Dan Parkinson: Hammer and Axe

Colin Stonetooth, chieftain of the Hylar when they had come to this land, had seen a vision and had somehow passed along its power to the other leaders of that first Council of Thanes. The vision was Thorbardin, fortress heart of the dwarven realm of Kal-Thax.

Now the initial plan was nearly complete. Entire cities stood within the great caverns—bright Daebardin with its quartz shafts and crafted sun-tunnels, murky Daerbardin in the shadowed depths of the south sounds, the twin Theiwar communities of Theibardin and Theibolden on the north shore of the Urkhan Sea, the unnamed Klar city sprawling behind the worm warren, and even a jumble of gullies and crude shelters where Aghar lived—now and again—near the Daergar mineral markets. And, mightiest of all, great Hybardin rising level by level within the giant stalactite the Hylar called the Life Tree.

A hundred varieties of vegetables and edible funguses, and even some exotic grains, were produced in the vast farming warrens. The smelters and forges were never still, and the common markets located along the tunnel roadways thronged with people.

And usually no more than a dozen cases of murder and mayhem were heard each day in the Halls of Justice. To Quill Runebrand, keeper of scrolls and heir to the lore of Mistral Thrax, that was the real wonder of it all. Not in nine tens of years had there been war among the dwarves.

Daewar still plotted and schemed against Hylar, Theiwar still resented and belittled Daewar, Daergar still suspected everyone else of trying to steal their mines, and Klar still ran amok now and then. But still the great project went forward. Thorbardin, the planners said, was within two years of completion. The immense, impenetrable structure of Southgate was in place and in working order, and the portal of Northgate was fitted with its huge screws, awaiting placement of the gate-plug. Sun-tunnels provided sunlight where it was desired, and vast ventilation systems directed the flow of fresh air from the grated ducts in the Valley of the Thanes to the exhaust vents beneath the Windweaver crag. Aqueduct systems designed by Hylar craftsmen carried water to all levels of the cities, and elaborate waste-reusal systems provided fresh organics for the farming warrens.

Even a small magma pit had been completed, deep beneath the lowest levels near Southgate, for the powering of furnaces and smelters. It was, as yet, a balky thing, lacking the natural core of the magma pit the Hylar recalled beneath old Thoradin in the mountains far to the east, but they had succeeded in coaxing it to life, and it worked well enough.

It was no secret, in the human realms surrounding Kal-Thax, that the dwarves were building—or maybe already had built—a fortress to guard their mountain realm, but little was known about it. The dwarves knew it was no secret, but they considered what they did to be their own business and no one else’s. Not since the completion of the Road of Passage, from southern Ergoth across Kal-Thax to the great pass at Tharkas, had there been the massive human assaults on the dwarven lands that had been common in earlier times. The outlanders who traveled the road saw little more of the dwarven environs than the road itself and the formidable armed dwarves who patrolled it. There had been some sporadic assaults in recent years, usually by troops from the human city of Xak Tsaroth, where the overlords coveted the wealth of the dwarves. But these had been turned back, and for the past several years the border had been relatively peaceful.

Only one human had ever seen the inside of Thorbardin, an agent of the overlords who had tried to slip through to western Ergoth to seek an alliance against the dwarves. He had not made it, though. Dwarven patrols had searched him on the Great Road, found his seals and credentials from the High Overlord of Xak Tsaroth, and had arrested him. By order of the Council of Thanes, he was taken to Thorbardin.

That man had seen the fortress—or at least a little of it. He was still there, imprisoned in a dungeon, and would remain there at least until the final gate was in place. There was some thought that, once the fortress was complete, he might be given a tour of one of the gateways, then turned loose. It was Olim Goldbuckle’s belief that it might be a good thing for the High Overlord of Xak Tsaroth to know just what awaited him if he ever again thought about conquering the dwarves.

Olim Goldbuckle was senior among the chieftains of the Council of Thanes and served as regent. The old Daewar schemer’s beard had gone from sunshine gold to silver in the decades since the Covenant of Thanes, but still he lent to the council that special blend of joviality, energy, and shrewd wisdom that was the very soul of the Daewar people. Of all the thanes, the Daewar had produced more leaders and high officials in Thorbardin than any except the Hylar.

Vog Ironface, once the fiercest of Daergar warriors, was second in seniority on the council. The dark-seeker had become no less fierce over the years, as many an impudent challenger had learned, but in council he was quiet and contemplative. Often the last to speak, his voice echoing hollowly from behind his metal mask, or—sometimes—almost whispering as he made a major point in debate, Vog Ironface was known for the cold, incisive wisdom of his thoughts as much as for his reclusiveness outside of formal council meetings.

Third in seniority was Slide Tolec. It was said of him that he had never wanted to be chieftain of the Theiwar and had spent ninety years trying to retire, but his own people would not let him. Long-armed, broad-shouldered, and gray of mane when he removed his mesh headgear, Slide Tolec had become a revered member of the high council simply by being intuitively aware—more than any other among them—of the expectations, hopes, and grievances of the people of Thorbardin. When Slide Tolec spoke of the mood of the people, the other chieftains listened.

And then there were the Hylar. Though not the most senior member of the council, Willen Ironmaul was greatly respected, not only in his own right but as successor to the first Hylar leader, Colin Stonetooth. At about a hundred and fifty years of age, Willen Ironmaul was big, strong, and fit, but to his vitality had been added a deep, almost tangible dignity. Of all the chieftains on the council, Willen Ironmaul—the former leader of the Hylar Guard—was the one who best exemplified the honor and discipline that had become the code of all the forces of Thorbardin. In the wisdom he displayed as a leader of Thorbardin was the echo of yet another wisdom, that of Tera Sharn, his adored wife and the daughter of Colin Stonetooth. And though he held no position of authority, the chieftain’s son, Damon Omenborn, also was a highly respected dwarf.

Among the high officials of Thorbardin were at least seven top officers who were of Hylar stock. Quill Runebrand had speculated that each culture generated its own special qualities. Daewar excelled in trade, diplomacy, and many of the stone crafts; Theiwar excelled in matters of plain logic brightened by intuition, as well as in the crafting of rails, cables, and roadways; and the Daergar were accepted masters of mining and minerals.

In the same way, Quill supposed, the Hylar tended to produce both warriors and leaders. Oddly, they also produced poets and musicians, but that seemed to be beside the point. The point was, he assured himself, that of all the necessary functions of Thorbardin, nearly half were directed by Hylar.

As keeper of scrolls, Quill Runebrand wandered Thorbardin, snooping and observing, listening and questioning, and each day he repaired to his cubicle to enscroll his notes and make his observations, chronicling the great adventure of the creation of Krynn’s finest fortress.

Lately, he had taken to following Damon Omenborn around. It had started the day Quill went out onto the lower slopes to witness a combat between Damon and his uncle, the Neidar chieftain Cale Greeneye. The challenge was a good-natured one, following an argument over which was mightier in combat, the hammer or the axe. They had not come to any agreement, so, in good dwarven fashion, the only thing to do was to fight it out.