Dan Parkinson - The Swordsheath Scroll

Almost losing his seat as he skidded his horse to a haunch-down halt, he snapped a quick, wide-eyed salute and said, "That thing is a wall, sir! A great big stone wall. It blocks the whole pass, and someone on top of it told us to go away and never come back."

"Who told you that?" the commander rasped. "Who was it on that wall?"

"I don't know, sir." The soldier shook his head. "The rest of the platoon went ahead for a better look, but the lieutenant sent me to report."

"A wall!" Tulien Gart muttered. "Now what?" Impatiently, he signaled and spurred his mount, and the entire battalion trotted forward behind him.

It was indeed a wall-a high, wide wall of solid stone, with battlements at its crest and a single, narrow door that was firmly closed. Just below the wall, the first platoon was spread out, still mounted, with shields and swords at hand. As he neared the wall, Gart could hear his lieutenant shouting, "… can't put a blasted wall in this pass without Lord Kane's orders! Who do you people think you are?"

"We know exactly who we are!" a deep, resonant voice answered from above. "And we know who you are, too! Now go away!"

With an oath, Tulien Gart reined his mount in beside the lieutenant's and demanded, "Who is that up there?" When the lieutenant shrugged, Gart straightened himself in his saddle and cupped his hands. "You on the wall!" he demanded. "Identify yourselves at once! Who are you?"

A silhouette moved above, a polished helmet glinted in the light, and a deep voice called back, "Who's asking?"

"I am Tulien Gart!" Gart shouted. "In command of this battalion, in service to the Lord Sakar Kane, Prince of Klanath by order of Our Illustrious Emperor Quivalin Soth the Fifth! Now, who are you, and why are you here?"

"I'm called Hammerhand!" the deep voice responded, sounding unimpressed. "I'm here because I choose to be! This is the border of Kal-Thax, and as of now the border is closed! So go away!"

"Border of what?" Gart shouted. 'This land is the fief of Lord Kane! He owns it!"

"No, he doesn't," the deep voice assured him casually. "It's ours."

From the rear of the battalion column came a muttering that traveled forward. A lieutenant turned, listened, and wheeled toward his commander. "Sir," he said, "the men farther back can see better. They say those are dwarves up there."

"That's right," the voice from above called. "We're dwarves. This wall marks the boundary of Kal-Thax. Kal-thax is dwarven land. It has always been ours, and it always will be. It begins right here, at this wall. Now, for the last time, turn around and go away!"

Muttering a curse, Tulien Gart shaded his eyes against the bright sky. Now there were many helmed heads visible between the stone battlements above, and he could see the bristle of weapons. Turning in his saddle, he called, "Archers forward!"

Immediately, a company of mounted bowmen advanced at his bidding. Above, the deep voice rang out, cold and deadly. "Be careful, Commander Gart! You are about to make a serious mistake!"

Ignoring the dwarf above, Gart commanded, "Archers! Clear that wall!"

In unison, a hundred bows were raised, drawn, and released, and a hundred deadly arrows hurtled upward. But where the silhouettes of heads had been, there were now bright shields. Arrows clattered, shattered, and caromed away. Then the shields dropped from sight, and in their place were pairs of dwarves, drawing aim on those below. Slings whirred and spat, crossbows thudded, and panic erupted among the archers. Dozens fell from their saddles, pierced or brained, and the rest became a melee of stamping, wheeling, bucking horses and men, shouldering one another in their haste to back away. More men and several horses went down under trampling hooves.

Through it all, Tulien Gart held his reins and his ground, his angry eyes locked on the figure above, the one who called himself Hammerhand. That one, he noticed, had not moved either. But now the deep, cold voice came again, and Gart felt the impact of shadowed eyes beneath a glistening helm-eyes that he knew were locked on his own. "Hear the words of Hammerhand, human!" the voice thundered. "Hear me well, and tell your master what I have said! At this point, Kal-Thax begins! From this day, Kal-Thax is closed to you and your kind! Kal-Thax belongs to dwarves, not humans!

"If you leave us alone, we will leave you alone! But if you attack-as you have just learned-we will respond! Now go away! Go, and don't come back!"

Reluctantly, Tulien Gart turned his mount and led a retreat, but only for a few hundred yards. Once beyond the range of slings and crossbows, he halted the battalion and dismounted. A few minutes passed, then two squads of humans approached the wall again, this time on foot and carrying no bows. Instead, they carried stretchers. Almost timidly, expecting death at any minute, the men neared the wall and began collecting their wounded and dead. But the dwarves above launched no volleys. They only watched.

On the ramp behind the wall, Tuft Broadland also watched, then turned to Derkin Hammerhand. "You'd better tell them to take their fallen mounts, too. They're just leaving them."

"We'll keep the dead horses," Derkin declared. "There's enough meat there for two or three days."

The blood drained from the Cobar's face as he stared at the dwarf, shocked and astonished. "You… you people eat horses?"

"Meat's meat," Derkin said, casually. "We can eat anything that doesn't eat us first. We've learned that in the slave mines and in the wilderness."

The humans collected their dead and wounded, and returned down the pass to where the battalion waited. But instead of mounting up and moving away, the soldiers seemed to be settling in.

"They aren't leaving," Calan Silvertoe noted.

"I didn't think they would, yet," Hammerhand said. "That commander can't just take my word for it that they aren't welcome here. He has to try a few more tricks."

Throughout the morning and early afternoon, the dwarves on the wall could see furious activity down the pass, men hurrying here and there, doing things. At first, it was hard to tell what they were doing, then sharp eyes aloft spotted a heavy, freshly hewn log being dragged up the pass from a grove beyond.

"They're making a ram!" old Calan snorted. "They intend to test our gate."

"Can the gate withstand a ram?" worried Tuft Broad-land.

"Making a ram is one thing," Derkin responded. "Getting it here is another."

Several hundred yards away, men lined up beside the heavy log, two men on a side. Squatting, they slipped harnesses over their shoulders, then stood, lifting the ram with them. At the wave of Tulien Gart's hand, they started toward the wall at a trot.

The dwarves let them approach to within fifty yards, then all along the battlements, dwarves with slings and crossbows appeared. The ram bearers saw them there and faltered, slowing to a stop. Tulien Gart saw them, too, and shook his head. "Call them back," he told a trumpeter. 'They'll never make it."

At the sound of the trumpet, the relieved rammers turned, sighing visibly, and trotted back the way they had come, carrying their log.

"Next he'll try a shielded ram," Derkin said.

An hour passed before the rammers tried it again, and this time they came under a cover of shields-dozens of shields laced together to form a solid roof over the men and their ram. From above, the men could not even be seen as they trotted forward toward the gate.

"Now what do you do?" Tuft asked Derkin.

"Just watch," the dwarf said.

As the ram bearers gathered speed, aiming their juggernaut at the gate, a foot-high hinged panel opened in the bottom of the portal, with crossbows massed behind it. The men under the shields, seeing sudden death only yards away, pointing up at them, faltered. One stumbled, three fell, then they all went down, dragged to the ground by their log ram while lashed shields clattered down atop them. From the deadly portal, a voice called, "Just get up and back away if you want to live. Leave the log where it is. You won't need it anymore."