He turned his attention to a couple of lengths of wood. They were as long as his arm and had a gray, almost metallic shimmer to them. The grain was wayward and irregular. What are they? He supposed they could be cudgels. But what would they be doing in the bag? He tossed them carelessly onto the bed.
The maga had written him a note. Furious with her for leaving Girdlegard and for rummaging through his things, he left it unread. Then curiosity got the better of him.
The mystery is solved, or as good as.
You were right: There is a way to defeat Nфd'onn and the books explain how. However, the means are beyond us, which is why I'm leaving Girdlegard for good.
The first book is an account of the Outer Lands that tells of a place called Barrenground, where demonic beings have the power to enter human souls, take possession of them, and invest them with extraordinary power. Men possessed of such demons are driven by an urge to destroy goodness wherever they find it and bend everything to their will.
The second book tells of a race called the undergroundlings who invented a mighty ax to destroy the demonic power.
The blade of this ax must be made of the purest, hardest steel, with diamonds encrusting the bit and an alloy of every known precious metal filling the inlay and the runes. The spurs should be hewn from stone and the haft sculpted from wood of the sigurdaisy tree.
The ax must be forged in a furnace lit with the fiercest of all flames and its name shall be Keenfire.
This is the weapon with the power to slay the demonic spirits. Keenfire can slice through flesh and bone, cutting through the human body to destroy the evil presence within. Any harm that has been done reverts to good.
Regrettably, I was unable to make sense of one passage, which means I cannot vouch for the method's success. The task is as good as hopeless.
All the same, it explains why Nфd'onn is interested in the artifacts. The bag contains two fragments of sigurdaisy wood.
The sigurdaisy is extinct in Girdlegard, but its wood is exceptionally hard, so hard that it can't be worked with ordinary tools. Humans used to believe that the trees were sacred and they burned the wood for its powerful aroma and deep crimson flames. They stopped conducting the rituals when all the trees were gone. I once witnessed a sigurdaisy fire in honor of Palandiell, but that was over a hundred cycles ago.
Even if were possible to make such a miraculous weapon, no one would get close enough to Nфd'onn to slay him. The whole business is ridiculous.
If the dwarves have any sense, they will cross the ranges and settle in the Outer Lands. Maybe the undergroundlings will give them shelter.
My work here is done.
Tungdil read and reread the letter until there was no further doubt: Lot-Ionan's murderer was not completely invincible. They had everything they needed to kill him-even the wood.
He hurried to find Balendilнn. The counselor had lit a number of oil lamps, which bathed his chamber in light. Like the rest of Ogre's Death, the room was hewn from rock and the masons had even thought to sculpt a bed and cabinets. It looked as if the mountain had created a furnished chamber especially for his use.
Tungdil handed him the letter.
"There is mention in our records of distant kin on the far side of the mountain," he said when he saw the reference to the mysterious undergroundlings. "The inhabitants of the Outer Lands seem to have more experience of fighting the Perished Land."
Tungdil brandished the piece of parchment. "It explains why Nфd'onn was desperate to get his hands on the books and the bag! Well, it's too late now: His secret is out. Balendilнn, you've got to tell the human sovereigns of our discovery before they lose all hope. They need to keep the magus fighting while we work on the weapon. If only they can keep him busy until then!"
Balendilнn studied the passages relating to the making of the ax. "We'll have to enlist the help of the fourthlings: Their skill in diamond cutting is unsurpassed. Our people can take care of the stone, but as for the best smiths…"
"Borengar's folk!"
"Yes, but none of their nine clans are here. The firstlings ignored our summons. Giselbert's fifthlings were exceptional blacksmiths, but their line was snuffed out." Balendilнn scowled. "And that's not the only hitch. The fieriest furnace in Girdlegard belonged to the fifthlings. Its name was Dragon Fire and the hardest metal would melt in its flames. But the Gray Range has been in the hands of the Perished Land for over a thousand cycles." He rested his head in his hands. "The maga was right. It's not possible."
"We can't give up now. Call a meeting and let the delegates decide. We need to send word to the firstlings and ask for their assistance. Then we'll…" He trailed off. "Well, I'll take a look in the archives. Maybe I'll find something that will help."
"Good luck to you, Tungdil."
The dwarf left the chamber and headed for the vaults, where the written record of the secondlings' history was preserved. Now that the initial excitement was over, he was left with the sobering realization that they were barely any closer to saving Girdlegard from Nфd'onn's grasp.
I'm not giving up! The very hopelessness of the situation made Tungdil more determined than ever to succeed.
He settled down to his task with all the stubbornness and persistence typical of his race. It was his solemn intention not to leave the secondlings' archives until he found something of use.
Tungdil hurried back and forth, fetching ancient tomes, rolls of parchment, and stone tablets from their places in the vaults. He piled everything on a table to examine it at length.
Lot-Ionan must have known that my schooling would come in handy. Some of the parchment was so fragile that it tore or crumbled at his touch. It made Tungdil appreciate the durability of the marble tablets that lasted an eternity, provided they weren't dropped.
After a good deal of reading, he found evidence to back up Balendilнn's vague assertions about the undergroundlings. According to the archives, a race of dwarves on the other side of the ranges went by that name. Whether or not Vraccas had created them was anyone's guess, but they seemed to have much in common with the children of the Smith. They were accomplished metal workers and shared the dwarven passion for the forge.
On the fourth orbit he learned the secret of Dragon Fire, and his optimism, which had survived in spite of everything, was dealt a grievous blow.
The flames of the fifthlings' fiery furnace had been lit by the white tongue of Branbausнl, a dragon who had roamed the Gray Range until Giselbert's dwarves stole its fire, killed it, and seized its hoard. Argamas, its mate, had taken refuge in Flamemere, a small lake of molten lava at the heart of the fifthling kingdom. The creature had never been seen again.
The stolen fire enabled the dwarves to heat their furnace to phenomenal temperatures and create alloys from metals that had never been melded. Dragon Fire was powerful enough to melt tionium, the black element created by Tion, and combine it with palandium, the deity's pure white metal.
Later records indicated that the furnace had fallen with the fifthlings. Neither the дlfar nor any other creature of Tion could find a use for the strange white flames, and Dragon Fire had been extinguished.
Tungdil's only hope lay in finding the dragon's mate who had escaped the dwarves' axes. If the firstlings could provide a smith and Argamas could furnish the fire, Keenfire could be forged and Nфd'onn defeated.
"More traveling." He sighed. We'll have to go west to the firstlings, then north through the heart of the Perished Land to the lost fifthling kingdom. But how are we supposed to cross Girdlegard without Nфd'onn finding out?
He put the question to Gundrabur and Balendilнn when he met them in the great hall to report on his findings and share a keg of beer. The king and his counselor looked at each other knowingly.