Bislipur limped to the door. "Wait here," he ordered. "Don't show yourself unless I tell you."
"Yes, cruel master." With a sigh, the gnome settled on a stool, his short legs dangling above the floor.
Bislipur rapped on Gandogar's door. "It's me," he shouted. "Put your cloak on. We've got business to attend to."
Gandogar stepped out into the corridor and gave his adviser a bewildered look. "Wouldn't you rather come inside?"
"The exercise will do us good. Besides, there's enough gossip about me already. Apparently, I spend my time behind closed doors, plotting against the high king." He snorted derisively. "They're welcome to see us talking, if that's what they want."
Gandogar threw a light cloak over his mail and followed Bislipur through the stone labyrinth that was Ogre's Death.
All around them were carvings and ornaments. The secondlings had sculpted great artworks out of the humble stone, but the masonry was all the more striking because of its lack of pretension. Gandogar marveled at its simple beauty, but his reverie was cut short.
"I was just saying," Bislipur repeated softly, "that everything will be ruined if they keep us waiting any longer. The high king is an obstinate fool."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I've consulted with the other chieftains. They think we should defeat the elves before the Perished Land gets there first."
At last he had Gandogar's attention. "Then let the Perished Land defeat them. It would solve the problem for us."
"Actually, Your Majesty, it would make our task harder. Remember what the Perished Land does to the fallen? They rise again! Our warriors would never prevail against an army of undead elves. The Perished Land is immensely powerful, remember." Bislipur's mail clunked slightly as he limped beside his king. "And what if the elves were to flee the threat and ensconce themselves somewhere quite unreachable?
Their crimes against the dwarves would go unpunished and your father and brother would never be avenged."
Despite the urgency in his voice, Bislipur was careful to speak softly. Anyone who saw them talking would assume they were preparing for the coming assembly-which was exactly what he intended.
"It's time you were made high king and led the folks against Вlandur. The Perished Land has lain dormant for some time. If it stirs, we must be back in our stronghold so we can wait in safety until the trouble has passed."
"You heard what Gundrabur said," the fourthling sovereign reminded him. "The laws were written by our forefathers, and I can't and won't defy them."
Their path led them to a beautiful sunlit valley whose verdant slopes were dotted with sheep and goats. Rocky peaks towered on either side with clouds stacked above them. To Gandogar, it seemed as if the mountains had impaled the bad weather on their summits to clear the skies for the pastures below.
"How peaceful it is here," he sighed, lowering himself onto a boulder. "I wish our assemblies were as harmonious as this."
Bislipur's cold eyes scanned the grassy slopes. "If you ask me, the other dwarves are exactly like sheep. They flock together, bleat until they get their food and beer, then fall into a self- satisfied slumber." He laid a hand on the monarch's shoulder. "You're a true king, Your Majesty, and you shouldn't be made to wait while some guttersnipe of a dwarf strolls across Girdlegard to challenge what's yours. Force a decision and the delegates will support you; I'll make sure of it."
"You're asking a great deal, Bislipur." The king rose, and they strolled back to the tunnel that led into the mountain and deep inside the Blue Range.
At length they came to a series of stone bridges whose backbones arched over dark, fathomless chasms. These were the ancient mine shafts, now empty and abandoned. The secondlings had plundered the mountain's riches and left deep gashes in its flesh. Bislipur walked in silence, allowing the king to reflect.
"But what of the laws?" muttered Gandogar, turning the matter over in his mind. "I can't force another vote without challenging the laws of our forefathers and defying the high king's decision."
"It would take courage, the courage to do what's best for our race. You need to act now, Your Majesty. You've never been afraid to take a stand."
The passageway led over one of the kingdom's many quarries, where sheets of smooth marble were being hewn from the rock. A river meandered peacefully to the right of the stoneworks. The king and his adviser stopped on a bridge 180 paces above the laborers and gazed at the bustle below.
"Gundrabur might die at any moment," said Bislipur, still pressing for a decision. "Surely you don't mean to make us wait until the stranger arrives and the hustings have been held? What if the Perished Land attacks while the throne is vacant? Without a high king, there'd be no one to organize our defenses and lead us to victory. The folks would squabble among themselves and our race would be destroyed."
Gandogar pretended to ignore him, but the speech resonated with his own deliberations. He had been pondering the same questions, although he was still no closer to deciding what to do. The laws come from Vraccas, but should we stick to them slavishly? What if it means forfeiting opportunities and exposing ourselves to danger? He gave up and focused on the laborers below. They were working with incredible care and precision, handling the stone with as much consideration as if it were alive. Each sheet of marble was measured painstakingly before being prized from the mountain with pick axes, crowbars, hammers, and chisels. Water mills powered the blades of the enormous saws.
Dust hung in the air like gray mist and the laborers wore cloths to protect their mouths and noses. A thick layer of powdered stone covered any piece of equipment not in regular use.
It made Gandogar proud to think that he would soon be king of the dwarven folks. The children of Vraccas had their differences, but they were dwarves-united by ancestry, heritage, and a common foe.
Should we suffer because of our laws? He pictured the faces of his father and brother who had been felled by elvish arrows. They were killed in cold blood. His fists clenched and his face darkened.
He had made up his mind. "Very well, Bislipur, we shall act. I am the one who is destined to unite the children of Vraccas and what better way of strengthening the bonds between our kingdoms than a joint campaign against the elves? Victory over our enemies will pave the way for a new united future and put an end to this feuding and quarreling."
"And your name will be linked forever with the start of a glorious era," Bislipur added approvingly, relieved that his constant sermonizing had eventually paid off.
"We've wasted enough time already. I shall tell Gundrabur that he has thirty orbits to hold a vote in which my succession will be confirmed."
"And if he dies before then? He's old and infirm…"
"Then I'll be crowned, whether the mountebank has got here or not. Let's go back. I'm tired and hungry."
Privately, Bislipur was already working on his next assignment, unwittingly conferred on him by the king.
A great deal can happen in thirty orbits, he thought grimly. Murder was not the worst of his crimes, and a little more skulduggery would be neither here nor there. But this time he needed to do everything right.
"Coming, Your Majesty," he replied. Leaning over the parapet, he peered into the open quarry. Anyone who had the misfortune to plummet from such a height would never be seen again. He had just the assignment for Sverd. Enchanted Realm of Ionandar, Girdlegard; Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle Come on, scholar, time to get up," a voice whispered in his ear. A wiry beard scratched his throat and he was roused from his carefree dreams.
Boлndal and Boпndil were peering out of the ditch, scanning the woods for roaming orcs, but the beasts had continued their search elsewhere. Tungdil and the others were free to head south toward the secondling kingdom.