The company followed Balendilнn through several gateways until they reached the fourth and final terrace, where he signaled for them to stop. At last they could appreciate the full genius of the stronghold's design. Their host gestured to the doors that led into the mountain. "Dismount and leave your ponies here. We'll take good care of them, I assure you. The delegates are expecting you in the great hall."

He led the procession into a tunnel of such vast proportions that a dragon could have entered with ease. What truly took the visitors' breath away, though, was the masonry. Nine-sided stone columns, each measuring ten paces in circumference, rose like fossilized trees. The ceiling was so high as to be invisible, the columns soaring into space. Perhaps the crown of the mountain is supported by pillars, thought Gandogar, gazing at his surroundings in awe.

Stone arches, richly decorated with carvings, spanned the columns, inscribed with verses and citations from the creation story of the dwarves.

Ahead of them towered an enormous stone statue of Beroпn, father of the secondlings. The ancient monarch sat on a throne of white marble, his right hand raised in greeting and his left hand clasped about his ax. His foot alone was as long as five ponies and loomed to the height of a fully grown dwarf.

But that was just the start of it.

The walls, once coarse naked rock, had been polished to a sheen and the glinting surfaces engraved with runes and patterns. The stonework was so delicate, so precise, that Gandogar slowed to examine it.

There were underground galleries and chambers aplenty in his own kingdom, but nothing compared to the secondlings' skill.

He reached out and ran his hand reverently over the dark gray marble. It was hard to believe such splendor was possible.

"By Vraccas," he exclaimed admiringly, "I have never seen such artistry. The secondlings boast the best masons of any dwarven folk."

Gundrabur's counselor gave a little bow. "Thank you. They will value your praise."

The company walked between the statue's feet and through another door. There the passageway narrowed and the air felt suddenly cool. They had reached the entrance to the hall.

Balendilнn turned to Gandogar and smiled. "Are you ready to stake your claim before the assembly?"

"Of course he is," snapped Bislipur before the king could speak.

Balendilнn frowned but said nothing, stepping forward to throw open the doors and announce the arrival of the long-awaited guests.

The great hall surpassed everything that had gone before it. Cylindrical columns towered to vertiginous heights and great battle scenes graced the walls, the sculpted marble surfaces commemorating past victories and heroic deeds. Lanterns and braziers of burning coal bathed the chamber in a warm reddish glow, but the air was cool, much to the delight of the travelers who had endured the heat of Sangpыr's deserts.

While Balendilнn was introducing the new arrivals, Gandogar fixed his adviser with a stare. "You would have beaten Sverd for such insolence."

Bislipur clenched his jaw. "I'll apologize to the counselor later."

They turned toward the assembly. Five chairs, one for each of the dwarven folks, were arranged in a semicircle around a table. Elegantly carved pews were lined up in five blocks behind them so that the chieftains and elders could follow the proceedings and have their say.

One of the chairs, together with its corresponding benches, would remain forever empty, a painful reminder of the fifthlings' fate. There was no sign of the firstling monarch or chieftains, but the seventeen clans of the secondlings had taken their seats.

The table was covered in maps and charts of Girdlegard. Before the fourthlings' arrival, the delegates had been discussing the happenings in the north, but now their attention turned to Gandogar.

The king felt a rush of excitement. For the first time in over four hundred cycles the most influential and powerful dwarves of all the folks would be assembled in one room. Never before had he been in the presence of his fellow monarchs and distant kin and at last the names that he had heard so often attached themselves to beings of flesh and blood. It was a momentous occasion.

The other dwarves rose to greet the company with hearty handshakes. Gandogar noticed how the palms differed; some were callused or scarred, others tough and muscular, while a few seemed almost delicate. He was touched by the warmth of the welcome, despite the distrust and suspicion evident in some eyes.

Then it was time for him to greet Gundrabur Whitecrown, king of the secondlings and ruler of every dwarf, clan, and folk.

He stepped forward and struggled to hide his shock.

After five hundred cycles of life, the once stately high king was so weak that the mildest breeze was liable to extinguish his inner fires. His eyes, dull and yellowed, flicked back and forth, unable to settle. It seemed to Gandogar that the monarch stared straight through him.

Because of his great age, the high king did without cumbersome mail, his feeble body wrapped in embroidered robes of brown fabric. His silvery hair and beard swept the floor and in his lap was the crown that symbolized his office, too heavy for him to bear.

The ceremonial hammer lay beside his throne, its head etched with runes and its handle inlaid with gems and precious metals that sparkled in the light of the braziers and lanterns. It seemed doubtful that the monarch could summon the strength to lift the heavy relic.

Gandogar cleared his throat and swallowed his trepidation. "You summoned me as your successor, Your Majesty, and now I stand before you," he said, addressing the high king with the time-honored formula.

Gundrabur inclined his head as if to speak, but no sound came out.

"The high king thanks you for following his summons. He knows that the journey was arduous and long," Balendilнn explained on the monarch's behalf. "If the assembly wills it thus, you shall soon wear the crown. I am Gundrabur's deputy and I will speak for the secondlings." He gestured for Gandogar to take his place at the table.

Gandogar sat down and Bislipur took up position behind him. The fourthling monarch leaned over to inspect the maps, only to realize that some of the delegates were staring at him expectantly. They seemed to be waiting for him to stake his claim more roundly, but Bislipur had warned him against showing his hand too soon. His priority was the situation in the north of Girdlegard and he was eager to see how his proposal would be received.

"Where are the nine clans of Borengar's folk?" he asked, nodding toward the empty seats belonging to the firstlings. "Not here?"

Balendilнn shook his head. "No, and we don't know if they're coming. We've heard nothing from the firstlings for two hundred cycles." He reached for his ax and lowered the blade over the far west of Girdlegard. The dwarves of Borengar's folk were the keepers of the Silver Pass, the defenders of the Red Range against invading troops. The human realm of Queen Wey IV separated their kingdom from the rest of Girdlegard. "We know they're still there, though. According to the merchants of Weyurn, the Silver Pass has not been breached." He laid his ax on the table. "It's their business if they choose to stay away. We must vote without them."

The other members of the assembly murmured their assent.

"King Gandogar, you wish to ascend the throne, but first you must hear of the challenges that await you. The Perished Land is creeping through Girdlegard. Every pace of land conquered by Tion's minions is infected with a terrible force that turns nature against itself. Its power is such that even the trees become intent on attacking and killing anything that lives. People say that those who perish on this ground return to life without a soul or a will. The dead become enslaved to the dark power and join the orcs in slaying their kin."