Some of the mountain dwarves fled to the left, while others ran to the right.
“Split up!” ordered Poleaxe, flush with the anticipation of victory. He led a huge number of his warriors to the left, while another large contingent, under the command of Carpus Castlesmasher, veered right.
The whole of the great vault of the Tharkadan Wall loomed above them. Mountain dwarves formed defensive lines at the opposite ends of the massive hall, but Poleaxe could see that his troops would easily overwhelm their surprisingly slipshod defense.
“Take them all!” he howled. “For the glory of Reorx and the graves under the mountains!”
He raised his visor, turning his bloody face upward as he took a long drink. His dwarves poured through the open gate, spilling through the vast hall beyond. The jug was empty, but even that didn’t matter; Harn simply cast it aside, raised his mighty sword, and joined in the attack.
Meanwhile, high above the battle, Gretchan led Brandon along the chain for a hundred feet, crawling as fast as she could. The great links extended through a horizontal passageway, and there was barely enough room for a big dwarf such as Brandon to scrape his way between the heavy iron links and the stone tube through which they passed.
At least they had left Garn and his warriors behind.
Then the dwarf maid abruptly swung her feet down toward a shaft plunging through the stone framework. Brandon followed her, and they both dropped onto a lofty catwalk, more than a hundred feet above the fortress floor.
“Hey!” barked a Klar sentry, startled by the two dwarves who had dropped to the platform very close to him. He started to draw his sword, but Brandon sprang at him and felled him with a single sharp punch to the jaw. The sentry collapsed, out cold, but as the Kayolin dwarf grabbed at the Klar’s sword, the weapon bounced off the catwalk and plummeted all the way down to the floor of the wall’s interior. Shrugging at yet another incidence of rotten luck, he turned to follow Gretchan as she started along the catwalk.
To their left Brandon saw the massive wooden platform, piled high with many tons of boulders. Chains and gears connected to the front of that platform, while massive hinges fastened its back to the fortress wall. Huge steel pins held the platform in place, and he could see a smaller cable linking those pins to a block and tackle mechanism and a large lever, mounted on a heavy, notched gear. When the lever was cranked, Brandon could see, the cable would gradually pull the pins free-and when they were removed, the whole platform would swing downward, sending the rocks tumbling to the floor of the great hall.
The din of noise rose below them, and they looked down to see the army of hill dwarves rushing into the fortress through the open gates.
“Why didn’t they close the gate? It looks like they aren’t even trying to keep them out!” Brandon asked.
Gretchan grew pale and looked at him in horror. “It’s Garn’s plan, I’ll bet!” she declared. “He’s letting them into the hall so he can crush them with the rocks! They’ll all be killed!”
“Serves the bastards right,” the Kayolin dwarf said, which was his honest gut reaction.
Gretchan glared at him then shook her head in exasperation. “Look, I can understand why you hate them; they didn’t treat you with any decency or fairness. But can’t you see that if Garn causes a massacre, the feud with the Neidar will never die? Their hatred of mountain dwarves will be worse than ever. This moment will scar our race every bit as bad as what happened after the Cataclysm; we will never outgrow it!”
Brandon grimaced. Already the clash of battle filled the vast interior of the wall. He could see more of the hill dwarves rushing in through the open gate, while the mountain dwarf garrison formed two lines, defending the approaches to each of the two towers and slowly bottling the attackers in the center. Gretchan was right: Soon Garn Bloodfist’s lines would be able to pull back, out of the danger zone, and the Tharkadan trap would plunge a mountain’s weight of rocks right on top of the clustered attackers.
“What can we do about it anyway?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” the priestess declared, despairing. “But we have to do something!” She looked around, desperately trying to think. “I’ll try to find the thane and change his mind. Can you warn the hill dwarves? Tell them what Garn has planned? Maybe they’ll withdraw from here before it’s too late.”
Brandon gazed at the surging, violent battle and heard the furious cries, fueled by centuries of hatred. A number of Neidar were in the middle of the tower, unable to reach the front lines because of the congestion. Maybe, possibly, they could be made to listen to reason.
More likely, of course, they would tear him to shreds. That would be in keeping with the Bluestone luck. All his logic, all his life’s experience told him that it was sheer insanity to even consider going down there, into the midst of the enemy army. If they didn’t kill him, the imminent release of a thousand tons of rock would probably do it anyway.
He shrugged, feeling helpless and more unlucky than ever, but he could only look at Gretchan and reply, “I’ll try.”
“Form to the right and left!” shouted Garn Bloodfist, directing his mountain dwarves to take up defensive positions within the hall, trying to contain the attackers within the vast space of the Tharkadan Wall. His voice was shrill, and he fairly shivered in anticipation of the massive slaughter he was about to trigger. The plan was working to perfection! Even then, his Klar were withdrawing from the center of the hall, gathering at the base of the West Tower.
Meanwhile, Mason Axeblade had taken command of the Hylar defenders in front of the East Tower. He stood with his line, shouting similar orders. The Neidar crowded into the space between the two lines, more and more of the hill dwarves charging in through the open gate. The two mountain dwarf lines were thin, no more than a single rank with shields and swords, but that was fine with Garn. They were forced back steadily by the charging hill dwarves until the center of the hall was full of Neidar eager for battle but mostly unable to reach the ranks of the defenders.
Garn’s men, the troops of his loyal Klar company, fought with the discipline that had been instilled in them by constant drill and practice. They maintained their close ranks, shields up to protect the entire line as they stabbed and hacked, parried and thrust. The hill dwarves were hampered by the close quarters, and many of them bled and died; they were unable to break the tight line of mountain dwarves. But slowly the defenders fell back until they were packed in a semicircle against the base of the West Tower.
Within that tower other warriors opened the doors leading from the vast chamber of the wall into the interior of the sturdy tower. One by one the Klar started slipping through that door, the rank of the line tightening up to fill in the gap left by each withdrawing warrior. The captain grinned fiercely. His scheme was working to perfection.
It was finally time to move to the next phase of the plan. One of the lift baskets that had been used to haul rocks up to the trap was sitting on the floor, within the protective semicircle of the embattled Klar. Garn leaped into that lift and gave the signal to his men waiting above. Immediately they started to haul him upward until he rang the bell for them to halt, allowing him to survey the field from twenty feet up in the air.
From the lift basket, the Klar captain saw that his troops at both ends of the great hall were furtively retreating as commanded. The central space of the Tharkadan Wall was full of Neidar attackers, many of them simply milling about because they couldn’t get at the shrinking number of defenders. Only then did Garn ring the bell. Immediately, willing hands hoisted the crate and its lone occupant up higher, toward the shadowy attic where the Tharkadan trap was primed and ready.
“Kondike!” Gus cried as the dog slipped and fell from the catwalk.
Frantically the gully dwarf scrambled down into the niche, where the great chain passed around another gear. Sobbing with relief, he saw Kondike had landed on the ledge below him. The dog was panting and holding his right forepaw up. He was perched on a stone shelf tha
t was built in to the surface of the wall itself, and somehow had stopped himself from falling down to the floor below.
How could he get down there to help the goddess’s dog? Frantically the gully dwarf looked around.
Gus spotted a wire, twisted around the center of the gear for some mysterious purpose. Maybe he could use it! He reached up and grabbed at the end, but it was too stiff; he couldn’t budge it.
“What you do?” demanded Berta, who was watching him from the upper catwalk.
“Try to get wire for catch dog. Help me!” he called. He spotted a piece of wood near her foot. “Give stick me!”
“Who Gretchan?” Berta demanded to know instead.
“What?” asked Gus, startled by the question. He slumped back onto the chain and stared at her.
“Who Gretchan?” She pouted. “You say she friend? She friend, or Berta friend?”
“Gus got two friends!” he retorted. “Help me get wire!”
“No!” she replied petulantly. She crossed her arms over her skinny chest and extravagantly turned her back.
“Berta my friend!” he shouted. “You my bluphsplunging bestest doofar friend! Now help me!”
She finally handed him the stick. He poked the end of it into the coil of wire and pulled. Somewhat amazingly, the end of the spool came free and he was able to grab it with his hands.
His stubby fingers pried at the stiff metal, slowly unspooling it from the hub.
Finally, he pulled it free.
TWENTY-EIGHT
A Mountain Standing
All right, all right, I’ll try to warn them about the trap,” Brandon repeated. He gestured to a nearby lift cage, one of the platforms that had been used to raise the rocks off the floor of the great hall. It was not a mere man-basket, but a wide freight lift, a square surface more than twenty feet long on a side. “Can you maybe lower me in that?”
“Yes,” Gretchan said. Her face was pale, but she embraced him, kissing him quickly. “Thank you. I can’t think of another dwarf in the world who’d be willing to do what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, well… if they throw me in the dungeon again, promise you’ll come to visit me, all right? And bring your hammer.”
Eyes misting, she kissed him again. “Good luck,” she said through her tears.
“That’s not very likely,” he replied.
Still, her words gave him some hope as he stepped onto the lift platform, which was nestled into the docking port beside the catwalk. He winked at Gretchan, trying to look nonchalant as she started turning the crank, even though he felt a knot in his stomach. The lift swayed slightly as it came free and started to descend. He wished he had a weapon.
She dropped him quickly, the lift plunging with almost dizzying speed toward the middle of the long hall. Brandon had to grab the supporting line and hold on for his life. The Neidar, he could see, were thronging to both sides of the cavernous entrance, striving to push through the ranks of their comrades to strike at the thin, slowly retreating lines of mountain dwarf defenders.
“It’s a trap!” Brandon shouted when the lift was still twenty feet above the floor. He waved toward the open gate. “Get out of here! They’re going to crush you with rocks from overhead!”
A few of the Neidar, milling nearby, stared up at him in surprise. Some pointed their weapons at him but were restrained by others who were listening to his shouts. They collected around the lower lift dock, regarding him with more curiosity than hostility.
“The mountain dwarves let you through the gates on purpose,” he shouted, dropping still lower, pointing at the open entrance. “They want you all in the hall, under the trap. See how they’re pulling back, letting you fill up this space? As soon as they back into the towers, they’ll drop a mountain’s worth of rocks on your heads!”
Several of the hill dwarves warily began to edge toward the open gates, pushing through the stream of attackers still spilling in to the great fortress. Others glanced at their comrades uneasily, wondering about the mountain dwarf tactics-the plan that was unfolding just as Brandon said it would. The sun was low in the sky, rays of dying light spilling in through the tall gates, illuminating the battle raging at the foot of the East Tower.
Already the two ranks of the defenders had withdrawn almost completely out of the center of the hall. Doors opened behind them at each far end as, one by one, the Klar and Hylar warriors slipped away into the towers themselves, leaving smaller and smaller pockets of their companions to pretend a defense of the interior.
The lift slammed to rest on the floor, knocking Brandon over. But he stood up and held up his empty hands before anyone could approach him-a gesture he hoped the Neidar would take as proof of his nonhostile intentions. The dual battles raged some distance away, but more than a hundred hill dwarves had gathered around the platform. It rested on a docking shelf a couple of feet above the ground, so it almost felt like a small stage. Turning through a circle, Brandon exhorted the dwarves to all sides.
“Get out of here while you can!” he shouted. “Spread the word. There’s a whole shelf of rocks up there”-he gestured toward the ceiling-“thousands and thousands of tons of them! The mad Klar is waiting for the chance to dump it on the lot of you!”
“What about you?” one of the Neidar shouted hostilely.
“Yes, me too!” Brandon shouted back. “I’m risking my life to warn you!”
As more of his listeners looked upward, more turned and made for the gate, many of them shouting and gesturing to the Neidar still pouring in to turn around and go back. The purpose of the Tharkadan trap was well known to all dwarves-hill dwarves as well as mountain dwarves had been saved the last time it was used, long ago during the War of the Lance. Any enemy breach in the old days would be defended by filling the interior with rubble. Most of the hill dwarves thought that mechanism had been destroyed beyond repair. They didn’t realize that Tarn Bellowgranite had dedicated himself to restoring it.
“You!” the voice shot through the din of the battle, and Brandon turned to see Rune charging him. “Bastard! Spy!” shouted the hill dwarf, raising a battle axe over his head as he sprinted closer. The sight of the enemy who had so tormented him inflamed Brandon with a fiery determination to fight-and kill-his old enemy.
And even more significant to Brandon’s eye was that battle axe itself: the Neidar Rune carried Brandon’s own weapon, the family heirloom that had been Balric Bluestone’s, stolen from Brandon upon his first capture. The Kayolin dwarf growled an almost animal sound and flexed his knees, stepping toward the edge of the platform. Even though he was unarmed, he eagerly awaited the hill dwarf’s charge, and he looked almost foolishly vulnerable to his frenzied attacker.
With a howl of rage, Rune sprang upward, hesitating only slightly in the face of Brandon’s reckless advance. That was all the opening the Kayolin dwarf needed. He stepped back nimbly, and Rune stumbled as he tried to land on the lift platform, which was a few feet higher than the floor. Brandon lowered his shoulder and charged, driving into his opponent’s solar plexus, plunging too close for the long-hafted weapon to come in to play.
The two dwarves tumbled to the platform, rolling to the side, and Brandon-his muscles fueled by long weeks of frustration and indignity-drove a fist into the underside of Rune’s jaw. The hill dwarf’s head snapped back with a crack of bone as his spine fractured. He fell dead, and Brandon snatched the axe from his lifeless fingers before his body even stopped twitching.
Still tense from the sudden combat, he raised the axe over his head and shouted at his dumbfounded observers. “I’m telling the truth! Get out while you can!”
The flow of the attackers coming in the gate had slowed dramatically as they heard the warnings from Brandon and from other fleeing Neidar, and in another few moments, the advance had stopped altogether, the front rank of hill dwarves remaining outside the gate, peering nervously upward and edging back. More and more of Brandon’s listeners were streaming toward the gate as well.
Getting
the attention of the dwarves actively engaged in combat was a tougher challenge, the Kayolin dwarf knew. “Warn your comrades!” he exhorted his listeners. “Get them out of here-as many as will listen. There’s no time to waste!”
Some of the Neidar did head toward one or the other pocket of battle, though more thought ill of the risk. Brandon stayed on the lift platform, waving and shouting, drawing the attention of more and more Neidar. Then he heard an enraged shout, a voice that compelled his attention.
“My prisoner!” roared Harn Poleaxe, rushing toward him from the skirmish at the base of the East Tower. The enemy commander stood head and shoulders above his men, his own hulking size augmented by the helm with its lofty plumes.
“He’s condemned to die! Don’t listen to him, you fools!” cried the Neidar commander, swatting at several dwarves. He shouted at the warriors waiting outside the gates. “Attack! Hit them now while the hour of victory is at hand!”
Looking shamefaced and sheepish, the hill dwarves tried to swallow their fears and move, albeit reluctantly, back into the hall. Harn had his sword drawn as he charged toward the mountain dwarf, through the ring of Brandon’s listeners, his face contorted with rage. Brandon was shocked to see that face, scarred as it was by blisters and scabs, lumpy and misshapen, swollen like an overripe melon too long in the sun.
“He’s the spy we had in chains!” cried Poleaxe to warriors left and right as he raced toward Brandon. “What kind of idiots are you-letting him talk you out of our great victory? Leave him to me; my sword will put an end to his lies.”
Brandon, with relish, raised his axe, the haft so familiar that it felt like an extension of his own hands. He met Harn at the edge of the lift platform, parrying the Neidar’s first blow with a crossing block, but he was sent stumbling back, overcome by the big hill dwarf’s strength. Harn sprang upward onto the lift platform, raising his sword to brush aside Brandon’s return slash, a powerful overhead swing. His face was crazed, more monstrous than dwarf, and he closed in with a rush. The two blades met with a ringing clash, and again Brandon stepped back, astonished at Harn’s strength.
Secret of Pax Tharkas dh-1 Page 33
