Tungdil swallowed and tightened his grip on his ax. "You're crazy. You delivered up Girdlegard just because-"
"No!" the thirdling screeched suddenly. "Not just because of anything! This is our destiny! For thousands of cycles we've been waiting for a moment like this. No deed could be more glorious, Tungdil. Our folk, the dwarves of Lorimbur, will rule all five ranges of Girdlegard once the others are dead!"
"I don't want anything to do with you or your folk! I came here to stop Nфd'onn and save the dwarves. I don't belong to Lorimbur!"
"You're one of us," Bislipur told him fiercely. "I knew it from the moment I saw you. Look inside your heart and embrace your hatred. You're a thirdling, believe me."
"Believe you? Why should I believe a traitor?" Tungdil glared at him scornfully and took a deep breath. "Now give me Keenfire."
Bislipur stared at him suspiciously. "Why?"
"So Nфd'onn can be killed. As for your punishment, I'll leave that to Gandogar and the others to decide."
"It's like that, is it?" He thumped the ax regretfully. "I'm afraid I'll have to kill you, Tungdil. You risked everything for Keenfire, and now the weapon will be your death. It seems a shame to-"
Tungdil raised his ax without warning, but Bislipur countered his blow. From then on, both dwarves fought mercilessly, but neither could win the upper hand.
"So you still think you're not a thirdling, do you?" the traitor asked mockingly. "How else would you have learned to fight so well in such a short space of time? You were born a warrior."
"No!" thundered Tungdil, slashing at him furiously. "I'll never be a thirdling."
The two axes collided, and Keenfire shattered Tungdil's weapon. The ax head spun into the air and struck Tungdil's nose guard with enough force to make him see stars.
Bislipur didn't wait for him to recover, but moved in fast. Tungdil tried to step out of the way and stumbled. At the last moment he pulled Bislipur with him, and they wrestled each other to the ground.
The battle continued on the floor, the two dwarves hacking at each other until Keenfire fell from Bislipur's grasp. He whipped out a dagger and rammed it into Tungdil's arm. Gasping, Tungdil grabbed his knife and plunged it into Bislipur's throat.
"You're wasting your time," Bislipur said derisively. "See what Balendilнn did to me? He couldn't kill me; the Perished Land wouldn't let him." He landed a punch that knocked off Tungdil's helmet, then seized his chance to scramble to safety. A well-aimed kick sent Tungdil's knife flying out of his hand. "It's not a fair fight, Tungdil, and you're about to lose."
His fingers wound their way into Tungdil's hair and hauled him up. "I'll give you one last chance because you're a thirdling," he snarled. "Do you want to die with the other scum, or come back with me and celebrate our victory?"
Tungdil had run out of weapons and had only one option. Fumbling in his pouch, he pulled out Sverd's collar and looped it around the startled Bislipur's neck.
"The gnome's choker? What good will that do? I'm dead already! I don't need air!"
"Sure, but you can't do without your head." Tungdil shoved him backward. The maneuver cost him a clump of hair, but allowed him to reach for the magic wire on Bislipur's belt. "And it's your head that I'm after."
A sudden jerk, and the noose closed around Bislipur's neck. The collar tightened, cutting into Bislipur's throat. At last the thirdling realized what Tungdil was intending to do.
Grunting inarticulately because of the pressure on his throat, he jabbed his dagger toward Tungdil, who tugged on the wire. The choker passed through Bislipur's neck, slicing through his spinal cord. The wire ran through its clasp, the noose sprang open, and the traitor's head rolled across the floor. The hateful collar fell apart, its evil charm broken.
There was no time for Tungdil to savor his victory. Gathering up Keenfire, he ran as fast as his injuries would permit him, determined to stand by his friends in the fight against the magus.
The ax was back in their possession. Now all they needed was an enemy of the dwarves who could wield it against Nфd'onn.
The orcs drew back to let the magus through. Suddenly everyone stopped fighting.
"Hello, Andфkai," rasped Nфd'onn, inclining his head toward her. "You should have allied yourself with me from the beginning, instead of squandering your strength in futile resistance. I'll need your power to fight the peril from the west."
"The peril is here already. It lives within you, confusing your thoughts and steering your deeds." She focused her energy on maintaining her protective shield. "The demon is using you, Nudin."
"He's my friend, a loyal friend of Girdlegard." He shook his head despairingly. "You don't understand. No one understands."
"You're right, Nudin; we don't understand. How many men, elves, and dwarves must die so you can protect our kingdoms? It seems a high price to pay, especially when the supposed peril is a figment of your poisoned mind."
"My name is Nфd'onn/" His voice became a shrill, nasal shout. "When you see what's coming from the west, you'll be grateful that my friend and I protected you. Lay down your weapons, and I'll spare you." There was an urgency to his doublefold voice; he seemed fully convinced of everything he said. "I did what I did because you gave me no choice. If you'd relinquished your power, it would never have come to this."
Andфkai's sword flashed as she raised her arm defiantly. "How I am supposed to believe you after all the suffering you've caused?"
He looked at her sadly. "In that case, we'll have to finish things properly. You've had your chance." With a wave of his hand, he shattered her protective spell.
Sinthoras heard the shield collapse and lunged at the maga. She batted away his spear, only to find herself under attack from three orcs who crowded round her, cutting her off from her companions.
Suddenly the дlf was beside her and this time his spear was headed straight for her chest. It collided with a shimmering shield.
Sinthoras was sheathed in violet light. A terrible roar shook the hall, then Djerun's sword swooped down. The дlf barely had time to raise his weapon.
No wood in the world, not even sigurdaisy wood, could have withstood such a blow. The giant's sword sliced through the spear and sped on. A wide sweeping blow parted the disbelieving дlf's head from his shoulders, and Sinthoras's headless body slumped to the ground, never to rise again.
Grunting in terror, the orcs shrank back from the king of the beasts as he straightened up, howling, and opened his visor. His face was invisible in the blinding light, but the orcs were rooted with fear, allowing the company to regroup.
Tungdil, still clutching Keenfire, limped toward the maga. "I've got the weapon." He pointed to Djerun. "Is he an enemy of the dwarves?" he asked, panting for breath.
"I don't know. Are you prepared to give him Keenfire?"
"We don't have a choice." He tossed the weapon to the giant.
Without hesitating, Djerun discarded his sword by ramming it through two orcs and reached out to catch the ax.
Let's get this over with. Tungdil raised his horn and sounded a long, powerful call. The dwarves of Beroпn, Borengar, and Goпmdil answered with cheers and blaring bugles. "For Vraccas and Girdlegard!" he shouted, leading the charge against the magus. Balyndis and Gandogar were already at his side; the others stormed after them.
They hewed down the orcs and bцgnilim in their way, cutting a path of gory destruction that brought Djerun within striking distance of their foe. Andфkai conjured a bolt of lightning, whose purpose was to dazzle the magus, then gave the command for Djerun to strike.
Before Nфd'onn had time to compose himself, the mailed giant brought down the ax. It hit the magus's unprotected back, sliced through his body, and sped out of his chest. Stinking black fluid spurted everywhere, showering the transfixed onlookers.