"This isn't what I wanted, but you thwarted my plans with your ridiculous challenge to the succession. Thanks to you and the high king, I had to improvise a little, but I'm not one to mourn what might have been. I wanted a war against the elves, but orcs will do the job just as well-if not better."
Balendilнn tried to see where the voice was coming from, but the echo was deceptive. "I'll kill you for your treachery," he vowed, full of loathing.
His words were met with mocking laughter. "Others have threatened the same, but they've never made good on their promise. You won't either, King Balendilнn, not now that I've deprived you of your subjects and your stronghold."
Balendilнn lingered no longer, rushing instead to join the surviving warriors in the battle for the chamber. At last he risked a glance through an embrasure.
Two-thirds of the bridge had been lowered already and a few of the beasts, unable to restrain themselves, were jumping the gap. Some fell to their deaths, others caught hold of the edge and dangled for a moment before plummeting into the chasm below.
We have to stop them. Balendilнn let out a ferocious battle cry and threw himself against the last remaining orc, driving his ax with all his might into the creature's side. The blade ate its way through the grease-smeared armor, releasing a jet of dark green blood. He pulled out his weapon, parried his antagonist's sword, and struck where he had hit before. After a third blow, the beast staggered and died.
It was only then that Balendilнn caught sight of the twisted levers and broken handles that served to operate the bridge.
"The bridge is down," one of his soldiers reported. "The beasts are storming the kingdom, Your Majesty."
Frozen in horror, Balendilнn stared at the mangled machinery. He grabbed the lever on which the future of his kinsfolk, the future of all Girdlegard, depended, but it was jammed.
"Don't forsake your children, Vraccas," he cried in desperation, leaning against it with all his force. Changing his tactics, he tore out the lever, rammed his blade into the slot, and pulled down on the shaft. He looked out.
It was working! The columns retracted and the walkway dropped a few paces, sagging dangerously in the middle. Balendilнn heard the vast stone slabs snapping and cracking; then the noise was drowned out by screams of terror as the invading beasts realized that nothing could stop them from plunging to their deaths. At that moment the bridge gave way, pulling the creatures with it. The assembled hordes on the far side of the chasm howled in disappointment.
"Your Majesty, you're wounded," said one of his warriors in concern. Balendilнn looked down to see blood seeping from the left side of his torso. There was a huge slit in his chain mail where an orcish sword had struck.
"It's nothing," he mumbled, wrenching his ax from the slot. "We'll finish off the creatures who made it over the bridge, then go back to help the others. We'll deal with the traitor later."
As they battled their way back to the tunnels, it became apparent that the Blue Range was riddled with enemy troops. Every corridor, every passageway, every chamber brought forth more orcs and bцgnilim patrolling the territory in small groups or big gangs.
How much longer will we be able to hold them back? Balendilнn prayed to Vraccas for help.
On approaching the entrance to the tunnels, they heard the bestial cries of dying orcs. From the sound of it, the enemy troops were being massacred.
"I gave the warriors strict instructions not to attack! A pitched battle would be fatal. We'll be outnumbered!" The king and his company hurried to the aid of their comrades, but were greeted by an entirely unexpected-and inexplicable-sight.
Advancing in the opposite direction was a battalion of dwarves who had popped up behind the orcs and taken them by surprise. While the battalion cut its way through the beasts from the rear, Balendilнn's own troops had seized the initiative and launched an offensive, thereby squeezing the enemy between two fronts.
Balendilнn ordered his company to attack, and they joined the fray. At length the two dwarven armies met in the middle, their gleaming axes making quick work of the last orcish troopers.
"I don't like to be late for a battle," declared a warrior in beautifully fashioned mail. The voice was a little high-pitched, the beard on the thin side, and the armor revealed two large bulges that seemed distinctly unmanly. The dwarf was clutching a golden mace, now stained with orcish blood.
"I am Xamtys II of the clan of the Stubborn Streaks, queen of Borengar's folk and commander of the firstlings." She turned one of the corpses over with her foot. "I came here for a meeting of the assembly, and what do I find? Orcs! I suppose it's one way of letting off steam between debates."
Balendilнn quickly recovered from the surprise. "Queen Xamtys, you are most welcome here. Thank you for coming to the aid of your cousins in their hour of need. My name is Balendilнn Onearm of the clan of the Firm Fingers, king of the secondlings. Was it Tungdil or Gandogar who asked you to come?" He prayed silently that it was Tungdil.
"It was Tungdil. He convinced me to put an end to the cycles of silence." She held out her hand and he shook it. "What's going on here?"
He described in as few words as possible the fate that had befallen Ogre's Death and the betrayal of the dwarves by their own. He was interrupted by a messenger bearing news that the main gates were about to fall to the besiegers.
"Leave the range," Xamtys advised him. "If you've been betrayed, they'll know every passageway and every cavern." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come to my kingdom and shelter with the firstlings until Nфd'onn has been defeated and the beasts thrown out of your lands."
"I can't," he said quickly.
"King Balendilнn, this is no time for stubbornness," she said gently. "You and your folk will be overwhelmed by the enemy, and for what gain? My warriors will have their work cut out saving Girdlegard without you. I propose that we take the tunnel back to my kingdom and send messages to Tungdil and Gandogar to inform them of the change of plan." She studied Balendilнn's face and saw with relief that he knew she was right.
"Get the womenfolk and children out of here," he instructed his guards. "Squeeze as many of them as possible into the wagons. Anyone left behind will have to wait for our return; lone dwarves will have no trouble concealing them-selves in the mines and quarries. Destroy the key bridges. The orcs will be hard-pressed to track them down."
Withdrawing the troops and abandoning the kingdom amounted to a defeat, but Balendilнn had no choice if his folk were to survive. We wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for Bislipur, he thought bitterly.
He put his mind to organizing the retreat and dispatched volunteers to convey the news to the far reaches of the kingdom and warn the clans that the army had withdrawn. "Tell them it won't be for long," he commanded. "I give my word that I'll be back in a few weeks to kill the orcs."
He hurried away to the great hall, anxious to save the ceremonial hammer from desecration by the beasts. There was no need to worry about the secondlings' hoard: The treasures were protected by a runic password known only to the king.
Balendilнn picked up the hammer from its place beside the abandoned throne and listened to the battering rams thudding against the main gates. The pounding noise went straight through him, heralding the doom of Ogre's Death as clearly as if Tion himself were thumping on the door.
He took a last melancholy look at the throne, the stone pews, the tablets inscribed with Vraccas's laws, the lofty columns, and the beautifully sculpted bas-reliefs. Golden sunshine sloped through the chinks in the ceiling, bathing the hall in warm light. How much of this will be left when I return?