Goпmgar shrank behind his shield. "Maybe we should ask her to help. Dragons aren't stupid, you know, and she might be quite reasonable."

"You can't ask the dragon to give us her fire," Boпndil blazed up angrily. "Are you determined to ruin everything? You've got to take it! Take it, do you hear?"

"Goпmgar, Argamas's mate was killed by dwarves. I hardly think she'll be willing to help us," said Tungdil, shaking his head. "Our priority is to stay alive, so we'll settle for stealing her fire." He patted the stash of torches on his belt. "We need to bait her, nothing more."

"Unbelievable," grumbled Boпndil. "Why does everyone have to spoil my fun?"

They stepped out of the passageway and were bathed in an intense yellow glare. There was a pervading smell of rotten eggs and it was difficult to breathe, but the view made up for the other unpleasantness.

A wave of heat rose toward them as they approached the seething lake. The molten lava was alive with bubbles, some swelling and showering incandescent droplets as they burst, others collapsing meekly, while new pockets formed on the surface in a boiling, churning mass.

Tungdil couldn't be sure of the lake's exact proportions, but the expanse of simmering lava measured at least four thousand paces across. Islands of solid rock rose above the surface and strange basalt columns hung from the cavern's ceiling, where cycle after cycle of spitting magma had cooled. Everything was suffused with the lake's yellow glow.

"Is that where the dragon lives?" asked Goпmgar, who was staring with the others in amazement. "Thank goodness we're not going to fight her. Any creature tough enough to survive in that inferno won't be slain by our blades."

Djerun raised his sword to direct his mistress's attention to something a thousand paces farther along the shore. "You can stop worrying about Argamas," said Andфkai. "Take a look over there."

To their horror they saw a gigantic skeleton, which, judging by its size and shape, was all that was left of Branbausнl's mate.

VII

Giselbert's Folk, Fifthling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Boпndil prodded the enormous skeleton with his boot.

Broken arrow shafts, lances, spears, and smaller bones lay in and around the dragon's remains. "Orcs. From the look of the bones, they killed her a good few cycles ago." He appraised the fossil critically and a look of distant longing passed over his face. "What a fight it must have been."

Goпmgar snorted and shrugged. "We're wasting our time here. We may as well go home. I don't know about you, but I'd like to be in my own kingdom with my own clansfolk when Nфd'onn comes banging on the gates."

"A fat lot of use you'd be," Boпndil said scornfully. "You can't even fight!" He gave one of the ribs an experimental kick. The bone stood firm.

"I didn't say anything about fighting," Goпmgar corrected him. "If we're all going to die, I'd rather be back in my kingdom, that's all. I don't want to meet my end in the company of an ax-happy lunatic, an impostor, and an undead drunk." He glanced at the smith. "No offense, Balyndis, I've got nothing against you."

"Couldn't we light the furnace with ordinary fire?" asked Furgas.

Tungdil looked out across the lava. "We may as well give it a shot. It's better than giving up and doing nothing while Nфd'onn lays waste to Girdlegard. We don't stand a chance of stopping him otherwise." He wiped the sweat from his eyes and peered at the tongues of fire licking across the lake. He had seen flames of all kinds and colors in his smithy, but these looked somehow different. "Is it my imagination," he said to Balyndis, who was similarly knowledgeable when it came to fire, "or are those flames unusually bright?"

"They're unusually bright," she said, guessing his thoughts. She pulled out a torch and held the end above the twisting flames. The wood flared up with incredible intensity.

"Perhaps you could put it out for us, Narmora," said the maga.

The half дlf nodded and focused her mind. Her eyes closed and opened again a moment later, but the torch was still alight. "I can't do it," she said, surprised. "Normally it's no-"

"Precisely." The maga laughed in relief. "There's your proof, Tungdil. Argamas left her fiery legacy in the lake."

The excitement was too much for Balyndis, who planted an exuberant kiss on Tungdil's cheek. He smiled shyly. "In that case we've got what we came for," he declared. "We'll light the torches and get going. The fifthlings' furnace is waiting to be kindled back to life." With that he set off toward the mouth of the tunnel.

"Bravo, bravo," gushed Rodario. "Thank goodness it's so warm down here. My ink has never flown so freely. Such emotion! Such excitement! The scene is positively begging to be recorded in my notes!" He was still scribbling furiously as he walked. "Furgas, my dear friend and worthy associate, the sheer scale of this adventure will soon exceed the limits of any conventional play. We could open our doors in the morning," he suggested. "Hire some extras, double the ticket price. What do you think?"

Furgas took one last look at Flamemere before commencing the ascent through the passageway. "We should probably leave out the lava," he ruled. "We won't be able to afford enough coal to simulate the heat."

"Good thinking. We need to be careful with the costs. Besides, we can't have our valued spectators vomiting because of the smell."

"They'll vomit anyway if they have to put up with your acting," said Boпndil, handing him a torch. "Take this. Since you won't be fighting, you may as well make yourself useful. And woe betide you if you let it go out!"

"I swear by all four winds and every conceivable divinity, even the evil ones, that if, in spite of my best efforts and the intervention of all the relevant weather systems and supernatural powers, I was to suffer such a mishap, then I would, no matter what the circumstances or the extent of my guilt, lay the blame, fair and square, at your door."

Boпndil, who had been nodding in satisfaction, stopped short. "Very funny," he growled as Rodario and Goпmgar fell about laughing. "I'll wipe the smiles from your faces."

Bavragor's behavior had become increasingly erratic.

Since entering the fifthling kingdom, he hadn't said a word, his one eye rolling wildly as he walked. Every now and then he growled or groaned for no apparent reason and the leather strap around his wrists tightened with a menacing snap. Djerun maintained a safe distance between him and the others.

Meanwhile, Boпndil was unhappy about the light from the torches, which he said drew attention to their presence and played into the enemies' hands-but no one could think of a workable alternative.

He was right, though. The fierce flames lit up the passage ways, the panels of vraccasium, palandium, gold, and silver gleaming with light, rendering even the smallest details visible from a distance of twenty paces and making the company equally easy to spot.

Tungdil ran a hand over the panels. They must have known we'd be in need of precious metals. At the risk of angering the dead fifthlings, he decided to break off sections of the portraits for use in making the ax. Djerun snapped the metal with ease and soon they had enough of each material for the inlay. All that was missing was the iron for the blade. He glanced at the ax that Lot-Ionan had given to him. I could smelt it, I suppose.

The company had been marching through the lost kingdom for some time when Boпndil signaled for them to stop. "There's something ahead," he said, tensing in anticipation. "Beasts of some kind, but not orcs."

Tungdil sniffed the air and detected the odor too. "They're in front of us." He turned to Narmora, who nodded briefly and set off to investigate.