by Dragon Lance
“Building walls?” she asked, frowning.
“More than walls,” he corrected. “Those walls, if they continue, will become the foundations of a great city as proud and fine as anything in this world. And more than a city. If I don’t interrupt them, these people of ours might just construct a new way for dwarves to live.”
“The city the elf called Pax Tharkas,” she said.
“Pax Tharkas,” he confirmed, nodding. “Right now, only dwarves are building here. Which is for the best, because what elves know about stonemasonry and the rodding of joints could be set down in three runes, with two of them used only for emphasis. But later, when our people have made the underpinnings of this place solid and sturdy, the elves will come. Then there will have to be a treaty between us, of course. A thousand understandings will have to be reached, and accords agreed to. When it is done, the Treaty of Pax Tharkas must signify once and for all the sheathing of swords between two races. It won’t be easy, and I can’t imagine it, truly – dwarves and elves sharing the same city – but most of our people believe in their hearts that such a thing can be done. Somehow, I believe it, too.”
As he said it, Derkin seemed so sure, so confident, that Helta could almost share the vision with him. Still, there was something that troubled her. Despite Derkin’s seeming enthusiasm for the idea of expanding his border wall into a great city, Helta sensed that his heart was elsewhere.
Often, she had noted, it was Talon Oakbeard who presided at planning sessions for new parts of the construction. The idea of Pax Tharkas, which Derkin had come to espouse so openly, had found its true roots in the former Neidar’s heart. For Talon, the great undertaking had become an obsession – a work of true love.
As the months passed, and the great cleft of Tharkas rang with the pleasant pandemonium of thousands of dwarves cheerfully building the first solid layers of a great city, stone by stone, Derkin and Talon were everywhere among them. They counseled with stonecutters, they drew diagrams and argued about them with the masons, they suggested a tower base here and demanded a shoring brace there.
In the concept of building a citadel, Talon Oakbeard had discovered his true talent. Derkin, on the other hand, had a different talent – the ability to lead. Yet now, the people he led had chosen their own path, and it was not the path he might have chosen for himself.
A dozen times, Helta found herself wishing that Derkin would delegate the whole project to Talon and stop worrying about it. But spring became summer, and summer became fall, and still Derkin lingered at Tharkas.
Most of the dwarves from Thorbardin were still with them. With typical Hylar directness, Culom Vand had told Derkin that he would not return to Thorbardin until Derkin agreed to go back with him. “Thorbardin needs your skill,” he had confided. “I promised my father and Jeron Redleather that I would find you and bring you back, so that’s what I intend to do. If you won’t go now, then I’ll stay until you do.”
Having stated that, Culom Vand said no more about it. With typical Hylar dignity, he simply waited. In the meantime, he and most of the Hylar with him had found something to do. The beautiful old lake beyond Tharkas Camp, which had once served a great dwarven mining settlement but had been allowed to deteriorate during human habitation, was a challenge to the efficient-minded Hylar. They had taken it upon themselves to clear and reshape its channels and to build pump stages. “Thorbardin’s glaziers could fit these lifts with lenses to make steam,” Culom told Derkin. “And our foundries could produce steam-driven wheels to lift the water to your new citadel of Pax Tharkas.”
Derkin’s response had been only, “It isn’t my citadel. It’s theirs … the Chosen Ones.”
Unlike the reserved, patient Hylar, Luster Redleather and the hundred other gold-bearded Daewar in the group had become enthusiastically involved in the construction of walls and foundations, and the dream of a great citadel that one day would rise to the very summits of Tharkas Pass to serve two nations.
“Think of the trade possibilities!” Luster exulted one autumn evening after a feast of roast boar, dark bread, and ale. His blue eyes alight with the Daewar love of commerce, Luster paced this way and that, his hands sometimes clasped behind him and sometimes waving happily over his head. “Elvencraft, here at the very gateways of Thorbardin! Elven wines and spices, elven fabrics and flosses … There are fortunes to be made here! We’ll provide steel and glass for the elves, and we’ll stockpile elvenwares at Thorbardin for trade with the world!”
“How are you going to trade through closed gates?” Derkin asked him morosely.
“Just the way you said.” Luster grinned. “We’ll build commerce towns at all of our borders. Places open to anybody who has something to trade.”
“Did I say that?” Derkin frowned.
“You said you would build a place called Barter,” the Daewar reminded him. “I’m just expanding on the idea.”
“That idea is for Kal-Thax,” Derkin snapped. “Not for Thorbardin.”
“Kal-Thax is Thorbardin,” Luster countered.
“Not while those gates are closed,” Derkin said. “I told your Council of Thanes that.”
Throughout the exchange, Culom Vand sat quietly to one side, simply listening. But now he said, “If you come back to Thorbardin, Derkin, maybe you can open the gates.”
Derkin gazed at him with level, cynical eyes. “By a vote of three to two?”
“By decree,” Culom said, “if you were king.”
“There are no kings in …”
“Maybe it’s time to change that.” Luster interrupted him. “The Covenant of the Forge is only a document, after all. It can be amended.”
Helta Graywood set down a tray and stood beside Derkin, ruffling his hair with her fingers. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell this stubborn oaf,” she told the Daewar, “for ages.”
Shaking his head, Derkin growled, stood, and strode away into the dusk. When Tap Tolec and some of the Ten rose to follow him, Helta waved them down. “Leave him alone this time,” she said. “He needs to think.”
Late that night, Derkin stood alone atop a craggy summit, gazing up at the living sky where autumn clouds rode the high winds, forming shifting, flowing patterns in the light of two moons.
“I want to go home,” he muttered to himself. “Helta knows that, and Tap knows it, too. Maybe they all know it. But if I take my people away from here, they will lose their finest dream. Most of them now are neither Neidar nor Holgar. It is as Tap said, these people have become a new breed of dwarf. Maybe Pax Tharkas is their destiny. But is it mine?”
Troubled and confused, Derkin the Lawgiver raised his hands toward the flowing sky. “Gods!” he whispered. “Reorx … and any others who care … give me a sign!”
The clouds swirled slowly in the high winds above, shifting from pattern to pattern. Then, for a moment, one bit of cloud broke away from the rest and stood alone. And just for an instant, as the winds molded it, it seemed to take the shape of a wedge – or an arrowhead – pointing south.
Derkin lowered his arms and sighed. “Maybe it is a sign,” he told himself. In the distance, dappled moonlight played on the massive construct that now filled the lower one-third of Tharkas Pass. Where “Derkin’s Wall” had once stood, twenty feet of stone defending a mountain pass, now rose the beginnings of a city – a city that would one day bridge the gap between two alien worlds, the ancient land of the dwarves and the new land of the western elves.
Above the pass, flowing clouds shifted in the wind, and it seemed that there was a face there – a wide, bearded dwarven face that molded and remolded itself in its features as the breeze in the pass whispered long-forgotten names, a litany of generations of Hylar leaders. “Colin Stonetooth …” the breezes murmured. “Willen Ironmaul … Damon Omenborn … Cort Fireblend …” Fascinated, Derkin stood gazing upward as the breezes whispered names to him – the names of his own ancestors. And with each name, the flowing cloud-face became another face. “Harl Thrustweight …
” the breezes whispered, and the face Derkin saw was that of his own father. And now the breeze shifted and the whispering was a voice like his father’s voice. “Thorbardin,” it murmured. “Thorbardin has never been ruled … but it must be governed. That is your destiny, my son.”
The breeze died away, and the clouds above were again only clouds, but in Derkin’s mind was the echo of a whisper. He knew now what his course must be, and he felt oddly at peace with it. “Destiny,” he muttered.
Only one regret remained in his mind. He had failed to keep his pledge – to himself and his people – to bring Sakar Kane to the justice the man deserved. Sakar Kane had simply disappeared. “If only I knew,” Derkin said aloud. “If only I could be sure that he is gone.”
As though in answer, a voice spoke. He knew he was alone. There was no one else within half a mile of where he stood, yet the voice spoke clearly, as though at his side. It was a low, musical voice, the voice of Despaxas, and it said one word: “Chapak.”
Instantly, Derkin found himself deep within a dark, reeking place, a place where mildew grew on ancient stone walls, moist and glistening in the light of a single candle. On one wall hung the skeletal remains of a man – a man who had been dead for a long time – and Derkin knew exactly where he was and what he was seeing. With absolute certainty, he realized that he was looking at a deep cell in a dungeon beneath the palace of the human emperor of Daltigoth. And he knew that the shackled body hanging there was that of Lord Sakar Kane, the Prince of Klanath.
The single candle lighting the scene was held by a man who seemed to be two men. Each time the flame flickered, the man’s appearance changed. At one moment he seemed a squat, bulky human with a braided beard and elegant robes, at the next a tall, burly man in dark robe and dusty boots.
Derkin knew one of the faces. It was the man called Dreyus. And he knew the other as well, though he had never seen him. The man with the braided beard was Quivalin Soth V, Emperor of Daltigoth and Ergoth.
Again the candle flickered, and Derkin found himself where he had been, standing on a craggy knoll in a mountain pass, half a mile south of the place that would be Pax Tharkas. Beside him, where no one stood, Despaxas’s musical voice whispered, “This is the gift my mother wished for you, Derkin. To know that you did not fail.”
His eyes wide with wonder, Derkin the Lawgiver turned full around, then shook his head. “Magic,” he muttered. “A latent spell.”
With one last glance at the sky above – which was once again only an autumn sky – Derkin headed back toward his quarters. On the way he stopped at the fire of Culom Vand, then at several other places in the camp. By the time he opened the door of his own quarters and stepped in, a crowd was following him.
Helta Graywood and the Ten were waiting for him, alert and concerned as he had known they would be. It was rare that any of them ever let Derkin out of their sight. Derkin stood before them, his fists on his hips, firelight gleaming on the polished luster of his armor, as other dwarves entered behind him. He looked from one to another of those gathered around his hearth, then let his somber gaze linger on Helta. “Do you still say you can live anywhere with me?” he asked.
“Anywhere,” she asserted.
“Then live with me in Thorbardin,” he said. His gaze turned to Tap Tolec. “Do you still dream of being a Holgar?”
Tap raised one eyebrow. The ironic expression, combined with his broad shoulders and long arms, made him look more Theiwar than most who were full-blood. “As always,” he said. “Maybe as much as you do.”
“Could you be the leader of a thane?”
Tap blinked, surprised at the question. “There is a legend among my family,” he said, “that an ancestor of mine was a chieftain, a very long time ago. His name was Slide Tolec. They say he led the Theiwar when Thorbardin was in its glory.”
Derkin nodded and turned. “And you, Talon Oakbeard? Could you be a leader of people?”
“I have no thane.” Talon shrugged. “My people were always Einar or Neidar. What people would I lead?”
“The Chosen Ones,” Derkin said. “They are your thane. If I pronounce you their chieftain tomorrow, do you pledge to lead them well?”
Talon stared at the Lawgiver for a full minute, hardly believing what he had heard. “I’d do my best,” he said finally.
*
It would be spring before the one called Lawgiver could undertake the journey southward to Thorbardin. There were conferences to be held and plans to be made. There were messages to be sent and pledges to be given and received.
Some of the Chosen Ones would choose to go with Derkin, and some, like Tap Tolec who would replace Swing Basto as chieftain of Thane Theiwar of Thorbardin, would need time to adjust to what Derkin had in mind for them.
There was a great deal to be done and much to be decided before Derkin Winterseed-Hammerhand – Derkin the Lawgiver – could return to Thorbardin to find the rest of his destiny.
Epilogue
THE FIRST AND ALWAYS KING
In the spring of the Year of Nickel, the final year of both the Decade of Cherry and the Century of Rain, frost-bearded guards at a hidden outpost high on Sky’s End Mountain looked up from a winter-long game of bones to see movement in the distance – a large caravan approaching from the north. Drums relayed the news to Northgate of Thorbardin, and runners carried the message from there to all of the thanes. It was the day those in the undermountain fortress had been waiting for ever since the message came from Culom Vand months earlier. Derkin the Lawgiver, Master of the Mountains, was coming home to Thorbardin. And this time he was coming to stay – not as a citizen but as regent of all thanes.
Five years had passed since the first visit of Derkin’s army, when thousands of dwarves had set up trade pavilions below Northgate, and Thorbardin had rediscovered the value of trade.
This time, there were fewer in the caravan. Only those who chose to live as Holgar – about twelve hundred – had followed Derkin from Tharkas. And this time, they made no camp on the slopes below Northgate. Instead, their drums conveyed their greetings, and the great plug of Northgate opened to receive them.
Escorted by respectful Home Guards, the Lawgiver’s party stopped first in Theibardin. They spent two days there, at the end of which time old Swing Basto dourly announced his retirement as chieftain of Thane Theiwar, and Tap Tolec was resoundingly accepted by the Theiwar as their new leader. His first act as chieftain was to grant amnesty to Swing Basto and his followers, forgiving them their past intrigues and pardoning them for their ill-considered involvement in the Wilderness Wars. His second act was a solemn pledge that if any Theiwar ever again embarrassed the dwarven nation by getting privately involved with human emperors and generals, Tap would personally feed the culprit to tractor worms.
From Theibardin, Derkin’s party went to Daebardin, where Jeron Redleather pledged the support of the Daewar to Derkin’s regency. Another two days were passed there, with Jeron and his councilors, working out details for trade agreements with the elves of Qualinesti.
From Daebardin, the new arrivals went to the unnamed Klar cities, where Derkin received the pledge of Trom Thule, then to Daerbardin, where Vin the Shadow spent hours with the chieftain of Thane Daergar, Crag Shade-eye, relating the nature of the stone and the richness of the ores to be mined at Tharkas, and where Crag Shade-eye pledged his allegiance to Derkin Lawgiver, then promptly began organizing a mining expedition.
As a matter of protocol, Derkin also paused for a few minutes at the rubble pits below Daerbardin, where the little tribe known as Thane Aghar lived – when they could find the place. There Derkin introduced himself to the gully dwarf leader, Grimble I, who wasn’t quite sure why he was being accosted until Vin the Shadow took him by the shoulder and pointed at Derkin. “This is the new boss around here,” the Daergar explained.
Grimble thought it over, then shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said. With the matter concluded, the great leader of all Aghar in Thorbardin turned and wandered away.
Grinning and shaking his head, Vin told Derkin, “That’s as near to a pledge as you’ll get here.”
At Hybardin, the Hylar city delved within the living stone of the stalactite called Life Tree, Derkin met with Dunbarth Ironthumb. “As your son told you,” he said, “I have set conditions for accepting regency here. One of them is that you let the Hylar name you as their chief.”
“I’ve never wanted to be chief,” Dunbarth said.
“And I never wanted to be regent,” Derkin responded, frowning. “But I will, providing that I have a Hylar leader I can trust. I trust you, Dunbarth Ironthumb.”
Ironthumb spread his hands in acceptance. “It has already been done,” he said. “I have accepted the title of chieftain because you demanded it.”
“And I have your oath of allegiance?”
“You have it.” The Hylar nodded. “I welcome you home to your kingdom, Derkin Lawgiver.”
“I have not accepted a crown,” Derkin snapped. “Only a regency … or, as an ancestor of mine once put it, I’ve agreed to be chief of chiefs.”
“Why not be king?” Dunbarth gazed at him, puzzled. “All of Thorbardin is ready to bend the knee to you.”
“I will not be king of a divided nation,” Derkin said. “I will govern, but not rule, until I know that Thorbardin and Kal-Thax are truly united … and know in my own heart that I can rule wisely.”
“Then be chief of chiefs until you’re sure,” Dunbarth urged. “I can accept that.”
For the first time in five years, the Great Hall of Audience was packed to capacity when the Council of Thanes assembled there. And for the first time in a century, the great chamber rang with cheers and applause as each order of business was done. Tap Tolec was named to the Council of Thanes, representing Thane Theiwar, and Dunbarth Ironthumb’s title was amended on the scrolls, from representative to chieftain of Thane Hylar.
Solemnly, then, the ancient scroll embodying the Covenant of the Forge was produced and read aloud. Following the reading, a single amendment was proposed by Jeron Redleather. The amendment was to delete the passage allowing government by decree only in times of emergency. Such an amendment was necessary to allow for appointment of a regent … or for the coronation of a king.