stepped up on it, then scanned the crowd waiting there with thoughtful eyes. Vaguely, he recalled Dunbarth Iron- thumb of the Hylar, who had once been Captain of Guards under old Harl. The rest he had never seen, but he knew who they were. The shrewd-eyed, middle-aged Daewar with the trade wardens behind him obviously was Jeron Redleather. The suspicious-looking old Theiwar scowling at him from his council seat would be Swing Basto. Crag Shade-eye of the Daergar removed his face mask as a courtesy, letting the stranger see his features, then donned it again, squinting in the light of the chamber's overhead sun-tunnel and reflectors.
The bushy, unruly hair and beard of the next chief identified him as Klar, the chieftain Trom Thule. The sixth and seventh seats were vacant. Nobody knew where to find the bumbling little Grimble I, Highbulp of Thane Aghar, and many years had passed since any Neidar had met with the council.
Derkin studied them one by one, then nodded and stepped to the center of the dais. 'I am called Hammer- hand,' he told them. 'My people call themselves the Chosen Ones.'
Jeron Redleather bowed slightly, welcoming the newcomer, then glanced at those with him. He had already heard-from his son's guards-of the beauty of the dwarf girl with Hammerhand, but his eyes widened when he looked at the old one-arm with the reed basket. 'I know you,' he said. 'You are Calan. You left Thorbardin long ago, some said to live among elves.'
'Your memory is excellent, Sire.' Calan Silvertoe grinned. 'That was at least eighty years ago.'
'And now you return, with another who preferred outside ways to our own.' Jeron shifted his gaze back to the red-cloaked warrior. 'My son tells me that you are indeed Derkin Winterseed, the son of a Hylar chieftain.'
'I am called Derkin Hammerhand now,' Derkin said. 'The name pleases me. My people chose it.'
'And who are your people?' Dunbarth Ironthumb asked. 'Where do they come from?'
'They call themselves the Chosen Ones,' Derkin repeated.
Frowning, Swing Basto rumbled, 'Chosen ones? Who chose them?'
'I did,' Derkin said. 'And as to where we are from, we are from Kal-Thax.'
'Kal-Thax is here,' the Klar chieftain pointed out. 'Kal-Thax is our land.'
'It used to be,' Derkin said. 'Until Thorbardin abandoned it. Most of my people have been Neidar. Many of them come now from the same cells and slave pens as I come from-slave quarters owned by the human invaders that you people have not troubled yourselves to drive away.'
Angry voices were raised in the vast audience, and others joined them. The babble became a roar that died slowly as Jeron Redleather raised a commanding hand. All over the great chamber, companies of Home Guards spread and positioned themselves, ready to enforce order if necessary.
'This person is our guest!' the Daewar chieftain announced, his voice carrying through the Great Hall. 'As he is our guest at this assembly of the thanes, it is our right to question him, but it is also his right to speak freely and be heard.'
'So question him!' a voice called from somewhere in the crowd. 'Why is he here? What does he want?'
'Those are fair questions,' Jeron conceded, nodding at Derkin.
'We are here for two reasons,' Derkin continued. 'The first is to trade. Your traders,' he indicated the trade wardens standing behind Jeron, 'have inspected our goods and heard what we want in exchange.'
'Mostly steel implements,' Jeron said.
'Implements?' Derkin raised an eyebrow, his eyes piercing the Daewar chieftain. 'Call them what they are. We want weapons. Good weapons crafted from good dwarven steel.'
'Weapons, then,' Jeron conceded.
'Provided you have the steel to make them,' Derkin added. 'I saw no smelter glows at the Shaft of Reorx.'
'We have steel,' Dunbarth Ironthumb growled. 'We have excellent stockpiles of steel.'
'Good for you,' Derkin drawled ironically. 'Then we will make trade?'
'What do you want the weapons for?' Swing Basto demanded.
'To wage war against the human legions who have invaded our land.'
A murmur spread through the crowd.
'You said you came for two reasons,' Dunbarth said. 'What is the second?'
Derkin planted his fists on his hips. 'I also want Thorbardin troops to help me in my war.'
The murmuring doubled in volume. There were scattered shouts and cheers.
'Why should we help you?' Swing Basto growled. 'Your war is not our concern.'
'The land I intend to retake is the land of the dwarves.' Derkin glared at the Theiwar. 'It is the land of Kal- Thax.'
'It is outside!' Swing snapped. 'Our concern is Thorbardin. Let those outside do their own fighting.'
'Klar don't have time to go off to war,' Trom Thule said. 'Plenty to do right here.'
'If we were to send troops,' Dunbarth Ironthumb asked, 'who would lead them?'
'I will lead,' Derkin told him. 'My people and I. We know the land, and we know the enemy. We will conduct j the war against the human Lord Kane. I ask you to join us I in this cause.'
Jeron Redleather stood. 'Those are your requests, then? That we trade you weapons, and that we send an army to join you?'
Derkin nodded. 'Those are my requests.'
The voices in the crowd had died down. All were silent, waiting for the council's answer.
'Then the council will deliberate the matter. Do you intend to stay and listen? Derkin Winterseed and Calan Silvertoe have the right, as citizens, to observe council action.'
'But not the rest of these who are with me.' Derkin shook his head. 'No, I will wait with them in the concourse. We will return to hear your decisions.' Turning, he strode from the dais, followed closely by Helta Gray-wood and the Ten. Calan Silvertoe walked to the nearest audience row and sat down, bustling several dwarves aside to make room for himself. 'I'll stay,' he muttered. 'It's been eighty years since I last heard thane leaders bicker.'
Derkin and his party left the hall through wide plank doors. Luster Redleather and about half of his company followed them out, and the doors closed behind them.
'I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight,' the young Daewar told Derkin.
'How do you think it will go?' Derkin asked.
Luster shrugged. 'Who knows? My father might favor your proposal, and maybe Dunbarth Ironthumb. They both regret the way Thorbardin has gone. But the others? Who knows?'
Hours had passed, and the sun-tunnels were dimming when the Great Hall's doors opened again and a guard signaled. Followed by Helta and the Ten, Derkin walked again to the dais. As he passed Calan Silvertoe, the old dwarf frowned and shook his head. 'These idiots haven't changed a bit,' he whispered.
The conclusions of the Council of Thanes, read to Derkin by Jeron Redleather in a level voice that told few details of what had occurred in the privacy of the packed hall, confirmed Calan's whisper. Thorbardin would produce the weapons and armaments demanded by Hammerhand and would trade them for the goods offered by the Chosen Ones. But Thorbardin would raise no army and would not join in Hammerhand's war.
Aside, Dunbarth Ironthumb whispered, 'I'm sorry, Derkin. The vote was three to two.'
From beyond the dais, Calan Silvertoe's old voice rasped, 'Can you guess what argument carried the decision, Derkin? It was that, if Thorbardin sent an army outside, there wouldn't be enough reliable guards left inside to keep the peace.'
'To keep the peace?' Derkin muttered. Then, to the chieftains, 'You have made your decisions. We of Kal- Thax are on our own. You will trade us weapons, but you will not help us fight. You, Jeron Redleather, said earlier that I have the right to speak. Have I that right still?'
'This council is still in session.' The Dae war nodded.
'Very well.' Derkin turned, addressing the entire assembly, his voice cold and clear.
'Your ancestors once put aside their grudges and their feuds,' he said slowly, 'to form a nation in these mountains. Now there is no nation here. Even within this fortress, where you all breathe the same air, drink the same water, eat from the same fields and stores, and hide behind the same gates, there is no real nation. You tell yourselves that Thorbardin lives! Because the vents still bring you fresh winds, and the water troughs still flow, and the warrens still yield food, you tell yourselves that all is well.
'I say Thorbardin does not live! I say Thorbardin is asleep, and if it does not awaken soon, it will truly die!'
