"I'm sorry, Mr. Rodario, but we've business to attend to."
"Business? What kind of business?" He frowned. "Are you in search of treasure?"
"We're on a quest to forge Keenfire!" came a rambunctious shout from the back of the pony. In spite of the slurring, the words were clearly audible. "We'll go to the Gray Range and fashion a weapon more powerful than Nфd'onn himself. The fat wizard won't be bothering us much longer-"
"Shut up, you drunken fool!" Boлndal barked gruffly. "If you're going to give away all our secrets, at least have the decency to do it in dwarfish!"
"Sorry about him," said Tungdil, turning to Rodario with an apologetic shrug. The impresario's face had lit up with interest. "I'm afraid his imagination gets the better of him when he's had too much to drink." He did his best to sound nonchalant, not wishing to give the impression that Boпndil's ravings bore any relation to the truth.
"Don't apologize," Rodario said lightly. "I'm all in favor of imagination. A good writer welcomes inspiration, whatever its source. Besides, I like the sound of the idea. It's just the sort of story that audiences love to see on stage. The trouble is, who would I cast?" He threw up his arms despairingly. "I can't use children or gnomes or kobolds with false beards! I need stocky fellows, proper groundlings, like you. Nothing else would do! Are you sure I can't persuade you?"
"We're dwarves, not groundlings," Boлndal told him crossly. "And keep your voice down, unless you're looking for inspiration on the tip of an orcish sword."
With an offended toss of his long brown locks, the man fell into line with his friends and drew them into a whispered conversation.
"Actors," tutted Boлndal. "You wait: He'll perform our story in every marketplace in Girdlegard before we've finished forging Keenfire. If Nфd'onn finds out what we're up to because of that peacock…" He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
"Nфd'onn will be long dead before he gets round to writing his play," said Tungdil, clapping him reassuringly on the back. He glanced round to see the fabulous Rodario scribbling frantically in a little notebook that dangled on a ribbon round his neck. Suddenly Tungdil's optimism seemed a little misplaced. "We'll have to take them with us," he said, having thought the matter through.
"You can't seriously suggest that we-"
"I mean it, Boлndal. We'll take them as far as the firstling kingdom. The impresario won't be able to resist an adventure like that. We'll get Borengar's dwarves to lock them in their stronghold for a while-or until the mission is over, if need be. I'm sure they'll find somewhere cozy where our friends will be obliged to enjoy their dwarven hospitality for as many orbits as it takes."
"Assuming they fall for it."
Tungdil gave him a confident wink. The full brilliance of his plan was dawning on him. "Don't worry, they will. When the impresario hears the incredible stories I'm going to tell him, he'll be desperate to see the firstling kingdom for himself."
Boлndal muttered unhappily into his beard.
"Fine," said Tungdil, "I'll warn the others. I don't want them looking too surprised."
He stopped to talk to Goпmgar, then Bavragor, on the somewhat flimsy pretext of checking their armor, and informed them in whispers of his plan.
They were almost on the other side of the forest when they came to the last resting place of the slaughtered unicorns. Rodario immediately stopped to sketch the corpses and make notes on the once-beautiful and peaceable creatures.
Was it wrong to abandon Mifurdania? The sight of the dead unicorns was a painful reminder that they had abandoned the settlement and left Girdlegard's last surviving unicorns to their fate. The gods will understand that we had no other choice.
The group approached the foot of the narrow path that wound its way up to the plateau. From ground level, the track was completely hidden.
"On guard!" Stopping abruptly, Boлndal drew his crow's beak. Bavragor responded by reaching for his war hammer, while Goпmgar interpreted the warning in his own fashion and hid behind his shield.
"On guard? My dear fellow, whatever for?" said the bewildered Rodario. His female companion drew her weapons. The first seemed to consist of a pair of scythes mounted on either side of a metal haft, while the second was a straight-bladed version of the same. Judging by the shimmering keenness of the blades, both the inner and outer edges were deadly sharp. She wore metal baskets on her wrists to protect her fingers from enemy swords.
The impresario turned to her. "What could you want with those, precious rose of Girdlegard?"
If Tungdil had learned anything since the start of his journey, it was to trust his friends' instincts. He steeled himself to face the threat.
A moment later he detected the stench of their hidden foes. They smelled sweeter and stronger than orcs, but there was definitely a whiff of rancid fat on the gentle breeze.
Suddenly the enemy disgorged from the bushes.
Shouting and shrieking, the bцgnilim stormed toward the humans and dwarves. Bringing up the rear were two orcs wielding studded riding crops, which they used to whip the beasts into a frenzy and galvanize the attack.
The bцgnilim, cowardly creatures by nature, were carrying short swords whose notched blades were encrusted with gore from their previous victims. Lolloping and leaping like apes, they screamed and screeched, partly in terror, partly in hatred. Their fighting technique relied on numbers, not skilclass="underline" If one fell, two or three others would rush into the breach, biting, scratching, and slashing or hurling themselves at their opponents and knocking them off their feet. They descended on the company, stabbing and hacking with indiscriminate rage.
"Back-to-back!" came the terse order from Boлndal. Bavragor took up position, dragging Goпmgar with him, so the artisan had no choice but to join the fight. Rodario was nowhere to be seen, but Furgas and Narmora lined up with the others.
The dwarves' weapons swooped back and forth relentlessly, cleaving skulls and hewing bones, but they had to be careful that none of their slippery assailants sneaked past their guard. Goпmgar barricaded himself behind his shield, his short sword darting out like a flash of silvery lightning and slashing through the bцgnilim's insubstantial leather armor. Pus-colored fluid spurted from the gashes and dripped down his shield.
Narmora fought at triple the speed of her companion, her light yet phenomenally sharp weapons giving her an immense advantage over their foes. Just as it seemed the bцgnilim had lost the battle, the orcs gave their smaller relatives such a thrashing that they relaunched their attack with a ferocity fueled by mortal fear.
The surging bцgnilim caused the defenders to draw closer together until there was barely enough room for the dwarves to swing their weapons. The long blade of the crow's beak caught on the haft of the war hammer, and Bavragor's weapon was torn from his grip. Two or three of the beasts darted forward and knocked the mason to the ground. Others poured through the breach and Tungdil found himself dangerously overextended.
Just then there was a loud hiss and a cloud of green smoke took shape between two trees, crackling and spluttering menacingly. As the air cleared, an enormous two-headed monster loomed out of the mist. With a terrible roar, it opened its vicious jaws and engulfed the bцgnilim in a torrent of flames. Two died in the blaze; the others were rooted with shock.
The ensuing commotion sufficed for Bavragor to retrieve his hammer and overwhelm the bцgnilim who had infiltrated their circle, pounding them to a pulp. Tungdil and Boлndal also went on the attack.
"I'll take care of the monster if it ventures our way," said Boлndal. "If it sticks to killing bцgnilim, so much the better."
Narmora ducked out of the circle and vanished into the bushes, reappearing behind one of the orcs. Her curved blades sliced through his beefy neck, and his headless body toppled to the ground. The second orc lashed out at her, but she dove beneath the whistling whip and launched herself into the air, landing coiled at his feet." Her straight-bladed weapon drove into his belly. The sharp blades cut through his mail, spilling intestines and killing the beast.