Boлndal ran up, his plait swinging vigorously as if it were alive. "We did it! Girdlegard is free of the traitor."

They hurried off, with Tungdil and Boлndal in the lead and Ireheart covering their backs. "It was child's play," he boasted, taking the opportunity to slay another couple of orcs. "We showed the traitor who's…" Ireheart's eyes shifted sideways and he let out a terrible howl of rage. "By the beard of Beroпn, I thought we'd…"

Nфd'onn was rising to his feet. His headless body straightened, and he stretched out a hand, beckoning to his skull, which flew toward him and settled on his severed neck. Not a scar remained to show where Ireheart's axes had raged. The magus seemed as strong and alert as ever. He ordered the remaining orcs to deal with Tungdil and his companions, then turned to the hill to destroy his magical foe.

"Seize the artifacts and the books," he boomed through the darkness. "And kill the dwarves!"

The onyx on the end of his staff throbbed with light as he raised his hand toward the knoll. The ground quaked, a deep furrow opening in the earth and burrowing toward the figure on the hill. Bolts of lightning shot from the dark clouds, only to melt harmlessly into the protective shield that cocooned Nфd'onn's body.

I knew it! Ordinary weapons can't harm him. Tungdil grabbed his companions. "This way," he panted. "The path leads south."

The trio raced off, slipping into a ditch to throw off their pursuers. They listened to the heavy trample of boots as the orcs charged past without seeing them.

"We should have stood our ground," Boпndil whispered crossly.

"And been killed!" Tungdil pushed himself deeper into the warm soil of the trench. "Didn't you see what he did back there? He got up, even though you'd beheaded him! It proves he's more powerful than the Perished Land." He pointed to the leather pouch that they'd managed to salvage. "The key to his destruction is in that bag."

"You're the scholar," Boлndal told him. "Find a way of killing him and leave the rest to us. It's time we got back to Ogre's Death. Our kingdoms are in danger and we need to warn the assembly of Nфd'onn's plans. You might be the only one who can stop him."

"I don't know about that." Tungdil's hopes were centered on their mysterious rescuer, who had fought magic with magic, thereby saving their lives. Please, Vraccas, let it be Lot-Ionan, he prayed, unable to fight his tiredness any longer as he drifted off to sleep. Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle

… and I was following them into the woods when they suddenly disappeared," said the gnome in conclusion. He tugged at the leather collar that had left him with a weal around his throat. "I had to get out of there quickly because the orcs were on my tail."

Bislipur was already deep in thought. Sverd's news obliged him to rethink his plans. "They're on their way here, then," he muttered to himself.

"Who? The orcs or the dwarves?" When Bislipur didn't answer, Sverd tried another tack. "You're not going to keep the news to yourself, are you? Didn't you hear what I said? The magus wants to attack the dwarven kingdoms! Only a real scoundrel would-"

Bislipur limped to the door. "Wait here," he ordered. "Don't show yourself unless I tell you."

"Yes, cruel master." With a sigh, the gnome settled on a stool, his short legs dangling above the floor.

Bislipur rapped on Gandogar's door. "It's me," he shouted. "Put your cloak on. We've got business to attend to."

Gandogar stepped out into the corridor and gave his adviser a bewildered look. "Wouldn't you rather come inside?"

"The exercise will do us good. Besides, there's enough gossip about me already. Apparently, I spend my time behind closed doors, plotting against the high king." He snorted derisively. "They're welcome to see us talking, if that's what they want."

Gandogar threw a light cloak over his mail and followed Bislipur through the stone labyrinth that was Ogre's Death.

All around them were carvings and ornaments. The secondlings had sculpted great artworks out of the humble stone, but the masonry was all the more striking because of its lack of pretension. Gandogar marveled at its simple beauty, but his reverie was cut short.

"I was just saying," Bislipur repeated softly, "that everything will be ruined if they keep us waiting any longer. The high king is an obstinate fool."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I've consulted with the other chieftains. They think we should defeat the elves before the Perished Land gets there first."

At last he had Gandogar's attention. "Then let the Perished Land defeat them. It would solve the problem for us."

"Actually, Your Majesty, it would make our task harder. Remember what the Perished Land does to the fallen? They rise again! Our warriors would never prevail against an army of undead elves. The Perished Land is immensely powerful, remember." Bislipur's mail clunked slightly as he limped beside his king. "And what if the elves were to flee the threat and ensconce themselves somewhere quite unreachable?

Their crimes against the dwarves would go unpunished and your father and brother would never be avenged."

Despite the urgency in his voice, Bislipur was careful to speak softly. Anyone who saw them talking would assume they were preparing for the coming assembly-which was exactly what he intended.

"It's time you were made high king and led the folks against Вlandur. The Perished Land has lain dormant for some time. If it stirs, we must be back in our stronghold so we can wait in safety until the trouble has passed."

"You heard what Gundrabur said," the fourthling sovereign reminded him. "The laws were written by our forefathers, and I can't and won't defy them."

Their path led them to a beautiful sunlit valley whose verdant slopes were dotted with sheep and goats. Rocky peaks towered on either side with clouds stacked above them. To Gandogar, it seemed as if the mountains had impaled the bad weather on their summits to clear the skies for the pastures below.

"How peaceful it is here," he sighed, lowering himself onto a boulder. "I wish our assemblies were as harmonious as this."

Bislipur's cold eyes scanned the grassy slopes. "If you ask me, the other dwarves are exactly like sheep. They flock together, bleat until they get their food and beer, then fall into a self- satisfied slumber." He laid a hand on the monarch's shoulder. "You're a true king, Your Majesty, and you shouldn't be made to wait while some guttersnipe of a dwarf strolls across Girdlegard to challenge what's yours. Force a decision and the delegates will support you; I'll make sure of it."

"You're asking a great deal, Bislipur." The king rose, and they strolled back to the tunnel that led into the mountain and deep inside the Blue Range.

At length they came to a series of stone bridges whose backbones arched over dark, fathomless chasms. These were the ancient mine shafts, now empty and abandoned. The secondlings had plundered the mountain's riches and left deep gashes in its flesh. Bislipur walked in silence, allowing the king to reflect.

"But what of the laws?" muttered Gandogar, turning the matter over in his mind. "I can't force another vote without challenging the laws of our forefathers and defying the high king's decision."

"It would take courage, the courage to do what's best for our race. You need to act now, Your Majesty. You've never been afraid to take a stand."

The passageway led over one of the kingdom's many quarries, where sheets of smooth marble were being hewn from the rock. A river meandered peacefully to the right of the stoneworks. The king and his adviser stopped on a bridge 180 paces above the laborers and gazed at the bustle below.

"Gundrabur might die at any moment," said Bislipur, still pressing for a decision. "Surely you don't mean to make us wait until the stranger arrives and the hustings have been held? What if the Perished Land attacks while the throne is vacant? Without a high king, there'd be no one to organize our defenses and lead us to victory. The folks would squabble among themselves and our race would be destroyed."