The дlf laughed. "The difference between a quick death and an agonizing end. Let's try again. Are you alone?"

Footsteps hurried along the alleyway, accompanied by clunking mail. Two figures rounded the corner. The дlf fell silent.

By some vindictive twist of fortune, Boлndal and Goпmgar chose precisely that moment to make their appearance.

Boлndal was doing his best to reassure the wary artisan that neither Bavragor nor Boпndil had any intention of carrying out their threats. Tungdil heard him vow to protect Goпmgar from any rash acts of vengeance; then he and the fourthling disappeared from sight.

"Very well," the дlf whispered, "so there are five of you. What is the purpose of your journey?"

"To foil you, your master, and all of your ilk!" Tungdil said loudly, choosing that moment to make his escape. He made a grab for the knife and threw his weight backward, hoping to ram his captor against the wall. The дlf stepped aside, and Tungdil barreled into the brickwork, still struggling ferociously to fend off the blade.

The noise was enough to alert the other dwarves. They rushed to his aid.

"Is that you, scholar?" Boлndal skidded to a halt in front of the archway, leveled his crow's beak, and barred the way. Skulking behind him was Goпmgar, doing a convincing impression of a two-legged shield.

The дlf thrust his knee into Tungdil's nose guard, forcing the metal into his face. Tungdil's eyes watered, blurring his vision; then the knife tore a gash in his unprotected left arm. The дlf set about making his escape.

I don't think so! Tungdil darted after the knapsack and managed to catch hold of the flap. He clung to it, growling, and aimed his ax at his antagonist's wrist.

The дlf whipped his hand away and the blade missed, slicing through the air, hitting the knapsack, and slitting the canvas. The flap came away in Tungdil's hands, and he lost his balance and fell.

"I've got what I came for." The situation was too perilous for the дlf and he turned to leave, trying to wrong-foot the experienced Boлndal, who saw through the feint and timed his attack to perfection. The deadly tip of the crow's beak passed through the leather armor, penetrating deep into the flesh.

The дlf uttered an unintelligible curse and staggered sideways, stepping into a lone shaft of light. His deep blue eyes became two dark pits.

But that was only the beginning of his transformation. Thin lines appeared on his pale skin, and in no time his face and throat were patterned with what looked like tiny cracks. Clutching his wounded side, he stumbled down the alleyway, the knapsack bouncing on his back.

"He's not going anywhere!" Boлndal was about to sprint after him when Tungdil called him back.

"Let him go. For all we know, it might be a trap."

"But he's got the knapsack!"

Tungdil wiped the blood from his nose, then proudly produced the sigurdaisy relic. "This is what he was after, and it's right here with me!"

"How did he find you in the first place?"

"I'll explain on the way. We'd better get back to the others." He gave a quick nod to Goпmgar. "Don't worry, those hotheads won't hurt you."

"I told them to close the door after you," the artisan said softly. "Honestly, I did."

"It's all right, Goпmgar," Tungdil reassured him, although deep down he wasn't sure what to believe. The fourthling had forfeited his right to be trusted, and there was still no sign of him understanding what the mission was all about.

"We ought to warn the guards that at least one дlf has found his way inside the gates," Boлndal reminded him. "Whichever way you look at it, it's bad news for Mifurdania. It's probably a trick to open the settlement to the orcs."

"They know we're here now," Goпmgar pointed out. "Do you think they'll come after us?"

"They've been after us all along," Tungdil told him bluntly. "It's a shame they had to find us. We need to get back to the tunnel as soon as we can. The дlfar don't know about the underground network."

The trio hurried through the streets until they reached the southern gates, where Tungdil told the sentries of his brush with the дlf. Then they set off toward the alehouse where Bavragor and Boпndil had been instructed to wait.

They were still some distance from the rundown tavern when the sound of Ireheart's ranting reached their ears. They heard cracking wood, then a chorus of screams.

"Bavragor and Boпndil! The дlfar must have found them!" Boлndal charged ahead to save his twin.

Just then glass sprayed everywhere as a narrow window shattered and a man hit the cobbles with a thud. The next unfortunate was ejected from the tavern together with the door. Bruised and bleeding, he picked himself up and fled.

The three dwarves rushed inside to be met with a scene of devastation. It looked as if a tornado had hit the bar. Nothing was in its proper place, the chairs, tables, and benches broken or upturned and the floor strewn with groaning bodies. All had taken a beating, some more severely than others.

At the heart of the carnage was Boпndil, glowering like a dwarven god of vengeance. He was busy ridding a man, hair by hair, of his mustache. There was no sign of Bavragor.

"What's got into you?" his brother asked incredulously, staring at the mess. "Is this your doing?"

Ireheart turned to face them, and they saw his singed beard. "You'd better believe it!" he slurred. "The long-uns set fire to my whiskers, so I gave them a good walloping." He giggled and plucked out another hair. "This ruffian started it. I only meant to punish him for ruining my beard, but the others piled in. I suppose I should thank them, really; it made a better fight."

"Tell him I'm sorry," groaned his victim. "It was a misunderstanding. I was offering him a light for his pipe, that's all. I'm begging you, make him stop hurting me."

Ireheart seized him by the ears and looked at him blurrily. "Will you never, ever burn another hole in a dwarf's bearded glory?"

"Never," the man whimpered.

"Then swear it!" The man complied and was released.

"Get out of my sight," barked Boпndil. As a parting shot, he grabbed another clump of hair and aimed a kick at the man's behind. He sat down on the table, laughing, and reached for his tankard. He took a noisy slurp. "I haven't had this much fun in ages," he burped. Just then he spotted Goпmgar. "Ah, there's our little flower."

"He's drunk as a skunk," said his brother, pursing his lips.

"Where's Bavragor?" asked Tungdil. Keeping tabs on this lot is worse than herding cats, he thought crossly. "Don't tell me we'll have to look for him too."

"Oh, him… He'll be back in a moment. He went to buy a pony so we can fetch the ingots from the-"

"Boпndil!" His brother snatched away the tankard and pulled him down from the table. "What in the name of Vraccas are you thinking? We're in a strange town, the orcs are at the gates, and all you can do is drink yourself silly. You're as bad as Bavragor!"

"So that's the thanks I get for buying two ponies," came an offended voice from the door. "He's the one who's been beating up locals, not me!"

"I told you he'd be back!" Boпndil said happily. He seized the tankard from Boлndal and knocked it back. "There, try taking it from me now!" He grinned and burped again.

"Orcs!" They heard the shout even before the guard rushed in. "To arms! To arms! The southern gates have fallen and the enemy has invaded! To arms, good people of Mifurdania, to arms!" He stopped short, noticing the bodies strewn around the room. "What in the name of…"

"To arms!" shouted Boпndil excitedly. "Let's get the runts! Oink, oink!" He drew his axes and stumbled to the door. His brother pulled him back and gave him a good talking to.

"Boлndal didn't mean what he said," Tungdil told Bavragor, hoping that the comment wouldn't spark another feud.