At last they reached Porista. Tungdil gazed in wonderment at the turrets and domes of the palace, but his companions exchanged bored smiles, needing no further evidence that human architecture was inferior to their own.

Tungdil had been hoping to find Lot-Ionan and unburden himself of Gorйn's books and artifacts, but he was sorely disappointed. At the palace they were told that the council had dispersed some orbits earlier and that Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty was not receiving guests. There was nothing for it but to follow Lot-Ionan to Ionandar.

They were on their way out of the city when Tungdil spotted a stable in one of the side streets. The horse inside it looked strangely familiar.

"Wait here," he instructed, striding toward the chestnut steed. He felt sure he had shod her not so long ago. He lifted her right foreleg and examined the shoe. The nails were unmistakably his own. "It's them," he hissed.

"Friends of yours?" asked Boлndal, whose crow's beak was resting casually on his shoulder. His brother was absent-mindedly stroking his freshly shaven cheeks in search of stray whiskers.

"Not exactly." Noting the bulging saddlebags, Tungdil fetched a bucket, turned it over, climbed on top of it, and fumbled with the buckles. The bag came open and the dwarf rummaged inside until his fingers came into contact with a jar. He pulled it out quickly.

"Remember the dead dwarf in the caravan?" His instincts had been right; the jar unscrewed to reveal a head. The bounty hunters had shaved the poor fellow's hair and beard so that the grisly trophy would fit inside the container, which was filled with honey to stop the air from getting in, thus preventing decay. Streaks of blood trailed through the golden fluid, staining it red. "We've found the villains who killed him."

There was a clatter of chain mail and the brothers were beside him like a shot. Neither spoke as they stared in horror at what had been done to their kinsman for the sake of a reward.

"By the blade of Vraccas, I'll cut them to pieces," roared Ireheart. Fury ignited within him, flushing him red and prompting his axes to fly into his hands. "Just wait until I-"

The door swung open and one of the headhunters walked into the stable from the house. Tungdil knew him immediately, and the recognition was mutual as the man stopped abruptly and swore. After considering the three dwarves for a moment, he decided that the odds were against him and fled.

"Cowardly as a runt," scoffed Ireheart. "Come back here and fight!" He chased him into the house, and there were sounds of a brief but energetic skirmish that climaxed in the man's dying screams.

"Don't-" Tungdil's shouted warning came too late. "He would have been more use to us alive," he finished mildly. He could hardly blame Boпndil: The fiery warrior was at the mercy of his temper and came to his senses only when his opponent lay bleeding on the floor.

"We'll wait for the others to return," Boлndal said phlegmatically. "Didn't you say there were five of them in total?" Tungdil nodded, and they took up position in the stable.

It was early evening when the men returned. Judging by their sullen faces, their honey pots were empty and their efforts had been in vain.

Waiting for them behind the door was the vengeful Ireheart, an ax in each hand and seconded by his brother, who had concealed himself among the straw. The twins were so accustomed to fighting together that any intervention on Tungdil's part was likely to be a hindrance, so he lurked in the background and kept out of the way.

Once the men had entered the stable and dismounted, Boлndal and Boпndil nodded to each other and launched their assault.

"Leave one of the villains alive!" shouted Tungdil, joining the tail end of the charge.

Alerted by the commotion, one of the headhunters turned and reached for his sword.

The blade was only halfway out of its scabbard when Boпndil's ax thudded into his left hip. The force of the blow sent him tumbling against the wall. Before he could recover, the dwarf's second ax hit his right calf, hewing skin and sinew and shattering his knee. The man collapsed in screams of pain.

Satisfied with the crippling effect of his blows, Ireheart moved on. Cackling terribly, he hurled himself on the next of his foes.

His brother was left to deal with the remaining men. Shoulders squared, he charged toward the first of the two, leveling his crow's beak as he ran.

His opponent had enough time to snatch his shield from the horse and thrust it in front of his body, but he underestimated the weapon's force. The spike at the tip of the crow's beak pierced the metal, ripping through the shield and stabbing the man in the arm. Wood and metal had done nothing to repel the weapon; now flesh and bones yielded too. The soldier screamed.

Boлndal jerked the spike out of the shield and rammed the poll against the man's unprotected knee. The force was enough to smash the joint and buckle the leg. The second headhunter was down.

"I'll show you what happens to spineless dwarf killers!" Boiling with rage, Ireheart slashed at his opponent with fast, powerful strokes.

Tungdil could see that the men were doing their best to parry the frenzied blows of their attackers, but their expressions revealed the hopelessness of their plight; where there was fear, defeat often followed, and so it was this time.

Boпndil whirled his axes above his head. Unable to guess the direction of the attack, the panicked headhunter turned to his horse.

His legs outpaced the dwarven warrior, but his speed was no match for Boлndal's weapon. The crow's beak soared through the air, hitting the man's back just as he was swinging himself into the saddle. The impact cracked his ribs, stopping him momentarily. It gave Ireheart enough time to catch up.

"You're too tall for my liking, long-un," he snorted, slashing at the man's legs and severing his tendons. His victim toppled, and Ireheart dealt him a double blow to the collarbone that finished him off.

The dwarf went in search of the fourth headhunter, who was cowering behind the mound of straw. "Now it's your turn!" Ireheart's chain mail was spattered with his opponents' blood and his eyes glinted crazily. "Who do you pray to? Palandiell? Samusin?"

The man cast down his sword and raised his hands. "I surrender," he said hastily.

Ireheart bared his teeth. "Too bad," he growled, thrusting his axes into his enemy's unprotected midriff. The man collapsed amid agonized groans. He died quickly but painfully, as Tungdil could tell from his muted whimpers.

Tungdil surveyed the stable. The chief headhunter, whom Ireheart had put out of action at the beginning of the fight, was lying in a pool of blood. He seemed to be fading rapidly. The dwarves hurried over.

"Who pays for your handiwork?" demanded Tungdil. "Tell us, and you'll be spared."

"We'll leave you to drown in your blood if you don't," Ireheart said threateningly.

"Bind my wounds," the man implored them, pressing his hand to the flowing gash in his hip. "In the name of Palandiell, have mercy on me." The blood was flowing so fast that Tungdil doubted anything could save him; the magic of a magus, perhaps, but certainly not a bandage.

Ireheart turned on him furiously. "Tell us, or I'll let my axes do the talking!" Before he could make good on the threat, the headhunter expired.

The dwarves left his side and hurried to the remaining survivor, whose shield and arm had been pierced by Boлndal's crow's beak.

The man was gritting his teeth. Pride prevented him from screaming aloud, but the pain from his shattered knee was almost too much to bear.

"Be m-merciful," he stammered. "I don't know much, but I'll tell you. We heard about the reward in Gauragar-they were offering gold in return for groundlings' heads." He pointed to Tungdil. "It was just after we met him."