The Swordsheath Scroll

1

The mines of Klanath, under tbe direction of three successive emperors of western Ergoth, had become a huge, sprawling complex of pits, shafts, and digs extending for miles along the vertiginous slopes of the peaks that rose like a wall of ranked monoliths above the deep forests to the north and west. Named for the first true emperor of the human realm of Ergoth, Klanath the Conqueror, the mines — and the entire region they commanded-had become a sizable outpost of the empire's center in far-off Daltigoth. Even before the recent discovery of rich new lodes of metallic ore in the wild mountains south of Tharkas Pass, the Klanath mines had supplied more than half of Ergoth's treasured iron, nickel, and coke, as well as copper and tin in smaller quantities. But since the discovery of the Tharkas lodes, the complex of mines had nearly doubled in size.

Sakar Kane himself had led the human forces that thronged through the pass to attack and defeat the dwar-ven miners at their village of Tharkas. He had claimed all of the lands south of the pass for the empire. Now the dwarves who had survived, along with thousands of others captured by slavers raiding through the mountain lands, were Lord Kane's slaves. They worked in the shafts and tunnels, the caverns and sumps, the pits and the slag heaps, the slopes and the scours.

Among the slaves were other races as well-humans, goblins, mightily bound ogres, and even a few elves. But the most numerous of the slaves, and the most prized by their masters, were dwarves. Stubborn and unrelentingly hostile, often as ready to fight among themselves as against others, the thousands of dwarves imprisoned here were a constant nuisance to the overseers. But when it came to working in mines, every dwarf was worth five of any other race. Adept at tunneling, climbing, delving, and the shaping or breaking of stone, the dwarves were natural miners.

The mountains south of Tharkas Pass were full of dwarves. Legend held that there had once been a mighty nation of dwarves there, protected by the huge, subterranean fortress called Thorbardin. But Thorbardin no longer exercised power over the mountain lands. Village after village, mine after mine, and valley after valley, the raiders had swept down in massive attacks until most of the dwarves north of the wilderness ranges were now dead or enslaved, or had simply vanished into the wilderness.

With the growth of the mines of Klanath, so had grown the population of humans there. What had been a scattering of overseers' villages and headquarters shacks had become a fair-sized city, sprawling across the flats at the north end of Tharkas Pass, and it was here that much of the empire's wealth was assembled.

Thus it was not unusual for various high personages from the emperor's court to accompany the annual visits of inspection by the Grand Master of Mines. Many of the great court had visited Klanath in the past, though usually only once. Rich they might be, but the sprawling warrens of Klanath were unsightly and reeking, lacking any of the civilities and trappings of Daltigoth, the opulent city they served.

In recent years, though, there had been changes. The changes had come with the repeated visits of Sakar Kane, the tall, brooding man who was better known as Lord Kane. Three times in as many years, Kane-a cousin of the emperor, some said-had passed through Klanath on his way to and from the conquered mining regions south of Tharkas Pass.

Since his second visit, hordes of craftsmen and slaves had worked to construct a new fortification in the midst of the spreading encampments. Now the compound of Lord Kane, dominating the north approach to Tharkas Pass, was the most formidable structure in the region. The rumors had circulated through Klanath-and even among the slaves-that Lord Kane's next visit would be permanent. It was said that he had been given command of the region-even to include authority over the Grand Master of Mines-and that Klanath would be his base.

It was whispered that the emperor intended to extend his realm eastward, maybe even as far as the elven lands of the Silvanesti. It was said that Lord Kane's authority was part of a grander plan, and that Lord Kane's fortress would serve as more than just headquarters for the empire's mines.

It was suspected that Klanath would be a stronghold for the assaults to the east, a link in a chain of conquest that would take in all of southern Ansalon.

Shalit Mileen had heard all of the rumors and had savored them. As chief of pits, Shalit Mileen was one of a dozen deputies of old Renus Sabad, the Master of Mines. One of a dozen, but in his own mind not like the others who were his peers. Most of them seemed perfectly content with their lot, each having a bit of authority in one area of Klanath, and each ready to clean the boots of old Renus, to sing his praises or fetch his tankard, to secure their positions in his favor.

Most of the operation of the mines rested with these deputies. Just as Shalit Mileen ran the soft-ore pits, giving commands and keeping records, driving his overseers to drive their slaves to increase production each year, so did each of the other deputies run an operation. Yet each season, when the high-borns came from Daltigoth, arriving in splendid entourage to inspect the emperor's resources, it was not the deputies who received them and had the honor of reporting the latest successes. No, when the inspectors came, the deputy mine masters were sent deep into their respective works. It was the Master of Mines, old Renus, who each year met with the dignitaries and humbly took full credit for all of the fine works that had been done.

Only when things went poorly did any deputy stand before the dignitaries. That was because, as Shalit Mileen had noted, when things went well it was the Master of Mines who received the credit, while if something went wrong, it was always one of the deputies who took the blame. Shalit Mileen had seen four of his peers so used in past years. Three of them now were slaves, though not in the same mines they had once ruled-a master become slave would last no time at all among the slaves who knew him. The fourth had been blamed for a cave-in that so displeased the high-borns that the man had been executed where he stood.

Rarely did the various deputies ever meet in a group, but Shalit Mileen had heard their individual comments from time to time and shaken his head in disbelief. Each deputy was, like himself, a strong, brutal man. But unlike him, the others were no better than sheep. They lacked the ambition to scheme for better positions for themselves, or the courage to make such schemes work.

All of which suited Shalit Mileen very well. He had no such lack. He had heard that there would be a new ruler in Klanath, and he intended that new ruler's favor to fall on him. One way or another, he intended to make himself look good to Lord Kane, and to make old Renus look like a fool.

If he had his way, Shalit Mileen would soon be Master of Mines and have deputies of his own.

He kept his plans to himself, trusting no one, but as the season of inspection approached he governed his pits carefully, preparing. The best ores he withheld, hoarding them in unworked shafts, waiting for the time when he could "discover" rich new lodes. He guarded the energies of his slaves, plied his overseers with the best of food and drink, bribed the captain of the guard company assigned to his pits, and stockpiled the best tools. When the inspection came, the inspectors would hear from Renus a report of hardly better than average production in the soft-ore pits. They would hear that the pits were producing, but only at quota. Then they would see a far different thing. They would see riches rising from Shalit's mines, far beyond what Renus had reported.

Renus would be shamed, maybe even suspected of stealing metals for his private use. And Shalit would make his move then. He would make his own report to the new ruler, Lord Kane.

Days passed, and Shalit busied himself at the ore pits. In this area there were four deep, wide pits, a rectangle of great scars on the slopes below Tharkas. They had begun as scour mines, where armies of slaves had worked with sledges and skids to haul away the soil overburden from the stone below, exposing veins of ore that were then mined with spike and drill. But the pits had expanded in recent months. As the veins were followed, deep tunnels had been delved downward and outward from the bottoms of the pits. Now there was a vast network of shafts deep in the mountain's underbelly, and the "pits" were only the staging areas for deeper mine operations.

The layout was well suited to slave mines. The four pits were interconnected by large tunnels, where guards and overseers went to and fro. Each pit had its own slave con-, tingent of about two thousand, and each had a single, \ delved "cell" large enough to contain all of that pit's slaves. But there was only one access to the entire complex — a steep, narrow ramp that was always heavily guarded. For the slaves brought to the pits, the world lay beneath the surface. They spent their lives there and escaped only in death, when their bodies were hoisted out for disposal.

Now Shalit Mileen stalked the floors of the pits, reading his charts, checking his calculations, readying his plans. \ He spoke only to his overseers, but their words carried to the throngs of slaves coming and going among the shafts and were passed along in whispers.

"The pit boss is misdirecting his digs," a broad- _t shouldered dwarf laden with ore buckets told another. "In | that seventh shaft, and in the ninth, he's hoarding the best I ores from all the shafts. The sappers say there's a fortune in fine, rich ore just waiting there."

"Maybe he doesn't know what's there," the second dwarf surmised. "Or maybe the sappers lie. Maybe they're just making trouble."

"Not them," the ore carrier frowned. "Those deep-delvers are all Daergar. They might lie about what day it is, or who got what bowl at slops, but they don't lie about ore. Where mining is concerned, the Daergar are all fanatics."

"Then the pit boss is up to something," another dwarf whispered. "Maybe he wants to save the good stuff for himself."

The ore carrier shrugged and went his way, but the rumors spread, as rumors do, and at the midday break for feeding, Vin edged close to Tap. "You heard?" he whispered. "The pit boss is hoarding the best ores."

"I heard." Tap nodded. "What does it mean?"

"I think it means the inspection is coming soon." The large-eyed dark-seer squinted as he spoke. "I think the humans are plotting against one another."

"Means nothing to us," Tap said. "I'm more interested in what that Hylar is doing. I've been watching him. He's been busy, with his chisel, but for the past two days he hasn't touched it. I think those rivets are gone, and he's ready to make his move."

"Ah." The dark-seer nodded. "Good timing. He's planning to break when the inspectors are here. In the confusion, he just might make it. The humans will be diverted then."

"He might succeed," Tap agreed. "One dwarf alone might slip away. But what of the rest of us?"

Vin stood silent for a moment, thinking. "With enough of a diversion, we might escape, too. Of course, such a thing could spoil all of the Hylar's plans, if he is planning a break as we believe."

"To rust with his plans." Tap frowned. "I tried to get him to include us. He refused. It would serve him right if we let him be our diversion."

To one side, an old, gray-bearded dwarf paused, set down the slops pail he was carrying, and wiped sweat from his brow with his only hand. Old, crippled, and slow, Calan Silvertoe no longer wore chains. He had been a mine slave as long as most there could remember, and had become as much a part of the pits as the stones themselves. He went about doing trivial jobs such as dishing the slops for the mine slaves' meals, and hardly anyone ever noticed him. Where his left arm had once been, now was only a short stump, and the weathered features of his face, where not hidden by his whiskers, were as dark and creased as old leather.

Only the clear blue eyes squinting from what might once have seemed a shrewd, jovial face, and the traces of gold in his silver hair and beard, marked him as what he had once been-a full-blooded Daewar dwarf, a person of note. And only the sharpest of ears might have noticed the slight traces of accent in his speech that said that this was no hill dwarf, but one who had once been of the under-mountain realm of Thorbardin.

In fact, few in Klanath had ever noticed any of that, and it had been a very long time since anyone-master or slave-had really noticed Calan Silvertoe at all. He went his own way, he spoke little and stayed out of the way of others. In many years as a slave, he had learned much. He managed always to be busy and never to be conspicuous, and he attracted no attention to himself. And always, he watched and listened. And he waited.

Now, though, he suspected that his waiting was at an end.

Inconspicuously, he made his way to one of the shadowed walls of the pit, where he hung his basket from a peg and glanced around. No one was watching him, so with a quick motion, he stooped, stepped into shadows, and ducked behind an out-thrust shoulder of rough-hewn stone. The opening there was virtually invisible. Had anyone been watching, the old dwarf would have seemed to disappear into the stone wall.

Beyond was a shallow, dark niche, no more than a wind-scoured hole in the porous stone, but as he hurried into the opening, it seemed to extend ahead of him, becoming a narrow tunnel. A few yards into the stone, the tunnel widened, and there was faint light from a high crevice above. A person sat cross-legged on the floor there, staring into a shallow, dark stone vessel where cloudy liquid reflected the faint light. In the dimness, it was impossible to see more of the person than the outline of the loose-fitting garment that covered him from head to toe. He could have been human, or elf, or any of a dozen other races of Ansalon. It was obvious only-in the length of his back and his shrouded arms-that he was not a dwarf.

"You have seen and heard?" Calan asked the shadowy figure.

"I have been watching," the quiet answer came.

"Do you think he is the one, then? The Hylar, I mean? Is he the destined one?"

The bowl-watcher did not look up. "He is the one," the soft voice said. "Zephyr has observed him, as I asked. The Hylar has the soul of a leader. I believe he is Harl Thrust-weight's son."

"So is the time at hand, then?"

"He intends to wait for the inspection," the hooded figure murmured. "But if he does, the others will be ready to go with him… or to try."

"Will they mess things up?"

"They might, but the Hylar must act now. You must help him, old one."

"Should I tell him of the others?"

"Tell him what you must," the hooded one said. "Let him know of his situation. Then get him free of these mines. As we have discussed."

"Should I tell him his destiny, Despaxas?"

The hood moved then, and the shadowed face within its folds turned toward Calan. "No person really accepts another's words regarding destiny," the low voice said. "No, he must see it for himself as time passes. But let him understand about the other slaves, that they know of his plan, and that they may endanger him."

Calan looked away, thinking he had heard sounds in the tunnel. The dim light from beyond the tunnel seemed to flutter, as if shadows were dancing in it, and there was a faint, eerie sighing. His hackles rising, the old dwarf scurried aside as something appeared in the tunnel's mouth-something that could not be seen clearly. It was a large thing, but insubstantial. It neither walked nor flew, but seemed to undulate in the air, as though swimming. It came to rest at the entrance to the cavern, settled soundlessly, and shrank as it wrapped itself in wide, transparent flaps that were more like bat-fish fins than wings.

Calan had never gotten used to the "pet shadow" that Despaxas called Zephyr. The creature appeared to have no substance at all, only a random texture of shadows that fooled the eye. It was nearly invisible, and Calan had often suspected that if he were to touch it-which he never had — he would find that there was nothing there at all. Yet, at the same time, Zephyr emanated a sense of great strength, and Calan often had the impression of long, narrow, needle-sharp teeth beneath slitted, slanted eyes.

"I wish you'd leave that thing outside when we meet," the dwarf growled. "I have nightmares for a week every time it shows up." He shook his head, grimacing, and turned toward Despaxas. But there was no one there. He turned back, and found that he was alone. Both Despaxas and his weird creature had disappeared.

"Despaxas?" the dwarf whispered, then shuddered. Few dwarves ever became comfortable with the presence of magic, and the old Daewar was no exception. "Rust," he muttered, "I wish he'd quit doing that. I don't know which is worse, his pet shadow or his vanishings." ›

Back at the pit, old Calan paused for a moment in the ^; shadows, in what was once again only a shallow hole | behind an outcrop, then slipped out and retrieved his slops pail. Filling his pail at the steaming caldron where sullen human slaves worked to make food from whatever scraps and leavings the guards allotted, he returned to the cells below the ore shafts and wandered among the slaves there, pausing here and there to ladle slops into bowls for those just returning from the pits. He saved the last bit of stew for the young Hylar squatting in his shadowy corner, and when he arrived there he set down his pail and made a pretense of filling the wooden bowl.

But he whispered as he lifted the ladle, "Are your shackles weakened, young Derkin? If you intend to escape, the time is now."

The Hylar glanced up, startled. "What?"

"Unless you make your escape now, tonight, many others will try to go with you. They know you intend to escape. They have decided to make you their leader and follow you. But a plan for one will fail for many."

"You speak in riddles, old one," Derkin growled. "What do you want of me?"

"I want to go with you when you leave here," the old dwarf whispered. "Just me, and no one else."

"Were I planning to leave here, I'd take no one with me."

"Oh, but you will, or never leave at all. You need me, Derkin. I can help you."

"Help me? What can you do for me?"

The old dwarf squatted beside him, tilting his pail as though to scrape out the last bit of contents. "I can help you escape. Have you seen what is beyond these pits? The defenses there? I expect you to try to slip up the ramp and escape, but you'll never make it that way."

"I don't need your help," the Hylar hissed.

"Stubborn." Calan smiled faintly. "Would you rather succeed in escaping from this place, with my help, or find yourself the leader of a failed mass escape by all the rest of these slaves? You will be followed, Derkin, whether you intend to be followed or not. There is little choice in such matters."

"Riddles," Derkin growled.

"I've heard it said that wisdom is in letting those help you who want to help you," the oldster said. "Accept friends, and they will serve you. Reject them, and they will use you."

Derkin glanced around, his eyes bright with sudden curiosity. "I've heard those words before. Who are you,

old one?"

"I'm just an old dwarf." Calan shrugged. "But you're right. The words are not mine. I heard your father use those words, many times. So did you, I warrant."

"You knew my father?"

"I knew him, and I know you. Will you hear what I have to say, Derkin Winterseed?"

"How do you know my name?" Derkin hissed.

"I know much more than that. Will you listen?"

"I'm listening," Derkin said grudgingly.

"Then believe what I say," the old dwarf urged. 'Tonight, when you are returned here, I will come to you. Be ready to leave then. I know the way past the pits."

"If you know a way out, why are you still here?"

"I've been waiting for you," the old slave said.

"Why? What do you want from me?"

"You ask too many questions for someone with no choice in the matter, Derkin Winterseed. Be ready tonight. I know a way out."