After his many ordeals, Tungdil was beginning to think that nothing could shock him, but he hadn't reckoned with listening in silence while someone plotted against his life. His mettle was being thoroughly tested.

The famulus smiled smugly and sat down at the desk. He had pleased his master and secured a measure of the approval that he so craved. He buried himself once more in the documents.

He was just dunking his quill into the inkwell, ready to add another entry to the list, when he happened to glance toward the armchair. The straps of Tungdil's knapsack were protruding from one side.

"What…?" He got up slowly and crossed the room to examine the object that had materialized without his knowledge. He stooped to pick up the leather bag.

Tungdil drew his ax. Speed and surprise were of the essence: He had to strike before the famulus saw him and cursed him. He tensed his muscles.

Even as he prepared to charge, a commotion sounded in the corridor, stopping them both in their tracks.

For once the twins were making a genuine effort to be quiet. They didn't know who had invaded the vaults, but it seemed safest to hack them to pieces without giving them any warning. Whoever had butchered the long-uns would surely jump at the chance to eat a dwarf-but a crow's beak in the belly or an ax through the gullet was bound to cure their greed.

They heard lumbering footsteps.

Boпndil signaled for his brother to freeze, and they waited for the creature to stagger around the corner. There was a whiff of rotten flesh; then a man stumbled toward them, groaning.

His injuries were so horrific that it was a wonder he was alive. No ordinary mortal would have survived such wounds, but on seeing the dwarves, he yelped in excitement and lunged toward them with surprising speed, spurred on by the prospect of fresh meat. His eagerness was no match for the warriors' experience.

Boлndal saw the blow coming, skipped sideways, and jabbed him in the knee. The revenant swayed.

In falling, he hurled himself on Ireheart, who greeted him with a war cry and a pair of flashing blades. The secondling avoided the toppling body and reached out to cleave the man's left arm. Teeth grinding in anger, Eiden dragged himself across the floor, baring his teeth at the twins.

"Would you believe it? He's coming back for more!" observed Boпndil in astonishment. "I know revenants are supposed to hate the living, but this is ridiculous." He decapitated the man, thereby putting an end to his undead life.

The brothers set off at a run to find Tungdil. It seemed likely that other bloodthirsty revenants would be roaming the vaults, in which case the heir to the throne could be in danger.

On reaching the door to the study, they saw a young man in malachite robes standing by an armchair, holding Tungdil's leather bag.

Their noisy skirmish in the corridor must have prepared him for their arrival. "Burn, you scoundrels!" His right arm flew up, fingers pointing at the dwarves, and he opened his mouth as if to speak. The door slammed shut.

The brothers blinked in surprise. "Surely he didn't need a spell for that?" said Boпndil.

"Why didn't he just close it before we got here? I told you wizards are weird."

"Magical mumbo jumbo. Leave it to me!" Launching himself at the door, Boпndil stormed inside, shrieking.

The young man had fallen backward and was lying motionless inside a cabinet. The doors were open and the shelves had slipped their brackets, scattering their contents on top of him. His forehead had been gouged in the process, and he was bleeding from the wound.

Tungdil straightened up and rubbed his head. "I should have put on my helmet before I head-butted him in the belly," he declared.

"Didn't I tell you those lessons would pay off?" Boпndil patted him on the back. "You've got the makings of a first-class dwarf!"

"It's about time someone explained what's going on," his brother said impatiently. "There's human broth on the stove and revenants roaming through the corridors. What kind of character is your magus, anyway?"

"None of this would be happening if Lot-Ionan were here." Tungdil gave a brief account of the eavesdropped conversation between Nudin and his famulus, then listened while the twins described the scene that had greeted them in the kitchen. In combination, the stories proved beyond a doubt that Nudin had seized the vaults and emptied them of their inhabitants.

Surely be can't have killed them all? Tungdil sat down, overcome with horror and dismay. What of the apprentices, the servants, Frala, Sunja, and Ikana? He refused to believe that the lunatic magus could have murdered a wizard as powerful as Lot-Ionan. He's alive. I just know it! He clung to the hope that Lot-Ionan had escaped with his senior famuli and was preparing to do battle with Nudin. I have to find him!

"The dwarven assembly needs to hear about this," ruled Boлndal. "Let's get out of here."

"No," Tungdil said firmly. "Not until I know where Lot-Ionan has got to." He looked at the unconscious apprentice. "I bet he could tell us." He knelt down and boxed his ears. It had the desired effect: The famulus's eyelids fluttered open.

Boпndil stood guard at the door while his brother placed the spiked tip of his crow's beak in the gap between the young man's eyes. "If you so much as think of cursing me, I'll ram my weapon through your brains." He obviously had every intention of carrying out his threat. "I crack skulls as if they were eggshells."

Tungdil bent down toward him. "Tell us where Lot-Ionan is," he demanded, torn between wanting an answer and fearing the truth.

"Are you the dwarves from Greenglade?" The famulus seemed perplexed. "But aren't you supposed to be-"

"Answer the question!" Tungdil told him roughly. Boлndal leaned on his crow's beak, applying just enough pressure to pierce the famulus's skin. Blood welled up around the metal spike as it bore into his brow. "Tell us where he is, or we'll kill you."

"Don't hurt me," the apprentice whimpered. "I'll tell you anything you want! He's dead. Nфd'onn killed him."

"Nфd'onn, commander of the Perished Land?"

"It was in Porista. He killed them all!" The terrible truth was out: With the other magi dead, there was no one in Girdlegard who could rival the traitor's power. "Nфd'onn cursed the force fields so no one else can use them."

An icy dread took hold of Tungdil when he realized what the famulus was saying. "So Nudin is Nфd'onn? Nudin commands the Perished Land?" The evidence had been staring him in the face, but either he hadn't realized or he hadn't wanted to. He felt like shrieking at the famulus or cutting him to pieces on the spot, but he forced himself to ask another question. "What does Nфd'onn want with the books and the artifacts?"

"I don't know. Nфd'onn told me to look for them, but he didn't say why. I swear I don't-"

Tungdil whacked him with the poll of his ax, returning him to his faint. Once he was safely tied up and locked in the cupboard, they debated what to do with him. It was obvious that they couldn't release him. A wizard with hostile intentions posed a serious threat and there could be no justification for not killing him while they still had the chance.

The tension over, Tungdil lowered his guard and gave in to his grief, mourning the loss of his adopted family and friends. Tears rolled down his cheeks, coursing through his beard, and he wiped them away with Frala's scarf. She had given him the talisman for luck, but now it was all he had left to remember her by. I won't let your deaths go unpunished, he promised his oldest friend.

Just then a familiar stench rose to his nostrils. Tungdil looked up and exchanged glances with the twins. They too had smelled the rancid butter, which could only mean one thing: orcs. He picked up his ax and rose to his feet. "Let's see if I can remember those lessons." They strode grimly to the door. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle Rumor had it that the high king was on his deathbed. In fact, according to some reports, Vraccas had smitten him already and he had taken his place in the eternal smithy.