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."

A loud cheer went up as the pair shook hands and looked each other in the eye. No one could tell that their gazes were locked in an oath of eternal enmity.

"As a sign of my good faith, I should like to suggest that we begin our crusade against evil this very moment," announced Bislipur. "Will we stand by while orcs murder and pillage before the gates of this stronghold?" He turned to the crowd and raised his voice to a rallying shout. "We must clear Ogre's Death of this plague!"

On hearing the cheers, he knew he had judged the mood right. "My messenger is heading through the tunnels to the fourthling kingdom, as I speak. He will return with five thousand of our finest warriors," he proclaimed to the astonished Balendilнn and the crowd. "Together the dwarves of Beroпn and Goпmdil will chase the orcs from these gates. United our folks will prevail!" He threw up his arms and brandished his double-bladed ax, dazzling the dwarves with reflected light. "This is our chance to realize Gundrabur's dream of a common dwarven army!"

The cheering redoubled and the mountain shook with the drumming of axes.

Balendilнn bore the treachery smilingly and gazed intently into Bislipur's hard face. You don't fool me, you devious bastard. Are the warriors meant for your protection, or are you after the high king's throne? Would you stage a coup so you can have your elven war?

Bislipur stared back, his cold eyes boring into him mercilessly. "May the hunt begin, King Balendilнn," he said, descending from the dais. Balendilнn was left to wonder who the quarry might be.

II

Enchanted Realm of Oremaira, Girdlegard, Late Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle The following morning, after a cold night that heralded the coming of winter, they loaded the ingots onto the ponies and headed west. The smoke had cleared above the deserted streets of Mifurdania and tiny black dots lay unmoving at the foot of the settlement's walls. Every dot was a corpse and they covered the area in a sea of black.

Tungdil hated Nфd'onn and the orcs more violently than ever. First Goodwater, then Greenglade, and now Mifurdania and all the other villages, hamlets, and farms: Half of Girdlegard has been razed to the ground. He spotted a cloud of dust on the horizon: The army of orcs was heading northwest. I'll do whatever it takes, he promised himself.

Much to the dwarves' disgust, their provisions for the journey consisted almost entirely of bread and dried fruit, which they were forced to eat for want of anything else. In their haste to leave Mifurdania, they had forgotten to stock up on victuals and no one was inclined to venture back. They were all the more grateful when Goпmgar found a few wild mushrooms, even though they had to eat them raw.

"Do you really mean to take them with us?" asked Boпndil, casting a quick look over his shoulder at Rodario and his companions, who were bringing up the rear.

"We'll decide when we get to the tunnel," said Tungdil.

"It's eighty miles to the next entrance, and if we can't find it, we'll continue on foot."

"On foot? Can't you buy us each a pony?" demanded Goпmgar.

Boпndil harrumphed. "A bit of exercise might be just the thing for your puny little legs. It's time you pulled yourself together and started acting like a dwarf. Even the female long-un is tougher than you."

After two orbits of marching in the pouring rain, they reached a low-lying area bounded to the north by imposing mountains-the Sovereign Stones, as they were labeled on the map. Nestled in the foothills was the human settlement of Sovereignston, which Tungdil remembered was famous for its wealth. It was the fashionable place for Weyurn's gentry to build their palatial villas and stately homes. The attraction was not so much the mountain air, but the prestige to be gained by living there-and of course, the social whirl.

"We'll stay only long enough to buy some ponies," Tungdil told his companions on approaching the gates. "It'll be cheaper and safer to look for provisions and ponies in the poorer parts of town. We'll leave the rich folk and their villas well alone."