The Swordsheath Scroll

11

The Great hall of Audience of Thorbardin, located in the southern reaches of the fortress complex, was packed to capacity when Derkin Hammerhand arrived there. Word had spread quickly of the impending meeting of the Council of Thanes-a meeting demanded by the strangers from the wilderness-and it looked as though half the dwarves in Thorbardin had decided to attend. Tens of thousands of people packed the rising tiers of cut stone seats that ringed the big, circular cavern, and it sounded as though they were all talking at once. The echoes of their voices could be heard a quarter-mile away in the wide concourse of the Ninth Road tunnel.

But when Luster Redleather and his Home Guards escorted their charges into the great chamber, the place went almost silent.

Only a few in Thorbardin had actually gone to North-gate to see the army of strangers now camped in the meadows beyond, but everybody had heard about them- about the music of their drums, the goods they brought to trade, and about the mysterious leader of the outsiders who resembled an ancient Hylar chieftain and wore the armor of a long-ago time. Speculation was rampant as to whether the strangers beyond Northgate were here just to trade, or also to invade.

Now the one called Hammerhand was here, in Thorbardin, and most of the dwarves in the undermountain realm waited curiously to hear what he had to say.

Runners had preceded them into the Great Hall, and Derkin Hammerhand assumed that those waiting-at least the thane leaders and officials gathered on the raised dais in the center of the cavern-now knew everything that Luster Redleather knew about him, including his full name. The suspicion was confirmed by whispers that reached his ears as he led his group down a sloping aisle, between packed rows of waiting dwarves. "Derkin," someone whispered. "He is Derkin, the son of Harl Thrustweight."

Followed by Helta Graywood and Calan Silvertoe, and flanked by the Ten, Derkin strode to the dais and stepped up on it, then scanned the crowd waiting there with thoughtful eyes. Vaguely, he recalled Dunbarth Iron-thumb of the Hylar, who had once been Captain of Guards under old Harl. The rest he had never seen, but he knew who they were. The shrewd-eyed, middle-aged Daewar with the trade wardens behind him obviously was Jeron Redleather. The suspicious-looking old Theiwar scowling at him from his council seat would be Swing Basto. Crag Shade-eye of the Daergar removed his face mask as a courtesy, letting the stranger see his features, then donned it again, squinting in the light of the chamber's overhead sun-tunnel and reflectors.

The bushy, unruly hair and beard of the next chief identified him as Klar, the chieftain Trom Thule. The sixth and seventh seats were vacant. Nobody knew where to find the bumbling little Grimble I, Highbulp of Thane Aghar, and many years had passed since any Neidar had met with the council.

Derkin studied them one by one, then nodded and stepped to the center of the dais. "I am called Hammer-hand," he told them. "My people call themselves the Chosen Ones."

Jeron Redleather bowed slightly, welcoming the newcomer, then glanced at those with him. He had already heard-from his son's guards-of the beauty of the dwarf girl with Hammerhand, but his eyes widened when he looked at the old one-arm with the reed basket. "I know you," he said. "You are Calan. You left Thorbardin long ago, some said to live among elves."

"Your memory is excellent, Sire." Calan Silvertoe grinned. "That was at least eighty years ago."

"And now you return, with another who preferred outside ways to our own." Jeron shifted his gaze back to the red-cloaked warrior. "My son tells me that you are indeed Derkin Winterseed, the son of a Hylar chieftain."

"I am called Derkin Hammerhand now," Derkin said. "The name pleases me. My people chose it."

"And who are your people?" Dunbarth Ironthumb asked. "Where do they come from?"

"They call themselves the Chosen Ones," Derkin repeated.

Frowning, Swing Basto rumbled, "Chosen ones? Who chose them?"

"I did," Derkin said. "And as to where we are from, we are from Kal-Thax."

"Kal-Thax is here," the Klar chieftain pointed out. "Kal-Thax is our land."

"It used to be," Derkin said. "Until Thorbardin abandoned it. Most of my people have been Neidar. Many of them come now from the same cells and slave pens as I come from-slave quarters owned by the human invaders that you people have not troubled yourselves to drive away."

Angry voices were raised in the vast audience, and others joined them. The babble became a roar that died slowly as Jeron Redleather raised a commanding hand. All over the great chamber, companies of Home Guards spread and positioned themselves, ready to enforce order if necessary.

"This person is our guest!" the Daewar chieftain announced, his voice carrying through the Great Hall. "As he is our guest at this assembly of the thanes, it is our right to question him, but it is also his right to speak freely and be heard."

"So question him!" a voice called from somewhere in the crowd. "Why is he here? What does he want?"

"Those are fair questions," Jeron conceded, nodding at Derkin.

"We are here for two reasons," Derkin continued. 'The first is to trade. Your traders," he indicated the trade wardens standing behind Jeron, "have inspected our goods and heard what we want in exchange."

"Mostly steel implements," Jeron said.

"Implements?" Derkin raised an eyebrow, his eyes piercing the Daewar chieftain. "Call them what they are. We want weapons. Good weapons crafted from good dwarven steel."

"Weapons, then," Jeron conceded.

"Provided you have the steel to make them," Derkin added. "I saw no smelter glows at the Shaft of Reorx."

"We have steel," Dunbarth Ironthumb growled. "We have excellent stockpiles of steel."

"Good for you," Derkin drawled ironically. "Then we will make trade?"

"What do you want the weapons for?" Swing Basto demanded.

"To wage war against the human legions who have invaded our land."

A murmur spread through the crowd.

"You said you came for two reasons," Dunbarth said. "What is the second?"

Derkin planted his fists on his hips. "I also want Thorbardin troops to help me in my war."

The murmuring doubled in volume. There were scattered shouts and cheers.

"Why should we help you?" Swing Basto growled. "Your war is not our concern."

"The land I intend to retake is the land of the dwarves." Derkin glared at the Theiwar. "It is the land of Kal-Thax."

"It is outside!" Swing snapped. "Our concern is Thorbardin. Let those outside do their own fighting."

"Klar don't have time to go off to war," Trom Thule said. "Plenty to do right here."

"If we were to send troops," Dunbarth Ironthumb asked, "who would lead them?"

"I will lead," Derkin told him. "My people and I. We know the land, and we know the enemy. We will conduct j the war against the human Lord Kane. I ask you to join us I in this cause."

Jeron Redleather stood. 'Those are your requests, then? That we trade you weapons, and that we send an army to join you?"

Derkin nodded. "Those are my requests."

The voices in the crowd had died down. All were silent, waiting for the council's answer.

"Then the council will deliberate the matter. Do you intend to stay and listen? Derkin Winterseed and Calan Silvertoe have the right, as citizens, to observe council action."

"But not the rest of these who are with me." Derkin shook his head. "No, I will wait with them in the concourse. We will return to hear your decisions." Turning, he strode from the dais, followed closely by Helta Gray-wood and the Ten. Calan Silvertoe walked to the nearest audience row and sat down, bustling several dwarves aside to make room for himself. "I'll stay," he muttered. "It's been eighty years since I last heard thane leaders bicker."

Derkin and his party left the hall through wide plank doors. Luster Redleather and about half of his company followed them out, and the doors closed behind them.

"I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight," the young Daewar told Derkin.

"How do you think it will go?" Derkin asked.

Luster shrugged. "Who knows? My father might favor your proposal, and maybe Dunbarth Ironthumb. They both regret the way Thorbardin has gone. But the others? Who knows?"

Hours had passed, and the sun-tunnels were dimming when the Great Hall's doors opened again and a guard signaled. Followed by Helta and the Ten, Derkin walked again to the dais. As he passed Calan Silvertoe, the old dwarf frowned and shook his head. "These idiots haven't changed a bit," he whispered.

The conclusions of the Council of Thanes, read to Derkin by Jeron Redleather in a level voice that told few details of what had occurred in the privacy of the packed hall, confirmed Calan's whisper. Thorbardin would produce the weapons and armaments demanded by Hammerhand and would trade them for the goods offered by the Chosen Ones. But Thorbardin would raise no army and would not join in Hammerhand's war.

Aside, Dunbarth Ironthumb whispered, "I'm sorry, Derkin. The vote was three to two."

From beyond the dais, Calan Silvertoe's old voice rasped, "Can you guess what argument carried the decision, Derkin? It was that, if Thorbardin sent an army outside, there wouldn't be enough reliable guards left inside to keep the peace."

"To keep the peace?" Derkin muttered. Then, to the chieftains, "You have made your decisions. We of Kal-Thax are on our own. You will trade us weapons, but you will not help us fight. You, Jeron Redleather, said earlier that I have the right to speak. Have I that right still?"

"This council is still in session." The Dae war nodded.

"Very well." Derkin turned, addressing the entire assembly, his voice cold and clear.

"Your ancestors once put aside their grudges and their feuds," he said slowly, "to form a nation in these mountains. Now there is no nation here. Even within this fortress, where you all breathe the same air, drink the same water, eat from the same fields and stores, and hide behind the same gates, there is no real nation. You tell yourselves that Thorbardin lives! Because the vents still bring you fresh winds, and the water troughs still flow, and the warrens still yield food, you tell yourselves that all is well.

"I say Thorbardin does not live! I say Thorbardin is asleep, and if it does not awaken soon, it will truly die!"

A rumble of voices erupted in the crowd, and Derkin turned to glare at the rows of dwarves, his eyes as dark as storm clouds. Gradually, the clamor subsided.

"Once the gates of Thorbardin were funnels of life," Derkin growled, his deep voice filling the great chamber. "Once Southgate thronged with the traffic of the mines- ores coming in from the Daergar mines around the Thunder Peaks and from Theiwar digs all over the Promontory. Once there were Thorbardin patrols and scouts roaming as far as Sheercliff and the Anviltops, seeking rich new areas to mine. Once Northgate stood open every day, and Neidar from all of Kal-Thax came there to trade the produce of the forests and the fields for the produce of Thor-bardin's mighty forges. Now the gates stand closed except by decree, and Thorbardin is an elaborate prison.

"Once the Shaft of Reorx fed smelters that operated night and day, fed by the ores from Daergar shafts and Theiwar veins. Now the smelters are silent, and the forges are still.

"Once the people of all the thanes labored side by side to give themselves a home like no other home on this world and to forge a mighty destiny for themselves. Now Thorbardin is not a home, but just an arena for petty bickering and useless feuds. And that great destiny forged by your ancestors is as forgotten as the reason it was forged."

"What great destiny?" a dwarf in the audience shouted sarcastically, then went silent as Derkin's eyes fixed on him.

"The Covenant of the Thanes," Hammerhand said. 'That great covenant made long ago to preserve the dwar-ven lands. That is what has been forgotten! The Covenant has not been repealed. It has simply been ignored! Your ancestors fought to defend Kal-Thax against human invasion and built Thorbardin for that purpose. But you have turned your backs on Kal-Thax! Where were Thorbardin's mighty armies when humans marched across Kal-Thax and looted Neidar villages? Where was Thorbardin when the Emperor of Ergoth sent his slavers through Tharkas to capture dwarven slaves for his mines? And where is Thorbardin now, when Lord Sakar Kane and his regiments occupy the passes south of Tharkas and develop more mines there-mines stolen from dwarven people-to feed the human emperor's wars in the east?

"Thorbardin was created for one purpose-so that Kal-Thax would always be protected against invasion. Thorbardin was to be the sinew and the beating heart of a nation! The dwarven nation of Kal-Thax!

"But Thorbardin has withdrawn into itself, and Kal-Thax lies invaded, conquered, and occupied! And when I come here seeking Thorbardin's assistance-so that I can do the task that is Thorbardin's task-what do I find? Do I find armies ready to march, to defend the land of the dwarves? No, I find only Home Guard companies, marching between closed gates to keep down riots and hold troublemakers at bay. Do I find the hard-working, stubborn people who built this great fortress and made it powerful and rich? No, I find sullen, sniveling crowds with nothing better to do than vandalize their neighbors and throw rocks at one another in the streets."

Here and there in the Great Hall, clamors of outrage erupted, but were quickly stilled by the guards.

When he could be heard again, Derkin continued, "When I left Thorbardin years ago, when I chose the life outside over the life within, it was not because I preferred Neidar ways. I was a person of the hammer, not of the axe. But I was sick of watching my home-the home of my father and of his father and their fathers before them-turn from steel to rust. I was ashamed. I was sick with shame!

"And now I return, and I am still ashamed! Jeron Red-leather has called me a citizen. By right of birth, I am a citizen. Hybardin, the Life Tree of the Hylar, was my cradle, and Thorbardin was my home.

"But no more! When I leave Thorbardin this time, I leave my citizenship behind. I renounce it. Prepare the weapons you have agreed to trade and submit them to Calan Silvertoe. He will remain here until the weapons are ready to his satisfaction. When they are, you will send them-and him-to my camp below Northgate. We will trade, and when the trading is done my people and I will leave. We will go from here to Tharkas, and we will make war on behalf of Kal-Thax. Reorx willing, we will find a way to drive Lord Kane from Kal-Thax once and for all."

Again voices rang in the Great Hall, shouts and questions mingling with comments of grudging agreement, and again the guards restored order while Derkin waited.

"We will win, or we will die," the red-cloak said when the hall was quiet again. "But if we succeed, then Kal-Thax is ours! It hasn't been yours for a long time. Thorbardin abandoned it, so you will have no claim to it."

He paused thoughtfully for a moment, then continued, "It may be that, when the goods we brought have been used up, you of Thorbardin will want to trade again. But next time, the Chosen Ones will not come to you. You will have to come to us. Somewhere west of here, in the wilderness, we will build a new town-a place of trade. Its name will be Barter, and your traders-anyone's traders-will be welcome there, far away from Thorbardin. This is Hammerhand's gift to you. It will do some of you people good, to have to go outside to get what you want."

Softly, behind him, he heard hands clapping. He turned. Jeron Redleather and Dunbarth Ironthumb both were standing, applauding his words and ignoring the glares of the other thane leaders.

With a curt nod, Derkin Hammerhand stepped down and headed for the door. Beside him, Helta Graywood's lovely eyes glowed with a fierce fire.

In the concourse, Luster Redleather halted them, waiting for his company to reform. "You certainly make your opinions known." He chuckled, grinning at Derkin. "I think I'll miss you when you've gone. But I guess you won't be coming back, huh?"

"I don't know," Derkin said thoughtfully. "I might."

"But you said you were renouncing your citizenship in Thorbardin!"

"If I come back to Thorbardin," Hammerhand said slowly, "it won't be as a citizen."

Beaming with fierce pride, Helta Graywood stepped up beside Derkin and took his hand in hers. "Me, too," she said.

Far to the north of Thorbardin, long lines of human soldiers moved eastward along a winding mountain road. Above them, on the right, stood the impassable, snowcapped heights of the Skywall Range. Below and distant on the left were the vast, misty forests, and ahead lay the stronghold of Klanath, at the mouth of Tharkas Pass.

The snows of winter were gone now on the lower slopes, and the emperor's forces were on the move. The eastern expansion campaign, which many had begun to call Ullves's War, would soon be entering its fourth year, and the emperor's "boy general," Giarna, had been in the field for three years. In that time, the war of conquest had grown and spread. Strong elven forces from Silvanesti, led by the elf prince Kith-Kanan and the Wildrunners, had moved out onto the plains of eastern Ergoth to counter the humans' assaults. And increasingly strong units of elves — often reinforced by human nomads from the plains- ranged as far as the forests northwest of Kal-Thax, to harass the humans moving eastward from Daltigoth and Caergoth.

What had once been foreseen as a quick, simple campaign to extend the empire of Quivalin Soth V-or Ullves — entirely across southern Ansalon, now had become protracted war as the human invaders met stubborn resistance far beyond their anticipation. Not only had the elves proved to be masters of strategy and tactic, and truly formidable fighters, but they were increasingly reinforced by the free tribes of humans on the central plains. Under theleadership of the fierce, implacable Cobar tribes, hordes of nomadic Sackmen and Baruk warriors, stealthy Phaerots, and men of a dozen other tribes had joined forces to counter the empire's aims.

Often, in recent seasons, empire units had found themselves fighting desperately against consolidated armies of humans and elves, all with one common goal: to keep their people and their lands free of the yoke of the empire.

But still the armies came, marching out of Daltigoth, reinforced at Caergoth, and provisioned at Klanath as they streamed eastward, season after season, to fight and die at the pleasure of the Emperor Quivalin Soth V.

And though the emperor's commanding general, Giarna, led each campaign, there was often another with him-the dark, enigmatic man known only as Dreyus. It was whispered that where Dreyus went, no enemies survived the battles.

Each winter brought a lessening of hostilities, simply because travel was difficult in the cold season. But now it was spring again, and the armies of the empire were again on the march. By regiment and brigade, by company and platoon, the empire's units advanceed eastward, toward the lesser ranges and the plains beyond, to press again for conquest.

A key to the assault strategy was the fortress of Lord Kane at Klanath. Located at the mouth of Tharkas Pass, the fortress not only stockpiled supplies and provisions for the final marches into the plains, it also provided a safe zone, a midway place where travel-weary soldiers could rest and regain their strength for the assaults ahead. Lord Kane's forces held a wide perimeter here, with regular patrols along the fringes of the enchanted forest where elven rangers and guerrilla units lurked, and into the mountains south of Tharkas, to guard against any attack from that side.

For a time, after the slave revolt at Klanath Mines, dwarven raiding parties had harassed and tormented the empire's armies and supply trains. In a span of months, there had been hundreds of scattered attacks, always sudden, always unexpected, and almost always successful. Small, deadly parties of armed dwarves had seemed to come out of nowhere, slashing and killing, looting and pillaging, then vanished as quickly as they had come.

The horses, weapons, supplies, and equipment they had taken in these raids would have outfitted and fed a sizable army.

But then the raids had stopped. For almost two years now, Lord Kane's scouts and patrols had not seen so much as a single dwarf. It seemed as though the dwarves had tired of their raids and withdrawn completely from this part of Ansalon. Many of Lord Kane's advisors assumed that the wild dwarves had retreated into the vast mountain wilderness of the distant Anviltop Range, far south and west of Tharkas. Others suspected that they had withdrawn southward, to that mysterious and impregnable subterranean fortress that they called Thor-bardin. A few even suggested that the dwarven raiders had migrated into the frozen lands.

But wherever they had gone, they had disappeared. And though the human patrols still had to range far into the mountains of old Kal-Thax, the lord's task of holding Klanath was easier now that they no longer had to deal with the short, fierce people whose mountains these had once been.