Alarmed by the appearance of the fire-spewing monster and thrown into confusion by their flagellators' deaths, the bцgnilim panicked and fled in all directions. None were left, save the thirty or so whose corpses were littered about the ground.
Boлndal turned to the two-headed dragon. "Now for you, foul beast of Tion," he growled, preparing to charge. The monster hastily retreated behind the fading smoke.
"Don't strike!" Furgas cried suddenly. "It's Rodario!"
"Rodario?" echoed Bavragor, bewildered. He was brandishing his weapon, ready to join the attack. Hurriedly, he stayed his hammer's momentum by swinging it round his head.
They heard a rustling in the bushes, then a peal of laughter. "Did you see them run?" the impresario said happily, stepping out of the smoke. He was dressed in a leather costume that was several paces too long for him. In his right hand he held two enormous heads; in his left was a pair of hinged stilts.
"I had a feeling I'd be more useful as a monster than a swordsman. I prefer to reserve my fighting prowess for the stage-outside the theater my enemies tend to laugh instead of tremble. Thankfully, I had time to grab a few props and teach the wee beasts some respect. With a little bit of alchemy, anything is possible."
"But we nearly killed you," Bavragor said, stunned.
"I looked the part, didn't I?" Rodario smirked, gratified. He gave a deep bow. "What's this, worthy spectators? Don't I deserve a round of applause?" The dwarves continued to look at him in mute disbelief.
"All humans are barmy," the mason observed. "He makes Boпndil look sane."
"He might be barmy, but he probably saved your life," Tungdil reminded him. "Vraccas knows what would have become of us if it hadn't been for him. To think we were fooled by a man in fancy dress!" He chuckled, and after a while the others saw the funny side too.
The impresario gave another low bow, straightened up, and smiled. "Thank you. You're most kind. I gather from your laughter that you enjoyed my performance. I'm deeply flattered."
This was the moment that Tungdil had been waiting for. He summoned the three players. "My friends and I have been discussing the matter," he said solemnly, as if he had something of vital importance to convey. "You're a trustworthy trio, and we've decided to tell you where we're going. We're on a mission to the firstling kingdom, home of Borengar's dwarves, who guard the western pass."
"Aha! So you're gathering an army to fight against Nфd'onn!" Rodario said excitedly. "Does that mean the story about Keenfire is true?" He scrabbled for his quill.
Tungdil ignored him and plowed on. "You came to our aid, and we'd like to show our gratitude. You may accompany us to the firstling kingdom, where you will enter a dwarven stronghold and behold its splendor. That, and a bag of gold coins, should cover our debt." It seemed to Tungdil that only the foppish actor had been won over by his words, so he tried again, this time waxing lyrical about the wonders of a kingdom he had never set eyes on. For the benefit of Furgas, he invented all kinds of extraordinary machinery and ascribed it to the genius of the firstling engineers, while Narmora was treated to descriptions of wondrous jewelry and armor. On finishing his protracted speech, he fell silent and awaited their decision with mounting impatience.
To his horror he realized that Bavragor had reached for his blood-encrusted hammer and intended to attack the players should they decline. Boлndal looked equally resolute.
"Just think," mused Rodario, stroking his pointed beard. "I could found a new theater. We'll see wonders in this kingdom never known to humankind! Furgas, imagine all the new contraptions you could build!"
Furgas nodded enthusiastically, leaving Narmora looking unimpressed. He stroked her hair fondly and kissed her. "You'll come too, won't you?" She pouted.
Tungdil looked at her intently. He still thought of her as the actress who had played the дlf. Her face isn't quite elven enough, he told himself. She's just an unusually beautiful human, that's all.
"I hope you don't mind me asking," he said brightly. "But how did you learn to use these?" He pointed to the weapons hanging in narrow leather sheaths from her belt. "I've never seen the like of them. What are they?"
"Their names are Crescent and Sunbeam. I designed them myself."
"You designed them?"
Furgas planted another kiss on her cheek. "She's our lead дlf, and we didn't want her to have the same weaponry as everyone else." He glowed with pride at his mistress's ingenuity. "We had to ask around a bit until we found a smith with the skill to forge the blades."
"I'm not surprised," said Tungdil, refraining from further comment. He pointed to the steep track. "We'd better get going before the bцgnilim recover from the shock."
He knew there had to be more to it than that. You don't just invent those sorts of weapons and you certainly don't wield them with such proficiency unless you've been properly trained.
He glanced at Bavragor and Boлndal, who were obviously thinking the same. None of them had any doubt that Narmora was really a warrior, an accomplished fighter who had abandoned the battlefield in favor of the stage.
Tungdil watched as Furgas looked at Narmora tenderly and drew her to him. Did she lay down her weapons for love? He would ask her when he had the chance. I bet she was a mercenary in Umilante's or Tilogorn's army, although she still looks very young…
Furgas and Narmora helped the impresario out of his oversize breeches, while Goпmgar turned his attention to the startled ponies, who, contrary to all expectations, had stood their ground throughout the fight. The inebriated Boпndil was still draped over the back of one of them, snoring.
"Listen to that racket," said Bavragor. "He's making more noise than a lumberjack in a forest."
"I can't wait to see his expression when he hears he missed a battle," said Boлndal with a wicked grin. "I bet he'll never want to drink again."
The humans and dwarves strung out in a line as they made their way up to the plateau that overlooked Mifurdania and its surrounds. Thick banks of smoke hung over the settlement and a swarm of tiny black dots surged back and forth around the walls. Nothing they saw gave them any reason to believe that the Mifurdanians would prevail against Nфd'onn's troops. Even the otherwise ebullient Rodario was distressed by the sight. Narmora stood impassively at the edge of the platform, peering down at the forest, while Furgas and the dwarves crouched by the waterfall and washed the blood from their hands.
"Where to now?" he asked, noticing that the track went no farther.
"Back down to the bottom, just as soon as we've loaded the ponies," Tungdil told him. "We stopped here on our way to Mifurdania and left our gifts for the firstlings in a cave."
"Can I give you a hand?"
"There's no need," said Tungdil, not wanting to reveal the existence of the underground network. "You should probably get some sleep. We'll need someone to sit watch for us later." He took his leave with a quick nod and edged behind the waterfall with Goпmgar, Bavragor, and Boлndal.
Shifting the ingots was every bit as onerous as Tungdil had expected. At last, after hours of hard work, the bars of gold, silver, palandium, vraccasium, and tionium were stacked safely at the top of the stairs. The sun was setting by the time the dwarves collapsed wearily on the floor, worn out from all the fetching and carrying, not to mention their earlier run-in with the bцgnilim.
They were almost asleep when an embarrassed Boпndil emerged from his drunken slumber, mortified at getting sloshed on five tankards-which in his estimation was not nearly enough. Bavragor took particular pleasure in informing him that he couldn't hold his drink.
Later, Boпndil was introduced to the players, whom he viewed with suspicion. He made a point of ignoring them, preferring to treat them coolly until they earned his respect. Not having witnessed the battle, he hadn't seen their fighting spirit and refused to be swayed by his companions' reports. Rodario could be as obliging as he liked: Boпndil was impervious to his charm. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Late Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle Soon your kingdom will be ours," a voice warned Gundrabur. The дlf was almost invisible in the darkness of the chamber. He stepped closer to the bed. "You'll lose your kingdom, as the fifthlings lost theirs."