Even if were possible to make such a miraculous weapon, no one would get close enough to Nфd'onn to slay him. The whole business is ridiculous.

If the dwarves have any sense, they will cross the ranges and settle in the Outer Lands. Maybe the undergroundlings will give them shelter.

My work here is done.

Tungdil read and reread the letter until there was no further doubt: Lot-Ionan's murderer was not completely invincible. They had everything they needed to kill him-even the wood.

He hurried to find Balendilнn. The counselor had lit a number of oil lamps, which bathed his chamber in light. Like the rest of Ogre's Death, the room was hewn from rock and the masons had even thought to sculpt a bed and cabinets. It looked as if the mountain had created a furnished chamber especially for his use.

Tungdil handed him the letter.

"There is mention in our records of distant kin on the far side of the mountain," he said when he saw the reference to the mysterious undergroundlings. "The inhabitants of the Outer Lands seem to have more experience of fighting the Perished Land."

Tungdil brandished the piece of parchment. "It explains why Nфd'onn was desperate to get his hands on the books and the bag! Well, it's too late now: His secret is out. Balendilнn, you've got to tell the human sovereigns of our discovery before they lose all hope. They need to keep the magus fighting while we work on the weapon. If only they can keep him busy until then!"

Balendilнn studied the passages relating to the making of the ax. "We'll have to enlist the help of the fourthlings: Their skill in diamond cutting is unsurpassed. Our people can take care of the stone, but as for the best smiths…"

"Borengar's folk!"

"Yes, but none of their nine clans are here. The firstlings ignored our summons. Giselbert's fifthlings were exceptional blacksmiths, but their line was snuffed out." Balendilнn scowled. "And that's not the only hitch. The fieriest furnace in Girdlegard belonged to the fifthlings. Its name was Dragon Fire and the hardest metal would melt in its flames. But the Gray Range has been in the hands of the Perished Land for over a thousand cycles." He rested his head in his hands. "The maga was right. It's not possible."

"We can't give up now. Call a meeting and let the delegates decide. We need to send word to the firstlings and ask for their assistance. Then we'll…" He trailed off. "Well, I'll take a look in the archives. Maybe I'll find something that will help."

"Good luck to you, Tungdil."

The dwarf left the chamber and headed for the vaults, where the written record of the secondlings' history was preserved. Now that the initial excitement was over, he was left with the sobering realization that they were barely any closer to saving Girdlegard from Nфd'onn's grasp.

I'm not giving up! The very hopelessness of the situation made Tungdil more determined than ever to succeed.

He settled down to his task with all the stubbornness and persistence typical of his race. It was his solemn intention not to leave the secondlings' archives until he found something of use.

Tungdil hurried back and forth, fetching ancient tomes, rolls of parchment, and stone tablets from their places in the vaults. He piled everything on a table to examine it at length.

Lot-Ionan must have known that my schooling would come in handy. Some of the parchment was so fragile that it tore or crumbled at his touch. It made Tungdil appreciate the durability of the marble tablets that lasted an eternity, provided they weren't dropped.

After a good deal of reading, he found evidence to back up Balendilнn's vague assertions about the undergroundlings. According to the archives, a race of dwarves on the other side of the ranges went by that name. Whether or not Vraccas had created them was anyone's guess, but they seemed to have much in common with the children of the Smith. They were accomplished metal workers and shared the dwarven passion for the forge.

On the fourth orbit he learned the secret of Dragon Fire, and his optimism, which had survived in spite of everything, was dealt a grievous blow.

The flames of the fifthlings' fiery furnace had been lit by the white tongue of Branbausнl, a dragon who had roamed the Gray Range until Giselbert's dwarves stole its fire, killed it, and seized its hoard. Argamas, its mate, had taken refuge in Flamemere, a small lake of molten lava at the heart of the fifthling kingdom. The creature had never been seen again.

The stolen fire enabled the dwarves to heat their furnace to phenomenal temperatures and create alloys from metals that had never been melded. Dragon Fire was powerful enough to melt tionium, the black element created by Tion, and combine it with palandium, the deity's pure white metal.

Later records indicated that the furnace had fallen with the fifthlings. Neither the дlfar nor any other creature of Tion could find a use for the strange white flames, and Dragon Fire had been extinguished.

Tungdil's only hope lay in finding the dragon's mate who had escaped the dwarves' axes. If the firstlings could provide a smith and Argamas could furnish the fire, Keenfire could be forged and Nфd'onn defeated.

"More traveling." He sighed. We'll have to go west to the firstlings, then north through the heart of the Perished Land to the lost fifthling kingdom. But how are we supposed to cross Girdlegard without Nфd'onn finding out?

He put the question to Gundrabur and Balendilнn when he met them in the great hall to report on his findings and share a keg of beer. The king and his counselor looked at each other knowingly.

"There is a way," the high king told him, "a secret way that has faded from memory over the cycles. My predecessor told me of it." He lit his pipe and sucked on it vigorously. "It dates back to the glorious orbits of old. In those happy times traveling was easy. We used underground tunnels that crisscrossed the whole of Girdlegard, linking our kingdoms."

"Tunnels…So we could travel unseen. With ponies we could-"

"You won't need ponies. You'll get there soon enough." Gundrabur pulled his cloak tighter and sent for another blanket. His inner furnace was burning worryingly low.

Tungdil frowned. "I don't follow."

"You've seen the wagons carrying iron ore through the mines?"

"Sure, but…" Then he grasped what the high king was saying. "We can go by wagon?"

Gundrabur smiled. "Indeed. Our forefathers used wagons to travel by the shortest route from the firstling kingdom to the seconding kingdom and the secondling kingdom to the fourthling kingdom and so forth, unimpeded by marshland, wilderness, rain, or snow. They could convey troops wherever they wanted in no time at all. Within a matter of orbits an entire army could cross from north to south undetected by men, elves, or magi."

"That's the answer!" Tungdil cried excitedly. "If the tunnels are still intact, we'll be able to forge the ax before the dark magus has time to defeat the human armies and conquer their kingdoms."

"I can't guarantee what kind of state they're in," warned Gundrabur. "According to the ancient records, some sections of the tunnels have collapsed. Balendilнn, fetch the maps." "Why hasn't anyone come across them since?"

"The entrance lies in an area of the Blue Range that became polluted with sulfurous gas. Our kinsfolk abandoned that side of the mountain and the tunnels were forgotten."

At length Balendilнn returned with two ancient maps showing the path of the tunnels through the secondling kingdom. The tunnels cut straight through the heart of the Blue Range and were well hidden, with numerous mechanisms and traps securing them against intruders. Even if Tion's creatures had known about the tunnels, there was no way of breaking into them, so the forces of darkness were obliged to conduct their invasion overland.