Dan Parkinson - The Covenant of The Forge

Slide saw movement above and glanced upward. The caprock above the far canyon wall was lined with burly figures astride tall horses, all looking directly across at his hiding place. He started to retreat farther into the depths, but from directly overhead a lance point was thrust downward, pinning his sleeve to the stone beneath his arm.

A deep voice called, “You in the holes! Come out, and be quick about it!”

Pushing a thousand or more fleeing Theiwar ahead of them, scattering bands of Daergar and Klar as the wind scattered the drifting snow and gathering them, too, into their herd, wedges of Hylar warriors led by mounted elite guards moved in on the main camp of Olim Goldbuckle’s Daewar army and surrounded it. At a dozen points, Kal-Thax dwarves tried to charge the strangers, to break their lines, but they were repelled expertly and easily each time. There were few casualties in the attempts. Most were simply pushed back, pushed inward until the main camp — a quarter mile square at the head of a promontory looking out at the distant plains — was filled almost solidly with panicked dwarves, staring around in confusion.

Gem Bluesleeve attempted to rally a counterattack by the Daewar, a running wedge of shield-bearers thrown directly at the line of strangers. But the lead shields met lance-tips wielded by mounted dwarves, and the attack collapsed upon itself. Footmen flanking the riders charged forward and drove the Golden Hammer’s best warriors back into the crowded campsite. A hundred yards away, a howling charge by masked Daergar did no better.

Olim Goldbuckle knew a hopeless situation when he saw one. The Daewar leader climbed up on a rock, spread his hands, and bellowed, “Hold!” Then he dropped his shield to the ground, loosed his sword and dropped it, and stood empty-handed and defiant, his fists on his hips. “We are taken!” he shouted, looking this way and that at the solid line of strange dwarves facing him fifty yards away. “We yield! Who are you people, and what do you want?”

Directly ahead of him the line parted and a plume-helmed rider pushed through, accompanied by ten others flanking him in tight formation. The leader reined in his tall horse, sat in silence for a moment facing Olim Goldbuckle, then slung his great hammer and raised his visor. The face revealed there was as weathered and tough as mountain stone, framed by dark, clipped hair and a trimmed, back-swept beard with touches of silver in it. “Name yourself!” he demanded.

Olim squared his shoulders in defiance. “I am Olim Goldbuckle, Prince of Thane Daewar of Kal-Thax!”

Eyes like ice studied him. “Are you the leader of all these warriors?”

Some distance away the crowd rippled as a masked warrior in dark furs pushed through. Without removing the slitted iron mask below his conical helm, he faced the stranger. “I am Vog Ironface!” his hollow-sounding voice called. “I am Chieftain of Thane Daergar of Kal-Thax!”

And on the other side, a wide-shouldered dwarf in bronze-studded leathers stepped up onto a cask and pulled aside his mesh visor, squinting in the sun. “I am Slide Tolec!” he spat. “I am Chieftain of Thane Theiwar of Kal-Thax!”

Near the east perimeter a wild-haired figure in uncut furs and wrapped boots pushed past others of his kind to face the line of shields. “Bole Trune!” he shouted, snarling in rage. “I am Klar! I lead Klar of Kal-Thax!”

Somewhere in the crowd, a small, quavering voice was raised. “Where Highbulp?”

“Dunno,” another answered. “What want Highbulp for?”

“He s’posed say who he is,” the first voice explained.

“Let Highbulp sleep,” another suggested. “He don’ know who he is half th’ time, anyway.” Then that voice rose higher, “Aghar! This place, whatever! Highbulp’s name Faze I or somethin’!”

The armored, mounted dwarf with the plumed helm and swept-back whiskers looked around, surveying the thousands of encircled beings before him. “You are many tribes,” he said. “Do you war upon one another here, or just upon strangers?”

Olim Goldbuckle gritted his teeth, scowling at the armed one. There was a quality about the strangers — and particularly about this one — that annoyed him, but at the same time puzzled him. They seemed more aloof than hostile, more curious than combative, but he had seen them effortlessly throw back every attack made against them. “We war upon whom we please!” the Daewar roared. “Now you know who we are! Who are you?”

“I am Colin Stonetooth,” the stranger said evenly. “We are the Hylar. We are new-come to this realm, but we have come to stay. We claim equal rights and will defend them if we must.”

“Intruders!” Vog Ironface shouted, his voice echoing through his slitted mask. “You are not of Kal-Thax!”

“We are of Kal-Thax now,” Colin Stonetooth said, his voice deep and level. “We have made due claim, and the territory we hold is ours.”

“You are not part of the pact!” Slide Tolec called, his broad shoulders hunched as he pushed closer to the line of shields. “Kal-Thax belongs to those who defend it!”

Colin Stonetooth inclined his head, looking down at the angry Theiwar. “And what is this pact?” he asked.

“A treaty! A covenant of thanes, to defend Kal-Thax against intruders.”

“Against what intruders?” the Hylar prodded.

“All intruders!” Vog Ironface snapped. “You and all the others!”

“We are not intruders,” the Hylar said, slowly. “We came here, yes. But now we are here, just as you are. What intruders?”

Olim Goldbuckle shook his head, not liking the logic of the newcomer but understanding it. The strangers were indeed dwarves, and if they had laid proper claim to territories here — which he somehow was sure they had — then they were part of Kal-Thax, like it or not. Finally, in the silence, he raised his arm and pointed toward the far plains. “Those intruders,” he said. “Especially the humans! They are out there and they threaten Kal-Thax. We are allied in its defense.”

“Then we, the Hylar, will join in your pact.” Colin Stonetooth nodded. “For those humans out there, we have no more love than you do.”

“You will help to defend Kal-Thax?”

“Of course we will,” the Hylar assured them. “I wonder, though … exactly what is it that we must defend?”

“Kal-Thax!” Olim Goldbuckle tipped his head, staring at the Hylar. “These mountains are Kal-Thax.”

“And you allow none to pass through?”

“ Pass through ? Those are mostly humans out there, Hylar. Humans do not ‘pass through.’ Humans invade! They encroach! Wherever humans get a foothold, eventually there will be none there but humans.” Olim Goldbuckle spread his hands. “Our people learned that, long ago. If humans get into Kal-Thax, they will stay.”

Colin Stonetooth gazed around at the highland vistas. “Humans cannot live in mountains like these,” he said. “We have dealt with humans, too, and we know them. They are not trustworthy, on the whole, but these mountains need no defense against them. Humans would starve here.”

“There are valleys in Kal-Thax,” Olim said, stubbornly. “They would settle in the valleys and build colonies. They would multiply and expand. In the end, they would try to wipe out the dwarves. That’s how humans are. They must be kept out of Kal-Thax!”

“There are many kinds of defense,” Colin Stonetooth replied. “I have seen great tides of wanderers out there, on those plains. Even the strongest dam will break if there is not a controlled release … a way for the flow to pass beyond. Has that been considered?”

“It has been considered enough!” Vog Ironface shouted. “Are you … you Hylar with us or not?”