"Nothing you can do will stop us," said a second дlf, emerging from the shadows and stooping over the bed. Black runes were tattooed across his face, making his pale skin appear translucent and lending him a menacing air. "You're dying, Gundrabur. Vraccas will gather you to his eternal smithy, where you can weep and wail all you like."
"No one will remember you," a third дlf told him, stepping noiselessly out of the darkness and stopping at the foot of his bed. "You're old and weak, a high king who waited until his dying cycle to do something worthwhile and failed in all his endeavors." He broke off, raising his violet eyes to the ceiling and listening intently. "Do you hear that?" A chisel was tapping away at the rock. "The secondlings are expunging your name from their annals. You failed them, Gundrabur." Even as he spoke, the tapping and hammering intensified so that Gundrabur could hear a thousand chisels working in unison, chipping away at his skull. "Nothing will remain of your works. Yours will be the Nameless Era that brought humiliation and defeat on the dwarves. You are to blame for their destruction, Gundrabur. You are to-"
"Gundrabur! Gundrabur!"
The дlfar whirled round and turned to face the door. Light flooded into the chamber.
"We'll be back," they told him, melting into a darkness so complete that not even Gundrabur's dwarven eyes could fathom it.
"Gundrabur!"
The high king woke with a start. His heart was pounding and it took a moment for him to find his bearings. He covered his face with his hands and groaned.
Balendilнn was sitting on the edge of the royal bed, mopping the sweat from his sovereign's brow. He wrung the cloth into a bowl that was resting on Gundrabur's chest and wobbling slightly as it rose and fell. "Your Majesty was having a nightmare," he said, pressing his hand.
"They're waiting for me," whispered Gundrabur. He looked even older than usual, a time-wizened dwarf so frail and ancient that he was in danger of being swamped by the sheets. He gave Balendilнn a short, breathless account of his dream. "They were right," he sighed. "I'm not going to leave this bed alive. I wanted to die fighting Nфd'onn, or at the very least to cleave one more orcish skull." He tried to laugh, but it came out as a choke. "If it weren't for this confounded weakness…"
Balendilнn was in no doubt as to what had prompted Gundrabur's decline. He himself had been sick for three orbits following their interview with Bislipur. The beer that had been brought to them after the fourthling's departure had given Balendilнn an upset stomach and a temperature, but his constitution was sturdy enough to withstand the shock. The elderly king was unlikely to recover.
It had come to light that the attendant who had served the refreshments had collided with Bislipur on his way to the hall. There was no doubt that Bislipur had a koboldlike talent for skulduggery, but Balendilнn couldn't accuse him of anything without proof.
He won't get away with it this time. Poisoning Gundrabur's beer is murder-murder and high treason. As soon as evidence came to light of Bislipur's wrongdoings, Balendilнn was determined to put him on trial and execute him for his crimes. And if the fourthling didn't trip up of his own accord, the counselor intended to help him fall.
"I have no other heir but you, Balendilнn. Be a strong leader to our folk. Serve them better than I did."
Balendilнn dabbed at the beads of sweat on his brow. "You served the secondlings well," he told him. "You were a good king and you still are."
Tears welled in Gundrabur's eyes. "I should like to go to the High Pass, where I fought my proudest battles."
"Your Majesty, that's not wise. An excursion like that could kill you."
"If I die, it is Vraccas's will and you shall take my place." He lifted the bowl from his chest and sat up. "Fetch me my ax and armor," he ordered, becoming the dwarves' stately ruler as he donned his battle dress: leather jerkin, leather breeches, a light knee-length tunic of mail, and a bejeweled aventail, then helmet, gloves, and armored boots. Gathering his ax, the haft of which was as long as his legs, he hobbled to the door.
His counselor pleaded with him to reconsider, but Gundrabur had made up his mind and was as obstinate as any dwarf.
Together they marched through the passageways of the stronghold, Balendilнn guiding the high king and steadying him during the frequent pauses after every flight of steps. At length they reached the defenses built by their ancestors to keep out the waves of invading orcs and other beasts and made their way to the highest parapet.
Groaning with effort, Gundrabur sat down on a ledge between two merlons. His hands and arms were trembling and his face was covered in a sheen of perspiration, but he was content. A light southerly wind blew in, ruffling his almost transparent white hair, and he closed his eyes.
"I expect you think Bislipur put something in my beer," he said. "You're probably right. He'll go to any lengths to achieve his goals, but you'll never defeat him by responding in kind. Don't play him at his own game, Balendilнn, or he'll drag you down to his level."
Balendilнn drew closer and looked the monarch in the eye. "What would you have me do? Is it wrong to fight fire with fire?"
"Bislipur's mask will slip, and when it does, you must be there to expose his duplicity. When the truth is out, even his closest friends will turn against him, but until then you must bide your time. If you speak too soon, the fourthlings will accuse you of troublemaking and slander. Fires are best fought with water: It puts out the flames without adding to the blaze." Gundrabur's cloudy eyes settled on his heir. "Be like water, Balendilнn, not for me, but for the sake of our folks." He gazed down at the trench, surveying the bleached bones of the countless creatures who had died there. "Not a single orc entered our stronghold during my reign," he murmured, not without a hint of pride. "We defended Girdlegard against Tion's minions, and now you must protect it from the threat within."
There was a short silence as he took in the splendor of the stronghold's defenses; then he sniffed the air quizzically.
"Is this your doing, my loyal friend?" he whispered gratefully. "Am I to die in battle after all?"
At that moment the guards on the battlements spotted the advancing beasts and sounded the alarm. The gates of the stronghold flew open as the echoing blare of the bugles called the dwarves to arms. Warriors left their stations at the foot of the ramparts and streamed up the stairways to the battlements.
Balendilнn stared at the high king's countenance. He looked visibly younger. The foul stench of the approaching orcs was fanning the flames of his inner furnace, steadying his hands and sharpening his sight.
"Lower the bridge," came the order from Gundrabur. He sprang to his feet. Moments earlier, his legs had trembled under the weight of his mail, but now they bore him with ease, and he seemed to have gained a few finger lengths in height. "Let's see whether the orcs have learned anything about fighting over all these cycles. I'll warrant they can't scare this old dwarf."
The portcullis lifted, pillars rose from the base of the trench, and the first slabs of stone were lowered to form a bridge across the trench. Already five hundred dwarves had formed a guard around their king.
Balendilнn tried one last time to dissuade him. "I'm begging you, Gundrabur, you'll be killed-"
The elderly monarch patted his shoulder reassuringly, then took his hand and gripped it firmly. "My loyal friend, I would rather die like this than have the spirit sucked out of me by poison. Bislipur shan't have the satisfaction of ending my life." He clasped Balendilнn to him. "I will die a glorious death, a death befitting a secondling king. History will remember me kindly." He stepped back and looked solemnly at his counselor and friend. "The first ten orcs that fall by my ax will be vengeance for your arm. Farewell, Balendilнn. We'll meet again in Vraccas's smithy." With a smile, he turned and faced his troops. "Warriors of Beroпn," he cried, his voice traveling through the stronghold and echoing against the rock, "let us fight together and defend our kingdom. For Ogre's Death and Girdlegard!"