man, speaking to his companions. “If we had the dwarves’ smelters and forges, we’d have no need to trade with them,” the voice said angrily. “If we had Thorin, we’d make our own steel, and high time we did. Those selfish, bit- pinching dinks have held Thorin too long, as I see it.”
Bram looked around, but whoever had spoken had turned away, and the others looked away as well. … Were they embarrassed at the words? Or did some among them agree?
It was troubling.
At the head of the caravan, Bram pulled up alongside Riffin Two-Tree, chief of the Chanderans. The chief rode a white horse and carried sword and shield as he always did when afield. With his iron-gray beard and studded helmet, his shoulders bulging against the seams of his leather-and-bronze coat, Riffin Two-Tree looked as fierce and formidable as he always had, until one approached very closely. Then the fading color of his cheeks, the slight moistness of his crinkled eyes, were a reminder that this man had been chief for more than fifty years, and was older — despite his stamina — than most humans ever expected to be.
“News from ahead?” the trademaster asked.
Riffin glanced around at Bram, his old eyes troubled. “We’ll be at the meadows below Thorin by nightfall,” he said, “but the scouts say the encampment is full — people everywhere.”
“The Golash caravan is there ahead of us?”
“Not Golash.” The old chief shook his head. “Garr Lanfel’s train is still a day away. These are others — hundreds of armed men, like those who flank us in the hills. The scouts say their encampments fill half the valley already, with more arriving by the hour. And they carry no trade goods of any kind.”
Bram Talien frowned. “What does it mean, my chief? What is happening?”
“It could mean trouble for the dwarves of Thorin,” Riffin Two-Tree said. “It has the look of an invasion, and if we’re not careful we could find ourselves caught up in it.”
“Then we should stay back,” Bram suggested. “Thorin is Chandera’s friend. We have no argument with the dwarves.”
Riffin turned to look at him. “Are you sure, Bram? You have heard the talk, just as I have.”
“Some of our people are discontented,” Bram agreed. “It comes of jealousy, I think.”
“I think it is more,” Riffin rasped. “I think there are those among us who are doing their best to spread hatred toward the dwarves.”
“But why?”
“To serve someone’s purpose, obviously. But you are right, Bram. We will hold back until we know what is going on. I want no part in any plot against Colin Stonetooth’s people … for more reasons than one.”
Bram nodded. “They are our friends.”
“Yes, they are our friends. But even if they weren’t, I’d want no part of war with Thorin. Don’t ever underestimate the dwarves, Bram. They would be a formidable enemy.”
“Thank the gods we don’t need to test that,” Bram said. “Once within sight of Thorin, I’ll call a halt. We’ll keep our distance for a day or so, until we know — ”
A shout from the rear interrupted him, and he turned. All along the caravan, flankers were closing in — the strangers, coming out of the hills, closing in on the long train like a well-organized cordon.
And just ahead, at the top of a rise, riders appeared — heavily armed men, spreading out across the road.
Riffin Two-Tree drew his shield from his shoulder and unslung his blade. All around him, Chanderan guards followed suit. Bram Talien spun his pony around and raced back along the caravan, shouting, “Alarm! Alarm! Close for defense!”
The rearward sections were already in motion, drivers whipping up their teams and carters grabbing their leads. Within moments, the long, ambling line of the caravan was a shortening, thickening thing, widening at center as the heavier vehicles pulled out right and left to let the travois, pack beasts, and sleds move in between them. Women, children, and old people were hurried forward, carrying their personal gear, into the center of the closing mass of vehicles and stock. Men not driving teams grabbed up their weapons and ranked themselves along the outer perimeter, their lines closing as the caravan became a moving oval compound, then a tightly-packed circle.
Suddenly, here and there, chaos erupted. Here a team broke free from its traces, leaving a wagon stranded. There a runner-barge overturned, spilling its load. Elsewhere two carts collided and broke down where they sat.
Bram Talien saw some of these things and drew his own blade. “Sabotage!” he muttered, heading into the crowd around a broken wagon. But armed men confronted him there, denying him entrance. A man he knew — Grif Newgrass, one of his own neighbors — raised a heavy sword and shouted, “Stand back, Trademaster. There’ll be no trading this year. We’ve a better way to get what the dwarves have!”
Bram circled about on his mount, trying to understand what was happening, and found himself surrounded by riders, all carrying their weapons at hand. The strangers were upon them, surrounding them, and in the distance ahead, at the front of the caravan where old Riffin Two-Tree and the Chanderan guards were, steel rang on steel.
The trademaster saw a wagon driver pitch from his seat, clutching at an arrow in his throat. He saw a line of barbarians charge, with lances and swords, into a cluster of panicked Chanderan workers. He wheeled his horse and dodged a spearpoint as an attacker lunged at him. With a flick of his sword he scored the man’s cheek, then drove the blade home beneath his chest-plate. The man screamed and twisted, and Bram fought to withdraw the sword. Something rang against his helmet, sending it flying from his head. He freed his sword, twisted sideways in his saddle, and started to swing at the man behind him … and again something hit him — this time a solid, clubbing blow against his temple.
The world went dark for Bram Talien.
He awakened slowly, fighting the throbbing ache in his head. When he tried to move, pain blinded him for long moments, but finally he fought it down, opened his eyes, and raised his head.
He lay in a crude tent of some kind. A fire burned near his feet, and smoke hung thick above the heads of the men who sat around it, watching him. Bram’s hand went to his belt, but there were no weapons there.
The man nearest was burly and dark-bearded and looked familiar. He turned his head, and the trademaster recognized him. It was Grif Newgrass. The others were strangers — outlanders. Grif grinned and nodded his head. “You’re awake,” he pointed out. “That’s good. Thought maybe our new friends had killed you.”
With a tongue as dry as leather and a voice that was no more than a rasping whisper, Bram Talien asked, “What is happening, Grif? Who are these men?”
“Doesn’t matter who they are,” the man said. “Only thing that matters for you is to do exactly like you’re told. You see, the old chief … well, he kind of met with an accident, so now the good people of Chandera need somebody to answer to. Somebody they’re used to answering to. You’re the trademaster, so you’ll do. We’ll tell you what to say to them.”
“What do you want?”
“Why” — the man’s beard split in a toothy grin — “we got business with those dinks in Thorin. That’s what our new friends call dwarves. Good word, isn’t it? —
“Thorin’s what we want,” another man growled. “Time human people had that place. Our leader has plans for it. The dinks know you. You’ve done business with them. So you’ll be our decoy and our shield.”
“Why should I do what you say?” Bram struggled to a sitting position, his head ringing with pain.
The man waved a casual hand. “Show him, Clote.”
Across the tent, the one called Clote stood and pulled back a wide flap, opening the shelter. Beyond was the remains of the caravan — teams and conveyances drawn into a solid ring. Within the ring, Chanderan men labored, carrying things here and there, while armed strangers — and a few Chanderan traitors — strode among them, supervising.
And in the center of the enclosure a crude fence had been erected. As men moved past it, Bram’s eyes widened in shock. Within the fence were women and children. At the corners of the fence, archers sat atop short towers. At a signal from the man at the tent flap, rough men pushed into the enclosure, shoving women and children aside, then appeared at the fence holding two women, pushing them forward into view.
