by Dragon Lance
Directly behind him a deep voice responded, “For Thorbardin. Everbardin, be open to this one.” Hearing the voice, Derkin knew who was fighting behind him. It was the Hylar, Culom Vand, the son of Dunbarth Ironthumb.
Derkin deflected a vicious, two-handed slash with his shield and returned the blow. His hammer left a deep dent in the breastplate of a human and staggered him backward, but his foes kept up their attack. Behind him, the Lawgiver heard a gasp and the sound of pierced lungs. But then steel rang on steel again, and he knew that Culom Vand was still there, and that it was an attacker who had fallen.
Two blades came at him together, one high and one low. He ducked, caught the lower one on his shield, and braced himself for the overhead blow. But it didn’t fall, and he saw the shadow of Culom’s shield above him.
He recovered, thrust, and said hoarsely, “Thanks.”
Behind him, Culom said, “My father really does want to talk to you … preferably alive.”
Then, abruptly, above the din, the drums echoed a new call. A soldier glanced away for an instant, and Derkin’s hammer crushed the man’s helmet into his skull.
Behind him, Culom said, “That’s the song I heard in my dream, before we came to the pass. What does it mean?”
Derkin ducked under a sword slash, braced his feet, and butted his nearest foe with his shield. The man doubled over the shield, and Derkin straightened, lifted the soldier, and flung him backward against the second one. Both of them fell, and Derkin raised his head, listening. Then his eyes widened. “It means reinforcements!” he shouted. “Let’s get out of this place!”
“I’m with you,” Culom rasped, pushing his own adversary back a step. Then, as armored men rushed the pair from both sides, the dwarves dropped to the ground, slashing at human ankles. With a resounding clatter, three soldiers collided above them, and sprawled against the stones. “Climb,” Derkin ordered. Making a stirrup of his hands, he hoisted Culom to the top of the nearest standing stone, and the Hylar pulled him up an instant later. Beneath them, dazed soldiers were just getting to their hands and knees as Tap Tolec and Talon Oakbeard rushed into the crevice to methodically brain them.
The drums were beating a wild tattoo, and trumpets blared in the distance. Atop the standing stone, Derkin Lawgiver stared, openmouthed. Out on the barrens, beyond the landslide, there was melee everywhere. Human horse units wheeled and circled frantically, footmen scrambled in all directions, and a half-hundred pitched battles were underway.
And beyond, coming up from the forest, were elves. By the hundreds and thousands, they streamed onto the wasteland slopes, leaping and bounding, their deadly arrows flying ahead of them like swarms of angry wasps. Moon-blond hair flowing in the wind, beardless faces serene and intent, the elves had fallen on Dreyus’s army from behind, and were methodically cutting it to pieces. And among them, riding and slashing like lithe, feral beasts with bright feathers in their hair, were hundreds of mounted Cobar warriors.
Scampering to the highest place he could find, Derkin raised his hammer high above his head, then swept it downward toward the open slopes. “Attack!” he roared.
Before the scattered, surprised soldiers of the emperor could reform to respond to the elves’ attack, they found themselves hit from behind by thousands of howling, chanting dwarves pouring out of the landslide fan. Some of the soldiers responded bravely; some heard a confusion of orders and ran in circles. Some simply ran.
There were no strategies now, no planned assaults and defenses. This was open combat, with many pitched battles going on while horsemen wheeled and clashed among them. Derkin and the Ten – who were only the Six now – waded in, chopping and slashing at anything wearing the colors of Daltigoth. Behind them came the Chosen Ones, a solid wall of stubby, deadly rage, chanting to the rhythm of the drums. And on their flanks ran several hundred Hylar and Daewar, joining the chants. A milling legion of empiremen melted away before them, and Derkin found himself face-to-face with a hooded elf. “Hail, Lawgiver,” Despaxas said, tossing back his cowl. “The Wildrunners and the rangers are here.”
“I already noticed,” Derkin growled. “You might have come a little earlier, though.”
“We’d have been here two days ago if Redrock Cleft had still been open for our Cobar friends.” The elf smiled, a smile that was childlike in its slyness. “But they had to go around.”
“That’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it?” Derkin glared at him. “From the very first, you’ve used me – and my people – to block the emperor’s path to the east.”
“We all use one another.” Despaxas shrugged. “To use and be used, by choice, is the way of friendship. It’s the stuff of alliances. The alternative is domination by emperors, and slavery.”
A random arrow, with the markings of Daltigoth, whisked toward Derkin. Without seeming to take his eyes off Despaxas, the dwarf deflected the quarrel with his shield. Just beyond Despaxas, a buckskin-clad Wildrunner drew his bow and shot, returning the human fire.
All around them, the pitched battle raged.
Talon Oakbeard came then, mounted on his favorite horse and leading other mounts. Derkin’s was there, its saddle already occupied. Helta Graywood eased back to make space for Derkin in the saddle, and he climbed aboard.
Derkin looked down, but Despaxas was gone. The elf had said all he had to say, apparently.
Other dwarven horse companies were mounted now, and sweeping here and there through human ranks, dwarves slashing fiercely from both sides of each saddle. Derkin picked out a promising fight and joined in.
Within an hour, the fighting had thinned and scattered. The sun was low, sinking behind distant peaks, and Derkin noticed an odd, dark cloud forming above the place where the old human compounds had stood. He worked his mount in that direction, swerving here and there to get in a hammer-blow at a scurrying soldier, then reined in abruptly. Just ahead, a big man sat silently on a black horse, staring at the dwarf with eyes that burned with hatred.
“Dreyus,” Derkin muttered. With Helta clinging behind him, and the survivors of the Ten following, he spurred his mount toward the man. But the strange, dark cloud above swirled and lowered, a dipping funnel of darkness that reached downward to engulf Dreyus. It paused only an instant, then lifted, and Dreyus was gone. It was as though he had never been there.
Yet, just at the instant of the cloud’s lifting, a shadow seemed to join it – a wide-winged bat-fish shadow that seemed more to swim in the air than to fly.
“Magic,” Derkin muttered, turning away.
Then Despaxas was there again, beside him. With wide, wise eyes, the elf was staring at the place where the cloud had been. “Yes, magic,” he said. “Of a strange kind, but Zephyr understood it.”
“Zephyr?” Derkin cocked his head. “Your pet shadow? Did he help do that?”
“No, Dreyus did it, but Zephyr used it to escape the verge. He has gone back to his plane.”
“I’m sorry,” Derkin said, realizing that it was true.
“Be glad for him,” Despaxas said. “For a long time, Zephyr has sought the path back to his world. I couldn’t help him, but he found one who could. It’s odd, the one who freed him from the verge was the only person I’ve ever known of that Zephyr couldn’t even see.”
Derkin was ready to fight some more, but it seemed there was no one to fight. All around, soldiers were throwing aside their banners and their heavy armor to flee in panic, while elves, dwarves and Cobar harried them on their way. Among the Cobar, Derkin thought he recognized Tuft Broadland, but the tall warrior was far off, and he couldn’t tell for sure. He did see another human he recognized, though. Riding with the Cobar was the former officer of the empire, Tulien Gart.
Tap Tolec reined in beside Derkin. “We’ve run out of soldiers,” he said. “What do we do now?”
“Have the drums sound assembly,” Derkin said. “We’re going home. There’s still enough daylight left to see us back to the border of Kal-Thax.”
By last light, t
he Chosen Ones and the Thorbardin volunteers made their way among great stacks of building blocks, to file through the almost hidden gate of Derkin’s Wall. The war north of Tharkas Pass was at an end, and Derkin Lawgiver left the elves and their allies to clean up the field. It was their land, not his.
The dwarves had gathered up all of their dead and carried them the four miles to the ancient place that a long-ago dwarf named Cale Greeneye had marked as the boundary of the dwarven lands. Tomorrow, the honored dead would be buried in their own land. For now, though, it was enough to simply build a few fires, tend wounds, and rest.
Derkin looked around him at the proud, battered people who had made him their leader and felt humble. For nearly a mile southward from their wall, they filled Tharkas Pass with their little fires, their clusters of bedding, their low, tired voices, and their snores. But they were far fewer than the bold army that had marched from this pass seasons earlier to depose Sakar Kane. For every three dwarves who had gone to war, only two had returned. Derkin found himself wondering if anything – even the fierce pride of a nation – was worth such a price.
As though reading his mood and his thoughts, Helta Graywood appeared beside him and gripped his hand with strong, warm little fingers. “If you decide to turn around this minute and do it all again,” she said, “they will follow you. These people are your people, Derkin Lawgiver. They love you.”
“I’ve never understood why,” he rumbled.
“And I suppose you never will,” she said. “But I understand.”
Near midnight, guards came from the wall to awaken the Lawgiver. “There are people at the gate,” they said. “They ask to speak with you.”
“What people?” Derkin hissed, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. It was the first time in nearly a week that he had slept, and now his nap had been interrupted.
“Not dwarves,” a guard said. “One of them is that elf, the one who was with us before. There are others with him.”
By the light of a single rising moon, Derkin made his way to the narrow gate, yawning and surly, more asleep than awake. The timber door stood open, but several dwarves were blocking it, denying entrance to those beyond. They stepped aside as Derkin approached, and two of them kindled torches. Despaxas stood just beyond the portal, with other lithe, silent figures behind him. They were all elves.
Peeved and grumpy from being awakened, Derkin glared at the elven mage. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“We have what we wanted,” Despaxas said. “The mountain road between the human empire and the central plains is closed. It is likely that Quivalin Soth will continue his insane attempts at conquest, but he can no longer strike swiftly or sustain a siege. For that we thank you, Derkin Lawgiver.”
“Fine,” Derkin growled. “Then you won’t mind going away and letting me sleep.”
“When your great-uncle established this boundary,” Despaxas continued, ignoring the surly dismissal, “the agreement was between him and my mother, Eloeth. Between a dwarf and an elf.”
“So?”
“So, know that from this day forward, the land north of here is elven land. It will be called Qualinesti.”
“Fine,” Derkin growled. “So you want me to get my building blocks off of your property, is that it?”
“I suggest you use them as building blocks should be used,” Despaxas said. “Build a city. Here, where you have your boundary wall, in Tharkas Pass. My leader, Kith-Kanan, suggests that your people and mine consider a treaty to formalize the boundary between our lands. And if the boundary were to be a city, perhaps we could build it together.”
“Together?” Derkin gaped at him. “You mean … dwarves and elves, together? Such a thing has never been done.” He yawned. “Look, could we talk about this tomorrow? I’m tired.”
“There is nothing more to talk about,” Despaxas said. “I have presented thanks, and a suggestion. You have heard it.”
“Fine,” Derkin said. “I’ll sleep on it.”
With an innocent smile, Despaxas raised his hand and muttered something that Derkin could not understand. But suddenly the dwarf felt restored and content … and, somehow, very wise. “What have you done?” he asked.
“I have given you two gifts,” the elf said. “One is from my mother. The second is on behalf of the people of Qualinesti. It is long life – if you don’t get yourself killed first – and a touch more of that special talent which you have been acquiring over the past few years. You have the gift or the curse of leadership, Derkin. You will find now that you have it even more.”
“Magic.” The dwarf shrugged. “I don’t like … Oh, well, thank you, I suppose.”
With a nod – and another twitch of that innocent, catlike smile – Despaxas turned away, the other elves following him. Derkin watched them go for a moment, then called. “Wait a minute! You said there were two gifts! What’s the first one?”
“If ever you need to know, you will,” Despaxas called back. “Farewell, Derkin Winterseed-Hammerhand-Lawgiver. You have been interesting to know.”
“Aren’t you coming back?”
“Who knows the future?” the elf called, and turned away again.
“Who knows the future?” Derkin muttered, irritated. “If anyone does, it’s you, elf.” Closing the gate between Kal-Thax and Qualinesti, the dwarf suddenly felt an odd loneliness – a sense of loss, as though a true friend had just gone away.
Helta was waiting for him beside his fire, but as he approached she backed away a step, her eyes widening. “Derkin,” she said, pointing over his head, “what is that?”
“What’s what?” He glanced up, saw nothing, and peered at her.
“Uh … nothing, now,” she said. “But just for a moment, there was something above your head.”
“There’s nothing there,” he insisted, looking again. “What did you think it was?”
“It looked like a crown,” Helta replied in awe. “Like a crown of gold, with stones in settings.”
Chapter 24
A PLACE OF TWO NATIONS
What had taken the Chosen Ones a winter’s work to collect – every usable timber and building stone in the now-vanished human city of Klanath – would take years to recut, bore, and reuse. In ordering the dismantling of Klanath, the Lawgiver had thought little about what to do with the architectural materials which now filled half of Tharkas Pass. His immediate concerns had been to make certain that the human city could not be rebuilt, and to give his people a season or two of enjoyable labor. Privately, he had hoped that Lord Sakar Kane might show up if they waited for a time on the slopes north of Tharkas. But Kane had disappeared. No one – not even the far-ranging elves – seemed to know what had become of him.
As a new season greened the pastures south of Tharkas, Derkin sent a crew of dwarves north one last time to complete “The Tidying” there. But they found nothing left to do. What the dwarves had begun, the elves who now claimed that land beyond the pass had completed. Except for the black quartz monument to dwarven law, there was not a trace or a hint that there had ever been a settlement of any kind there. The last vestiges of the old palace were gone, all traces of the mines were gone, all sign of the great battle that had been fought there had been removed, and the stony flats were green with grasses and clover.
The dwarves, reporting back, said that the forest seemed closer now, as though it were already advancing toward the mountains to hide the barren slopes in deep foliage. Only an enchanted forest could reclaim its grounds so quickly, they told their peers. They reported seeing a small band of elves, who waved at them from a distance. And two among them swore that they had seen a unicorn, just within the edge of the advancing forest.
But the elves had not touched Derkin’s law stone. It stood where it had been, dark and austere among the wildflowers around it, with its stern warning: “… We will always retaliate.”
Derkin had intended to take his people back to Stoneforge – their sprawling, bustling Neidar settlement in the western mountai
ns near Sheercliff – but as the weeks became months, he delayed. The dwarves were hard at work here, building and hauling, climbing and hoisting, adding tier after tier to the wall they had built across the pass. And as the work progressed, the wall became two walls, with compartments and chambers between … then three walls.
“Give a dwarf work that satisfies him,” Derkin mused to Helta Graywood one day, “and he’ll work at it as long as there’s breath in his lungs and life in his heart. It’s the nature of our people.”
“They’ll leave here when you decide to go,” Helta said. “If you tell them to return to Stoneforge, they’ll go. They are your people, Derkin Lawgiver.”
“They don’t want to go back, though,” he pointed out. “Most of them would rather stay right here and build walls than go to Stoneforge. You know that as well as I do.”
“But whatever you want …” she started.
“Stoneforge is complete,” Derkin said. “It has its fields to farm, its foundries and its shops, its herds to tend. It is a Neidar settlement, no different from any other Neidar settlement except that it is bigger. The people we left there are mostly Neidar and are content with Stoneforge. But these people – my Chosen Ones – they’re different, Helta. Most of them have been slaves, and all of them have been warriors. Now they’ve found something to do that they enjoy doing, and that joy can last them through many generations.”
