"Well, that's settled," Tungdil told the others. "I'll do it."

"Good," said Balendilнn with a smile. He refilled their tankards. "In that case, you should be the one who tells the assembly of the tunnels' existence. The delegates will be impressed." They clunked tankards and drank.

Vraccas made me party to this knowledge so that the dwarves could liberate Girdlegard from evil," said Tungdil, coming to the end of his impassioned speech. "Why else would he have given me the artifacts and books?"

"Forgotten relics from a glorious era!" Gandogar said scornfully. "Nothing you've stumbled upon is of any practical use. A miracle ax to be forged secretly in a furnace fired by dragon's breath at the heart of the Perished Land-it can't be done! If you ask me, the whole thing's a fiction, a legend that found its way into our archives by mistake!"

"You may not believe it," Tungdil cut in, "but Nфd'onn clearly does. He wiped out a whole settlement to get his hands on the books. He tried to kill me too! Why would he be so worried if it were just an old story? Clansmen," he begged the assembly, "we need to send an expedition. Vraccas will see us through this."

"Of course he will," jeered Bislipur. "If you don't mind my asking, how exactly were you intending to slay the dragon? They're tough old beasts, but tell it one of your stories and the poor thing will probably die of laughter on the spot."

The roars of merriment were enough to convince Tungdil not to put the matter to the vote. The motion would only fail. Common sense had yet to bludgeon its way into the delegates' thick skulls.

"To business," Gandogar said impatiently. He threw off his cloak, revealing a shimmering mail shirt. His adviser handed him his shield and his ax, while another fastened his helmet. "The purpose of this meeting is to decide the succession. Let the contest begin! For the first task I challenge my rival to a duel. Victory will go to whoever draws first blood or forces his opponent to his knees."

In an instant Boпndil and Boлndal were at Tungdil's side, helping him on with his armor. His metal tunic looked cheap and dull compared to Gandogar's glittering mail. "Beware of his shield. He's bound to try to ram you with it," whispered Boпndil. He clenched his fists. "If only I could take your place," he growled. "I'd hammer him into the marble."

"You've been wonderful teachers," Tungdil reassured the twins as he buckled his chinstrap. "And I'm not just talking about the past few orbits; you taught me a great deal during our journey as well. If I lose, it won't be because of you."

The two candidates stepped into the semicircle between the throne and the benches. Balendilнn acted as referee. His eyes smiled reassuringly at Tungdil. "Fight valiantly and honorably," he told them as he backed away. The rivals were alone in the arena.

The fourthling king lost no time in launching his attack. Tungdil parried blow after blow, all the while trying not to be distracted by the twinkling diamonds on Gandogar's ax. He watched the swooping trajectory of the blade from behind his shield, retreating farther and farther until his back came up against a column.

As the next blow swung toward him, Tungdil ducked and struck back. There was a shrill metallic shriek as his blunted ax scraped over Gandogar's hastily raised shield and struck the lower edge of his helmet. Head spinning, the king staggered back.

"Now attack!" yelled Boпndil, caught up in the excitement. Fired on by his success and the encouragement of his tutor, Tungdil rushed forward.

Not if I can help it. Bislipur had no intention of allowing Gandogar to be defeated. Sverd was standing beside him, so he gave him a little shove. The gnome pitched forward and struck his head on a tankard. Beer slopped to the floor.

The incident was Tungdil's undoing. In his haste he didn't notice that the slippery marble floor was as treacherous as an ice rink. His right foot skidded to the side; he struggled to keep his balance and flailed out vainly with his ax.

"Foolish gnome!" Bislipur unleashed a volley of curses, threatening to thrash the hapless Sverd and tighten his collar until it cut off his breath.

"The scoundrel did it on purpose!" protested Boлndal.

"He's just clumsy, that's all. He'll pay for this, believe me!" said Bislipur, still pretending to be furious with the gnome.

None of that was any comfort to Tungdil, who skidded past Gandogar just as the latter straightened up and took aim. The king's ax thwacked his back with enough force to send him spinning out of control. Cursing, he lost his footing and forfeited the task.

A cheer went up from the fourthling corner where Gandogar's supporters were gathered. The jubilation turned to mocking laughter when Tungdil struggled to his feet. The contest wasn't unfolding quite as he'd hoped.

"Now for my task," he shouted above the din. The great hall fell silent.

"What is the nature of the challenge?"

"We shall both transcribe a text. The first to finish wins."

"What?" Gandogar protested. "I'm a king, not a poet!"

"You don't have to be a poet; all you have to do is write. A good monarch must have a steady hand and a smart mind to guide it; how else would he make the laws? But maybe fighting is your only virtue…" Without further ado he sat down at a desk and waited for Gandogar to follow suit.

"What if I refuse?"

"If you refuse," said Balendilнn, "you'll lose the challenge and the tally will be one task each, leaving the succession to be decided by the final three challenges."

"Besides," Boлndal added snidely, "it would be cowardly not to accept. The scholar wasn't afraid to face your ax. I hope the fourthling leader isn't frightened of a quill!"

The gibe and resulting hilarity prompted Gandogar to lay down his shield and helmet and take a seat at the desk.

The referee called for the rolls of parchment and chose one at random. "You may begin."

In no time the scholar, as Boлndal jokingly called him, was scribbling furiously, while his opponent glared at the runes and scratched awkwardly at the parchment with his quill. The dwarves devoted themselves to the task in industrious silence.

"Finished," declared Tungdil at length. His work was scrutinized and found to be faultless. Gandogar took longer and made several errors along the way. Balendilнn awarded the task to Tungdil.

The twins whooped in delight, pleased that their charge had used his cunning to secure a draw. "Too bad you lost that one, eh, Bislipur?" Boпndil shouted cheerfully.

At Balendilнn's request, the delegates noted down their challenges and the slips of paper were collected. Gandogar would draw first, then Tungdil.

"For the next challenge," announced the referee, "you will forge an ax from the poorest quality iron and strike it ten times against a shield without fracturing the blade."

Tungdil had spent so much time at Lot-Ionan's anvil that he was sure he would prove the superior smith. Balendilнn declared a break in the proceedings while the necessary equipment was set up in the hall and soon the high-ceilinged chamber was echoing with the sound of ringing hammers.

Tungdil hit his stride, working in time with a dwarven ballad that had been taught to him by the twins. Not to be outdone, Gandogar belted out a song of his own and hammered all the more furiously.

"You'd think it was a singing competition." Boлndal grinned and hoisted his belt. "If that doesn't please Vraccas, I don't know what will."

"Tungdil is the better singer, so Vraccas will favor his cause," said his brother.

The singing continued until both candidates had finished their blades. Balendilнn instructed them to attach the ax heads to iron hafts; then each took up the other's weapon, ensuring the blade's exposure to maximum force. They positioned themselves in front of their shields and at the referee's signal, the contest began.