Secret of Pax Tharkas dh-1

by Douglas Niles

  “I can see that, you fool. Now keep running!” Harn commanded. He took a deep, satisfying gulp from his spirits and felt the potent liquor augmenting the potion, pulsing through his bloodstream with eerie, arcane force. He wanted nothing so much as to drive his sword through an enemy’s flesh, to warm his hand in the flow of fresh blood.

  “Move! We must get there before the damned mountain dwarves have a chance to close it in our faces!”

  In fact, every Neidar in the army was running as fast and hard as he could. The prospect of a surprise attack against the vaunted fortress drove them to an impressive burst of speed. They were running so hard that they didn’t have any breath left to give voice to their battle cries.

  Harn, in the very front rank of the surging column, could scarcely believe his eyes. He saw the two towers, the massive, square citadels that flanked the walls, rising like mountains before him. Even at more than a mile’s distance, he had to crane his neck just to see the tops of the spires. And that vast wall, stretching like a cliff across the whole breadth of the steep-walled valley, looked like an utterly impassable obstacle, a perfect defensive bastion.

  Except that the broad, tall gate was standing open, almost as if the mountain dwarves were extending a welcome to their cousins from the hills.

  The mountain dwarves looked to be taken completely by surprise. The advancing column passed farms and pastures and mines, all lying in the very shadow of Pax Tharkas, and when he looked to the sides, Harn saw terrified mountain dwarves running for shelter, climbing the ridges, or darting into their mines. Apparently, Harn’s army had eliminated or eluded all the sentries. Otherwise, there would have been a warning signal, and those outlying dwarves-together with their livestock-would already have sought shelter in the fortress.

  As the road leveled out the voices of the hill dwarves rose in a great war chant. No one felt fatigue; there was no flagging in the onrush. The roaring of the battle cries mingled with the pounding of feet against the stone-paved road as the hill dwarves came on like a surging wave.

  They drew close enough to see all the activity on top of the massive wall: dwarves peering through the battlement and more and more of the garrison troops rushing into sight. They would harass the charge, Harn knew, but they were too late to stop it. The only thing that would hold them back was that massive gate. His heart pounded from the exertion and excitement, and he raised his sword in one hand, his jug in the other, as he scrutinized that huge barrier, desperately afraid it would start to close. How long would it take them to move such a massive, heavy object?

  He didn’t know the answer, but with each step he took, his hopes grew higher; for still the gate stood open and showed no sign that it was starting to swing shut.

  “Chase them! Catch them!” ordered Garn as the priestess of Reorx and the dwarf from Kayolin disappeared into the chute surrounding the heavy chain.

  When the Klar tried to scramble into the narrow slot to pursue Gretchan and Brandon, the first two got stuck-encumbered as they were by heavy breastplates and their swords. While they took forever trying to squirm free and unstrap their metal armor, the rest of the party sprinted out the side door, shouting and making their way toward the catwalks above the great, hollow chamber of the Tharkadan Wall.

  With Gretchan gone, Garn suddenly felt his legs freed. He didn’t know what he should do, though; he was eager to join the pursuit but knew he’d better get his company in position to defend the fortress against attack. Damn the witch! Damn the hill dwarves; surely it was part of their conspiracy! And damn Tarn Bellowgranite, standing there with a dull look on his face, for being too old and foolish and for having left them vulnerable to attack!

  Even as the last of the pursuers disappeared, another scout ran into the room with a report from the wall. He addressed Tarn breathlessly, his eyes darting looks at a clearly glowering Garn. Neidar were advancing at a run, the scout said, and had approached to within a mile of the gates. The man had just finished his report when Mason Axeblade, the garrison commander, raced in, also looking for Tarn Bellowgranite.

  “What are your orders, my thane?” Axeblade asked.

  “Which way are they coming from?” Bloodfist interjected before Tarn could reply.

  “The south!” reported the scout excitedly. “They’ve come up the pass from the Plains of Dergoth.”

  “It’s the dwarves of Hillhome,” the Klar captain calmly explained to the thane. His heart was pounding in fierce excitement, but he resisted the urge to thump his chest, to shout a battle cry. Instead, he stared into Tarn’s eyes. “They’ve come to seek revenge,” Bloodfist noted pointedly. He couldn’t suppress his grin as he saw Tarn looked dazed, as if he couldn’t find his tongue.

  “There are thousands of them, Captain,” said the messenger, darting looks at the two dwarf leaders. “This is far more than the company of one or even five towns. It’s as if all the hill dwarves mustered under a single commander.”

  “We’ve got to get the gates closed before they get here,” muttered Tarn Bellowgranite. Then he seemed to wake up, come alive. “Put every available dwarf on the capstans!”

  “At once, my liege!” pledged the Daewar, Captain Axeblade.

  “No, my thane! Captain Axeblade, stay a moment,” Garn Bloodfist declared in sheer delight. “It is too late. We have made one mistake; let’s not make another, fatal one. Don’t close the gates at all. The circumstances couldn’t be more advantageous!” he exulted. “We can let them into the fortress and kill them all!”

  “But-how?” the thane objected. “Once they’re inside the Tharkadan Wall, they can carry the battle to the towers, fight us wherever we try to stand.”

  “Not if we move fast, my liege. This is a Reorx-sent opportunity. I pray, we must take advantage of it!” Garn strode to the window, staring out over the narrow valley. The file of hill dwarves, rushing forward in a dense column, was just coming into view around a bend in the valley wall. They moved with surprising speed, and even from a mile away, the hoarse, basso rumble of their war chants could be heard. “Let them come in!”

  “What do you mean?” asked Tarn, moving to the window to join his captain. “How could that be to our advantage?”

  “Yes-what’s your plan, Captain?” demanded Axeblade impatiently. “Spit it out, man-there’s no time to waste!”

  Garn obliged. “We allow them into the wall, through the open gate. Our force is divided in two, and each company backs up to the base of one of the towers. We hold there for as long as we can until the whole Neidar army has packed the hall. Packed, I say, like figs in a crate-just where we want them: caught and doomed.”

  “You mean-we drop the trap on top of them?” asked Tarn in disbelief.

  “Yes! We can lure them inside the wall then allow our own troops to make a fighting withdrawal, finally taking shelter in the bases of the towers. When only the Neidar are left in the wall, we release the trap we have long prepared. A hundred thousands of tons of rocks will fall on them, and every single one will be crushed.”

  “But…” Tarn shook his head, avoiding meeting his captain’s gaze. “But so many deaths… and all the work… the trap just restored. The work would be wasted-”

  “Not wasted, my thane!” insisted Garn. “This is the perfect use. We can finally wipe out our enemies with one blow! Think about it: the task just finished, the trap ready to drop. And here come the hill dwarves, right where they can destroyed.

  “It can only be the will of Reorx himself!”

  Gus and Kondike stood rooted to the spot, watching as Gretchan and Brandon made their escape. Gretchan had whispered good-bye to the little Aghar and told him to take care of the big, shaggy dog… and to get away as best they could, during all the ruckus.

  He was momentarily distracted by the sight of dwarves running in and out of the door, cursing, shouting orders, all of them ignoring him and Kondike, fortunately.

  He remembered what Gretchan had told him to do-go to Agharhome. Indeed, the memory of Berta was a po
werful allure, suggesting safety and a hiding place and good, Aghar food. The deep cellars under the tower would certainly provide a refuge from all the chaos and talk of killing and war.

  But he could see that the dwarf maid and the big kisser dwarf were in terrible danger, and he wouldn’t abandon his beloved goddess or-he realized with a gulp-her big kisser friend.

  So with Kondike racing at his side, he turned and darted through the door where many of the dwarves had departed, chasing after Gretchan and Brandon. He stopped at the first side door, and after vigorously working the latch, he yanked it open. He didn’t know where it led but heard feet running all around him. So why not?

  He found himself up on a high catwalk, teetering above the floor of the vast, hollow Tharkadan Wall. The walkway led to his right and was suspended from the ceiling by wooden supports. It swayed slightly under his weight, and it looked like a very long way down. But again, he heard feet running all around him. Gus bit his lip and took a hesitant step forward.

  “Come on, Kondike!” he urged, finding his balance and setting off at a clip.

  “Gus!” It was Berta, crawling out of a nearby hole above the catwalk. She dropped down onto the platform, causing it to sway again, and Gus grabbed onto the railing.

  “Berta! What you do in this bluphsplunging place? Go home! Be safe,” he barked authoritatively. In truth he was as frightened for her as he was for himself, he realized.

  “I no go!” she snapped, planting her fists on her hips. “I come look you. Two days I look you! Where go Highbulp Gus, I say? Now I find you here!” She rolled her eyes. “I no go!”

  “Well, come with me, then,” he said in exasperation. “But don’t look down. I gotta find my friend Gretchan and her friend the big kisser. They need help!”

  “Who Gretchan?” demanded the female Aghar, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, even as she obligingly jogged along beside her fellow gully dwarf. “What big kisser?”

  The walkway was made of wooden boards with a railing to either side. Looking to his left, Gus spotted the big chain extending horizontally above another catwalk. Below the chain was a stone shelf, a notch in the far edge of the wall before the long drop to the floor of the hollow wall. Gus couldn’t see Gretchan and Brandon, but he sure heard a lot of footsteps and stomping around; Gus decided they must be somewhere near that chain.

  “She go there probably, I think,” he said, pointing at the heavy links. He spotted a place where the chain passed through another hole in the wall, vanishing into shadowy darkness. “I go there too!” he declared. “You come? I don’t promise but maybe fun!”

  “Wait! How?” Berta demanded. “You crazy doofar? You gonna fly?”

  “I make big jump!” Gus boasted, sounding more confident than he really felt.

  He eyed the gap, not sure if he could make the leap. He’d have to jump over to the chain then lower himself down to the catwalk so he could follow the chain into the next dark tunnel. If he didn’t catch the chain, he might take a bad fall; the catwalk or stone ledge wouldn’t be so bad, but the floor itself was a long way down. At least two feet, Gus guessed.

  “I go now!” he said, perched on the edge of the walkway. “Coming or not?”

  “No!” Berta screamed. “You get splattered!”

  “I gotta try help Gretchan!” he insisted.

  Gathering his courage, he vaulted from the catwalk, just managing to cover the distance and grab onto the chain before lowering himself to the walkway below him. “Whew!” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Berta, who had her hands over her eyes but was peeking through her fingers. “Boy, I really brave!” Removing her hands, she smiled proudly.

  The entry through the hole in the wall was only about two long steps away from him, and he started toward it at a run.

  Except that he had forgotten about the dog. Kondike stood anxiously on the upper catwalk, barking, bouncing back and forth from foot to foot. Before Gus could think of any way to stop him, the big dog came after the gully dwarf, launching himself into space, stretching toward the curving links of the chain.

  But, unlike the dwarves, the dog didn’t have hands to grasp the chain. He clawed at a link, tumbled on his back onto the catwalk, and rolled over the edge.

  TWENTY — SEVEN

  Dwarf Blood

  Otaxx Shortbeard strode along the battlement atop the Tharkadan Wall. The platform was more than a hundred feet above the ground, and he had a clear view of the approaching Neidar column-and of the mountain dwarves who had rallied to the defense.

  Hundreds of his people, Hylar and Klar and the occasional Daewar who, like himself, had refused to follow the Mad Prophet, manned the top of the wall. The warriors wore their armor, including breastplates and helmets, and in many cases they carried shields as well. Two fighters stood at every notch in the crenellated rampart, peering down at the attackers, occasionally raising a shield or ducking behind the stone wall to deflect the aim of the sporadic arrows being launched by the Neidar.

  Behind the front rank of warriors was a long single rank of mountain dwarf archers armed with short bows. They were the younger males and the females, who were not as brawny as their armored comrades but could send a veritable shower of arrows raining down from the wall-and would do so as soon as Otaxx gave the command.

  Beyond the archers were the auxiliaries, mainly children and elders, whose job was to bring up fresh supplies of arrows and to establish caches of other ammunition. Some of those dwarves had kindled fires, while others readied kettles in which they would heat oil or water to dump on the enemy once they reached the base of the wall so far below. Still others hauled small boulders, establishing those weapons in neat piles just behind the battlements. The rocks couldn’t be hurled as far as the arrows, but when the enemy was just below, they could be rained down with devastating impact.

  “The gates?” demanded Otaxx when he saw Tarn Bellowgranite approaching. “I don’t hear them closing yet.”

  “They’re not,” replied the thane, shaking his head reluctantly. “Garn has a plan: he wants to let the Neidar into the Tharkadan Wall.”

  “And crush them all with the trap?” guessed the old Daewar at once. He whistled. “Dangerous, but it might work.”

  “Aye. And if it does, we’ll be free of the Neidar menace for good,” Tarn acknowledged, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself as much as his general.

  By that time, the first rank of the hill dwarves had reached within a hundred paces of the wall. The road column had spread out into a front more than a hundred dwarves wide. At a signal from the leader, who was distinguished by a massive helmet topped by black and white feathers, they rushed forward at a sprint, howling the glory of Reorx and their hatred of the mountain clans at the top of their lungs.

  Long ago Otaxx had ordered markers to be installed beside the road, at every twenty paces, for just such a showdown. Because of those white posts, the bowmen knew the exact range to their target.

  “Archers, fire!” the general barked. “Range is one hundred paces.”

  The first volley flew like a swarm of locusts, dark shafts filling the sky, showering down upon the leading ranks of the hill dwarf attackers. Dozens fell-it looked to the general as if every Neidar in the first rank, save the hulking captain brandishing his great sword in the center of the line, was slain by the initial volley. But the next ranks continued to surge forward.

  The archers reloaded quickly and fired again and again, each bowman-or woman-shooting as fast as individual skill allowed. The missiles continued to pepper the assaulting formation, sending dwarf after dwarf to the ground, writhing or dying, but still the furious charge continued. The surviving Neidar roared their fury, a wave of sound that rose up and over the wall. They came on, the column pressing together in the very shadow of the high wall, for it was too wide for all of them to pass through the gate at once.

  The burly mountain dwarves picked up rocks and hurled them into the mass of targets packed so tightly that it was hard for any
missile to miss. Skulls were crushed, shoulders and breastbones shattered, spines snapped, and limbs broken under the onslaught, which in a few seconds left nearly a hundred hill dwarves battered and bleeding on the road.

  But the momentum of the attack was barely dented, and the first of the attackers were racing through the lofty, wide-open gate.

  “Keep up the barrage,” Otaxx ordered his men. “Take down as many as you can before they get to the gates!”

  He turned and addressed the thane of Pax Tharkas. “It’s time to take the fight inside,” he said and ran to the door in the tower, ready to command the battle erupting inside the Tharkadan Wall.

  “Death to the Hylar!” cried Harn Poleaxe, sprinting at the head of the long hill dwarf column.

  He could scarcely believe his eyes: the great gate of Pax Tharkas still stood open! His warriors scrambled over the rough ground, streaming past the mines and the fields, charging toward that lofty, inviting opening.

  The barrage from the parapet was devastating, but Harn felt as though he were somehow invulnerable. Every dwarf in the first rank with him perished in the initial volley of arrows, but somehow-even though he was the largest target in the line-he escaped injury. Was it the potion of the dark one that protected him? Or was it that he was blessed with the favor of Reorx? No matter-he never felt more alive and more confident of success.

  “Onward, Neidar!” he shouted, waving his sword. “Remember Hillhome!”

  They rushed toward the yawning entrance to the great wall. Harn was thrilled that the minion’s prediction had proved true-he never even paused to wonder why that gate hadn’t closed up yet, even though the defenders must certainly have had a good half hour’s warning of attack from the time the first hill dwarves came into view.

  A scattering of mountain dwarves stood in that gateway. No more than a dozen defenders were in position to face the rush of a thousand hill dwarves, so Poleaxe wasn’t surprised to see them break and run as the attackers drew closer. The Neidar were within the very shadow of the looming entrance.