Dan Parkinson - The Swordsheath Scroll

"What you are doing here will help us in our war against the invaders," Despaxas said. "There's no secret about that."

"But I wonder if you-any of you-understand that I want no part of your war," Derkin growled.

"You didn't want to be anybody's leader either," Calan Silvertoe reminded him. "Sometimes there isn't much choice about things like that."

Derkin turned away, yawning, ignoring him. But he caught the glance that passed between Despaxas and Calan Silvertoe and felt a sudden coldness in his bones. They knew. The old, one-armed dwarf and the ageless elf, they knew what Derkin knew but didn't want to admit, even to himself. The human lord of Klanath would see Derkin's wall not as a boundary, but as a challenge. He almost certainly would not choose to turn away and leave Kal-Thax alone.

In the deepening night, muffled drums sang their songs through the mountains. Drums that Hylar crafters had taught Derkin to build and use as a boy-as his Hylar ancestors had always built and used them-and that Despaxas the elf had taught him a new song for, somewhere in the wilderness. The song of Balladine.

Now the drums were signaling, as they always signaled. Derkin's people-and the far-ranging Neidar who had joined them-now numbered some twenty thousand. The nine thousand here at Tharkas were the Chosen Ones, the fighting core of what had become a new and widespread clan. Most of the rest were in the wilderness, near a place called Sheercliff, though some were still farther west, staking out territory for a future trade center to be called Barter.

They were far separated in miles, but not in mind, and the drums carried their messages back and forth through the mountains.

For eleven days the dwarves worked on their wall, laboring nigbt and day while the sole human among them, Tuft Broad-land, watched with amazement. Except for his brief adventure in this place, years before, when he had helped the former Derkin Winterseed free dwarven slaves from the goblins in the Tharkas mine shaft, then watched as those slaves freed thousands more from the mines of Klanath, Tuft had never associated with dwarves.

He was amazed now at their energy, their stubborn intensity in the face of a task, and at their sheer physical strength. He knew, of course, that a mature dwarf a foot shorter than himself would weigh as much as he did, and he had heard that the massive little people were stronger, pound for pound, than humans. But as he watched their craftsmen handle and set huge stones day after day, the Cobar was awed. Time after time he watched a half-dozen dwarves-or sometimes as few as four-roll a ton of square-cut stone from side to side, working its surface with ringing tools, punching reinforcement holes in it with hammer drills, then wrestle the stone onto a sling board for other dwarves to lift from above.

They used winches and wedges, levers and slings, and all manner of other tools, in ways he had never seen such things used. And while some among them were more skilled than others at the cutting or drilling or setting of stone, he had the impression that any one of them at random could have done the job of any other.

"They work as though they were born with tools in their hands," he remarked to Despaxas as the Tharkas Wall towered overhead, growing tier by tier.

'They almost were," the elf said casually. "It is the manner of dwarves. It is said that a dwarf can climb before he can walk, hew stone before he can talk, and delve before he's out of his swaddling."

"They're an amazing people," Tuft allowed. "But can they use their weapons?"

"You will see soon enough," the elf answered. "To a dwarf, a weapon is just another tool. The only difference is in its application."

Now, on the eleventh day of the project, as the last of the stones salvaged from Lord Kane's outpost were hauled upward to be set into place, Tuft stood back to look at the huge construct. The wall was butted into solid stone on each side of the pass, completely filling it from side to side. Stout battlements of carved stone lined its top, protecting a bastion that could be reached by ramps on the south face. The north face of the wall, facing toward Klanath, was solid, almost seamless stone. And low in its center was a single, small opening, tall and narrow, sealed by a gate that looked as solid and massive as the wall itself.

Not an impassable obstacle, the Cobar decided as he studied the wall. Determined men equipped with grapples and lines could scale its north face and get across. But with a good defense on that bastion top, the price of such an attack would be fearsome.

And it had been built in eleven days! Such a project would have taken human craftsmen half a year to complete.

With the wall in place, most of the Chosen Ones moved their camp into the pass, just behind their barricade. And now Tuft saw the builders of the wall become soldiers of Kal-Thax. Putting away their stoneworking tools, the dwarves donned exquisite steel armor and clothing of a variety of bright colors. Fine, dwarven steel weapons were unwrapped, brought out, and buckled or strapped into place. Within a day after the completion of the stone wall, the Cobar found himself surrounded by thousands of stubby, helmed warriors, most of whom looked as fierce and formidable as Derkin Hammerhand himself.

Another thing he noted then, about the dwarves. A hundred pounds or so of steel plate, helmet, slung shield, and weaponry was no burden to a sturdy dwarf. In full battle attire, each dwarf appeared as comfortable and as nimble as though he were clothed only in kilt and smock. Afoot or on horseback, the short, sturdy warriors seemed as at home in armor as though it were part of them.

Tuft was admiring the throngs around him when a cold, deep voice asked, "What are you grinning at, human? Do you find my people funny?"

Derkin was beside him, hands on his hips, and there was no humor in his wide-set, thoughtful eyes.

"Not at all," Tuft hastened to reply. "Quite the opposite. I was thinking how fierce your people seem, and how colorful."

'Then what were you grinning about?"

The Cobar paused, then pointed at a group of two or three dozen armored dwarves strolling past. "Even fully armored, your dwarves make no racket. My people have fought the emperor's armies for years now, and our ears are an advantage. When those churls put on armor, they clank so that one can hear them a quarter mile away."

"If you find that amusing, you'll have plenty of entertainment soon," Derkin said, turning away. "The drums spoke this morning. That human battalion that left Tharkas to chase your raiders has returned to Klanath. They'll be on their way here shortly." As though in afterthought, he glanced back at the man, and now he was grinning, too. "They're short a few men, by my sentinels' count. And they're short a lot of horses."

It was the following morning when soldiers of the empire appeared in Tharkas Pass. Remounted and repro-visioned-and thoroughly chastened by Lord Kane himself-Commander Tulien Gart led his Third Battalion out of Klanath, heading for the outpost they had left nearly two weeks before. Above them on the peaks, muted thunders rolled, then died away, and soldiers in the ranks craned their necks, looking upward. But there was nothing there to see.

Entering the pass, the battalion strung itself out, riding at an easy pace, expecting no surprises. Two miles into the gap, though, an outrider swung his mount around and galloped back to salute his commander. "There's something in the pass, sir. I can't tell what it is," he reported.

Within a quarter-mile they could all see the something, and they paused, peering. "What is that?" Tulien Gart demanded. "First platoon, go forward and see what that thing is!"

About thirty riders spurred their mounts and trotted away up the pass. For long minutes the rest of the battalion waited, then a rider came toward them, moving fast.