“Wise, I’d say,” Shard Feldspar squinted, beginning to see what Cale saw. “But who would lay a trail so dim? No dwarf did that. And no human would ever be able to follow it. Maybe we’d better take a look.”
Cale turned, listening. The faint, distant drums told him that the main march was still miles away. “All right. We have time.” Nudging Piquin, he led to the right, the others following.
The upward trail was dim indeed. But for Cale’s knack for seeing what was out of place, they would not have been able to follow it. Upward it led, along the flank of a rising ridge, concealed from view except for those upon it. The only signs that anyone had ever gone this way were so subtle that only a sharp-eyed dwarf might have seen them — a bit of stone turned slightly from alignment with its imprint, a smudge on a ledge where something had scraped against the rock, a bit of gravel sunk more deeply in sand than its own weight would account for.
At a bend, Cale climbed down from Piquin’s saddle and squatted to taste the stone of an outcrop. “Well, someone has been along here,” he said. “But I can’t tell who.”
He was just reaching for his mounting ladder when Gran Molden’s tense voice said, “Don’t move, Cale. We have a problem.”
He turned slowly and froze. A dozen or more lithe figures stood on the trail, above and below them. Without sound, they had appeared there, only yards away, and the dwarves found themselves looking down the shafts of deadly arrows in drawn bows.
Cale gaped at the somber archers. For an instant, he had thought they were humans. But now he knew better. “Elves,” he muttered. Slowly and carefully he stepped away from Piquin, raising his hands away from his weapons. The other dwarves, in their saddles, did the same.
From uphill, more and more elves appeared, emerging soundlessly from the brush and stones of the mountainside. The dwarves stared around at them, intensely aware of the steady arrows trained on them from all sides. They had seen elves before. In past times, a few elves had come to Balladine to trade — aloof, stately people in the flowing robes and spider-silk-fine garments of the Silvanesti, and now and then a silent, furtive Kagonesti from the deep forests south of the ledgelands.
But these were different, somehow. Their garments were mostly soft leathers and rough weaves, blending with the colors of the land. Their features were neither the cold, aloof faces of Silvanesti nor the weirdly painted, intense faces of Kagonesti. These were elves, but another kind of elves.
“Hold your arrows,” Cale said cautiously. “We mean no threat to you.”
“Nor will you ever, dwarf,” the nearest one said icily. The drawn bow aligned itself on Cale’s throat, and he could almost feel the broad, razor-edged arrowhead piercing his flesh.
Then another voice came, softly but with authority. “Hold, Demoth! These people are not of Kal-Thax.”
Cale turned. Among the elves now above them on the rise — hundreds of them, it seemed — one had stepped forward. Lithe and graceful as a perfect sapling in fall, she paused with one slender, soft-booted foot on a rock and gestured. “Look at their horses,” she said. “Have you ever seen horses like these beyond the Khalkists? These dwarves are Calnar.”
The one called Demoth relaxed his bowstring slightly. “Then what are they doing here?”
“Maybe we should ask,” the female suggested. She looked from one to another of the dwarves with wide-set, slanting eyes. “What are you doing so far from home, high-dwellers?”
Cale found his voice and lowered his arms a bit. “We have no home. We were Calnar once, but no longer. Now we are Hylar, and seeking new delves.”
She looked beyond him, into the distance. “Those drums are yours, then?”
“They are ours. Mistral Thrax has had a vision of Everbardin, and the people of Colin Stonetooth have followed it.” He glanced at Demoth’s bow, took a deep breath and lowered his arms, taking a demanding stance. “And why are elves in this place? And in the name of Reorx, why do you point arrows at us?”
The female elf gestured. “Lower your points,” she said. All around, reluctantly, bows were lowered and draws relaxed. She looked at Cale again. “My name is Eloeth,” she said. “There is more to it than that, but Eloeth is enough. And you?”
“Cale Greeneye,” he said. “Son of Colin Stonetooth, once chieftain of the Calnar, now leader of the Hylar.”
“The Calnar of Thorin,” she said. “I have heard the drums of Balladine.”
“Thoradin,” he corrected. “Thorin is Thorin only for those who remained. We search for Everbardin.”
“Well, have a care searching these mountains,” she suggested. “Look down there.”
Cale turned. He could see nothing where she pointed.
“Come up here where I am,” she said. “Then look.”
Cale clambered up the rise to stand beside the elf girl. She was taller than him by several inches, though she looked to weigh only a fraction of his solid bulk. She pointed again, and Cale turned. From here he could see the valley beyond the trail — the same valley he and the others had turned from, but higher, deeper into the mountains.
The valley floor was littered with death. He shaded his eyes, squinting. The largest of the silent forms looked like horses. Or most of them did. A few looked like dead ogres. And scattered everywhere were other, smaller things. He stared.
“Only the latest of many battles,” the elf told him. “Kal-Thax is under siege and is not a safe place to travel.”
“You’re here,” Cale pointed out.
“We have our own ways,” Eloeth said. “There is dragon war in Silvanesti. Our cousins need us there, and all we can bring with us. To go east we must cross Kal-Thax. So we do.”
He looked around, trying to estimate their number, but it was impossible. The elves had a way of moving a bit and becoming very hard to see, camouflaged against the terrain. But there were a lot of them.
“We are one of many parties,” Eloeth said. “And we are looking for allies.” She looked again at the other dwarves, noticing their armor and their weapons. “I don’t suppose any of you would be interested in fighting dragons?”
“Of course not,” he said. “Not that we couldn’t, if we wanted to, but only humans and kender turn to new ventures before the old ones are complete.” He paused, looking eastward, then added, “There are a lot of humans between here and where you’re going. They might be better mannered if they had something constructive to do. Maybe some of them would join you to fight dragons.”
“Humans?” she raised an exquisite eyebrow.
“I know,” Cale shrugged. “But they aren’t all bad. I know a knight who might help. His name is Glendon Hawke. He’s a great fighter, and he is back there somewhere, in the direction you’re going.”
“Would he join us?”
“I haven’t any idea,” Cale told her. “But you could talk to him. If he won’t help, maybe he knows somebody who will.”
“Thank you,” the elf girl said. “In return for that, I give you a suggestion. If you want to get into Kal-Thax without going through a war zone, turn north. That mountain over there — the highest one — is called Sky’s End. Go around to the north of it. There’s a dwarven place there that has been abandoned. And the rises below it are deserted right now. Since the early snows, the broken lands are virtually impassable … for humans, at least. You could begin your search there for … what is it you call what you seek?”
“Everbardin,” he said. “It means hope. And home.”
“Everbardin,” she repeated. “To us, Qualinesti means hope — or new hope. Silvanesti means home.” She backed away. “Go in peace, Cale Greeneye. You and we are not at war … though everybody else around here seems to be.”
Cale clambered down to the trail again and climbed aboard Piquin, then looked around in surprise. Where there had been dozens, or maybe hundreds, of elves, now he saw only a few — then none. The lithe, silent beings had gone their way, fading into the landscape. His companions also were staring around in confusion.
“Well,” Cale decided, “you heard what she said. Let’s veer north and take a look at that next peak.”
“You trust that elf?” Gran Molden stared at him.
“Why not?” Cale glared back. “I gave her some advice, and she responded. That’s one thing about elves. They are straight traders.” From a high place where they could see the Hylar procession, Cale signaled, using his burnished shield as a mirror. Across the miles, the response came, and they saw Colin Stonetooth’s tribe change course to follow them. Then they headed for the slopes of Sky’s End.
When the dwarven scouts were gone, shadows moved on the hillside, and what had seemed a vacant slope became a large band of western elves trotting down a hidden trail. At the lead, the elf called Demoth asked, “Why would you counsel dwarves, Eloeth? They are nothing to us. Especially here, in Kal-Thax.”
She smiled slightly. “Why not? Those were unusual dwarves, Demoth. They found our trail, when no one else ever has. Besides, I have a hunch about that one … that Cale Greeneye.”
“What hunch?”
“I don’t know. I have a feeling we’ll see him again. Come on. Let’s have a look at these ‘Hylar’ with their marching drums, then see if we can find a knight named Glendon.”
In the shadow of a great peak, through broken, tumbled lands bounded by a deep, vertical gorge, the people called Hylar entered the realm of Kal-Thax. Old Mistral Thrax extended his red-palmed hands upward. “There,” he told Colin Stonetooth. “Up there, above the stonefall.”
“Those bead-eyes from the mage?” someone asked. “Do they guide you, Mistral?”
“My hands guide me.” The old dwarf shrugged. “I haven’t seen those bead-eyes since the day that kender left. But this is the place where our search begins.”
Here the entire lower face of the mountain was a massive fan of stone rubble, miles wide at the bottom. Dwarves climbed through it, poking and tasting. “Hewn stone,” they reported. “From fresh delving, very deep.”
Above, high on the mountainside, they found the remains of an elaborate citadel, partly destroyed by rockfall. Within and behind it the Hylar studied walls, passageways, cubicles, and ledges, learning what they could of those who had created this place. They were dwarves, obviously, and the cuttings of the stone spoke of a numerous, energetic people whose tools, primitive by Hylar standards, were nonetheless of fine quality.
And the place was only recently abandoned. So where had they gone?
Wight Anvil’s-Cap, a master delver, studied the rubble below the delvings. Frost Steelbit, who had been chief of wardens in Thorin, studied the patterns of the wrecked citadel. Talam Bendiron, who once had been tap warden, puzzled over the placement of seeps and cisterns. Then they conferred with Colin Stonetooth.
“This place was called Daebardin, and its people the Daewar,” Frost said. “But the runes have been scratched over, indicating that they packed up and left.”
“These Daewar are primitive in some ways,” Talam said. “They do not have the knowledge of water-tunneling, so they have to live near a natural source. But our tampers have sounded out this peak and its only water is outside, on its face.”
“Yet they went inward,” Wight reported. “This delving-stone is from a tunnel that goes south into the mountain. The rubble indicates a straight dig, directly into the stone heart of the peak, with no consistent layers … as there would be if they had widened their digs or delved a living space.”
“They are people of the sun,” Frost Steelbit puzzled. “The architecture of their citadel shows that. They do not like the dark deeps, and they don’t know how to build sun-tunnels, yet they penetrated a peak with no natural quartz for light. Why would they do that?”
“There has been fighting here,” Jerem Longslate noted. “It looks like war between tribes. Some of those who battered the citadel were dark-seekers. Others were of a cliff-dwelling type.”
“But not those who lived here,” Frost persisted. “These are puzzling people. Not as primitive as those around them seem, though as Talam said, there are many things they haven’t discovered. Still, the people who built this place are fairly civilized, it seems.”
“Possibly these are the ones that knight mentioned,” Colin suggested. “The ones he called the bright-colored dwarves. He said they are better organized than most in Kal-Thax.”
“Obviously,” Frost agreed. “They are fine delvers, which means they have fine organization. But they are sun people. Why would they dig into darkness?”
“Possibly to reach a place where they knew there would be light,” Colin mused. “We know where their tunnel begins. I think we should find where it ends.”
“It will take a while to break through the seal they set in their tunnel,” Wight Anvil’s-Cap said. “It is only stone, but cleverly done — a hinged plug, of all things! Balam Platen wants to study how it was made. He believes that such a gate, using the proper metals to shield the stone, would be impregnable.”
“Let him study to his content.” The chieftain nodded in agreement. “There will be time to explore the tunnel. Right now, there are other things to do. We must establish residence in this land, of course. After that, I think we should take a look at these mountains and maybe meet some of our new neighbors.”
Since this place was obviously dwarven, and obviously abandoned, Colin Stonetooth claimed it and the adjoining slopes for the Hylar, thus establishing his tribe as a legitimate resident nation in the realm of Kal-Thax and laying a foundation for diplomatic negotiations — once they found someone to negotiate with. In a solemn ceremony, he proclaimed all of the north side of Sky’s End and the valley below as far as the great gorge as Hylar ground. As was dwarven custom, the Hylar claimed the site of their stronghold, enough land around that to support the stronghold, and enough beyond that to establish a wide perimeter for privacy and defense.
Armed companies were sent out to mark the boundaries with runes and cairns. Thus did what had been Daebardin become the first Hybardin.
Most of the tribe — now a thane, as the runes they found said land-holding tribes were called — went to work on the old citadel and the hewn caves behind it to create temporary quarters. Cale Greeneye and his scouts explored the nearby countryside and had a look beyond the peak where armies of dwarves — unaware as yet of the Hylar — patrolled the frontal ranges facing east. Colin Stonetooth and the elders laid their plans, and Willen Ironmaul readied the Hylar Guard for an expedition to neighboring slopes.
And while all this was under way, Tera Sharn involved herself in the repair and general tidying up of her people’s new home.
Working with other women and the older children, she was carrying bales into the delves for counting when she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening. For an instant, she thought she had seen someone — a strange, ancient, glowing dwarf, watching her. Like the person of Mistral Thrax’s dream. It was only for an instant, though, and then the vision was gone.
Then she knew something that she had not known before. Dropping the packs, she spread her hands on her small midriff and a slight smile creased her cheeks.
When the work was done, she went looking for Willen Ironmaul. “We have a secret, my love,” she told him. “The first child to be born in this new place — the first child of the Hylar realm — will be your child and mine.”
It was the following morning when the chieftain of the Hylar set out to meet his new neighbors. Flanked by the Ten and followed by an army of hundreds of Hylar who wore armor fashioned for the skills learned from a human knight, Colin Stonetooth crossed the shoulder of Sky’s End and headed for the Windweaver crags.
22
The New Neighbors
Except for the deserted slope north of Sky’s End, which was virtually impassable for humans, the only ready access into the Kharolis Mountains from the east was along a narrowing foothill range extending from Grand Gorge to the Cliffs of Shalomar. North of that, for hundreds of miles, the gorge and its precipitous canyons guarded the mountai
n range. To the south, the cliffs did the same. And in both directions, encroaching winter was narrowing the approaches day by day.
All of the assaults by outsiders driven by the eastern wars, therefore, had been along a sixty-mile front between the gorge and the cliffs, where several valleys ran deep into the mountains, with pathways beyond.
As the strongest force among the tribes linked by the Pact of the Kal-Thax thanes, the Daewar held the central range, with Theiwar on their north flank and Daergar — defending their mines from other dwarves as much as defending Kal-Thax from intrusion — on the south. Here and there among them, usually wandering the lower slopes, were bands of wild Klar, and there were even some Aghar here and there, driven upward from lower regions. No one had any idea where the Aghar were from day to day, because of the tendency of the gully dwarves to pack up and move every time anyone noticed them.
On this day, things were quiet along the front. Fresh snows lay on the peaks and in the high valleys, and biting winds carried laden clouds eastward. Although the distant plains seethed with humans and who knew what else, there had been no concerted attempts to invade — and thus no real battles — for more than a week. There was some skirmishing, but most of it now was between Theiwar and Daewar troops, or between Theiwar and Daergar, or Daergar and Daewar. Also, a group of Klar, crazed by mercury vapors after a “spirit floating” ceremony in some deep, hidden hole, had tried to attack a Daewar patrol and been wiped out, which had led to harsh words between some Daewar commanders and the Daergar miners who provided the hated tamex — the false metal — to the Klar.
On top of everything else, nearly a dozen dwarves in the reserve lines — dwarves of various tribes — had been found mysteriously murdered in recent days, killed silently, and robbed of some of their garb or armor. Some of the missing items included a Theiwar sloped helmet with face mesh, several kinds of cloaks, shrouds, and kilts, a Daergar iron mask, a Daewar winter mantel. It was as though some assassin were methodically prowling the darkness, collecting a variety of clothing.
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