Nudin walked briskly, striking his staff against the marble at regular intervals and leading them through a maze of arcades and corridors until they reached a double door. His onyx-tipped staff glistened darkly as he raised his left hand.

"Steel yourselves," he warned them, and recited the incantation to open the doors.

Even before the doors were fully open, a fetid smell wafted out of the room, causing the famuli at the front of the queue to cover their faces. Rantja swayed and clutched at Jolosin, who steadied her bravely while he tried not to retch.

The magus was apparently unaffected by the stench. "See for yourselves why Girdlegard needs your help!" Hesitantly, the famuli entered the chamber.

There were cries of distress as the shocked apprentices surveyed the remains of their tutors: a statue, a heap of clothing, a rotting corpse, and in the case of Andфkai, a body so mutilated that its features were no longer recognizable.

"Palandiell have mercy on us," gasped Jolosin, staring in horror at Lot-Ionan's marble face. He would never have wished such a dreadful fate on his magus, no matter how many potatoes the wizard had forced him to peel. "Girdlegard is finished," he muttered despairingly, depositing the leather bag at the foot of the statue. Lot-Ionan had specifically asked him to bring it, and now he was dead. "If the council could do nothing, what hope is there for-"

He was silenced by the sound of a staff striking the floor. A hush descended on the chamber as everyone turned to face Nudin.

"We underestimated the power of the Perished Land," he said shakily. "It waited for us to channel the magic into the malachite, and then it attacked. The table was destroyed and I myself was almost killed. My good friends here"-he waved his staff in the direction of the fallen magi, whose rotting remains and frozen corpses reflected nothing of their former power- "were unlucky. As their most senior famuli, you are the highest-ranking wizards in Girdlegard." He stopped to cough up a mouthful of blood and staggered backward, leaning against the fossilized Lot-Ionan for support. "The attack has taken its toll on me, as you can see. It is our duty to repair the table as quickly as we can, for only then will we be able to repel the Perished Land. The survival of humankind depends on our success; ordinary armies will be helpless against the pestilence."

The famuli looked at one another bleakly, shaken to the core by Nudin's sobering words and the sight of their dead mentors.

"They were so powerful, but the Perished Land subdued them," whispered Jolosin despondently. "How are we supposed to-"

"We should give them a proper burial," Rantja said distractedly. "We can't just leave them here." She was trembling.

"Girdlegard is relying on you to be strong," Nudin exhorted them. "If you don't act now, we'll lose our only hope of repelling the Perished Land. You can mourn the dead when it's over." He traced a circle on the floor with his staff. "Gather round, join hands, and repeat the incantation after me."

The famuli did as instructed, Rantja and Jolosin standing side by side and drawing strength and comfort from each other.

Nudin took his place in the circle and laid his staff on the floor. His fat, clammy fingers reached for Jolosin's free hand and the unfortunate famulus clasped them with revulsion. "If you please, Estimable Magus, I've brought the artifacts you loaned to Lot-Ionan." He turned in the direction of the bag, and Nudin nodded curtly.

Then they began the incantation, calling on the magic to come forth and enter the splinters of the table. The hours wore away. Enchanted Realm of Lios Nudin, Girdlegard, Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle It was raining at daybreak, or pouring, to be precise.

Summer in all its glory reigned over Girdlegard, but for the duration of a few hours the sun had retreated, allowing the sky to cloud over and quench the parched soil.

No doubt the vegetation was grateful for the downpour, but the dwarves were unimpressed. Huddled under a tree, they waited grumpily for the rain to stop.

"Now you see why we live in the mountains," scowled Boпndil, who was taking the opportunity to shave his cheeks. Over the past few orbits he had become increasingly restless. His warrior's heart longed for action so that he could swing his ax and shriek and spit at some orcs, but the chances of that in Lios Nudin were depressingly slim.

"What if he goes into a frenzy?" Tungdil asked Boлndal in a whisper. "Should 1 hide in a tree?"

The dwarf wrung the rainwater out of his plait and grinned from ear to ear. "You'll be safe so long as I'm around to direct his fury onto something else. I try to steer him clear of anything that breathes, and it works quite well, for the most part."

They kept their eyes fixed on the nearby thoroughfare, watching the carts and carriages roll past. One young couple seemed more interested in each other than in driving their oxen. The dutiful animals kept up a steady trot.

The sight of the lovers reminded Tungdil of a subject that had been bothering him for a while. He wondered whether to ask the twins' advice, although he was beginning to feel embarrassed about his ignorance of dwarven life. For someone who had spent his formative years surrounded by books, he asked incredibly foolish questions. So much for being a scholar! Curiosity got the better of him eventually. "What do girl dwarves look like?" he asked, avoiding their gaze.

There was silence.

The patter of rain on the leaves seemed deafeningly loud. The brothers let him stew for a while; then Boпndil said: "Pretty."

"Very pretty," added Boлndal, amplifying his brother's terse reply.

"Right."

There was silence again.

Overhead, the shower was easing, the drumming raindrops fading to a steady drip-drip of water trickling from the twigs and branches.

He tried again. "Do they have beards?"

Silence.

Tungdil became acutely aware of the rich variety of noises made by falling rain.

"Not beards, exactly," said Boпndil.

"More like wispy down," explained Boлndal. "It looks lovely."

No one spoke.

The sun burned a path through the dark gray cloud, and summer triumphed over Girdlegard. Tungdil decided to broach an even more delicate topic. "When men dwarves and girl dwarves-"

He broke off under the secondlings' withering stares. Boлndal took pity on him. "It's high time our scholar got to know his kin," he said dryly. He glanced up at the tree. "The downpour's over; let's go." He stood up, followed by his brother.

"You didn't answer my question!"

"You didn't ask a question, and anyway, you're the one with all the learning, not me."

"Do girl dwarves fight too?"

"Some do, but in our clan they mostly stay at home," said Boлndal as they moved off along the road. "Our womenfolk devote themselves to domestic duties: herding animals in the valleys, stocking our pantries, brewing beer, and making clothes."

"No good ever came of the sexes fighting side by side," Boпndil added darkly. He seemed to be speaking from experience, but there was something in his voice that warned Tungdil not to probe.

"Don't make the mistake of belittling their talents, though. They're just as proud as we are. Some of the best masons and smiths in the kingdom are women. When it comes to artisan contests, they use their chisels and hammers so proficiently that other competitors stop and marvel at their work."

"Anomalies and exceptions," growled Boпndil, who was obviously of the opinion that certain tasks were the preserve of male dwarves. "For the most part they belong by the hearth. The kitchen is their calling."

Tungdil had been listening attentively. "It's like that in human kingdoms too," he told them. The idea of female dwarves seemed more appealing than ever and he was eager to become acquainted with their kind.