It didn't matter to Tungdil that the spectators were seated in the shadows: His eyes were accustomed to seeing in the dark. At last he could survey the whole auditorium and continue his hunt for the missing dwarf.
He barely noticed that the performance was underway, having more important things to think about than humans in fancy dress. He scanned the audience attentively, but could see no sign of Goпmgar.
I may as well keep looking outside. He stood up with the intention of leaving and was amazed to see a beige-clad figure on the stage. He froze.
Surely it can't be…Resting on a rock, delivering a monologue, was an elderly man with a white beard. Lot-Ionan! The fair-haired woman clad in armor, hand resting encouragingly on his shoulder, looked exactly like Andфkai. Tungdil listened to see whether the voices were as he remembered them.
In no time the purpose of his visit was forgotten and he was focused on the plot. The actors were so convincing that he felt as if the real Lot-Ionan and Andфkai were before him, even though he knew that the magus was dead and the mistress of Brandфkai had left Girdlegard forever.
"Come, Lot-Ionan," said Andфkai, "the time for forbearance is over." Entr'acte We must fight the Perished Land!"
Lot-Ionan sighed. "We can halt its advance, but that is all." He ran a hand over the lush grass. Barely half a mile away the meadows gave way to a bleak expanse of withered vegetation and gray earth: No living plant could survive within the Perished Land. "It is not in our power to defeat it."
Andфkai chose not to reply, turning instead to ascend the slope where the other magi were waiting. Lot-Ionan followed, leaning heavily on his staff. At last the six members of the council were assembled on the grassy knoll, looking down on their foes.
A few paces away, the promontory fell away in a sheer cliff. The wind gusted toward them, whipping at their clothing and carrying the foul cries of the invaders to their ears.
Held back by the magic girdle, the beasts were pushing, shoving, snarling, and jostling in their eagerness to breach the unseen barrier and invade the lands beyond.
Seen from above, their massed ranks were a rippling sea of darkness. Orcs toting all kinds of lethal weaponry mingled with hideous trolls, ogres, and other vile beasts, forming a ragged and disorganized force. All had left their homeland north of Girdlegard and swarmed over the Stone Gateway like a plague of locusts, laying waste to towns and villages in an orgy of destruction.
The rulers of men had sent an army to stop them, but the beasts had cut them down. Now only the magi could check the invasion and hold back the Perished Land.
"Let them come to us," said Andфkai. "Stay your magic until they're in reach of the village, then attack."
Maira looked at the buildings below. Nestled at the foot of the mountain, the little wooden huts seemed to be clinging to the hillside for support. "They must be terrified," she said softly, her voice full of compassion. "How desperate they must feel."
"Utterly desperate," agreed Turgur, whose splendid robes were more suited to a banquet than a war. "Which means, of course, they'll be doubly grateful when we come to their rescue."
Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty was too busy scanning the enemy ranks to respond. It was exciting to see so many new and unfamiliar creatures, and he was looking forward to learning more about their kind. I'll spare a few of them and question them later, but I won't tell the others. They'll only accuse me of being too lenient with the beasts.
Maira seemed to read his mind. "Every last beast must die, Nudin. We can't let the Perished Land encroach any farther."
Nudin nodded, already focused on the battle ahead. Everything hinged on the magi intervening at the critical time. Without his efforts, they would never have discovered the flaw in the girdle: He had used the malachite table to pin point the problem and identify a place where they could wait for the beasts and take them unawares.
Just then a loud crackling filled the air. The Perished Land was launching an attack on the girdle and at length it gave way. Snarling and shouting, Tion's minions charged toward the village, the ogres and trolls outpacing the orcs and the diminutive bцgnilim squawking in frustration at the rear.
At once Andфkai summoned a storm, and the sky darkened above the promontory, bright lightning flickering between the roiling clouds. The first volley of bolts shot toward the charging hordes.
That was the signal for the others to join in. Together they unleashed their magic against the forces of the Perished Land.
Orbs of fire soared through the air, wreaking havoc among the troops. The earth gave birth to strange creatures of rock and dust who hurled themselves on the orcs, while the ground opened up, swallowing ogres and trolls.
The assault on the village faltered, then failed. The first to retreat were the short-legged bцgnilim, who sought shelter in the Perished Land, little realizing that the destruction of the girdle had laid them open to attack. The magi's missiles scorched through the ranks of the fleeing creatures, setting them ablaze.
Every effort was made to destroy the beasts entirely, so that nothing could be salvaged by the Perished Land's dark power. Corpses were consumed by tongues of fire, cremated by lightning, turned to dust, or dashed to pieces against the ground.
Andфkai whipped up a fearsome gust that tore into the last dogged attackers, sweeping them back into the Perished Land. Meanwhile, the other magi were preparing to restore the girdle and make it stronger than before.
With a sweep of his robed arm, Lot-Ionan summoned the waiting apprentices, who hurried over with the malachite table. The six magi joined together for the complex ritual, channeling their energies and harnessing the magic to restore the barrier, thus securing Girdlegard against future attacks. At last it was safe for the villagers to leave their houses and thank their deliverers with waves and cheers.
As for the magi, their relief was tempered by the knowledge that the northern pestilence had spread. The Perished Land had extended south, claiming every inch of territory trodden by Tion's beasts and advancing as far as the gates of the village, where the new girdle was in place.
Turgur waved back at the devoted crowds. "We should let them thank us in person," he said. "The simple souls would be delighted to have us in their midst."
Nudin managed a weary smile. "Do the simple souls need Turgur or does Turgur need the simple souls? Be careful about casting yourself into their adoring arms, fair-faced magus. It's an awfully long way down." The others chuckled gently.
"I vote we retire to our tents, recover our strength, and enjoy a glass of wine," proposed Maira.
"Someone needs to tell the villagers to leave their homes without delay. Next time the Perished Land attacks, they might not be so lucky," said Nudin. "I'll take care of it while the rest of you relax."
Andфkai gave him a hard look, but said nothing.
A narrow path led down from the promontory to the settlement below. On nearing the village, Nudin was showered with gifts of bread, fruit, and wine as the villagers offered him simple tokens of gratitude.
Nudin acknowledged their generosity by stopping and accepting a sip of wine. He lost no time in warning them of the continued threat. "I'll send some men to help you with the move," he promised. "We'll find a safer place for you to make your homes."
He helped himself to an apple, then made his way back, skirting the edge of the battlefield without venturing into the Perished Land.
Here and there the ground was still smoldering, the energies unleashed by the magi vaporizing the soil and turning grains of sand to glass. The earth was pocked with craters and furrows and everywhere reeked of death.
The shallow sound of breathing brought him to a sudden halt. He listened, heart pounding, trying to locate the wounded beast. The death rattle sounded again and this time he was able to trace its source.