Douglas Niles - Secret of Pax Tharkas

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 that 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.

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.