Tungdil gritted his teeth and followed at the rear. His wounds could be bandaged just as soon as they had got the books to safety, which meant throwing off Nфd'onn's henchmen and making their way to Ogre's Death as quickly as they could.

Three orcish sentries were waiting for them at the top of a dune. Djerun drew his sword.

"That's enough from you, long-un!" In no time Ireheart was at his side, hacking savagely at the beasts. The rage he felt at neglecting his duty to Tungdil was channeled into his blows and he cut down two of the beasts in the time it took Djerun to slay one.

"At least I'm faster than you," he told the giant. Down in the village, the noise of the battle was fading. From the jeering and grunting it was obvious that the orcs had prevailed against the inhabitants of the desert's lone oasis. Flames were spreading from tent to tent and the orcs were loading chopped-up corpses onto carts. A band of runts spotted the travelers on the crest of the dune and set off in pursuit. Two dozen beasts scrambled up the sandy slope behind them.

"You'd think they'd have the sense to give up." Andфkai waited until they were almost upon them, then raised her arms and uttered an incantation.

A tearing wind swept out of nowhere, gusting and circling until it formed a tornado four paces in diameter, becoming stronger and fiercer with the maga's every word. Sand, scree, and boulders were sucked into its midst; then, on Andфkai's command, the gale unleashed its force on the orcs, who were hanging back in confusion.

The wind and debris peeled the skin from their bones. Grunting and yelping, the orcs fled the lethal gust.

"Carry on without me," Andфkai told the dwarves. "I'll keep the orcs busy for a while."

The trio resumed their march and soon the maga was back in their midst, with Djerun behind them, on the lookout for any attacks from the rear.

This time, though, the orcs let them go. Unlike the дlfar, they weren't equipped to deal with magic, and the night of looting and destruction had been profitable enough.

X

Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Early Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle I call on the assembly to decide the matter without further delay," said Gandogar loudly, his voice ringing out across the great hall. With the intention of cutting a regal figure, he had put on full mail and was wearing his diamond-encrusted helmet. "Thirty orbits have passed, thirty orbits in which…"

He continued his address, the chieftains and elders listening in silence.

Gundrabur's eyes were closed and the ceremonial hammer was resting on the arms of his marble throne. His counselor was following the speech without visible emotion. He had not succeeded in uncovering any evidence to incriminate Bislipur or Sverd, and worse still, the mood among the delegates was tipping in favor of war.

"You saw the smoke! It came from a village across the border with Sangpыr." Turning slowly, Gandogar scanned the semicircle of dwarves; he knew he had to make eye contact if he wanted to win their trust. "The settlement was razed to the ground by orcs. Tion's runts are marauding through the countryside, brazenly attacking the races of Girdlegard. We can't afford not to know who our next leader will be. Every orbit brings new dangers. According to the traders, strange things are happening in the enchanted realms and Вlandur is in turmoil. Some say that the elves have abandoned their kingdom and are scouting for land elsewhere. We must act!"

"Here or in Вlandur?" said a bewildered voice from the benches.

"Here and in Вlandur!" bellowed Bislipur, before Gandogar had a chance to reply. His dwarven blood was boiling over with impatience and he couldn't endure the prospect of another interminable speech. "Вlandur must be invaded before the pointy-ears give us the slip and vanish Vraccas knows where!" He raised a clenched fist. "Destroy the elves and avenge our murdered kin!"

The call was taken up by most of the delegates, although a few of their number abstained from the general excitement, some signaling their disagreement by frowning or shaking their heads.

Gandogar's gaze settled on a chieftain who was wearing his withered elf's ear with pride. The call to arms had been resoundingly successful, but there was still the matter of the succession, and the elderly monarch showed no sign of preparing to vacate the throne.

At that moment, Gundrabur's eyes opened wearily. "Silence!" he commanded. "Baying for blood like beasts… You should be ashamed of yourselves!" He raised a gnarled hand and pointed to the dwarf who was sporting the grisly trinket. "Get rid of it!"

The chieftain looked to Gandogar for support.

Seizing the hammer, the high king rose from the throne and made his way from the dais to confront the disobedient dwarf. His wrinkled fingers gripped the chain and snapped it from the delegate's neck. The shriveled ear dropped to the floor.

"I'm not dead yet, and while I'm your high king, I shall set our course," he thundered. "The assembly will wait!"

"No," Gandogar contradicted him, "we have waited long enough. Beyond these walls, orcs are laying waste to Girdlegard and the elvish villains are getting away. I will sit and wait no longer!"

Balendilнn stepped down from the platform and strode over to the fourthling monarch. "You forget yourself," he said, hand resting lightly on his belt. "The high king deserves your respect." The reprimand was delivered without any of the usual formalities behooving Gandogar's rank.

"The high king has been wearing the crown for too many cycles to know what's best for our folks!" Gandogar snapped back. "I won't put up with this nonsense any longer. Why should I sit back and do nothing when we should be seizing our opportunity and getting vengeance on the elves? Вlandur is as good as defeated! We need to attack while we can, not sit here, wasting our energy on pointless discussions. Orbit after orbit, all we ever do is talk and drink!"

Balendilнn squared his shoulders. "Think carefully before you continue, King Gandogar. Our laws were not made to be broken by you." He pointed to the stone stelae engraved with the sacred commandments of the dwarves. "They're the very basis of our existence. Defy them, and you'll be endangering the fragile unity of the folks. Why not take a hammer to the tablets if that's your intention? By all means, write your own laws, but remember: History will be your judge."

Hand on his ax, Bislipur stepped forward, positioning himself at Gandogar's side. The atmosphere in the great hall was unbearably tense; for the first time it seemed that the difference of opinion was going to end in blows.

Suddenly, the doors swung open.

"Get out!" Gandogar shouted furiously. "We don't need more confounded beer!"

But this time the interruption wasn't the fault of attendants bearing tankards. A herald walked in. "The second candidate has arrived!" he announced.

The delegates whirled round and stared excitedly at three squat figures silhouetted in the doorway. Behind them stood a human female and an armored giant. A buzz of whispers filled the room.

"Let me speak with him," said a visibly relieved Gundrabur. "The assembly is dismissed." Balendilнn helped him back to the throne and they waited for the delegates to leave the hall.

The departing dwarves cast curious glances at the stranger standing between the twins, but no one dared to address him. Then Bislipur drew level.

He stopped and took a menacing step toward Tungdil. "You're not one of us," he said scornfully. "Go back to Lot-Ionan and leave us to settle our own affairs. You needn't have bothered coming; we've decided on a successor already."

"Oh really? Let's hope he's as good as this one," Boлndal said coolly. He stepped in front of his charge. "Didn't you hear what Gundrabur said? The assembly is dismissed."