Dan Parkinson: The Swordsheath Scroll

Derkin deflected a vicious, two-handed slash with his shield and returned the blow. His hammer left a deep dent in the breastplate of a human and staggered him backward, but his foes kept up their attack. Behind him, the Lawgiver heard a gasp and the sound of pierced lungs. But then steel rang on steel again, and he knew that Culom Vand was still there, and that it was an attacker who had fallen.

Two blades came at him together, one high and one low. He ducked, caught the lower one on his shield, and braced himself for the overhead blow. But it didn't fall, and he saw the shadow of Culom's shield above him.

He recovered, thrust, and said hoarsely, "Thanks."

Behind him, Culom said, "My father really does want to talk to you… preferably alive."

Then, abruptly, above the din, the drums echoed a new call. A soldier glanced away for an instant, and Derkin's hammer crushed the man's helmet into his skull.

Behind him, Culom said, "That's the song I heard in my dream, before we came to the pass. What does it mean?"

Derkin ducked under a sword slash, braced his feet, and butted his nearest foe with his shield. The man doubled over the shield, and Derkin straightened, lifted the soldier, and flung him backward against the second one. Both of them fell, and Derkin raised his head, listening. Then his eyes widened. "It means reinforcements!" he shouted. "Let's get out of this place!"

"I'm with you," Culom rasped, pushing his own adversary back a step. Then, as armored men rushed the pair from both sides, the dwarves dropped to the ground, slashing at human ankles. With a resounding clatter, three soldiers collided above them, and sprawled against the stones. "Climb," Derkin ordered. Making a stirrup of his hands, he hoisted Culom to the top of the nearest standing stone, and the Hylar pulled him up an instant later. Beneath them, dazed soldiers were just getting to their hands and knees as Tap Tolec and Talon Oakbeard rushed into the crevice to methodically brain them.

The drums were beating a wild tattoo, and trumpets blared in the distance. Atop the standing stone, Derkin Lawgiver stared, openmouthed. Out on the barrens, beyond the landslide, there was melee everywhere. Human horse units wheeled and circled frantically, footmen scrambled in all directions, and a half-hundred pitched battles were underway.

And beyond, coming up from the forest, were elves. By the hundreds and thousands, they streamed onto the wasteland slopes, leaping and bounding, their deadly arrows flying ahead of them like swarms of angry wasps. Moon-blond hair flowing in the wind, beardless faces serene and intent, the elves had fallen on Dreyus's army from behind, and were methodically cutting it to pieces. And among them, riding and slashing like lithe, feral beasts with bright feathers in their hair, were hundreds of mounted Cobar warriors.

Scampering to the highest place he could find, Derkin raised his hammer high above his head, then swept it downward toward the open slopes. "Attack!" he roared.

Before the scattered, surprised soldiers of the emperor could reform to respond to the elves' attack, they found themselves hit from behind by thousands of howling, chanting dwarves pouring out of the landslide fan. Some of the soldiers responded bravely; some heard a confusion of orders and ran in circles. Some simply ran.

There were no strategies now, no planned assaults and defenses. This was open combat, with many pitched battles going on while horsemen wheeled and clashed among them. Derkin and the Ten-who were only the Six now-waded in, chopping and slashing at anything wearing the colors of Daltigoth. Behind them came the Chosen Ones, a solid wall of stubby, deadly rage, chanting to the rhythm of the drums. And on their flanks ran several hundred Hylar and Daewar, joining the chants. A milling legion of empiremen melted away before them, and Derkin found himself face-to-face with a hooded elf. "Hail, Lawgiver," Despaxas said, tossing back his cowl. 'The Wildrunners and the rangers are here."

"I already noticed," Derkin growled. "You might have come a little earlier, though."

"We'd have been here two days ago if Redrock Cleft had still been open for our Cobar friends." The elf smiled, a smile that was childlike in its slyness. "But they had to go around."

"That's what you always wanted, wasn't it?" Derkin glared at him. "From the very first, you've used me-and my people-to block the emperor's path to the east."

"We all use one another." Despaxas shrugged. "To use and be used, by choice, is the way of friendship. It's the stuff of alliances. The alternative is domination by emperors, and slavery."

A random arrow, with the markings of Daltigoth, whisked toward Derkin. Without seeming to take his eyes off Despaxas, the dwarf deflected the quarrel with his shield. Just beyond Despaxas, a buckskin-clad Wild-runner drew his bow and shot, returning the human fire.

All around them, the pitched battle raged.

Talon Oakbeard came then, mounted on his favorite horse and leading other mounts. Derkin's was there, its saddle already occupied. Helta Graywood eased back to make space for Derkin in the saddle, and he climbed aboard.

Derkin looked down, but Despaxas was gone. The elf had said all he had to say, apparently.

Other dwarven horse companies were mounted now, and sweeping here and there through human ranks, dwarves slashing fiercely from both sides of each saddle. Derkin picked out a promising fight and joined in.

Within an hour, the fighting had thinned and scattered. The sun was low, sinking behind distant peaks, and Derkin noticed an odd, dark cloud forming above the place where the old human compounds had stood. He worked his mount in that direction, swerving here and there to get in a hammer-blow at a scurrying soldier, then reined in abruptly. Just ahead, a big man sat silently on a black horse, staring at the dwarf with eyes that burned with hatred.

"Dreyus," Derkin muttered. With Helta clinging behind him, and the survivors of the Ten following, he spurred his mount toward the man. But the strange, dark cloud above swirled and lowered, a dipping funnel of darkness that reached downward to engulf Dreyus. It paused only an instant, then lifted, and Dreyus was gone. It was as though he had never been there.

Yet, just at the instant of the cloud's lifting, a shadow seemed to join it-a wide-winged bat-fish shadow that seemed more to swim in the air than to fly.

"Magic," Derkin muttered, turning away.

Then Despaxas was there again, beside him. With wide, wise eyes, the elf was staring at the place where the cloud had been. "Yes, magic," he said. "Of a strange kind, but Zephyr understood it."

"Zephyr?" Derkin cocked his head. "Your pet shadow? Did he help do that?"

"No, Dreyus did it, but Zephyr used it to escape the verge. He has gone back to his plane."

"I'm sorry," Derkin said, realizing that it was true.

"Be glad for him," Despaxas said. "For a long time, Zephyr has sought the path back to his world. I couldn't help him, but he found one who could. It's odd, the one who freed him from the verge was the only person I've ever known of that Zephyr couldn't even see."

Derkin was ready to fight some more, but it seemed there was no one to fight. All around, soldiers were throwing aside their banners and their heavy armor to flee in panic, while elves, dwarves and Cobar harried them on their way. Among the Cobar, Derkin thought he recognized Tuft Broadland, but the tall warrior was far off, and he couldn't tell for sure. He did see another human he recognized, though. Riding with the Cobar was the former officer of the empire, Tulien Gart.

Tap Tolec reined in beside Derkin. "We've run out of soldiers," he said. "What do we do now?"

"Have the drums sound assembly," Derkin said. "We're going home. There's still enough daylight left to see us back to the border of Kal-Thax."