Suddenly the enemy disgorged from the bushes.

Shouting and shrieking, the bцgnilim stormed toward the humans and dwarves. Bringing up the rear were two orcs wielding studded riding crops, which they used to whip the beasts into a frenzy and galvanize the attack.

The bцgnilim, cowardly creatures by nature, were carrying short swords whose notched blades were encrusted with gore from their previous victims. Lolloping and leaping like apes, they screamed and screeched, partly in terror, partly in hatred. Their fighting technique relied on numbers, not skill: If one fell, two or three others would rush into the breach, biting, scratching, and slashing or hurling themselves at their opponents and knocking them off their feet. They descended on the company, stabbing and hacking with indiscriminate rage.

"Back-to-back!" came the terse order from Boлndal. Bavragor took up position, dragging Goпmgar with him, so the artisan had no choice but to join the fight. Rodario was nowhere to be seen, but Furgas and Narmora lined up with the others.

The dwarves' weapons swooped back and forth relentlessly, cleaving skulls and hewing bones, but they had to be careful that none of their slippery assailants sneaked past their guard. Goпmgar barricaded himself behind his shield, his short sword darting out like a flash of silvery lightning and slashing through the bцgnilim's insubstantial leather armor. Pus-colored fluid spurted from the gashes and dripped down his shield.

Narmora fought at triple the speed of her companion, her light yet phenomenally sharp weapons giving her an immense advantage over their foes. Just as it seemed the bцgnilim had lost the battle, the orcs gave their smaller relatives such a thrashing that they relaunched their attack with a ferocity fueled by mortal fear.

The surging bцgnilim caused the defenders to draw closer together until there was barely enough room for the dwarves to swing their weapons. The long blade of the crow's beak caught on the haft of the war hammer, and Bavragor's weapon was torn from his grip. Two or three of the beasts darted forward and knocked the mason to the ground. Others poured through the breach and Tungdil found himself dangerously overextended.

Just then there was a loud hiss and a cloud of green smoke took shape between two trees, crackling and spluttering menacingly. As the air cleared, an enormous two-headed monster loomed out of the mist. With a terrible roar, it opened its vicious jaws and engulfed the bцgnilim in a torrent of flames. Two died in the blaze; the others were rooted with shock.

The ensuing commotion sufficed for Bavragor to retrieve his hammer and overwhelm the bцgnilim who had infiltrated their circle, pounding them to a pulp. Tungdil and Boлndal also went on the attack.

"I'll take care of the monster if it ventures our way," said Boлndal. "If it sticks to killing bцgnilim, so much the better."

Narmora ducked out of the circle and vanished into the bushes, reappearing behind one of the orcs. Her curved blades sliced through his beefy neck, and his headless body toppled to the ground. The second orc lashed out at her, but she dove beneath the whistling whip and launched herself into the air, landing coiled at his feet." Her straight-bladed weapon drove into his belly. The sharp blades cut through his mail, spilling intestines and killing the beast.

Alarmed by the appearance of the fire-spewing monster and thrown into confusion by their flagellators' deaths, the bцgnilim panicked and fled in all directions. None were left, save the thirty or so whose corpses were littered about the ground.

Boлndal turned to the two-headed dragon. "Now for you, foul beast of Tion," he growled, preparing to charge. The monster hastily retreated behind the fading smoke.

"Don't strike!" Furgas cried suddenly. "It's Rodario!"

"Rodario?" echoed Bavragor, bewildered. He was brandishing his weapon, ready to join the attack. Hurriedly, he stayed his hammer's momentum by swinging it round his head.

They heard a rustling in the bushes, then a peal of laughter. "Did you see them run?" the impresario said happily, stepping out of the smoke. He was dressed in a leather costume that was several paces too long for him. In his right hand he held two enormous heads; in his left was a pair of hinged stilts.

"I had a feeling I'd be more useful as a monster than a swordsman. I prefer to reserve my fighting prowess for the stage-outside the theater my enemies tend to laugh instead of tremble. Thankfully, I had time to grab a few props and teach the wee beasts some respect. With a little bit of alchemy, anything is possible."

"But we nearly killed you," Bavragor said, stunned.

"I looked the part, didn't I?" Rodario smirked, gratified. He gave a deep bow. "What's this, worthy spectators? Don't I deserve a round of applause?" The dwarves continued to look at him in mute disbelief.

"All humans are barmy," the mason observed. "He makes Boпndil look sane."

"He might be barmy, but he probably saved your life," Tungdil reminded him. "Vraccas knows what would have become of us if it hadn't been for him. To think we were fooled by a man in fancy dress!" He chuckled, and after a while the others saw the funny side too.

The impresario gave another low bow, straightened up, and smiled. "Thank you. You're most kind. I gather from your laughter that you enjoyed my performance. I'm deeply flattered."

This was the moment that Tungdil had been waiting for. He summoned the three players. "My friends and I have been discussing the matter," he said solemnly, as if he had something of vital importance to convey. "You're a trustworthy trio, and we've decided to tell you where we're going. We're on a mission to the firstling kingdom, home of Borengar's dwarves, who guard the western pass."

"Aha! So you're gathering an army to fight against Nфd'onn!" Rodario said excitedly. "Does that mean the story about Keenfire is true?" He scrabbled for his quill.

Tungdil ignored him and plowed on. "You came to our aid, and we'd like to show our gratitude. You may accompany us to the firstling kingdom, where you will enter a dwarven stronghold and behold its splendor. That, and a bag of gold coins, should cover our debt." It seemed to Tungdil that only the foppish actor had been won over by his words, so he tried again, this time waxing lyrical about the wonders of a kingdom he had never set eyes on. For the benefit of Furgas, he invented all kinds of extraordinary machinery and ascribed it to the genius of the firstling engineers, while Narmora was treated to descriptions of wondrous jewelry and armor. On finishing his protracted speech, he fell silent and awaited their decision with mounting impatience.

To his horror he realized that Bavragor had reached for his blood-encrusted hammer and intended to attack the players should they decline. Boлndal looked equally resolute.

"Just think," mused Rodario, stroking his pointed beard. "I could found a new theater. We'll see wonders in this kingdom never known to humankind! Furgas, imagine all the new contraptions you could build!"

Furgas nodded enthusiastically, leaving Narmora looking unimpressed. He stroked her hair fondly and kissed her. "You'll come too, won't you?" She pouted.

Tungdil looked at her intently. He still thought of her as the actress who had played the дlf. Her face isn't quite elven enough, he told himself. She's just an unusually beautiful human, that's all.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," he said brightly. "But how did you learn to use these?" He pointed to the weapons hanging in narrow leather sheaths from her belt. "I've never seen the like of them. What are they?"

"Their names are Crescent and Sunbeam. I designed them myself."

"You designed them?"

Furgas planted another kiss on her cheek. "She's our lead дlf, and we didn't want her to have the same weaponry as everyone else." He glowed with pride at his mistress's ingenuity. "We had to ask around a bit until we found a smith with the skill to forge the blades."