The Covenant of The Forge

23

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 beneath 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.”

Slide Tolec heard the sound, directly ahead, seeming to come from his own caves, and a cold dread touched him. The Hylar! The strangers, new-come to Kal-Thax, who had demonstrated their military might and then had withdrawn, to lead a sweep to clear outsiders from the slopes of the realm. Had it all been a ruse? With everyone preoccupied, had they come back here and invaded Theibardin? Were the Hylar now in control of Theiwar lairs?

He remembered Crouch Redfire, who had first organized the Theiwar into a power in Kal-Thax, and Twist Cutshank, who had listened to false counsel and almost destroyed them. It was like something those two might have done, to carry out such a betrayal.

“Theiwar!” Slide Tolec shouted. “Forward! Prepare to attack!”

And just north of the Theiwar, Prince Olim Goldbuckle and his Daewar army heard the call and checked their weapons. The sound of drums was coming from below Galefang, where the Daewar’s secret entrance to the subterranean world below Cloudseeker lay. The Hylar had found the way to Urkhan’s caverns! They would invade New Daebardin! Olim drew his sword and sliced it forward in the cold mountain air. “Daewar to me!” he roared. “Flanks left and right! Double-time!”

“The Theiwar!” Gem Bluesleeve called, pointing to the left where Theiwar were pouring over a ridge, angling upward toward Galefang. “And there! The Daergar are coming!”

“Shields and blades!” Olim ordered. “Get ready to fight!”

On rises and ridges all around, bands of fur-clothed Klar heard the drum-call and saw the armies of Daewar, Theiwar, and Daergar heading for the source of it. “Rust and rot!” Bole Trune growled. “I give my word, I let no one break it. Klar! Fight!”

A mile or so away, huddled under an outthrust shelf of stone, small faces turned toward the sound of the drums and one of them asked, “What that noise?”

“Drum,” another said. “Like before.”

“What before?”

“Before! When we get all surrounded an’ say okay we do council.”

“When all that happen?”

“While back, Highbulp. You were havin’ nap, maybe didn’ notice.”

“Well, what it mean?”

“Prob’ly mean we s’posed to go where noise is.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we said okay we would.”

“Oh.”

There were other ears, too, that heard the song of the drums. For miles around, in caverns and valley shelters, in fields, mining camps, and snowy pastures, the Einar by the thousands turned to listen and wonder. Unaffiliated with any tribe, though they shared ancestors with all of them, the common folk of Kal-Thax heard the call and came out from tiny villages, cave complexes, and remote shelters to follow the strange, hypnotic sound — the commanding, lovely Call to Balladine.

Some of the Klar arrived first at the cliffs below Galefang. They howled down the slopes, in Klar fashion, then stopped in confusion as they saw the solid wall of iron shields facing them there.

The Daewar came then, pushing up through a snowy draw, bright garments brilliant against the white of new winter. In the thousands, they far outnumbered the Hylar foot companies and the eleven mounted Hylar waiting under the cliffs, but Olim Goldbuckle remembered the encirclement of the border camps and the precise, efficient way in which these outland strangers had made themselves part of Kal-Thax. They hesitated, and when the Hylar line made no move, they pulled back to wait.

The Theiwar came cautiously, ready to counterattack invaders in their country, but when they saw the assembly below the cliffs they were confused. Nobody was attacking anybody. Gathering to one side of the massed Daewar, they clustered around and behind Slide Tolec, their hands on their dark blades, and waited.

By the time the Daergar of Vog Ironface arrived on the scene, others were arriving, too — small groups of puzzled, cautious Einar from the nearer slopes, and even a little tribe — or tumble — of Aghar, creeping along a gully to peer out at what was happening beyond.

By dusk, thousands and tens of thousands of dwarves waited on the slope of Cloudseeker, below the towering crag called Galefang, nearest of the Windweavers. It was what Colin Stonetooth had counted on. There was such a crowd now, that no one — not even the well-armed Daewar — could start trouble without risking a free-for-all in which everyone would be outnumbered.

The sheer numbers, and the complexity of the groups, made it simply impractical for anyone to attack anyone. And to most dwarves — even the unpredictable Klar — the primary test of any situation — the primary test of anything — was its practicality.

Mounted on his great horse Schoen, and flanked by the Ten, Colin Stonetooth rode to the top of a shoulder in full view of everyone on the slope. With great ceremony, he removed his helm and shield and handed them across to Jerem Longslate, First of the Ten. Then he drew his sword and hammer and — as he had seen Olim Goldbuckle do to signal a talk — he dropped them on the ground.

The drums ceased their song, and in the silence Colin Stonetooth said, in a voice that carried to the fringes of the great crowd, “We are the Hylar. We are newly-come, but we are of Kal-Thax now, just as are all of you. So know this: in the spring, or the next spring, these mountains may be overrun by humans. Unless we — all of us, in unison — take measures to prevent it, we will all fall before the tide of human migration, if not this year, then the year after.”

Olim Goldbuckle stepped to the head of his legions and raised his arms. “You speak of measures, Hylar!” he called. “What measures?”

“We will show you,” Colin said. “Among us, we have the means to create a stronghold which no human horde can penetrate.” He pointed. “You, Vog Ironface! Your people have the raw materials that will be needed, in your mines. The ores to make the metals for a mighty stronghold. And you, Slide Tolec! Your people know these passes better than any. And you, Bole Trune of the Klar. Organized, your people can save themselves from the humans by helping to save all the rest of us.”

Olim Goldbuckle cupped his hands to shout, “And the Daewar? What do you think we can offer to your plan?”

Colin Stonetooth gazed at the Daewar prince and suppressed a smile. “You, Prince Olim, have the place.”

“What place?” Olim snapped.

“He’s right!” Slide Tolec yelled. “The Daewar have a great, secret cavern somewhere. I have seen it.”

“That place,” Colin Stonetooth nodded. “A place that all can share, and by right must share. The Daewar because they found it first, the Theiwar because it is in their claimed territory …”

“In Theiwar territory?” Slide Tolec demanded. “Where?”

“… the Daergar because they have the materials to build it into a stronghold,” Colin continued, “the Klar — and the Einar and any others who care to, because they can assist in its construction and in its defense.”

Olim Goldbuckle was fuming. How did the outlander know of his secret place — of Urkhan’s findings? “And what of you, Hylar?” he shouted, angrily. “You tell us all that we might offer — what we can do with our own resources — but what of you? What do you offer?”

Colin Stonetooth spread his hands in an eloquent shrug. “We know how,” he said. Then his voice became commanding as he turned toward the ranked Theiwar. “Slide Tolec, we are within your people’s borders. Do you grant us permission to go underground?”

Startled at the polite, ceremonial question, Slide glanced around at his followers, then nodded. “I give permission,” he said. “We’d like to see what the Daewar found here, too.”

Colin turned to the Daewar prince. “Olim Goldbuckle, the gate behind me, in the cliff, is of Daewar crafting. Will you honor your neighbors by inviting us through it, in peace?”

“And if I don’t?” Olim demanded.

“Then we’ll take it down ourselves!” Slide Tolec shouted.

“This is Theiwar territory!”

“I already have a company of warriors below,” Colin said mildly. “It would be better if you invited us in.”

Olim Goldbuckle, the master of maneuvering, knew when he was outmaneuvered. “We will open the gate,” he conceded.

“I call a Council of Thanes!” Colin Stonetooth announced so all could hear. “To be held in Thorbardin!”

Every eye in the crowd turned to him in puzzlement. “Where?” some asked.

Even Jerem Longslate stared at his chieftain in surprise. “Thor … bardin, Sire? Is this the name of our Everbardin?”

“In honor of the past.” Colin nodded. “And of the future.”