The Swordsheath Scroll

8

Guards at a winter outpost high on the west face of Sky's End Mountain were the first to spot the approach of the strangers. Up there, where the cold season's snowpack still gave teeth to the freshening winds, frost-bearded young volunteers kept watch in relays. For more than a century, the wardens of the great undermountain fortress had maintained these sentinel lairs on the icy crowns of the highest peaks around the mountain called Cloud-seeker, beneath which lay the stronghold of the mountain dwarves.

In good times and bad, through years of dissolution and strife, even in the days when the feuding among thanes in Thorbardin had erupted into full-scale war, the Council of Chiefs and the Council of Wardens had maintained sentinel outposts to guard against intrusion. Thorbardin was impregnable, but not immune, and those within knew it. Even in the midst of fighting among themselves, the thanes paid common tariff to pay for outposts and sentinels, and volunteers were drawn from every tribe.

The volunteers served for one season at a time, and were paid according to the season. The hardiest among them sought the winter duties. A young dwarf tough enough to last out a winter in one of the Sky's End posts, or one of those atop the Thunder Peaks to the south, could earn a full year's easy living in Thorbardin, with coin left over for carousing among the dens and back ways of any of its several cities.

The west sentinel post on Sky's End was at an altitude of nearly twelve thousand feet, and its six lookouts-a Hylar, a Daewar, two Daergar, and two Theiwar-could see what seemed half the world on a clear day… or in the case of the Daergar, a clear night. Now, as the icy winds began to soften just a bit, and the valleys far below grew coats of green, they were all more than ready to go home. They had seen no one all winter-no little groups of migrating Neidar, no far-ranging elven patrols, no smoke of human campfires such as had been common in recent years since the fighting broke out on the eastern plains, not even so much as the occasional wandering ogre. All through the winter, an odd quiet had reigned in the mountain fastness, and the spotters were more than just tired of the ceaseless cold and the singing, mourning winds. They were thoroughly bored as well.

In recent weeks, their off-duty conversations had turned often to the comforts and pleasures of Thorbardin — mugs of heady ale before roaring fires in the countless ale shops of the cities, challenge matches in the pits, the smell of dark bread emanating from the bakeries, the pleasure of lifting fine metal from a cherry-red forge bed to craft upon an anvil, the joy of a leisurely game of bones, the excitement of wagering on worm-pulls… and the girls. Each of them had wonderful memories and exciting anticipations regarding some special female awaiting his return-or of two or three females or, in the case of the gold-bearded young Daewar, at least a dozen.

A camaraderie had grown among them during the long, cold season, and they shared their thoughts and their dreams as they would among close friends, ignoring the fact that, once returned to Thorbardin, they would likely be caught up in the clan feuds there as before, and soon be at one another's throats. Such harsh realities could fade from the mind in the course of a winter season on Sky's End.

Morning, evening, and night, by twos, they stood their watch on the cold mountainside and anticipated the bright coins they would receive beyond Northgate.

And then, one bright morning, their boredom ended.

The Daewar and one of the broad-shouldered Theiwar, on morning watch on the concealed ledge outside the sentinel cave, were the first to see the strangers, and they woke the others. Far in the distance, at least thirty miles to the west, there was movement on a ridgetop, the tiny, methodical "flowing" motion of a great many people-or some kind of creatures-on the move. For a time the six all stood on the ledge, bundled in the heavy bearskin robes that made them look like bearded badgers with bright helmets, as the distant movement continued. "There are a lot of them," a Theiwar observed. "Thousands, it looks like."

"And they are coming this way," the Hylar decided.

For an hour or more, the flow of distant movement continued, rank after rank of tiny specks appearing atop the faraway ridge, and moving down its visible slope, disappearing into some valley below.

"A herd of bison?" one of the Daergar suggested.

"Not likely." The Hylar shook his head. "They're moving in the wrong direction for bison in this season. I think those are people. Maybe a trade caravan?"

"From where?" the Daewar protested. "They're coming from the west. There's nothing out there but wilderness."

"There are Neidar settlements."

A Theiwar shook his head, frowning with intuition. "Those are people, all right, but they're not Neidar."

"The only dwarves outside Thorbardin in this season are Neidar." The Daewar frowned. "Do you suppose those are humans or something?"

"What would that many humans be doing out in the wilderness?" a Daergar puzzled. "And why would they be coming here?"

"Why do humans ever come here? To attack Thorbardin."

"They've been trying and failing for centuries. That last time-what was it, four or five years ago? Lord Kane or some such name? He brought a whole army all the way from Daltigoth. But they didn't get in. They just banged on Northgate for a while, then gave up and went away."

"But they came from the north. These people are coming from the west. Maybe they don't know that they can't get in. Or maybe they've forgotten. I hear humans are very forgetful."

The Hylar had brought out a far-seeing tube-a brass cylinder with glass lenses mounted in it-and they took turns peering through it. But the distant specks were too far away even for magnified vision. Then, after a time, there was nothing to look at. All of the moving specks had disappeared from view, hidden by intervening rises.

"I think we had better signal," the Hylar decided, turning toward the enclosed cave.

"Signal what?" a Daergar scoffed cynically. "Do we say something moved, and we saw it but we don't know what it was? I say we wait and get a better look."

The Hylar went on into the cave, and returned with a large vibrar and a pair of wooden mallets. But he set the drum aside and crouched on the ledge, waiting. "We'll take a better look when they're closer," he said. "But then, whatever or whoever is out there, we signal. Any time several thousand of anything approach Thorbardin, the gatekeepers ought to know about it."

"I agree." The Daergar who had spoken crouched beside the Hylar, his face hidden by the slitted iron mask his dark-sighted people favored in daylight. "But there's plenty of time. There are still a lot of miles out there, between us and whoever is coming to call."

The sun stood directly overhead when the strangers appeared again, topping another rise in the mountain terrain. Though still far away, they were closer now by several miles. And the direction of their line now was obvious. They were moving south of east, directly toward Thorbardin. The Hylar sentinel put the seeing-tube to his eye, peered through it, and grunted, "By Reorx! Those are dwarves!"

Beside him, the Daewar blinked in surprise. "Dwarves? What dwarves? Who are they?"

"I can't tell," the Hylar said, squinting into the seeing-tube. "Neidar, I suppose. All the other thanes are in Thorbardin. But so many? There are thousands of them! I've never seen more than a few dozen Neidar traveling together. Here, see for yourself."

The Daewar took the device and peered through it. Magnified, the distant horde was still tiny, barely identifiable, but there was no doubt: they were dwarves. He tried to estimate their number and gave up. It was as the Hylar had said. There were thousands of them. Several thousands. And they marched as an army marches-distinct companies in orderly ranks, maintaining their formations despite the rugged terrain.

In the lead and on both flanks rode mounted companies, brightly clad dwarven figures mounted on big horses, and among those afoot were hundreds of other large beasts, some pulling carts, some laden with packs.

Here and there among the strangers, the high sun glinted on bright armor-the familiar flash of metal helmets, shields, and body plating-but what was more striking were the bright colors of fine garments. Each group and company seemed to have its own combination of colors. In one unit, yellow and brown were prominent. In another, green and black dominated, and in still another, blue and tan. Only among those in the middle of the array-those walking with the carts and pack animals — did there seem no pattern of colors, though even there bright hues were plentiful.

"They dress colorfully," the Daewar noted, his gaze dropping to the very head of the moving band. At the point of the first mounted unit, whose preferred colors seemed to be red and gray, rode a figure whose helm and breastplate reflected the sunlight like a mirror. He wore a cloak of bright red, and the same red was used in the trappings of his horse. The sentinel peered, trying to see more detail, then handed the tube to another volunteer, one of the Theiwar. "What do you make of that one in the lead?" he asked. "I don't think he's a Neidar. For that matter, none of them look like Neidar to me."

The Theiwar gazed through the tube's lenses, then handed the device back to the Hylar. "You look," he said. "See if that's somebody you know."

The Hylar squinted, then shook his head. "I can't make out any features at this distance. Why did you think I might know him?"

"I don't know." The Theiwar shrugged. "There's just something about him that reminds me of Hylar."

"When you've seen one Hylar, you've seen them all," the Daewar chuckled. "Of course, that applies to Theiwar, too. You people have arms as long as your legs."

"You can keep your opinions to yourself, gold-molder," the Theiwar growled good-naturedly.

The Hylar sentinel took another look, then passed the seeing-tube along and picked up his vibrar, hitching its leather sling over his shoulder. "We've seen enough to signal the gate," he said, gripping his mallets.

A masked Daergar turned toward him. "What are you going to say is coming, a caravan or an army?"

"That mob could be either one," another sentinel said, squinting through the tube. "Or it could be a little of both. Reorx! Look at all that armor!"

Ignoring them, the Hylar stepped to the edge of the sentinel ledge, raised his mallets, and began a deep, thunderous tattoo on the big vibrar's taut head, using the elaborate drum-talk his ancestors had brought to these mountains centuries before. The mountainside resounded with the voice of the drum. About a minute later, another drum-around on the south face of Sky's End-took up the song, echoing and relaying it. Moments later another drum joined in, farther away, and then another, a growing chorus of deep, thrusting rhythms, a string of receding thunders relaying the message toward the north gate of Thorbardin, many miles away on the lower slopes of Cloudseeker Peak. Some minutes passed as the drums sang, then the Theiwar who was still watching the strangers through the seeing-tube said, "Those people out there have stopped. They must have heard the drums."

"What are they doing?" the Daewar asked.

"I can't tell. Something is going on in that lead unit, but I can't see what."

The Hylar sentinel continued his tattoo for a time, then lowered the drum and listened. From the south came a brief response, and he nodded. "Message received," he said. "Northgate is alerted."

He was heading into the shelter cave to put up his vibrar when the air rang again with distant thunder. He turned abruptly, listening. The sound was coming not from the south, not from Thorbardin, but from the west, and the message of it made his mouth drop open. "It's them!" he shouted, pointing. "The strangers-they are signaling with drums!"

For a moment, all six sentinels stared in wonder at the distant assemblage. It was incredible that strangers, coming from the western wilderness, should have such drums. It was even more incredible that they would know how to use them. Even among the thanes of Thorbardin, few dwarves other than the Hylar ever mastered the vibrar signal-song.

The sentinels stared across the miles, listening, then the Daewar turned to the Hylar. "Well, what do they say?"

"They speak to Thorbardin," the Hylar said slowly. "They say greetings from Hammerhand, to the chieftains and the Council of Thanes. They say Hammerhand comes to trade. They say Hammerhand will make camp below Northgate, and invites the trade wardens out to inspect his goods. He also says that he will meet with the Council of Thanes."

"Who is Hammerhand?" the Daewar puzzled. "I've never heard the name. Have you?"

None of them had. "Whoever he is, he's arrogant," a Theiwar said. "An outsider, requesting audience with the Council of Thanes!"

"He isn't requesting," the Hylar said, still listening to the drums, interpreting their song. "He doesn't ask for a meeting. He demands it."

Throughout that day, and all of the next, sentinels on Sky's End and sentries on Cloudseeker watched as the throng of strangers approached, moving at the leisurely pace of the pack beasts among them. By the end of the second day, they had cleared the final ridges, with Cloud-seeker's north slopes directly ahead of them. The encampment they made there, along an icy little stream, was no more than three miles from the stepped slopes where the big mountain began.

By then, hundreds of seeing-tubes were trained on them, from the sentinel posts and from the walled ledge at the top of the great ramps that led to Northgate. The great oval gate was open, its impregnable plug retracted into the shadows behind its steel sheath, and a growing crowd of dwarves was gathered on the ledge, watching the intruders.

The strange drums were silent now. The strangers went about their chores, making camp for the night, and seemed to pointedly ignore all those on the mountain ahead who were gaping at them. Several times, drummers had come out of Thorbardin to signal, asking the strangers to identify themselves, asking where they were from and what they had that they wanted to trade, asking who was this Hammerhand who demanded access to the Council of Thanes. But there had been no response. It was as though the strangers had said all they had to say and were not interested in answering questions.

About sundown, Hylar guards appeared on the ledge, using their shields to clear a path through the crowd there. Behind them, two dwarves stepped from the great open portal, and walked to the wall to look down. If anyone could be said to be "in charge" of Thorbardin in these troubled times, it was these two. Both were mature dwarves, in their middle years, and both were hardened by the burden they carried. Of all the various chieftains, wardens, bosses, and gang leaders who came and went throughout the vast, subterranean realm of the mountain dwarves, it had fallen to Dunbarth Ironthumb and Jeron Redleather to keep Thorbardin functioning despite the explosive feuds and myriad hostilities within.

Jeron Redleather, chieftain of Thane Daewar and senior member of the Council of Thanes, was a burly, bright-eyed dwarf. The elaborate gold inlays of his helmet and breastplate reflected the gold of his flowing hair and full beard, and both the exquisite faceted stone set in his helm, just above his bushy brows, and the rich blue of his flowing cloak reflected the color of his eyes. Ruddy cheeks and a round pug nose gave him the appearance of constant, secret laughter, and the rich gaudiness of his attire might have seemed to indicate a strutting vanity. Like most Daewar, Jeron Redleather enjoyed bright color and rich attire to the point of seeming-to dwarves of other thanes-pompous and a bit preposterous, but was actually nothing of the sort. Jeron Redleather could be jovial on occasion, and might strut a bit now and then, but those who knew him-friend and foe alike-were well aware he could be as tough and rigid as the very stone of Thorbardin.

His companion, Dunbarth Ironthumb, was every inch the Hylar chieftain, though he had refused for years to be chieftain of his thane. To be chieftain, he felt, would oblige him to take part in the various feuds that kept erupting in Thorbardin, and he had no interest in feuds. Of all the tribes, or thanes, only the Hylar had managed over the years to avoid the constant conflicts under the mountain, though even Harl Thnistweight, the last Hylar chieftain, had been hard pressed to remain aloof when all about him were at one another's throats.

Harl Thrustweight was a legendary name among the Hylar. He had maintained and enforced the "Hylar Peace" among the thanes until his untimely death in a mysterious rockfall near the Theiwar city of Theibardin. Although nothing was ever proven, it was suspected that the rockfall was no accident, and a band of Theiwar led by the schemer Than-Kar had left Thorbardin soon after, never to return.

Harl Thrustweight had been the last chieftain of the Hylar, because Dunbarth Ironthumb refused to take the job, and his stubborn people refused to choose someone else. Thus the Hylar now had no chieftain. Dunbarth Ironthumb did, though, represent Thane Hylar on the Council of Thanes. And with the passing of time he had become its strongest member in many ways.

Between them, with or without the support of the rest of the council, the Daewar and the Hylar exercised enough wisdom and influence to keep Thorbardin functioning as a realm, and to keep the still simmering grudges and feuds among the thanes from erupting into any further outright civil wars.

Dour and thoughtful, the Hylar's dark eyes, dark hair, and short, backswept beard gave him an air of aloofness which was as misleading as the Daewar's appearance of careless joviality. Attired in his usual muted colors- leather kilt, dark leather boots, gray-brown jerkin, and gray cloak, his body armor, shield, and helm almost devoid of ornamentation-Dunbarth Ironthumb might have appeared cold and remote, uncaring of the tumults and turmoils of the dwarven realm he so influenced. Those who knew him, though, knew better. Not in all of Thorbardin, most agreed, was there anyone more dedicated to the welfare and perpetuity of the undermountain realm than Dunbarth Ironthumb.

Now the two leaders, the Daewar and the Hylar, looked out across the valley below the slopes, puzzled and worried. They had never heard of a dwarf called Hammer-hand, nor of any such formidable array of dwarves as was now spread along the little stream.

The leader had been described to them by sentinels who said he looked to be of Hylar origin, but no one recognized him or knew his name. And now, with the horde encamped a few hours' march from the ramps of North-gate, he was nowhere in sight. None of the hundreds of watchers had seen him since the night before, when the strangers were still fifteen or more miles away.

"Any ideas?" Dunbarth asked now, shielding his eyes against the last rays of sunset.

"They say they come to trade," Jeron Redleather said. "And those carts and pack beasts seem to carry goods. I think we should-" He stopped abruptly, turning half around, then shrugged. "Odd," he muttered. "I thought someone brushed against me just then."

"You were saying?" Dunbarth reminded.

"Oh, yes." The Daewar turned again to the low wall. "I think we should send traders to meet them tomorrow. If they have goods to trade, why not welcome them?"

"But the rest of it? That demand for a meeting with the council?"

"Oh, we won't do that, of course," Jeron said. "And we certainly won't let any of them inside Thorbardin. Not until we know a good deal more about them at any rate."

"Then after the traders go out tomorrow, we'll close the gate and keep it closed," Dunbarth concluded.

They gave orders to the guards nearby, then walked back through Northgate, through the gatehouse with its huge screw and driving mechanisms, through the old delves of Gatekeep and out along the catwalk that led from one end of Anvil's Echo to the other. All around them, alert eyes watched from murder holes, but they had no concern. The eyes were those of Dunbarth's elite home guard. Across Anvil's Echo and a few steps into the great tunnel that was the northern road to the central cities of Thorbardin, Dunbarth Ironthumb stopped suddenly and turned. A dozen yards back, his guard company halted, weapons at the ready.

For a moment, the Hylar leader looked around, then resumed his walk, striding alongside Jeron Redleather,

"What's the matter?" the Daewar asked. "Why did you stop just then?"

"I don't know," Dunbarth said. "I had the feeling, for just a moment, that someone was following us. It seemed as though there was somebody walking right behind us."