At length Djerun hunted down a scrawny doe, which they roasted briefly over the flames and wolfed down hungrily, trying not to notice the slightly moldy taste.

They hadn't been troubled by orcs since their escape from the fifthling kingdom, but after seven orbits the company's relief turned to puzzlement: The Perished Land had seized Gauragar, but there was no sign of runts or bцgnilim.

By rights the roads should be crawling with beasts. Unable to make sense of it, Tungdil sent Furgas and Rodario to find out what was happening from the inhabitants of a nearby town.

They returned with alarming news.

"The orcs were called away," said the impresario, waving his arms to convey the drama of his report. "They've abandoned their encampments. A while ago, thousands of the beasts descended on the human kingdoms to rout the race of men, but now they're marching south on Nфd'onn's orders. The townsfolk said something about besieging a stronghold in a mountain." He frowned in concentration. "I'll remember the name in a moment."

"Ogre's Death," Boпndil shrieked excitedly. "It's got to be Ogre's Death. Ha, they need thousands of orcs to attack the dwarves of Beroпn, do they? I always said the runts were worse than useless. Oh, what I'd give to fight beside my clansmen!"

To the others' astonishment, Rodario shook his head. "That's not it," he said. "Dark… no, brown… no! I've always learned my lines perfectly and now I can't remember a simple thing like this. It was something to do with leather." His hands gesticulated frantically in the air. "With leather and riding…"

"Reins," suggested Balyndis.

Tungdil made the leap. "The Blacksaddle! They're besieging the Blacksaddle!"

Andфkai searched her memory. "The name means nothing to me. What is it?"

"A flat-topped mountain. The thirdlings built a stronghold inside it and tried to wage war on the other folks. It's right in the middle of Girdlegard." Tungdil pictured the Blacksaddle's abandoned chambers and galleries. So why all the orcs?

"Do you think someone important might be sheltering there?" asked Narmora. "You know, someone Nфd'onn is intent on getting his hands on, like one of the human kings."

Tungdil remembered telling Gundrabur and Balendilнn about the stronghold, but he couldn't see why either of them would ensconce themselves in such a dark, benighted place. "We should probably go there. The Blacksaddle is practically en route."

They resumed their journey.

Twelve orbits after leaving the fifthling kingdom they sighted Вlandur. There was no need for Tungdil to consult his map; nature was their guide.

They were trudging through a snow-filled valley when they first spotted a lush forest of beeches, oaks, and maples in the distance, surrounded by a protective fence of pines. The vibrant colors and thriving trees were proof enough that, contrary to rumor, the last elven kingdom hadn't fallen to Nфd'onn's hordes. This part of Girdlegard was free from the pestilence.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd welcome the sight of greenery," muttered Boпndil, whose spirits were suffering from the long march through the Perished Land. His eyes swept the thick line of trees that formed a natural palisade against intruders. He reached for his axes. "Looks like we'll have to chop our way through."

"And give the elves every reason to wage war on your kingdom?" said Andфkai sharply. "No, we'll have no need of weapons in the woods. Besides, they'll spot us soon enough." She stared at the forest. "What did I tell you? They've seen us already." Four tall figures detached themselves from the trees. Their longbows were raised, ready to shoot. "Who's going to talk to them?"

"I will," Tungdil said quickly. He took a step forward, laid his ax on the ground for the elves to see, and walked toward them with measured steps.

"The woods of Вlandur have seen a great deal," called the voice of one of the archers, "but never a groundling. Stay where you are and state your purpose."

Tungdil looked at the four forest-dwellers. They were clad in white leather armor, with swords hanging from their belts. Each wore a white fur cloak, and their fair hair hung loose about their shoulders. As far as Tungdil could tell, their perfectly formed faces were identical. He didn't like them.

"My name is Tungdil Goldhand of the fourthling kingdom. My companions and I left our homes to forge Keenfire and destroy Nфd'onn the Doublefold," he declared firmly. "Good friends of ours have died that we might accomplish our goal. If you will permit it, we should like to enter your kingdom."

"There's no need. You won't find Nфd'onn here."

"No, but we'd like to access a tunnel built by our ancestors. The entrance is within your borders. We intend to journey underground to the Blacksaddle," he explained briefly. "We heard the magus is there."

"You're going to kill him with this Keenfire, are you? You and a handful of warriors?" The elf stared at him incredulously. "I bet Nфd'onn sent you here!"

"More than likely," Tungdil said crossly. He felt like boxing the elf's pointy ears. "What a fabulous plan that would be! Sending a bunch of dwarves to talk their way into an elven kingdom. He must have known how pleased you'd be to see us. You'd welcome us into your forests, we'd deliver you up to the magus-and you'd never suspect a thing!"

"Nфd'onn's a traitor, not an idiot," muttered Balyndis not quite softly enough.

Tungdil couldn't help grinning, and a fleeting smile crossed the elf's slender face. It wasn't enough to change the dwarf's opinion of him. "How can we convince you that we mean no harm?"

The elves conferred in their own tongue. "You can't. Wait here," came the unfriendly reply. "Set foot on our land and we'll kill you." With that they disappeared among the mighty trees.

"Ha, we've got them worried." Boпndil grinned and crossed his arms in front of his powerful chest. "That's something."

They made a virtue of necessity and tried to get some rest. There were enough fallen branches to make a roaring fire and so the time passed. The sun was already sinking behind the forest when the sentries reappeared, this time accompanied by twenty archers and a warrior clad in shimmering palandium, which marked him out as an elf of rank.

"So these are the travelers." He was handsome, so handsome that he could never look anything but arrogant. Long red hair framed his face, setting off his dark blue eyes. "A strange group claiming an even stranger purpose. Let me find out the truth."

He raised his arms, his hands tracing symbols in the air. Andфkai responded immediately with a countercharm.

On seeing the maga, the elf broke off in surprise. "It seems you can use magic. Few among the race of men are capable of that. We heard Nфd'onn had killed them all." He studied her intently. "In appearance you resemble the woman once known as Andфkai."

"I am Andфkai the Tempestuous." She gave the most cursory of curtsies. "I am weak from our journey, Liъtasil, and my magic is no match for yours." She tapped the hilt of her sword. "But I have a certain reputation as a swordswoman and if you care to cross blades with me, I shall prove I am no impostor."

Tungdil's eyebrows rose in surprise. Liъtasil wasn't any old warrior; he was lord of Вlandur.

The elf laughed-a kind, gentle laugh, but still somehow superior. "Ah, the tempestuous maga. Very well, Andфkai, I believe you, but I need to reassure myself. The дlfar have played too many tricks on us of late."

His fingers moved gracefully through the air, conjuring a golden haze that settled over the group. In an instant the tired ness that had been eating into every fiber of Tungdil's body lifted and even his hunger disappeared. Beside him Narmora was gasping with pain and the air was rent by the same terrible noise that Djerun had made at the gates of Roodacre. The elves nocked their arrows, spanning their bows, and took aim at the pair. Liъtasil lowered his arms. "Andфkai, it can't have escaped your attention that two of your traveling companions will never be granted entry to our glades," he said carefully.