Douglas Niles - Secret of Pax Tharkas

“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.

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.