So this is the firstling kingdom. Tungdil gazed up at the mountain's red flanks. Hewn into the lower slopes was a stronghold with nine giddy towers. The architectural style was different from that of Ogre's Death, the lines more flowing and not as angular and severe, although the building was similarly sturdy. Curiously, Borengar's masons had dispensed with ornamentation altogether.

Abandoning their ponies, they made their way onto a wooden platform at the base of a tower. "Try to keep still. It'll probably feel a bit funny at first." Balyndis threw back a lever and up they shot, racing toward the top of the tower, past a narrow spiral staircase that led up to the battlements.

On the way up, Tungdil heard the rattle of chains uncoiling and scraping over metal. Some kind of pulley system, but for passengers, not supplies. "You don't like stairs, then?"

The guardswoman smiled, and Tungdil thought she looked awfully pretty. "It's less effort like this," she said.

They drew level with the top of the tallest tower and walked out onto a parapet that led toward the main entrance via a single-span arch bridge.

On either side of the walkway was a two-hundred-pace drop. Crows and jackdaws circled overhead and the chill wind blew stronger than ever. Narmora kept a hand on her head scarf to stop it from flying away.

The vast gates, ten paces wide and fifteen paces high, remained closed as they approached. Instead, Balyndis led them into the great hall via a separate door.

Bavragor glanced around and smiled smugly. "Just as I thought…" He didn't have to elaborate: His assessment of the masonry was sufficiently clear.

The stronghold made little impression on the master mason, but Furgas, Narmora, and Rodario were blown away.

"You hear stories about vast halls hewn into the mountain, but I never thought they were true," said Furgas, lowering his voice to a reverential whisper.

"We'll have to build a new theater," the impresario told him. "A bigger stage will give the audience a better sense of the splendor." He reached out to touch the stone. "It's real, all right. I almost suspected it was cardboard. Ye gods, it's incredible, nay, miraculous/"

The copper statues and bronze friezes proved popular, especially with the dwarves, who delighted in their intricacy. The artwork commemorated battles against Tion's minions, immortalizing great firstling warriors such as Borengar, founding father of the kingdom, and other great heroes and heroines of his folk.

"This way," called their guide, hurrying ahead of the dawdling group toward the next of the kingdom's wonders, a series of breathtaking bridges.

This time Bavragor was forced to admit that in matters of engineering, the firstlings were unsurpassed. There was insufficient rock to span the plummeting chasms, so gleaming plates of metal had been added to straddle the gaps, the sides secured with wrought-iron balustrades tipped with silver.

When they came to the last of the bridges, their hobnailed boots rang out against the metal, each plate creating a different tone. The notes echoed through the cavernous passageway in a simple but pleasing tune.

"I give in," said Rodario, overwhelmed by the magnificence of it all. "We'll go back to performing idiotic farces and forget the whole idea. No illusion in the world could do justice to this."

"Nonsense," Furgas said briskly. "We can do it, but it'll cost a bit of coin."

They slowly began to thaw out, the snow and ice melting from their garments and running down their mail, leaving them feeling immensely tired but warm.

At length Balyndis came to a halt and knocked on a vast door. A shaft of gold shone through the crack, heralding the glories within.

The rectangular chamber was clad from top to bottom in beaten gold. Warm light emanated from countless candles and lamps, reflecting off the burnished walls. The statues were cast from gold, silver, vraccasium, and rare precious metals quarried from the heart of the mountain. Each gleaming figure was draped with trinkets that could be swapped around at will.

The queen was seated twenty paces away on a throne of pure steel. Guards of both sexes, all dressed in gold-plated mail, watched over her. The ceiling sparkled with ornate mosaics made of beaten silver, gold, and vraccasium tiles.

"Did I say a bit of coin?" Furgas whispered to Rodario. "I meant, a lot."

"Borengar's folk welcomes you," the queen said benevolently, signaling for them to approach.

They filed into the hall, with Tungdil at the head of the procession. He bowed courteously, then sank to one knee. The other dwarves followed, but the players contented themselves with a bow. Tungdil introduced them, not forgetting Andфkai, Djerun, and the absent twins.

"As for me," he concluded, hoping that his speech conformed to protocol, "I'm Tungdil Goldhand of Goпmdil's folk. A matter of grave importance brings us to your court."

"Thank you, Tungdil Goldhand. My name is Xamtys Stubbornstreak the Second of the clan of the Stubborn Streaks, ruler of the Red Range for thirty-two cycles. Your visit intrigues me. I have been without news of my royal cousins and their kingdoms for a good long while." Her mail was made of golden rings and she carried a four-pronged mace as a scepter. Her brown eyes regarded them keenly but kindly.

They were offered refreshments: beakers of piping-hot drink. Rodario sipped contentedly, sighing as the warmth returned to his body for the first time in orbits.

"You say you were brought here by a matter of grave importance?"

"I'm afraid it's bad news," said Tungdil, launching into an account of the danger threatening Girdlegard, the deaths of the magi, the high king's frailty, and the trouble surrounding the succession. At last he turned to the purpose of their mission.

"Which is why we're here, Your Majesty. We need you to lend us your most talented smith, a smith who can forge the blade by which Nфd'onn will fall. Help us, Queen Xamtys," he implored her. "Help us and save your folk."

The firstling queen turned her brown eyes upon him and stroked the fair down on her cheeks. Suddenly she stopped fiddling and sat up straight. "It seems from your report that Girdlegard is in danger," she said thoughtfully. "We haven't seen the other candidate, which makes me fear the worst. The дlfar are accomplished marksmen, and perhaps Gandogar's expedition wasn't blessed with such protection…"

"Pardon me, Your Majesty," Goпmgar broke in indignantly. "King Gandogar has Vraccas's blessing. He's the high king's rightful heir!"

"It isn't my place to judge," the queen said kindly before returning her attention to Tungdil. "I shall be happy to help. What better time than now to renew the bonds between our folks." She lowered her mace and pointed to Balyndis. "This is your new companion. Not only is Balyndis the firstlings' best warrior, she's also our finest smith."

"I don't mean to speak out of turn," interrupted Rodario, "but I was wondering if Her Majesty could tell us how she came to be queen. I thought the line of succession was always male…"

"The long-un has an inquisitive mind, I see. Very well, he shall have his explanation. It all began with a quarrel. Boragil, my father, valued my mother's advice, but considered her incapable of ruling the kingdom on her own. That angered my mother, who demanded to be given the opportunity to try. After much argument, it was decided that my mother should govern the firstlings' destiny for a period of fourteen orbits. It was during this time that the trolls attacked, but my mother had no intention of relinquishing the crown. Instead she marched at the head of the army and defeated the enemy with a combination of cunning and military skill. In so doing, she proved to be a more proficient ruler than my father, and when the fourteen orbits were over she reneged on their agreement and refused to step down. The clans stuck by her and that was that." She rose. "My mother died thirty-two cycles ago, and I ascended the throne."