In the crowd, blades flashed and slings began to hum. Then Derkin Hammerhand strode forward, turned full around, and commanded, 'Hold your weapons! These are not enemies!'
'Hello, Derkin,' the cloaked figure said. 'It has been a long time.'
'Despaxas.' Derkin nodded. 'Calan said he thought you might come.' He pointed at the still-pitching horse and its angry rider. 'What's going on here?'
'Horses don't like transport spells.' The elf shrugged. 'They usually act up a bit upon arrival.'
It took more than a minute for the man to bring his horse under control, and when he was once again in charge he swung down from his saddle and pointed an angry finger at Despaxas. 'You knew that would happen,' he snarled. 'Why didn't you warn me?'
Despaxas shrugged eloquently. 'You said you wouldn't go anywhere without a horse under you,' he purred. 'And far be it from me to try to tell a Cobar anything about horses.'
For a moment, the man glared as though he were contemplating murder. Then he shook his head. 'Crazy elf,' he muttered. He turned, his eyes roving the crowds of dwarves all around, then turning upward toward the shadowy stone that climbed skyward on both sides. 'Where are we?' he asked.
'In Tharkas Pass,' Despaxas said. 'At the place where a dwarf once marked the border of his homeland.'
'And where is…' His eyes lit on the sturdy, red-cloaked figure of the dwarven leader and blinked. 'Derkin? Is that you?'
'Hello, Tuft Broadland,' the dwarf said.
'Well! You certainly have changed, these past years. I hardly knew you.'
'We all change,' Derkin said, then glanced at the elf. 'Well, most of us do anyway. Come with me. Our main camp is just at the south end of the pass, where there's water. You two can tell me all the latest news. I understand the war on the plains is still going on?'
'And on, and on,' Tuft said bleakly.
'Well, we'll eat, and you can tell me about it. Tomorrow I'll show you what we're doing here.'
In the busy, crowded dwarven camp, people stared at the human and the elf with surly suspicion until Derkin made it clear to everyone that they were his guests. Then it seemed the dwarves couldn't do enough for them. They crowded around with platters of roast meat, freshly baked dark bread, and tankards of ale. Tuft marveled at the sumptuous feast that seemed to be ordinary fare for these people. 'How do you do it?' he asked Derkin. 'I mean, I see an army here, but where does the food come from?'
'You only see about a third of us here,' Derkin told him. 'We have farms and granaries all over southwest of here and herds in every valley. Armies must have food and provisions, so the Chosen Ones are more than an army. They have become an entire people. The first year after we freed ourselves from the empire's mines-the last time you saw us-we devoted our efforts and time mostly to gathering those Neidar who wanted to go with us and to scouting new trails and territories. The Neidar have been a scattered people, which is why so many of them wound up as slaves in the human mines… that, and the fact that Thorbardin didn't protect them as it was supposed to. But they aren't scattered now. And they aren't slaves, either.'
Helta Graywood came from a shelter, carrying blankets for them to sit on while they ate. Tuft grinned at the girl and bowed slightly. 'I remember you,' he said.
'Everybody always remembers Helta,' Derkin said softly.
'But she wears no token,' the Cobar noted. 'Haven't you married her yet?'
'No, he hasn't,' Helta said. 'I've told him a dozen times to marry me, but he puts me off. He says he won't commit to anything except reclaiming Kal-Thax. He's stubborn, among other things.'
And stupid, too, Tuft thought, but kept the notion to himself. Most of the dwarven women he had seen were far from beautiful, at least to his human eyes. But Helta Graywood was a striking exception.
Old Calan Silvertoe joined them, then, and they spread their blankets beside a fresh fire. Finishing off a roasted haunch of some delicious meat, Tuft said to Derkin, 'I'd like to see your settlement in the wilderness. You people must be doing wonders there.'
'No human has seen what we are doing out there,' the dwarf said levelly, 'and none will. But if you people ever get through with your stupid war, you'll see the results. We intend to open trade routes and trading centers- east, west, and north.'
'That's after you reclaim Kal-Thax, of course,' the Cobar said bluntly.
'Of course. That's what we're doing now. That's why we're building a wall.'
'The land you're claiming-or reclaiming-is territory that Lord Kane considers his own,' Despaxas said. 'The Emperor Ullves granted it to him.'
'Then the Emperor Ullves lied to him,' Derkin said. 'This land is ours. It was never his to grant, and never will be.'
'You think a wall is going to stop Lord Kane from trying to take back what he considers his?' Tuft asked.
'Maybe not.' Derkin shrugged. 'Walls are like fences. They are built primarily to keep neighbors out. But they don't mean much to enemies.'
'Then what's the purpose of it?'
'It will slow him down, at least,' the dwarf said.
'You'll have to fight him,' the elf said quietly.
Derkin studied them both with shrewd, dark eyes that were far more experienced than the same eyes had been just a few seasons before. His scrutiny also fell on Calan Silvertoe. 'I expect to,' he said. 'And I'm beginning to understand why each of you was so anxious to help me before… and why you want to encourage me now.'
'What you are doing here will help us in our war against the invaders,' Despaxas said. 'There's no secret about that.'
'But I wonder if you-any of you-understand that I want no part of your war,' Derkin growled.
'You didn't want to be anybody's leader either,' Calan Silvertoe reminded him. 'Sometimes there isn't much choice about things like that.'
Derkin turned away, yawning, ignoring him. But he caught the glance that passed between Despaxas and Calan Silvertoe and felt a sudden coldness in his bones. They knew. The old, one-armed dwarf and the ageless elf, they knew what Derkin knew but didn't want to admit, even to himself. The human lord of Klanath would see Derkin's wall not as a boundary, but as a challenge. He almost certainly would not choose to turn away and leave Kal-Thax alone.
In the deepening night, muffled drums sang their songs through the mountains. Drums that Hylar crafters had taught Derkin to build and use as a boy-as his Hylar ancestors had always built and used them-and that Despaxas the elf had taught him a new song for, somewhere in the wilderness. The song of Balladine.
Now the drums were signaling, as they always signaled. Derkin's people-and the far-ranging Neidar who had joined them-now numbered some twenty thousand. The nine thousand here at Tharkas were the Chosen Ones, the fighting core of what had become a new and widespread clan. Most of the rest were in the wilderness, near a place called Sheercliff, though some were still farther west, staking out territory for a future trade center to be called Barter.
They were far separated in miles, but not in mind, and the drums carried their messages back and forth through the mountains.
15
For eleven days the dwarves worked on their wall, laboring nigbt and day while the sole human among them, Tuft Broad-land, watched with amazement. Except for his brief adventure in this place, years before, when he had helped the former Derkin Winterseed free dwarven slaves from the goblins in the Tharkas mine shaft, then watched as those slaves freed thousands more from the mines of Klanath, Tuft had never associated with dwarves.
He was amazed now at their energy, their stubborn intensity in the face of a task, and at their sheer physical strength. He knew, of course, that a mature dwarf a foot shorter than himself would weigh as much as he did, and
