At last the dwarf could see his face, which was ashen and horribly mangled. A club had crushed the right side of his head and his visage looked barely human.
At the sight of his torso Tungdil took a sharp intake of breath. The pale fabric of Eiden's shirt was caked with blood from two deep gashes to his collarbone and chest. The afflicted flesh was decaying, the skin around it yellow.
Tungdil was instantly reminded of Greenglade and its gory revenants. No, he thought, the Perished Land can't have breached the magic girdle. Lot-Ionan had gone to Porista to renew the barrier and preempt an attack, and in any event, the Perished Land's dominion ended 450 miles north of Ionandar's vaults. Then why is Eiden still alive?
A gust swept through the room and a blue shimmer appeared in the air, gradually assuming the contours of a man. It was Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty.
The famulus rose and bowed before the apparition. "I've been searching the school as you requested, Estimable Magus," he reported, straightening up to face the bloated wizard. "There's no sign of the items you mentioned. Goodness knows why the old man needed so many laboratories and libraries." He decided to get his excuses in quickly. "The vaults go on and on. It's a lot for me to manage on my own."
"Which is why I shall be joining you in person."
Tungdil hardly dared to breathe, lest he give himself away. Vraccas seemed intent on making him eavesdrop on all kinds of awkward conversations. He had seen Nudin once before, but he remembered him as being slimmer, healthier, and decidedly less cruel. The Nudin before him was like a caricature, an uncharitable likeness drawn by a detractor.
"Lot-Ionan told me that the items were in a cupboard," the magus continued, swiveling to survey the room. There was something oddly high-pitched about his gravelly voice. "Have you searched the place properly?"
"Not yet," the famulus admitted. "I thought the books were more important, so I decided to hunt for them first."
Nudin shuffled toward the large cabinet from which Tungdil had retrieved the artifacts at the start of his errand. "There's no proof that the books even made it to Ionandar. According to the дlfar, a war band stole the books from Greenglade after the orcs had razed the place. Dwarven bandits, apparently."
"But didn't you tell them to… I mean, how-"
"The дlfar are good allies." Nudin's doppelganger stopped in front of the cabinet and propped his staff against the wall.
It took some effort for his swollen, spectral fingers to depress the handle, but he got there in the end. "Their only weakness is their love of art. For this particular дlf, it proved fatal." Bending down, he reached into the cabinet and came up with a leather bag identical to the one that Tungdil had been carrying. "It looks as though our search has been rewarded."
He loosened the drawstrings and tipped out the contents. Five rolls of parchment tumbled to the floor. His grunts of displeasure seemed to indicate that he had been hoping to find something else.
Tungdil peered out a little farther. His packs were hidden by Lot-Ionan's chair, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that Nudin would be delighted to discover them.
It was then that it dawned on him: The ties on his bag were blue, but the magus had said something about green drawstrings. I took the wrong hag! I marched for miles across Girdlegard, and Gorйn's artifacts were here all the time!
From the point of view of his errand, it wouldn't have made any difference if he had got to Greenglade and found Gorйn alive-he would still have been carrying the wrong set of things. But something told him that his mistake had worked out well.
Tungdil couldn't quite make sense of it all. He had no idea why Nudin and his apprentice were behaving as if the school belonged to them, much less why Eiden was acting so oddly when really he should have been dead, but the fact that the magus had allied himself with the дlfar was clearly bad news. Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty seemed to have changed sides.
He had to find out what had happened to Lot-Ionan and his famuli without alerting the intruders to his presence.
"One more thing," said the apprentice, riffling through the papers on the desk. He pulled out two pieces of parchment that Tungdil recognized as the letters that he had sent. "Lot-Ionan received a couple of letters from someone called Tungdil who was looking for Gorйn on his behalf."
He passed the correspondence to his master, who scanned the lines with bloodshot eyes. "Tungdil…" he said musingly. "Of course! The old man kept a dwarf of that name. It's perfectly possible that he's the one who took the artifacts and the books." He tossed the letters onto the desk. "Traveling dwarves are a rarity in Girdlegard, so it shouldn't be hard to find him. I'll ask the дlfar to deal with it, and they'll deliver him, dead or alive." He nodded to the famulus. "It's a pity you didn't mention it earlier, but at least we're getting somewhere. You shall have your reward when I join you. Until then, keep searching. You never know what might turn up." The apparition flickered and faded, then vanished altogether.
After his many ordeals, Tungdil was beginning to think that nothing could shock him, but he hadn't reckoned with listening in silence while someone plotted against his life. His mettle was being thoroughly tested.
The famulus smiled smugly and sat down at the desk. He had pleased his master and secured a measure of the approval that he so craved. He buried himself once more in the documents.
He was just dunking his quill into the inkwell, ready to add another entry to the list, when he happened to glance toward the armchair. The straps of Tungdil's knapsack were protruding from one side.
"What…?" He got up slowly and crossed the room to examine the object that had materialized without his knowledge. He stooped to pick up the leather bag.
Tungdil drew his ax. Speed and surprise were of the essence: He had to strike before the famulus saw him and cursed him. He tensed his muscles.
Even as he prepared to charge, a commotion sounded in the corridor, stopping them both in their tracks.
For once the twins were making a genuine effort to be quiet. They didn't know who had invaded the vaults, but it seemed safest to hack them to pieces without giving them any warning. Whoever had butchered the long-uns would surely jump at the chance to eat a dwarf-but a crow's beak in the belly or an ax through the gullet was bound to cure their greed.
They heard lumbering footsteps.
Boпndil signaled for his brother to freeze, and they waited for the creature to stagger around the corner. There was a whiff of rotten flesh; then a man stumbled toward them, groaning.
His injuries were so horrific that it was a wonder he was alive. No ordinary mortal would have survived such wounds, but on seeing the dwarves, he yelped in excitement and lunged toward them with surprising speed, spurred on by the prospect of fresh meat. His eagerness was no match for the warriors' experience.
Boлndal saw the blow coming, skipped sideways, and jabbed him in the knee. The revenant swayed.
In falling, he hurled himself on Ireheart, who greeted him with a war cry and a pair of flashing blades. The secondling avoided the toppling body and reached out to cleave the man's left arm. Teeth grinding in anger, Eiden dragged himself across the floor, baring his teeth at the twins.
"Would you believe it? He's coming back for more!" observed Boпndil in astonishment. "I know revenants are supposed to hate the living, but this is ridiculous." He decapitated the man, thereby putting an end to his undead life.
The brothers set off at a run to find Tungdil. It seemed likely that other bloodthirsty revenants would be roaming the vaults, in which case the heir to the throne could be in danger.
On reaching the door to the study, they saw a young man in malachite robes standing by an armchair, holding Tungdil's leather bag.