Dan Parkinson - Hammer and Axe

The crowd on the ledge parted to let him pass, and he grumbled all the way through the door and beyond, his voice fading as he disappeared past the housed gate-screw.

“I believe Olim Goldbuckle made a very wise decision,” Willen Ironmaul noted. “What was that? Magic?”

“Certainly not!” Bardion Ledge assured him. “Pack may be crazy as a tractor worm, but he would no more indulge in magic than you or I.”

“Well, whatever he did indulge in, it certainly was noisy.”

“And smelly,” someone said. Noses wrinkled as the errant wind brought a bit of smoke among them. “That smells exactly like rotten eggs!”

Because of the sheer size of underground Thorbardin, stretching nearly thirty miles from north to south, the assembling of a Council of Thanes took time. A minimum of three days—and more often five or six—was required for the formal, ceremonial assembly of the council members in the Great Hall of Audience. It was a cumbersome, tedious procedure to assemble the Council of Thanes. This time, the council’s purpose was to hear the reports of Mace Hammerstand and the Neidar, Gran Stonemill, although within hours of their arrival at Northgate almost everyone in Thorbardin knew what they had come to report.

Something berserk, something elementally evil, was roaming the mountains, laying waste to scattered villages, killing everyone and everything in its path. Cale Greeneye and ten Neidar were on the track of the thing, but no one yet knew what it was or where it came from. It was a thing as big as a dragon that came in darkness, cloaked in mists. As big as a dragon, but—Mace Hammerstand and the rest who had gone to Windhollow all agreed—probably not a dragon. There was no sign that magic of any kind had been used, and dragons were fond of magic.

Further, Damon Omenborn had taken it upon himself to backtrack the beast westward. He had gone with two Guard volunteers and had not reported back. Mace was becoming increasingly worried.

And, finally, Gran Stonemill had reports of human magic-users running loose in dwarven territory, and a concern about Thorbardin’s safety, because of some old, unused tunnel that most people had long since forgotten about.

It was Gran Stonemill’s concern that prompted the unprecedented decision by Olim Goldbuckle, prince of the Daewar, and Willen Ironmaul, chieftain of the Hylar, to forgo the formal meeting of the thanes and take charge of the situation themselves. The threat Gran Stonemill suggested, if it were true, was unprecedented. In all the decades, Thorbardin had never been threatened by magic. In truth, hardly anyone had ever thought about such a possibility. But now there were wizards in Kal-Thax, and they were up to something.

Some of the Hylar had seen magic used in combat a long time ago, and the memories were frightening.

Olim Goldbuckle agreed. “There just isn’t time to convene the thanes,” the old Daewar prince announced to those around him on the Daebardin wharves. “I know that tunnel. It was my own delvers who made it.”

“And sealed it later,” the warden of ways reminded him. “Nothing has gone through that tunnel in nearly ninety years. It would take an army to get into the place, much less to come all the way here through it. There are seals practically every mile of its length.”

“It is sealed, yes,” Olim agreed, fierce blue eyes blazing in a face as weathered as old leather and framed by hair and beard that still held streaks of gold among the silver. “Sealed, but not against magic. Those seals don’t have the craft that has gone into the gates. We didn’t have such craft then, and who knows what a magic-user”—he shuddered in revulsion—”can do against simple barriers?”

A sizable crowd had grown on the piers and landings of the wharf complex, people from all over Thorbardin who had heard the rumors and knew that some of the leaders would be there, summoning the Thanes to formal council.

Adding to the crowd were long lines of porters, carrying bales of goods from the busy forges for transport to Southgate. For months, every forge in Daebardin and Theibardin had been busy turning out swords, shields, maces, and helms. Bell Brightluster, the warden of trade, had accepted the largest order for arms ever approved for trade to humans. No one knew why there was this sudden requirement for arms in southern Ergoth, but Bell Brightluster had a pledge and a rumor. The pledge was from the Orders of Chivalry of Ergoth, that none of these armaments would be used against the dwarves. The rumor was that someone in Xak Tsaroth—someone of whom the knights approved—would be the recipient of the goods.

Now there was a babble of voices all around, and hundreds of dwarves crowded closer to hear.

But Quill Runebrand, keeper of the scrolls, stood looking aghast, first at Olim Goldbuckle and then at Willen Ironmaul. “But you can’t. . .” he started, then cleared his throat. “You can’t just decide what will be done for all of Thorbardin, as you might for your own clans. That isn’t how it is done. The Covenant of the Forge very clearly states that all matters of importance must be decided by the assembled leaders of all the thanes, in council.”

“We haven’t decided anything yet, Quill,” Willen reminded him, “except that we may have an emergency on our hands and that there isn’t time to go through the procedures of a council.”

“But that’s like . . . like taking it upon yourselves to lead Thorbardin!” Quill insisted. “Two chieftains can’t do that.”

“In an emergency,” Willen said stonily, “even two leaders are too many. It’s better if there is only one.”

Again Quill stared at his chieftain. “But then we’d have a king!”

“We’ll have no kings,” Olim Goldbuckle snapped. “We’ve always opposed kings.”

Barek Stone, captain general of forces, had been with the Hylar chief on his tour of Northgate, and was still present. He stepped forward now, bumping the fidgeting loremaster aside. “I’ll follow either of you,” he told Olim and Willen. “But not both. A command cannot have two masters.”

“You aren’t supposed to follow anybody, Barek!” Quill shouted. “You answer to the entire council, not to any one thane.”

Barek ignored him. “If mages find a way in here,” he told the two leaders, “there won’t be any council or anything for a council to govern. I have already commanded Gem Bluesleeve to place the elite guard in the north warren where the tunnel emerges. Mace Hammerstand will send the best units of his Roving Guard to the old citadel on Sky’s End, where it begins. Now I stand ready to take orders as to what we are to do there. From somebody! ”

“They’re talking about disbanding the Council of Thanes!” People in the growing crowd spread the word.

“They’re talking about giving rule of us all to a king!”

“What king?” The question spread through the crowd. “A king from which thane?”

“Probably the Hylar,” some suggested. “They’re usually the best soldiers.”

“Soldier or not, I won’t bend the knee to any uppity Hylar!” many voices echoed.

“Well, certainly not a Daewar!” a burly, broad-shouldered Theiwar blurted. “I’ll worship lead before I proclaim any gold-molder as my sovereign.” He glanced around, then, as several Daewar blades and hammers in his vicinity were raised. “Hold on, now.” He raised his hands. “I’ve got as much right to my opinion as anybody else.”

“Not in Daebardin, you haven’t, cliff-hanger,” a Daewar delver sneered. “If there’s going to be a king here, I’ll support Olim Goldbuckle for the throne.”

“I’m going to see what Slide Tolec has to say about this,” another Theiwar snapped, turning away.