Vraccas be praised!
There was a jolt and the bridge cracked audibly. He could see the first fissures running through the rock.
It was only then that it occurred to him that the bridge was not designed to bear the weight of stampeding cows. It had been built for dwarves, not cattle. The herd exceeded its strength by a matter of tons and the rhythmic pounding of their hooves had a devastating effect.
The first crack opened at the midpoint of the bridge where the stone was at its thinnest. The struts beneath it snapped, heralding the next stage in the disaster.
A section of stone measuring four paces in length gave way, sending a number of cows plummeting into the abyss. From there the destruction spread along the bridge. Slab by slab the stone fell away, cows tumbling to their deaths, their moos becoming fainter and fainter. At the back of his mind Balendilнn was aware that there was still no sign that they had hit the bottom.
His position was precarious in the extreme. With the bridge crumbling before his eyes, he was faced with a choice of dying among the cows or casting himself voluntarily into the abyss.
At last the herd stopped surging and the dwarf summoned the courage to leap into their midst. Barely had his feet touched the ground when the stone gave way beneath him. Grabbing wildly at the edge, he managed to catch hold of a jagged overhang and clung on for dear life.
An able-bodied dwarf would have hauled himself to safety easily, but Balendilнn, dangling by his only arm, had no means of saving himself and no prospect of being rescued. He knew it was merely a matter of time before his muscles gave out.
"Is anyone there? Help!" he shouted, straining his voice to alert his kinsmen to his plight. With any luck, someone would be on their way to retrieve the wayward herd. "Over here!"
The cows were calmer now and answered his cries with gentle, mindless moos. Two of the animals ventured to the edge and, sniffing at his hand, licked it heartily. Their saliva collected in a pool, making his position more dangerous than before.
It seemed to Balendilнn that three grown orcs could not weigh more than he did. His arm was getting longer, while his voice grew hoarse.
Suddenly the herd parted as someone barged through their midst.
"Over here," he called, relieved that help had arrived before he lost his grip. "I'm falling!"
Dust showered over him, coating his hair and his beard, and he found himself looking into the green face of a gnome whose sizable nose was tipped with a wart of impressive dimensions. The creature's round eyes stared at him greedily and its clawlike fingers slithered down his arm.
"Nearly done." Sverd leaned over the edge and fumbled with Balendilнn's belt. "Just one moment," he told the unfortunate dwarf.
A clasp clicked open and Sverd straightened up, a look of satisfaction on his face. He brandished Balendilнn's purse and the jewel-encrusted belt. "Much indebted to you, I'm sure! You can let go now." Chuckling maliciously, he beat his retreat.
"You can't just leave me!" Balendilнn shouted, aghast. "Come back!" It was too late: His fingers slipped and in spite of his frantic efforts, he failed to get a purchase on the saliva-covered overhang. He steeled himself for the long slide into darkness.
At that moment, an ax sped toward him, the short metal spur catching in the rings of his mail shirt. Balendilнn was reeled in like an anchor on a chain.
Breathing heavily, he lay on the floor beside his rescuer, who was panting from the strain.
"Gandogar!" Balendilнn could not conceal his astonishment at being saved from his fate by the fourthling king.
"You and I may not always agree with each other, but we're hardly enemies," said the monarch, smiling wryly. "First and foremost, we're dwarves, children of the Smith. Our enemies are Tion's minions, not the other clans or folks. That's how I see it, in spite of our differences." He straightened up and helped the royal counselor to his feet. "What happened?"
Balendilнn seized his hand thankfully. Gandogar had spoken from the heart and his heroic intervention was evidence enough of his sincerity. "Something must have startled the cattle," he said.
He didn't elaborate further. He wasn't prepared to blame Bislipur and Sverd for engineering the "accident" until he had firm proof. The gnome's appearance on the scene had convinced him that Bislipur was behind his attempted murder; Sverd always acted on his master's command.
"I owe you my life," he said earnestly. "It doesn't mean I think you're right about the elves, but I'm deeply indebted to you all the same."
"Spoken like a true dwarf," the king said warmly. "Besides, I didn't do anything that you wouldn't have done for me."
"Oh really?" Balendilнn paused and smiled. "I'm not sure I would have helped."
Gandogar looked at him, shocked. "I…"
"How could I have rescued you with only one hand?" Balendilнn burst out laughing and, after a short silence, Gandogar joined in. It saddened the counselor that the fourthling monarch was so determined to go to war; he had a feeling that Gandogar would make an excellent king.
Later, when Balendilнn regained his chamber, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the whole episode had been a trap. The delegates who supposedly wanted to see him were an invention.
At least his purse and his buckle had been deposited by his door. The gnome must have thought better of harboring evidence of his despicable crime. Balendilнn replaced the purse, fastened his belt, and vowed not to give his would-be murderers another chance. Kingdom of Sangpыr, Girdlegard, Early Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle Autumn left the travelers in no doubt that it was a force to be reckoned with, particularly at night. Even though they were deep in the south of Girdlegard, having crossed the border into Queen Umilante's realm, there was little warmth to be found in the desert, only a constant barrage of tiny grains of sand.
No sooner had darkness drawn in and the sun sunk below the horizon than the air took on a nasty chill. Andфkai wasted no time in lighting a blazing fire, in spite of the twins' disapproval. To Boлndal's mind, the comfort it provided was outweighed by the risk of attracting orcs and other riffraff; it seemed foolish to court danger when they had come so far and were almost at their goal. Somewhat begrudgingly, Boпndil agreed with him. But the maga ignored them anyway and persisted in tossing logs into the flames.
They were only eight or so orbits from Ogre's Death when they came to a village among the dunes. The settlement was situated next to a tranquil lake, which made it a popular and flourishing trading post. Tungdil and the others decided to grant themselves the luxury of a night's shelter.
For merchants returning home from the secondling kingdom, the village was a last oasis before the long journey through Sangpыr, where nothing awaited them but desolate wasteland and the occasional brigand.
"It's safe here," Boлndal assured them. "The traders like dwarves because they know we offer decent, solid wares that fetch good prices when they sell them in other towns."
The party still attracted considerable attention, but only, as Tungdil realized, because they were accompanied by a walking tionium tower. Children crowded round them, marveling at Djerun, who bore the fuss with equanimity. The giant was accustomed to causing a stir.
Visitors to the settlement were accommodated in tents by the lake. Depending on the needs of each party, the canvas and wood constructions could be expanded or reduced in size, with the option of adding an extra floor to create a two-story dwelling not dissimilar to a house.
Djerun was too tall for a standard model, so they opted for a two-story tent and removed the upper floorboards. The wind was freshening, so they retreated under the canvas, lit a fire in the corner, and got the kettle boiling.
"Just think," Tungdil said excitedly, sipping his steaming mug of tea, "I'm about to meet my folk. I can hardly wait!"