"He's not going anywhere!" Boлndal was about to sprint after him when Tungdil called him back.
"Let him go. For all we know, it might be a trap."
"But he's got the knapsack!"
Tungdil wiped the blood from his nose, then proudly produced the sigurdaisy relic. "This is what he was after, and it's right here with me!"
"How did he find you in the first place?"
"I'll explain on the way. We'd better get back to the others." He gave a quick nod to Goпmgar. "Don't worry, those hotheads won't hurt you."
"I told them to close the door after you," the artisan said softly. "Honestly, I did."
"It's all right, Goпmgar," Tungdil reassured him, although deep down he wasn't sure what to believe. The fourthling had forfeited his right to be trusted, and there was still no sign of him understanding what the mission was all about.
"We ought to warn the guards that at least one дlf has found his way inside the gates," Boлndal reminded him. "Whichever way you look at it, it's bad news for Mifurdania. It's probably a trick to open the settlement to the orcs."
"They know we're here now," Goпmgar pointed out. "Do you think they'll come after us?"
"They've been after us all along," Tungdil told him bluntly. "It's a shame they had to find us. We need to get back to the tunnel as soon as we can. The дlfar don't know about the underground network."
The trio hurried through the streets until they reached the southern gates, where Tungdil told the sentries of his brush with the дlf. Then they set off toward the alehouse where Bavragor and Boпndil had been instructed to wait.
They were still some distance from the rundown tavern when the sound of Ireheart's ranting reached their ears. They heard cracking wood, then a chorus of screams.
"Bavragor and Boпndil! The дlfar must have found them!" Boлndal charged ahead to save his twin.
Just then glass sprayed everywhere as a narrow window shattered and a man hit the cobbles with a thud. The next unfortunate was ejected from the tavern together with the door. Bruised and bleeding, he picked himself up and fled.
The three dwarves rushed inside to be met with a scene of devastation. It looked as if a tornado had hit the bar. Nothing was in its proper place, the chairs, tables, and benches broken or upturned and the floor strewn with groaning bodies. All had taken a beating, some more severely than others.
At the heart of the carnage was Boпndil, glowering like a dwarven god of vengeance. He was busy ridding a man, hair by hair, of his mustache. There was no sign of Bavragor.
"What's got into you?" his brother asked incredulously, staring at the mess. "Is this your doing?"
Ireheart turned to face them, and they saw his singed beard. "You'd better believe it!" he slurred. "The long-uns set fire to my whiskers, so I gave them a good walloping." He giggled and plucked out another hair. "This ruffian started it. I only meant to punish him for ruining my beard, but the others piled in. I suppose I should thank them, really; it made a better fight."
"Tell him I'm sorry," groaned his victim. "It was a misunderstanding. I was offering him a light for his pipe, that's all. I'm begging you, make him stop hurting me."
Ireheart seized him by the ears and looked at him blurrily. "Will you never, ever burn another hole in a dwarf's bearded glory?"
"Never," the man whimpered.
"Then swear it!" The man complied and was released.
"Get out of my sight," barked Boпndil. As a parting shot, he grabbed another clump of hair and aimed a kick at the man's behind. He sat down on the table, laughing, and reached for his tankard. He took a noisy slurp. "I haven't had this much fun in ages," he burped. Just then he spotted Goпmgar. "Ah, there's our little flower."
"He's drunk as a skunk," said his brother, pursing his lips.
"Where's Bavragor?" asked Tungdil. Keeping tabs on this lot is worse than herding cats, he thought crossly. "Don't tell me we'll have to look for him too."
"Oh, him… He'll be back in a moment. He went to buy a pony so we can fetch the ingots from the-"
"Boпndil!" His brother snatched away the tankard and pulled him down from the table. "What in the name of Vraccas are you thinking? We're in a strange town, the orcs are at the gates, and all you can do is drink yourself silly. You're as bad as Bavragor!"
"So that's the thanks I get for buying two ponies," came an offended voice from the door. "He's the one who's been beating up locals, not me!"
"I told you he'd be back!" Boпndil said happily. He seized the tankard from Boлndal and knocked it back. "There, try taking it from me now!" He grinned and burped again.
"Orcs!" They heard the shout even before the guard rushed in. "To arms! To arms! The southern gates have fallen and the enemy has invaded! To arms, good people of Mifurdania, to arms!" He stopped short, noticing the bodies strewn around the room. "What in the name of…"
"To arms!" shouted Boпndil excitedly. "Let's get the runts! Oink, oink!" He drew his axes and stumbled to the door. His brother pulled him back and gave him a good talking to.
"Boлndal didn't mean what he said," Tungdil told Bavragor, hoping that the comment wouldn't spark another feud.
"Old Hookhand can say what he likes; he's usually right," the mason said mildly. "You'll find a couple of ponies waiting for us outside. I got them cheap, but they're sturdy little beasts."
"We need to get out of here," muttered Tungdil, deciding to save the story of what had happened in the theater until they were safely out of town-not that he had the faintest idea as to how they would escape. "The дlfar are after me."
"In that case, we need a plan," observed Bavragor.
"I've been thinking, scholar," said Boлndal. "Our enemy will be focusing on the main gates, so all we need is a side exit. Once we're out, we can hack our way through the fringes of the battle." He glanced at his brother, whose uncharacteristic silence was explained by the fact that he was snoring in the doorway. "Obviously, the circumstances aren't ideal," he finished with a sigh.
Goпmgar shuddered. "Through the battle?" In his mind's eye he was already fleeing from snarling orcs, grunting bцgnilim, and nimble-footed дlfar, while arrows rained down on him and swords, spears, and pikes slashed and jabbed all around. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"I don't suppose you can fly, can you?" asked Bavragor. The artisan shook his head wretchedly. "In that case, we don't have a choice."
There was a loud crash behind them. Ireheart had gone down like a felled oak and was lying inert on the floor. His loud snores were the only indication that he hadn't been smitten by Vraccas's hammer.
"A fat lot of use he is," Goпmgar said accusingly. "Just when we could do with a bloodthirsty warrior, he knocks himself out on beer. Think of how many orcs he could have butchered for us."
"I know." Bavragor nodded, helping Boлndal to drape the unconscious Boпndil over one of the ponies. "It beats me how he got into this state. The long-uns' beer is no better than flavored water."
"He drank five whole tankards of it," Goпmgar told him. He looked at the mason in sudden amazement. "You're not saying…"
"I had seven, not counting the two at the market." He winked at the smaller dwarf and passed him both sets of reins. "Here, look after the ponies."
Hefting his mighty war hammer, he took up position at the rear of the procession. Boлndal and Tungdil took the lead.
From time to time they heard the clatter of swords, but they avoided trouble by taking frequent detours and keeping out of sight. The tactic was to Goпmgar's taste.
People were charging past them in every direction, some armed and rushing to defend the town, others clutching their children and possessions and hoping to find refuge in passageways and backstreets that hadn't yet fallen to the orcs.