Tungdil had run out of weapons and had only one option. Fumbling in his pouch, he pulled out Sverd's collar and looped it around the startled Bislipur's neck.

"The gnome's choker? What good will that do? I'm dead already! I don't need air!"

"Sure, but you can't do without your head." Tungdil shoved him backward. The maneuver cost him a clump of hair, but allowed him to reach for the magic wire on Bislipur's belt. "And it's your head that I'm after."

A sudden jerk, and the noose closed around Bislipur's neck. The collar tightened, cutting into Bislipur's throat. At last the thirdling realized what Tungdil was intending to do.

Grunting inarticulately because of the pressure on his throat, he jabbed his dagger toward Tungdil, who tugged on the wire. The choker passed through Bislipur's neck, slicing through his spinal cord. The wire ran through its clasp, the noose sprang open, and the traitor's head rolled across the floor. The hateful collar fell apart, its evil charm broken.

There was no time for Tungdil to savor his victory. Gathering up Keenfire, he ran as fast as his injuries would permit him, determined to stand by his friends in the fight against the magus.

The ax was back in their possession. Now all they needed was an enemy of the dwarves who could wield it against Nфd'onn.

The orcs drew back to let the magus through. Suddenly everyone stopped fighting.

"Hello, Andфkai," rasped Nфd'onn, inclining his head toward her. "You should have allied yourself with me from the beginning, instead of squandering your strength in futile resistance. I'll need your power to fight the peril from the west."

"The peril is here already. It lives within you, confusing your thoughts and steering your deeds." She focused her energy on maintaining her protective shield. "The demon is using you, Nudin."

"He's my friend, a loyal friend of Girdlegard." He shook his head despairingly. "You don't understand. No one understands."

"You're right, Nudin; we don't understand. How many men, elves, and dwarves must die so you can protect our kingdoms? It seems a high price to pay, especially when the supposed peril is a figment of your poisoned mind."

"My name is Nфd'onn/" His voice became a shrill, nasal shout. "When you see what's coming from the west, you'll be grateful that my friend and I protected you. Lay down your weapons, and I'll spare you." There was an urgency to his doublefold voice; he seemed fully convinced of everything he said. "I did what I did because you gave me no choice. If you'd relinquished your power, it would never have come to this."

Andфkai's sword flashed as she raised her arm defiantly. "How I am supposed to believe you after all the suffering you've caused?"

He looked at her sadly. "In that case, we'll have to finish things properly. You've had your chance." With a wave of his hand, he shattered her protective spell.

Sinthoras heard the shield collapse and lunged at the maga. She batted away his spear, only to find herself under attack from three orcs who crowded round her, cutting her off from her companions.

Suddenly the дlf was beside her and this time his spear was headed straight for her chest. It collided with a shimmering shield.

Sinthoras was sheathed in violet light. A terrible roar shook the hall, then Djerun's sword swooped down. The дlf barely had time to raise his weapon.

No wood in the world, not even sigurdaisy wood, could have withstood such a blow. The giant's sword sliced through the spear and sped on. A wide sweeping blow parted the disbelieving дlf's head from his shoulders, and Sinthoras's headless body slumped to the ground, never to rise again.

Grunting in terror, the orcs shrank back from the king of the beasts as he straightened up, howling, and opened his visor. His face was invisible in the blinding light, but the orcs were rooted with fear, allowing the company to regroup.

Tungdil, still clutching Keenfire, limped toward the maga. "I've got the weapon." He pointed to Djerun. "Is he an enemy of the dwarves?" he asked, panting for breath.

"I don't know. Are you prepared to give him Keenfire?"

"We don't have a choice." He tossed the weapon to the giant.

Without hesitating, Djerun discarded his sword by ramming it through two orcs and reached out to catch the ax.

Let's get this over with. Tungdil raised his horn and sounded a long, powerful call. The dwarves of Beroпn, Borengar, and Goпmdil answered with cheers and blaring bugles. "For Vraccas and Girdlegard!" he shouted, leading the charge against the magus. Balyndis and Gandogar were already at his side; the others stormed after them.

They hewed down the orcs and bцgnilim in their way, cutting a path of gory destruction that brought Djerun within striking distance of their foe. Andфkai conjured a bolt of lightning, whose purpose was to dazzle the magus, then gave the command for Djerun to strike.

Before Nфd'onn had time to compose himself, the mailed giant brought down the ax. It hit the magus's unprotected back, sliced through his body, and sped out of his chest. Stinking black fluid spurted everywhere, showering the transfixed onlookers.

Nфd'onn let out a terrible howl. The hall was still echoing with his screams when the wound began to heal.

"No," whispered Tungdil in horror. "It's not possible. Keenfire was supposed to…"

Nфd'onn hurled bolts of black lightning at the giant, who fell backward and lay still among the orcs. "I told you that nothing can hurt me," thundered the magus. He bore no sign of injury, save for the gash in his robes.

We can't let it end this way! Filled with desperate fury, Tungdil went on the offensive. While his friends tried to preoccupy the magus by engaging him in an increasingly hopeless battle, he set off a second time in search of the ax.

He found Keenfire in Djerun's stiff metal grasp. Prizing away the giant's fingers, he picked up the ax and felt a strange sensation in his hand. What…?

Light pulsed through the intarsia, and the diamonds came to life, shining and sparkling like a thousand miniature suns. At first he thought Nфd'onn had worked a spell on it, but then he saw that the ax itself had wrought the change. Keenfire was readying itself to fight the demon.

By Vraccas, Bislipur was right: I'm a thirdling. No sooner had he grasped the significance of what was happening than he decided to turn his heritage to the good.

He tightened his grip on Keenfire, squared his shoulders, and charged. Orcs tried to block his path but perished in a blaze of white fire as he swung the shimmering ax. A trail of smoke followed the swinging Keenfire, and Tungdil could feel the heat from its blade. It burned with the fierce ardor of the fifthlings' furnace.

Nфd'onn recognized the danger before it was upon him. His self-assurance vanished, replaced by pure terror. His magic could do nothing against the charging dwarf; Tungdil was protected from harm by Keenfire's runes.

"Kill me, and Girdlegard will be doomed," the magus prophesied. "Terrible forces are gathering in the west and you won't be able to stop them." He thrust his staff at Tungdil, who deflected the blow and lunged closer. "You'll be to blame for Girdlegard's destruction. You must let me live!"

Tungdil slashed at the magus's onyx-tipped staff. The black jewel shattered in a shower of dark crystals.

"No, Nфd'onn, evil will never triumph over Girdlegard. We'll protect our kingdoms, just as we protected them from you." Tungdil swung his ax again. For Lot-Ionan, Frala, and her daughters.

The corpulent magus tried in vain to sidestep the blow. Even his final incantation failed to halt the blade, his hastily conjured runes flickering briefly as Keenfire smashed through them. The diamond-studded ax head buried itself in Nфd'onn's waist.