The rest of their journey was uneventful, and they surfaced in the former kingdom of Gauragar, not far from the Blacksaddle.

Tungdil recognized the area straightaway. "It's this way," he told them, leading them to the hill from which he had first seen the Blacksaddle. Crouching low, they scrambled to the top, hoping not to be spotted by sentries. They weren't ready to don their disguises yet.

"Vraccas almighty, we're not a moment too soon," he whispered.

The murky forest of conifers was gone, replaced by a ring of wooden structures whose platforms were crawling with miniature figures that looked like orcs. The towers were already dizzyingly high, but the beasts were adding extra stories in the hope of storming the stronghold from the summit or the upper slopes. They must have tired of banging their heads against the solid base of the Blacksaddle or perhaps the growling mountain had shaken them from its flanks. It looks more sinister than ever without the trees.

Every now and then black torrents cascaded from the hidden stronghold, forcing the besiegers to flee the steaming liquid or perish in its flow. Elsewhere, fiery projectiles rained down on the army from chinks in the rock, landing among the beasts and dousing them in oil. Countless troopers were incinerated in the blaze.

They've resurrected the old defenses.

But despite their losses, Nфd'onn's soldiers continued undeterred. The beasts were swarming like ants around the base of the Blacksaddle, scouring the flat ground for anything that could be used in their assault on the flanks.

A detachment of ogres had been put to work splitting tree trunks and building siege engines. The defenders focused on toppling the towers or setting light to them before the orcs could climb high enough to pose a threat; but it did nothing to discourage the ogres, who collected the debris and started again. Their smaller comrades milled about impatiently, desperate for the attack to begin.

"It's strange, isn't it?" said Tungdil to his dwarven companions. He kept his eyes fixed on the mountain ahead. "The thirdlings built the stronghold to wipe out the other dwarves, but now it's the only thing protecting us from Nфd'onn." He suddenly remembered the runes that he had found on his first visit to the mountain. Roused by the thirdlings / Against the will of the thirdlings. / Drenched again / In blood, / The blood/ Of all their / Line. He wondered what it could mean.

"I've never seen so many of them," said Balyndis, staring wide-eyed at the beasts below.

The enemy had pitched their tents in a circle around the mountain about a mile from its base. Their shelters barely looked sturdy enough to withstand the snow and winter winds. Here and there black puffs of smoke rose skyward.

"Eighty thousand at a guess," Boпndil said evenly. He thumped Tungdil on the back. "I'm not saying you were right about books, but I'd need more than my axes to deal with a rabble like that. Your plan will work better after all."

Rodario pointed west. "Do you think those are Nфd'onn's quarters?" He indicated a stately tent, far larger than the others and draped in malachite-colored cloth. "I'd certainly want a tent like that if I were the magus. Canvas is all very well for the riffraff, but a man of authority deserves something better."

Furgas sighed. "Thank goodness you weren't born a nobleman. Your subjects would have strung you up cycles ago."

"Not if you were around to invent a slower way of killing me." They smiled at each other companionably.

"Speaking of inventions." Furgas gestured away from the main battleground and pointed to a band of ogres who were constructing a rolling siege engine. It towered two hundred paces above the ground and looked far more robust than its foregoers. "That should do the trick for them. They've used tiles on the outside to make it less flammable."

Hundreds of orcs descended on the contraption, swarming over its many platforms, arming it with crossbows and catapults, and stocking the slings with missiles and spears. The ogres finished the building work and bent down to push the tower toward the mountain. Bugles were sounded, heralding an all-out attack.

"It's time we did something," ruled Tungdil. "Narmora, bring the prisoners to Nфd'onn." She nodded resolutely and donned her disguise.

A few moments later they were faced with one of the deadliest creatures in Tion's creation. The transformation went deeper than the change of clothes; with each piece of дlf armor, Narmora looked crueler and more menacing, her face hardening and paling. As she straightened up, her voice sounded oddly sinister. "And now for the most important part…" The whites of her eyes darkened, leaving nothing but fathomless blackness, the distinguishing feature of the дlfar by day.

If I didn't know better…To Tungdil, she looked exactly like a real дlf, which was precisely what they needed for their plan to succeed. "Perfect," he praised her.

Andфkai got out the dark blue amulet that belonged to the dead дlf in the desert and hung it around Narmora's neck. "The crystal will ward off Nфd'onn's magic," she said. "I want you to wear it in case we get separated and you find yourself fighting on your own."

Narmora smiled at her. "Wait here. I'll fetch the armor for my mercenaries." She slipped away noiselessly and disappeared.

Tungdil noticed that Balyndis had reached for her ax. "She's… she's changed," the dwarf said defensively. "She's all sinister and threatening, just like a real дlf."

"What if her dark side takes over?" asked Boпndil, who didn't mind voicing his doubts. "She'll have Keenfire and we can't kill Nфd'onn without it. The maga won't be able to hurt her because of the amulet. How are we supposed to stop her if she turns against us?"

Furgas rushed to his mistress's defense. "She's still Narmora, you know," he said fiercely. "Don't forget that she's an actress. No matter what she says or does, you mustn't doubt her. She's had plenty of opportunity to-"

Narmora returned with an armful of bloodied armor belonging to some careless sentries. She threw the garments into the snow. "You'll have to wipe them clean," was all she said.

Once Rodario had taken some "special precautions," as he mysteriously referred to them, the company began the most perilous phase of their journey yet.

Tungdil, Gandogar, Balyndis, and Boпndil took their places at the heart of the group, surrounded by their captors, whose faces were hidden by their foul-smelling helmets. Narmora had swaddled Keenfire in rags and was carrying the weapon on her back. Djerun stayed behind, poised to charge down the hillside and cut down the enemy if his mistress should signal for help.

Boпndil found it especially difficult to be separated from his beloved axes. Worse still, his hands were bound, a circumstance he tolerated only because they couldn't get to Nфd'onn by any other means. A worrying thought occurred to him. "Tell me again how the story ended."

Rodario opened his mouth to enlighten him, but Tungdil cut him off. "Happily," he said firmly. He locked gazes with the impresario, pleading with him to let the falsehood stand. Rodario rolled his eyes, but refrained from comment.

"Just as well," growled Boпndil, who luckily wasn't interested in specifics.

Furgas had stowed the dwarves' axes in a sack and was ready to return them to their owners at the first sign of trouble. The captives were bound with leather manacles that would rip at the jerk of a wrist. All that mattered was that they looked like prisoners.

The afternoon shadows were growing long when they finally entered the enemy encampment.

Narmora glared menacingly at the sentries, three orcs and four bцgnilim, and demanded to be allowed to deliver her prisoners to Nфd'onn in person. The company was allowed to pass.