Tungdil fell into step with Balyndis and briefly recounted the history of the feud. "Neither will give an inch. One of them is overburdened by grief, the other by anger."
"It's sad," she said, her plump face full of compassion. "Sad for both of them."
He dropped his voice, stopped walking, and leaned toward her. "Maybe we'll run into a pack of orcs so Boпndil can work off his anger. I'd rather we didn't have to, but it might be for the best." Her scent filled his nostrils: She smelled as delectable as fresh oil or polished steel.
"What are you waiting for, Tungdil?" shouted Goпmgar, who had finally left the wagon and was hurrying after the others. "Maybe I'm mistaken, but I thought leaders were supposed to lead…"
"You're absolutely right." He hurried past him and joined Boпndil and Bavragor, who were carrying their burdens in silence. Neither wanted to appear weaker than the other by handing their ingots to Djerun and admitting defeat.
Suddenly they heard a loud rattling ahead. The next instant, a wagon sped down the rail toward them. In the nick of time they leaped aside.
Djerun whipped out his ax and brought it down in one fluid movement. The wagon flipped off the rail and flew into the wall. At once the giant was beside it. He turned it upside down to check for passengers. There were none.
"That's funny. I suppose someone must have left it in a side passage, and now it's worked its way free," said Rodario. "Luckily I've got the reflexes of a panther; otherwise I'd be dead." Furgas responded with an incredulous look.
"The ghosts," whimpered Goпmgar. "They're trying to kill us."
"Don't be ridiculous," Boпndil said witheringly. He set down the ingots, went up to the wagon, and sniffed at it. "Well, it certainly hasn't been near any orcs. I'd be able to smell the fat on their armor." He crawled into the wagon and emerged only when he had something to show for his efforts. "A shoe buckle," he announced, lifting it up for the others to see. "Silver alloy. It's not especially old, but it looks quite worn, judging by the dirt and scratches." He pocketed it.
I've seen that buckle somewhere before, thought Tungdil to himself. "We can't do anything about it now," he told the others. "Let's carry on."
Boпndil scooped up his ingots and the company marched off. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Balendilнn flung himself to the ground. The blade whistled over his head and crashed into the side of the bridge. He kicked up at Bislipur, driving his foot into his groin, then drew his dagger and rammed it into his boot. In an instant, the traitor's groan became a bellow.
At last Balendilнn's vision cleared and he could see his antagonist above him-just in time to avoid the furious blow rushing his way. He rolled to the side and the ax hit the bridge.
This time Bislipur was prepared and the weapon rose again, swinging up toward Balendilнn. The blade sliced through his chain mail, penetrating his wounded chest. The spike on top of the ax head embedded itself in the metal rings.
"Fly away, you one-armed cripple," laughed Bislipur. He gripped the ax with both hands and pulled his enemy toward him, only to hurl him against the balustrade. Balendilнn slid to the edge of the bridge and saw the chasm beneath him. "That's if you can fly with one hand."
"Let's see if you do any better," cried the king, reaching out to stab him with his dagger. The blade entered the traitor's forearm just as Balendilнn rolled over the side.
Hanging on to the dagger with all his might, he pulled the screaming Bislipur with him. I'm taking the traitor with me, he vowed.
To his great surprise, his flight ended after only two paces as he slammed onto a ledge that was all that remained of an ancient archway erected beneath the bridge. The dagger tore through his enemy's arm.
Bislipur shot past him, letting go of the ax to make a grab for the protruding stone. He succeeded in stopping his fall, but dangled by one hand; the dagger had slit his other arm from the wrist to the elbow.
"It isn't over yet," he gasped, choking with pain and exertion as he dragged himself onto the ledge. His eyes blazed with hatred. "I only need one hand to strangle you, Balendilнn." He crawled across the stone toward him.
With a terrible shriek, the king seized the ax embedded in his chain mail and tore it out of his chest. "Oh, it's over, all right," he shouted, smashing the blade against the traitor's helmet. There was a cracking and splintering noise as the metal crashed into his skull. Blood streamed down Bislipur's face. "I promised to kill you, and I've kept my word."
He let go of the haft, thrust his foot into the traitor's face, and pushed him over the edge. The bleeding body plunged down, hitting the ground twenty paces below with a muffled thud and splattering over the stone.
May your soul smolder forever in Vraccas's flames. Balendilнn closed his eyes and lay down on the ledge. The next moment he blacked out with pain.
They found him barely conscious and dangerously close to falling from the narrow shelf. He was carried to the tunnels, where his wagon was the last to leave. Kingdom of Tabaоn, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle The snow sparkled for the last time that afternoon as the sun dropped below the flat horizon. Thousands of glittering diamonds studded the immense white plain as daylight faded to dusk.
Suddenly, in the middle of the untouched snow, a boulder began to stir. Cracks opened in its white cladding; then it rolled to one side and a woman struggled out of the ground beneath it. She stood up and took a few paces, cutting a channel through the immaculate blanket of flakes.
"Samusin protect us," gasped Andфkai as she surveyed the perfectly flat land. In the far distance, dark splodges marked the site of settlements, and each was topped with a column of smoke. She knelt down to make herself less visible and pulled her cloak tighter to keep out the biting cold. "The orcs are here already. They must have invaded from the north." The winter air, fresh and frosty, filled her lungs and made her cough.
Looking around, she saw black flecks moving across the horizon on their way to a town, village, or hamlet, wherever was next on their mission of destruction.
Andфkai closed her eyes and focused her mind. Almost immediately she sensed the weak force field running through the earth beneath her, its energy harnessed by Nфd'onn for his black art.
"We're in what's left of Turguria," she said slowly. "The enchanted realm was rich in magic energy, but there's almost nothing left." All the same, she took the opportunity to replenish her powers, her face contorting with pain as she siphoned the magic from the land.
A helmet popped out of the hole in the snow, followed by a pair of keen brown eyes that flicked to and fro. "The sooner we get out of here, the better," Boпndil said surlily. He emerged into the open, while the others hurried up the last few steps. "Now I know why I've been feeling so peculiar. It's this magical malarkey; it never did anyone any good." He gave himself a shake and pushed the boulder back over the hole, thereby concealing the entrance to the underground network. "Let's go."
"Wait." Tungdil had followed Andфkai's gaze. He shivered. His breath left plump white clouds in the air and his beard was already frozen solid. "You're right, maga. The orcs must have crossed over from the Perished Land. The hordes from Toboribor could never have got here this quickly."
"That makes it worse," commented Goпmgar in his customary whine. "I-"
"If you don't shut up, I'll make you," Boпndil threatened. "Can't you see we're trying to think?"
"You're trying to think? You're not even capable of-"
Ireheart whirled around and threw himself on the artisan with a wild shriek. Goпmgar ducked behind his shield and cried for help.
"Stop that, Boпndil!" The warrior paid no attention. He'll tear him limb from limb. Tungdil launched himself on Boпndil, and Bavragor followed suit. The three dwarves disappeared in a cloud of snow from which loud curses, the sound of punches, and a great deal of coughing could be heard.