"It's getting closer," Balyndis shouted excitedly. "It's flying up."
A fierce gust blew toward them, propelling two figures out of the chasm below. The current of air carried the maga and her passenger to the bridge, set them down gently, and died away.
Andфkai's long blond hair was tousled, and the artisan's shimmering beard seemed to have been ransacked by mice. His face was ashen but he wasn't in the least bit hurt.
"That was incredible, Estimable Maga!" exclaimed Rodario. "Absolutely incredible! How selfless and courageous of you. To think that you risked your own precious life to save the dwarf!" He turned to Goпmgar apologetically. "Not that your life is any less precious, of course."
Andфkai seemed determined not to dwell on the incident. "Have you checked the wagon?" she asked Furgas. She gave her cloak a tug and set about plaiting her hair. "Can you fix it?"
The prop master walked over to the vehicle and shook his head. "The wheels have buckled. We won't get them back on the rail." He bent down. "Someone's been busy," he said. "We're lucky that the other wagons didn't meet the same fate."
"The gold and tionium," cried Boпndil, who had crawled round to the other side of the wagon to check the cargo. "They're gone."
Bavragor gazed gloomily into the chasm. "It's not hard to guess where they are: on a never-ending journey to the bottom of the world." He looked at the maga hopefully.
"No," she said, dismissing his unspoken request. "We'll have to think of something else."
They fell silent. Two key components of the magic weapon had been wrenched from their grasp.
"I knew we'd never make it," whined Goпmgar, unable to hide his glee.
"A fat lot of use you are," Boпndil growled. "I say we throw him back down again. We've lost half the ingots, so we may as well get rid of the pesky artisan as well."
"So what if we've lost a few ingots?" said Tungdil, determined to raise their spirits. "We're on our way to a dwarven kingdom, remember! We're bound to find enough gold and tionium to make a solitary ax."
"Problem solved." Andфkai nodded, giving her leather armor a final tug.
"Excellent. If we've all recovered sufficiently, we may as well get going. Divide yourselves up between the wagons," ordered Tungdil, who was beginning to warm to being in command. "We'll take turns pushing until we reach a downward pitch."
"Don't worry about that," said the maga. She motioned to Djerun. "Leave it to him." Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle This time Nфd'onn's army attacked from the sides.
Dwarven missiles sped toward the approaching siege engines, passing through the moist cladding of human skin, punching holes in the timber and shattering the joists. The sheer scale of the invasion ensured that some of the engines approached unscathed.
At length three wooden towers drew alongside the parapets. As the ramps clapped down, hordes of screeching orcs spewed forth, but the ferocious dwarves stood firm.
Balendilнn proved himself an able commander, defending the stronghold so successfully that not a single assailant made it through the dwarven lines.
"Pour oil on the wood," he shouted as soon as the first wave of invaders had been repelled. Already the next wave of beasts was streaming into the towers.
The plan worked. In no time the siege engines disappeared in a blaze of yellow flames. The wood burned like cinder, the flammable sap fueled the fire, the ropes ignited, and the towers collapsed, raining debris to the ground. The enemy retreated, yelping with fear.
Victory came at a price. Fourteen dwarves were slain by an дlf who concealed himself on the ramp of the third tower and bombarded them with arrows, showing no regard for the hungry flames. At last his cloak caught alight, but the onslaught continued, ending only when his bowstring was consumed in the blaze.
In spite of the casualties, the mood was upbeat. There was no reason to believe that Ogre's Death would fall.
"You fought bravely and well," Balendilнn praised his troops. "Our fallen brothers will live on in our memories and their names shall be etched in gold in the kingdom's great hall." His eyes roamed over the rows of defenders. Their bearded faces gazed back at him, sweaty but smiling; there was plenty of fight in them yet. "Vraccas gave us-"
"Orcs!" The shout came from a sentry who had turned his back to the gates and was listening to the king. "They've got into the stronghold!"
There were hundreds of them. The snarling, roiling brutes were demolishing anything and anyone in their path. In no time they had seized the inner rampart. They held up their swords, axes, lances, and shields triumphantly, taunting the assembled dwarven army.
The tunnels. They must have come up through the tunnels'. "The High Pass must not be breached! Children of the Smith, I call on you to destroy the invaders!" cried Balendilнn, rousing his soldiers from their shock. "Every beast must die!"
The dwarves jolted into action, storming up the mountainside to fight their ancient foe. Among them was their one-armed king whose courage and tenacity were an inspiration to them all.
At that moment an ogre emerged from the underground hall, lips pressed to an enormous bugle. His piercing call drew cheers and roars from the troops outside the stronghold. The second assault on the ramparts began.
V
Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle They shouldn't have got this far. Why weren't they stopped by the guards? Balendilнn had no time to consider what had happened to the warriors who were guarding the entrance to the tunnels: He and his army were battling a seemingly endless onslaught of ogres, orcs, and bцgnilim. For every beast he felled, two more appeared before him, and he could always be sure of hewing flesh.
At last Balendilнn's guards managed to turn the tide of the surprise attack and drive the invaders back to the tunnels. The battle was bloody and cost many dwarven lives, but the king's troops finally reached the threshold of the hall where the underground network began. They could advance no farther.
How many more? Balendilнn's heart sank as he surveyed the waiting beasts. They were trapped in the hall, but by no means defeated, and their numbers were swelling as the tunnels disgorged more orcs.
A messenger pushed his way through the dwarven ranks, bringing more bad tidings for Balendilнn. "The beasts have outmaneuvered us," he gasped. "They've attacked from the rear. The gates of Ogre's Death are open and the first two ramparts have been taken."
By now Balendilнn was beginning to suspect that the dwarves had been betrayed. "Flood the ramparts with boiling oil," he ordered. "That will-"
"We can't. They've destroyed the vats."
Destroyed? A moment ago, he had been confident that the enemy would be defeated; now his faith seemed misplaced. To destroy the vats they'd have to know where to find them, in which case… "Give the order to retreat. We'll defend the stronghold from within. Close the gates and abandon the ramparts." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Hurry!"
The messenger nodded and sped away.
Balendilнn was certain that the secondlings' predicament had nothing to do with bad luck. Not only had they been attacked through tunnels whose existence had been secret for hundreds of cycles, but their defenses had been sabotaged by enemies who seemed to know the stronghold inside out, and now they were in danger of being outmaneuvered.
Someone with intimate knowledge of Ogre's Death had helped them to plan the invasion. What kind of dwarf would do such a thing? Balendilнn could think of no one who would stoop so low as to ally themselves with orcs. Nфd'onn must have used his sorcery to draw out our secrets. There was no time to hesitate: He had to act fast.
"I need two hundred warriors. The rest of you stay here and hold back the orcs," he commanded, turning and marching away.
He was on course for the High Pass, where he intended to destroy the bridge before the orcs got hold of it and allowed fresh hordes to flood into the stronghold from the Outer Lands. His fury and hatred of Nфd'onn grew stronger with every step.