Dan Parkinson - The Swordsheath Scroll

Derkin had ridden halfway around the courtyard, shouting commands and wielding shield and hammer, when a human guard appeared from a niche, thrusting a deadly pike. Derkin heard the weapon strike the footman opposite him and felt the saddle shift as the dwarf fell away. With a kick, Derkin swung himself up into the saddle and struck downward. The pikeman didn't even have time to blink before a heavy hammer crushed his helmet and the skull beneath it.

Wheeling his horse, Derkin swung this way and that, searching. Then he saw what he was looking for. Below the tallest corner tower, a clot of humans was retreating slowly toward a stone gate, while dwarven riders hacked away at them. With a shout, Derkin reined toward that place, dropping from his saddle as he neared it. Behind him, the Ten did likewise, landing catlike on sturdy legs as their tall mounts clattered away. "The door!" Derkin shouted. "Secure that door!"

Afoot, Hammerhand and his newly reformed guard, the Ten, raced toward the archway. The soldiers there, concentrating on the pressing riders, weren't aware of the eleven afoot until they were among them, cutting a gory path through their formation. With shield and sword, hammer and axe, propelled by their own momentum, Hammerhand and the Ten plowed completely through the rank of defenders as the oaken door within the archway closed in their faces… but not quite. From somewhere just behind Derkin, a short, sturdy form hurtled forward, throwing itself into the narrowing gap. Stone and oak timbers closed on armor plate and stopped. Through the gap, Derkin saw a blade lash out and downward, and blood spurted.

He had no chance to see who had stopped the door. At full speed, he and the others with him hit the portal, massive shoulders flinging it back. The dwarves burst through into a large, brightly lit hall where men were scurrying about. Most of the men were unarmed, dressed as clerks or servants, and several of them shrieked and dived for cover as the door slammed open. Among them were soldiers, though, and these drew their weapons.

Derkin glanced from face to face, searching. He had seen Sakar Kane only a few times, and always from a distance, but he would know the face of the tyrant if he saw him. But all the faces he saw were strange to him. Backing away a step, Hammerhand knelt quickly at the doorway and looked down at the dead dwarf lying there, still in the portal. It was Wedge Stonecut, the young volunteer who had been so proud to become one of the Ten. Standing, Derkin pulled the body in through the doorway, then turned and closed the door. It muffled the clamor of battle in the courtyard beyond. Its heavy bar, as he dropped it into place, had a hollow, ominous sound.

Holding his shield and hammer, Derkin Hammerhand strode forward. Fourteen household guards, unnerved at his calm, grim appearance, hesitated and backed away a step. He took another long look around the Great Hall, then demanded, "Where is Sakar Kane?"

No one answered him. The guards were edging forward now, raising their weapons. "Which of you killed Wedge Stonecut?" Derkin demanded.

Again there was no answer, but he needed none. Among the guards was one whose blade still dripped with dwarven blood. For only an instant Derkin gazed at the man, then he spun full around, and his arm lashed out. The hammer flew from his hand, made one quick flip in the air, and smashed into the man's face. As the guard sprawled backward, dead, Derkin drew his sword. Flanked by the Nine, he charged the remaining guards.

Sakar Kane was nowhere to be found.

By morning, the palace and its walled compound were secure. The attack had been a complete surprise to the humans of Klanath, catching the soldiers off guard, unprepared, and without their leader to rally them. On top of that, the prince's forces were outnumbered by nearly ten to one. Within hours of the first sortie by night-eyed Daergar, Derkin and his forces were all within the fortress and had barred its gates. Many of the soldiers were dead, many more disarmed and locked away in the palace dungeons. The rest of Kane's household-forty or fifty women, clerks, porters, cooks, and warders-were locked into secure quarters high in one of the towers.

With the dawn, Derkin ordered a complete search of the facility. Hundreds of dwarves swarmed everywhere in the fortress, searching every room, every hall, and every stairwell. It was fruitless. The man Hammerhand had come to find was not in Klanath.

A quivering human clerk, brought before Derkin by blood-spattered dwarven warriors, told him that His Highness had returned from his expedition into Tharkas Pass to find a messenger awaiting him with a sealed scroll from the man called Dreyus. Kane had stayed only long enough to promote the captain of the home guards and put him in command of the Third Battalion. Then the prince rode out again, the clerk said.

Derkin perched in Kane's chair of state, his feet dangling six inches above the floor, his dark cloak and dark-painted armor encrusted with the blood of humans. He listened quietly to the clerk, then pierced the man with that cold-eyed gaze which people so often found disconcerting. "Where did he go?" he demanded.

"I don't know," the clerk said, his chin quivering. "As far as I know, he didn't tell any of the staff of his plans."

"He must have told someone!" Derkin snapped.

The clerk looked as though he might faint. "He… he might have told Captain… er, Commander Morden," he suggested. "His Highness left the commander in charge. I suppose he might have mentioned to him, ah… where he was going."

"Morden?" Derkin frowned. "Who is Morden?"

"He is the officer His Highness promoted just before he left," the clerk explained. "He was captain of the household guard and master of catapults. Now he is commander of internal forces and commander of the Third Battalion, as well."

"Why?"

"His Highness honored him." The clerk shrugged. "He said Capt… er, Commander Morden did fine service in the… ah… campaign in Tharkas… against the… the dwarves." When Derkin made no response, the man added, lamely, "Besides, the Third Battalion was leader-less since Commander Gart's disappearance."

"Gart?" Derkin prodded. "Commander Tulien Gart?"

"Yes," the clerk said. "He just… disappeared. He never returned from Tharkas."

"Describe Commander Morden," Derkin said.

'The… the commander is a slim man," the clerk said. "Not as tall as some, but very strong. And he has a stitched scar across his face"-with a trembling finger, he traced a line from his own left cheekbone downward, across his mouth to the right side of his chin-"like that."

"The man who directed the catapults," Derkin muttered. "The one who lofted the stones."

"I saw a man like that," Talon Oakbeard said. "An officer. He was in the compound when we attacked."

"Is he dead?"

"Either dead or in the dungeons."

With a wave of his hand, Derkin said, "Take the clerk away, then find this Morden. If he isn't dead, bring him to me." He got down from Sakar Kane's throne and strode to a barred window at one side of the Great Hall. Beyond, little flurries of snow still fell, carried on gusting winds below a gloomy sky. Outside in the compound, companies and platoons of dark-garbed dwarves were everywhere.

"I want Sakar Kane," Derkin Hammerhand muttered to no one in particular. "I want to teach him the law of Kal-Thax."

After a time, a company of dwarves filed into the hall and saluted. "Sire, there is no Morden here," their leader said. "Some of us who saw him have searched. He isn't among the dead, and he isn't in the dungeons."

"And all of the living fighters are in the dungeons?"

"All of them," the searcher said. "We went to each of our units who were assigned to the perimeters last night, and to Vin's Daergar, who were stationed outside. From the moment we attacked this place last night, no one left."