They found Bislipur breakfasting in the dining hall with a group of fourthling delegates. His companions broke off their whispered conversation to warn him of Tungdil and Balendilнn's approach.
"Still here?" said Bislipur, feigning surprise. "I expected more of you, Tungdil. Strike while the iron is hot-isn't that the smith's motto?"
"I was waiting for Gandogar," retorted Tungdil, struggling to contain his rage. "Why isn't he here? And who told him how to get to the tunnels?"
Bislipur eyed him dismissively. "We did some exploring of our own," he said casually. "Besides, there was no agreement about departing together. Gandogar and his company were ready, so they left. They'll be back with Keenfire before too long." He wrinkled his nose. "You're the one who spent last night in his cups and frittered away the morning in bed. You should be setting Bavragor an example, not the other way round."
"Then let the race begin. We'll soon see who gets to the firstling kingdom and recruits the best smith. Your monarch will be wishing he'd had more of a lead."
Bislipur picked up his mug of hot milk. "Well, don't let me delay you. You're free to go whenever you please." There was a rumble of laughter from his companions.
"Where's that gnome of yours?" Balendilнn asked sharply. "I hope he isn't snooping on your behalf. He wouldn't be plotting anything untoward against Tungdil, would he?"
Bislipur jumped to his feet and drew himself up threateningly. "How dare you insult my honor, Balendilнn Onearm. If you had enough limbs to defend yourself, I'd challenge you to a duel."
"You can guarantee it will come to that if you continue to provoke me," the counselor said evenly. "All I want is your assurance that the expedition will be conducted without interference from you."
Bislipur put his hands on his hips. "Vraccas forfend that I should interfere! That's precisely why I stayed behind-so no one would wrongfully accuse me."
"And what of your little helper?" demanded Balendilнn.
"The same applies," Bislipur said haughtily. "Of course, I don't always know what he's up to. Sometimes he gives me the slip."
Tungdil didn't believe a word of it. We'll have to keep our eyes open. He excused himself brusquely and hurried out of the hall.
"So, Bislipur," Balendilнn said softly, "why don't you tell me why you really stayed behind?"
The dwarf laughed balefully. "I've given you one good reason already, but since you insist: I'm here because I don't want you deciding our future if the high king was to die. I owe it to my folk to ensure that the secondlings don't seize the crown while the legitimate heir is away." He leaned forward. "When I say legitimate heir, I don't mean your puppet. He isn't one of us."
"Nonsense," Balendilнn said flatly. "Tungdil is a fourthling. You heard the evidence just like everyone else."
Bislipur took a step toward him. "I'll tell you where Sverd is," he whispered. "He's on his way to our kingdom to study our archives and speak with those who would know of a bastard child." His eyes narrowed. "The story of Tungdil's origins is an outrageous lie, an insult to the honor of a king who was faithful to his queen until his dying orbit. Sverd will bring back proof that your puppet is a liar, a slanderer, and a fraud, and I shall take pleasure in exposing the deceit. I'll smash the charlatan's ambitions as thoroughly as this ax has splintered hundreds of orcish skulls. Make no mistake, my friend, everyone involved in this trickery will meet the same fate. I swear it on Vraccas's hammer."
Balendilнn considered the threat and decided that Bislipur stood a good chance of uncovering the deceit. If Tungdil was to return victorious, he would have to be protected from the allegations until Nфd'onn was defeated. The crusade against the magus was more important than anything else.
"That's good to know," he said equably. "Like you, I'm an honest dwarf with nothing to fear from the truth. I look forward to seeing which of our candidates is the first to return. In the meantime, I'm sure you won't mind if I examine the authenticity of your document about the elves. I think it's important to establish who was really responsible for the fifthlings' fall. Of course, if the text you provided turns out to be a forgery, I'll know who to blame." He nodded curtly and left the hall.
Bislipur sat down and watched the one-armed counselor disappear into the corridor. "Much good may it do you! Just wait and see who'll soon be sitting on the throne," he muttered darkly.
His ambitious plans had been foiled by the appearance of the impostor, but he had no intention of giving up. I'm not letting cycles of preparation go to waste. We're going to war, no matter what.
In the event that the delegates changed their minds about a military offensive, he had another trick up his sleeve.
Bislipur turned back to the breakfast table to refill his plate. He cut himself a slice of ham and stared at the streaks of white fat amid the soft pink flesh. Suddenly it came to him: My enemies' enemies are my friends.
Tungdil threw his most important belongings into a knapsack and hurried down the passageways at a jog. As an afterthought, he had briefed Balendilнn and Gundrabur about the eight rails leading out through the mountain: Gandogar was gone already, but the other delegates deserved to be told of the forgotten depot of wagons and machines.
On reaching the hall, he found his companions awaiting him with faces as long as elves'. The air was damp and sticky and he was perspiring from every pore.
"Someone has gone to great lengths to delay us," Boлndal explained grimly. "Take a look at this."
The rail that sloped toward the firstling kingdom was lying warped and twisted on the floor. The oppressive warmth came from steam that was escaping from countless perforations in the sides of the cauldrons. Even if it was possible to repair the rail, they had no means of moving the heavy wagons.
"So much for letting the best dwarf win," Boлndal said testily. "Although it's flattering that Gandogar feels threatened enough to cheat."
"I'd rather do without that sort of flattery. Besides, I don't suppose Gandogar had anything to do with it." Tungdil bent down and examined the rail more closely. Someone had used the pulley system to prize it from the ground. "If you ask me, Bislipur decided to give his monarch a helping hand." What are we supposed to do now?
Goпmgar had stationed himself a few paces away and was cultivating a detached expression. Meanwhile, Bavragor was leaning against one of the perforated cauldrons and drinking from his pouch. He licked his lips contentedly, sealed the pouch, and walked over to inspect the damage.
"It's simple, really," he breezed. "All we have to do is swap the rails." He pointed to the neighboring rail that served as the disembarking point for passengers arriving from the firstling kingdom.
"You've been drinking," Boлndal said reproachfully.
The mason didn't bother to look at him. "So what? I don't complain when you've been eating. Beer just happens to be my sustenance." His huge calloused hands thumped the metal track. "We'll send for one of our smiths and let him take care of it." His right eye settled on the punctured cauldrons. "As for these, we should fetch a tinker from the trading post. I expect our artisans could handle it, but it's more a job for a tinker. And while we're at it, we may as well ask the womenfolk in the brewery. They know a good deal about vats."
Tungdil stared at him in surprise. All of a sudden the one-eyed dwarf was bubbling with enthusiasm and confidence. Balendilнn had been right: The mason's mood was unpredictable. "Good work, Bavragor; those are excellent suggestions," he said approvingly.