The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

  “Hammerhand said the wall is the border of Kal-Thax, and that from this time on, Kal-Thax is closed except to dwarves. He said if the dwarves are left alone, they will leave us alone, but if they are attacked, they will respond.”

  “And you tested the dwarf’s words?”

  “I lost forty-nine men in the process, Sire. Thirty-five dead, fourteen wounded. To the best of my knowledge, though, Hammerhand lost none.”

  “Who does that dwarf think he is?” the prince thundered.

  “I asked him that, Sire. He said only that he is the master of Tharkas.”

  Still pacing, Lord Kane stopped abruptly before his commander, leaning close to glare directly into his eyes. “You speak almost as though you admire that dwarf,” he hissed. “Are you a traitor, Tulien Gart?”

  Gart’s sun-dark face blanched at the insult, but he held his expression tightly in check as he said, “No, Sire, I am not. I have done all in my power to serve Your Highness honorably and well.”

  “Honorably be hanged!” the prince snapped. “I want those dwarves cleared from that pass. I want them run down and killed or put in chains. I want that blasted wall torn down, my outpost restored … and I want this Hammerhand’s head brought to me on the point of a lance. This is my desire. Will you obey such an order, if I command it, Tulien Gart?”

  “I will attempt to do as my liege orders,” Gart said. “But with only a battalion at my command, it cannot be done.”

  “And why not?”

  “It will require a legion, Sire, with provisions for an all-out siege.”

  There was a rap at the closed door of the chamber, and Lord Kane turned as the portal opened and a liveried messenger stepped inside. “If this interruption is less than an emergency, I’ll have you gutted on the spot!” the prince roared at the newcomer, who was hardly more than a boy.

  The messenger’s eyes went wide with fear, and his knees began to shake. “I …” he gulped and tried again. “I … ah …”

  “Out with it!” Kane ordered.

  “Y-Your Highness, there is a – an emissary at the gate, demanding immediate audience. He is f-from …”

  The door opened wider and a burly, dark-cloaked figure strode in, pushing past the boy. “I’ll deliver my own demand,” he announced, throwing back his riding cowl.

  Lord Kane stared at the man. “Dreyus!” he whispered.

  “Aye, Your Highness.” The big man’s curt bow was arrogant and ironic, almost a challenge. His presence seemed to fill the room, as though the air within suddenly held an aura of power and cruelty. “I have ridden twelve days to reach this place, and have killed four horses. I do not care to wait on an audience.”

  Lord Kane stared at the emperor’s emissary for a moment, then sighed. Like almost everyone else in Ergoth, Sakar Kane was a bit afraid of the man who stood before him now. Even the emperor, it was whispered, might well be careful not to offend the man called Dreyus – although it was rumored that no one in Daltigoth had ever actually seen the two together. Though not proclaimed as a wizard, Dreyus had certain strange powers. He was seldom present in the imperial halls in Daltigoth, but seemed always to know of each intrigue and whisper there. And though he had no official title or discernible status in Ergoth, he often represented the emperor in matters of import.

  No one seemed to know where he had come from. Neither the clerical orders nor even the Orders of High Sorcery seemed to have any control over him, any more than did the marshals of the empire’s armies, or even – it seemed – the emperor himself.

  With a nod that became a slight bow, the Prince of Klanath waved Dreyus toward a secluded niche at one side of the Great Hall, where stood an amber-topped table and chairs of carved ivory. “Of course the eminent Dreyus is welcome here,” Kane said. “You surprise me, though. I had heard that you were with General Giarna, in his elven campaign in the east.”

  Dreyus shook his head. “The general’s elven campaign is failed, and Giarna is …” He paused, glancing aside at Tulien Gart, who still stood nearby at rigid attention. “Who is this?”

  “No one, Eminence,” Lord Kane said, as though he had completely forgotten the commander’s presence. “One of my officers.” To Gart he said, “You are dismissed for now, Commander. You are to confine yourself to quarters and await my pleasure.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Gart saluted smartly, turning away. As he approached the door, it opened for him. There were palace guards there, and he knew without seeing Lord Kane’s signal that the guards were for him. Lord Kane had not finished with him, and until he did, Gart was a prisoner. Undoubtedly his entire battalion had already been isolated and put under guard. Looking straight ahead, the commander stepped through, and the guards pulled the portal closed behind him. But just as it closed, he heard the voice of the man called Dreyus, saying, “Giarna has lost his campaign. Our legions were routed at Sithelbec, and I am …” The door closed, and he heard no more.

  Was the war over? The words he had overheard amazed Gart. If the “boy general” was, indeed, defeated, and his campaign routed, did it mean an end to the emperor’s dream of expansion into the eastern plains and Silvanesti?

  For a moment, the commander felt a sense of relief. But only for a moment. No, his intuition said, Quivalin Soth V would not abandon his ambitions because one effort had failed. Things would change, but they would remain the same. In some form or other, the war of expansion would continue.

  Outside the palace, Gart looked upward in surprise. When he had entered, the day had been clear and sunny. Now, though, the skies were dark with heavy, sullen clouds.

  *

  “Giarna waged a fierce campaign,” Dreyus told Lord Kane. “But in the end he was stupid. He failed to reckon on the tenacity of the elves, or to realize that not all of the elves are forest recluses. The western elves – the Wildrunners – fight as plainsmen when they must. They can be full of surprises. They even control griffons, it seems. And the general allowed himself to be betrayed by a woman. His own doxy, Suzine.”

  “Suzine des Quivalin?” Lord Kane’s eyes widened. “A relative of His Majesty …?”

  “Enough!” Dreyus’s voice went low and cold. “The woman is never to be referred to by family name, or by lineage. She is not related to anyone in Ergoth, not even the lowest tradesman or serf. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly.” Kane nodded. “But the campaign in the east, is it …?”

  “It continues,” Dreyus said. “Giarna failed, but the empire has not. The war will continue. Even now, the scattered forces of Giarna’s army are being gathered on the plains to await my return from Daltigoth. And that brings me to my reason for stopping here in Klanath on my way to Ullves’s palace. We shall require certain, ah, augmented services from you, Prince Kane. Klanath was important to the previous campaign, as you know. It will be far more important to the coming campaign.”

  “I shall do my best to serve,” Kane said smoothly. “As you doubtless know, I have managed to keep the road open and the mines in full production, despite some small problems.”

  “Some small problems,” Dreyus drawled with heavy irony. “Yes, I know about those. First you lost several thousand slaves, then for two years or more you allowed empire caravans to be plagued by raiders and thieves.”

  “I have accounted for all of that,” Kane snapped. “The empire’s coffers suffered no loss from the slave revolt. And as to those isolated raids …”

  Dreyus raised a hand. “Enough,” he said. “I know all about it, and am not here to take you to task. You have proven to be a capable subject of the empire, Lord Kane. Or perhaps only an incredibly lucky one, but that doesn’t matter. What matters now is how well you serve my conquest of the eastern territories.”

  “Your conquest?”

  “When I return from Daltigoth, I shall lead the forces that will finally put an end to the resistance of barbarian tribes and frontier elves,” Dreyus said bluntly. “I … we shall no longer entrust such matters to mere generals.”

&
nbsp; “I see.” Kane clapped his hands, and a servant slipped through a sliding wall panel to fill two goblets, then hastened away. “And my duties, Eminence?”

  “Klanath will be my base for the duration of the campaign,” Dreyus said. “You shall be privileged to serve as host to my headquarters, my supply stores, and certain of my troops. Another of Giarna’s several mistakes, you see, was to use Klanath only as a depot and rest stop for reinforcements. He should have realized from the outset that the sheer distance between Daltigoth – or even Caergoth – and the barbarian plains gave an undue advantage to his enemies. I shall give them no such advantage.”

  Dreyus picked up his goblet and downed its contents. Although the vessel held the most precious of spiced wines, cooled by chips of clear ice from the lofty peaks above Klanath, the big man drank it as though it were no more than vulgar ale. Then he tossed the goblet aside and continued, “Starting shortly after my arrival in Daltigoth, my lord, you may expect caravans carrying all the things that I shall need for my campaign. These goods will be delivered into your care, to hold for me until I return here. I will expect to find them intact and undamaged when I arrive.”

  Lord Kane simply nodded, saying nothing.

  “Also,” Dreyus said imperiously, “you will close your mines for the present.”

  “Close the mines?” Kane rasped, frowning.

  “Close the mines,” Dreyus repeated. “For the present, you will have other work for your slaves. They shall be set to quarrying stone, immediately. Upon my return, I shall require suitable quarters for myself, my staff, and my servants. You will have these quarters built to specifications that will arrive with the first supply caravan.” He gazed at Kane with eyes that shone with power and determination. “I trust you have no objection.”

  “It will be as you command, Eminence.” Kane nodded. “And when will you return?”

  “In the spring, possibly. Or in the summer. I shall return when I am ready to return. And you, Prince of Klanath, will be ready to welcome me when I do.”

  “As you say,” Kane conceded.

  “For the duration of my campaign in the east,” Dreyus went on, “my command will be in residence at Klanath. You shall govern Klanath, of course, but until Ullves’s empire extends to Silvanost itself, you shall govern for my convenience. Is that clear?”

  Lord Kane’s jaws were tight with anger, but he kept his voice steady. All he had heard about Dreyus, he realized, was true. Being face-to-face with the big man was like being face-to-face with Quivalin himself. The two bore no resemblance in physical features, but in force of presence, they might have been the same person. “Quite clear,” Kane said.

  “I – we, His Imperial Majesty and myself – will hold you personally responsible,” Dreyus said. His business attended to, the big man leaned back, relaxing slightly. “We will not make the mistakes that Giarna made,” he added casually. “We will not be plagued by delayed supplies, traitors in our own beds, unexpected storms, unexpected griffons, unexpected dwarves. …”

  “Dwarves?” Lord Kane’s ears twitched.

  “A legion of dwarves took part in the battle at Sithelbec,” Dreyus noted. “On the side of the elves and their allies. It was just one more of the things Giarna failed to anticipate.”

  When Dreyus had gone, Lord Kane paced alone in his great hall, shaken and angry. Close the mines, the man ordered! Without the mines, much of Kane’s wealth would be gone. Still, there was no choice in the matter. A man who has once survived the emperor’s displeasure could not hope for forgiveness a second time. What the emperor demanded, the emperor must receive, fully and immediately. And he had no doubt that, when Dreyus spoke, it was with the emperor’s voice. The feeling of presence was uncanny. In some way, it was as though Dreyus was Quivalin Soth V.

  But what had shaken him most was Dreyus’s demand that Klanath and the Klanath region – the granted fief of Lord Kane – be guaranteed under control and trouble-free.

  Dwarves had fought at Sithelbec. And now, if Tulien Gart could be believed, an army of dwarves was encamped behind a stone wall just four miles from Klanath. Such a thing was aggravating, at the least. But now – in light of Dreyus’s plans – it was intolerable. Something would have to be done, and quickly.

  He was very glad that he had confined the Third Battalion to quarters. It would not do for Dreyus to learn about the problem in Tharkas Pass. That was something that Lord Kane would have to deal with himself.

  *

  In a quiet glade on the perimeter of the Chosen Ones’ encampment, Despaxas and Calan Silvertoe sat together, the old dwarf watching the elf while the elf gazed into a shallow bowl partly filled with milky liquid.

  Long minutes had passed this way, and Calan was growing impatient. “Come on,” he rasped. “What does it say?”

  Despaxas looked up innocently. “It doesn’t ‘say’ anything, my friend. That isn’t how it works.”

  “I don’t care how it works,” Calan said. “I just want to know what you’ve learned.”

  “Well, I’ve learned that Kith-Kanan and his allies were victorious at Sithelbec.”

  “I already know that,” Calan grunted. “You told me that a week ago. What’s the news this time?”

  “General Giarna is disgraced,” the elf said.

  Calan grinned. “Good,” he said. “Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. Does that mean the war is over?”

  “No.” Despaxas shrugged. “The human emperor will start again, with new command. That’s what puzzles me. The command has already been decided, but I don’t know who it will be. There is someone … a presence … but I’m not sure there’s really anyone there. It’s as though he – the presence – is somewhere else entirely.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Calan snapped.

  “It might.” Despaxas frowned. “Three years ago I was with Kith-Kanan on the Singing Plains, where the Wildrunners were fortifying a village. Giarna was only forty miles away, with his army, and I went to have a look at him. Zephyr was with me. We reconnoitered the human army, but there was something puzzling about it. There was a man there, with Giarna … an emissary of the emperor’s, named Dreyus. I saw him, but Zephyr couldn’t. To Zephyr, there was no one there.”

  “Magic,” Calan growled.

  “Magic, yes,” Despaxas said. “But not a magic I have been able to understand. I’m wondering now if the new commander of forces might be that same Dreyus.” The elf gazed into his bowl thoughtfully. Then, with a quick twist of his hand, he turned the bowl over, spilling its contents onto the stony ground. The wet spot lasted only seconds, then was gone. The elf stood, slipping the bowl into his robe. “I’ll be needed now, where Kith-Kanan is.” With a quick nod, he strode away from Calan, who sprinted after him.

  With his one hand, the old dwarf grabbed the elf’s cloak and halted him. “Here, now!” he demanded. “You mean you’re leaving again, just like that?”

  “Of course.” Despaxas smiled. “I’m not needed here now. This situation is in good hands.” He glanced at the stump of Calan’s arm and corrected himself. “Well, in good hand.” He reached out, clasped the old dwarf’s burly shoulder for a moment, and just for an instant Calan thought he saw a deep sadness in the elf’s eyes. It was as though Despaxas were saying a final farewell to his old friend. But then the look was gone, and the elf turned again and walked away.

  Halfway across the encampment, Despaxas found Tuft Broadland. “Get your horse, human,” he said. “It’s time for me to leave, and your people will be missing your leadership by now … if they’ve noticed yet that you’re gone.”

  “Crazy elf,” Tuft said sourly. “Shouldn’t we say goodbye to Derkin before we go?”

  “Why? He’ll know we’ve gone.”

  “I’d like to bid him well,” Tuft said. “And you should, too. He has done a remarkable thing here.”

  “Derkin’s task – or his ordeal – has only begun,” Despaxas said quietly. “We leave now, human. I have seen a glim
pse of what is to come. But I cannot help Derkin Hammerhand. Destiny is upon him.”

  “If you know something of use to him, he deserves to be told,” the Cobar said with a scowl.

  Again, there was a flicker of sadness in Despaxas’s expression, quickly replaced by a cold determination. “Trust me, Tuft Broadland. We must leave here now.”

  Confused, as he often was by Despaxas, the Cobar hesitated. Still, he had trusted this strange elf in the past, and had never regretted it. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll get my horse, and you can say your spell. But I’ll be hanged if I’ll be in the saddle when you do.”

  Chapter 17

  LORD KANE’S REVENGE

  Weeks had passed since the defense of Derkin’s Wall against the attacks of the Third Battalion. And during those weeks, not a single soldier had been seen in Tharkas Pass.

  Derkin’s lookouts, hidden in shallow, camouflaged delves high on the peaks above Klanath, reported strange, unexplained activities in and around Lord Kane’s stronghold. The great mines outside the city lay silent now, and it appeared that all of their slaves had been relocated. Some of them had been taken to bustling new stone quarries nearby, others into the city itself. And now, building stones by the hundreds were being hauled into the city, and there was construction going on in a large enclave just east of the palace. Timber crews moved back and forth between Klanath and the forests to the north, bringing back hundreds of logs.

  It looked, the drums said, as though the humans were building a new fortress within the city.

  Derkin Hammerhand admitted to those close to him that he was puzzled. What the humans were doing in Klanath was their own business, but he was surprised that there had been no further attempts to clear Tharkas Pass. He had been sure that Lord Kane would launch at least one attack in full force. It was not like the man to simply accept an ultimatum such as the dwarves had sent. Kane was not a passive person, nor one to accept a loss. He considered the lands south of the pass as his own. Would he lose them without a fight?