by Dragon Lance
Lord Kane had the five taken through the pass, deep into the mountains to the south, and tortured to death on a ridgetop where their bodies would be found, to serve as a warning to the wild dwarves. Through it all, even in dying, only one of the dwarves made a sound. That one, a female, spat at the men who broke her legs and said, “Hammerhand will deal with you, when he is ready.”
There was only one more raid following that incident. Early one morning, five of Lord Kane’s household guards were found dead on the very doorstep of his Klanath fortress. They had been bound and gagged, then tortured to death. After that, the dwarven raids had ceased, and the dwarves simply disappeared.
Lord Kane kept one of his brigades in residence south of the great pass as a permanent outpost and center for roving patrols. But the dwarven threat was only part of the reason for that. In Klanath, Lord Kane kept a staff of mapmakers and planners who received regular reports from the roving patrols. It was Lord Kane’s plan – once General Giarna’s campaigns were concluded – to populate the once dwarven lands with people of his own choosing. The dwarves’ revolt had emptied Kane’s coffers. One day the lands taken from dwarves would amply refill them.
*
Tuft Broadland came out of sleep in the manner of a Cobar warrior. In one instant he was asleep, in the next he was awake, crouching beside his sleeping mat with his naked sword in hand, his eyes searching the gloom around him, his ears aware of every minute sound.
For a moment, he sensed no presence but his own. A summer breeze fluttered the fabric of his small tent, and from beyond came the muted night sounds of a guarded camp – the reassuring night-bird calls of sentries, the faint stampings and shufflings of horses’ hooves in the nearby rope corral, and the quiet voices of people talking at some fireside.
He knew it was not these sounds that had awakened him. It was something else. As chief of the Tekar, one of the seven Cobar tribes, he had his own tent and on this night had not shared it. But now he sensed that he was not alone. Then, in the shadows a few feet away, something moved, and a quiet voice said, “Hold your sword, human. I mean you no harm.”
Tuft squinted, still tensed to strike, and the voice said, “Don’t you remember me, Tuft? It has not been so long.”
Now he recognized the voice and let the point of his sword angle downward. “You!” he muttered. Without turning, he reached to the edge of his mat and drew out a little soft leather pouch. Opening it with one hand, still holding the sword in the other, he withdrew a small metallic object, a palm-sized container with a hinged lid which opened at the press of his thumb. Within the lid, under his thumb, was a small serrated wheel of tempered steel resting against a shard of flint. He flicked the wheel, and sparks flared, igniting a cotton wick soaked with distilled mineral spirits.
The flame was small, but it was enough to see by. In the far corner of the little tent, a hooded figure squatted comfortably on soft-booted heels. “I see you still carry the toy I gave you,” the intruder said, his voice low, musical, and not quite human. “Flint, steel, and kindling all in one small package. One of my mother’s more practical ideas, I think. Eloeth has no taste for magic, but she does enjoy conveniences.”
“Despaxas,” Tuft said, laying his sword aside. “You could have made a less dramatic entrance, elf. You almost made my heart stop.”
“There is nothing wrong with your heart,” the newcomer said, throwing back his hood to reveal a tapered, ageless face with wide-set, amused eyes and no beard. The delicate tips of pointed ears were almost hidden by his long, flowing hair. “There’s nothing wrong with your reflexes, either, I might add. One slight whisper, and you were awake and ready to fight.”
The Cobar drew a candle from his pouch, lit its wick from his flame, then closed the flint-and-steel tool and put it away. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you had gone back to your forests years ago.”
“I did.” The elf nodded. “But now I’ve returned. A seed you helped plant back then has grown well and is ready to bear fruit. I thought you might enjoy participating in the harvest.”
“A seed …” Tuft paused, his eyes brightening. “The dwarves? Has Derkin molded his army?”
“He has prepared himself,” Despaxas said. “A season ago, he encamped below the dwarven fortress with his ‘chosen’ people, all of them willing to fight at his command, even without proper arms. Now the season has turned, and they are on the march toward the pass at Tharkas. They carry the finest weapons dwarven skills can produce.”
“He plans to attack the soldiers at the pass? With a mob of dwarves?”
“With an army,” the elf corrected. “Maybe a fine army. Would you like to observe the campaign?”
“Of course I would,” Tuft snorted. “But I know you, Despaxas. You have something more in mind than just to allow me to watch while Derkin tests his forces against Lord Kane’s stronghold.”
“Naturally.” The elf smiled. “Nothing is ever quite that simple.” He waved an eloquent hand toward the tent’s closed flap. “You have a strong tribe here, Tuft. I estimate at least three hundred warriors in this camp.”
“Three hundred and eighty-one,” the man admitted. “And that many more women and children.”
“A hundred will be enough for what I have in mind,” Despaxas said. “A hundred of your best cavalry.”
“They’re all my best!” the man snapped. “They’re Cobar warriors. They’re the finest cavalry in the world.”
“Fine. Then any hundred will do. We’ll leave at first light. We should be able to reach Redrock Cleft in two days, shouldn’t we?”
“If the weather holds fair,” Tuft replied. “But my men and I aren’t going any where without a reason.”
“Of course not.” Despaxas shrugged. “Is a chance to ambush a column of empire footmen reason enough?”
“It might be.” Tuft’s eyes narrowed. “Are they on their way to Cobar territory?”
“I could tell you that they are,” the elf said. “But, no, they aren’t. They’re on their way to the southern plains, to reinforce General Giarna’s forces there. The path they follow will miss your steppes by many miles.”
“Then they’re the elves’ problem,” Tuft observed. “Why have you come to me about this? Why aren’t you talking to Kith-Kanan? His Wildrunners are as adept at ambush as we are.”
“As you suggested,” the elf said, “there is more to it than meets the eye. If the empire’s reinforcements are hit by elves, Lord Kane is unlikely to come out of Klanath to retaliate. He knows the elves, and would know that his chance of pursuing and overtaking Wildrunners isn’t very good. He might have to follow them all the way to General Giarna’s cordon. Lord Kane has his own interests in mind and wouldn’t expend that kind of resources.”
“But he might if Cobar attacked. Is that it? He might send his horse companies, because he knows we don’t have that far to retreat.” Tuft frowned. “What are you suggesting, elf? That we go out and sting the bear, then lead it back to our house?”
“Not lead them home,” Despaxas said. “Just let your warriors draw out Lord Kane’s horsemen and keep them amused for a time. Lead them in circles or something for a few days. How difficult can that be … for the world’s finest cavalry?”
“I don’t mind putting arrows into some empire soldiers,” the man admitted. “Nor do I mind leading Lord Kane’s clanking churls on a merry chase. But I don’t commit my warriors without knowing why. You were talking about dwarves a few minutes ago. Does this have to do with them?”
“Of course it does.” Despaxas’s level-eyed smile was as innocent as a baby’s, but Tuft had long since learned that the elf’s look of smooth-faced innocence was most pronounced when he was at his most devious and calculating. “Derkin’s Chosen Ones are tough and well armed, but they are still dwarves. They’ve done well harassing humans in the past, but only as small raiding parties. To launch and sustain a major assault, dwarves must have a secure base. Let Derkin’s dwarves entrench themselves in T
harkas Pass, and you know what will happen next.”
“Sure.” The Cobar nodded. “All blazes will break loose there. Tharkas Pass is right in Klanath’s lap. Lord Kane can’t tolerate a hostile base so near his headquarters. He’ll have to drive them out.”
“He’ll have to try,” Despaxas said. “And when he tries, Derkin will counterattack.”
“You don’t really believe a bunch of dwarves can take Klanath, do you?”
“I don’t know.” Despaxas shrugged. “Our Derkin has changed since you saw him last, and you haven’t seen his army. The point is that Giarna isn’t likely to run his troops and supply lines through a battlefield. He isn’t interested in those dwarven mountains, or in Sakar Kane’s ambitions.”
“But if they don’t cross the mountains there …”
“Exactly. The only other supply route from Caergoth to the southern plains is nearly a hundred miles north. They will have to go all the way around our forests. Even Giarna’s best don’t care to face the Wildrunners on their own ground. If the dwarves break General Giarna’s supply lines at Tharkas, it will add weeks – maybe even months – to the time it takes supplies and reinforcements to reach the invasion forces.”
“And give us that much more open country to – as you say – amuse them in,” the Cobar noted, a fierce grin ruffling his beard.
“Is that reason enough?” the elf asked quietly.
Tuft rose to his feet, crouching slightly to avoid the low braces of his tent. He turned, opened the flap, stepped outside, and stopped, his eyes narrowing. Directly in front of him, something floated in midair – something that might have resembled a lazily swimming bat-fish if it had not been so hard to see. The Cobar whirled and stepped back into his tent, glaring at the elf. “Why did you bring that thing here?” he demanded. “You know my people don’t like it.”
“Zephyr won’t hurt your people.” Despaxas shrugged. “And I needed him. It has been a long time since we last met, Tuft. Humans sometimes change.”
“So you had your pet shadow read me?” The Cobar’s frown deepened. “And what does he say now?”
“He says that your soul is as strong as your heart,” the elf said. “Just like before.”
When Tuft stepped out again, Zephyr was nowhere to be seen. With a shudder, the Cobar took a deep breath. He knew that the verge-swimmer meant him no harm. He had accepted Despaxas’s assurance of that long ago. Still, there was something about the idea of a magical creature that could be seen only in shadow, and that had the body of a manta ray and teeth like scorpion stingers – a thing that appeared and disappeared at will, and that could read a man’s soul as easily as a man might read a scroll – that revolted him.
Tuft whistled – a call that any but a Cobar might have mistaken for a night bird’s shrill. Immediately, all around him, the quiet camp began to teem with activity.
Tuft stepped back into the tent and picked up his boots. “We’ll leave at first light,” he told the waiting elf.
*
Less than five miles to the east of Klanath, the wall of soaring peaks that framed Tharkas Pass turned and divided, ranges of peaks extending north and south, separating the mountain fastness of old Kal-Thax from the foothills and plains that rolled away to the east. And it was here, where the giant range turned, that the road from Caergoth entered a narrow, winding valley called Redrock Cleft. The valley was a natural pass leading to the eastern slopes beyond. From it, the empire road wound downward in a series of serpentine arcs and switchbacks, to become many roads on the plains below.
It was through this cleft that the original armies of conquest had gone, heading for the southern plains and the elven forests beyond. And it was through this cleft that supply trains and reinforcements now moved, refreshed by a midway rest at Klanath.
Three days after the visit of Despaxas to Tuft Broadland’s camp, a long line of men issued from the cleft. Nearly eight hundred in all, with pack animals among them, they bore the banners of the empire and marched at the steady pace of men who have come a long way and still have a long way to go. There were three companies, assigned to join General Giarna’s forces in southern Ergoth.
An hour after clearing Redrock Cleft, the rank was snaking down the slopes with the gentler foothills ahead. Another hour passed, and the road became gentler and straighten In the rough lands above, many of the soldiers had marched with shields on their arms and swords in their hands in case of ambush. But now, as the land grew flatter, most of them slung their shields and put away their blades. They could see for miles out here, and there wasn’t anyone in sight except themselves.
Then, abruptly, there was. With shrill battle cries and thundering hooves, a hundred mounted barbarians charged over the rim of a little draw that hadn’t seemed deep enough to hide a rabbit. Like messengers of death, the riders came, bows drawn full and the slanting sunlight brilliant on beaded buckskins and featherwork headgear.
Within a heart’s beat of the first battle cry, the galloping attackers were thundering down upon the panicked line of soldiers. Arrows pinged and thudded among the footmen, aimed with deadly accuracy and driven by stout bows. Dozens of soldiers fell, and more dozens broke and ran in blind panic. Behind the barrage of arrows came the howling riders, bows slung now, and gleaming swords flashing as they charged through the ranks of soldiers, wheeled around, and charged again, laying about them with swift blades that ran red in the sunlight.
Then, as quickly as they had come, the riders were gone. Disappearing through their own dust, into that same eye-fooling draw they had come from, they reappeared on the far side, loping away casually toward the north. Behind them, the ground was littered with dead and injured empire soldiers. Officers ran here and there, calling back their troops, trying to restore order.
“Cobar,” a senior officer muttered, looking after the retreating horsemen. “What are Cobar doing this close to Klanath?” Turning, he raised an arm, signaling others to him. “Send runners with signal mirrors back up to the cleft, on the double,” he commanded. “There is still good light. From there, signal Klanath what has occurred. Tell Lord Kane that if his men move at once, they can catch those Cobar and make an example of them.”
“Catch Cobar?” a junior officer questioned. “Sir, those people are …”
“Are you blind?” his senior snapped. He pointed. “You see where the barbarians are going? Look beyond them. That smoke in the distance must be their camp. They think we won’t follow them, because we are not mounted. They are as stupid as they are arrogant. Do they honestly believe that a mounted battalion can’t find them?”
Chapter 13
FIRST BLOOD
From the tower of his fortress, Sakar Kane watched his Third Horse Battalion fan out along the road toward Redrock Cleft, as dawn flagged the sky ahead of them. It had taken all night to reach the battalion and recall them from their outpost stronghold south of Tharkas Pass, and Lord Kane was not pleased that he had to do so. Still, the signal from Redrock had been clear and authoritative. Wild tribesmen had ambushed the emperor’s reinforcement column in the foothills beyond the cleft, then had withdrawn to their camp.
Only a few miles north, the signals said. Mounted troops could overtake them there, surely within a day or two. The Prince of Klanath had hesitated only a moment. The Third Battalion was growing restive and sullen after long seasons of fruitless patrol in the brutal mountains south of Tharkas. A bit of action now would be good for them. Besides, if he caught and punished the wild tribesmen, General Giarna would owe him a favor. Sakar Kane had no love for the so-called “boy general,” but it was well known that Giarna was a favorite of the emperor. Even the sinister Dreyus, the man they said was Quivalin Soth’s closest advisor, seemed to find no fault with Giarna. It would be a good thing, Sakar Kane knew, to have Giarna indebted to him.
The eastern sky was bright by the time the trailing elements of the Third Battalion disappeared into the cleft, tiny in the distance. Lord Kane turned away to enter his chambers, then sto
pped and tipped his head. What was that noise he had heard? Something faint and far away, just a touch of sound on the morning breeze coming down from the mountains.
He listened, and it came again, vague and fitful, as erratic as the cool breeze that carried it. He stepped to the parapet and looked downward. Below was the inner court of the fortress, and beyond it the walled battlements that faced the bustling little city. On the battlements – and on the more distant city wall – guards patrolled in pairs. He could tell by their casual pacing that, unlike him, they had heard nothing unusual.
Then he heard the distant sound again and shook his head in irritation. Thunder, he thought. Echoes of distant thunder, far away in the mountains. Somewhere beyond Tharkas Pass.
Oddly, though, there were no storm clouds in the clear morning sky – at least none that he could see from his tower.
*
The old mining camp of Tharkas lay shadowed and almost silent as dawn light appeared above the tall peaks around it. Once destroyed by dwarves, at the time of the slaves’ revolt, the camp had been rebuilt as an outpost of Klanath. Though austere, it was amply equipped and fortified to serve as the headquarters of Lord Kane’s mounted battalion, the Third. But now most of the battalion was gone, recalled through the great pass for maneuvers of some kind. Only cooks, servants, orderlies, and two companies of footmen remained, and most of them were asleep. They had been awake most of the night, helping the mounted forces saddle their beasts, don their armor, prepare their weapons, and pack their gear. It had been past midnight when the battalion trotted away, entering the pass by the light of twin moons.
A single cookfire was beginning to blaze in the compound, and sleepy perimeter guards were making their dawn rounds, stifling yawns, when thunder erupted around them – an intricate, rhythmic, pulsing thunder that seemed to come from everywhere and sent chills into the bones of those who heard it.