Tungdil got up and strolled over to the twins, who were snacking on ham and cheese. Poor Bavragor.
Boлndal had observed the conversation from a distance, but refrained from asking questions because he didn't want Boпndil to get wind of the mason's distress. He offered Tungdil a morsel of goat cheese. "Well, scholar, only two more orbits and we'll be in the firstling kingdom-assuming we don't have any problems with the wagon."
"Gandogar will be there already," Tungdil said gloomily.
"For all we know, he might have gone the wrong way." Boпndil laughed and wiped his glistening brow. "I hope his blasted shortcut leads him straight into a fathomless chasm." Goпmgar glared at him. "You can stare all you like," Boпndil told him, rising to the silent reproach. "The king of the dwarves is sitting right here. Your king is a warmonger, a cowardly-"
"That's enough, Boпndil!" Tungdil interrupted. "I know you'd rather be fighting than trundling along in a wagon, but you're going to have to keep your temper under control." He waited until Boпndil had finished growling. "Right, let's get going. The sooner the first leg of the journey is over, the better." He stood up and the other four followed him to the wagon. Will they ever stop squabbling?
"I wonder what it's like in their kingdom," mused Boлndal, preparing to get the wagon rolling. "The firstlings are supposed to be consummate smiths. Do you think they'll forge me a weapon to beat my trusty crow's beak?"
"Good thinking, brother," his brother applauded him. "Not many axes are as good as mine, but I'll lay them aside if the firstlings can do better."
The wagon crept along the rail. Boлndal waited until they were inches from the downward slope, then jumped in and they thundered into the tunnel.
Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Late Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle Bislipur knelt before the high king. "I came because you summoned me," he said, rising. "Not because you can change my mind."
His obdurate tone left Gundrabur and his counselor in no doubt that the private meeting in the great hall would come to nothing. They could only hope and pray that Vraccas would knock some sense into Bislipur's intransigent skull. Gundrabur motioned for the burly dwarf to be seated.
Bislipur appraised him intently. He looks weaker. His fingers are shaking and he can barely lift his arms. Nature is on my side.
"We should have been straight with each other from the beginning," said Balendilнn, taking his place beside the king. "We're tired of game playing. I know we don't share the same opinions, but it's no excuse for scheming like kobolds."
"Our folks have been offered a unique opportunity, and I'm trying to persuade the assembly to take it. Is that what you mean by scheming?" Gandogar's adviser retorted.
"His Majesty and I have been wondering what could possibly motivate you to agitate for war," Balendilнn said forth-rightly. "It baffles us that you should wish to lead the children of the Smith against the elves when a battle of far greater magnitude awaits us."
Bislipur seemed to find the topic too tedious to be worthy of anger. "Your Majesty, there's nothing to be gained by talking. Your concerns are as unintelligible to me as mine to you. I've got better things to do than-"
"Better things?" Balendilнn cut in. "Such as what?"
"Private cogitation," Bislipur answered dourly. Without waiting for the high king to dismiss him, he got up and limped to the door.
"You're going to cogitate, are you?" Gundrabur called after him. "Well, here's something for you to consider: None of the fourthlings knows anything about your family."
The dwarf stopped short, but didn't turn. "What are you insinuating?"
"I'm not insinuating anything. I thought you should be warned."
The elderly monarch paused and Balendilнn took over. "You questioned Tungdil's lineage, and you're entitled to do so. But I'm sure you've heard the maxim about scorched dwarves not playing with fire…"
Bislipur strode toward him, his huge hands clenched into fists. "And you dare to accuse me of scheming like a kobold," he snarled. "What do you want?"
"Nothing-although, of course, we may find ourselves obliged to share our suspicion that your ancestry is no clearer than that of the high king's nominated successor," the counselor said gravely. "Incidentally, the document accusing the elves of treachery was a fake."
"You're lying!" Bislipur struck the marble table with a resounding thwack.
"You don't look like a child of Goпmdil. No other fourthling comes close to rivaling your stature. You've never been seen polishing diamonds or fashioning trinkets, but your reputation as a strong and talented fighter is known even to the orcs. I learned this from my inquiries," Balendilнn told him coldly. "Anyone with a less charitable mind would be inclined to think you're one of Lorimbur's dwarves."
"I have never heard such scandalous bile in all my life! By my beard, if you weren't a helpless cripple I'd fight you for insulting my honor with your lies!"
Balendilнn listened in satisfaction. He had no evidence for his allegations, but he seemed to have touched a nerve. "This is what we propose: First, that you cease your scheming until one or the other of the companies returns from the expedition; and second, that you make it known that the elves' involvement in the fall of the fifthling kingdom can't be proven, since the document was forged. For our part, we'll say nothing of the doubts surrounding your lineage."
"The outcome of the expedition must decide the succession," Gundrabur added. "Are we agreed?"
Jaw clenched, Bislipur nodded curtly.
"How about a beer to seal the truce?" proposed Balendilнn.
Bislipur turned away. "Drink all you like. I have matters to attend to." He smiled balefully. "You needn't worry: I'll keep my word and say nothing about the succession. As for the business about the elves, I assume you'll permit me to convene an assembly so I can explain to the delegates." He took leave of the high king without bowing. I'll show you yet, he thought grimly. You're both mistaken if you think I care about your truce. From now on, I'll be more discreet about my scheming.
An attendant appeared at the far end of the corridor. He was carrying a pitcher in one hand and three tankards in the other.
Perfect timing, thought Bislipur. The high king's refreshments. This is my chance. He waited until the dwarf was level with him, then stumbled and clutched at him, knocking him over. Like a shot, Bislipur reached out and caught the pitcher and two of the tankards, allowing the third to shatter on the marble flagstones.
"I'm really sorry," he said apologetically. "My lame leg is a curse on these slippery floors. Still, I managed to save everything except one of the tankards."
It took a moment for the attendant to recover. He got up shakily and looked at the debris. "Er, actually, the tankard was for you. I'll go and fetch a-"
"Don't trouble yourself," Bislipur interrupted. "I wasn't thirsty anyway. You may as well clear up the mess."
The attendant stooped and gathered the pieces into his apron. "All done," he said, straightening up again. "Now, if you pass me the other tankards and the beer…"
Bislipur hesitated and gave the pitcher a little shake, watching the layer of white foam slop back and forth without mingling with the beer. "Light on top and dark below," he said thoughtfully. He returned the vessels to the waiter. "Let's hope light will triumph over darkness in Girdlegard as well. You'd better hurry; the high king is thirsty."
Humming contentedly, he set off to find the fourthling delegation, while the attendant continued down the corridor toward the great hall. Underground Network, Girdlegard, Late Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle The next downward pitch gave the wagon a burst of speed that sent them careering through the tunnel. For the first time Tungdil was obliged to pull sharply on the brake. Any faster, and we'll come flying off the rail. There was a flurry of sparks and a terrible squealing and screeching.