dwar-ven clans, unchallenged rulers of mighty Thorbardin. They had been driven from their ancestral home during the past summer, victims of the treachery of dark dwarves. As if the traitorous attack of their neighboring clans wasn’t enough, they had suffered an influx of demon creatures from Chaos that had wracked their home with unprecedented violence. Now these refugees were the only survivors of Clan Hylar. Their city was a ruin. No family had been left unscathed by the devastation-in fact each of the three leaders debating what to do on the bridge had lost a father in the brutal battles against dark dwarves and Chaos beasts. Tarn couldn’t help feeling a twinge of shame as he thought how far his people had fallen. He knew there were worse dangers that loomed ahead, and he wondered if he was capable of coping with the obstacles.
“One day we will go back,” he said, speaking to himself as much as to his two companions. “That’s a promise. . to you, to all of us.”
“For now, let’s see if we can get across that bridge,” Belicia said, bringing their attention back to the present.
“Barz?” asked Tarn, looking back to the multitude of mountain dwarves resting on either side of the road.
“I’ll bring ‘em up,” the burly warrior muttered. “We’ll be ready to rush the bridge if they show any signs of stupidity.”
“Wait until I give the word,” Tarn said. He was grateful for Barzack’s competence, a useful attribute in this increasingly problematic world, but frequently found his bellicose nature a challenge to reasonable authority.
The black-bearded warrior shouted at the main body, and the mountain dwarves once again fell into line. The sturdiest warriors took the front positions, though a large detachment of armed Hylar brought up the rear of the band to guard against surprise. Tarn and Belicia led the large column across the crest of the ridge and down the road toward the village. They saw immediately that the sleepy appearance of the hill dwarf community was deceptive. In plain view a troop of armed warriors appeared from a squat building and marched forth to straddle the bridge.
“Do you think they knew we were here all along?” asked Belicia.
“Who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised if they keep a company on permanent guard duty.”
The dwarfwoman nodded. Both of them knew that though the Storms of Chaos had been beaten back before they could consume Thorbardin, strange beings still lurked across this and every other part of Krynn. No doubt the hill dwarves had experienced some of the Chaos horrors-dragons of liquid fire, shadow wights that sucked vitality, life, even memory from their doomed victims, daemon warriors who feared nothing.
Of course, the schism between the dwarf clans existed long before the Chaos War. Still, it saddened Tarn to see that the rivalries and resentments that had marred the history of the hill and mountain dwarves had not been allayed by the arrival of a greater, supernatural threat. The residents of this little village couldn’t have looked more hostile than they did now, facing fellow dwarves. To judge from the first words spoken when Tarn and Belicia had advanced to within hailing distance, an all-out battle was likely.
“That’s far enough, cousins. . these arrows have sharp heads, and no one’s ever complained about our aim!”
The speaker was a brawny hill dwarf, a fellow who looked to be nearly a head taller than Tarn. He carried a massive, heavy warhammer, and was flanked by a row of doughty comrades, each of whom held a heavy crossbow raised and pointed. Even from a hundred paces away, the mountain dwarves could see the sunlight reflecting off arrowheads.
“We want to talk to you,” said Belicia, holding up both of her hands, palms outward. Tarn remained silent, and made no move to draw his sword.
“Talk from over there, then,” growled the original speaker.
“We come from Thorbardin,” Tarn said. “We are of Clan Hylar, and we left our ancestral home, driven out by evil Chaos fiends.”
“We know-and for all we care, you can go back there! Maybe a fire dragon will keep you warm this winter!”
“Please listen,” Belicia said. “We are not looking for a fight. . or even your help. All we ask is that our band be allowed to cross this bridge and pass through your village, that we may have a chance to reach safety of the lowlands before the onset of winter.”
“We know all we need to know about mountain dwarves. . maybe you recall the stories yourself? How once upon a time the world was coming to an end, and the Cataclysm was raining death across Krynn? We hill dwarves turned to the undermountain clans for protection. Do you remember what the mountain dwarf king said?”
“I remember,” Tarn said, “and it is a memory that brings us shame.”
“Well, we remember too,” declared the hill dwarf, “and to us it’s a memory that brings only hatred and bitterness. There was no room for us, your king said. . go back to the hills and die, he said. Ironic, isn’t it, when you think about what yer asking. Now that we have a chance to return the favor, you’ll understand that we plan to make the most of it!”
“You speak of a time of evil and selfishness,” retorted Tarn. “Those traits led to war back then-the Dwarfgate War, the greatest tragedy of our history.”
“Think about the past, and have a new vision for the future!” Belicia argued. “Your actions today can lay the groundwork for lasting peace.”
“We’ve had all we want of mountain dwarf peace! Now, go back to the high country or face our steel!” The speaker brandished his great hammer, while the ranks of crossbowmen aimed their weapons meaningfully.
Other hill dwarves lined the edge of the gorge. All were armed and-unlike the Hylar-they looked healthy, clean, well-fed. Though they were no match for the sheer numbers of the refugees, they had the advantage of defending a bridge, a narrow route that would inevitably negate the greater force of the Hylar.
“We can’t go back to the heights!” Tarn declared, feeling his temper rising again. “If you don’t let us pass in peace, then we’ll have to try to do so by force-we have no choice! That will lead to a waste of lives that benefits neither of our tribes. For you should know this, hill dwarf-though some of my clan may die, your people’s blood, too, will flow across the ground. Cousins will kill cousins, and many dwarves will perish!”
“I say let the killing begin!” sneered the village chieftain. “My father and grandfather and all my ancestors have told me of mountain dwarf treachery, of the hate that kept my people from safety during the Cataclysm. You are no kin of ours!”
Tarn felt his sword hand twitching as he started to reply. Before he could growl out a word, however, he felt Belicia’s hand on his arm. As always, her touch calmed him.
“It’s no good,” muttered Tarn, glaring at the belligerent warrior on the bridge. “ ‘Stubborn as a hill dwarf.’ I see that it’s an apt phrase!”
Barzack stalked forward. “Let’s fight them!” insisted the veteran warrior. He fixed his dark eyes on Tarn and set his jaw belligerently. “Let me lead the way if you don’t have the stomach for it!”
“That’s enough of that kind of talk,” snapped Tarn, still in a foul temper, “or you’ll be fighting me, not some upstart hill dwarf.”
“Stop it, both of you,” snapped Belicia.
“What are we going to do about this impasse, then?” demanded Barzack.
“I guess you’re right,” Tarn said after a long silence. “We’ll have to fight.”
“Go to war against our own cousins?” Belicia asked glumly.
“Do you have a better idea?” asked Tarn in exasperation.
“I might,” Barzack offered. He studied the picket line at the bridge. “That big hill dwarf, the one making most of the noise-like he was spoiling for a fight, right?”
“Aye,” Tarn agreed, wondering what the mountain dwarf was getting at.
“Well, so am I! Let’s suggest a match-myself against him. If I win, we get to cross the bridge and move swiftly through the village and into the low valleys. If he wins, we go back-or, rather, you will, since I’ll be dead. We’ll pledge against the honor of Reorx, so there will be no duplicity on either side.”
“I don’t know,” the Hylar leader said slowly. He looked at the strapping warrior appraisingly, remembered Barzack’s prowess against the massive bear. “If I were a bettor, I’d admit I like your chances, but we-especially you-would be gambling with very high stakes.”
“I’ll win,” Barzack said confidently.
“How can you be so sure?”
