Dan Parkinson - Hammer and Axe

And he noticed, more and more through the day, that Enchanter followed him around closely, seeming always to be at his heels and often raising a handsome equine head to gaze aloft at the rim of the valley and the open sky above.

The horse seemed to sense things that Quist could not sense. The animal was skittish and nervous. Once, when it sidled against him, he pushed it away, growling, “Quit that! You don’t know anything! You’re just a horse!”

The horse turned its head to stare at him with big, thoughtful eyes, then shook its head violently and whinnied. It almost seemed to be trying to talk, and Quist grinned at it, stroking its neck. “Just can’t speak a spell, can you,” he said. “That’s probably the only thing that keeps you from transforming yourself back into a wizard, and if you did that I’d have to kill you, because if I didn’t, you’d probably try to kill me.”

Again the horse gazed at him thoughtfully. It turned then and ambled away as though forgetting about him. But for an hour afterward, as evening shadows drifted across the valley, he could see the animal stamping around, tossing its head, and he often heard the strange whinnying sound, as though it were trying to talk.

It was nearly dark, and Quist was just building a small fire, when Enchanter came back. In the gloom, the horse stood over him, then lowered its head and nudged him with its nose. He glanced up. “What do you want now? I’m busy!”

He went back to his fire, blowing his kindling alight, and the horse nudged him again, almost pushing him into the fire.

The Cobar stood, frowned, and started to scold the animal, then stopped. Somehow, in the near darkness, it looked different than it had before. He stepped aside, just as his fire caught and gave him light to see. Quist gasped, jumped back, and gripped the hilt of his blade. The horse had wings! Somehow, it had managed to grow a pair of wide, red-feathered wings that unfolded gracefully as he stared, then folded back along its sides.

“You’re still a wizard,” Quist snapped. “You managed a spell!”

The horse nodded, its big eyes studying him.

“You could grow wings, but you couldn’t turn yourself into a human again?”

The horse shook its head sorrowfully.

“Are you going to try to kill me?” The Cobar half drew his blade, crouching.

The horse shook its head determinedly and pawed at the ground.

“Then what do you want?” Quist demanded.

The horse half-turned and sidled toward him, lowering its near wing almost to the ground. When it was only a step away, it curtsied gracefully, extending one foreleg and bending the other, offering him its back. The motion was unmistakable to any horseman.

“You want me to ride you,” Quist muttered.

The horse nodded.

The Cobar hesitated for a second, then with a bound he leapt aboard the horse, his legs tightening around its girth beneath the wings. He drew his sword, raising it over the flowing mane before him. “All right,” he said. “But we aren’t going to hurt each other, are we?”

The horse looked around at him as though he had insulted it, then crouched, sprang, and extended great, beating wings. The ground fell away below, and they flew in a climbing spiral toward the rim of the valley above.

The towering mass of Cloudseeker Peak rose into view, then the Promontory beyond, and Quist whistled. Out there on the great meadow were hundreds of fires—an entire army encamped beneath the stars. And all along the south face of the peak—and on the lower slopes below—were torches and lamps.

The horse rose higher, circling as Quist realized what he was seeing. The dwarves were under siege. An army was at their doorstep, and there had been fighting. Enchanter set his wings and swooped above the south face of the mountain, diving to within fifty yards of the great portal there before climbing away. Quist saw a massive gateway, ranked by hundreds of dwarves in full armor. Some of them pointed upward and shouted, but Enchanter veered to the right and headed out over the broken lands toward the Promontory. The campfires of an army spread before and below, and Quist squinted, then hissed in revulsion as some of the figures around them became clear. “Sackmen!” he muttered. “Sackmen and Rik raiders! Mercenaries!”

Near the center of the great encampment Enchanter set his wings and dived toward a fire apart from all the rest. Around it, many figures stood and sat. A dark-hatted one was speaking, gesturing and waving angrily while the rest listened. Quist realized that none of them carried weapons. Wizards? he wondered.

Still high in the sky, the flying horse wheeled and raced away, back the way they had come. Before Quist realized it, they were over the Valley of the Thanes again, and descending. “No!” he shouted. “We just got out of there! Don’t go back!” But the horse continued to descend, and the valley walls closed around them. At the bottom, Enchanter touched down lightly, and Quist jumped off, waving his sword. “Why did you bring me back here?”

As though in response, the horse folded its wings and ambled toward the little fire the man had left. When it reached the fire, it turned, looked at him, then extended a big delicate hoof, pointing. Beside the fire lay Quist’s shield, dagger-belt, bow, and quiver, just where he had left them. “Oh,” the Cobar said. “Well, thank you for remembering my things.”

The day had gone well for the Holgar, all things considered. Blood had been shed, but most of it was human blood. Not counting the bogus “armies” which the dwarves stubbornly considered only mirages—once they had identified them—hundreds of mercenaries had fallen before the discobel disks, and quite a few more in a Daergar attack on the outskirts of their encampment after dark. By the best estimates of all the commanders, dwarven losses during the entire day were about fifty.

And in late evening, word had come to Willen Ironmaul that Northgate was complete, its immense plug installed and in operation. He immediately ordered Northgate closed. Setting the massive plug in place would free additional thousands of guards and workers to help meet the attack on Southgate. Even now, most of the population of Gatekeep, behind Northgate, was streaming southward through the subterranean realm, donning armor as they came.

One disturbing thing still bothered Willen. With word that Northgate was complete, Cale Greeneye came to him. “We have brought the country people to safety here,” the Neidar said. “But we will not stay. We do not belong here, Willen, beneath this weight of stone, any more than you and the other Holgar belong out in the open spaces.”

Willen gazed at his brother-in-law thoughtfully. They had both been Calnar in another time, and they had both been Hylar in the migration across Ansalon. But even then, Cale Greeneye had been different. A person of the mountains and the open skies, he had never been comfortable in the subterranean abodes of the Holgar, and over the years a great many others, of many tribes, had joined him. They had become a different people, the Neidar. Just as the Holgar thanes—Hylar, Daewar, Theiwar, Daergar, and many Klar—were people of the stone, the Neidar were people of the sun. As the Holgar were people of the hammer, so the Neidar were people of the axe.

“Some of us, those with families, will remain here,” Cale said. “But the rest are leaving. We have done what we can within Thorbardin. From this point, we would only be in the way.”

Willen nodded and extended a hand. “Take the horses, then, Cale,” he said. “Take them and make good use of them.”

Some time later, Willen heard that the Neidar had left Thorbardin, and Northgate had closed behind them.

There was still the concern about magical assault—that wizards might somehow circumvent the sealed plug at either gate—but spotters with far-seeing lens tubes had been at work all day, up near the crag, counting mages. It was a fair guess that at least for now the entire assault on Thorbardin—wizards and all—was concentrated on Southgate. So only a small company of guards and operators remained at Northgate.