The Swordsheath Scroll

10

Drums thundered at first dawn, and the dwarf called hammerhand strode up the west ramp of Northgate with his "ceremonial" escort-ten burly, battle-hardened veterans in red-and-gray draped armor, all carrying sturdy shields and good swords that bore the nicks and scratches of enthusiastic use, and all with axes slung at their shoulders. The twelfth member of the group was an old, one-armed dwarf in leathers and linens. A reed basket slung from his shoulder bulged with rolled scrolls, and dagger hilts were visible at his belted kilt, the tops of both his boots, and the collar of his gray cape.

With the others following closely, the scarlet-cloaked Hammerhand strode along the gateway's wide, walled ledge to the very center of the massive, steel-clad gate. The great plug, a solid wall of stone sheathed in time-darkened steel, was patterned all over its surface with the small dents, scratches, and tool marks of those who, over the centuries, had tried in vain to get through it. Like its twin on the south face of the mountain, many miles away, Northgate was a monument to the stubborn refusal of the mountain dwarves to be troubled by outsiders.

The one-armed old dwarf peered closely at the mute steel of the gate and pursed his lips, an expression that made his beard stand out before his face. "I haven't seen this gate in eighty years," he noted, "but it hasn't changed. Its face reads like a testament to the futility of invasion."

"More like a monument to the stone-headed stubbornness of those within," Hammerhand growled. Loosing his hammer-loop from a powerful shoulder, he paused, glancing at the eastern sky. "Has that dratted girl been found yet, Calan?"

"Not yet." The graybeard shook his head. "Nobody's seen her since yesterday, right after you came back from your scouting." He lowered his voice, stepping close. "You realize she saw you put away that invisibility cloak, don't you? She watches you every minute, if seems. It's a wonder you have any secrets from her at all."

"I'm not sure I do," Hammerhand growled. "Well, she's probably hiding somewhere, pouting. Maybe I should have been a bit gentler yesterday when I told her she couldn't come with us this morning."

"She certainly has a mind of her own," Calan agreed. As the younger dwarf had done before, he glanced at the eastern sky. Patterns of dawn light painted the distant clouds. The sun would be up soon. "It's full dawn," he noted. "Time to go calling."

Hammerhand nodded. Raising his hammer, he delivered a single, imperious blow to the time-darkened surface of the huge gate, then stepped back. Several seconds passed, then the gate grated in its frame and slid slowly inward, backing away from those waiting on the ledge. It cleared several feet of steel framing, then receded a few inches farther and stopped. From both sides, eyes peered through the crack. A suspicious voice called, "Identify yourself!"

Without looking aside, the red-cloak stepped forward and struck the stopped gate another ringing blow. "I'm Hammerhand!" he stated, his voice deep, commanding, and loud enough to be heard by anyone in the gatehouse beyond. "I come to meet with the Council of Thanes. Open up!"

"How do we know you're him?" the same voice queried, sounding argumentative.

The old, one-armed dwarf stepped up beside Hammer-hand to growl, "Open this gate or we'll make a new gate of our own! We're coming in."

From the crack at the other side of the gate, another voice-a voice of authority-commanded, "Open the berusted gate, you imbeciles! We've got our orders, and that's the one we're supposed to let in."

"The rest of 'em, too?" the first voice asked suspiciously.

"Stop arguing and open the gate! It's all right!"

There was muttering from the cracks, then the huge gate began moving again, receding into its shadowed gatehouse. The dwarves on the ledge waited in stony silence until it was fully open, withdrawn twenty feet into its housing. Then the one with the scarlet cloak put away his hammer, growled an ironic 'Thank you," and stepped forward, followed by his escorts.

Within the gatehouse, they filed around the massive gate, some of them pausing momentarily to gape at the sheer size of the steel-sheathed stone plug and the huge, milled auger behind it. But the one called Hammerhand and the old one-arm barely glanced at the huge mechanics of the gatehouse and strode on, while the rest hurried to follow. Gatekeepers and surly-looking guards stepped back as they passed, and a gold-bearded young Daewar with the insignia of a Home Guards officer fell into step beside Hammerhand. "I'm Luster," he said amiably. "Luster Redleather. I'll show you the way to the Great Hall."

"I know the way," Hammerhand rasped, then eased his tone slightly as he glanced at the Daewar. "Luster Red-leather? Are you Jeron Redleather's son?"

"You know my father?" The Daewar brightened.

"They call me Hammerhand," the red-cloak said, ignoring the question. Indicating the old dwarf with the reed basket, he added, "This is Calan Silvertoe."

Luster nodded at Calan and glanced around at the ten heavily armed warriors flanking and following them. "And these?"

"The Ten," Hammerhand said. "The one with the crested helm is Tap Tolec. He's First of the Ten. Are you the only escort they sent? One alone, to keep all of us out of mischief?"

"Hardly." Luster chuckled. "I have a full hundred waiting just beyond Anvil's Echo. For your protection, of course. We have a long walk ahead, and the ways can be, ah… hazardous at times. My father wouldn't want anything to happen to you… at least until he satisfies his curiosity about you."

"What's he curious about?"

"Just about everything," the Daewar said. "Who you are, where you came from, what your purposes are."

"He knows that," Hammerhand rasped. "We came to trade goods for steel."

"Of course." The young Daewar nodded. "Steel armor, steel weapons…"

"The best smelters and forges in the world are in Thor-bardin," the red-cloak said. "Where else would we go?"

"But after you have your, ah… steel goods," Luster pressed, "what then? You must have a specific use in mind for all those weapons."

"And curiosity must run in your family," Hammerhand noted.

They passed between long rows of closed passages, lining both sides of the big, sky-lighted tunnel. Broad delv-ings beyond had once been a construction camp for Northgate and were now used as warehouses. Abruptly the tunnel opened out in all directions, and the path became a suspended bridge-a catwalk leading from end to end of a great cavern lined above and on both sides with small, dark openings.

Neither Hammerhand nor Calan Silvertoe more than glanced at the murderous ports and the vertiginous path as they strode out into the opening, but Luster heard whispers among the ten who followed: "So this is Anvil's Echo. I've heard about it." "I guess you have to see this to really believe it." "Look at those murder-holes! Do you suppose we're being watched from those things?"

On impulse, Luster said, over his shoulder, "There are probably a hundred watchers at those ports right now, maybe more. But don't worry. They're all Dunbarth Iron-thumb's people. Nobody gets into the defense lairs without his approval."

"It's a shame the rest of Thorbardin doesn't have the discipline of its defenses," Hammerhand muttered.

"The Hylar would agree with you on that score." Luster grinned. "You look like a Hylar, yourself. Are you?"

"I'm Hammerhand," the red-cloak rumbled. "Thaf s all I am, at least for now."

Unabashed, the young Daewar said, "Chane Lowen says you look like Colin Stonetooth."

"He probably does," Calan Silvertoe rasped, then went silent at a glance from his leader.

The catwalk ended, the sun-tunnel-lighted way began again, and the party marched between the waiting ranks of a hundred dwarven soldiers, standing at attention. As they passed, the guards fell in around and behind them, ringing them closely. With a suspicious glare at the soldiers, Tap Tolec muttered orders, and the Ten closed ranks around their leader and the two walking with him. Their frowns made it clear to the guards that they were to keep their distance from Hammerhand. Responding to their glares, some of the Thorbardin guards pressed closer, tauntingly. Then one of them yelped and backed off, stooping to rub his ankle.

"What happened?" one of his companions asked.

"One of these outsiders kicked me on the shin," the injured one snapped.

Hammerhand swung around, stopping the procession. He glanced at Tap Tolec, then from face to face of his other nine bodyguards. All of them shook their heads. "Nobody kicked your soldier," Hammerhand told Luster. "If any of them had, he'd be more than just bruised." Imperiously, he turned again and strode on, the double ring of escorts reforming around him.

Luster Redleather's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Your people look after you," he noted.

Hammerhand didn't respond, but Calan Silvertoe said, 'The Ten are the chosen of the Chosen Ones. Your soldiers would be well advised to treat them with respect."

"My soldiers-a hundred of Thorbardin's best?" Luster asked, grinning.

"If they're your best, then you don't want to lose them," Hammerhand said quietly. "If they crowd my people, what happens to them is their fault. The Ten don't like being crowded."

With a wave of his hand, Luster Redleather signaled his hundred, who eased away from the compact group of warriors, giving them respect and a bit more room. From somewhere on the left flank came an angry whisper: "One of them did kick me! I don't know who, but somebody did."

After a half-hour's walk, the big tunnel they were following-called the Second Road-bent sharply to the left, and carved runes in the stone wall said that Theibardin- first of the Theiwar cities-lay ahead. The Thorbardin guards had now formed a complete circle around the visitors, and marched with eyes alert and shields high. A hundred yards past the turn, several dozen shadowy figures suddenly darted from a side-delve, shouting a babble of taunts and insults. Several of them hurled stones at the approaching company. The leading Thorbardin guards deflected the stones casually with their shields and drew hand weapons. With more taunts and insults, the mob of attackers turned and ran, disappearing around a bend in the distance.

"Somebody doesn't like us here," Calan Silvertoe drawled.

"It isn't you," Luster Redleather assured his guests. "It's us. A lot of people here don't like the Home Guards. We've doubled the patrols since the last riots and spoiled a lot of people's fun."

"This is a riot zone?" Calan asked.

"Sometimes I think all of Thorbardin is a riot zone," Luster told him sadly. "Every city in the cavern has had trouble of one kind or another during the past few decades… except maybe the Hylar city. The Hylar don't usually get involved in the feuds. But everywhere else, there's always somebody ready to lead a gang against somebody else."

"What do they fight about?" one of the Ten asked.

"Anything and everything." Luster shrugged. "Who knows? My father says the darkest quality of dwarven nature is that we never forget a slight or forgive a grudge. And, of course, in Thorbardin we've had a lot of generations to accumulate grudges."

"And nothing better to do than feud?" Calan asked.

"For some among us, no. There isn't enough real work to keep everybody busy."

"There should be," Hammerhand muttered. "There would be, if Thorbardin hadn't forgotten why it's here."

Luster glanced at him, curious about the smoldering anger in the stranger's voice, an anger that seemed to deepen with every step into the cavern realm. "What does that mean?"

"That's what I came to talk to the council about," the red-cloak said, his brow furrowed and stormy beneath his polished helm.

The delves of Theibardin spread around them then, and they turned at a wide road that led to the central cavern of Thorbardin. Everywhere, dwarves by the hundreds turned out to watch them pass. Most of the dwarves here were Theiwar, identifiable by their smoke-brown hair and beards, and the wide shoulders and long arms that were characteristic of their clan. But many among them were obviously of mixed blood, with features that came from Daewar, Daergar, Hylar, or Klar lineage.

Generations of intermarriage among the thanes had in many ways strengthened the dwarves of Thorbardin. But it also had started its share of feuds.

Most of the people they passed seemed to harbor no hostility, only curiosity. But here and there they heard taunts and catcalls, and a few stones clanged off the shields of the Home Guards. Then a fist-sized stone from aside and above flew over the raised shield of a guard, straight at Hammerhand.

As casually as the Thorbardin guards had, he deflected the stone with his shield. But even as the missile clattered away, he sensed furious movement directly behind him and heard the unmistakable hum of a sling. He spun around in time to see a small hand dart out of the group, expertly unleashing a woven sling. Its stone whistled through the air, entered a shadowed, open second-level doorway, and a distinct thud was heard. A second later a dwarf staggered into sight there, clung to the doorway for an instant, blood flowing down his face, then toppled forward and fell to the pavement below.

With an oath, Hammerhand lunged and grabbed the small hand with the sling. The hand seemed to be connected to nothing, but as he grabbed it a pretty face appeared, turning toward him.

Swearing beneath his breath, Hammerhand gripped empty-seeming air beside the face and pulled away the emptiness. All around, Thorbardin guards gasped as a complete person was revealed-a startlingly pretty dwarf girl, who returned the red-cloak's angry glare with stubborn eyes and a set, determined chin. "You see?" she snapped at him. "It's a good thing I came along. That person tried to stone you."

Nearby, one of the guards knelt beside the fallen dwarf, then stood and shrugged. "He's dead," he called. "His head's cracked open."

"Well, well, well," Luster Redleather declared with open admiration, staring at the girl who was still glaring at Hammerhand. "And who have we here?"

"Her name is Helta Graywood," Hammerhand growled. "Among other things, she is a nuisance."

Tearing his fascinated eyes from the girl, Luster peered at the red-cloak's dangling hand. It seemed to contain nothing, but some of the fingers had disappeared. "Magic!" the Daewar muttered. "What is it? A cloak of some kind?"

"An elf made it," Calan Silvertoe admitted.

"I see," Luster said, his blue eyes alight. "Ah, yes. That accounts for the rumors from the other night. We were reconnoitered, it seems. And by Hammerhand himself."

"I've been away from Thorbardin for years," Hammerhand replied. "I decided to have a look around, privately."

"You've been away-" Luster started, then grinned and planted his fists on his hips. "My father is right, then. You are Derkin Winterseed!"

"I was," Hammerhand admitted. "But my people gave me a new name."

"Derkin Hammerhand," Luster said. "If s a good name. But why all the mystery? As Harl Thrustweight's son, you could just have walked in openly. You're a citizen."

"I don't care to be a citizen of Thorbardin," Derkin rasped.

"Why not?"

"That's what I will speak to the council about. If we can proceed to the council hall without further interruption."

"The dead Theiwar is one of the local troublemakers," one of the Home Guards reported. "If she hadn't brained him, someone else would have, sooner or later."

"Then there are no claims or challenges?" Luster asked.

The guard shook his head. "None stated."

"In that case, lef s get going." Luster swept his arm in a courtly gesture, bowing slightly to Helta Graywood. "The rest of the walk will be far more pleasant, with such attractive-such visibly attractive-company."

A bright smile lit the girl's face. "Thank you," she said, curtsying. Then the smile was replaced by a frown as Derkiii Hammerhand strode away.