“This is why.” The burly warrior reached into the tangle of the beard at his breast. He groped for a moment, then brought forth a glittering object dangling from a golden chain. Tarn saw a necklace, three gold disks linked on a single chain of gold. One of the disks was centered with a ruby, another with an emerald, and the third with a bright diamond.
“This is all that I have left to remind me of my mother,” said Barzack. “She gave it to me before she left Thorbardin with my father. . I was a wee mite, for this was long years before the Lance War. She said I should always carry her prized necklace, for I was her first son.”
Tarn was surprised to see moisture in the warrior’s eyes, to hear emotion choke the dwarf’s voice.
“I never saw her again.”
“Do you know what happened to her?” asked Belicia.
“Yes, my father told me.” Barzack drew a deep breath, and once again his eyes were dry, his voice hard. “She was taken by hill dwarves. . captured, enslaved, probably worked to death or killed outright.”
Barzack glared at Tarn, as if challenging him to make an issue of the story. “That’s why I’ll win-in my mind, these hill dwarves are the same as those who took my mother. My hatred of them will carry me to victory. I assure you, this fight will give me a great deal of satisfaction.”
“Still, it’s taking a huge chance.”
“The alternative is war,” Belicia pointed out.
“I know.” Tarn gestured to the vast band of mountain dwarves gathered on the road before the bridge. “If it comes to battle, though, I know we could win. We easily outnumber them.”
“However, it is as you say. Too many Hylar would die. How many would die before we prevailed?” his mate persisted. “I think Barzack’s idea has real merit.”
“Let me fight him-for my mother, my father, for all of us. For Reorx himself!”
Tarn still didn’t like it. He knew that Reorx was the god of all dwarves, clans of mountain and hill alike, and there was no guarantee that he would favor the Hylar cause.
“Do you have a better idea? Any idea at all?” growled Barzack. Tarn was forced to admit that he didn’t.
So it was decided. Tarn, Belicia, and Barzack turned and approached the edge of the bridge, with the rest of the clan pressing close behind. The hill dwarf sentries still stood in line, blocking passage across the bridge, and with the approach of the whole column of mountain dwarves more of the town’s residents had spilled out of their homes to gather at the far end of the gorge. The defenders of the village shouted and jeered at the refugees, hurling the crudest insults they could imagine.
In contrast, the mass of mountain dwarves regarded the hill dwarves with grim silence, glowering darkly, fingering weapons, occasionally muttering among themselves in reaction to the harsh invective. Tarn knew that their silence was not an indication of cowardice-if anything, it was an advertisement of their stern purpose. To the Hylar, the bridge represented a route not only to the lowlands but to their chances of any future at all.
“Go back-or I warn you, we’ll kill you!” blustered the hill dwarf leader. Now, to Tarn’s critical eye, this sturdy hill dwarf looked every bit the equal of Barzack in size, weight, and even in the burning anger that shone within his dark black eyes. Tarn hated the prospect of a duel, but he was determined to cross the bridge, and this seemed the only way.
“That will not be easily accomplished,” Tarn said. “We’re in no mood to retreat, and our numbers will overwhelm yours. . though it is unfortunate that so many on both sides will die in the fighting.”
The hill dwarf laughed. “You yourself will never make it across the bridge-and before you’ve breathed your last, we’ll have hill dwarves from ten more villages among our numbers. Already messengers have gone out, and the first reinforcements will be here within the hour.”
The fierce chieftain could be bluffing-certainly they hadn’t seen any messengers depart the village since they had first approached the bridge. Even so, Tarn despaired at the note of defiance in the other dwarf’s words. Certainly any battle would result in a huge loss of life on both sides.
“Before there’s any killing, let us talk for a few minutes more. There’s nothing to be lost in that, is there? My name is Tarn Bellowgranite. My father was the thane of the Hylar, and now I lead the remnants of our clan.”
“Any breath spent in speech with a mountain dwarf is a waste of air,” retorted the other.
“At least he’s still wasting breath instead of blood,” murmured Belicia, speaking under her breath and tightening a grip on Tarn’s arm. He drew strength from her touch, forcing himself to control the emotions that once again threatened to boil over.
“Waste a little more of it, then. Tell me your name,” coaxed Tarn.
“I am Katzynn Bonebreaker-and my surname declares the fate of any mountain dwarf who meets my hammer!” He raised the heavy weapon, spinning it easily from one hand to the other.
“Make the challenge,” growled Barzack, “or, by Reorx, I’ll fight him without any ceremony!”
Tarn too was weary of the pleasantries. “Well, there is one among us who shares your sentiments-his mother was snatched and enslaved by your people. He never saw her again. So you both have a grudge, a blood feud.”
“There are blood feuds throughout our clans,” declared the hill dwarf. “What of it?”
“Just this: We are not going back to the mountains, not without a fight. A fight would kill many of you, as well as many of us. Instead, let our champion fight you or any hill dwarf you name. Let the winner decide his people’s fate.”
The hill dwarf scoffed. “None can last more than five minutes against me. That is my reputation. How do we know you will keep your word when your champion dies?”
Tarn flushed. “Don’t be so sure who will die! Either way, let us swear an oath to Reorx. The loser will abide by the terms of the pledge, or the curse of our god will come down upon his tribe.”
“Reorx. . father god to all dwarves,” mused the hill dwarf. “In truth, such an oath would be binding, for the consequences of breaking such a vow are too dire to comprehend.”
“In that case, let the matter be fought!” declared Barzack, loudly, “if there is one among you with the courage to face me!”
“I’ll be glad to fight you!” snarled the hill dwarf chieftain, “but first let us make this vow.”
Katzynn Bonebreaker and another hill dwarf advanced to the edge of the bridge. Tarn and Barzack moved forward, and the oath was sworn. Barzack, Tarn, and two hill dwarves each placed their hands over the blade of a sword as terms of the fight were outlined: the duel would last until the death-or the almost inconceivable capitulation-of one of the contestants. No physical aid could come from any other dwarves, and the two contestants had to remain on the bridge until the fight ended.
“That should take about five minutes,” said Katzynn Bonebreaker with a malicious grin. Barzack met his eyes fiercely.
The dwarves of both sides moved off the bridge as Katzynn and Barzack faced each other. The mountain dwarf bore his huge axe, while the hill dwarf faced him with his equally large hammer. Both were hulking and fierce fellows, splendid examples of dwarven warriors. As Tarn watched them, he was struck by the realization that there were more similarities than differences between the two combatants.
The two pair studied each other for several heartbeats as the crowds on both sides of the gorge began to call encouragement.
“Kill him, Katzynn!” cried one bellicose hill dwarf, a female.
“Feed him to the fishes, Barzack!” countered one of the mountain dwarf matrons. The shouts quickly rose to a roar, drowning out the river and the wind. Tarn felt the tension all around him, and his own blood began to pound. He raised his fist and shook it angrily, barely conscious of Belicia’s grip tightening on his arm. This time her touch did not pacify him.
Barzack raised his axe and charged while the hill dwarf crouched and swung his hammer in a low arc. The two weapons met in an explosion of sparks, steel clanging against steel. Shouts and cries intensified from both sides, dwarven voices raised in a hoarse, bloodthirsty din. The force of the first contact knocked both fighters backward, but Katzynn Bonebreaker recovered quickly to rush forward, twirling the hammer in great circles around his head.
The mountain dwarf ducked under to slash viciously upward with his sharp-edged axe. Somehow his opponent spun out of the way, then Barzack had to fling himself forward to avoid a backswing that would certainly have crushed his spine. Their momentum carried the dwarves apart, and when they turned to face each other again, they had reversed positions. Mouths agape, they drew deep breaths of air.
More shouts of encouragement, building to a roar that rumbled like thunder through the mountain valley. “Kill
