by Dragon Lance
“There are many kinds of defense,” Colin Stonetooth replied. “I have seen great tides of wanderers out there, on those plains. Even the strongest dam will break if there is not a controlled release … a way for the flow to pass beyond. Has that been considered?”
“It has been considered enough!” Vog Ironface shouted. “Are you … you Hylar with us or not?”
“We are here to stay, if that’s what you mean. No humans or anyone else will drive us out. We seek Everbardin here, in Kal-Thax.” Colin Stonetooth leaned forward in his saddle, gazing from one to another of them. “Do any of you question that we can defend what we choose to defend?”
There was no answer to that. Of all the dwarven troops standing cordon along the eastern flank of Kal-Thax, nearly a third were here, ringed and helpless, held hostage by a few hundred strangers with strange skills.
“Then so be it.” Colin Stonetooth nodded. “We do not want war with people of our own kind. You, Olim Goldbuckle! I ask your pledge of peace and a council of Thanes. Do you agree?”
Olim shrugged. “I agree,” he said.
The Hylar turned. “You, Slide Tolec! Do you also agree?”
The Theiwar squinted at him, hating him but helpless to contest his will. Then he spread his hands. “I agree,” he said.
Colin turned to Vog Ironface. “And you? Will you show me your face and agree to what I ask?”
“I will agree,” the hollow voice rumbled. “But I will not blind myself for your pleasure.”
“A dark-seeker,” Colin muttered curiously. Then he nodded and turned toward the wildly clad Klar. “And you, Bole Trune of Thane Klar?”
The Klar seemed taken aback at the idea that anyone would ask for his promise. But he shrugged. “I agree,” he said. Turning, he scowled fiercely about at others of his kind. “My word is given! I kill any Klar who breaks it!”
From somewhere, deep in the crowd, a wavering voice offered, “Highbulp prob’ly ag … agr … go’long with that, too, when he wake up. That okay?”
With a gesture, Colin Stonetooth backed his mount away, and the line of shields withdrew, companies of Hylar moving in perfect unison to a tattoo of drums.
Olim Goldbuckle frowned. Drums! So these were the ones! He snapped his fingers, and a Daewar picked up his sword and shield and handed them to him. “You called for a Council of Thanes!” he called to the Hylar leader. “When and where?”
“When the passes are blocked by winter,” Colin called back. “But first” — he turned, scanning the foothills below the line of defense — “I believe we could give those people out there something to think about until spring.”
Without waiting for a response, the Hylar leader wheeled his horse and headed eastward at a trot, his ten bodyguards flanking him purposefully. Behind him, companies of mounted Hylar spread and followed in a widening spearhead formation. Hylar footmen formed precise companies and followed, trotting along behind and among the mounted units. Within moments the Hylar army had become a deadly wedge of armed dwarves, banners aloft and drums singing, heading for the camps of the humans on the ridges below.
Olim Goldbuckle looked after them, then slung his shield and raised his sword. “Well, you heard him!” he roared. “Let’s go chase some humans!”
Within moments the hundreds of Hylar in the lead were followed by thousands of Daewar, Daergar, and Theiwar, with bands of Klar running and howling along their flanks. By the time this wall of dwarves reached the lesser slopes, entire camps of human intruders were scurrying about in panic, turning to flee to the plains beyond.
In the highlands camp, only a few dwarves remained – a tumble of gully dwarves heading for cover, a few stragglers from other tribes, and a cluster of a hundred or so armed figures watching the assault from above.
These were a mix of kinds – mostly Theiwar, but with some Daergar among them. They clustered around an individual who might have been anything. Silently he had mingled with the others of all the camps, unnoticed except by those who chose to follow him. Though his face was obscured by Theiwar mesh, the clothing and armor he wore were an odd collection of Daewar, Daergar, Theiwar, and even Klar garb. He could have passed through any of their camps unnoticed, and had.
Now he stared after the receding Hylar force, and his eyes burned with hatred. “I do not agree,” he muttered. “Glome the Assassin will not be herded like those sheep, by a band of strangers.”
Glome had plans of his own, and no one, not even these strange Hylar, were going to stand in his way.
Chapter 23
A CALL TO COVENANT
Methodically, relentlessly, the combined dwarven armies of eastern Kal-Thax – led by a few hundred Hylar – swept the passes and valleys below the highland range, driving vast numbers of humans and other races ahead of them. Within days, the entire border from Grand Gorge to the Cliffs of Shalomar was secured and free of most intruders.
There were clashes of arms during those days, but they were few and brief. A band of roaming goblins, taking advantage of the human disarray to raid a camp of nomadic Sackmen, found itself instead faced with the blades and shields of the Golden Hammer, Gem Bluesleeve’s Daewar strike force. Trapped between their human victims and the marching dwarves, the goblins tried to fight free. Very few survived to flee alongside the very people they had first attacked. A fighting unit of wild Sandrunners from the northern plains stood off two companies of combined Daergar and Theiwar for a day, then was massacred by Daergar in the dark of night.
And at the very edge of the foothill range, miles from the rising mountains to the west, a company of Ergothian knights and footmen – accompanied by various other natives of the land of Ergoth, trying to turn the flood of outlanders being forced back into their lands – confronted Willen Ironmaul’s elite guard at the crest of a low ridge. Twice, the human forces hit the line of mounted dwarves, and twice they were thrown back – as much by the ferocity of the Calnar horses as by the stubborn determination of the dwarves who rode them. Then, as they regrouped, Willen himself rode out from his lines and raised a hand in salute toward a familiar figure. The knight who rode forward to meet him wore a blue cloak over his mail, and a blue plume on his helm. The red falcon in stoop upon his breast was the same as it had been when last they met, and the sword he carried was an exquisite, dwarf-crafted blade with a diamond in its pommel.
“Ho, Sir Knight!” the dwarf called as Glendon Hawke approached. “Must we now test ourselves against our teacher?”
“Ho, Sir Dwarf!” Glendon retorted. “Have you found your Everbardin in those mountains?”
“We have found the place to begin our quest.” Willen nodded. “And people of our race – or fairly close – to share it if they will.”
Three knights bearing the insignia of an Ergothian lord had ridden forward, stepping their mounts past Glendon’s, edging the free lance knight aside. “And now you return here, driving outlanders before you?” one said. “These Cobar and Sackmen do not belong here, Sir Dwarf. Why do you bring them to us?”
“They do not belong in Kal-Thax, either,” Willen pointed out. “And if they tried to stay in those mountains through the winter – even if we would allow it – they would starve or freeze before spring. Is that what you humans want?”
“Of course not!” the same knight snapped. “But we can’t have them overrunning our lands. And if we push them north, toward Xak Tsaroth, the overlords there will put them to death, or send them off to Istar to be sold as slaves. We want no part of such business.”
“Then why not do something about the reason they come here?”
“What reason?” Glendon straightened in his saddle, resting his lance, ignoring the glares of the pennanted knights at his interruption.
“The dragon wars in the east,” Willen said. “Cale Greeneye has met elves who believe the dragons can be defeated, if the elves can rally enough support.”
“Yes, I know about the elves. They came looking for me. They said I was recommended by dwarves. They also have
spoken to the lords of eastern Ergoth.”
“And will you help them?”
“Some have already gone,” an Ergothian knight said haughtily, “and others are considering it.”
“And you, Sir Glendon?”
“It is difficult to say no to an elf named Eloeth. But I was needed here first. A village has employed me as its … well, its champion.” He glanced aside at the knights, two of whom were frowning at him. “Well, people can’t wait forever for the leaders of Ergoth to come to agreement with those bullies in Xak Tsaroth!”
Willen wondered what that was all about, but no explanations seemed forthcoming. He shifted, to point behind him, where laden clouds flowed among the Kharolis peaks. “Winter is at hand up there, human. And we are up there. There is nothing more you and your countrymen can do here … unless it is to assure the slaughter of people of your own kind.”
“Cobar and Sackmen?” a knight sneered. “Sandrunners and Morion bandits? They are not of our kind!”
“They are human,” Willen Ironmaul pointed out. “You can deal with them or drive them away, but not to the west. Not now.”
One of the three pennanted knights – a burly, gray-bearded man in battle-scarred armor – had said nothing, only listened curiously. But now he raised a gloved hand. “The dwarf is right,” he said. “Within a week, the passes up there will be closed. These migrants would stand no chance. It may be that the time is at hand for duty to bend the knee to honor on this front.” He turned to gaze at Willen Ironmaul, and the big dwarf felt the impact of cold, gray eyes as direct and forceful as those of Colin Stonetooth himself. “You may retire from the field, Sir Dwarf. You have accomplished what you came to do. For now.”
Without waiting for a reply, the gray knight wheeled his mount and rode away, his two companions following him obediently. Willen stared after him, then asked, “Who was that?”
“That,” Glendon said, “was Lord Charon, and I imagine you are the first dwarf he has ever honored with a word.” The falcon knight raised his hand in salute and backed his sturdy horse away. “Farewell, Sir Dwarf. But heed carefully what you have heard. Lord Charon said, ‘For now.’ You will have no further intrusions while the snows last. But with spring … well, as I said, these people aren’t our people, and when they can go, they will go where they will.”
*
When snows filled the passes below the Windweavers, Colin Stonetooth led his warriors back to the promontory of the camps. Cale Greeneye and a group from Hybardin awaited him there with news.
For some time Colin Stonetooth conferred with Mistral Thrax, beside a fire where the old dwarf sat swathed in furs. Then the chieftain called the rest to him for their reports.
The sealed tunnel behind the old Daewar stronghold on Sky’s End had been opened, and Wight Anvil’s-Cap had led explorers into it. The tunnel was a marvel of delving, they reported – nearly fifty miles in length and blocked at intervals by heavy grills made of iron railing, which the metalworkers in the party had removed. At the tunnel’s end was a system of natural caverns deep beneath the surface. There, keeping themselves hidden, Hylar scouts had seen dwarves – Daewar, by the runes on the walls – doing things with what appeared to be giant worms. Beyond were other guarded tunnels.
The explorers had turned back to await the chieftain’s orders, but Wight Anvil’s-Cap was convinced by what he saw there that the huge cavern they had seen was just the first of many. He was excited by the possibilities. The cavern was miles in dimensions, and sky-lighted by quartz strata – not as well lighted as Thorin with its sun-tunnels, but light, nonetheless. There was fresh air, ventilation, and – in the judgment of Talam Bendiron, who knew of such things – there seemed plentiful water somewhere near.
“Light at the end of the tunnel,” Colin mused. “I was right, then. The sun-people tunneled through darkness because they knew there would be light.”
And there was more to the report. Cale Greeneye and his roving scouts had followed a group of Daewar returning from the slopes, and had seen them enter a hidden gate at the foot of a cliff on Cloudseeker Mountain, beneath the Windweaver crags. The gate was due south of the opening on Sky’s End, and Wight Anvil’s-Cap calculated that it was a second passage, leading downward to the same tunnel he had explored. In the same vicinity, only a few miles away, were the high, shallow caves where many of the Theiwar seemed to be concentrated.
“It appears that the sun-lovers tunneled beneath their neighbors,” Cale noted, “as though they knew what they would find there.”
Colin Stonetooth made a mental note to never underestimate the Daewar or their prince, Olim Goldbuckle. Stepping away from the fire, where Wight Anvil’s-Cap was helping Mistral Thrax brew a mix of herbal tea and hot ale, he beckoned to his youngest son and pointed eastward. On the slopes below, large groups of dwarves were trudging upward toward them – several distinct groups, shunning each other but all coming the same way.
“Our allies are returning,” Colin said. “Soon it will be time for the council they promised. I think we should council in the caverns that Wight has spied below. It will be a delicate matter, though. Our Daewar friends might resent intrusion.”
“Not to mention the Theiwar resenting the Daewar’s intrusion under their mountain.” Cale grinned. “And those people of the iron faces – the Daergar – they seem to resent everybody, just on general principle.”
“Complex relationships make for complex negotiations.” Colin shrugged. “I will send Willen and his elites north with these people, to approach from there through the long tunnel. The foot companies will accompany me to that hidden gate, and I shall call for the thanes’ council there. Reorx grant me the wisdom, maybe I can get all of these various people to talk before they begin to fight.”
“Reorx grant you a lot of wisdom to do that,” Cale said, seriously. Then, “What do you want of me, Father?”
“Take your scouts, and any other volunteers you can get from Willen’s troops. Set lookouts on the peaks. With the borders of Kal-Thax closed now, when the drums call, these tribes and many others – those Einar you have seen – will come. Some may be combative at first, and I want no surprises. Once we are gathered – and at peace – I would like a thorough exploration of this region. I leave that to you.”
“That is duty of my choice.” Cale nodded, then raised an eyebrow. “Father, since leaving Thoradin, have you ever wished to return?”
Colin frowned. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because I never have,” his son said. “I think I was always restless there, as though I were trapped by the city itself. Now I find – and some of the others do, too – that I have no real liking for caverns and tunnels, for stone ceilings and walls. I wonder if I – if a lot of us – are really true dwarves. Some of us prefer the axe to the hammer, and prefer the sun to the stone.”
Colin rubbed his beard thoughtfully then said, “No dwarf may tell another what he will be, Cale. For my part, the proper way to live is in good delvings, beneath the standing peaks. But not all are so inclined. You are a true dwarf, Cale, but some prefer the sun to the stone. In Thorin … Thoradin … in your grandsire’s time, when they were still constructing the sun-tunnels, some people preferred to set the outer sleeves rather than the inner. There was a name for them, which was said with great respect. They were called the Neidar.”
“Neidar?” Cale gazed at his father. “Knoll-dwellers?”
“The outside crews built cabins for themselves,” Colin explained. “Usually on knolls on the mountainside, where the winds would sweep away the winter snows. Over time, many of them developed a fondness for the open sky. When the work was done, some of them would have remained outside by choice had it not been for the ogre wars. Many of our people still prefer the axe to the hammer … just as you and your companions do.”
“Neidar,” Cale mused. “Maybe I am Neidar, then. I like the mountain’s sides better than I like its belly.” He nodded, started away, then turned back. “Father, those caverns b
eneath Cloudseeker … they mean more to you than just caverns, don’t they?”
“They may,” Colin said quietly. “Mistral Thrax has told me … from whatever strange wisdom he holds in his hands … that there lies Everbardin.”
*
Group by cautious group, the massed tribes of Kal-Thax withdrew from the now silent foothills, marching up the funnel passes toward the Windweaver crags. Led by the newcomers, those who called themselves Hylar, they had driven away the outsiders encroaching into their mountains and in all likelihood had the mountains to themselves now, until spring. It was time to go home and get on with their various schemes and plans.
Keeping distance between themselves and the other tribes, the Daewar angled northward above the promontory, the Theiwar headed west toward the crest of Cloudseeker, and the sullen Daergar turned south toward their mines. The wild, undisciplined Klar were here and there, going their own directions.
But they were all still within sight of one another when a sound grew on the mountain winds – a strong, strange, compelling music that was more than just the rhythms of marching drums. It was a signal, and a song. The dwarves of Kal-Thax had never before heard the eerie, beautiful drum-song of the Call to Balladine. But they heard it now, and there was no doubt what it meant. Colin Stonetooth had done what he promised. He had driven the human invaders away from Kal-Thax for the winter. And now he called his new neighbors to do as they had promised. The drum-song was a call, and a summons. It was time for the Council of Thanes.
Vog Ironface and his Daergar warriors heard the call and turned masked faces toward it, locating the source. From the heights of Cloudseeker it came, from the icy region of the Windweaver crags. Theiwar territory. Were the strangers aligned now with Theiwar? If so, then they were aligned against the Daergar.
“Come on,” Vog Ironface rumbled, his voice hollow and sullen behind his slitted mask. “If we are betrayed, let’s learn of it now.”