“Sure.”

  “They aren’t good for anything.”

  They passed through a hole in one wall and turned left at the passage beyond. The masonry here was cleaner, but still rough-hewn compared with the dwarven tunnels. Iron doors lined both sides of the corridor, locks and hinges secured by rust. The hallway opened up into a large, marble-tiled gallery.

  Parts of the gallery’s ceiling had collapsed, and the fresh supports which lined each wall were obviously new, as was the archway carved out of one wall. The arch opened into another circular shaft, and a metal ladder attached to the near wall took them deeper into the mountain. The stone within a cubit of the ladder had been scrubbed clean, but the rest of the shaft was cloaked in a thick layer of black soot.

  They dropped off the ladder and found themselves standing inside a huge furnace. A thick layer of ash covered the edges of the floor, but a wide path from the ladder to the thick stone door had been swept clear. An irregular hole near one wall sank even deeper into the stone, but the brothers led them through the door and into a large smithy.

  A dozen smaller forges lined the walls next to the great furnace. Hammers and anvils and tongs of every size lay scattered about the room. Metal bars and rods littered the floor: iron, gold, silver, steel—and others that Chentelle didn’t recognize. Weapons were strewn haphazardly in one corner, their blades tarnished and pitted with age and neglect. A wide metal door stood on the center of the far wall, looking as if it had been polished yesterday.

  “Here we are, gentle beings.”

  “The workshop of A’kalendane.”

  The three wizards stepped up to the door and examined it in great detail.

  Chentelle wanted to go with them. But without her Gift, the metal of the door would just feel cold to her fingers. Without her Gift the magical runes would just be carved letters. And she couldn’t use her Gift without opening herself to the agony of this dead land. She stayed with Fen, Fel, and the Legionnaires.

  The wizards conferred for a moment. Then A’rullen and A’valman backed away from the door.

  Chentelle remembered what had happened when A’stoc forced the door to Boemarre’s workshop. “We’d better find cover.”

  They crouched in the shelter of the kilns while A’stoc called green flame from the Thunderwood. It was strange to see it without feeling the tremendous rush of Earthpower. Surrounded in the aura of his power, the wizard tapped the Staff lightly against the portal.

  The metal rang like a mammoth bell. Sparks of blue lightning crackled along its surface. The power exploded from the door, engulfing A’stoc and flashing through the workshop beyond.

  But A’rullen and A’valman had been standing ready. The lightning splashed against their wards and dispersed harmlessly.

  The brunt of the assault, though, still snapped and hissed around A’stoc’s shield of Earthpower. The green flame started pulsing. With every surge, it became a little brighter, a little stronger, and the blue lightning diminished. As the last spark vanished, a clap of thunder blasted through the room.

  Darkness. The green flame flickered and died. The orb-light disappeared. The deafening roar seemed to echo forever in the closed chamber.

  “A’stoc!”

  Suddenly, vision returned. Fen and Fel looked around in confusion as their orb-lights returned to life.

  A’stoc stood absolutely still in front of the doorway. Slowly, he raised the Staff and tapped the door again. It swung silently open.

  “Wait!” Dacius stepped forward, drawing his sword. The steel shone coldly in the orb-light, but it did not glow. “Drup and I should go in first, just in case.”

  A’stoc shrugged. He mumbled a quick spell, and orb-light filled the chamber beyond the door.

  The two Legionnaires moved cautiously into the room. A few moments later they called out that the room was clear.

  A’kalendane’s workshop was a smaller version of its neighbor. Forges and smelting cauldrons lined one wall. Another was the home to a dozen varieties of metal-working tools. Buckets of raw ore sat beside sword blanks and barrels of refined metal. But there were several differences between this shop and the larger one: the tools and material here were in perfect order, the forges were stocked with wood and ready to be fired, and there were no weapons of any type, vorpal or otherwise. There was also another door.

  The party had missed it at first. It was unadorned stone and nearly indistinguishable from the walls of the chamber. But the sharp eyes of the dwarves had spotted it immediately.

  One of the brothers ran his hand along the stone. A panel slid aside, revealing a keyhole. “Number three, Fen?”

  Fen reached into his pouch and pulled out a small granite cylinder. “Number three, Fel.”

  Fen put the cylinder next to the lock and started a slow, rhythmic chant. Fel accompanied him with light taps on his drum, which had an amazingly deep and full timbre for so small an instrument. As the music built, Fen started kneading the granite cylinder. The stone shaped like clay beneath his fingers, taking on the shape and configuration of the keyhole. He inserted and removed the key several times, making small adjustments to match the tumblers.

  Fel stopped his drumming. “Done?”

  “Done.” Fen turned the key.

  The lock clicked loudly. Fen pushed on the door. Nothing happened.

  “Aaa—”

  Chentelle spun around. Commander Kruzel lay on the ground, his face contorted with a frozen scream. A gelatinous sphere hovered above his body, reaching out with long, transparent tentacles. On the far wall, a panel had dropped open to reveal a hidden alcove.

  One of the creature’s tentacles brushed A’valman’s neck. The wizard dropped to the ground, his open eyes staring lifelessly into the distance.

  “A guardian!” Dacius charged forward, sword in hand.

  But Councilor A’rullen was closer. The creature floated toward him with deceptive speed. Its body undulated as it moved, as if it were swimming through the air.

  A’rullen lifted his cane. Lightning crackled around the wood, and he thrust it toward the guardian.

  The creature retreated from the attack, but one of its tendrils whipped forward, wrapping around the wizard’s wrist.

  A’rullen crumpled to the ground.

  “’Ware the tentacles!” Dacius’ blade cut deeply into the guardian’s trunk, cleaving through the soft flesh easily.

  The stroke left a deep gouge, which sealed itself instantly. The creature’s only reaction was to lash out at the Legionnaire with a half-dozen thin tendrils.

  Dacius dropped to the ground and rolled, barely avoiding the deadly sting.

  Drup moved in behind him, sword flashing in a horizontal arc. The vorpal blade sliced through the extended tentacles, which continued to reach forward as if nothing had happened. Drup twitched once when they reached his chest, then fell.

  No! This shouldn’t be happening. Chentelle stared in horror as the creature drifted toward her.

  Sulmar stepped between them, his black sword whistling through the air.

  The guardian reached forward, and two of its tentacles fell to the ground, severed by the dark blade. The creature retreated to the ceiling, limbs flailing wildly. It tried to circle around the Tengarian, but Sulmar moved to intercept it.

  The black sword sliced through the air, flicking another tentacle to the ground. The creature retreated, and Sulmar followed. With careful precision he backed the guardian into a corner from which it had no retreat.

  Chentelle watched the silent combat, doubt rising in her mind. What was it? It couldn’t be an Ill-creature; the vorpal blades weren’t glowing. And if it was a guardian placed here by A’kalendane, then it wasn’t evil. It was just protecting its master’s home.

  “Sulmar, no!” She ran forward, placing herself between her liegeman and the guardian. “Don’t kill—”

  The tentacle touched her face.

  She drifted in a sea of tranquillity. Drup was there, so were Kruzel and the wizard Councilors. They understood now. All was peace within the union. But her friends were still apart, still isolated. She had to help them.

  The body that had once trapped her collapsed in a heap. She didn’t need it anymore. She reached out to Sulmar.

  “Chentelle!”

  A’stoc was pointing at her with a wooden rod. Fire burst from the wand. It burned! The union screamed with agony. Her hands shriveled and fell away. The tranquillity bubbled and churned under the assault. Peace was lost. The union was dying. There was only pain and isolation.

  “No!” Chentelle sat upright.

  “Chentelle!” A’stoc lowered the mandril. He started toward her.

  “You killed it!” Tears welled in her eyes. “It wasn’t evil! You didn’t have to kill it!”

  A’stoc froze. His mouth opened, but he made no sound. Slowly, he turned and walked away.

  “Everyone, please give me your attention.” Councilor A’rullen levered himself to his feet. “Obviously A’kalendane took steps to protect his secrets. I should have anticipated that. But there must be another door somewhere. We have to find it.”

  Chentelle stayed sitting on the floor while they searched. She knew she should be helping, but she didn’t have the energy. Nothing felt right. The smell of the burned guardian caught in her throat. Why did there have to be so much death?

  Her friends scoured the room, tapping walls to find hollow chambers, brushing fingers against the stone to detect hidden seams. But they found nothing.

  Chentelle startled to giggle. It was so absurd. They ride like the wind for a hundred leagues, tunnel through a thousand cubits of rock, undo a spell of forbidding that withstood the breaking of the world, murder an innocent creature, and what do they find—nothing. It was too cruel.

  “What is it?” A’stoc said. “Why are you laughing?”

  Chentelle struggled to regain her composure. “I was just thinking. What if there is no other door?”

  “There must be!” Councilor A’rullen pounded his cane against the floor. “We have the histories! We know that A’kalendane had a hidden stockpile of weapons and Lore. It must be here! There has to be a second door!”

  “No,” A’stoc said thoughtfully. “There does not.”

  He walked to the stone door and turned the key back to its original position. The tumblers dropped loudly into place, hiding the muffled scrape of the panel pulling shut to conceal the guardian’s alcove. Then he turned it again in the same direction. The door clicked softly and swung open.

  The room beyond was filled with gleaming metal: swords, spears, lances, armor. Hundreds of weapons were stacked neatly on metal racks and shelves, and every one was forged in the blue-hued steel of A’kalendane’s vorpal Lore.

  “Thank the Creator.” Councilor A’rullen walked slowly forward. “Fel, Fen, get your workmen down here, and the Legionnaires, too. I want these weapons moved to the surface as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, councilor.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Moving slowly, almost reverently, the party entered A’kalendane’s vault. Treasures of destruction and war surrounded them. On the far wall, a small shelf held five thick tomes.

  “The Lore!” A’valman rushed forward and grabbed one of the books. He flipped through it, finding page after page of blank paper. “No!”

  He grabbed the next book, then the next. All five volumes were the same. “It can’t be. There must be more books, maybe even another room.”

  He began searching the rock walls.

  “No, A’valman.” A’stoc pulled the other wizard gently away from the wall. “Remember how it was: the jealousy, the fear. Knowledge was hoarded, encrypted in magic runes. There are no more books. A’kalendane took his Lore to the grave.”

  Councilor A’rullen set a comforting hand on A’valman’s shoulder. “He speaks the truth, my friend. I will have searchers explore every part of these chambers, just to be certain. But in my heart, I know they will find nothing.”

  “Look at this!” Dacius stood before a wooden figure which was draped in armor. A cuirass of full plate covered the torso, and a pentagonal shield hung off one shoulder. There were no arms or leggings, but metal gauntlets sat on the stand. The full helm was cylindrical in back but came to a sharp angle in the front. It was featureless and lacked either eye slits or a faceplate. “Surely this was destined to be worn by a great warrior.”

  “One of the greatest,” A’rullen said. “The histories say that A’kalendane promised a suit of armor to Lars Covenant, as repayment for the use of this workshop. It was never delivered, because it was never finished. But this can only be that armor. Do you wish to take it?”

  “What?” Dacius stared at the old wizard. “Do you jest?”

  “No,” A’rullen said. “Our agreement with the men who worked to open this vault was that each would be free to take one item should we succeed. I deem that the agreement holds for you as well.”

  “But I had no part in the opening,” Dacius protested.

  “No?” A’rullen said. “Perhaps it was another whose sword I saw flashing on a dark hill. But if you do not want it…”

  “No,” Dacius said quickly. “I am simply overwhelmed by your generosity. I shall do my best to bring the armor the honor it so obviously deserves.”

  “Master wizard,” Kruzel asked, “does that also apply to me?”

  “Of course, Commander. You as much as any.”

  “Thank you.” Kruzel snatched a long, leaf-bladed spear from the nearest rack. Both shaft and point of the weapon were forged from vorpal steel. “I name you Bonesplitter, and I vow that you will live up to your name!”

  “Does anyone else wish to choose?” A’rullen asked.

  Chentelle looked at the collection of shining blades and shook her head. She wanted nothing from here.

  A’stoc also declined to take anything.

  A’valman searched for a throwing blade to replace the one he had lost, but did not find one. He finally settled on a lightly curved saber. Drup selected a quiver of vorpal arrows. And Sulmar surprised everyone by selecting a bracer of vorpal steel. He immediately rolled up his right sleeve and slid his forearm into the band.

  By the time they had finished, Fen and Fel were back with their fellows. The work of hauling A’kalendane’s hoard to the surface began immediately. The dwarves coordinated with seamless precision: sorting, bundling, and loading the weapons into wheeled carts. The rest of them did draft duty, ferrying the carts to the furnace and unloading them into a waiting bucket. Legionnaires at the top of the ladder worked the pulleys to lift the weapons to the next level.

  In less than an hour, the vault was cleared. Everyone headed back up the ladder to help carry the hoard on its next step, but Chentelle lagged behind.

  She found herself drawn back to the guardian. Whatever magic had sustained the creature through the long years had vanished now. Its charred flesh was decomposing rapidly, vanishing into the stale air. It wasn’t right. The creature deserved better.

  “The guardian served well,” Sulmar said from behind her shoulder. “It was charged to defend this store until the weapons were needed again, and it succeeded in that duty.”

  “But it didn’t have to die,” she said. “I knew it wasn’t evil. I could have used my Gift to communicate with it, to let it know we were friends. I could have saved it! But I was afraid. If I were half as brave as you or Dacius the guardian would still be alive.”

  “You judge yourself harshly, mistress. You do not react like a trained warrior, because you are not one.” He pointed to the decaying husk. “Lord Gemine and I both attacked the creature. Neither of us had the insight or wisdom to recognize its nature. I would have been the one to kill it, had you not stopped me. Do not chastise yourself for who you are not, mistress. Find the strength in who you are. Anger does not help you, whether directed inward or toward a friend who acted only to save you or avenge your death.”

  “A’stoc?” He was right, of course. Chentelle felt the truth of his reasoning. “I know. I owe him an apology. I just lost my head.” But she felt that maybe she was getting it back now. She pointed to the bracer on Sulmar’s arm. “Will that help?”

  The Tengarian smiled grimly. “It will not harm Kaliya or affect the curse, but I think it will make her angry.”

  As soon as the last load of vorpal weapons reached the top of the excavation shaft, Councilor A’rullen called everyone together. “You all know our situation. I have sent a message to Tel Adartak-Skysoar, but we cannot expect help for several days. We expect the necromancer to attack tonight. Because of the danger, I will not order any man to stay. All workers are released from their contracts. Any dwarf who wishes to select his share of the treasure and leave may do so without disgrace. Master A’stoc and his party are also free to choose their own path.”

  No one moved.

  “Thank you,” A’rullen said. “Now, I yield all authority to Commander Kruzel so that he may direct our defense.”

  “No,” Kruzel said. “Your pardon, master wizard, but I must refuse. Lord Gemine is the senior officer.”

  A’rullen turned to Dacius. “Will you undertake this, Lord Gemine? I have no authority to call on your service.”

  “Nor am I free to give it, for I am committed to another quest. But in this, all our interests lie together.” He turned to Kruzel. “What is our strength?”

  “I have twelve horsemen left in my command, though they fight well afoot, too,” Kruzel said. “Jarl has ten more in the outpost guard, and the dwarves number fifteen, including Fen, Fel and the cook. Then, we have the wizards and your own comrades.”

  “Wait!” A’valman walked forward and turned to face A’stoc. “You must not stay. The weapons are a treasure we sorely need, but losing them will be nothing compared to the danger of the Staff falling into the necromancer’s hands. You must leave here before nightfall!”

  “Your fears betray you, Councilor,” A’stoc said calmly. “The Staff will not be safer if I am caught unprotected on the open road. I will stay.”

  “Good. We will need your power.” Dacius’ eyes scanned the ruins of the keep. “The outer wall is useless. We are too few to hold it. The inner battlement will be our first line. With luck it will blunt their charge. Jarl, take your men and have them plug those holes; scavenge whatever material you can from the outer keep. Then track down every adartak crystal and scrap of wood you can find. I want fires readied along both sides of the wall and orb-lights placed throughout the perimeter.”