No spit in eye,
Die all day,
Leafs up in the sky asleep,
Burning bugs,
Gray, gray, gray,
Sleep, old man, and the trees call us for eats.
The leafs are on fire, but so what, they all gone by snowtime.
'No, no, NO!' Flint roared above their cacophony. He slapped his palm with a thin stick. Eventually their song ground to a halt. 'I want you to hear a real song. The Dwar ven Marching Song is part of your heritage as dwarves.
Now, listen up.'
Flint cleared his throat and unconsciously straightened his spine. His voice, pleasantly low and rumblingly pitched, began the first strain of the song he had not sung in years, since he had left the dwarves.
Under the hills the heart of the axe
Arises from cinders the still core of the fire,
Heated and hammered the handle an afterthought,
For the hills are forging the first breath of war.
The soldier's heart sires and brothers
The battlefield.
Come back in glory
Or on your shield.
Out of the mountains in the midst of the air,
The axes are dreaming dreaming of rock,
Of metal alive through the ages of ore,
Stone on metal metal on stone.
The soldier's heart contains and dreams
The battlefield.
Come back in glory
Or on your shield.
Red of iron imagined from the vein,
Green of brass green of copper
Sparked in the fire the forge of the world,
Consuming in its dream as it dives into bone.
The soldier's heart lies down, completes
The battlefield.
Come back in glory
Or on your shield.
Flint became aware, sometime around 'Out of the moun tains,' that Perian, standing at his side, had joined in the song. Their voices mingled and intertwined, his a low bari tone, hers an even, clear alto. When he stumbled over a few forgotten words, Perian was there to fill them in. His heart was full and near to bursting with pride and passion and
… dwarfness, as they finished the anthem of their race.
The song had taken on even greater meaning to him with
Perian singing along; he had never thought he shared any traditions with his mountain cousins. He found his hand in
Perian's, and when he turned to her at the close of the song, he saw her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, through his own misty blue ones.
'Quivalen Sath,' she breathed, identifying the song's composer.
'Is there anyone else?' Flint asked rhetorically.
'Sing again!' the gully dwarves chanted. 'We learn! Sing!
We sing royal song real good!'
Flint and Perian hummed the melody over and over for the Aghar, then repeated the words of the song with them at least three times. Practicing, mimicking, stumbling over the refrains, the gully dwarves stayed with the exercise for at least an hour. Flint had never seen them try so hard at any endeavor. A new understanding evolved for everyone. In the end, when the gully dwarves sang it for the first time in a chorus, King Flint and Queen Perian did not even mind that their version came out a bit changed.
Thunder pills the fart of the ox
Erasers for Cindy these still put out the fire, Beated and bammered the hand thunk a thought, the hills are breathing the fish-breath afar.
Soldiers hit brothers, sorry
The battle feels.
Come back, O glowworm
And don't forget your shirt.
What mattered was how hard they tried.
Chapter 19
Thane Realgar op the Thiewar clan strutted before his six hundred House Guard troops, who were lined up in three ranks on the Central Parade Grounds on Level Two of
Theiwar City East. His posture was ramrod straight as he stretched to his full height of just under four feet, pearly white hair streaming over his shoulders. He marched rigidly along the line of equally rigid derro dwarves who made up the House Guard.
These troops and their costly barracks occupied the entire second level, just one level below the pinnacle of the city, where the thane and his adviser had their own plush resi dences. The superior location, away from the smoke and stench of the forges a level below, was a symbol of the mili tary's prestige with its thane.
The dwarves of the guard stood at attention now, con ceited about their appearance, smug about their discipline, and haughty over their position in the most prestigious, and only pure Theiwar regiment.
They wore glossy black breastplates of the hardest, most refined steel. Their unnaturally white hair was covered with black helmets of the same metal, with tall, feathered plumes sprouting from the top of each, the color designating a sol dier's company, of which there were three. Each dwarf was armed with at least two weapons.
The first rank, denoted by the red plumes on their hel mets, were the Bloody Blades, axemen chosen especially for their large size and ferocious demeanor. Among the most savage hand-to-hand fighters on all of Krynn, the dwarves of the Bloody Blades were like machines of death on the bat tlefield. Each carried a shield and a short sword, in addition to his axe. They were indoctrinated with fanatical loyalty and fanatical zeal in carrying out the orders of their thane. It was rumored that over twenty-five percent of the Theiwar recruited into the Bloody Blades died during training, so rig orous were their preparations. They were forbidden to marry, so they would have no ties outside the unit. Before battle, each would prepare his funeral song, since planning to live through the battle was a sign of weakness.
The second rank of derro, sporting ebony plumes, were known as the Black Bolts. They wielded heavy crossbows, which were slow to load and awkward to fire. But a volley of their bolts could strike with enough force to penetrate steel armor and shields. In fact, most dwarves could not fire one of these crossbows without dislocating a shoulder.
Members of the Black Bolts were required to place three out of three shots into an elf-sized target at a range of two hundred yards. Anyone who failed this test was stricken from the unit.
