"That's as may be," objected Bavragor, giving Tungdil a searching look with his right eye. "But who's to say they're still there? For all we know, they may have been wiped out by orcs." He reached for his beer. "We should take a smith with us and head north right away."
"Ah," said Boлndal, "so we've got a new leader, have we? Don't tell me you want to be high king as well?"
"I wouldn't mind being high king if it meant I could lock up maniacs like your brother," the mason retorted harshly.
Boпndil frowned, his hand moving automatically to his ax. "Careful, one-eye, or you'll end up blind."
"They never liked each other," Boлndal explained in a whisper. "The incident with Bavragor's sister only made things worse."
Tungdil sighed. He had a nasty feeling that the journey was going to be harder than he'd thought. "His sister?"
"I'll tell you later," hissed Boлndal. "They'll only end up fighting-or worse."
"What are we going to do with the dragon if we actually find it?" asked Goпmgar. The skinny artisan was barely half the width of Bavragor or the twins. "If you ask me, the whole thing sounds dangerous. Orcs, the Perished Land, дlfar, a dragon…" He swallowed nervously. "I must say, I am a bit…concerned."
"Concerned? It's going to be fabulous!" bellowed Boпndil, clapping him on the back. Goпmgar winced in pain.
"We all like a good bit of orc-baiting, don't we? It's good dwarven fun."
True to his name, Goпmgar beard shimmered in the candlelight. "Speak for yourself. I'd rather be in my workshop."
Boпndil eyed him suspiciously. "You do know how to use an ax, don't you? You sound more like a whining long-un than a child of the Smith." He jumped up and threw him an ax. "Come on, then, show us how you fight!"
The ax clattered across the floor and slid to a halt in front of Goпmgar, who left it where it lay. He patted his sword. "I'd rather use this and my shield," he said peevishly, offended by the secondling's mocking tone.
"Call that a sword? It looks more like a bread knife. A gnome would be too embarrassed to use a pathetic blade like that." Boпndil whinnied with laughter. "By the beard of Vraccas, you must have been hewn from soapstone!" He sat down, shaking his head in despair. Bavragor chuckled into his beer, emptied his tankard, and burped. On the subject of Goпmgar, the two archenemies were united in scorn.
Boлndal turned his attention to the map. "We'll be able to get to the firstling kingdom without coming up against the Perished Land. Let's hope we can use the tunnels. I wonder what kind of state they're in."
"I expect we'll find out when our wagon hits a broken sleeper and we plunge to our deaths," Goпmgar said despondently. "No one's been in the tunnels for cycles and cycles. It'll be a miracle if-"
"Now I know why Gandogar said we could take you with us. What a pumice-hearted weakling you are! I've never heard so much wailing and sighing," Boпndil said scornfully.
Bavragor eyed him coldly. "If you'd been at my sister's funeral-"
"Enough!" Tungdil silenced them. He was starting to have serious doubts about his ability to hold the group together. Vraccas give me strength. "Is this an expedition for dwarves or for children? No one would ever guess that you're older than me! We're not visiting a gold mine or a salt works. We're supposed to be saving Girdlegard."
"Oh, I thought we were risking our lives so you could steal the throne," Goпmgar said spitefully. Bavragor turned his tankard upside down and caught the last drops in his hand. He licked them up regretfully.
Tungdil smiled at the artisan. "No, Goпmgar, that's not true. Our priority is to forge a weapon that will slay Nфd'onn and give us the means to fight the Perished Land. Without Keenfire we don't stand a chance." He hadn't let on that he was missing a section of the instructions for Keenfire that Andфkai hadn't managed to translate.
"Is that how you're planning to persuade the firstlings to lend us their best smith?" the mason asked derisively. "They've probably never heard of the magus or the Perished Land."
Tungdil looked from Bavragor to Goпmgar and back again. "Why are the two of you so keen to make problems before we've even started?" he asked frankly.
Bavragor scratched his beard. "I'm not the one who's sitting here chatting," he retorted. "But if you want my opinion, we'll need more than Vraccas's blessing if we're to forge the blade and make it back across Girdlegard."
"Then take it from me that he'll give us his blessing and more. If you'd experienced half the adventures that I went through on my journey, you wouldn't be so skeptical. And remember, Bavragor, we're not doing this for me, we're doing it for Girdlegard and the dwarves." And for Lot-Ionan, Frala, Sunja, and Ikana, he added silently. He smiled. "Just think: If we're lucky, we'll find some gold."
"Well, I'd drink to that, but I need some more beer," said the mason. He lumbered out of the room.
Tungdil turned to Goпmgar. "What about you? Do you see why we're doing this?"
"Absolutely. For Girdlegard, like you said." The flippant response did little to satisfy Tungdil, who tried to look him in the eye. Goпmgar stared fixedly at the bookshelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling.
It wasn't long before Bavragor returned with an even larger tankard, having drunk at least half of its contents on the way. "To the next high king!" he said loudly, omitting to stipulate which of the candidates he had in mind. "I hope he achieves all his goals." He downed the rest of his drink.
"He hasn't even stopped for breath," Boпndil said in astonishment. "There must be a lake of the stuff inside him."
Bavragor wiped the froth from his beard. "Back in a minute," he said, rising to leave.
"Stop!" commanded Tungdil in a firm but friendly voice. "You can drink all you like as soon as we've finished." Bavragor sat down sullenly, dropping the empty tankard to the floor. The hallowed library echoed with the noise. "Our first stop is the Red Range. If the firstlings haven't heard about Nфd'onn, we'll tell them of the danger and ask for the loan of a smith. Then we'll continue through the tunnels to our next stop, the Gray Range."
He picked up another map and laid it out in front of the dwarves. "This is an ancient map from the 5329th solar cycle, showing the main paths through the fifthling kingdom."
Boлndal peered at the yellowing parchment. "Look, there's Flamemere. That's where we'll find our dragon."
"And then what?" Goпmgar inquired weakly.
Tungdil leaned back on his chair. "The way I see it, there's no need to actually fight the beast when all we need is a bit of its fire. Boпndil, if you dance around on its tail for a while, the rest of us can wait until it spews flames, at which point we'll jump out, light our torches, and hurry to the furnace."
"Can I slay it, or am I only allowed to dance on its tail?" asked Boпndil, practically bursting with excitement. Goпmgar gave him a sideways look.
"If it makes you happy, you can slay it-but only after we've got the fire," his brother instructed him firmly. "Dead dragons don't breathe flames."
"The furnace is near the entrance to the stronghold." Tungdil gave Boпndil a stern look. "I know you're looking forward to killing some orcs, but the fifthling kingdom will be crawling with them. If you take them on, neither you nor the rest of us will come out of there alive. You're going to have to be reasonable."
"Fine," Boпndil said obstreperously. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I won't kill the stinking orcs-yet. I'll slaughter the lot of them when it comes to the showdown with Nфd'onn." He glared at the others. "And let's get this straight: If we run into orcs on the journey, the first ten are mine. You can fight among yourselves for the others."
"Not on your nelly," muttered Goпmgar, just loud enough for Tungdil to hear.
He changed the subject. "Goпmgar and Bavragor, have either of you had much experience of humans?" They shook their heads. "I'll give you some tips on dealing with them in case we end up traveling overland for part of the way. But first you should get some sleep. We'll be leaving in the morning."