A Guile of Dragons by James Enge

speak this tongue better than you do), has been in the Northhold for some months. Setting the Wards, you see. I assumed you knew this, Morlocktheorn.”
    â€œNo. But as you say, I am a junior thain.”
    â€œHmph. Well, by any door, they have passed through Thrymhaiam several times, the last less than two calls ago. They were headed for Northtower, by way of Haukrull.”
    The gateway turned into a short tunnel that ended in dimness.
    â€œYou know,” said Morlock, his voice falling curiously dead in the narrow tunnel, “I thought I saw smoke in the Haukr mountains as we were riding today.”
    â€œWell, I expect it’s blown east from Ranga. They had a terrible fire there: the whole crop burned, most of the animals killed. The valley is still smoldering.”
    Earno found this interesting and disturbing. “Is that common?” he asked.
    â€œWell, it has never happened before,” the dwarf replied. “But it was a very dry summer. It is very bad in Ranga, now; they have some sort of plague. Haukr is helping with food, and of course we’ve cancelled their debts. But you can’t eat metal, so we haven’t been able to do much for them.”
    â€œDeortheorn,” Morlock said, “Ranga’s mining settlement has had no news of this. Word must . . . I should say, perhaps word could be sent to them. . . .”
    Morlock had apparently committed some gaffe, and his kin laughed at him for it. “Very well, Elder Brother, I hear and obey—”
    â€œHear, anyway,” Morlock interrupted him. “They are very short of food, too.”
    â€œWell, the Eldest will have to approve any drudgings of food. It will be a hard winter for the Deep Halls as it is.”
    They had entered the dimness at the end of the tunnel, now, and passed into the great terminal of Southgate. From the outside this had seemed an imposing arm of the mountain, impregnable by force. Inside, once his eyes grew used to the light (there were lamps set into the wall at various points, crystalline cylinders full of some pale glowing fluid, but their light did not compare to the open sunlight) Earno saw that the entire arm had been hollowed out to form a vast chamber into which many brightly lit tunnels opened. The walls of the terminal chamber were honeycombed with what appeared to be storerooms. Earno guessed that a great deal of trade came through the Southgate, in given seasons. Now everything seemed to be fastened down for the coming winter, though.
    Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a battered shield hanging over the bright exit of the gate-tunnel. He thought he could see markings on the shield’s dented surface.
    â€œWhat is that?” he asked, halting.
    Morlock said nothing. Deor, glancing at him, said, “A shield.”
    â€œYes, of course. But it seems to have some significance. Aren’t those heraldic markings on the surface?”
    â€œYes,” said Deor slowly.
    â€œI wasn’t aware that dwarves used them,” Earno remarked.
    â€œWe don’t,” Deor replied, smiling.
    â€œIt’s a riddle, then?” Earno replied, smiling himself (rather wryly: he had never been good at riddles). “May I take a closer look?”
    Deor seemed pleased, but for some reason he looked at Morlock again. The thain’s face was impassive. “Yes, indeed,” said the dwarf at last.
    Earno retraced their steps and stood below the shield. It was coated with dust and had taken a severe beating before it was set up for display. In addition the daylight echoing from the gate-tunnel made it difficult to see the shield, in the dimness above the lintel. But the images were broad, in the manner of heraldry. Earno thought he could see a bird in flight . . . a branch sprouting small sharp leaves—or thorns . . . It was a peregrine falcon, in flight above a branch of flowering thorn.
    â€œIt is the crest of Ambrosius,” said