The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

  “Morden?” Derkin frowned. “Who is Morden?”

  “He is the officer His Highness promoted just before he left,” the clerk explained. “He was captain of the household guard and master of catapults. Now he is commander of internal forces and commander of the Third Battalion, as well.”

  “Why?”

  “His Highness honored him.” The clerk shrugged. “He said Capt … er, Commander Morden did fine service in the … ah … campaign in Tharkas … against the … the dwarves.” When Derkin made no response, the man added, lamely, “Besides, the Third Battalion was leaderless since Commander Gart’s disappearance.”

  “Gart?” Derkin prodded. “Commander Tulien Gart?”

  “Yes,” the clerk said. “He just … disappeared. He never returned from Tharkas.”

  “Describe Commander Morden,” Derkin said.

  “The … the commander is a slim man,” the clerk said. “Not as tall as some, but very strong. And he has a stitched scar across his face” — with a trembling finger, he traced a line from his own left cheekbone downward, across his mouth to the right side of his chin — “like that.”

  “The man who directed the catapults,” Derkin muttered. “The one who lofted the stones.”

  “I saw a man like that,” Talon Oakbeard said. “An officer. He was in the compound when we attacked.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Either dead or in the dungeons.”

  With a wave of his hand, Derkin said, “Take the clerk away, then find this Morden. If he isn’t dead, bring him to me.” He got down from Sakar Kane’s throne and strode to a barred window at one side of the Great Hall. Beyond, little flurries of snow still fell, carried on gusting winds below a gloomy sky. Outside in the compound, companies and platoons of dark-garbed dwarves were everywhere.

  “I want Sakar Kane,” Derkin Hammerhand muttered to no one in particular. “I want to teach him the law of Kal-Thax.”

  After a time, a company of dwarves filed into the hall and saluted. “Sire, there is no Morden here,” their leader said. “Some of us who saw him have searched. He isn’t among the dead, and he isn’t in the dungeons.”

  “And all of the living fighters are in the dungeons?”

  “All of them,” the searcher said. “We went to each of our units who were assigned to the perimeters last night, and to Vin’s Daergar, who were stationed outside. From the moment we attacked this place last night, no one left.”

  Beyond the compound portal, voices were raised, and a young dwarven soldier poked his head in. “There’s a man at the compound gate, Hammerhand,” he announced. “He’s been wounded, but he approached on his own two feet. He demands to see you.”

  “What man?” Derkin growled.

  “A soldier, Sire. Calls himself Gart.”

  “Bring him in,” Derkin ordered.

  The man who came into the room, surrounded by surly dwarves, wore only partial armor and had no weapons. Linen bandages and plasters covered his upper torso. He was pale, and looked severely weakened, but Derkin knew him. He was Tulien Gart.

  Without preamble, Gart saluted the dwarven leader and said, “I surrender myself to you, Hammerhand. Do with me as you will, but I ask a boon of you.”

  “First things first,” Derkin said. “Do you know where Sakar Kane has gone?”

  “Isn’t he here?”

  “His clerk says he left right after his return from the betrayal of his pledge … the pledge you brought to me.”

  “Betrayal,” Gart murmured then strengthened his voice. “Yes, it was a betrayal. A thing without honor. Had I known what he intended, I would have resigned my commission rather than be party to it.”

  “So when you found out, you just disappeared?”

  “It might have seemed so. I have been in a house in the town, a place where they dressed the knife wounds in my back … for a price. Wounds delivered by an assassin just this side of Tharkas Pass. The man thought me dead and left me. Then I crawled to where I could find help.”

  “And who was it who tried to murder you?”

  “Another officer,” Gart said. “The captain of His Highness’s household guard.”

  “Morden?” Derkin asked.

  “You know him, then? Is he still alive?”

  “We haven’t found him yet.”

  “The boon I ask is the opportunity to settle my score with Morden.”

  “You don’t look like you could settle with anyone right now,” Derkin pointed out. “You can hardly stand on your feet.”

  “I can deal with Morden,” Gart assured him. “The man is a coward. It would take a weakness greater than my loss of blood from dagger cuts for him to defeat me.”

  Derkin turned again to the dwarven search party. “You’ve looked everywhere?”

  “Everywhere a soldier might be.”

  “But not everywhere a coward might be,” Derkin muttered. He turned to Talon Oakbeard and walked across the hall with him while he gave orders in a low voice. While Talon relayed the orders to several others, Derkin returned to the throne and parted its drapings. From beneath the throne he pulled a large stone and dragged it around behind. The wide wings of Sakar Kane’s ostentatious chair of state hid the stone from view.

  “You can rest here in safety,” he told Tulien Gart. “Just stay out of sight.”

  A half-hour passed before one of the tower doors opened and armed dwarves entered the hall escorting several dozen humans – women, clerks, porters, and servants. At sight of them, Derkin Hammerhand climbed onto Lord Kane’s throne and called, “Bring the civilians to me.”

  The dwarves herded their human charges forward, and Hammerhand’s eyes scanned them, then fixed on the clerk he had questioned before. “You people are of no use to me,” he said. “You are civilians, and noncombatants. Therefore, you are free to leave this place. You will be escorted to the outer gate and set free. All I ask of each of you is your pledge that you will leave Klanath and never return, and that you will never take up arms against any dwarf. Do you so pledge?”

  The clerk nodded ecstatically. “I most certainly do,” he assured the dwarf. “On my father’s name. Can I go now?”

  “I want the same pledge from each of you,” Hammerhand said to all of them. “Line up and address me, one by one.”

  Reluctantly, the humans formed a line and stepped toward the throne. A porter at the head of the line knelt when he was near and bowed his head. “I give my pledge,” he said.

  “Stand up,” Hammerhand growled. “I’m no gut-bound human prince.”

  The porter stood and repeated the pledge. Derkin waved him aside. The next human was a woman, veiled as all the women were. “I so —” she started.

  “Remove your veil,” Hammerhand interrupted.

  “Y-Yes, your … ah … your …” She released her veil and let it fall from her face.

  “Don’t worry about titles,” Derkin said. “Just speak your pledge.”

  “I so pledge,” she said.

  Derkin waved her away and raised his voice. “No veils,” he said, so all could hear. “I want to see your faces when I hear your promises.”

  The next human, a male in hostler’s livery, was just stepping forward when there was a commotion in the line. A veiled woman near the middle suddenly caught up her skirts and sprinted for the open door to the compound. But Talon Oakbeard had been waiting. With a rush, he caught her around the knees and tackled her neatly, throwing her facedown on the stone floor. Then, with efficient unconcern, he twisted her arms behind her and sat on her.

  “Next,” Hammerhand said, as though nothing had happened.

  One by one, the remaining humans made their vows and were waved aside. When the last one was done, Hammerhand stood upright on the resplendent throne and planted his fists on his hips.

  “You have each given your word to Hammerhand,” he announced. “I suggest that all of you be more honorable in such matters than Lord Sakar Kane. Also, as you go through that town out there, tell the people t
o pack what they can carry and leave. Now, get out.”

  Escorted by armed dwarves, the humans filed out of the hall toward the outer gate. Only when they were gone, and the door closed, did Hammerhand signal to Talon Oakbeard, who got off the back of the sprawled, kicking woman and backed away. “Stand up,” he said. “And quit grumbling. You aren’t hurt.”

  When the human was upright, several dwarves led her to the foot of the dais and pulled away her veil. “Well, well,” Hammerhand said quietly. “Not a woman at all. I understand your name is Morden.”

  The dark, stitched scar across the man’s face seemed even darker as the color blanched from his cheeks. “Let me leave,” he gasped. “Let me just … go with those other people. I won’t bother you, I promise. You’ll never see me again.”

  Hammerhand ignored the plea. “You commanded the catapults in Tharkas Pass,” he said. “You sent the stones that killed my people.”

  “Please!” Morden dropped to his knees. “Please, I was only following my prince’s orders. He told me to loft the stones. He told me to!”

  “I brought one of your stones back to Klanath,” Hammerhand said. “I brought it for you, to drop on you from a high place.”

  “Please!” Morden sobbed. “Please, I …”

  “But before I do that, I want an answer from you. Where is Sakar Kane? Where did he go?”

  “H-His Highness only told me that he was summoned by Dreyus. He was to …” Morden’s voice trailed away, his mouth hanging open, his eyes bulging as he stared past the dwarf.

  “I told you he was a coward,” Tulien Gart said, standing beside the throne.

  “You’re dead!” Morden shrieked. Abruptly he rose to his feet, whirled, and grabbed a javelin from the hand of a nearby dwarf. With a shrill cry, he raised the weapon, aiming it toward the dais … then faltered and seemed to dance as a dozen dwarven blades slashed into him from every side. More blades hit him as he fell to the floor.

  Gazing at the butchered assassin, Tulien Gart said, “I wonder whether he meant that for you or for me.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Hammerhand growled. “I just wish you’d stayed out of sight until he answered my question.”

  “I’m sorry,” the soldier said. “As to Lord Kane, though, if he was summoned by Dreyus, then he probably has gone to Daltigoth. Dreyus speaks for the emperor.” With curious eyes, he studied the fierce dwarf still standing on the throne. “Did you really bring back a catapult stone to drop on him?”

  “You’ve been sitting on it,” Hammerhand said.

  *

  In the days following the taking of Klanath, squadrons of dwarves fanned out from the compound. Street by street and house by house, they went through the surrounding town. Most of the people had already fled, but wherever the dwarves found humans they cleared them out – sometimes courteously, sometimes not, but always firmly. And behind the evictors came teams of incendiaries with lamp oil and torches. Every structure built of stone, they tore down. And everything that would burn, they burned. For long days, thick smoke rose above Klanath to darken the threatening clouds overhead. Through long nights, the flames spread, outward and outward, until there was nothing more to burn.

  As the fires died, Derkin had the human prisoners led up from the dungeons and herded out of the compound. Disarmed and cowed, without shelter, without employment, and without a cause, the men would wander away, most of them never to return. Some of them, perhaps many, might even join the emperor’s enemies in the war on the central plains – a war that should have ended with the defeat of the emperor’s general, Giarna, but which seemed destined just to go on and on.

  When the sloping plain around Lord Kane’s fortress was nothing but a wasteland of ash and rubble, Hammerhand gathered his lieutenants and issued new orders. “Bury that mess out there,” he said. “I want it all plowed under, all the rubble and all the ash, before the ground freezes. Then, when that’s done, we’ll go to work on the Klanath mines.”

  “You want us to work those mines?” Vin the Shadow protested. “I still remember too clearly being a slave there.”

  “We won’t mine them,” Hammerhand said. “We are going to close them off, fill them in, and bury them. This place is too close to Kal-Thax for humans to have mines here.”

  “That will take all winter,” Talon Oakbeard mused. “It might be fun, though.” He turned, gazing around at the sumptuous, ornate fortress that Sakar Kane had built for himself. “What about this place?” he asked. “And those new fortifications the humans were building? Are we going to leave them standing?”

  “We will leave nothing standing,” Derkin decided. “When we leave, there will be no Klanath. It will be as though Sakar Kane had never come here at all … as though no human ever had.”

  “This will be fun!” Talon Oakbeard exclaimed.

  “And keep us all busy for a while,” Vin the Shadow muttered. Then the large eyes behind his iron mask crinkled in a hidden smile. Hammerhand was right, he decided. We’re at our best when we have work to do … and choose to do it.”

  “I’d like to see Sakar Kane’s face if ever the Prince of Klanath comes back here and finds he has nothing to be prince of,” Talon chuckled. Then, more seriously, he asked Derkin, “Do you think Lord Kane will come back here?”

  “I don’t know.” Derkin shrugged. “If not, maybe one day I’ll go and find him, wherever he is.” He strode across the compound, the others following him. From the wall, he looked across scorched ruins to the rising slope where Tharkas Pass began. “We will leave one thing standing here,” he said. “A single stone … a monument, right out there where the city ended. Four miles from that point, Kal-Thax begins. We will inscribe that stone with the fourth law of Kal-Thax: ‘If we are wronged, we will retaliate. We will always retaliate.’”

  “I have a new name for our Derkin,” Vin the Shadow told Talon Oakbeard. “He gives the law – our law – to our enemies, in ways they will understand. I have followed Derkin Winterseed, and I have followed Derkin Hammerhand. Now I follow Derkin Lawgiver, and proudly.”

  Chapter 20

  THE WINTER OF DEMOLITION

  By the time the heavy snows began on the slopes north of Tharkas, there was almost no trace of the sprawling city that once had stood there. Every useable stone and timber had been carried away, and the remaining ashes and rubble were plowed into the ground. In the spring, new grass and seedlings would sprout there. Within a few seasons, no trace would be left of the human settlement that had dominated the northern Kharolis Mountains.

  Among the thousands of dwarves involved in the project, the work became known simply as “The Tidying,” because Derkin the Lawgiver had referred to it so.

  The task of burying the Klanath mines was a larger project, but the dwarves tackled it with enthusiasm. Many of them, like their leader, had once been slaves in these mines, and found great satisfaction in obliterating them. The shaft mines, high on the slopes, were caved in and sealed with stone. Then hundreds of delvers with climbing-slings and stone-drills went aloft above the pits. Working in conditions that would have been unthinkable for humans, the hardy mountain people began a series of “punches” in the stone face of the great peak. Master delvers went first, to “reckon” the stone – testing it, tasting it, marking its contours and slants, its seams and cracks, and noting the natural flaws in the granite. They patterned a half-mile’s length of mountain with their scratches and marks, their chips and gouges, all the directional runes of delving.

  Drillers followed, in teams of two, working on precarious platforms all along the length of the reckoning. From below, the platforms with their two dwarves each looked like a hundred tiny dots, high on the sheer stone. But when they began to punch – heavy sledges ringing on steel drills – the echoes of their efforts were a chorus that could be heard for miles around.

  And joining the chorus was the ring of axes, as Neidar foresters worked in the nearby forests to the north. Day after day, they selected, cut, and hauled the timbers
from which dwarven woodsmiths and binders were fashioning a fleet of sturdy sleds to be used as stone-boats. The dismantling of the palace compound, and of the partially constructed new fortress which Lord Kane’s slaves had been building when the dwarves attacked, had taken only three weeks. Now, with several inches of good snow on the ground, the building stones were being hauled away into Tharkas Pass. As full winter closed on the lands north of Tharkas, the only structure still erect there was Lord Kane’s palace. The tall structure served now as headquarters for Derkin’s army and for the dismantling of Klanath.

  With hundreds of horses, oxen, bison, and elk harnessed to the new sleds, dwarven teamsters were now busily transferring everything except the palace itself to the border of Kal-Thax, four miles away.

  The work of hauling the stone was enhanced, the teamsters were forced to admit, by a bargain that Derkin had made – a bargain that most of the dwarves still could hardly believe. Among the countless hundreds of slaves they had found in Klanath there were no dwarves, but there were some of just about every other race the dwarves had ever heard of. Most of the slaves were humans, some were goblins, a few were elves, and two were ogres. On Derkin’s orders, all of the slaves – even the goblins and ogres – had been freed and told to go away. But at the last moment, Derkin had called the ogres back. Then, while the Ten hovered near with drawn weapons and hundreds of other dwarves looked on with awe and disbelief, the Lawgiver had calmly invited the hulking pair into his chambers in the palace for a talk.

  Their names were Goath and Ganat. Now they worked happily alongside the dwarven teamsters, hauling building stones into Tharkas Pass.

  Only Derkin, the ogres, and the Ten knew exactly what had been discussed in that private meeting of the Master of Kal-Thax and two of his people’s oldest ancestral enemies. But it was widely rumored among the Chosen that Derkin had made them a deal – fifty milk cows and a good bull from Lord Kane’s herds in return for a winter’s work.

  It was known that the Lawgiver had given the ogres one law by which to govern themselves during their service. Derkin had told Goath and Ganat that if they so much as laid hands on any dwarf, other than to assist him, Derkin would personally tear their hearts out.