"They helped us get here. You can trust them."

Boпndil grunted disapprovingly from his perch.

"You can trust us with your lives," Rodario declared expansively, seizing the opportunity to introduce the troupe in characteristically florid style. "We know all about Keenfire, of course. In fact," he said, waving his arms extravagantly, "we rescued these future heroes, these champions of legends as yet unwritten, from a fate most foul by plucking them from the claws and swords of a pack of vicious bцgnilim. We're completely reliable, most Estimable Maga."

Under normal circumstances his smile had the power to melt the thickest ice and soften the hardest stone, but this time it failed: Andфkai was unmoved.

"You made me come back," she said accusingly, glaring at Tungdil. "It's your fault for hounding me about my duty. Everything you said kept running through my head until I couldn't take it any longer. My conscience wouldn't let me abandon Girdlegard and so I returned. Besides, there are a thousand reasons why Nфd'onn deserves to die."

Her face seemed less severe in the flickering light of the fire, her features somehow softer, more feminine. Rodario couldn't take his eyes off her and was hanging on her every word. He seemed to regard her forbidding charm and stern manner as a challenge to his seductive powers.

"So I went back to Ogre's Death and took another look at the passage that I hadn't been able to make sense of. You remember, don't you? The only remaining uncertainty in the plan…" Gazing into the flames, she motioned with her hand, marshaling the sparks into the script of the common tongue. One by one the words flared up and faded in an instant.

Rodario read them aloud: "Keenfire must be forged by the undergroundlings, then wielded by the undergroundlings' foe." He snatched up a piece of charred wood. "I need to write it down before I forget. What use is a quill without ink? I could kick myself for letting it freeze."

"You write, and I'll kick," Bavragor said magnanimously.

"The gods save me from your hulking boots," exclaimed Rodario, shooing him away. "Wait and see, we'll have the best play ever performed in Girdlegard!" His hand moved busily across the page. "They'll be fighting to get through the door!" He was about to launch into another effusive speech, but Furgas jabbed him in the ribs.

"The undergroundlings' foe," murmured Tungdil, unable to mask his disappointment. What could it mean?

Boлndal couldn't make sense of it either. "We've got no shortage of foes. Ogres, for example"-he cast a sideways glance at Djerun-"not to mention orcs, bцgnilim, and all the other beasts created by Tion to plague the kingdoms of men, elves, and dwarves. Come on, scholar, surely you can think of something. A bit of book-learning might be exactly what we need."

Bavragor took a swig of his brandy. "We could have a bit of fun with this. Why don't we catch an orc and torture him until he agrees to clobber Nфd'onn? Or maybe we could talk an ogre into taking a swipe at him with our ax."

"I guess that's the end of the expedition, then," said Goпmgar, readily accepting defeat. He suddenly paled. "Who's going to tell the others? King Gandogar doesn't know!"

Tungdil expelled his breath in a long sigh. "Are you absolutely sure of the meaning?" he asked slowly.

The maga nodded. "I'm afraid so. I read it over and over again."

"Do you have any suggestions?" He glanced at Djerun.

She smiled. "Djerun isn't your foe, if that's what you're thinking. He can't do it."

Tungdil scratched his beard, which had grown to something approaching its former length. "Then we're facing a considerable obstacle." He looked into the faces of his companions. "I don't know what to suggest." He lay down and pulled up his blanket. "Maybe Vraccas will send me some inspiration in the night. Get some rest; we're bound to need our strength for whatever lies ahead."

They settled down by the fire while Djerun kept watch.

I have to think of something. I'm in charge, thought Tungdil, tossing and turning restlessly. If I don't come up with a solution to the riddle, Girdlegard will be doomed. It wasn't the sort of thought that would lull anyone to sleep.

Tungdil still hadn't received divine inspiration by the time they broke camp at first light. They decided to carry on regardless: With a bit of luck, one of them would think of something on the way, and if not, there was always a chance that the firstlings would be able to help.

We'll get there in the end, Tungdil told himself firmly, slipping his freshly oiled and rust-free mail shirt over his leather jerkin.

Andфkai rode with Rodario. The impresario had imagined himself sitting behind her on the saddle, with his arms wrapped chivalrously around her waist, but she insisted on riding bareback to give them both more space. Not only that, she forced him to take his place in front of her while she held the reins-much to Furgas's amusement.

More snow had fallen overnight, adding to the existing coating by the length of a forearm or so. The horses had to plow a path for the short-legged ponies to follow, and so they proceeded in single file with Djerun trudging behind them. From a distance it looked as if one of the marble deities had left the tedium of the temple and joined the procession instead.

The going was tough for the unusual band of travelers. Winter slowed their progress considerably, and Tungdil realized the advantage of traveling underground. They needed to get to the Gray Range as fast as possible, and by foot, or even on horseback, the journey would take too long. In a week, they advanced two hundred miles, a distance that could be covered in one or two orbits on the underground rail.

That afternoon, while they rested their horses, he pestered Andфkai to tell him how she had tracked the company down.

"It was no great challenge," she said dryly. "I left the Outer Lands, went back to Ogre's Death, and persuaded the secondlings to show me the tunnels. We came up near Mifurdania, Djerun found your tracks, and the rest was easy. People tend to notice a group of traveling dwarves. It wouldn't have been hard for the дlfar to find you either."

Tungdil glanced at Narmora, who was helping Furgas shovel snow into a pan and melt it over the fire.

The maga's gaze settled on Rodario. "These actors… How did you meet them?" Tungdil recounted the story. "Aha," laughed the maga on hearing how Narmora had got them out of Mifurdania by picking the locks, "so she's a woman of many talents. Have you seen their play?'

"I certainly have! The production was a sellout. It's called The Truth About Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty and the Grisly Circumstances Leading to His Reincarnation as Nфd'onn the Doublefold and Resulting in Girdlegard's Demise.'"

"A snappy title," she observed.

For the first time Tungdil saw the corners of her mouth turn upward and it occurred to him that smiling suited her better than her usual stern expression. Rodario chose precisely that moment to look over his shoulder and naturally assumed that the friendly smile was meant for him. He beamed back delightedly.

"And that's the star of the show, the fabulous Rodario. According to the others, he keeps a mistress in every town."

"I don't doubt it. Who plays me?"

"I'm afraid I left early, Estimable Maga. I had to chase a thief." He beckoned to Rodario. "You'll have to ask him."

The impresario bounded over to be cross-examined by the maga. "My players are the most accomplished in all Girdlegard. Your role was played by the talented Narmora, who alone could emulate your prowess with a sword." At her request he embarked on an explanation of the plot, but she cut him short when he was halfway through.