Boлndal studied them carefully. It didn't look as though they were playing a joke on him. Heart still pounding, he recovered some of his composure and vowed never to offend the actress again.

It occurred to him that Goпmgar was supposed to be keeping watch for them, but the lookout post was empty and the sentry had vanished. The horses and ponies were all safely tethered, but a trail of footprints led away from the door.

Surely he's not daft enough to run away in a snowstorm? Boлndal took a few steps outside and was almost knocked over by a flurry of snowflakes that seemed intent on laying him out. Suddenly he spotted a figure crumpled in the snow.

"Goпmgar!" Boлndal rushed over but the artisan didn't respond. Blood was trickling from a narrow gash in his head. Boлndal carried him into the ruined temple, laid him next to the fire, and threw on a couple of extra logs.

"I…" Goпmgar teeth were chattering furiously. "I slipped."

Boлndal covered him with two blankets. He can't even pee without getting himself in a fix. Tactfully, he refrained from comment: Goпmgar had humiliated himself sufficiently already. Why Tungdil had picked the troublesome artisan was beyond him, especially with four perfectly acceptable diamond cutters to choose from. Vraccas is bound to have his reasons, he thought philosophically, as the bundle of misery slowly began to thaw. His beard, hair, and eyebrows were streaming with icy water.

Boлndal leaned over to talk to him. "Were you trying to get yourself killed out there?"

"No," came the eventual reply.

"Be more careful in the future. We need you for our mission."

"You mean the impostor needs me to help him steal the throne," the shivering artisan muttered darkly.

Boлndal didn't bother to reply: The fourthling still hadn't grasped that more was at stake than the succession, despite Tungdil's well-meaning attempts to set him straight. How can anyone be so obtuse? Everything depends on the success of our mission, but he's too stubborn to see it.

Goпmgar stopped shivering and stared straight past him toward the rear of the temple, where the marble gods were grouped. He gulped. "How many?" he whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"How many statues were here when we arrived?"

Boлndal thought for a moment. "Seven. Four big ones and three small ones."

Goпmgar closed his eyes. "There are eight of them," he hissed. "Five big ones. What are we going to do?"

"Which one wasn't there before?" Boлndal's fingers were already wrapped round the haft of his crow's beak. He tensed his muscles.

"The third from the right."

"Fine. I'll go in for the attack and shout to wake the others. Meanwhile, you grab your shield and back me up until Boпndil takes over."

"Me?"

"Who else am I supposed to ask?"

Before Goпmgar could protest, the crow's beak swung up in a half circle, its long tip speeding toward the area just above the hips where there were no bones to slow its path. The wound would be deep and deadly. Like a miniature pennant, Boлndal's plait traced the weapon's movement in the air.

"For Vraccas!" he bellowed.

The statue shattered under the force of the blow, the crow's beak smashing through the crumbling stone and dashing it to pieces. The damage to the deity, carved lovingly by humans, was absolute and irrevocable.

"Sorry," Goпmgar said contritely, "I meant third from my right." By then it was too late.

The hitherto inanimate statue suddenly came to life. Its eyes glowed lilac beneath its visor.

"Of all the dumb mistakes…" Boлndal swore under his breath and made to strike again.

His titanic adversary had other ideas. Moving with a speed that belied its size, the statue seized the dwarf's forearms in its enormous hands and lifted him clean into the air. Boлndal found himself dangling two paces above the ground. His weapon clattered to the cracked marble floor.

His brother was on his feet already. "Let go of him!" Whipping out his axes, he was about to launch himself on his colossal opponent when he was blinded by a flash of light. The glare was so bright that he had to look away.

"That's enough, Boпndil," commanded a distinctive female voice. The glare softened to a weak glow, allowing them all to see.

The speaker emerged from behind the remaining statues and joined the giant's side. Her crimson cloak was streaked with melting snow and she was holding a glowing sphere. "You can put Boлndal down now, Djerun. I think they know who we are."

"Andфkai!" cried Tungdil in astonishment, lowering his ax. "You're back!" She threw back her hood to show them her face.

"Andфkai? Andфkai the maga of Brandфkai? Andфkai the Tempestuous?" inquired Rodario. He didn't seem to notice that his cheeks were covered in fish scales and that he was scarcely looking his best. "Isn't she supposed to be dead?" He stared at her brazenly. "Confound it, you're right!" He turned to Furgas and Narmora. "Andфkai's alive. We'll have to rewrite the play."

"What play?" Slipping the globe inside her cloak, the maga strode to the fire and warmed her hands. Djerun lowered Boлndal to the floor. "What's he talking about? Who is he, anyway?"

"An impresario," Tungdil said apologetically. It took all his self-control not to bombard her with questions.

"I see. I've been immortalized in a play already, have I? I hope the actress is suitably-"

Rodario was about to launch into a flattering explanation when Boлndal rounded on the maga.

"What the blazes was your giant up to? How was I supposed to know he was spying on us? I could have killed him!"

"He wasn't spying; he was guarding your camp. And no, there was never any danger of you killing him," she informed him in a condescending tone. She took off her cloak to allow the warmth to penetrate her other clothes. Underneath she was wearing full armor, thick winter garments, and a sword. She was broad-shouldered by nature, and the layers only added to her bulk. "He was here at my request to protect you from the дlfar. They've been following you since Mifurdania."

"I knew they were hunting us," wailed Goпmgar.

Boпndil laughed. "I'd rather die in a fight with the дlfar than be saved by a beast. Leave the pointy-ears to me." He stroked the short hafts of his axes.

"I doubt you would have spotted them in time. They managed to follow you this far without you seeing them," the maga said gravely. "Djerun killed a couple of them three miles from here, but two escaped. I sent Djerun ahead in case they tired of tracking you and decided to attack."

"So it was him who rescued me in Sovereignston! I thought as much," said Tungdil.

Andфkai nodded. "I'm afraid your attacker got away."

"I wouldn't have let the pointy-eared murderer escape with his life," growled Boпndil. "My enemies never get the better of me, even if I have to chase them down."

"I'm assuming you've never been shot at by an дlf archer." She gave the dwarf a pitying look. "And anyway, warriors who run after their enemies should be careful about being trapped."

"My enemies never trap me," Boпndil said mulishly. He took up his old position atop the fallen pillar.

The extra height brought him level with the giant. He peered through the visor, curious to see what lay among the shadows, but his eyes, despite being accustomed to darkness, failed to penetrate the gloom. It was as if Djerun's helmet contained nothing but bottomless space. The others sat down in a circle around the fire.

By this time the players were wide-awake. While Narmora returned her fantastical weapons to her belt, Rodario whipped out his notepad and quill, only to discover that the ink was frozen solid. Djerun had already retreated to the rear of the temple, where he transformed himself into a statue and waited in the gloom.

Tungdil waited for everyone to settle. "What changed your mind, maga?" he asked at last. "How did you find us?" " Your new companions can be trusted, I assume?"