"Narmora, you stay here," ordered Tungdil. "Everyone else, after him!" Balyndis, Giselbert, Andфkai, and Djerun rushed to help Boпndil, who shouted at them to go away.
The pounding on the doors became faster and more violent. With victory in sight, the beasts redoubled their efforts. At last the opening was wide enough for an orc to storm through. Arrows ripped through the gap, but inflicted no damage, save the occasional scratch.
Tungdil knew that the breach could not be allowed to open further if he and the others were to stem the attack. We'll drive them back with dragon fire. He ran to the furnace, heaped on some coals, and pumped the bellows until the fire roared with bright white flames.
Hurriedly he shoveled a few loads onto a wheeled anvil and rolled it to the doors. Without wasting a second he filled his spade and hurled its contents over the heads and shoulders of the invaders.
Red-hot coals showered over the beasts, covering them in sparks and coal dust that singed their faces, danced down their collars, and penetrated their chain mail. Loud screams rent the air, increasing in volume when the second fiery hail descended. There was an overwhelming stench of charred flesh, smoldering hair, and scorched leather. The orcs raised their shields above their heads in panic, allowing Tungdil and his companions to plunge their axes and hammers into their unprotected chests.
Furgas kept them supplied with hot coals until the enemy retreated. The orcs went back to bombarding the forge with arrows.
"Sooner or later they're going to force their way in," predicted Andфkai. "They'll form a shield wall and we won't be able to stop them. It's time we left."
They made a concerted effort to close the doors, but the beasts had been cunning enough to jam them open with wedges.
She's right; we need to get out of here as soon as we can. Tungdil returned to the furnace. "How much longer until the inlay is ready?" he asked Giselbert.
"The tionium and the palandium need to simmer for half an orbit. Once they've melded, the others will follow. After that I'll be able to pour the alloy into the grooves, but then there's the cooling time. Will the doors hold?"
"They'll have to," growled Tungdil, nodding resolutely. "We'll see to it that they do."
From then on, Nфd'onn's servants gave them no respite. The assault on the doors was unrelenting and the beasts proceeded as the maga had predicted: Shields raised above their heads, they advanced in formation, protected from the glowing coals.
Two of the fifthlings were beheaded, never to rise again. Their loss was a serious blow to the defenders, and already the next battering ram was pounding against the doors. The destructive will of the Perished Land was bent on assailing the forge.
It is time." The long and wearying wait ended as Giselbert lifted the vessel containing the mountain's precious metals and poured them into the indented runes and symbols. The alloy's color was strangely indeterminate: somewhere between orange and yellow with a peculiar shimmer and swirling black pinpoints. It streamed through the grooves with the assurance of a river that was familiar with its course, filling the channels without a drop to spare.
"Done," announced Giselbert, heaving a sigh of relief. "In another half an orbit, when the inlay has cooled, we can set the blade on the haft and-"
A battering ram exploded through the ravaged metal doors. The protruding end of the pillar withdrew quickly, only to reappear just above the existing hole. The beasts had decided to fashion their own entrance.
Tungdil took a deep breath. His arms were about to drop off, he had never felt hungrier in his life, and he was tired enough to sleep for an orbit. Instead he raised his ax. "We need to keep them at bay until the inlay has cooled."
He paid no attention to the pain in his back and shoulders, determined not to flag. He was leader of the company, after all, and Gandogar deferred to him without a murmur, never questioning his authority. His selfless cooperation made Tungdil respect him all the more.
Already the invaders were squeezing through the breach. In a flash, Ireheart had thrown himself on the beasts, his enthusiasm for combat apparently undiminished. He hacked at the orcs so savagely that his axes were barely visible amid the scraps of flying armor and bloodied flesh.
But even Ireheart's fury could do nothing to stem the attack. As time wore on, the battle swung steadily in favor of the beasts. With a third of the doorway smashed open, it was only thanks to Djerun and the indomitable fifthlings that the company hadn't been defeated already. Time was against them.
Giselbert fought his way to Tungdil's side. "You should go. The alloy has cooled enough for you to take Keenfire." He raised his ax. "We'll hold the beasts back until you're safely inside the flue; then we'll shut the vents and destroy the mechanism. Without it, they won't be able to get into the chimney. You'll be miles away by the time they force their way inside."
Tungdil nodded gratefully and signaled for his company to retreat.
The finished blade was lying on the central anvil, shimmering enigmatically in the bright light of Dragon Fire. The diamonds twinkled, the inlay glistened, and the runes shone with the fierce glow of the furnace, brought to life by the roaring flames.
"To think that Vraccas gave us the means to accomplish this." Tungdil gazed in awe at the result of their joint labor. "Balyndis," he said solemnly, "attach the blade." She picked up the grip and inserted it into the long metal shaft of the blade. Her face paled.
"Vraccas forfend, it doesn't fit," she said hoarsely. "See how loose it is? The blade will fly off as soon as Narmora swings the ax. But how could we have made the grip too narrow? I'm sure it-"
One by one the runes lit up. The shaft glowed, then the wood seemed to swell. Crackling and straining, it expanded to fill the gap, until the grip and the shaft were one.
Tungdil took it as a sign that Vraccas was happy with their work. He ran his fingers over the blade, cherishing the feel of the metal. Deep down, he wished he could wield the ax himself, and he held on to it for a moment before handing it to Narmora.
Giselbert stepped forward. "May I?" he asked tremulously.
"Of course. If it weren't for you and the others, it would never have been forged."
The ancient king grasped the ax, gazing at it reverently before trying a few swings. He entrusted it ceremoniously to the half дlf.
"So this is it," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "The agony of the undead, all those cycles of waiting, of fighting… There was a reason for it all." He shook hands with each of the company in turn, lingering when he came to Tungdil. "Don't abandon my kingdom to the creatures of Tion. Free Girdlegard and drive out the pestilence, then come back and rebuild my kingdom for the dwarves. Will you promise me that, Tungdil Goldhand?" He fixed him with a piercing stare.
Tungdil could do nothing but nod, rendered speechless by the zeal in the fifthling's eyes.
Giselbert unfastened his diamond-studded weapons belt and laid it around Tungdil's waist. "Wear this in memory of my folk and let it be known that we defended our kingdom to the last, in death as well as life."
Tungdil swallowed. "Your gift is too generous."
"From what I have come to know of you, it is no less than you deserve." They embraced as friends; then it was time for the company to leave.
"Let's get going," said Tungdil, looking up at the narrow staircase leading into the gloomy chimney. He glanced back at the doors, where the last of the fifthlings were locked in bitter combat with the orcs.
"But what will become of you?" Boпndil asked the fifthling king.
Giselbert stood tall, eyes fixed on the doors. "My warriors will hold them back while you get yourselves out of here. We'll fight until they chop off our heads and put an end to our undead existence," he said proudly. "Now go! The steps are shallower in the upper reaches of the chimney. Djerun will have to take care."