sentry collapsed, out cold, but as the Kayolin dwarf grabbed at the Klar’s sword, the weapon bounced off the catwalk and plummeted all the way down to the floor of the wall’s interior. Shrugging at yet another incidence of rotten luck, he turned to follow Gretchan as she started along the catwalk.
To their left Brandon saw the massive wooden platform, piled high with many tons of boulders. Chains and gears connected to the front of that platform, while massive hinges fastened its back to the fortress wall. Huge steel pins held the platform in place, and he could see a smaller cable linking those pins to a block and tackle mechanism and a large lever, mounted on a heavy, notched gear. When the lever was cranked, Brandon could see, the cable would gradually pull the pins free-and when they were removed, the whole platform would swing downward, sending the rocks tumbling to the floor of the great hall.
The din of noise rose below them, and they looked down to see the army of hill dwarves rushing into the fortress through the open gates.
“Why didn’t they close the gate? It looks like they aren’t even trying to keep them out!” Brandon asked.
Gretchan grew pale and looked at him in horror. “It’s Garn’s plan, I’ll bet!” she declared. “He’s letting them into the hall so he can crush them with the rocks! They’ll all be killed!”
“Serves the bastards right,” the Kayolin dwarf said, which was his honest gut reaction.
Gretchan glared at him then shook her head in exasperation. “Look, I can understand why you hate them; they didn’t treat you with any decency or fairness. But can’t you see that if Garn causes a massacre, the feud with the Neidar will never die? Their hatred of mountain dwarves will be worse than ever. This moment will scar our race every bit as bad as what happened after the Cataclysm; we will never outgrow it!”
Brandon grimaced. Already the clash of battle filled the vast interior of the wall. He could see more of the hill dwarves rushing in through the open gate, while the mountain dwarf garrison formed two lines, defending the approaches to each of the two towers and slowly bottling the attackers in the center. Gretchan was right: Soon Garn Bloodfist’s lines would be able to pull back, out of the danger zone, and the Tharkadan trap would plunge a mountain’s weight of rocks right on top of the clustered attackers.
“What can we do about it anyway?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” the priestess declared, despairing. “But we have to do something!” She looked around, desperately trying to think. “I’ll try to find the thane and change his mind. Can you warn the hill dwarves? Tell them what Garn has planned? Maybe they’ll withdraw from here before it’s too late.”
Brandon gazed at the surging, violent battle and heard the furious cries, fueled by centuries of hatred. A number of Neidar were in the middle of the tower, unable to reach the front lines because of the congestion. Maybe, possibly, they could be made to listen to reason.
More likely, of course, they would tear him to shreds. That would be in keeping with the Bluestone luck. All his logic, all his life’s experience told him that it was sheer insanity to even consider going down there, into the midst of the enemy army. If they didn’t kill him, the imminent release of a thousand tons of rock would probably do it anyway.
He shrugged, feeling helpless and more unlucky than ever, but he could only look at Gretchan and reply, “I’ll try.”
“Form to the right and left!” shouted Garn Bloodfist, directing his mountain dwarves to take up defensive positions within the hall, trying to contain the attackers within the vast space of the Tharkadan Wall. His voice was shrill, and he fairly shivered in anticipation of the massive slaughter he was about to trigger. The plan was working to perfection! Even then, his Klar were withdrawing from the center of the hall, gathering at the base of the West Tower.
Meanwhile, Mason Axeblade had taken command of the Hylar defenders in front of the East Tower. He stood with his line, shouting similar orders. The Neidar crowded into the space between the two lines, more and more of the hill dwarves charging in through the open gate. The two mountain dwarf lines were thin, no more than a single rank with shields and swords, but that was fine with Garn. They were forced back steadily by the charging hill dwarves until the center of the hall was full of Neidar eager for battle but mostly unable to reach the ranks of the defenders.
Garn’s men, the troops of his loyal Klar company, fought with the discipline that had been instilled in them by constant drill and practice. They maintained their close ranks, shields up to protect the entire line as they stabbed and hacked, parried and thrust. The hill dwarves were hampered by the close quarters, and many of them bled and died; they were unable to break the tight line of mountain dwarves. But slowly the defenders fell back until they were packed in a semicircle against the base of the West Tower.
Within that tower other warriors opened the doors leading from the vast chamber of the wall into the interior of the sturdy tower. One by one the Klar started slipping through that door, the rank of the line tightening up to fill in the gap left by each withdrawing warrior. The captain grinned fiercely. His scheme was working to perfection.
It was finally time to move to the next phase of the plan. One of the lift baskets that had been used to haul rocks up to the trap was sitting on the floor, within the protective semicircle of the embattled Klar. Garn leaped into that lift and gave the signal to his men waiting above. Immediately they started to haul him upward until he rang the bell for them to halt, allowing him to survey the field from twenty feet up in the air.
From the lift basket, the Klar captain saw that his troops at both ends of the great hall were furtively retreating as commanded. The central space of the Tharkadan Wall was full of Neidar attackers, many of them simply milling about because they couldn’t get at the shrinking number of defenders. Only then did Garn ring the bell. Immediately, willing hands hoisted the crate and its lone occupant up higher, toward the shadowy attic where the Tharkadan trap was primed and ready.
“Kondike!” Gus cried as the dog slipped and fell from the catwalk.
Frantically the gully dwarf scrambled down into the niche, where the great chain passed around another gear. Sobbing with relief, he saw Kondike had landed on the ledge below him. The dog was panting and holding his right forepaw up. He was perched on a stone shelf that was built in to the surface of the wall itself, and somehow had stopped himself from falling down to the floor below.
How could he get down there to help the goddess’s dog? Frantically the gully dwarf looked around.
Gus spotted a wire, twisted around the center of the gear for some mysterious purpose. Maybe he could use it! He reached up and grabbed at the end, but it was too stiff; he couldn’t budge it.
“What you do?” demanded Berta, who was watching him from the upper catwalk.
“Try to get wire for catch dog. Help me!” he called. He spotted a piece of wood near her foot. “Give stick me!”
“Who Gretchan?” Berta demanded to know instead.
“What?” asked Gus, startled by the question. He slumped back onto the chain and stared at her.
“Who Gretchan?” She pouted. “You say she friend? She friend, or Berta friend?”
“Gus got two friends!” he retorted. “Help me get wire!”
“No!” she replied petulantly. She crossed her arms over her skinny chest and extravagantly turned her back.
“Berta my friend!” he shouted. “You my bluphsplunging bestest doofar friend! Now help me!”
She finally handed him the stick. He poked the end of it into the coil of wire and pulled. Somewhat amazingly, the end of the spool came free and he was able to grab it with his hands.
His stubby fingers pried at the stiff metal, slowly unspooling it from the hub.
Finally, he pulled it free.
TWENTY-EIGHT
All right, all right, I’ll try to warn them about the trap,” Brandon repeated. He gestured to a nearby lift cage, one of the platforms that had been used to raise the rocks off the floor of the great hall. It was not a mere man- basket, but a wide freight lift, a square surface more than twenty feet long on a side. “Can you maybe lower me in that?”
