They tied the unconscious Boлndal to his startled pony and dragged the pair of them toward the next set of gates.

Tungdil felt a knot of fear in his stomach when he saw the trail of blood in the fresh white snow. Even warriors aren't safe on a mission like this.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. The fair-haired дlf looked remarkably like Sinthoras. Tungdil thought back to their last encounter in the desert village. Somehow, Sinthoras must have survived Djerun's attack. The tenacious дlf had returned to avenge himself and his mistress, whom the twins had slain in Greenglade.

Sinthoras yanked something from his neck, wound it around an arrow, and took aim. There were 250 paces between the archer and his target, but Tungdil didn't doubt for a second that the deadly missile would cover the distance and more. The дlf released the string and a moment later a second shot followed from his companion's bow.

"Look out!" Tungdil yelled to the others, promptly losing sight of the arrows, which were speeding toward them at an impossible rate.

The air crackled as the first arrow hit Andфkai's protective shield, ripping through the magic barrier and allowing the second arrow to embed itself in Djerun's back.

This time a dull moan sounded from the visor as the arrow penetrated the giant's armor and a jet of yellow fluid spurted from the wound. It was as if the tip had lanced a festering blister.

Tungdil had seen the substance once before in Sovereignston when Djerun had saved his life. He came to my aid and got hurt in the process. The giant swayed, shook his head sluggishly, and walked on, his pace considerably slowed. "We need to keep moving!" someone shouted.

They hurried on, running or riding accordingly, toward the second set of gates. Tungdil gave the command, they slipped through, and the door closed behind them; they no longer felt quite so exposed.

"Hurry!" shouted Boпndil, spurred on by the circle of blood spreading from his brother and soaking the pony's coat.

Meanwhile, the fluid seeping from Djerun's wound was turning from yellow to dark gray and his movements were increasingly labored.

They scrambled down the gentle slope toward the third set of gates. Man, dwarf, or pony, it made no difference; they were floundering to their waists in snow.

The landscape reminded Tungdil of a hill near Lot-Ionan's vaults where he used to go sledding with Frala and Sunja. He had an idea. Snatching the shield away from Goпmgar, he turned it over and laid it flat. "Put Boлndal on top. You'll get there faster like this."

They placed the wounded dwarf on the shield, his brother squatted next to him, and the pair of them swooped down the white slope, speeding toward the third door, which opened mysteriously as they approached.

The smooth underside of the shield raced over the snow, gathering speed all the time, but Boпndil could neither steer nor brake. He looked up to find himself heading straight for a group of sentries who had gathered in the gateway, weapons at the ready.

Tungdil cupped his hands to his mouth. "We're from the secondling kingdom," he bellowed, his warm breath hanging in the air. "In the name of Vraccas, lower your axes!"

The firstlings recognized that the intruders were dwarves and stepped aside just in time. The strange craft hurtled past, spraying glistening snow in all directions. Incredibly, no one was hurt.

Panting and coughing, the rest of the company sprinted to the gates, only to be stopped by the guards. Dressed from head to toe in armor and wrapped up warmly against the cold, the firstlings looked at them suspiciously through a narrow chink in their cladding of metal and fur. They leveled their spears, axes, and war hammers at the ragged group.

"May Vraccas our creator bless you and may the flames of your furnace never die. My name is Tungdil Goldhand," he introduced himself, gasping for breath and glancing back to check for дlfar. "These are my friends and companions. We were sent here by the dwarven assembly on a mission regarding the safety of Girdlegard. I need to speak with your king."

The thicket of metal parted to reveal a dwarf in chain mail, leather breeches, and a particularly striking cloak of white fur. "Many cycles have passed since we were visited by our cousins from the other ranges. Call me cynical, but isn't it strange that a collection of dwarves and long-uns should enter our kingdom just as Girdlegard is being threatened by the Perished Land?" The voice was unusually high-pitched for that of a man.

"A fine sort of welcome this is!" growled Bavragor. He took a step forward, towering over the speaker by at least a head. "Look here, dwarf-with-no-name, I'm Bavragor Hammerfist of the clan of the Hammer Fists, a child of the Smith, a descendant of Beroпn, and your equal in merit and birth. Is this what the firstlings' hospitality has come to?"

"Now, that's what I call a proper dwarven voice," said the other. The scarf was pulled away, unmasking the speaker's identity.

Tungdil gasped in surprise. The face looked distinctly feminine. There was no beard, the features were soft and delicate, and the cheeks were covered in soft down that grew thicker and darker toward the hairline.

"My name is Balyndis Steelfinger of the clan of the Steel Fingers," she told them, not in the least bit intimidated. "I'm in charge of these gates, and I make no apology for vetting our visitors before I let them in."

IV

Borengar's Folk, Firstling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle It's a woman," said Bavragor, clearly nonplussed.

"Oh, well spotted, Master Hammerfist," she teased smilingly. "What sharp eyes, I mean, eye, you have!" Turning to her guards, she gave orders for the injured Boлndal to be taken care of. Four firstlings shouldered the shield and carried it like a stretcher to the next set of gates. After waiting for Tungdil to nod his assent, Boпndil hurried after them.

"The rest of you come with me. Her Majesty will be waiting in the great hall." The guardswoman looked Tungdil up and down curiously, then turned and led the way. No sooner had Tungdil warned her about the дlfar than she instructed a group of warriors to take up position by the trebuchets and ballistae on the third rampart.

"What prompted you to build the defenses?" he asked.

"Many cycles ago we had a problem with trolls. Tion tried to sneak them in through the back entrance. Our forefathers built the walls to keep them at bay and eventually the beasts were defeated." She glanced up at the sentry, who gave the all clear. "Looks like the дlfar have retreated. Why were they following you?"

"That's something I'll have to discuss with your queen," said Tungdil, lowering his eyes to avoid her probing stare.

"A dwarven queen!" exclaimed Rodario. "I wonder how the women came to wear the breeches." He sighed. "If only my blasted ink hadn't frozen. I'm never going to remember it all. Was it a female revolution?"

Balyndis laughed. "A revolution? No, it's all very peaceable here. I thought men and women always shared the work."

Djerun had stopped carrying Andфkai and was stumbling at the back of the group. On reaching the final set of gates, he came to a halt and leaned against the wall.

He's badly hurt, thought Tungdil in alarm. In a way, he felt responsible because the giant had sustained his original injury in Sovereignston while fighting on his behalf.

"It's not far now," the guardswoman reassured them. "I'll send for our healers as soon as we're inside." It didn't seem to occur to her that Djerun was far taller than any ordinary man.

"That won't be necessary," Andфkai said quickly. "You go ahead, and I'll see to his injuries. He's too far gone for a physician; only my art can save him." The giant slid down the wall and slumped into the snow. Andфkai knelt beside him. She was exhausted from her confrontation with the дlfar, but she summoned the last of her strength. "We'll catch up with you," she said sharply. "Just go!" Her companions complied.