On reaching the doorway, he stopped and looked back, scanning the foul-smelling room. The stench of decay would soon be overwhelming, but it was all the same to him. His work was almost done and he was leaving the conference chamber for the final time.

It was then that he noticed Rantja and Jolosin. With a brutal swipe of his staff, he crushed the famulus's skull. His own apprentice had nearly reached the door, but he nudged her back into the chamber with his boot.

Rantja rolled onto her back, tears streaming over her face, and uttered a healing charm. Her magic failed her.

The magus stooped to stroke her long brown hair. He knew the famula well and she was talented, one of his most gifted pupils, in fact. She would probably have made it into his discipleship in Lios Nudin, but he knew that she couldn't be relied on to cooperate with his plans.

"The malachite splinter inside you has left you weak and helpless," he told her. "The magic is gone. You'll die like the others, Rantja."

The young woman stared up at him accusingly. Her dark eyes were full of contempt for the magus whom she had trusted implicitly and who had forfeited her respect.

Nфd'onn looked away, surprised at how much he was affected by his dying apprentice. "I didn't want to kill them," he said defensively. "There was no other way of obtaining their magic. What was I supposed to do? Andфkai, Lot-Ionan, Maira, Sabora, and Turgur refused to help me, and you and the other famuli would have turned against me too. I knew it was going to be difficult, but I did it because I had to. This is my destiny. Girdlegard must be protected from evil."

"There is no greater evil than the Perished Land," she said, breathing in rapid gasps. "The gods will punish you for betraying our circle."

Nфd'onn thought for a moment. "Perhaps you're right. But the vengeance of the gods is a small price to pay for saving mankind." He got to his feet and stepped out of the chamber. "And mankind can be saved only by the Perished Land and the chosen few."

"You're mistaken," whispered Rantja. Her gaze faltered. "You're…" A sigh ran through her body and her head slumped back, falling to the side.

"No," Nфd'onn contradicted her sadly. "I'm right, but no one understands. My dear friend told me this would happen."

Closing the doors with a wave of his hand, he turned away quickly and hurried through the palace to the vaults. There was a dull thud as the doors of the chamber slammed behind him, sealing Girdlegard's most powerful wizards in their tomb.

Clumping down the stairs, Nфd'onn reached the room where the energy was at its strongest. From Lios Nudin, the force field extended outward in five directions, supplying the other realms. He was about to change all that.

The magi and their highest-ranking famuli had been taken care of, but there was still the matter of the lowlier apprentices. Nфd'onn was incapable of stopping the flow of energy, but he intended to reclaim the young wizards' meager powers by other means.

First there's something I need to attend to. He loosened the green drawstrings, opened the bag, and turned it upside down.

An hourglass hit the floor, shattering on impact, followed closely by two amulets, which tinkled against the marble. A roll of parchment landed on top.

Nфd'onn stared at the motley collection. These aren't my things! he thought furiously, scattering the pool of sand in all directions with his staff. Confound Lot-Ionan!

He reminded himself of the need for calm. Besides, he could always ask the orcs to retrieve the items from Ionandar.

Focusing his mind, he used his powers to search for the force field and, on finding a connection, uttered the charm provided by the Perished Land, thereby releasing the magic he had plundered.

Enchanted Realm of Ionandar, Girdlegard, Late Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle To speed their progress, the three dwarves bought ponies and rode without stopping, dismounting only to spare their aching backsides. Even then they kept moving, continuing on foot.

Over the course of the journey the twins taught Tungdil a number of ballads that were known to all dwarves, irrespective of folk or clan. Little else remained of the common heritage linking all the children of the Smith.

The melodies were simple and easy to remember, embellishments and ornaments playing no part in dwarven songs. To Tungdil's ear, they sounded rather melancholy, a tendency he attributed to the gloominess of the underground halls. The mood was noticeably lighter in songs such as "Glinting Diamond, Cold and Bright" or "There Is a Golden Shimmer in a Faraway Range," where the lyrics told of great treasures and gold, and he enjoyed the drinking song "A Thousand Thirsty Gullets, A Thousand Flagons of Beer," taught to him by Boпndil, who had procured a keg of beer.

Tungdil awoke the next morning and cursed his pounding head. According to Boлndal, it was all the fault of the long-uns' ale, which was vastly inferior to the dwarves' own beer.

Farther along the way they encountered Sami, a peddler with stubbly cheeks and peasant's clothing, who had strange stories to tell. "Some people say that the cleverest famuli in the other five realms have left for Lios Nudin," he informed Tungdil, who was examining the array of trinkets on offer while the twins waited patiently. He wanted to buy something for Frala before he forgot.

"Any tidings from Greenglade?"

"The elf maiden is dead. The northern pestilence laid waste to the forest, and King Bruron is worried that wayfarers might get themselves killed. He wants to set fire to it." Sami made a show of unpacking his herbal soaps. "Perhaps you groundlings could do with some of these."

"Just because we're dwarves doesn't mean we stink!" growled Ireheart. "I'll put you in a lather, you lanky-legged rascal!"

"My mistake," Sami said hurriedly. "I thought he wanted something for a lady friend."

"Actually, Boпndil, the peddler's probably got a point," Tungdil said slyly, throwing him a bar of plain soap. He also bought a jasmine-scented soap, a patterned comb, and a doll each for Ikana and Sunja.

Boпndil sniffed the soap, scratched at it, and put a shaving in his mouth. "Ugh, it tastes disgusting! I'm not washing with that!" He tossed it disdainfully into his bag.

"So the Perished Land is still advancing?" probed Boлndal.

"It looks that way. Most of Вlandur has fallen already and the elves are under constant attack. Some have fled to the plains of Tabaоn, or so I've heard." The peddler packed the gifts in coarsely woven cloth. "Everyone says the дlfar are getting the better of them. They've taken the other elven kingdoms, and if you ask me, Вlandur will be next. It's only a matter of time before the дlfar conquer the last of their land." He handed the parcel to Tungdil. "A silver coin, please, master groundling."

"Dwarf," Tungdil corrected him.

"Pardon me?" "We're dwarves, not groundlings."

"Of course," Sami said, again hurriedly. "Absolutely." He cast a distrustful glance at Boпndil, who was admiring his shaven cheeks in a mirror.

Tungdil was still digesting the news about Вlandur. "What do you think the assembly will have to say about it all?" he asked the twins.

"Serves the elvish tricksters right," said Boпndil with a shrug. "Most of them are dead already and the others will follow if they set foot in our range. The pointy-ears aren't welcome near Ogre's Death; I don't care whether they call themselves elves or дlfar, they won't be moving in with us."

Tungdil scratched his beard. "What of the orcs?" he asked Sami.

"Oh, they're in three places at once, if you believe the rumors." The peddler looked at them dolefully. "It's not safe on the roads anymore. Tion's creatures are on the rampage and King Bruron can't do anything to stop them. Innocent folks like us have to fear for our lives and our wares."