Dan Parkinson - Hammer and Axe

Willen Ironmaul heard the comment and shouted, “You there! Your chieftain should be on his way here right now. I sent word to all the chieftains as soon as I heard Gran’s report.”

“Well, in that case there will be a meeting of the thanes,” someone else in the crowd pointed out. “So what’s all the argument about?”

Willen Ironmaul sighed, glanced at Olim Goldbuckle and shrugged. “He’s right,” he said. “There will be a meeting.”

Again Quill Runebrand pushed his way to the front, his eyes blazing. “A meeting isn’t a council!” he hissed. “We don’t do business that way. To assemble the council, first there must be a general call, and bonded runners must carry the seals to all the thanes. . . Well, all but the Aghar, since they aren’t easily found. Then the points of question must be enscrolled and read by criers in all the concourses, and the council must assemble in the Hall of Audience so everybody who wants to can . . .

A powerful hand closed on Quill’s neck, and he was lifted and turned to stare into the cold eyes of Barek Stone. “With all due respect,” the captain general snarled, “shut up and stay out of the way. We have a situation here.”

“Indeed we do,” Olim Goldbuckle looked around thoughtfully at the growing crowd of dwarves on his wharf. There were thousands of them present now, and more coming. He turned to Barek Stone. “Turn the lore-master loose, Barek,” he said.

When the seething keeper of scrolls was again standing on his own feet, Olim asked him, “You know the procedures by heart, I take it?”

“I certainly do!” Quill nodded. “It’s my job.”

“Then you certainly know the emergency clause in the Covenant, don’t you?”

“Of course. It says that. . . oh,” Quill stammered, blinking. “Oh, yes. There is the emergency clause.”

“And what does the emergency clause say?”

“It just says that in case of emergency the formalities can be dispensed with, and whatever chieftains can get together will decide what to do.”

“Exactly.” The prince of the Daewar nodded. “And we will do that now.” He pointed. Out on the waters, a cable-boat was cutting a broad wake as boatmen hauled at their winches. In the bow was a large group of masked Daergar, with Vog Ironface at the forefront.

“That makes three,” Willen noted. “And Slide is on his way.”

“I’m here,” a deep voice called. The crowds to the north parted as a company of Theiwar marched forward, led by Slide Tolec.

“Four,” Willen Ironmaul counted. “Cale Greeneye is out, searching for that beast-thing, so the Neidar . . .”

“Cale put me in charge,” Gran Stonemill offered. “I can speak for the Neidar if I must.” “Five.” Willen nodded. “How about Pakka Trune?”

“He and some other Klar are right behind us,” the Theiwar chieftain said. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Six,” the Hylar said. “Does anyone know where what’s-his-name is? The Aghar Highbulp?”

“Probably asleep or lost,” someone sneered.

“Just the First.” Quill reminded his chieftain of the name of the gully dwarf leader.

“And one of him is enough,” someone nearby said. “If he doesn’t keep his people out of my root cellar, I’m going to start throwing rocks at them on sight.”

“Well, we won’t wait for him,” Olim said. “When Pakka Trune gets here we’ll meet. . . ah, over there will do. Where the awnings are.”

“Good!” someone nearby snapped. “Then we can have a few decisions.”

“About what?” someone else wanted to know. “About who’s to be king?”

“No kings!” a hundred voices clamored, as others around them chimed in. “It better not be a Theiwar!” . . . “I won’t stand for a Daergar king!” . . . “No Daewar!” . . . “Why would I want a Hylar king? I’m Theiwar!” . . . “I’ll follow none but a Daergar.”

Slide Tolec had reached the other chieftains. Now the Theiwar gazed around, frowning. “We need a bit of wisdom here,” he said.

“We may need a miracle,” Barek Stone offered. “If these people can’t agree on anything, who is going to direct us if it turns out we really are in trouble?”

“You have guards in place on the tunnel, Barek,” Willen Ironmaul said. “Is it secure?”

“For the moment, yes.” The captain general nodded. “But if it is found by mages . . . well, we don’t know what mages can do.”

“If action is needed, Olim can direct it.”

“Why me?” the Daewar prince snapped. “Why not you? Or Slide? Or . . .” “Don’t look at me,” Pakka Trune growled as he stepped up to take his place among the assembled leaders. “You know my people. I can barely control them, much less all of Thorbardin.”

“Well, then, why not Vog Ironface?” Olim pointed at the Daergar chieftain, just now pushing his way through the crowd.

“Why not me, what?” the Daergar demanded, his voice hollow behind his slitted iron mask.

“They’re trying to choose a king,” a frowning dwarf with twin cudgels snapped.

“We are not!” Olim Goldbuckle roared. “No kings! I’ve heard enough about kings!”

“Then what are you trying to do?” several nearby dwarves demanded.

“We’re trying to have an emergency meeting of the council,” Willen Ironmaul shouted angrily. Behind him, the Ten drew their weapons and spread to face the crowd in all directions.

“Who’s calling the meeting?” Quill Runebrand asked, getting out his quills and his paper.

“You heard the report first, Willen,” Olim suggested.

“You’re senior,” Willen snapped.

“Oh, all right! I, Olim Goldbuckle, prince of Thane Daewar, do hereby summon the Council of Thanes to emergency session!”

“To consider what?” Quill asked, his steel nib scratching away busily.

“Questions of state!” Olim roared.

“Of defense,” Willen reminded him.

“Reorx!” Barek Stone muttered.

Far in the distance, in the direction of the Warren Road, trumpets sounded, echoed by others nearer, then by others nearer still. The crowd went silent, and Barek Stone listened intently. His face went pale behind his beard.

“A new report,” he told the assembled chieftains.

“Those three human wizards that escaped the Road of Passage. . .”

“What about them?” Willen asked. “Are they found?”

“No, they haven’t been found. But there aren’t just three anymore. Riders at the Ergoth border say that more humans entered the road two days ago, and now they can’t be found. They’ve disappeared.”

“More wizards?” Olim Goldbuckle grimaced. “How many?”

“Many,” Mace said. “Maybe a hundred or more.”

Cale Greeneye and his Neidar volunteers had located a trail within a few miles of Windhollow. It was the trail of a creature, and the trace itself told them something of what had made it. The thing was big, and it was heavy. Huge talons had gouged deep into the soil in some places, and had crushed small stones in others. It walked on two feet, and it had a long, twitching tail.

And sometimes, instead of walking, it flew. It had wings—scrapes on stone outcroppings said that the wings were barbed with talons of their own—and could fly, but it seemed never to fly very far. A few hundred yards here, to cross a chasm, a dozen yards or so there, to leap a cleft. Elsewhere the tracks led to the lip of a cliff and began again below as though the thing had soared downward, but not far out.

In one place, where it had flown over a thicket of scrub oak, the tops of trees were broken where it had passed.

“Either it prefers not to fly, or it isn’t very good at it,” Cale told his followers. “It doesn’t seek the heights, or spend much time on the wing.”