"Go ahead and kill me, but answer me one thing: What do you want with the books?"
Sinthoras laughed. "Only a groundling could be so simple-minded! To think that you've been lugging around the volumes, and you don't even know what they are!" He thought for a moment. "They're precious, more precious than anything you can imagine. A single syllable is worth a sack of gold. They could make you the wealthiest being in Girdlegard-or the most powerful, if you kept the secret to yourself. Acting on their contents would make you a hero beyond compare." He leaned on his spear and lowered his voice to a malicious whisper. "All this you had-but you lost it. I'll take even more pleasure in killing you now."
Tungdil shuddered as the дlf muttered unintelligibly in his own dark tongue. At any moment the spear would reach his heart and put an end to his life.
Before the weapon could penetrate farther, a shadow fell over them and something whirred through the air. The дlf dove to safety, only this time the maneuver was anything but elegant. He hit a tent, the canvas collapsing around him.
Djerun strode past the stricken dwarf and went after the дlf. Using the lower edge of his shield as a knife, he beat down on the muffled body, first with his shield, then his ax, until the bloodied canvas lay still. Three orcs tried to stop him but were slain on the spot.
Tungdil wondered whether he was hallucinating when he saw what happened next.
The giant, whose back was turned to Tungdil, opened his visor-or so the dwarf concluded from the movement of his arm-and tore a chunk of flesh from an orcish corpse. He raised the dripping meat toward his face.
What is he doing? Grunting with pain, Tungdil lifted himself onto his knees, leaned on his ax for support, and called to the giant.
Djerun whirled round in surprise and pushed down his visor.
In the light of the burning tents, Tungdil caught a brief glimpse of a skull with wide jaws, long fangs, and slits for eyes. The helmet clicked into place and violet light glimmered through the demon's eyes. The chunk of flesh had vanished, but it was obvious from the mutilated corpse and the green blood dripping from Djerun's gauntlet that something extraordinary had occurred.
He's not an orc or an ogre, so what kind of creature is be?
Djerun gestured with his ax in the direction from which he had come. Tungdil followed his lead, relying on the giant to slay the orcs who barred their path. He was finding it difficult enough to walk with his injuries.
Before they were out of the maze of tents, Boпndil rushed toward them, a panicked look on his face. His lips twitched and his jaw tightened when he saw the blood on Tungdil's shirt; he didn't need to be told that the giant had saved his charge's life.
The trio hurried on, arriving in time to see Andфkai drive her sword through the neck of a dying дlf who was flailing at her feet. She snatched up the amulet that had warded off her magic power. Her leather armor seemed to strain at the seams as she gasped for breath, her physical strength exhausted.
She greeted Tungdil with a brief nod, then led the company out of the village on a southerly bearing. Between them, Djerun, the twins, and the maga had put pay to three дlfar.
Boлndal stoically ignored the blood trickling down his neck. It took more than a blow to the head to make a dwarf complain.
Tungdil gritted his teeth and followed at the rear. His wounds could be bandaged just as soon as they had got the books to safety, which meant throwing off Nфd'onn's henchmen and making their way to Ogre's Death as quickly as they could.
Three orcish sentries were waiting for them at the top of a dune. Djerun drew his sword.
"That's enough from you, long-un!" In no time Ireheart was at his side, hacking savagely at the beasts. The rage he felt at neglecting his duty to Tungdil was channeled into his blows and he cut down two of the beasts in the time it took Djerun to slay one.
"At least I'm faster than you," he told the giant. Down in the village, the noise of the battle was fading. From the jeering and grunting it was obvious that the orcs had prevailed against the inhabitants of the desert's lone oasis. Flames were spreading from tent to tent and the orcs were loading chopped-up corpses onto carts. A band of runts spotted the travelers on the crest of the dune and set off in pursuit. Two dozen beasts scrambled up the sandy slope behind them.
"You'd think they'd have the sense to give up." Andфkai waited until they were almost upon them, then raised her arms and uttered an incantation.
A tearing wind swept out of nowhere, gusting and circling until it formed a tornado four paces in diameter, becoming stronger and fiercer with the maga's every word. Sand, scree, and boulders were sucked into its midst; then, on Andфkai's command, the gale unleashed its force on the orcs, who were hanging back in confusion.
The wind and debris peeled the skin from their bones. Grunting and yelping, the orcs fled the lethal gust.
"Carry on without me," Andфkai told the dwarves. "I'll keep the orcs busy for a while."
The trio resumed their march and soon the maga was back in their midst, with Djerun behind them, on the lookout for any attacks from the rear.
This time, though, the orcs let them go. Unlike the дlfar, they weren't equipped to deal with magic, and the night of looting and destruction had been profitable enough.
X
Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Early Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle I call on the assembly to decide the matter without further delay," said Gandogar loudly, his voice ringing out across the great hall. With the intention of cutting a regal figure, he had put on full mail and was wearing his diamond-encrusted helmet. "Thirty orbits have passed, thirty orbits in which…"
He continued his address, the chieftains and elders listening in silence.
Gundrabur's eyes were closed and the ceremonial hammer was resting on the arms of his marble throne. His counselor was following the speech without visible emotion. He had not succeeded in uncovering any evidence to incriminate Bislipur or Sverd, and worse still, the mood among the delegates was tipping in favor of war.
"You saw the smoke! It came from a village across the border with Sangpыr." Turning slowly, Gandogar scanned the semicircle of dwarves; he knew he had to make eye contact if he wanted to win their trust. "The settlement was razed to the ground by orcs. Tion's runts are marauding through the countryside, brazenly attacking the races of Girdlegard. We can't afford not to know who our next leader will be. Every orbit brings new dangers. According to the traders, strange things are happening in the enchanted realms and Вlandur is in turmoil. Some say that the elves have abandoned their kingdom and are scouting for land elsewhere. We must act!"
"Here or in Вlandur?" said a bewildered voice from the benches.
"Here and in Вlandur!" bellowed Bislipur, before Gandogar had a chance to reply. His dwarven blood was boiling over with impatience and he couldn't endure the prospect of another interminable speech. "Вlandur must be invaded before the pointy-ears give us the slip and vanish Vraccas knows where!" He raised a clenched fist. "Destroy the elves and avenge our murdered kin!"
The call was taken up by most of the delegates, although a few of their number abstained from the general excitement, some signaling their disagreement by frowning or shaking their heads.
Gandogar's gaze settled on a chieftain who was wearing his withered elf's ear with pride. The call to arms had been resoundingly successful, but there was still the matter of the succession, and the elderly monarch showed no sign of preparing to vacate the throne.
At that moment, Gundrabur's eyes opened wearily. "Silence!" he commanded. "Baying for blood like beasts… You should be ashamed of yourselves!" He raised a gnarled hand and pointed to the dwarf who was sporting the grisly trinket. "Get rid of it!"
The chieftain looked to Gandogar for support.
Seizing the hammer, the high king rose from the throne and made his way from the dais to confront the disobedient dwarf. His wrinkled fingers gripped the chain and snapped it from the delegate's neck. The shriveled ear dropped to the floor.