"What do you propose to do?" asked Tungdil.
"We're leaving," she said frankly. "I'm not foolish enough to think that I could stop the Perished Land. No army will be mighty enough to challenge Nфd'onn, regardless of what the kings of men may think. What good would it do to stay? I'd only be condemned to become a revenant-a fate which, Samusin willing, I'm anxious to escape." She searched the dwarves' faces. "And you? If you're headed for Ogre's Death, we'd like to join you. Rest assured, we'll leave by way of the High Pass and never see you again, but we could journey as friends until then."
The dwarves discussed the matter in private and decided to accept the proposal. Boпndil's objections were overruled: The other two had learned from their encounter with Nфd'onn and could see that the maga would be a useful ally when facing the dangers ahead.
Boпndil made a show of complaining, but fighting with words was not his strong point and Tungdil argued him into a corner with his scholarly speech. "Fine," sulked the secondling, "but don't say I didn't warn you."
Tungdil informed the pair of their decision.
"But remember, we're the ones in charge!" Boпndil glared at the maga's companion contemptuously. He was obviously longing to pit his strength against the colossal warrior. "Hey! What's wrong with your tongue? Maybe if you took that bucket off your head, you'd be able to speak!"
"Djerun is mute," the maga rebuked him sharply. "Remember your manners or I might have a thing or two to say about your height…"
"My manners are my concern," huffed Boпndil, smarting. He tossed his plait over his shoulder and turned back to the warrior. "Take my advice and keep out of my way," he warned, quickening his pace to lead the procession. I deal with the orcs, all right? No doubt you'll learn soon enough."
Tungdil fell into line behind Andфkai, and they set off. I'll wait until this evening to find out more, he decided. It would be easier to ask his questions without the twins listening in.
Estimable Maga, how did Lot-Ionan die?" Andфkai had withdrawn a few paces from the fire and was sitting on her cloak, gazing into the flames. Instead of addressing her in dwarfish, Tungdil deliberately chose the language spoken by junior wizards. He wanted to demonstrate that he was educated and not a simple working dwarf.
It had taken a while for him to summon the courage to sit down beside her and engage her in conversation.
Back propped against a tree, Djerun was positioned nearby. The giant's weapons were arranged neatly on the grass in order of length, easily reachable with either hand. Owing to his visor, it was impossible to tell whether he was dozing.
"Lot-Ionan schooled you well, it seems," she said slowly, eyes still fixed on the flames. "An educated dwarf is a rarity in Girdlegard. Well, dwarves are rare enough." She paused. "I could tell you how your magus died, but the story of Nudin's treachery would only grieve us both."
"I want to know why Nudin changed."
"So do I, Tungdil." Andфkai turned and looked at him bitterly. "I don't suppose we'll ever find out." She recounted what had happened in Porista that night. "Nudin struck out at me without warning. He drew on his magic to deal me a blow that knocked me senseless. I didn't regain consciousness until later." She paused, resting her chin on her hands. "I cut him down with my sword, but he plunged his staff into my chest. After that I was too dazed to register anything but the sounds of the struggle." The maga took a deep breath, stretched out her legs, and looked up at the stars. "They must have fought him all the way. The sound of their screams will be with me forever. As for me, I could feel the blood seeping from my body and there was nothing I could do."
"But you survived."
"Thanks to my bodyguard." She glanced tenderly at the unmoving giant. "Nфd'onn must have forgotten that Djerun had accompanied me to the palace. As soon as the lunatic magus had gone, he broke into the room and treated my wounds. I was too weak to confront the traitor, so Djerun stole a corpse from the morgue, dressed it in my clothes, and left it with the other bodies. We wanted Nфd'onn to think he was safe." She reached for a branch and tossed it into the fire, sending sparks crackling into the night sky. "He is safe," she said dismally.
"And Lot-Ionan? What…"
"By the time Djerun found me, your magus had been turned to stone. Nфd'onn turned him into a statue." A tear of helpless rage trickled down her cheek.
"A statue," whispered the dwarf, drawing closer to the fire. "Isn't there any way to…"
The maga shook her head but said nothing. They sat in silence, their thoughts with the dead. Stars twinkled in the firmament, and long moments passed.
"So you're leaving Girdlegard," Tungdil said wearily. "Where will you go? Aren't you worried about your realm?" He wiped the back of his hand across his face. He had been staring unblinkingly at the flickering flames, and the heat had dried his tears, leaving a salty residue in his eyes. "Will things be better elsewhere?"
"I'd be a fool to throw myself in front of a rolling stone when there's nothing else to stop it," she said softly. "It's not in my nature to prolong suffering without good cause. I shall give up my realm without a fight. What good would come of resisting? I may as well take my chances across the border now that Girdlegard's defenses have fallen." It was clear from her tone that the matter was closed. "I need to sleep."
After thanking the maga for her confidences, Tungdil withdrew and joined the twins to tell them what had happened in Lios Nudin.
"The wizards are really dead?" Boпndil skewered another piece of cheese from his seemingly endless supply. "So much for their miraculous powers!"
"The strongest shield is useless when the sword is wielded by a traitor," his brother said wisely, munching on a hunk of toasted bread. "The long-uns are a wretched lot. I can't imagine what the gods were thinking when they created them." He chewed his mouthful vigorously. "It's bad enough that they kill each other without dragging the rest of us into it."
Tungdil reached for a helping of molten cheese and popped it into his mouth. He had developed a taste for the pungent delicacy, which he regarded as a sign of progress as far as his dwarven credentials were concerned.
Boпndil gave him a nudge and pointed his cheese skewer at the mismatched pair on the opposite side of the fire. "Would you believe it? He's still wearing that bucket. I bet it's stuck on his head!"
Boлndal was more respectful. "It's his height that gets me. Granted, I don't know much about humans, but he's by far the biggest long-un I've ever seen. He makes orcs look like children."
"What if he's not really a long-un?" his brother said suspiciously. "He could be a baby ogre or Tion knows what." Already he was on his feet, preparing to march over and confront the giant. "I'm telling you, if there's a green-hided runt hiding in that armor, I'll kill it on the spot." He grinned dangerously. "The same goes for the lady. So what if she's a maga? She's not much use to Girdlegard now."
Tungdil's face flushed with panic. He wouldn't put it past Andфkai to have one of Tion's monsters at her side. I can't let Boпndil pick a fight with Djerun. If he starts on the giant, Andфkai will join the fray and we'll all be in trouble.
"No, he's a man, all right," he said firmly. "Haven't you heard about the human giants? I read somewhere that they join together in formidable armies. The orcs are scared stiff of them!"
It was a nerve-racking business lying to his kinsfolk, but he knew it was for the best.
"How do they get that big?" persisted Boпndil, reluctant to let the matter drop. He jiggled his axes, hoping to find some reason that would allow him to test his strength against the giant.
"Um, it's their mothers… You see, they…" Tungdil tried feverishly to dream up an explanation; almost anything would do. "Straight after birth, the mothers tie ropes to their arms and legs and stretch them as much as they can. They keep doing it, every morning and every night," he blustered, "and it works, as you can see. They've got a fearsome reputation on the battlefield. They actually grow into their armor; they can't take it off."