They had taken no more than a few paces when a long, slender shadow appeared in front of Boлndal and attacked.

Only the dwarf's helmet prevented the sword from cleaving his skull. Even so, the force of the blow brought him to his knees.

"Elf or дlf, prepare to die!" His brother hurled himself at the figure with a blood-curdling shriek.

As their assailant stepped back, his cloak fell open to reveal a black metal breastplate that reached to his thighs. His beautiful face and pointed ears removed any doubts about the identity of their attacker.

Another дlf appeared out of nowhere and challenged Djerun, while a third bore down on Andфkai. Stretching out her hand, the maga conjured a glimmering black sphere and cast a bolt of lightning in his direction.

Tungdil expected the creature to burst into flames, but his hopes were disappointed. The дlf produced an amulet, which intercepted the spluttering charm, absorbing the magic and leaving the target unharmed. Cursing, the maga drew her sword.

Tungdil glanced round, looking for a possible fourth attacker. To his horror an дlf leaped from a nearby cart and landed in front of him. His eyes took in the crimson gloves, long spear, and golden hair… It was one of the two дlfar who had parleyed with the orcs near Goodwater. Sinthoras! His lips appeared to be moving.

"Speak up!" commanded Tungdil, dwarven bloody-mindedness conquering his fear. He had no intention of surrendering.

"Look at me: Sinthoras is your death," the fair-haired дlf whispered softly. "I will take your life as I have taken the life of every groundling before you."

"We'll see about that. Vraccas helped us to kill one of your kind in Greenglade and he'll help us again." Tungdil decided not to wait for the дlf to attack. "For Lot-Ionan and Frala!" Raising his ax, he charged.

Sinthoras laughed, easily evading the energetic but poorly planned attack. Realizing at once that he was dealing with a novice, he decided to have some fun with his victim before dealing the fatal blow.

His spear flashed forward, its long, tapered point boring through Tungdil's mail shirt and passing through his undergarments. The tip pierced his left shoulder, deep enough to hurt him but too shallow for serious harm. The wound enraged the dwarf further and he redoubled his efforts, little realizing that the дlf was toying with him.

Slowly but surely Sinthoras drew his victim away from his companions, leading him into the jumble of tents. While the дlf skipped and danced ahead, Tungdil blundered among the guy ropes and tent pegs, grimly focused on staying on his feet.

The дlf's weapon approached with such speed that Tungdil gave up trying to block its attack. One moment the creature would be in front of him; the next his spear would be buried in his back. He was losing blood from myriad perforations that smarted abominably.

At last Tungdil looked round and realized his mistake. Amid the confusion of ropes and tents he had lost sight of the others and even the giant was gone. A moment later, Sinthoras vanished as well. The дlf was enjoying his murderous little game.

Wherever Tungdil looked, men were fighting with a courage born of despair, knowing with grim certainty that the orcs would show no mercy. Meanwhile, the beasts kept coming at them, more determined than ever to sink their teeth into the traders and their wares.

A number of tents had been pulled to the ground and the canvas caught fire. Flames and glinting swords reflected in the surface of the lake, the watery image of destruction warped by rippling waves.

"Where are you hiding?" Tungdil was learning to his cost that дlfar were harder to deal with than orcs. He decided to rejoin his friends while he still had the chance.

But Sinthoras wasn't finished with him.

"Over here!" The дlf loomed up behind him, thrusting his spear violently into the dwarf's right shoulder.

Something seemed to tear inside Tungdil's arm, the pain surging through him like liquid fire. His hand opened and the ax fell from his grasp.

The dwarf's tormentor pulled his legs from under him, tipping him face-first to the ground. Crouching over him, Sinthoras threaded the spear through his mail shirt on a level with his heart. The metal spike ground against the rings.

"What did I tell you?" said a whisper in Tungdil's ear. "Sinthoras is your death. It would have been wiser to leave the books in Greenglade, but it's too late for that now."

"Go ahead and kill me, but answer me one thing: What do you want with the books?"

Sinthoras laughed. "Only a groundling could be so simple-minded! To think that you've been lugging around the volumes, and you don't even know what they are!" He thought for a moment. "They're precious, more precious than anything you can imagine. A single syllable is worth a sack of gold. They could make you the wealthiest being in Girdlegard-or the most powerful, if you kept the secret to yourself. Acting on their contents would make you a hero beyond compare." He leaned on his spear and lowered his voice to a malicious whisper. "All this you had-but you lost it. I'll take even more pleasure in killing you now."

Tungdil shuddered as the дlf muttered unintelligibly in his own dark tongue. At any moment the spear would reach his heart and put an end to his life.

Before the weapon could penetrate farther, a shadow fell over them and something whirred through the air. The дlf dove to safety, only this time the maneuver was anything but elegant. He hit a tent, the canvas collapsing around him.

Djerun strode past the stricken dwarf and went after the дlf. Using the lower edge of his shield as a knife, he beat down on the muffled body, first with his shield, then his ax, until the bloodied canvas lay still. Three orcs tried to stop him but were slain on the spot.

Tungdil wondered whether he was hallucinating when he saw what happened next.

The giant, whose back was turned to Tungdil, opened his visor-or so the dwarf concluded from the movement of his arm-and tore a chunk of flesh from an orcish corpse. He raised the dripping meat toward his face.

What is he doing? Grunting with pain, Tungdil lifted himself onto his knees, leaned on his ax for support, and called to the giant.

Djerun whirled round in surprise and pushed down his visor.

In the light of the burning tents, Tungdil caught a brief glimpse of a skull with wide jaws, long fangs, and slits for eyes. The helmet clicked into place and violet light glimmered through the demon's eyes. The chunk of flesh had vanished, but it was obvious from the mutilated corpse and the green blood dripping from Djerun's gauntlet that something extraordinary had occurred.

He's not an orc or an ogre, so what kind of creature is be?

Djerun gestured with his ax in the direction from which he had come. Tungdil followed his lead, relying on the giant to slay the orcs who barred their path. He was finding it difficult enough to walk with his injuries.

Before they were out of the maze of tents, Boпndil rushed toward them, a panicked look on his face. His lips twitched and his jaw tightened when he saw the blood on Tungdil's shirt; he didn't need to be told that the giant had saved his charge's life.

The trio hurried on, arriving in time to see Andфkai drive her sword through the neck of a dying дlf who was flailing at her feet. She snatched up the amulet that had warded off her magic power. Her leather armor seemed to strain at the seams as she gasped for breath, her physical strength exhausted.

She greeted Tungdil with a brief nod, then led the company out of the village on a southerly bearing. Between them, Djerun, the twins, and the maga had put pay to three дlfar.

Boлndal stoically ignored the blood trickling down his neck. It took more than a blow to the head to make a dwarf complain.