"The rise of the Perished Land, Nфd'onn's visitation, his compact with evil-what gave you the idea?"

"I listened to the rumors, combined them with some ancient legends, and added a dash of inspiration of my own." He looked at her brightly. "Does it meet with your approval?"

"It's incredibly accurate, at least as far as Nudin's transformation is concerned."

"Really?" Rodario seemed genuinely surprised. "But then, truth is at the heart of all great art, wouldn't you say?"

"Thank you, Rodario, you can go now," Andфkai told him briskly. "And don't forget to rewrite my part in your play. I'm not dead yet."

"My dear maga, you're positively blooming," he said, turning on the charm and gazing seductively into her clear blue eyes. "No man could-"

"I'm busy," she informed him, turning back to Tungdil.

Rodario's magnificent smile was wiped off his face. His pointed beard seemed to droop in dismay. "I respect your wishes," he said in a dignified tone.

"The maga has sent the peacock packing," chuckled Bavragor, who had followed the little scene. "Poor Rodario, his magnificent feathers are trailing on the ground. I'd advise him to back off now while he's still in possession of his plumage." He rummaged around for his drinking pouch and started humming a ballad under his breath.

"No chance," said Furgas. He lay back in the snow. "When Rodario's got his eye on a woman, he never gives up. Her sternness will only encourage him." He kissed Narmora and pulled her close. "One day he'll stop playing the field and settle down."

"If he doesn't get beaten to death by a pack of angry husbands," put in Boпndil, guffawing. "He must be pretty good at running because he certainly can't fight."

After a short rest, it was time for the company to continue. Tungdil and Andфkai broke off their conversation and Djerun bent down on one knee, joining his hands to create a chair for the maga. The crestfallen Rodario was consigned to riding alone.

In the orbits that followed they battled through Weyurn's snowdrifts, sometimes struggling to find a safe path. Whenever the lead horse sank up to its belly, they knew for certain that the ponies would never get through. Djerun, burdened with the weight of the maga, spent much of his time hip-deep in cold snow.

On several occasions they were forced to retrace their steps and seek another route, but at last the Red Range was firmly in their sights. The mountains towered before them, guiding them on their way, the red slopes blazing like fire whenever the winter sun scored a hard-fought victory against the somber clouds.

At last they reached the mouth of a narrow gully that meandered toward a blood-red peak. The entrance to the gully was sealed by a wall, as were each of its five sweeping curves. The firstlings had taken extensive precautions to secure their kingdom against unwanted guests.

"Well, we made it," Tungdil said happily. He rubbed his beard, dislodging a collection of tiny icicles that had formed beneath his nose. He was tired, his feet were numb, he felt cold to the core, and he couldn't risk touching his chain mail for fear that his hand would stick to the frozen steel. It's nothing a tankard of dwarven beer won't fix. "Look," he told them, "there's the entrance."

The twins followed his gaze, taking note of the six stone barriers in their path. "It makes you wonder what all the fortifications are for," said Boлndal, giving voice to their concern. His plaited hair was wrapped around his neck like a scarf to protect him from the cold. "Anyone would think Tion's hordes were approaching from this side and not the western pass."

"My dear fellows, couldn't we save the discussion for another warmer time?" pleaded the shivering impresario. "I'm in danger of losing my toes to frostbite." He too was growing stalactites from his nose.

Bavragor looked at him scornfully. "You're as bad as a girl-or as bad as Shimmerbeard, which comes to the same thing."

"Take another slug of brandy," Goпmgar hissed angrily. "With any luck, you'll trip over and freeze to death. I've got a feeling you won't be much use to us anyway. With your shaky hands, it'll be a miracle if the spurs ever fit."

"I'm surprised that someone as yellow-bellied as you can feel anything except the warm sensation in your pants," Bavragor said scathingly, not bothering to look round.

Following Boлndal's advice, they fanned out in an arc formation, weapons at the ready, and rode cautiously into the gully toward the first of the defenses, forty paces away. The wall of weathered stone rose high into the wintry sky, the only way past it through a metal door inscribed with runes. The bricks themselves were just roughly hewn blocks of stone; the firstlings hadn't lavished much attention on the masonry.

Tungdil spelled out the runes, the metal glowed, and the door swung open, allowing them to pass. "I wish everything were that easy. If it were all down to metalwork and reading, Nфd'onn would soon be dead." The company set off again.

"Reading doesn't come naturally to everyone," said Boлndal from the back of the procession. "It's just as well we've got a scholar with us. Without your-" The links of his mail shirt tinkled softly and he stopped, eyes widening in alarm. "W-what in the name of Vraccas…" he stammered, reaching behind him.

A black arrow was embedded in his back. Before he could alert the others, a second missile sang toward him, passing through his hand, piercing his armor, and tunneling into his back. By the time it came to a halt, the arrowhead had passed right through him and was protruding from his chest. Boлndal groaned and slid out of the saddle.

"Wait!" the impresario shouted frantically, calling to his companions to stop. He tugged on the reins and felt a rush of air near his throat. The arrow whizzed past him and hit his horse in the neck. With a loud whinny, the animal crashed to the ground, sending the impresario tumbling through the snow.

Djerun whipped round, only to be hit. The long arrow missed Andфkai and pierced Djerun's armor with a curious sound. Even now, the giant gave no audible sign of pain. Without hesitating, he turned away from the archer, putting himself between the maga and their foe. Andфkai cursed volubly and invoked a spell.

"What is it?" cried Furgas, who was staring in confusion with the remainder of the group.

"Over there!" Narmora pointed to a tall, fair-haired figure at the mouth of the gully. Even as they looked, the дlf nocked a fifth arrow to his bow. It hurtled toward them, this time heading straight for Tungdil.

Hurrying to escape the feathered missile, he caught his foot in the stirrups and was trapped. Suddenly he was out of time. The arrow was only a finger length away when it stopped in midflight, suspended in the air. Its tip was pointed directly at his heart. Tungdil shuddered.

"Quick, get Boлndal out of here," the maga panted. "We need to ride on. I can't maintain the charm for much longer."

Boпndil's eyes flashed dangerously. "Accursed дlfar!" he shrieked dementedly. "Look, there's another one! Leave them to me!" He made to spur on his pony.

"Stop!" Tungdil peered at the mouth of the valley. Two дlfar were standing side by side, waiting for the spell to break. "They'll shoot you dead as soon as you leave the maga's protection. Think of your brother, not revenge." He made a grab for Boпndil's reins.

"Out of my way!" raged Ireheart, staring at him without a glimmer of recognition. He raised his arm to strike.

"No, Boпndil!" shouted his brother, kneeling in the crimson snow. "You can't let it happen again!" He tried to lever himself up with his crow's beak, but one hand was still pinned to his back by the arrow. Eyes watering with pain, he mumbled something and keeled over.

Boпndil let out a terrible howl and leaped from the saddle. "Please, Vraccas, he can't be dead. He just can't." He crouched beside him. "His heart's still beating," he told them, breaking off the shafts of the arrows and gathering his brother into his arms. "We need to get him to the stronghold."