The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

  The Chosen Ones were becoming restless, too, and that added to Derkin’s worries. With the wall in place, and no plans for permanent delves at the pass, they had little to do. Quarrels, brawls, and fistfights had become common in recent days, and Derkin knew it was the result of sheer boredom. Without work to do, his people turned to fighting, and there was no one here to fight except themselves.

  He longed to leave the wall, to somehow know that Tharkas Pass was safe from invasion so that he could take his people back into the mountains. There, they could join their ten thousand peers in the work of hunting and herding, of planting and harvesting, of building and delving and living their lives.

  The wall, like the little metal stake on which it was built, was really nothing more than a symbol. It was a signal to those beyond that the lands south of it were not theirs for the taking. It had needed to be built, and they had built it. It had been a certainty that the humans would test it, and the dwarves welcomed the test.

  But Derkin had not intended to spend months or years here in Tharkas Pass. There were other places to be, and other things to do. Just as a great nation of dwarves had been carved out of the mountain wilderness so many centuries ago, now that nation must be renewed, and securing Tharkas Pass was only the first step.

  In his dreams, Derkin saw a time when the Neidar of Kal-Thax could live securely, where and how they chose, knowing that they had champions to come to their aid if they were threatened. The Chosen Ones would be those champions. They would be the army of Kal-Thax. They would serve the dwarven nation as the Holgar – the people of Thorbardin – had once promised to.

  He had little hope that Thorbardin would ever reverse itself, ever again become the vital, central fortress of Kal-Thax. Not enough of the people now living in the subterranean fortress had the spirit their ancestors had once had. There were a few Dunbarth Ironthumbs and people like the Daewar leader Jeron Redleather and his son Luster, but only a few, it seemed.

  If Kal-Thax was to be restored as a realm, it would be up to the Chosen Ones to do it.

  But this silence was unnerving. Not only had Lord Kane not come with his armies to test the walled border in force … he hadn’t done anything at all.

  Each evening’s breezes, coming through the great pass, were cooler than those the evening before. Each morning now, there was frost. Winter came quickly in these mountains, and it would come soon. Derkin Hammerhand chafed at the silence, and at the waiting.

  And then, four weeks to the day after the defense of the wall, the drums told of people coming. A small party, riding toward the border.

  When they came into sight, Derkin went to the battlements. The people coming were human soldiers, wearing the colors of the empire and carrying the banners of Klanath. But there were only a dozen of them. As they neared, Derkin recognized the one in the lead. It was the officer he had given his message to, the one named Tulien Gart. With sudden decision, Derkin hurried down the ramp, opened the gate, and went out to meet him. The Ten, as always, went with him, but he ordered everyone else to stay.

  Tulien Gart saw the dwarves come out from the gate and halted his escort. Then, holding a hand up, palm out, he rode forward alone. Six paces from the group of dwarves, he drew rein. “I am Tulien Gart,” he said. “I have words for Hammerhand.”

  The dwarf in the lead stepped forward a single pace. Gart recognized the polished helm and the scarlet cape, and now he could see the face that went with them – a wide, stern dwarven face with dark, backswept beard and eyes that seemed to look right through him.

  “I know you, Tulien Gart,” the dwarf said, in the deep voice the man remembered. “I am Hammerhand.”

  “I carried your words to my prince, Lord Kane,” Gart said. “He has sent me with his response. Lord Kane directs me to say that he does not recognize your claim to the lands bestowed upon him by His Imperial Majesty, but neither does he wish to expend his forces and his energies in needless combat. He therefore suggests a truce.”

  “A truce?” Hammerhand scowled, and Gart noticed that the Ten behind him raised their shields slightly, as though preparing to draw their weapons. But Hammerhand eased them with a gesture. “What sort of truce does Lord Kane suggest?”

  “Lord Kane asks your word of honor that you and all your people will remain south of your … ah … border, and make no move against Klanath, until such time as Lord Kane and Hammerhand can negotiate their respective claims and possibly arrive at a peaceful solution.”

  “I will gladly speak with Lord Kane,” Hammerhand said. “The ownership of Kal-Thax is not open to negotiation, but there may be agreements by which Lord Kane can be compensated – through trade, for instance, or an alliance.”

  “May I tell Lord Kane that he has your word of honor that you and your people will not come beyond your border, pending negotiations?”

  “What does Lord Kane offer in return for such a pledge?”

  “He makes the same promise,” Gart said. “His Highness offers you his pledge, upon his honor, that no force will be brought against you, pending negotiations.”

  “And when will such negotiations take place?”

  “Unfortunately,” Gart replied with a shrug, “not until spring. Lord Kane has received orders from His Imperial Majesty that will keep him occupied through the winter.”

  “Orders to build a new fortress in Klanath?”

  Gart blinked, then smiled slightly. “Ah, you know about that, do you? Yes, that is part of his task. I can tell you no more.”

  “It’s none of our concern,” Hammerhand noted.

  “But for you to know of it, you must have spies watching the city. And to see the city, they must be north of here. Lord Kane’s request is that your people no longer come north of the border … which you yourself have designated.”

  “I will stand by my pledge,” Hammerhand said, “as long as he stands by his.” Hammerhand waved the Ten back and strode toward the mounted man. When he was only a few feet from him, he looked up into his face, studying him carefully. “Can I trust your Lord Kane in this, Commander Gart? Do you trust him?”

  Gart hesitated. He felt as though the dwarf were seeing right into his head. For an instant, he suspected magic. But he had never heard of a dwarf using magic.

  “I’ll ask my question another way, Commander,” Hammerhand said. “Do you believe that Lord Kane means to stand by his pledge to me?”

  “Yes,” the man answered. “I believe he does. He said he would.”

  Hammerhand nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I think you do not truly trust the man you work for. But I believe that you expect him to keep his pledge, for whatever reason. It is enough. Tell Lord Kane that he has the pledge of Hammerhand, and that I have his. We will negotiate in the spring. Oh, and I will withdraw my observers from the peaks. It really is none of our concern what you people do over there, as long as you don’t bother us.”

  The dwarf turned and walked away, not looking back. For a moment, Tulien Gart watched him, wondering what sort of mind could seem so perceptive, yet so readily trust one who hated him, as he must know Lord Kane did. Would Hammerhand really pull his spies back, away from Klanath? If I were him, Gart wondered, would I?

  The commander sincerely hoped that Lord Kane would keep his promise. Yet the dwarf was right. Sakar Kane was not a man he himself would trust. As Hammerhand approached his waiting guards, Gart turned his mount and rode away, back to his escort. By the time the dwarves had disappeared behind their wall, the emissaries were filing northward, down the pass.

  Calan Silvertoe was aghast when he heard of the pledge Derkin had given. “You aren’t really going to call in the sentinels,” he demanded. “You’ll leave us blind.”

  “It was a fair request,” Derkin said. “By our own declaration, our watchers are four miles beyond our boundary. They are trespassing.” He turned to his nearest drummer. “Recall the sentinels,” he ordered.

  The drums began to speak, but still Calan ranted. “You’re making a mistake!” h
e shouted, his nose inches from Derkin’s. “You can’t trust humans!”

  “If I expect Lord Kane to keep his pledge, then I must keep mine,” the Hylar said flatly. “Besides, there’s no reason for him to betray us. Winter is coming. This pass would be of no use to him until spring, even if he held it.”

  With the old one-arm and the Ten trailing after him, the Master of Tharkas Pass strode through his encampment. Everywhere were sullen, irritable dwarves. Thousands of them, and everywhere Derkin looked he saw the signs of their discontent. There were broken noses, blackened eyes, bandaged knuckles, and various, assorted bruises. For a few weeks they had been idle, and they looked as though they had been in a pitched battle.

  “Boredom,” Derkin muttered. “Our worst enemy is simple boredom. It is our nature.” Turning to his escorts, he ordered, “Get the Chosen Ones packed and ready to travel. I want this pass cleared as soon as all the sentinels are in.”

  “Where are we going?” Calan asked, bewildered.

  “Home,” Derkin rasped. “Home to Stoneforge, where there is work to do. If we remain here much longer, we’ll be killing one another.”

  “And leave the pass unguarded?” Calan Silvertoe and Tap Tolec asked in unison.

  “I’ll remain here, with the Red-and-Grays,” Derkin decided. “We’ll stay until first snow. After that, the pass will guard itself until spring. Send for Vin the Shadow. He can take command for the trek to Stoneforge. I’ll catch up along the way.”

  “You’re being foolish, Derkin,” Calan told him.

  “I’m doing what I must,” Derkin growled, gazing around at his people, with their accumulated boredom scars. “A few more days of doing nothing, and the Chosen Ones will be no better than those idiots in Thorbardin!”

  *

  Even before Tulien Gart had returned from Tharkas Pass, watchers on Lord Kane’s battlements spotted movement high on the peaks above Klanath. With dwarven-crafted far-seeing tubes, they saw dwarves in the heights emerging from hiding, clambering away along impossible slopes.

  “My message has done its work,” Sakar Kane gloated when he heard the report. “The dwarves have had spies watching us, but now they are being pulled away.” He strode across his great room and slammed the door open. “Captain of the guard!” he shouted.

  When the captain of his household guard appeared, Kane said, “Ready the engines, Morden. We move on Tharkas Pass.”

  “It worked then?” Morden’s scarred face split in a toothy grin. “The dwarves believed in the truce?”

  “I knew they would,” Kane said with a sneer. “I knew it when that fool Gart described their leader to me. A Hylar dwarf, he said. It is well known that many of the Hylar are inflicted with those idiotic principles of chivalry and honor that our own Orders of Knighthood hold so dear. That is why I chose Tulien Gart to carry my message. He himself is something of a fool where chivalry is concerned … and he truly believes that I mean to keep my pledge to those dinks.”

  “Commander Gart is going to have a fit when he sees our siege engines rolling into the pass.” Morden grinned.

  “I seem to recall that the scar on your cheek came from Gart’s blade,” Kane said. “Does it ever pain you?”

  “Its memory does,” Morden answered. “One day I may repay the favor.”

  “As you please,” Kane said. “Tulien Gart is of no further use to me.”

  *

  Only six hundred dwarves remained in Tharkas Pass when great, lashed-timber siege engines rolled out of morning mist and were hauled into line a hundred yards from Derkin’s Wall. Hammerhand had sent the Chosen Ones southward, toward Stoneforge. All that remained were Derkin himself, the Ten, the Red and Gray Company, and roughly fifty others who had volunteered to stay.

  Now three full battalions of human soldiers and a thousand footmen drafted from the streets of Klanath emerged from the mists, towing tall engines of death, and methodically arranged themselves in siege-and-attack formation as dwarves crowded onto the wall in fury and disbelief.

  “I told you so!” Calan Silvertoe shouted at Derkin Hammerhand. “I told you not to trust the humans!”

  “I believed that man spoke the truth,” Derkin said bleakly.

  “He may have, but his prince didn’t,” Tap Tolec observed.

  The sound of sledges rang in the pass as a dozen tall catapults were anchored into the stone, while ox-drawn carts came carrying the stones to feed them. Atop the dwarven wall, slings began to hum, and crossbows thudded. Here and there among the humans, men fell, but only a few. The range was too great for either sling-balls or bolts.

  Without preamble, the first catapult was loaded, aligned, and released. Two hundred pounds of stone whistled through the air and crashed into the wall’s battlements. Where it hit, stone shards flew and a dozen dwarves fell.

  “Clear the wall!” Derkin roared. “Everyone down! Use the wall for shelter!”

  Dwarves scurried past Derkin and the Ten, streaming down the ramps as those in the pass behind closed in, massing themselves behind the wall. Another catapult stone smashed into the wall, just below the battlements, and broke into a dozen pieces. Where it had struck was only a shallow dent, and Derkin thanked the gods for his people’s habit of building sturdy structures. The catapults could punish the reinforced wall, but they would not tear it down.

  Archers had positioned themselves between the siege engines, and now arrows flew around the few dwarves remaining atop the wall. Most flew past harmlessly, and some shattered against the stone, but several had to be deflected with shields. “Get down!” Tap Tolec begged Derkin. “It’s you they’re aiming at!”

  “To rust with them,” Derkin snapped. “Look, there beyond that second engine. It’s Lord Kane himself!” Grabbing a crossbow from one of the Ten, he drew it, fitted a metal bolt into its slot, aimed carefully, and fired. A horseman directly behind the Prince of Klanath fell, pierced through the throat.

  “I missed,” Derkin rasped. “Give me another …”

  “Hammerhand!” Tap Tolec roared. “Look out!” But it was too late. A huge stone, propelled by a catapult, whined over the wall, directly into the little cluster of dwarves there. The last thing Derkin Hammerhand saw was a flash of hurtling stone, and then only darkness.

  Among the attackers, Sakar Kane raised his fist. “There,” he shouted. “Their leader is dead! Now kill the rest!”

  Captain Morden squinted at the wall, then turned. “They are protected, Sire,” he said. “Our stones bounce off that structure.”

  “Then raise your line of fire!” Kane snapped. “Aim for the sky, above the wall. Let the stones fly high and fall on those behind.”

  “Aye, Sire,” Morden grinned. “That should do it.”

  “When we’ve dropped enough rocks on them,” the Prince of Klanath added, “send footmen with grapples. I don’t want a living dwarf left when we’re finished here.”

  *

  Cold winds sang through the valleys, low clouds hid the rising peaks, and spitting snow had begun to dust the marchers on the Stoneforge trail when those in the rear of the great caravan heard running hoofbeats overtaking them. A single rider came into sight around a precipitous bend, and those who had turned to look saw the colors of Hammerhand’s personal guard, the Ten.

  Within a moment Tap Tolec was among them, almost falling as he dropped from the saddle of an exhausted horse. A crude sling held his right arm close against his armored breast, and the right side of his face was crusted with dried blood.

  “Where’s Vin?” he demanded. “Send word ahead to Vin the Shadow!” As drums spoke and runners hurried forward, the First of the Ten staggered and sat down on the hard ground.

  A few minutes later Vin was beside him, mask pushed up and large eyes bright with concern. “Tap,” he said. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “The truce was a trick,” Tap told him, his voice thin with anger. “You hadn’t been gone half a day when Lord Kane attacked with his entire garrison. They used siege engines … c
atapults. We didn’t have a chance.”

  “And Derkin? Is Derkin …?”

  “Turn your column,” Tap rasped. “We’re going back.”

  Chapter 18

  A TIME FOR REPRISAL

  In a snow-dusted mountain glade nine miles south of Tharkas, fourteen dwarves huddled around a little fire, sharing blankets from the day packs of three horses that stood head-low and exhausted a few yards away. Some of the dwarves had wounds, which others worked to bind the wounds with bits of torn fabric, snippets of leather, and tree bark.

  Helta Gray wood, her left cheek covered with a plaster of moss and mud, sat on a stone beside the fire, bathing Derkin Hammerhand’s brow and right temple with a moist rag. His head rested on her lap. Nearby lay his polished helm, its right template scarred and dented. Grazed by a two-hundred-pound stone from a catapult, the old helmet – of long-ago Hylar craftsmanship – had saved his life, though he had only recently regained consciousness after several hours of nothingness. Now, as Helta bathed the crusted blood from his head, Talon Oakbeard – Third of the Ten – knelt beside him, talking in a low, tired voice.

  “It was Helta who saved you,” Talon said. “Most of us were knocked off the wall by that stone. We were all stunned, I guess. I think I was crawling around trying to see who else was alive and trying to remember what had happened. And there were people everywhere, all packed together, close behind the wall. Then I heard somebody say that you were dead, and all of a sudden Helta was there, with another woman. They were pushing people aside, and I saw your red cloak. Tap Tolec came and helped them. I started toward you, too, but just then a catapult stone fell from the sky. It brushed Tap, knocked him aside, and fell right on top of the woman with Helta.”

  Pain slitting his eyes, Derkin looked up at the girl’s face. A huge tear welled from her eye, disappearing into the mud poultice on her cheek. “Nadeen,” she said. “The stone fell and crushed her.”

  “Then more stones fell,” Talon muttered. “The humans must have lofted their shots nearly straight up. Those stones began falling like rain, and there was no protection from them. I remember …” He sniffed, his voice breaking, then cleared his throat and went on. “Everybody was trying to hug the wall, climbing over one another. I was helping Tap get to his feet when I looked around, and there you were, fifty yards up the pass. Helta had you by one arm. She was dragging you, pulling you away from the raining stones. It was …” His voice broke again. “We went after you, Tap and I, and Brass Darkwood. Brass didn’t make it. A few others followed, and some of us got saddles onto a few horses. We all climbed on … we could hear the stones still falling behind us. All those people … but there was nothing we could do. Nothing but try to get away.”