VIII

Giselbert's Folk, Fiftbling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle For three whole orbits the forge echoed with continual pounding and thudding against the doors and the beasts' persistence began to pay off. The solid iron panels were already bulging in the middle, and the metal showed signs of cracking under the force of the brutal assault.

Tungdil had requisitioned one of the anvils and was frantically forging bars to add to the barricade, but it was obvious that the beasts would eventually force their way in.

Balyndis had almost finished the blade and was about to begin the fine-tuning. The task of engraving the metal was entrusted to Giselbert, who marked the warm steel with runes and patterns for the inlay. Gandogar had cut the diamonds to size and left them on his makeshift workbench. Each gem had been sharpened to a deadly point that would slit the magus open. The spurs, carved by Bavragor from black granite, were as long as a human index finger and were waiting to be attached.

Tungdil, under directions from Narmora, sculpted the grip using a hacksaw, a file, and a grindstone to shape the metallike sigurdaisy wood to fit her hand. He left the sanding to her and went back to reinforcing the doors. On the fourth orbit the heated blade was edged with diamonds and the spurs were put in place.

Balyndis worked with utmost concentration. The metal was unforgiving, and every strike of the hammer was vital: The slightest mistake could cost her the blade, and there wasn't enough time to reforge it. The constant gonglike pounding on the doors was a distraction that they could all have done without.

Giselbert was almost ready to combine the precious metals and create a single alloy, a process made possible by the incredible heat of the dragon fire. The others looked on in fascination as he heated the metals in individual pans: rich gold, shimmering silver, orange vraccasium, white palandium, and a coin-sized lump of black tionium.

One by one he emptied the molten contents into a bell- shaped vessel lined with glass. When it came to pouring the tionium, the black liquid hissed with Tion-like malice, angry at being united with an element as pure as palandium.

Another loud boom shook the hall, followed immediately by a cracking and snapping of metal. A battering ram smashed into the reinforced door, opening a gap half a pace across. In no time a bцgnil had squeezed through and was staring wide-eyed at his surroundings. He squealed in excitement.

"Come here, you ugly piglet!" bellowed Ireheart, whooping exuberantly as he charged. At last he could allow his fury to run riot. "So you think you're brave, do you? Let's see if my axes change your mind!"

"Narmora, you stay here," ordered Tungdil. "Everyone else, after him!" Balyndis, Giselbert, Andфkai, and Djerun rushed to help Boпndil, who shouted at them to go away.

The pounding on the doors became faster and more violent. With victory in sight, the beasts redoubled their efforts. At last the opening was wide enough for an orc to storm through. Arrows ripped through the gap, but inflicted no damage, save the occasional scratch.

Tungdil knew that the breach could not be allowed to open further if he and the others were to stem the attack. We'll drive them back with dragon fire. He ran to the furnace, heaped on some coals, and pumped the bellows until the fire roared with bright white flames.

Hurriedly he shoveled a few loads onto a wheeled anvil and rolled it to the doors. Without wasting a second he filled his spade and hurled its contents over the heads and shoulders of the invaders.

Red-hot coals showered over the beasts, covering them in sparks and coal dust that singed their faces, danced down their collars, and penetrated their chain mail. Loud screams rent the air, increasing in volume when the second fiery hail descended. There was an overwhelming stench of charred flesh, smoldering hair, and scorched leather. The orcs raised their shields above their heads in panic, allowing Tungdil and his companions to plunge their axes and hammers into their unprotected chests.

Furgas kept them supplied with hot coals until the enemy retreated. The orcs went back to bombarding the forge with arrows.

"Sooner or later they're going to force their way in," predicted Andфkai. "They'll form a shield wall and we won't be able to stop them. It's time we left."

They made a concerted effort to close the doors, but the beasts had been cunning enough to jam them open with wedges.

She's right; we need to get out of here as soon as we can. Tungdil returned to the furnace. "How much longer until the inlay is ready?" he asked Giselbert.

"The tionium and the palandium need to simmer for half an orbit. Once they've melded, the others will follow. After that I'll be able to pour the alloy into the grooves, but then there's the cooling time. Will the doors hold?"

"They'll have to," growled Tungdil, nodding resolutely. "We'll see to it that they do."

From then on, Nфd'onn's servants gave them no respite. The assault on the doors was unrelenting and the beasts proceeded as the maga had predicted: Shields raised above their heads, they advanced in formation, protected from the glowing coals.

Two of the fifthlings were beheaded, never to rise again. Their loss was a serious blow to the defenders, and already the next battering ram was pounding against the doors. The destructive will of the Perished Land was bent on assailing the forge.

It is time." The long and wearying wait ended as Giselbert lifted the vessel containing the mountain's precious metals and poured them into the indented runes and symbols. The alloy's color was strangely indeterminate: somewhere between orange and yellow with a peculiar shimmer and swirling black pinpoints. It streamed through the grooves with the assurance of a river that was familiar with its course, filling the channels without a drop to spare.

"Done," announced Giselbert, heaving a sigh of relief. "In another half an orbit, when the inlay has cooled, we can set the blade on the haft and-"

A battering ram exploded through the ravaged metal doors. The protruding end of the pillar withdrew quickly, only to reappear just above the existing hole. The beasts had decided to fashion their own entrance.

Tungdil took a deep breath. His arms were about to drop off, he had never felt hungrier in his life, and he was tired enough to sleep for an orbit. Instead he raised his ax. "We need to keep them at bay until the inlay has cooled."

He paid no attention to the pain in his back and shoulders, determined not to flag. He was leader of the company, after all, and Gandogar deferred to him without a murmur, never questioning his authority. His selfless cooperation made Tungdil respect him all the more.

Already the invaders were squeezing through the breach. In a flash, Ireheart had thrown himself on the beasts, his enthusiasm for combat apparently undiminished. He hacked at the orcs so savagely that his axes were barely visible amid the scraps of flying armor and bloodied flesh.

But even Ireheart's fury could do nothing to stem the attack. As time wore on, the battle swung steadily in favor of the beasts. With a third of the doorway smashed open, it was only thanks to Djerun and the indomitable fifthlings that the company hadn't been defeated already. Time was against them.

Giselbert fought his way to Tungdil's side. "You should go. The alloy has cooled enough for you to take Keenfire." He raised his ax. "We'll hold the beasts back until you're safely inside the flue; then we'll shut the vents and destroy the mechanism. Without it, they won't be able to get into the chimney. You'll be miles away by the time they force their way inside."