There was a faint sigh as Gundrabur released his pent-up breath in relief. Balendilнn closed his eyes and permitted himself the briefest of smiles.

No one could have anticipated that the greatest challenge to Gandogar's succession would come from a task chosen and read by Bislipur himself. It was obvious that Tungdil was far cleverer than his fellow dwarves had thought. Silence descended on the hall as the delegates digested the unexpected twist.

Tungdil stepped forward quickly to forestall any protests about the nature of the task. "I issued the challenge, and I accept." He turned to Gandogar.

The fourthling king was visibly seething. "Ditto," he growled.

"Stop! We must draw again," insisted Bislipur, knowing that an expedition to the Gray Range would sabotage his plan for a war against the elves. "You saw me drop the first note. This isn't the right one!"

Balendilнn stood his ground. "What do you propose I do? We'll never know which note was drawn first. No, the decision must stand. Both candidates have accepted the challenge, and the outcome will decide the succession."

"But what of the delay?" protested Bislipur. "An expedition will saddle us with orbits of uncertainty."

"Please don't worry unduly," Tungdil said politely. "I'll endeavor to return as quickly as I can." The delegates laughed. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get going and choose my traveling companions. There's no time to waste." He signaled to Boлndal and Boпndil to follow. "I would never have got this far if it hadn't been for you. With your agreement, I should like you to accompany me on my expedition to the Gray Range. Can I count on your assistance in escorting me there and back again?"

Boпndil guffawed. "Did you hear that, brother? He's the same old scholar!" He turned to Tungdil. "We'd be honored to join you, but only if you promise to drop your fancy speech. Besides," he added with a tinge of sadness, "there's the matter of restoring my good reputation after I failed you in the desert."

Tungdil placed his hands on the brothers' shoulders. "Don't worry, Boпndil, I'm sure you'll have more than enough opportunities to save me from certain death."

The dwarf grinned and his brother nodded. "You earned yourself a new name today, scholar." Boлndal pointed to the shimmering metal grafted to his skin. "Tungdil Goldhand. What do you think of that?"

"Goldhand…" Tungdil held up his right hand. "Yes, I rather like the sound of it." His hand hurt devilishly, but he managed a smile. Goldhand-a proper dwarven name.

The delegates dispersed and Bislipur and Gandogar stormed out of the great hall, leaving the high king and his counselor alone.

"Was that your idea?" inquired Gundrabur, reaching for his pipe.

Balendilнn laughed softly. "Not at all. I would never have come up with such a preposterous suggestion. If you ask me, Tungdil was sent here by Vraccas himself." He ascended the dais and stood by the throne. "He'd make an excellent high king, you know. His ideas are pure gold."

"Tungdil chose wisely," agreed the monarch. "Whichever of the candidates comes back first, Girdlegard will be the real winner-and of course the dwarves. Our task is to make sure nothing untoward happens while the two of them are away."

"It means keeping your inner furnace alight a little longer," Balendilнn reminded him anxiously.

Gundrabur levered himself out of his throne and stuck his pipe between his teeth. "Vraccas knows our need and will stay his hammer until the time has come," he said, undaunted.

His counselor watched him go, then sat down on the footstool to examine the contents of the leather pouch. His efforts were focused on finding the slip of paper that Bislipur had originally drawn. He knew it as soon as he saw it because of the nick in one corner. Bislipur's expression on reading the challenge had discouraged him from intervening and correcting the mistake.

And rightly so, as he discovered when he opened the note. If Bislipur had kept hold of the paper, Tungdil would be cutting diamonds instead of preparing for his quest. He would have lost the challenge and Gandogar would be high king.

He unfolded the other slips of paper and laughed out loud: four times diamond-cutting and four times an expedition.

Thank Vraccas for Bislipur's clumsiness! he thought, chuckling in relief.

XI

Beroпn's Folk, Secondling Kingdom, Girdlegard, Autumn, 6234th Solar Cycle Knowing that he would require the services of a mason, Tungdil had asked the high king's counselor to recruit a suitable artisan from the secondling clans. Balendilнn felt strongly that the final decision should rest with Tungdil, and so it was agreed that a group of candidates would be selected for him to take his pick. Not long afterward a one-eyed dwarf knocked on Tungdil's door.

Tungdil looked him over in surprise. "Are you the only one? Balendilнn promised to narrow it down, but I didn't expect him to be quite so ruthless. Who are you?"

"Bavragor Hammerfist of the clan of the Hammer Fists, mason and stoneworker of two hundred cycles." His bearlike hands reminded Tungdil of Balendilнn. His black hair hung loose about his shoulders, and his beard was artfully shaped around his cheeks and chin. "My masonry is second to none and my right eye sees twice as keenly as two. Nothing escapes me, not the tiniest fault in the stone nor the slightest flaw in the working of it."

Tungdil explained that the expedition required a mason to fashion the spurs for an ax. Since the blade was to be forged in the Gray Range, the other components of the weapon would be made and assembled there. "Which means journeying through the Perished Land. It's bound to be hazardous-only Vraccas knows what will befall us." Tungdil left the briefing at that and looked the mason in the eye. A dark red ring encircled the brown iris. How peculiar.

"Count me in," said Bavragor. He held out his hand. "Let's shake on it. Do you promise that I, Bavragor Hammerfist, will be your one and only mason?" Tungdil obliged by clasping his hand and giving his word. The mason grinned and seemed almost relieved. "When are we leaving?"

"In two orbits' time. I need to recruit a diamond cutter from the fourthling delegation."

"Then I'll start packing. A weapon like Keenfire deserves my finest tools." He hurried from the room.

Tungdil had expected the interview to last a little longer, but he soon forgot about the mason and turned his attention to finding a diamond cutter.

None of the fourthlings could be expected to join his company of their own accord, so he was obliged to ask Gandogar to spare him a suitable dwarf. The strategy was safer than it sounded: The fourthling delegation was composed of first-rate artisans and warriors, as tradition dictated.

The more Tungdil thought about it, the less inclined he was to ask his rival for a favor, but in the end he swallowed his pride, reminding himself that vanity was a luxury when Girdlegard's future was at stake.

He was just leaving his chamber when he saw four dwarves hurrying down the passageway toward him. One by one they introduced themselves. "Balendilнn sent us. He says you're to choose."

Bewildered, Tungdil stared at the bearded countenances looking at him expectantly. "I've made my choice," he said. It hadn't occurred to him that there might be other candidates. Now he was regretting his haste. "I chose Bavragor."

"Bavragor Hammerfist? Not Bavragor who polishes the stone with the beer on his breath?" said one of the dwarves incredulously. "Not the merry minstrel?"

"He got here first."

"He didn't make the final cut! You can't take him!" The masons looked at him, aghast. "He's been trying to drown himself in beer for as long as anyone can remember. Four full tankards are barely enough to steady his hands!"