Dan Parkinson - The Swordsheath Scroll

With no choice at all, the men under the fallen shields slipped out of their shoulder straps and struggled to their feet. On the wall above them, a voice said, "Leave the shields, too. They're fair trade for the bolts we've expended."

The men hobbled away, bruised and shaken, one being supported by two of the others, apparently the victim of a " broken leg. Behind them, Derkin called, "Tell your commander that the reason you're still alive is that no one here has been hurt!"

The gate opened then, and hordes of dwarves spilled through under cover of the weapons on the wall. By the time the rammers had returned to their commander, all of the shields and dead horses had been dragged to the south side of the wall, and the log ram was disappearing through the portal, which slammed shut when it was clear.

In the evening, as shadows deepened in the pass, arrows began to reach the top of the wall. Soldiers had crept along the brushy sides of the pass and taken shelter in a grove of conifers in bow range of the wall.

Crouching behind battlements, Derkin and his defenders studied the grove and waited. Darkness came quickly in the deep pass, and the archers' light was failing. Their arrows had done no damage.

At full dark, the dwarves heard scurrying sounds as the attackers withdrew for the night, and Derkin went down the ramp to find Vin the Shadow. "You know what to do," he told the Daergar.

"We could do more than that," Vin suggested, but Derkin shook his head. "No," he said, "you heard what I told the commander. Those arrows haven't hurt anybody yet."

With a curt nod, Vin rounded up a dozen more Daergar. They removed their iron masks, revealing the large eyes and foxlike features of their clan. Quickly they gathered torches, tinder, and vials of oil, and filed out through the gate. They were back within minutes, and behind them fires blazed. By morning, the grove of trees that could hide archers would be nothing but smoldering ashes.

For two more days, the standoff in Tharkas Pass continued. Tulien Gart tried everything he could think of to get past the dwarves' wall, but nothing succeeded. Climbers sent in the dark of night, with grapples and rope, were easy targets for dark-seeing Daergar on the wall. An unmanned ram consisting of two whip-stung horses with a log slung between them went afoul when dwarves above dropped flaming straw in their path. The damage the ram horses did to Gart's camp as they fled through it was truly awful.

On the morning when Lord Kane's post patrol showed up in the pass, Gart decided it was time to return to Klanath and report to Lord Kane. Maybe the prince could root out dwarves from Tharkas Pass, but Gart accepted that the Third Battalion, alone, could not.

Before leaving, though, Gart mounted his horse and rode alone to the dwarves' wall. Sitting his saddle straight-backed and haughty, he looked upward. "Hammerhand!" he called.

Above, the same bright-helmed silhouette appeared. "I'm here, Commander," the deep, resonant voice responded.

"I'm leaving to return to Klanath," Gart said. "I will give your message to Lord Kane, though they may be the last words I ever utter. But just for my own curiosity, who the blazes are you, anyway?"

"That's pretty obvious," the voice above said. "I am Master of Tharkas."

As the commander rode away, the wall's gate opened and a small crowd of dirty, disheveled humans scurried through it. They were the survivors of the Tharkas outpost who had been held in the mine shaft. Derkin had no further use for them, so he was sending them home. On the wall, dozens of dwarves burst into laughter when the ragged crowd caught up with their commander, who promptly turned his head and backed his horse away from them. Those poor wretches would smell like goblins for weeks, no matter how they scrubbed themselves.

Derkin Hammerhand turned to the Cobar standing beside him. "That commander is a fair soldier," he said. "He's more than just a 'clanking churl.' "

"I agree." Tuft Broadland nodded. "Tulien Gart is a true soldier. I could admire a man like that, if it weren't for the colors he carries. He's in the right line of work, but he's in the wrong employ."

Sakar Kane stormed and raged at the incredible tale brought to him by the commander of his Third Battalion. A stone wall across Tharkas Pass, the man reported. And dwarves! Dwarves forbidding entry into his lands, by his own troops.

"You're telling me that you-with a full battalion- could not overcome a bunch of stupid, cowering dwarves hiding behind a simple wall?" the Prince of Klanath hissed, his eyes burning into those of his commander.

Tulien Gart accepted the tone and the angry glare. Standing parade-erect, holding his plumed helm in the crook of his arm, the commander seemed resigned to the consequences of his words. Streaks of gray at his temples and the dark lines beneath his eyes made him look tired. Tired, but not defeated. He held his lord's gaze and neither blinked nor looked away. "Yes, Sire," he confirmed. "I tried everything I knew to try, short of a suicide rush which would have cost Your Highness most of the battalion. With all respect, Sire, the wall they have built is more than a 'simple wall.' It is a bastion. And in my opinion, the people defending it are neither cowering nor stupid. They are well armed, quite disciplined, and-from what I could make out-more than willing to do whatever they must to hold their ground."

"It is not their ground!" Kane snapped. "It is mine!" With a snort of disgust he paced half the width of the pillared chamber which was his seat of power, for the moment ignoring the veteran soldier still standing at stiff attention. Then he whirled and pointed an accusing finger at the man. "Tell me again what that… that dwarf said," he ordered.

"Yes, Sire. He said he is called Hammerhand. He said Kal-Thax begins at the point where the wall stands, and…"

"What is Kal-Thax?"

"According to my clerk, Sire, it is a dwarven term, taken from some ancient language of theirs. Literally, it means 'cold forge/ but its meaning in practice is 'land of the dwarves.' "

"Continue," Lord Kane commanded.

"Hammerhand said the wall is the border of Kal-Thax, and that from this time on, Kal-Thax is closed except to dwarves. He said if the dwarves are left alone, they will leave us alone, but if they are attacked, they will respond."

"And you tested the dwarf's words?"

"I lost forty-nine men in the process, Sire. Thirty-five dead, fourteen wounded. To the best of my knowledge, though, Hammerhand lost none."

"Who does that dwarf think he is?" the prince thundered.

"I asked him that, Sire. He said only that he is the master of Tharkas."

Still pacing, Lord Kane stopped abruptly before his commander, leaning close to glare directly into his eyes. "You speak almost as though you admire that dwarf," he hissed. "Are you a traitor, Tulien Gart?"

Gart's sun-dark face blanched at the insult, but he held his expression tightly in check as he said, "No, Sire, I am not. I have done all in my power to serve Your Highness honorably and well."

"Honorably be hanged!" the prince snapped. "I want those dwarves cleared from that pass. I want them run down and killed or put in chains. I want that blasted wall torn down, my outpost restored… and I want this Hammerhand's head brought to me on the point of a lance. This is my desire. Will you obey such an order, if I command it, Tulien Gart?"

"I will attempt to do as my liege orders," Gart said. "But with only a battalion at my command, it cannot be done."

"And why not?"

"It will require a legion, Sire, with provisions for an all-out siege."