Furgas sighed. "Thank goodness you weren't born a nobleman. Your subjects would have strung you up cycles ago."
"Not if you were around to invent a slower way of killing me." They smiled at each other companionably.
"Speaking of inventions." Furgas gestured away from the main battleground and pointed to a band of ogres who were constructing a rolling siege engine. It towered two hundred paces above the ground and looked far more robust than its foregoers. "That should do the trick for them. They've used tiles on the outside to make it less flammable."
Hundreds of orcs descended on the contraption, swarming over its many platforms, arming it with crossbows and catapults, and stocking the slings with missiles and spears. The ogres finished the building work and bent down to push the tower toward the mountain. Bugles were sounded, heralding an all-out attack.
"It's time we did something," ruled Tungdil. "Narmora, bring the prisoners to Nфd'onn." She nodded resolutely and donned her disguise.
A few moments later they were faced with one of the deadliest creatures in Tion's creation. The transformation went deeper than the change of clothes; with each piece of дlf armor, Narmora looked crueler and more menacing, her face hardening and paling. As she straightened up, her voice sounded oddly sinister. "And now for the most important part…" The whites of her eyes darkened, leaving nothing but fathomless blackness, the distinguishing feature of the дlfar by day.
If I didn't know better…To Tungdil, she looked exactly like a real дlf, which was precisely what they needed for their plan to succeed. "Perfect," he praised her.
Andфkai got out the dark blue amulet that belonged to the dead дlf in the desert and hung it around Narmora's neck. "The crystal will ward off Nфd'onn's magic," she said. "I want you to wear it in case we get separated and you find yourself fighting on your own."
Narmora smiled at her. "Wait here. I'll fetch the armor for my mercenaries." She slipped away noiselessly and disappeared.
Tungdil noticed that Balyndis had reached for her ax. "She's… she's changed," the dwarf said defensively. "She's all sinister and threatening, just like a real дlf."
"What if her dark side takes over?" asked Boпndil, who didn't mind voicing his doubts. "She'll have Keenfire and we can't kill Nфd'onn without it. The maga won't be able to hurt her because of the amulet. How are we supposed to stop her if she turns against us?"
Furgas rushed to his mistress's defense. "She's still Narmora, you know," he said fiercely. "Don't forget that she's an actress. No matter what she says or does, you mustn't doubt her. She's had plenty of opportunity to-"
Narmora returned with an armful of bloodied armor belonging to some careless sentries. She threw the garments into the snow. "You'll have to wipe them clean," was all she said.
Once Rodario had taken some "special precautions," as he mysteriously referred to them, the company began the most perilous phase of their journey yet.
Tungdil, Gandogar, Balyndis, and Boпndil took their places at the heart of the group, surrounded by their captors, whose faces were hidden by their foul-smelling helmets. Narmora had swaddled Keenfire in rags and was carrying the weapon on her back. Djerun stayed behind, poised to charge down the hillside and cut down the enemy if his mistress should signal for help.
Boпndil found it especially difficult to be separated from his beloved axes. Worse still, his hands were bound, a circumstance he tolerated only because they couldn't get to Nфd'onn by any other means. A worrying thought occurred to him. "Tell me again how the story ended."
Rodario opened his mouth to enlighten him, but Tungdil cut him off. "Happily," he said firmly. He locked gazes with the impresario, pleading with him to let the falsehood stand. Rodario rolled his eyes, but refrained from comment.
"Just as well," growled Boпndil, who luckily wasn't interested in specifics.
Furgas had stowed the dwarves' axes in a sack and was ready to return them to their owners at the first sign of trouble. The captives were bound with leather manacles that would rip at the jerk of a wrist. All that mattered was that they looked like prisoners.
The afternoon shadows were growing long when they finally entered the enemy encampment.
Narmora glared menacingly at the sentries, three orcs and four bцgnilim, and demanded to be allowed to deliver her prisoners to Nфd'onn in person. The company was allowed to pass.
One of the bцgnilim rushed ahead to announce the arrival of the heroic дlf. The company strode purposefully between the tents, heading in the direction that the bцgnil had taken.
"So I was right," came a muffled voice from Rodario's helmet. "I knew it had to be Nфd'onn's tent."
"Silence," commanded Narmora in her sinister дlf's voice, and the impresario refrained from further comment.
By now they had a clear view of the dark green cloth that was housing the source of Girdlegard's ills. They were only twenty paces away when the tent opened and an old acquaintance emerged: pointy ears, handsome features, and long fair hair. "Sinthoras," gasped Tungdil in horror.
Boпndil leaned over. "Was he in the story too?"
The дlf was smiling maliciously. He was wearing a tionium breastplate and a long tionium mail shirt that reached as far as his knees. He was prepared for battle. "It's always a pleasure to see you," he said to Tungdil with a bow. Then he turned to Narmora. "Congratulations on capturing the prisoners, Miss…?"
"Morana," she said, furnishing herself with an дlf name.
"Morana," he repeated. "Tion must prize you highly. Caphalor and I hunted the groundlings across the length and breadth of Girdlegard with no success." His cruel eyes roved coldly over the little band. It was impossible to tell exactly who he was looking at. "We inflicted some casualties, it seems."
"And yet they evaded you," she said scornfully. She decided not to be intimidated and to play the part of the arrogant stranger.
"Yes, they evaded us." Sinthoras sighed with feigned regret. "But we have them now. I'll take them to Nфd'onn. You may go."
Narmora stood her ground. "I captured them. Why should I let you steal my reward?"
Sinthoras circled her menacingly. "You've got courage, young дlf. It's strange that I've never heard your name."
"Dsфn Balsur is a big place. I don't believe we've met."
"You're from Dsфn Balsur? I know every inch of our kingdom; I founded it." He stopped in front of her. "What of your mother and father? Where do you live, Morana?"
"That needn't concern you," she retorted, unmoved. "Hurry up and tell Nфd'onn I'm here to see him-or get out of my way."
"The magus is asleep."
"Then wake him."
Tungdil was still reeling from the shock of meeting Sinthoras. What are we to do? Should we walk past him? If it comes to a fight, some of us will die. He glanced at Nфd'onn's tent, which was tantalizingly close. If we wait too long, we'll only attract an audience, which is the last thing Narmora needs. He couldn't see that they had a choice.
"Come and listen to this, Caphalor." Sinthoras threw back his head and laughed. "I've got a young дlf here who isn't afraid of her elders. It could be the death of her one day."
"She ought to be taught some respect," someone said behind them.
Rodario was caught off guard by the voice and whipped round, almost taking Balyndis's head off with his lance. His armor, which was slightly too big for him, clunked noisily.
Behind them was an дlf with long dark hair. Tungdil recognized him immediately as the sinister bowman who had shot at him in Goodwater and tracked the company through the Red Range. He knew they had to do something, but he couldn't for the life of him think what.
"I knew a Morana once, but she didn't look like you. Besides, the Morana I'm thinking of is dead." Caphalor's fathomless eyes settled on Narmora. He was wearing tionium-plated leather armor that seemed to swallow the sunlight. "You're not from Dsфn Balsur, are you?" He laid his slender fingers on the hilt of his sword. "Why did you lie to us? Tell us where you're from."