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!"

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.