When the lead humans were less than a hundred yards away, slowing for assembly, Olim Goldbuckle stepped forward and raised an imperious hand. “You have crossed into the land of Kal-Thax!” he called. “Entry here is forbidden! Turn around and go away!”
For a moment there was no answer, then a Cobar horseman with owl feathers adorning his helmet stepped his mount forward. “I claim that one’s armor!” he shouted, pointing at Olim. “See how pretty he looks, like a shiny little toy person! And that cloak, with the flower designs, I’ll take it, too!”
Laughter arose from the ranks of his followers, and others took up the cry, looking along the line of dwarves, picking out and claiming various weapons, bits of armor, and personal gear, shouting taunts and derision. Stolidly, the prince of the Daewar stood his ground until the noise died away. Then he called, “You have had your warning! Kal-Thax is closed to you! There is nothing here for you except defeat and death!”
Something in the dwarf’s tone made Owl Feathers hesitate. He had never fought dwarves before. They didn’t look very dangerous to him, but he had heard they could be full of surprises. Turning, he gave quick orders to the nearest riders and waited while they were passed along. Then he raised his sword, glanced each way along the line of his men, and slashed it forward.
Even on the steep grade, the Cobar horses were quick. From a standstill, they surged into a pounding charge in a spearpoint formation that flashed toward the center of the Daewar line. Fifty yards now separated them, then forty and thirty, and abruptly all of the Cobar riders sheathed their swords and unslung their riding lances as they bore down on the waiting dwarves. Behind them, the charging human footmen were a howling mob, brandishing their weapons as they ran.
The Cobar charge closed to twenty yards, then fifteen, and the riders raised their lances. Short, sturdy spears with iron heads, the lances came up, held level, then shot forward as the riders flung them in unison directly at each pair of dwarven guards ahead of them. And as the spears flew, the riders hauled on their reins, wheeled their horses, and raced off at right angles to right and left, veering back to circle around the mobs of charging footmen.
Thrown spears clanged and thudded against dwarven shields, a ringing tattoo of metal on metal that echoed from the cliffs and the distant peaks. Most were deflected, but here and there a spear got through and a Daewar guardsman reeled backward, impaled.
“Slings!” Gem Bluesleeve shouted. From the long Daewar line, deadly stones shot out, driven by humming slings, but the targets they found were not the mounted raiders. Instead, they crashed into the leading wave of footmen, mowing them down as a scythe mows standing grain. The riders were away by then, circling around behind the footmen to drive them forward into the dwarven lines.
One wave of sling-stones did its work, then another, and then the Daewar found themselves hand to hand with thousands of howling, slashing humans, some attacking fiercely, some just trying to get through, away from the mounted demons behind them.
The Daewar line wavered from the sheer force of the attack. But minute by minute it held, and then the tide of battle began to turn. The Daewar line surged outward, each pair defending and countering, moving carefully over the fallen bodies of human attackers—and of dwarves. As the line bowed forward it opened, and Gem Bluesleeve’s elite “Golden Hammer” company charged through, a solid, moving wall of shields, thudding hammers, and flashing blades.
Swift and deadly, moving as a single being, the Golden Hammer drove through the mass of human attackers, scattering them in panic. Then the dwarven battle force turned, circled, and drove through again, and yet again as the Daewar on the holding line pressed relentlessly forward in their wake.
It was too much for even the fiercest of the marauders. They couldn’t get past the ranked shields to attack, they couldn’t block them because of the weapons snaking out to draw blood or crush bone at each thrust, and they couldn’t throw weight of numbers at them in screaming charges. Each time some tried, the dwarves went in under the weapons of the taller humans and bore them down, screaming.
Olim Goldbuckle and his personal guard were everywhere in the conflict—attacking, repelling, and organizing new tactics. In a swirl of fighting, milling confusion, the dwarven units seemed almost aloof to the panic around them. With methodical, determined dwarven logic they pressed and pounded, slashed and cut until what had been a massed assault was a broken, scattered battle, humans blindly fighting and trying to get away all along a mile-wide field.
Olim Goldbuckle found himself abruptly unoccupied as the latest gang of humans fled in panic, and signaled to Gem Bluesleeve, who polished off a barbarian, gave quick orders to his company, then hurried to join his prince.
Olim had climbed to the top of a boulder and was surveying the field. Carnage was everywhere, and some scattered fighting still went on, but Olim was looking for something else. “Where are the horsemen?” he snapped as Gem reached the boulder.
Gem looked around. He hadn’t seen a horseman since the fighting started. He climbed up beside his prince. Far south, near the steeps, companies of Daergar in iron masks were methodically attacking bands of humans who had fled in that direction, turning them away from the rising lands. Gem looked to the north and muttered an oath. There was no one on that side—only a few fleeing bands of humans with his own people in pursuit. “Where are the Theiwar?” he hissed. “They should be over there on our forward flank. That side of the pass is wide open!”
Olim shaded his eyes. “Have they betrayed us? Have they let the outsiders through and betrayed the Pact of Kal-Thax?”
He had barely spoken when shouts erupted on the near lines, where pairs of Daewar turned to point westward, up the rise.
Coming over the crest were human riders—hundreds of them, with the owl-feathered barbarian in the lead.
Gem cupped his hands. “Turn!” he roared. “Turn and defend!”
Swiftly the Daewar line reversed itself, regrouping in the two-at-ten-yards pattern to meet the charging riders.
The horsemen thundered toward them, but not as riders attacking in a charge. Instead, they seemed to be fleeing from something. Then, above and behind them, Theiwar warriors came over the crest. There was blood on their dark swords, and on their dark-steel armor, and through their mesh face-plates clamored their battle cries.
“They ambushed them!” Gem gasped. “The gods’-rejected Theiwar! They let those people through the lines, then ambushed them!”
“I don’t believe it,” Olim rumbled. “Twist Cutshank is stupid, but he isn’t that stupid!”
“See for yourself, Sire. They are pressing their attack.”
“Pressing, yes,” Olim growled. “Right down on our lines. Defend! Defend!”
“Nets and cables!” Gem shouted, signaling. Jumping to the ground, he ran to help.
Like a ragged juggernaut, the Cobar swept down on the thin Daewar line. Sling-stones stopped a few, and thrown nets attached to anchored cables brought down a few more, but the human riders had the slope to their advantage. Slashing and ripping, they went through and over the Daewar line … and didn’t even slow down. Once in the clear, most of them kept on going. For now, they had had enough of dwarves.
One, though, hauled rein on the slope just below Olim’s boulder, turned, and screamed a cry of hatred. Owl feathers rippling in the wind above his helmet, the Cobar leader heeled his mount, raised his sword in both hands, and charged the Daewar prince.
Two blades flashed as one in the sunlight. The human’s blade sliced toward Olim’s head and was deflected by an iron shield on an arm that, inch for inch, was far stronger than any human’s. Olim’s whistling blade came around in a wide arc and caught the human in midsection, just below his belted chest-plate. It almost cut him in two.
As Owl Feather flopped to the ground, dying, Olim straightened and scowled at the blood on his bright sword. Oddly, in that moment he noticed—or realized consciously for the first time—that human blood was precisely the same color
as dwarven blood.
Just up the slope, so near that he could see their dark eyes behind their mesh masks, half a hundred Theiwar warriors clustered as though to flee. Chasing after the human riders, they had become separated from their main forces and now found themselves practically in the middle of the Daewar defenses—far too close for comfort. Raising his sword in command signal, Olim shouted, “Gem! Circle those Theiwar! Capture them!”
Gem Bluesleeve barked commands, and companies in the Daewar line headed up-slope at a run, encircling the confused Theiwar who turned to flee only to find themselves ringed by Daewar blades and shields. Gem Bluesleeve strode into the ring and ordered, “Theiwar! Lay down your arms! You are prisoners!”
From atop his rock, Olim watched, anger glinting in his blue eyes. If these Theiwar behaved themselves they would not be hurt, but he didn’t want any of them reporting back to Twist Cutshank just yet.
The Theiwar treachery—letting humans through the line and them turning them back upon the Daewar—had been a vicious trick, but Olim suspected there was more to it than just Twist Cutshank’s peevishness. Now he intended to find out.
14
The Price of Treachery
The autumn sun had gone behind the peaks, and twilight lay upon Kal-Thax when Theiwar watchers saw a little band of brightly clad dwarves making their way northward. They were obviously Daewar, but there were fewer than a hundred of them, and many appeared injured.
Within minutes, Twist Cutshank himself was on the spotting ledge with Brule Vaportongue and a dozen others. “The plan worked,” the Theiwar chieftain gloated. “The humans cut them to pieces. Those are all that are left.”
“That’s Goldbuckle himself in the lead,” Slide Tolec noted, pointing. “I know him by his floral cloak.”
“It worked!” Twist repeated, a fierce grin parting his whiskers. “Glome was right. The Daewar are defeated. All we need to do is finish the job. Mark their route and get ready. I want Olim Goldbuckle’s head on a javelin tip. With him gone, we’ll have no problem taking over that stronghold of theirs.”
“You mean to ambush them?” Slide asked. He was surprised and a bit shocked at how few Daewar survivors there seemed to be. It didn’t seem right, somehow, that the human horsemen could have done so much damage—could have killed so many. And yet, there they were, no more than a hundred battered, slow-moving Daewar. And no returning Theiwar had reported anything of what occurred after the horsemen returned to the battle. In fact, there were quite a few Theiwar missing, as well.
“Of course we ambush them,” Twist grunted. “That’s part of Glome’s plan. Then we go take over that fortress they’ve been digging. No Daewar will ever again think of being king of Kal-Thax!”
“You really think the Daewar wants to be a king?” Brule Vaportongue asked.
“You heard Glome,” Twist snapped. “Why else would the Daewar have been digging a fortress all these years under Sky’s End?”
Glome himself was not there, and Slide realized that the assassin had been gone most of the day. It was as though he had shown up just long enough to persuade Twist Cutshank to start a war, then disappeared. Brule crouched on the shelf, staring out at the approaching Daewar, and the frown on his V-shaped face was as puzzled as Slide’s own. Still, when Twist Cutshank proceeded to organize his ambush and set out with his troops, they both remained silent. Something was very wrong here, and they both felt it. But they didn’t know what it was, and they knew the chieftain would not listen to their vague suspicions. It seemed the only person Twist listened to, now that he was chieftain, was Glome the Assassin.
By evening light the Theiwar ambushers were concealed along both sides of a narrow draw along which the Daewar must pass. Twist Cutshank crept to a stone out-cropping and watched them approach. They were near now, and the Theiwar’s eyes fixed on the gleaming helmet and floral cloak of the Daewar prince. Soon, he told himself. Soon, the Daewar will be dead.
“I don’t care how many of the gold-molders you kill,” he called softly. “Kill them all, for all I care. Just make sure that prince dies. Whoever’s blade draws Goldbuckle’s blood will have first choice of prizes when we enter the Daewar delves.”
Directly behind him a deep voice growled, “Well, I suppose that’s clear enough.”
Twist spun around, his mouth open. Six feet away, Olim Goldbuckle, bare-headed and without his regal cloak, gazed at him with angry, hooded eyes. Beyond, all along the ambush canyon, Daewar fighters—hundreds of them—were surrounding and containing the surprised Theiwar in their hiding places.
“Twist Cutshank,” the Daewar prince rumbled, “I accuse you of treachery, betrayal, and of intentionally breaking the Pact of Kal-Thax. Do you submit to judgment of the thanes, or do you wish to challenge me?”
With a roar of rage, Twist Cutshank drew his curved, dark-steel blade and launched himself at the prince of the Daewar. His sword flashed downward at the golden, unprotected hair of Olim’s head … and missed as the Daewar dodged aside, thrusting with his bright blade.
Twist felt the cold steel rip through the strapping between his breastplates, and felt the icy fire of it entering his chest. He tried to raise his blade again, but somehow lacked the strength even to hold it. It slipped from his fingers, and he sagged to his knees.
“I kind of thought you might choose to challenge,” Olim Goldbuckle said quietly. With a heave, he turned the blade and sliced, severing the Theiwar’s heart within him. When he withdrew his sword, Twist Cutshank pitched forward and lay still.
Wiping his sword clean, Olim strode back into the canyon and looked around at the captured ambushers. A Daewar guardsman stepped forward to hand him his helmet and help him with his cloak. When he was fully garbed again, Olim raised his voice. “You Theiwar,” he said so that all could hear. “You listen too much to the wrong people. First you followed Crouch Redfire, then you followed Twist Cutshank, and now you must find someone else to follow. Twist Cutshank broke the pact, and now he is dead. Can anyone here tell me why he chose to betray his allies?”
At first there was no answer, then from the guarded lines a broad-shouldered Theiwar of middle years stepped forward. “I can tell you, Daewar,” he growled.
“And who are you?”
“I am Slide Tolec.”
“Then tell me, Slide Tolec,” Olim urged. “Did your chief so hunger for bloodshed that he would carry out a betrayal and plan an invasion? Did he think the Daewar so rich that it would be worth the cost?”
“He believed that you have treasures,” Slide Tolec said. “Many think so. Do you?”
“Not like your leaders seem to think,” Olim snapped. “Was that his reason for this day’s treachery?”
“Part of it,” Slide admitted. “But mostly he feared that the Daewar plan to rule all of Kal-Thax.”
Olim frowned. “Rule Kal-Thax? Why did he think that?”
“Why else would you be delving a new fortress?” Slide glared at his captor. “Oh, we know what you have been doing over there on Sky’s End. We have eyes. We have seen the dumps of your delving. You must be digging out an entire city underground.”
“Delving a …” Olim stammered, abruptly at a loss for words. “You think we are delving a …” He clamped his mouth shut and looked away, stifling a laugh. A few yards away, Gem Bluesleeve stood in open-mouthed astonishment.
Doing his best to conceal his delight, Olim turned back to Slide Tolec. “What we do under Sky’s End is our own business,” he said sternly. “If, as you say, we are delving a fortress city there, then that is not the Theiwar’s concern.”
“It is if you plan to rule Kal-Thax from there,” Slide Tolec said stubbornly. “You can kill those of us you have captured if you want to, but we are only a few. There are many others who will avenge us. And if we die, the rest will know why we died … because the Daewar intend to rule! No Theiwar will ever bend the knee to a Daewar king!”
“And if I told you that we have no such intention, would you believe me?”
“Probably not,” Olim admitted. “Very well. The chieftain who led you in this folly has paid with his life. We came here to protect the Pact of Kal-Thax. We will come again when humans again press the borders, and we will keep coming as long as there is threat from outside. Tell whoever is your next chieftain to expect that and to get used to it.”
“You … you are letting us go?”
“What would it accomplish to kill you?” Olim turned his back and shook his head, stifling a grin of delight. Then he straightened his face, put on his sternest expression, and snapped at his captain, “Gem! Don’t just stand there gaping. We must be on our way.”
Gem Bluesleeve blinked at his prince. “But, Sire, what he said about our delvings—”
“So, they’ve figured out what we’re doing.” Olim quickly cut him off. “Building ourselves a fortress. Well, we couldn’t keep it secret forever, could we?”
“Couldn’t …?” Gem paused, then squared his shoulders. “Ah … no, Sire. It’s hard to keep a fortress secret.”
The slopes remained clear of intruders—it would be a while before humans or anyone else stirred up the courage to try another assault on the mountain realm—and Slide Tolec led a party from the border outpost back to Theibardin, the maze of hollowed-out caves that ran around two of the faces of Cloudseeker, high on the huge mountain’s crest.
It was the home realm of the Theiwar, and Slide had a grim intuition of what they would find when they arrived there. Instinct told him that Glome the Assassin had known, before it ever happened, that the Daewar stragglers had been decoys, and that Olim Goldbuckle was coming to call in force. Somehow, Slide felt, Glome had forseen the fate of Twist Cutshank, had even aided and abetted it.
It was no real surprise, then, to arrive at the Theiwar home lairs and find that Glome and his followers had taken control of the place. Glome had declared himself chieftain of the Theiwar and was proceeding with plans to attack, invade, and loot the Daewar’s new city under Sky’s End. The plan was simple and straightforward. Somehow, Glome had enlisted the help of the Daergar by persuading Vog Ironface that the Daewar intended to take over all the mining in Kal-Thax. With a combined force of Theiwar and Daergar—and as many of the wild, erratic Klar as they could round up—Glome intended to take the old Daewar citadel on the slopes of Sky’s End’s, which was—his spies assured him—the only entrance to the Daewar’s new delvings.
The Covenant of the Forge Page 13
