A cheer went up among the secondling warriors who knew nothing of their monarch's illness and rejoiced to see him fighting at their side.
We'll meet again. Balendilнn felt a lump in his throat as he watched his friend stride majestically through the gates and across the bridge, shielded by the secondlings' arrows and catapults until he and his warriors were close enough to engage their orcish foes.
Balendilнn didn't have long to wait until a cry went up among the horrified warriors that Gundrabur had fallen. It was then that he decided to ignore the late king's advice and see to it that Bislipur died. Dwarves are no friends of water, he thought grimly. Fire is our element.
On the fifth orbit after the high king's passing, the taverns, quarries, and workshops of the secondling kingdom were still closed. Thousands of dwarves from the seventeen clans of Beroпn's folk had gathered in the funeral hall whose vast pillars towered so high and dwindled into the distance.
The focal point was a stone sarcophagus, hewn by the secondlings' finest masons and decorated with wondrous carvings commemorating Gundrabur's glorious deeds, not least his last battle at the High Pass where the orcs had been routed.
Carved into the lid of the coffin was a perfect likeness of the monarch in his younger years. The marble Gundrabur was dressed in his finest armor, his right hand clasping the haft of his ax.
Even those at the back of the hall could see the sculpted body resting on the dais, high above the heads of the crowd. Slender rays of sunshine slanted through chinks in the ceiling, converging on the coffin from all points of the compass and bathing the effigy in iridescent light.
The moment of parting has come. Balendilнn ascended the steps and stopped at the high king's feet. Kneeling down, he lowered his head and paid his respects to the fallen monarch. Then he got up and surveyed the secondlings for a final time before he was appointed king.
"Gundrabur sensed the invaders before they were spotted from the watchtowers. He was always the first to detect our enemies and preserve us from harm." As he spoke, he found himself looking at Bislipur, who was standing with the fourthling delegates at the edge of the crowd. Not even Gandogar's scheming adviser could excuse himself from an occasion such as this. "Our king was called to Vraccas before he could realize his dream of a united dwarven assembly, but he took the first step toward creating a new and stronger union of the folks. From this moment on, his goals will be mine, and I swear in the name of Vraccas to complete his work before I die."
Banging the hafts of their axes against the floor, the secondlings signaled their approval. A low roll of thunder rumbled through the mountain.
Balendilнn was too choked with emotion to say anything further, so he walked to the head of the coffin, kissed the brow of the marble king, bowed again, and left the dais.
With that, fifty dwarves hurried over and hooked long poles into the metal rings subtly incorporated into the coffin's design. As soon as the order was given, they lifted the coffin, carried it from the dais, and bore it silently past the rows of dwarves, who bowed a final time as their dead monarch was taken to his resting place in the crypt of kings.
Balendilнn walked behind the coffin. He would watch over Gundrabur's body during the long hours of the night, ending his vigil in the morning, when he would leave the crypt with the secondling crown. In time, he too would be laid to rest with the rulers of his folk.
From the corner of his eye he spotted Bislipur pushing his way to the front of the crowd. The fourthling's gaze was fixed on him as if to read his thoughts and divine the nature of the vengeance that Balendilнn had in mind. You are right to fear me, Bislipur. Your crimes won't go unpunished. Looking straight ahead, Balendilнn didn't let on that he had seen the brawny dwarf.
At length the pallbearers entered the crypt of kings and placed the coffin on its basalt stand. High above, an opening had been cut out of the mountain, allowing the light of Girdlegard to shine on Gundrabur's marble face. The attendants filed out of the vast crypt that housed the mortal remains of the secondling kings, twenty-six in all.
Balendilнn walked to the far end of the vault, placed the haft of his ax on the floor, and leaned on the ax head. His gaze fell on the sculpted countenance of his friend and sovereign. Fare you well, Gundrabur. As the moments passed, he too became stone, insensible to the passing of time. His eyes stared blankly at the coffin, while his mind relinquished all thought and drifted on a sea of sorrow.
At times it seemed to him that voices were speaking to him in ghostly whispers, but he understood nothing of what they said.
According to secondling legend, Vraccas would open the eternal smithy and release the spirits of the dead kings, who would visit the prospective monarch and pass judgment on his worth. In some cases, the heir to the throne entered the vault and was never seen again. Balendilнn was spared such a fate.
The next morning, tired, aching, and bleary-eyed, he left the crypt to find the waiting dwarves exactly where he had left them many hours before. The secondlings bowed and drummed their axes against the floor, hailing their new king and offering him beer, bread, and ham to restore his strength.
Balendilнn took a few mouthfuls, washed them down, and ascended the dais where Gundrabur's coffin had lain.
"I did not seek this office," he said in a loud, clear voice. "It was my hope that Gundrabur would reign for another hundred cycles so I could serve him loyally, but Vraccas decided otherwise. Fourteen orcs died by Gundrabur's ax and four arrows pierced his flesh before our king was gathered to the eternal smithy." His gaze swept the hall. "He named me as his successor, and so I ask you: Will you have me as your king?"
The crowd chorused a resounding "aye," wooden hafts pounded the stone, and Balendilнn realized with a rush of emotion that the secondlings were chanting his name.
"Beroпn's folk has chosen. Let us never forget Gundrabur or his dream of uniting our kin. It is our shared duty, irrespective of clan or folk, to defend Girdlegard against all harm." His eyes sought Bislipur and found him where he had been standing before. "Join me," he said, extending his hand.
The startled Bislipur limped up the steps to the dais and greeted the new monarch with a nod. His cold brown eyes stared at him uncertainly.
"The death of Gundrabur has robbed our folks of their high king. The succession will not be decided until the fifth and final challenge is complete. As I'm sure you know, Bislipur and I have not seen eye to eye, but I cannot allow a rift to open between our folks. Friendship must not be turned to enmity, which is why I solemnly swear to put aside our differences until one or the other of the candidates has returned." He drew himself up to his full height. "When dwarf fights dwarf, only our enemies stand to gain. The new high king will set our course and we will obey his orders and submit to his will." Balendilнn held out his hand to Bislipur. "Let us shake on it."
His antagonist had no choice but to comply. To Balendilнn's astonishment, he seemed neither angry nor resentful.
"I swear that neither of us will promote our separate causes until the new high king has returned," he promised, choosing his words with care. "We may disagree on certain matters, but we share a common enemy: evil in all its forms. As dwarves, we are committed to wiping out evil wherever it occurs and we shall not tire in our duty."