The Swordsheath Scroll

3

From a high, cold pinnacle of stone, two dwarves and an elf looked down upon a scene of desolation, and Derkin Winterseed felt a hard, stubborn anger begin to grow within him. They were south of Tharkas Pass, and the steep ranges below-just now touched by morning sun- were the region of the Tharkas mines. Once a rich, productive cluster of hard-ore shafts, the mines had been carefully developed over a span of more than two centuries by the dwarves of Kal-Thax. Originally delved by Daergar experts from Thorbardin, the mines had proven immensely productive, yielding the highest grade of precious iron ore any of them had ever seen.

Once before, when he was very young, Derkin had seen the Tharkas mines, and he well recalled the busy, bustling slopes where hundreds of Neidar worked the shafts and the mills, the scours and the seines, preparing top-grade ore for transport to Thorbardin for processing in the great smelters deep within the mountain fortress. It had been a happy scene, as the Hylar remembered it. Everywhere he had looked there were hundreds of bustling dwarves laboring in relative harmony, doing what dwarves most enjoyed-working for their own purposes.

But the scene now was different. Where there had once been neat, orderly ore dumps and the methodical ring of hammers and drills, a sound as musical as dwarven drums echoing among the mountains, now there was an ugliness about the entire area. Everything seemed discordant. Slag flows ran here and there at random, the ore heaps were messy hills of ill-sorted stone, and the ring of hammers and drills had no rhythm to it, only the heedless clatter of slaves at labor. Even without the companies of armed humans that roved the area, it would have been obvious to any dwarf that these were no longer dwarven works. Everywhere, the thoughtless sloppiness of human mining methods was obvious.

Here was proof of what every dwarf knew-humans were poor miners at best, and even the skills of dwarven slaves could not improve their methods. Unlike dwarves, humans found no harmony with their enterprises. They didn't work their mines as dwarves did, cooperating with the stone to ease its riches from it. Instead, humans fought the mines, as one would fight an enemy. They fought the mines, fought the ores, and fought the very mountains that provided their riches. The human concept of mining, to most dwarves, was like the human concept of most things: take what you want any way you can, usually by brute force. The scene below the pinnacle seemed proof of that. The few cabins and sheds below the mines-three of the buildings were the remains of what had once been a pleas-antNeidar village-new looked run-down and unused. It was obvious that the shelters now served only as sleeping quarters for the human conquerors. Even from the pinnacle, one could see the dejected weariness of the few dwar-ven women working around what had once been a handsome longhouse. Like the dwarves in the mines, the females too were slaves, kept by the humans to cook and clean for them.

The only other habitation visible, as far as they could see, was a small, distant campsite farther along the mountainside, beside a pretty lake that Derkin remembered from his childhood. The lake was a reservoir, built ages ago by dwarven craftsmen. A long, curving stone dam contained the flow of several mountain streams, channeling it slowly into a series of walled canals that wound along the slopes.

This system had once provided reliable water for the entire Tharkas region. But that had been in the golden times of Thorbardin, the days of the great Road of Passage, when people of all races and nations traveled between southern Ergoth and the northern lands, along a route maintained jointly by the dwarves of Kal-Thax and the knightly orders of human Ergoth.

Those times were gone now. The old road had fallen into disuse, and parts of it had been obliterated. And while the mountainside reservoir remained, its channels were choked with clutter and debris. The lake remained, but it no longer served dwarven villages and farms.

Squinting, Derkin tried to make out who was camping there now, and Calan said, "Those are humans over there. Nomads from the plains. See how they avoid the empire soldiers at the mines? They come and go, passing through, but most plains people have no use for the emperor."

Scowling, Derkin stared down again at the sad scene below and cursed beneath his breath. Then he turned to the hooded elf who had led him here. "Two years?" he demanded. "They have made this much ruin in just two years?"

"They would have done the same to Thorbardin itself," the elf replied, "but they couldn't get in. Lord Kane sent an assault force south to test Northgate. Zephyr observed them for me. The humans finally gave up and came back. They never got past Thorbardin's outer defenses. But they do hold the mines, and have been stockpiling ore for nearly a year to send through the pass to Klanath."

"But why hasn't Thorbardin sent troops to drive them out?"

"What troops?" old Calan Silvertoe rasped. "You have been in Thorbardin since I have, young Hylar. How long has it been since the thanes within stopped their feuding long enough to send a force outside?"

"My father restored order in Thorbardin!" Derkin snapped.

"Yes, of course," the old one sneered. "And the Hylar Peace lasted slightly longer than your father did. Then, as you know better than I, they started at it again, Theiwar against Daewar, Daergar fending off Klar, the Hylar holed up and pouting in their Life Tree…"

"I know," Derkin rumbled. "That was why I left Thorbardin. But I didn't know they had turned their backs on the outside lands."

"Well, they did." Calan's frown was as fierce as Derkin's. "And without Thorbardin's troops, the world outside fell into the hands of… humans!" Disdainfully, the old dwarf pointed downward, his single hand a rigid arrow of accusation, pointing out shame.

"Rust and corruption," Derkin muttered.

Behind him, Calan whispered to the elf, "He reminds me of his father when he looks like that."

"He will need to be as strong as his father," Despaxas replied.

Derkin whirled on them, turning his back on the sad scene below. "It's high time somebody put a stop to that atrocity," he said. "Humans don't belong in Kal-Thax. This land is for dwarves."

"I couldn't agree more," the elf said sympathetically.

"One would need an army to reclaim this territory," Calan pointed out.

"Then I'll go to Thorbardin myself and bring back an army," Derkin snapped.

"What army?" Calan shook his head. "We've kept abreast of what's going on in Thorbardin. There is no army. Just a bunch of bickering clans barely kept in check by Jeron Redleather and Dunbarth Ironthumb, with every reliable follower they have working to police the under-mountain. Nobody is coming from there to help. Not until the time comes when Thorbardin has a real leader again, like in the old days."

"There is an army," Despaxas said softly. "At least, there could be. But you won't find it in Thorbardin."

Derkin frowned at the elf, hard Hylar eyes seeming to pierce him. "Where, then?"

"Back there." The elf gestured northward. "Back where you just came from. The humans have a few hundred dwarves working these mines south of the pass, but there are nearly eight thousand dwarven slaves in all laboring in Klanath. They would make quite an army if they had the right leader."

"You're crazy," Derkin snapped. "I'm free of there. I'm not going back."

"Thaf s too bad," Calan said. "You know, those pit slaves back there are going to pay dearly for the two guards who died so unfortunately when we…"

"You murdered those men yourself!" Derkin spat. "You cut their throats gleefully, and now you're worrying about who will be blamed?"

The elf pulled his cowl forward, hiding the slight smile that pulled at his cheeks. "It was your escape, Derkin. Do you want to be responsible for the misery that will befall all those innocent dwarves?"

Derkin stood silent for a moment, looking from one to the other of his odd companions. Then his eyes narrowed. Glaring at Calan Silvertoe, he said, "I wondered why you killed those guards. It seemed a needless, senseless thing to do. But you had a reason, didn't you, Daewar? I should have known. A Daewar always has a reason."

"You're Hylar," Calan said, "and whatever else they might be, the Hylar do have strong notions of chivalry and honor."

"And a strong distaste for manipulation," Derkin snapped. "I see it now. You planned it all out, the two of you. You want something from me. What is it?"

"We want the same thing you want," Despaxas said softly. "We want to drive Lord Kane's human invaders out of Kal-Thax and reestablish the boundary in the pass. To do that will require an army. An army of dwarves. We want you to mold that army and lead it."

"Why me?"

"Because you can," the elf said. "Zephyr has read your soul, and we know your lineage. We know quite a lot about you, Derkin Winterseed. We have studied you for nearly a year."

Derkin glared at him. "Why?"

"Have you ever heard of an elf named Kith-Kanan?"

"Not that I remember. Why?"

"Kith-Kanan is a friend of my mother, Eloeth," Despaxas said. "Kith-Kanan has been concerned about the human emperor, Quivalin Soth, whose soul is the darkest Zephyr has ever seen. Kith-Kanan asked Eloeth for advice about Kal-Thax, because Klanath is so near to Kal-Thax and because Eloeth has dealt with dwarves. She, in turn, asked me to help, and I asked Calan, because he is my friend. He lost that arm saving my life nearly two hundred years ago."

"That's fine." Derkin glared at the elf. "But it doesn't answer my question. Why all the interest in me?"

"Because of what we have learned about you." Des-paxas shrugged. "You are the direct descendant of Colin Stonetooth, who brought the dwarven thanes together when no one else could. You are also descended from Damon Omenborn, who was foretold to be the father of kings. You are kin of Cale Greeneye, and descendant of Willen Ironmaul, who led armies. You are the son of King Hal-Thwait of Thorbardin…"

"His name was Harl Thrustweight, and he was never king!" Derkin said angrily. "Thorbardin has no king!"

"Oh, we know that," the elf assured him. "But it is a useful fiction for the outside world to believe. But you, Derkin Winterseed, you have the blood and the soul of mighty leaders, and those around you recognize that, whether they realize it or not. The slaves of Klanath will follow you. Some of them had decided to follow you already, even if you didn't want them to."

"This whole thing is preposterous!" Derkin growled. He glared at Calan Silvertoe. "You yourself told me that the slaves could not escape from the pits en masse. You said such a thing would never work."

"Not an escape from inside." The old dwarf shrugged. "But an assault from outside, that's another thing."

"An assault? By the three of us, I suppose? It would take hundreds of fighters just to get in, not to mention getting out again."

Calan shrugged again, stepped to the south ledge of the pinnacle, and pointed downward. "There are hundreds of dwarves down there, Derkin. And not nearly so many humans to contend with as across the pass at Klanath."

Again Derkin stared at the two of them, first one and then the other, the one-armed old Daewar and the lithe, hooded elf.

"First mold an army, then lead it," Despaxas coaxed. "There is a great deal of difference between a mob of unruly dwarves-escaped slaves or whatever-and a dwarven army. Your Hylar ancestors proved that very well, in a time my mother remembers."

Derkin stepped directly in front of the elf and reached up-the elf was nearly a foot taller than he was-to fling back the shadowing cowl. "What's in this for you?" he demanded. "Skip the part about Kith-Kanan and Eloeth. You're no dwarf, and neither are they. Why do elves care about the dwarven lands?"

Despaxas gazed at him with level eyes. "A fair question," he said. "Lord Kane and his mine claimers are your problem, not ours. But the emperor, whom Lord Kane serves, has vast ambitions. Already he is moving forces onto the plains east of here, and beyond those plains lie elven lands. There will be war between the humans of Ergoth and the elves of Silvanesti, Derkin. It cannot be avoided. It will come, very soon. And it will be a long, hard war."

"It isn't our war," Derkin pointed out.

"In a way, it is," the elf told him. "The emperor will use Klanath as a base to equip and reinforce his human hordes against the elves, and we may be conquered because of it. Then Lord Kane's reward from the human emperor will be the dwarven lands."

"I see," Derkin breathed. "So to disrupt the humans' supply lines, you plan a backfire here, using a dwarven army for your purposes."

"For your purposes," Despaxas said. "Which will serve ours as well."

"Devious," Derkin sneered. "Devious, but… well, maybe it makes sense, after a fashion."

'Thank you," the elf said. "My mother will be pleased that you approve."

"Approving is one thing," old Calan snorted. "Agreeing is something else. Do you agree to go along with this, Derkin?"

"I don't know," the Hylar said slowly. "What would I have to do first?"

"Get into the dwarven mines down there, organize the dwarves, get rid of the humans-there is only one foot company and a dozen or so slave tenders-then train the dwarves as an assault force and march on Klanath."

"Oh, is that all?" Derkin's chuckle was cold and ironic. "And exactly how do I do all that?"

"That's up to you," the old dwarf said. "You're the leader."

"And while all this is going on, what's happening at Klanath?"

Despaxas pulled up his cowl again, covering his head. "A diversion has been arranged there," he said emphatically. "It should keep everyone occupied for a time."

Dawn's light had not yet touched the soft-ore pits of Klanath when the husky, broad-shouldered slave named Tap Tolec came awake to the tug of a hand at his shoulder. It was nearly pitch-dark in the great, reeking cell, but he knew the whisper at his ear. It was the Daergar, Vin the Shadow. Tap groaned and turned his head, trying to see. "Vin?" he muttered. "Is that you? Let go. I'm awake. What's the matter?"

"Look at this," Vin whispered. He sounded urgent, excited.

"Look at what?" Tap grumped. "My eyes aren't like yours. I have to have a little light to see."

Impatiently, Vin grabbed the Theiwar's hand and thrust something into it. Even in the dark, Tap recognized the heft of a stout hammer. He sat up, exploring the tool with his fingers. "You got it!" he whispered. "How did you manage that?"

"I didn't manage," Vin said. "I just woke up and… well, see for yourself!"

Vin scuttled away from him, and Tap heard sounds like someone rummaging through a tool trove. Around them, other dwarves stirred and began to awaken. Nearby, someone-obviously another Daergar miner-muttered, "Wow! Look at that!"

"What?" someone else whispered. ''What do you see?"

Then there was a quick series of rasping noises, accompanied by tiny flashes of dim light. Tinder glowed in a leathery palm, was breathed aflame, and those nearby saw Vin the Shadow raising a freshly lit candle. "There," he said. "Now you can see. Look!"

Tap stared, his eyes going wide. All around him, other dwarven slaves rubbed sleepy eyes and gawked at what Vin indicated. On the floor of the cell, in a random cluster as though someone had just dumped it there, was a large pile of implements, and more and more gasps sounded as more and more slaves realized what they were seeing. Hammers and axes were there, steel-tipped javelins and gleaming swords, maces and daggers, goblin-fashioned crossbows with bales of deadly bolts, even a few elven-style bows of lacquered lemonwood and sheaths of fletched arrows. The candle's light danced on myriad deadly shapes and surfaces.

Behind the piled weapons, shadowed by the stack, were bits of armor of numerous kinds and designs, shields and chest-plates, various kinds of helmets, leather-slung caplets and braces-it looked as though someone had foraged hurriedly through a used-armor bazaar and picked up a little of everything. And farther back in the shadowed recess were bales and kegs. Vin gazed at these, and his large eyes went narrow. "See the markings there," he said. "Those come from the mine master's stores."

Vin's attention was on something else, though. Just in front of the pile of weapons, a small, shallow bowl of dark wood rested on the stone floor. He crept closer and looked into it. In the bowl was a bit of milky liquid that seemed to glow as he stared at it, a dim, greenish light. "What's…" he began, then flinched as a voice came from the bowl-a quiet, musical voice.

"Arm yourselves," the milky liquid said. "Barricade the grating and fortify the cell. Break your chains and defend your gate at all costs. Arm yourselves and hold the cell… hold the cell…"

A thick-bearded dwarf peered into the bowl skeptically. He stirred the liquid, to no apparent effect. "That's crazy," he growled. "We can't hold out here, in this cell."

Nearby, a gnarled dwarf with deep scars on his back and only one eye hoisted a sword and picked up a shield. 'To blazes with talking bowls," he rasped. "Let's get these chains off and go kill some slavers."

A low thunder of approval began, then subsided quickly as they realized that their voices could carry to the guards outside.

"First things first," a burly slave rasped quietly. "Some of us can watch the gate, while the rest get free of their chains. Then when we're ready, we can…"

"Hold the cell," the musical voice coming from the bowl repeated urgently. "Beyond the cell lies death. Hold the cell."

"Tarnish that," someone snorted, a bit surprised to be talking to a bowl of what seemed to be milk. "How long can we hole up in a cell with no way out? The humans wouldn't have to come in after us. They could just wait until we starve. Or bury us alive in here."

"Hold the cell," the voice repeated, flowing over them like music. "Help is on the way. One comes who will lead you out. Arm yourselves, barricade the gate, and hold the cell…"

The greenish light dimmed, and the voice was gone. In the cavern cell now was only momentary silence and the flickering light of Vin's candle outlining the faces of hundreds of dwarves, some of them suspicious, all of them grim.

Suddenly there was other light-dim, dancing beams from lanterns beyond the cell grating-and the unmistakable sounds of human guards in the corridor beyond. Within, hundreds of dwarves listened in breathless silence.

The silence lasted only a moment. In the corridor a human voice said, "Here, you two! Wake up! It's time for the… What's this?"

"They're dead," another human voice said. "Both of them. Their throats have been cut! Sound the alarm!"

Weapons rattled, a trumpet blared, and there was the sound of hurrying feet, distant but approaching.

As one, the dwarves in the cell crowded toward the gate. "What nitwit killed the night guards?" Vin the Shadow rasped. "Now they'll all be on us before we can gather our wits."

"Maybe it was whoever brought all this stuff in here," Tap Tolec suggested.

"Nobody 'brought' it here," Vin said. "It came by magic. That bowl proves that."

"I never saw magic," someone else said.

"I don't trust magic," another said.

Beyond the grated gate, a lamp was raised. Its light danced through the bars, a moving pattern on the solid mass of dwarves crowding forward. A human voice shouted, "Here, you dinks! Get back there. Get away from this gate!"

"Nobody in here killed the guards," Tap Tolec told Vin the Shadow. "See, the bar is in place. The gate is still locked."

Those in the fore continued to crowd toward the grating, curious and pressed by those behind them. Beyond the grate, the human shouted again, and a spear flicked through the bars, threatening the mob inside. But before its tip could reach anyone, a muscular hand grasped the shaft, and a short, stout arm lifted and pulled. The human beyond was jerked up against the grating, and froze there as a sword flashed through the bars, skewering him from belly to brisket. The man screamed, hung for a moment where he was, then dropped to the stone floor as the sword was withdrawn.

Within the cell, a dwarf-the one-eyed slave with the deep scars on his back-wiped his sword blade on his tunic and rasped, "Thaf s one."

Then the corridor was full of armed humans and bright lamps, and the dwarves in the cell backed away from the gate.

"Quick!" Vin the Shadow barked. "Don't let them free that bar!"

Spears and narrow pikes licked through the grating of the portal, and human hands grasped the gate bar, starting to slide it aside. It moved only an inch before a hail of arrows and crossbow bolts from within the cell tore into the humans beyond. Men screamed, men fell, and men fled. Crazy shadows danced in the suddenly deserted corridor, where fallen lamps flickered on the floor.

"Well, that's that," Tap Tolec breathed. "But they'll be back. What do we do now?"

"Barricade the gate!" a dozen voices chimed.

"Break it down and attack the pits!" other voices shouted.

"Kill humans!" several suggested.

"Hold it!" someone roared. "Whatever we do, we'd better all do it together. Who's in charge here?"

"Not me," a dozen voices answered together.

"Well," a querulous voice came from the crowd, "somebody's got to take the lead. Who's it going to be?"

"Don't look at me," the one-eyed dwarf snapped at several others around him. "I can fight, but I'm no leader."

"The Hylar!" Tap Tolec said, with sudden inspiration. "Where's that Hylar? He can lead us!"

It took several minutes for all of them to realize that the Hylar, the one they knew only as Derkin, was no longer among them, and when that became clear, the cell was quieter than it had been. For a moment, every dwarf there had envisioned a grand victory-fighting dwarves cutting a path through masses of humans, winning their way to freedom. The way it might have been in the old, great days that the lore spoke of. Dwarven fury overwhelming, overcoming desperate odds… led by a Hylar chief.

But only for a moment had the vision lasted. Now there was only reality. They had-from where or what infernal magic no one knew-arms and some supplies. But they still were only a gang of slaves, trapped in a stone cell, and outside were the slave masters, backed by hundreds, or maybe thousands, of human warriors. They were trapped here like rats in a barrel, and the humans could come for them at their pleasure.

"I guess we'd better do what that bowl said," Vin the Shadow said bleakly. "Barricade the cell, hold the gate, and wait for reinforcements."