"I thank Her Majesty for indulging a humble dramatist's curiosity. I shall write her a magnificent part in my play."

An attendant entered the hall with news that Boлndal was seriously hurt. The maga had rushed to his bedside and was doing her best to treat his wounds.

The three dwarves were filled with dread.

"Someone will show you to your quarters so you can get some rest. Our tailors will provide you with warm clothes and fur coats to keep out the cold. I assume you mean to continue your journey tomorrow?" She didn't wait for a response. "In any event, I'll show you the way to the tunnels once you've recovered your strength."

"You know about the tunnels?" Tungdil said, surprised. He was so tired that he could barely suppress his yawns. "Why haven't you used them?"

"My mother wasn't sure what the other rulers would think about a dwarven queen. She kept quiet for fear of conflict and I did the same."

"In that case, Your Majesty, you must send a delegation to Ogre's Death," Tungdil said urgently. "In the name of the assembly, I invite you to join the other rulers and chieftains in deciding our future. You spoke of renewing the bonds between the folks; this is your chance."

"The situation is every bit as serious as he says," Rodario seconded him. "The Perished Land is a formidable foe. I've seen with my own eyes what the orcs have done to Girdlegard, and without your kinsfolk, Nфd'onn will prevail. Speak to the other folks and don't worry about what they might say. This isn't a time for caution."

Tungdil looked at him gratefully. Who would have thought it?

Xamtys tapped her scepter firmly against her throne. "As soon as you and your company have commenced your journey to the Gray Range, I shall lead a delegation of firstlings to Ogre's Death and the folks shall be reunited after many long cycles." She smiled at them munificently. "You are right: There is no time to lose."

I know you're only trying to help," said Boлndal, gritting his teeth with pain, "but I don't want your magic. The wounds will get better by themselves."

The firstlings had laid him in a warm chamber, removed his mail, and exposed the afflicted flesh. He had already bled through the first set of bandages and was waiting for the next.

Andфkai, her face as ashen as her patient's, was leaning over him, inspecting the damage. His body was struggling to cope with the puncture wounds: Some of his internal organs had been damaged and he was rapidly losing blood. "I know a great deal about injuries, and quite frankly, I can't share your optimism," she said candidly, her blue eyes clouded with concern. "Put aside your pride, Boлndal, and think of the mission."

"Pride? This isn't about pride!" protested his brother from across the bed. He was determined to keep an eye on things and had refused all offers of refreshment, barely stopping to take off his coat. "It's your sorcery that's the problem. It's not right! Your wretched Samusin might conjure some devilry into his soul."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

Boлndal closed his eyes, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Leave…me…alone!"

"By rights you should be dead," she said coolly. "If it weren't for your dwarven constitution, you wouldn't have made it this far. Sheer bloody-mindedness is keeping you going, but your life is in the balance. I need to help while I still have the power. My magic is waning."

Boлndal was in no state to answer. His brother nodded to the door. "Save your hocus-pocus for your own patient, maga. We dwarves can take care of ourselves."

Andфkai got up, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword, and walked silently to the door.

"He didn't mean to offend you," Boлndal whispered. "We appreciate your offer, really we do, but Vraccas will see me through this."

Andфkai flung her cloak over her shoulders. "I hope for your sake that he does." The door slammed and silence descended on the chamber.

"Perhaps she's right…" ventured Boлndal.

"That's enough," Boпndil shushed him. "Vraccas has seen your plight and he'll keep you alive for many more cycles. If either of us deserves to die, it won't be you, so stop fussing and get some rest." He gave his brother another sip of water and hurried to see why the physicians were taking so long with the dressings.

His armor seemed a thousand times heavier than usual and his legs were bowing beneath the overwhelming weight. All he could think about was his brother. "Vraccas be with him," he muttered, remembering Boлndal's deathly pale face. His twin was languishing on the threshold of the eternal smithy and what the maga had said about dwarven resilience and stubbornness was true: A human would never have survived such injuries, and whether or not a dwarf could withstand them, only time would tell.

On his way down the corridor, he bumped into Tungdil, who was hurrying to visit the wounded dwarf. "How is he?" Tungdil asked anxiously.

"Sleeping. He needs new bandages. The first lot are drenched already," said the warrior, visibly distressed. The crazed spark in his eyes had given way to profound concern.

"What about Andфkai? Can't she do anything for him?"

"We don't want her sort of help," Boпndil shut him off. "I always said magic was no good, but Samusin's magic is worse." He hurried away, calling out to the physicians, who came running with bandages.

Tungdil knew it was pointless to argue; the twins had made up their minds. Determination was a virtue, whereas intransigence…Boлndal would rather die than he healed by the maga.

He tiptoed into the chamber and saw Boлndal lying waxen-faced in the bed, seemingly dead but for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The physicians washed away the dried blood and carefully sewed the gaping flesh together, then applied a compress of moss to ease the pain.

"We'll have to go on without him," Tungdil said softly. "He won't last more than a hundred paces in his present state."

"I'll be fine, scholar," came a faint but determined whisper from the bed. Boлndal looked at him pleadingly and readied for his hand. "Another few orbits, and I'll be back on my feel. It's just a couple of scratches, that's all."

Tungdil glanced at one of the physicians, who promptly shook his head. "It's out of the question. The wounds are deeper than they look and there's the internal damage to consider. Any movement will make things worse and he'll die in agony. He's not fit to go anywhere."

"I'm sorry, Boлndal," Tungdil told him, heavy-hearted, "but you have to stay here and rest. You've done your bit for now; just be sure you're back with us when it comes to the great battle against Nфd'onn."

"I'm coming, like it or not," Boлndal threatened. "Boпndil and I stick together! Forging Keenfire is the most important mission in dwarven history and I won't-" He tried to sit up but had barely succeeded in moving when he gave a low groan, his fresh dressings flushing crimson with blood. "I suppose that settles it," he said through gritted teeth. He looked up at his twin. "It's up to you now to protect Tungdil and the rest of the company."

Boпndil was standing stiffly by the bed, searching for the right thing to say. "All our lives we've been together," he said thickly, "and now I'm leaving you behind. It won't be the same fighting without you." He squeezed Boлndal's hand. "The first hundred runts will be for you."

"You've got great plans, then," said his brother, smiling weakly. "Don't overreach yourself, Boпndil; I won't be there to watch your back." They embraced, tears streaming down their bearded cheeks. Never before had they faced a parting such as this.

"You'll have to keep a better check on your temper when I'm not around. Promise you won't let it run away with you?"

Boпndil gave his solemn word. "Get some rest now, brother." He and Tungdil left the chamber. "When do we leave?"