Clumping down the stairs, Nфd'onn reached the room where the energy was at its strongest. From Lios Nudin, the force field extended outward in five directions, supplying the other realms. He was about to change all that.
The magi and their highest-ranking famuli had been taken care of, but there was still the matter of the lowlier apprentices. Nфd'onn was incapable of stopping the flow of energy, but he intended to reclaim the young wizards' meager powers by other means.
First there's something I need to attend to. He loosened the green drawstrings, opened the bag, and turned it upside down.
An hourglass hit the floor, shattering on impact, followed closely by two amulets, which tinkled against the marble. A roll of parchment landed on top.
Nфd'onn stared at the motley collection. These aren't my things! he thought furiously, scattering the pool of sand in all directions with his staff. Confound Lot-Ionan!
He reminded himself of the need for calm. Besides, he could always ask the orcs to retrieve the items from Ionandar.
Focusing his mind, he used his powers to search for the force field and, on finding a connection, uttered the charm provided by the Perished Land, thereby releasing the magic he had plundered.
VIII
Enchanted Realm of Ionandar, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle To speed their progress, the three dwarves bought ponies and rode without stopping, dismounting only to spare their aching backsides. Even then they kept moving, continuing on foot.
Over the course of the journey the twins taught Tungdil a number of ballads that were known to all dwarves, irrespective of folk or clan. Little else remained of the common heritage linking all the children of the Smith.
The melodies were simple and easy to remember, embellishments and ornaments playing no part in dwarven songs. To Tungdil's ear, they sounded rather melancholy, a tendency he attributed to the gloominess of the underground halls. The mood was noticeably lighter in songs such as "Glinting Diamond, Cold and Bright" or "There Is a Golden Shimmer in a Faraway Range," where the lyrics told of great treasures and gold, and he enjoyed the drinking song "A Thousand Thirsty Gullets, A Thousand Flagons of Beer," taught to him by Boпndil, who had procured a keg of beer.
Tungdil awoke the next morning and cursed his pounding head. According to Boлndal, it was all the fault of the long-uns' ale, which was vastly inferior to the dwarves' own beer.
Farther along the way they encountered Sami, a peddler with stubbly cheeks and peasant's clothing, who had strange stories to tell. "Some people say that the cleverest famuli in the other five realms have left for Lios Nudin," he informed Tungdil, who was examining the array of trinkets on offer while the twins waited patiently. He wanted to buy something for Frala before he forgot.
"Any tidings from Greenglade?"
"The elf maiden is dead. The northern pestilence laid waste to the forest, and King Bruron is worried that wayfarers might get themselves killed. He wants to set fire to it." Sami made a show of unpacking his herbal soaps. "Perhaps you groundlings could do with some of these."
"Just because we're dwarves doesn't mean we stink!" growled Ireheart. "I'll put you in a lather, you lanky-legged rascal!"
"My mistake," Sami said hurriedly. "I thought he wanted something for a lady friend."
"Actually, Boпndil, the peddler's probably got a point," Tungdil said slyly, throwing him a bar of plain soap. He also bought a jasmine-scented soap, a patterned comb, and a doll each for Ikana and Sunja.
Boпndil sniffed the soap, scratched at it, and put a shaving in his mouth. "Ugh, it tastes disgusting! I'm not washing with that!" He tossed it disdainfully into his bag.
"So the Perished Land is still advancing?" probed Boлndal.
"It looks that way. Most of Вlandur has fallen already and the elves are under constant attack. Some have fled to the plains of Tabaоn, or so I've heard." The peddler packed the gifts in coarsely woven cloth. "Everyone says the дlfar are getting the better of them. They've taken the other elven kingdoms, and if you ask me, Вlandur will be next. It's only a matter of time before the дlfar conquer the last of their land." He handed the parcel to Tungdil. "A silver coin, please, master groundling."
"Dwarf," Tungdil corrected him.
"Pardon me?" "We're dwarves, not groundlings."
"Of course," Sami said, again hurriedly. "Absolutely." He cast a distrustful glance at Boпndil, who was admiring his shaven cheeks in a mirror.
Tungdil was still digesting the news about Вlandur. "What do you think the assembly will have to say about it all?" he asked the twins.
"Serves the elvish tricksters right," said Boпndil with a shrug. "Most of them are dead already and the others will follow if they set foot in our range. The pointy-ears aren't welcome near Ogre's Death; I don't care whether they call themselves elves or дlfar, they won't be moving in with us."
Tungdil scratched his beard. "What of the orcs?" he asked Sami.
"Oh, they're in three places at once, if you believe the rumors." The peddler looked at them dolefully. "It's not safe on the roads anymore. Tion's creatures are on the rampage and King Bruron can't do anything to stop them. Innocent folks like us have to fear for our lives and our wares."
Boпndil scanned the horizon longingly and licked his lips. Tungdil heard him making "oink" noises under his breath.
A while later they took their leave of the peddler and rode on.
To keep their purse stocked with coins, Tungdil jobbed as a smith, helped by the brothers, who also ornamented window frames and doorways with wonderful carvings. That way they kept themselves in ham and cheese while making good progress toward Lot-Ionan's vaults.
"You've got bits of cheese in your beard," Tungdil said to Boпndil at the end of a meal.
"What of it?"
"Well, it's not nice to look at," he answered, trying to be diplomatic.
Boпndil ran a hand over his chin and dislodged the largest morsels.
"There's still…"
"Look here," Boпndil told him brusquely, "the rest can stay where it is. It keeps the whiskers sleek and smooth." As if to emphasize the point, a bread crumb fell from his lips and landed in his beard.
Tungdil had an image of the hairs coming to life and feeding on the scraps. It would explain why nits weren't a problem; the whiskers would gobble them up before they had a chance to settle. "Surely the girl dwarves must have something to say about your-"
"There you go again!" Boпndil clapped Tungdil on the back and grinned lewdly. There was cheese between his teeth. "Always on about girl dwarves."
"Patience, scholar," Boлndal advised him. "Play your cards right, and you'll find out firsthand. You're not bad-looking; I'm sure we'll find you a suitable lass."
"And then what do I do?"
"You make eyes at her, of course." Boлndal gave him a playful dig in the ribs. "You sing her a song. You give her a hand-forged ring. Then you kiss her feet, cover her in a nice thick coating of her favorite cheese, swing her four times in a circle, and the gates to her Girdlegard will open."
"That's…It doesn't say that in the books," said Tungdil, bewildered. He looked at Boлndal, whose eyes sparkled roguishly. Boпndil couldn't contain himself any longer and let out a side-splitting guffaw.
"Idiots," huffed Tungdil. "It's not funny, you know. I can't help it if I've never met a female dwarf."
"We didn't mean to offend you," apologized Boпndil, wiping away tears of merriment. "But maybe you should try it; it seems to work for Boлndal!"
That was it; his brother dissolved into laughter too, the gentle hills of Ionandar echoing with their mirth.
"Just be yourself," said Boлndal, endeavoring to be serious. "I can't speak for everyone, but it's no good pretending to be something you're not."
"He used to say he was a poet," his brother chuckled. "His lady friends never believed it, but with you it might work."