," he said, turning on the charm and gazing seductively into her clear blue eyes. "No man could-"
"I'm busy," she informed him, turning back to Tungdil.
Rodario's magnificent smile was wiped off his face. His pointed beard seemed to droop in dismay. "I respect your wishes," he said in a dignified tone.
"The maga has sent the peacock packing," chuckled Bavragor, who had followed the little scene. "Poor Rodario, his magnificent feathers are trailing on the ground. I'd advise him to back off now while he's still in possession of his plumage." He rummaged around for his drinking pouch and started humming a ballad under his breath.
"No chance," said Furgas. He lay back in the snow. "When Rodario's got his eye on a woman, he never gives up. Her sternness will only encourage him." He kissed Narmora and pulled her close. "One day he'll stop playing the field and settle down."
"If he doesn't get beaten to death by a pack of angry husbands," put in Boпndil, guffawing. "He must be pretty good at running because he certainly can't fight."
After a short rest, it was time for the company to continue. Tungdil and Andфkai broke off their conversation and Djerun bent down on one knee, joining his hands to create a chair for the maga. The crestfallen Rodario was consigned to riding alone.
In the orbits that followed they battled through Weyurn's snowdrifts, sometimes struggling to find a safe path. Whenever the lead horse sank up to its belly, they knew for certain that the ponies would never get through. Djerun, burdened with the weight of the maga, spent much of his time hip-deep in cold snow.
On several occasions they were forced to retrace their steps and seek another route, but at last the Red Range was firmly in their sights. The mountains towered before them, guiding them on their way, the red slopes blazing like fire whenever the winter sun scored a hard-fought victory against the somber clouds.
At last they reached the mouth of a narrow gully that meandered toward a blood-red peak. The entrance to the gully was sealed by a wall, as were each of its five sweeping curves. The firstlings had taken extensive precautions to secure their kingdom against unwanted guests.
"Well, we made it," Tungdil said happily. He rubbed his beard, dislodging a collection of tiny icicles that had formed beneath his nose. He was tired, his feet were numb, he felt cold to the core, and he couldn't risk touching his chain mail for fear that his hand would stick to the frozen steel. It's nothing a tankard of dwarven beer won't fix. "Look," he told them, "there's the entrance."
The twins followed his gaze, taking note of the six stone barriers in their path. "It makes you wonder what all the fortifications are for," said Boлndal, giving voice to their concern. His plaited hair was wrapped around his neck like a scarf to protect him from the cold. "Anyone would think Tion's hordes were approaching from this side and not the western pass."
"My dear fellows, couldn't we save the discussion for another warmer time?" pleaded the shivering impresario. "I'm in danger of losing my toes to frostbite." He too was growing stalactites from his nose.
Bavragor looked at him scornfully. "You're as bad as a girl-or as bad as Shimmerbeard, which comes to the same thing."
"Take another slug of brandy," Goпmgar hissed angrily. "With any luck, you'll trip over and freeze to death. I've got a feeling you won't be much use to us anyway. With your shaky hands, it'll be a miracle if the spurs ever fit."
"I'm surprised that someone as yellow-bellied as you can feel anything except the warm sensation in your pants," Bavragor said scathingly, not bothering to look round.
Following Boлndal's advice, they fanned out in an arc formation, weapons at the ready, and rode cautiously into the gully toward the first of the defenses, forty paces away. The wall of weathered stone rose high into the wintry sky, the only way past it through a metal door inscribed with runes. The bricks themselves were just roughly hewn blocks of stone; the firstlings hadn't lavished much attention on the masonry.
Tungdil spelled out the runes, the metal glowed, and the door swung open, allowing them to pass. "I wish everything were that easy. If it were all down to metalwork and reading, Nфd'onn would soon be dead." The company set off again.