The guards were for display only, of course, and everyone knew it. With thousands of armed strangers awaiting the contingent below, the traders and their followers would have no chance at all if hostilities broke out. But such was always the life of traders and merchants. To acquire goods, they must go to where the goods were, barter for them, and take the risk. Further, there was something in the song of the drums, muted now but still beating, that was reassuring. This is an occasion to trade, they seemed to say, a time to haggle, but not to quarrel… a time to do business, not to do violence.
Throughout the afternoon, hundreds of dwarves from Thorbardin wandered about the valley camp, inspecting goods and setting prices, making lists and copious notes. At evening, as the sun of Krynn sat upon the western ranges, they gathered with their guards and returned up the ramps to Northgate to disappear inside. Guards saw them safely in, then wheeled to follow them, and the great plug of Northgate closed as the last rays of sunlight crept up the high peaks.
Inside, the merchants wandered off toward their cities and their shops, each accompanied by his band of hired armsmen. No street, way, or tunnel in Thorbardin could be considered entirely safe. Ambushers often lurked in shadows, waiting for a chance to attack some feud-enemy or anyone else of that enemy's clan.
The appointed traders hurried to where Jeron Red-leather awaited their reports. A delved chamber near Northgate that usually served as a storage barn had been hastily refurnished the night before as a situational headquarters.
The Daewar leader generally was in charge of all matters involving commerce, just as the Hylar leader was conceded to be the person in charge of policing and defense. Surprisingly, though, the traders found almost the entire Council of Thanes awaiting them. Dunbarth Ironthumb of the Hylar was there, as were Swing Basto of the Theiwar, Trom Thule of the Klar, and even Crag Shade-eye of the Daergar. The only missing member of the Council was Grimble I, Highbulp of Clan Aghar, but that was no surprise. Not for a long time had anyone seen the gully dwarf leader or, for that matter, any of his tribe. During unsettled times, the Aghar tended to disappear.
The traders presented their lists and reports to the assembled leaders. The wares brought by the strangers were indeed valuable and would greatly benefit Thorbardin. And what the strangers demanded in trade was steel.
'Steel?' Swing Basto rasped. 'Just… steel?'
'Forged steel,' the warden of trade noted, poring over notes and enscrollments. 'They cite some types of tools and utensils that they will accept, but mostly they ask for armor and weapons. Hammers, axes, swords, knives, darts, javelin-points, shields, helms, a wide assortment of armor-'
'As we suspected,' Jeron Redleather interrupted. 'Those people have not had access to smelters or to the fine forges and metalshops we have here.'
'But they certainly know about us,' Dunbarth pointed out. 'They seem to know exactly what goods we most need and exactly what we can best produce for trade. They are very familiar with Thorbardin.'
'Their leader is.' Jeron nodded. 'That
'One of our people heard the name Derkin mentioned,' a trader offered. 'But the name that is most commonly used for their leader is Hammerhand.'
'Tell us the rest,' Jeron said, leaning forward, bright-eyed. In addition to being crafty merchants, his corps of traders were among the best spies in the dwarven realm, or maybe in the world.
The answer disappointed him though. 'That's about all there is.' The chief trader shrugged. 'They showed us what they offer, told us what they want, and named their leader. Hammerhand. By observation, we learned that there are at least nine thousand in their party, and many carry healed battle wounds. They have seen combat. Also, some carry brands-the way humans sometimes mark slaves-and the marks of whips. Most of them speak with a Neidar accent, though the accents vary. They seem to be from all over.'
'Nomadic dwarves?' Trom Thule muttered.
'They aren't nomads.' The trader corrected him. 'They carry no looms, anvils, or hearth-irons. That-and the grain, leathers, and woodcrafts they bring-indicates that they have a permanent base somewhere. There are women among them, as well, but we saw very few children.
'They have choice leathers, fine fabrics, and excellent wooden instruments, but the metal goods of their own crafting are of crude iron, copper, bronze, and brass. Everything we saw made of steel was obviously of human crafting, modified to suit dwarves.
'With one exception,' another trader reminded him.
'Oh, yes. One exception. Their leader's armor- Hammerhand's-is of dwarven craft, and of the finest quality… though its design is very old.' The chief trader paused, then shrugged. 'We weren't able to get much information beyond that. I've never seen such close-mouthed people in my life.'
A runner from the gatehouse appeared at the door of the chamber, looked inside, then entered. 'The drums,' he said, 'those drums in the valley, they said bring the message here.'
'Here?' Dunbarth frowned. 'To this chamber?'
'Aye.' The runner nodded. 'Those drums said to come to this chamber, and tell the Council of Thanes to assemble tomorrow in the Great Hall, to meet with Hammerhand.'
'Rust!' Jeron Redleather scowled. 'Now how would those people out there know exactly where we would be, right now?'
'The drums said to say,' the runner said, 'that Hammerhand will speak with you tomorrow.'
The assembled chiefs exchanged glances. 'Let a signal be returned then,' Dunbarth said. 'Say that Hammerhand may enter Thorbardin at dawn.'
'But only with ceremonial escort,' Swing Basto grumped. 'We don't want a lot of strangers running loose in Thorbardin.'
'I shall assign the best guards to them,' Dunbarth agreed, annoyed as usual by the Theiwar's sullen manner. 'Jeron, your son's company is available. I'll assign them.'
10
Drums thundered at first dawn, and the dwarf called hammerhand strode up the west ramp of Northgate with his 'ceremonial' escort-ten burly, battle-hardened veterans in red-and-gray draped armor, all carrying sturdy shields and good swords that bore the nicks and scratches of enthusiastic use, and all with axes slung at their shoulders. The twelfth member of the group was an old, one-armed dwarf in leathers and linens. A reed basket slung from his shoulder bulged with rolled scrolls, and dagger hilts were visible at his belted kilt, the tops of both his boots, and the collar of his gray cape.
With the others following closely, the scarlet-cloaked Hammerhand strode along the gateway's wide, walled ledge to the very center of the massive, steel-clad gate. The great plug, a solid wall of stone sheathed in time- darkened steel, was patterned all over its surface with the small dents, scratches, and tool marks of those who, over the centuries, had tried in vain to get through it. Like its twin on the south face of the mountain, many miles away, Northgate was a monument to the stubborn refusal of the mountain dwarves to be troubled by outsiders.
The one-armed old dwarf peered closely at the mute steel of the gate and pursed his lips, an expression that made his beard stand out before his face. 'I haven't seen this gate in eighty years,' he noted, 'but it hasn't changed. Its face reads like a testament to the futility of invasion.'
'More like a monument to the stone-headed stubbornness of those within,' Hammerhand growled. Loosing his hammer-loop from a powerful shoulder, he paused, glancing at the eastern sky. 'Has that dratted girl been found yet, Calan?'
'Not yet.' The graybeard shook his head. 'Nobody's seen her since yesterday, right after you came back from your scouting.' He lowered his voice, stepping close. 'You realize she saw you put away that invisibility cloak, don't you? She watches you every minute, if seems. It's a wonder you have any secrets from her at all.'
'I'm not sure I do,' Hammerhand growled. 'Well, she's probably hiding somewhere, pouting. Maybe I should
