The Swordsheath Scroll

21

For long moments tbe two forces-tbe Chosen Ones and the emperor's army-simply stared at one another. Then trumpets sounded, and a small group of human horsemen separated from the massed line below the peak. Carrying a banner on a tall staff, they rode forward at a walk until they were halfway across the space between their regiment and the nearest company of dwarves. There they stopped and sat waiting.

Derkin Lawgiver studied them for a moment, then turned to Tap Tolec. "My horse," he said.

Mounted, and flanked by the Ten on their own mounts, Derkin pranced his horse through his line, and rode out to where the humans waited. When he came near, the man in the lead raised his visor and held up one hand. "Are you the leader of these dwarves?" he demanded.

"So they tell me," Derkin responded. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"My name is Coffell," the man intoned. "Sergeant-Major in the service of His Imperial Majesty's mounted lancers. On behalf of His Imperial Majesty, I offer you the clemency of the empire, provided all your people lay down their arms and surrender immediately."

"What does this clemency amount to?" Derkin asked.

The man raised his head slightly, sneering. "If you surrender without a fight, you will not be killed," he said. "Instead, it shall be your privilege to serve His Imperial Majesty in appropriate labors."

"You mean as slaves." Derkin returned the sneer. "Most of us have already tried that. We didn't like it. Did Sakar Kane send you people? Is he with you?"

For a moment the man hesitated, then he leaned aside to whisper to the man beside him. This second rider wheeled his horse and trotted back to his own line. Watching carefully, Derkin saw him approach a large, dark-cloaked man on a powerful-looking black horse. A moment later, the messenger raced back, to whisper something to Coffell.

The sergeant-major turned to Derkin again. "I am empowered to tell you that the man called Sakar Kane is no longer in either the service or the good graces of His Imperial Majesty," he said. "He has disappeared."

'Then who is in charge here?" Derkin demanded.

"You may deliver your decision to me," Coffell said. "Will you lay down your arms?"

"I don't want to talk to you." The dwarf glared at him. Then he pointed. "I want to talk to him."

Coffell turned, saw where Derkin was pointing, and frowned. "You are in no position to be arrogant," he chided.

Derkin signaled casually, and the Ten pulled crossbows from their saddle hooks. Efficiently and in unison, they drew the bows, set bolts in them, and raised them. "And you, human, are in no position to return alive to your friends," Derkin rumbled. "Now quit arguing. I want to talk to the man in charge."

Pale and angry, the sergeant-major whispered again, and again the messenger headed back to his own lines, this time at a gallop. After a moment, the dark-cloaked man stepped his horse forward and followed the messenger out to the conference. Ignoring the drawn crossbows, the newcomer gazed at Derkin with eyes that held a palpable force-eyes that resembled small, dark mirrors in a strong, brutal face. "I am Dreyus," he said. "And you must be the dwarf they call Derkin. All through the winter, wanderers have arrived in Daltigoth to tell of your attack on Klanath. They said you burned the city. Now I see that you've done much more than that. You've been busy little people, haven't you?"

"What do you want here?" Derkin asked.

"I am on the emperor's business, and this is the emperor's road," Dreyus purred. "What I want is for everything to be put in order, as I will direct. You can begin as soon as you have surrendered. You may do that

now.

"I'll see you roast on coals first," Derkin explained.

"Ah," Dreyus hissed. "You are as they have said. Very well, you won't see me at all. Or anything else." He pointed a finger at the dwarf and muttered something in a language that was no language.

Remembering something he had found in an old Hylar scroll, Damon ducked his head and closed his eyes. The blinding light that leapt from the man's finger was like silent lightning. But instead of striking Derkin's eyes, it struck his mirror-bright helmet and rebounded. Coffell screeched and clapped his hands to his eyes, then fell over backward as his horse reared, neighing wildly. In an instant, blinded men and blinded horses were bouncing, pitching, falling, and staggering off in various directions. Of all the humans in the little group, only Dreyus still sat his saddle, ignoring the pandemonium.

"Don't do that again," Derkin suggested. "Next time, these people with me will make a porcupine of you."

"I assume you do not surrender?" Dreyus growled.

"Of course not," Derkin said. "We are free dwarves, and we will remain free or die. Furthermore, Klanath will not be put back, as you put it. It is too near Kal-Thax. We don't want human settlements this close. Also, this is not the 'emperor's road,' because there is no road here. If you and your emperor want to keep pestering those people east of here, you'll have to find another path. This one is closed."

"Closed?" Dreyus sneered. "You dwarves can't keep us from using Redrock Cleft."

"We don't have to." Derkin grinned. "There is no Red-rock Cleft. My delvers caved it in a month ago. You might climb through it afoot, but you'll never get a horse across it."

The big man's eyes seemed to blaze, and his face went dark with fury. "You've lost your chance to live," he hissed.

"By the way," Derkin asked casually, "can you tell me where Sakar Kane is? I still have business with him. If there is one thing we won't stand for, it's a liar."

Dreyus glared at the dwarf. "You're insane," he said. Without a further word, he reined the black horse around and trotted away.

"Why don't we put a few bolts in him?" Tap asked. "He's still in range."

Derkin shook his head. "He hasn't attacked us, yet," the Lawgiver said. Unmoving, he watched as the big man returned to his troops. A moment later, a pair of riders withdrew from the line there and headed eastward at a gallop. "He doesn't believe me about Redrock Cleft," Derkin said. He turned his horse and headed back to his own lines. "Maybe when he finds out that it really is closed, he'll just turn around and go away."

"If he doesn't, we're likely all going to die here," Talon Oakbeard pointed out. "Those soldiers are all around us. We have no fortifications, and we're outnumbered two to one."

"Maybe we will die, then," Derkin agreed. With sad, angry eyes he scanned his encampment. Two hundred yards across in all directions, the barren center of what had once been Klanath was a tapestry of dwarven ranks, deployed for defense. All around the encampment was a solid ring of sturdy, armored forms. A pair of javelins stood above each dwarf, and a shield at each shoulder. On every second back was a slung crossbow, and those without crossbows had webbed slings. And each dwarf had a sword, axe, or hammer.

Within the circle, grim assault companies waited-hundreds of mounted, armed dwarves and many more hundreds of footmen. Even here, surrounded on a barren, open plain, without fortification except for the shrunken skeleton of the old palace where some of the women tended the infirm, Derkin's army was formidable. "They may kill us," the Lawgiver agreed, "but it will cost them dearly if they do."

It was midday when spotters on the palace ruins saw Dreyus's scouts returning from the east. Drums sang, and Derkin gathered his group commanders around him for a final time. "The human knows now," he said. "He has confirmed that Redrock Cleft is no longer passable. Now he will either leave or attack." He turned to the only human in his camp, Tulien Gart. "Which do you think he will do?"

Tulien Gart shook his head. "Any ordinary officer would leave," he said. "Oh, he might bluster around a bit, maybe curse you and send a few arrows your way, but he would see the futility of an all-out battle here, even a victorious one. He would withdraw and go in search of another route eastward. But that is no ordinary officer out there, Derkin. That is Dreyus. Dreyus does not like to be thwarted."

"You are free to leave," Derkin told the human. "They would pass you through their lines."

"No, they wouldn't," Gart said bleakly. "Dreyus would know that I have been here by my own choice. And he would know where you learned the field tactics of empire soldiers. If I must die, I'd rather it be here, quickly and with honor, than at the mercy of the emperor's torturers."

Derkin shrugged. "Arm yourself, then. And find a horse that suits you." He turned to his unit commanders. "Are we ready?"

Each commander nodded, and one said, "As ready as we'll ever be." They turned and headed for their units.

Tap Tolec nudged the Lawgiver and pointed. A short distance away, Helta Graywood had appeared outside the ruined palace. She was wearing oddments of armor and a helmet, all too big for her, and carrying a sword and shield. She was heading for the perimeter line.

"Do you want us to put her back in the shelter?" Tap asked.

"It wouldn't do any good," Derkin said. "She's decided to fight. Just bring her here, so I can keep her with me."

Trumpets sounded all around, and the human cordon began to close in on the dwarves. Dreyus had made his decision. Foot companies led the approach, with archers among them. When they were within seventy yards, the footmen halted and the archers paced ahead of them and spread, standing and kneeling in double ranks.

"First come the arrows," Derkin muttered, as though reciting from a manual of arms. "Drums!"

The drums sang, and shields were raised throughout the encampment. From the perimeter inward, the dwar-ven ranks became a wall of steel.

In unison, the human archers released their bows, and the sky came alive with arrows. But even as the arrows left their strings, small groups of dwarves charged through their perimeter at a dozen points, racing forward as fast as stubby legs could drive them. The arrows went over their heads to fall in the ranks behind them, and before the archers could recover or retreat, there were dwarves among them, slashing furiously this way and that.

Wide-eyed, bewildered bowmen, armed only with their bows and their daggers, fell by the dozens before the foot companies behind them could react. And when the better-armed soldiers did charge forward, hampered by retreating archers and the bodies of the fallen, they saw only the backs of the dwarven assault groups, scampering toward the safety of their shielded lines.

Among the dwarves, few had been hit by arrows. Most of the shafts had found only shields in their path. Others had hit nothing but the hard ground. Here and there, though, a few dwarves lay fallen, some dead and others injured.

"Bolts and slings," Derkin ordered. Drums beat a tattoo, and on the perimeter line every second dwarf knelt and raised his crossbow. Those between the boltmen whirled their slings, filling the field for an instant with a sound like big, angry bees. Then the crossbows twanged, the stones flew, and all around the dwarves, human soldiers screamed and fell.

"First assault, first reprisal," Derkin muttered. Clambering onto his war-horse, he pulled Helta Graywood up behind him. Around them, the Ten mounted and formed close guard. Drums tattooed, and all around the encampment, companies of dwarven riders climbed into their saddles. "He'll put his footmen forward one more time now," Derkin told himself. "Javelins!"

As though responding to Derkin's thoughts, trumpets echoed his drums, and human pikemen and macemen advanced at a trot from all sides. The dwarves on the perimeters knelt behind their shields, motionless, as the trot became a headlong charge. The humans closed to forty yards, then thirty, then twenty.

"Throw and rush!" Derkin ordered, the drums taking his message.

As one, the entire dwarven perimeter stood, aimed, flung their javelins, then followed instantly with a second throw. While the first wave of needle-sharp missiles was hitting the humans, and the second was on the way, every second dwarf in the outer ring raised shield and blade and charged forward, roaring their battle cries.

It was not a human strategy. It was a tactic the Chosen Ones had invented, and its effect was murderous. Still moving forward, confronted by javelins that tore through their ranks, stumbling over their impaled companions, the human pikemen and macers were taken completely off guard as a thousand or more dwarves hit their advance, cutting them down right and left. Edged pikes thrust and slashed, and usually went over the heads of the dwarves. Dwarven blades ran with human blood. Dwarven hammers and dwarven shields smashed human knees and jaws.

Then, as before, the dwarves wheeled and withdrew, hurrying back to their own lines. As they returned, those lines backed away, tightening and withdrawing toward the center, compacting their defense. Not all of the dwarves who had countercharged came back. Many lay now where they had fallen-their blood flowing, mingling with the blood of their enemies. But most returned, and the perimeter tightened inward to compensate for the losses.

All around the compact dwarven force, stunned confusion ran through the human ranks. At Dreyus's command, his officers had launched a standard field assault against a surrounded enemy. First an archery barrage, then pikes and maces to overrun the perimeter, with horse companies in reserve to mop up afterward.

It was a classical tactic, and it should have worked. But the dwarves had not played their part. Instead of cowering and fleeing from the arrows, they had come out under the barrage and decimated the archers. Instead of regrouping for defense against footmen, they had unleashed a deadly barrage of their own. And instead of falling before the pikes and maces, they had countercharged, and now the forward foot companies were in turmoil.

Trumpets sounded, and all around, human soldiers turned and retreated toward their original lines, some running as fast as they could.

Derkin walked his horse across to where Tulien Gart stood beside a human-saddled mount. "Thank you," the dwarf said. "You taught me well, about human strategy." Gart looked up at him bleakly. "It isn't over," he said. "That was only the first assault. They'll come again."

"Why?" Derkin asked. "They've lost hundreds of men. Isn't it enough?"

"It might be, for a regular officer," the man said. "But you've humiliated Dreyus now. He can't let you get away with that."

Behind Derkin, Helta Graywood leaned to look around him. "Who is this Dreyus, anyway?" she asked.

"I don't really know." Gart shrugged. "No one knows much about him, except that what he does is the emperor's doing, and when he speaks it is the emperor speaking. Some suspect that he may actually be Quivalin Soth, in some other form… in a second body, somehow. Two separate men, but with one mind. But even the wizards I've met don't know how that could be done."

"What will the soldiers do next?" Derkin asked the man.

"Probably try the horse-charge approach," Gart said. "With their lancers leading, and footmen behind them. It is a time-honored tactic in circumstances like this, when a first assault has been repelled. Quivalin Soth has never been a soldier, and Dreyus probably isn't either. So he'll let his officers advise him one more time."

"The horse-charge," Derkin said thoughtfully. "Yes, we've planned for such. And if that tactic fails, then what?"

"Beyond that I can't predict," Gart told him. "Were his officers to fail again, I think Dreyus would take full command. There's no telling what he would try."

With the humans withdrawn, dwarves scampered through their lines to retrieve their dead-those they could reach without an arrow finding them. Dragging them back into the besieged encampment, they laid them out honorably and stood over them for a moment, willing their spirits to the mercy of Reorx. There was no time for burial now. That would have to wait until they, under Derkin Lawgiver's leadership, had chased the humans away.

Spotters atop the ruined palace signaled, and the drums spoke. All around the beleaguered dwarves, the mighty human army was regrouping. Horse companies were moving into the fore now, mounted lancers followed by great tides of foot soldiers.