held to be among the very best.
“How did you know we were coming?” asked Pipper.
Anvar laughed. “I did not. But when the Red Coach is due, north-bound or south-, someone is always assigned the duty to meet it in case there is a need. This sevenday it is mine to do.”
“Oh,” said Pipper. Then he frowned and asked, “Do you often get visitors?”
“On occasion.”
“Well, I am glad that you were at the road to meet us, else Bink and I would have had a dreadful time with our gear.”
Binkton nodded his agreement, and Anvar grinned and said, “Indeed.”
The road wended among the rises, now and then passing a thicket or a stand of old growth clutched up against a slope or huddled in a deep recess. And at one-mile intervals stood rune-laden markers declaring to travellers that they were on Dwarven land.
It was late in the day, the sun in its descent having disappeared beyond the western tors, when around a sweeping turn they came in sight of the Redhall gate, the great iron leaves standing shut. Wide it was, some thirty feet in all, and tall, reaching up twenty feet or so, with an arrangement of arrow slits high up and across the broad expanse of metal. And its surface bore an arrangement of runes, declaring this to be the Chakkaholt of Raudholl, or so Brekka explained. Out before the gate, two Dwarven warders stood, and one stepped in through a side postern when the wain came into sight.
Anvar drove the wain onto the stone forecourt and halted. After a moment, the right-hand portal, a great, thick slab of iron, opened, revealing a large chamber, and in the shadows at the far end stood another gate, this one perhaps but ten feet across and ten feet high.
“Here gather warriors in times of strife,” said Brekka, “should there be a need to charge an enemy at the gates.”
Across this assembly area the waggon went and to the gate at the far end.
Once more the warders opened the portal, revealing a narrow passage that went forward a short way and then turned sharply leftward. Into this corridor they went, the way lighted by luminescent Dwarven lanterns. Pipper nudged Binkton and pointed overhead, where machicolations gaped in the ceiling, and high up to either side were arrow slits.
The passage jagged left and then right and then left again, and they came to another iron gate. When this one was opened, a vast, well-lit chamber stood revealed, and Dwarves crossed thither and yon, emerging from and disappearing into passages to left and right.
Anvar stopped the wain beside one of these openings, and Brekka leapt to the stone floor and said, “We are here.” As the buccen scrambled down, Brekka and Anvar unladed the chest and duffle bags.
“Leave the case behind,” said Brekka. “I’ll make arrangements for someone to come and take it up. But first I’ll show you to your quarters, and if you are in mind of a bath, I’ll show you where that is, too. Then I will introduce you to DelfLord Dalek, to make arrangements for your show.”
“Well, then,” said Dalek, stroking his black beard shot through with silver, a glitter of anticipation in his dark eyes, “how can we aid you in putting on your performance?”
Pipper looked about the throne room and, glancing at Binkton, said, “Have you a chamber with high ceilings, one much larger than this?”
“The training chamber, DelfLord?” suggested Brekka.
Dalek pondered a moment and said, “The banquet hall, mayhap.”
“Ah, yes,” said Brekka. “The Chakia.”
Frowning, Pipper looked at Brekka, but no further explanation was offered.
“Might we see both?” asked Binkton.
Dalek stood and motioned them to follow, and he and Brekka led the way through the twisting corridors.
Although the banquet hall was suitable, the training chamber was even better, for it had tiers of benches along the walls that could be moved to seat part of a large audience, and Dalek informed the buccen that additional benches would be brought in to add to the seating. Brekka and Dalek stepped to one side and held a brief whispered conversation, and finally Dalek turned to the Warrows. “The training chamber it is, yet what you will see here you must vow to never reveal.”
Binkton looked at Pipper and that buccan shrugged; then together they agreed to the terms.
Much of the following day was spent with a multitude of Dwarves-all under the Warrows’ guidance-driving pitons at different levels into the stone walls and the rock ceiling above and stringing lines between or hanging trapezes thereon or fitting fixed rods into the walls. They also constructed a stage with wings and a platform above concealed by a high curtain, with a ladder going up even higher. The tiered benches were moved out from the walls and arranged in a long, curving row facing the stage. Additional benches were set out before these in echoing arcs so that all in the hall could see. And, as they had in Junction Town and Luren and Gapton, the buccen arranged for the aid of two stagehands-Brekka one and Anvar the other-and instructed them as to their duties.
That evening, a great many Dwarves gathered in the hall for the first performance, but they took no seats whatsoever. Peering out from behind the curtain concealing the high platform, Pipper and Binkton looked at one another in puzzlement.
“What’s that all about?” whispered Pipper.
“How should I know?” snapped Binkton.
“What I mean, Bink, is why aren’t they finding places to sit?”
Binkton took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Finally he said, “I think they are waiting on something.”
“Yes, but what?”
Binkton groaned. “Do you think I am an expert on Dwarven doings?”
“Maybe they are waiting for Dalek,” said Pipper.
“Perhaps.”
But Dalek came and still no one took seat.
But then chatter echoed down the halls, and moments later Dwarven children reached the entry, and fell silent as they walked past the assembled adults and to the front of the hall. But then they, too, stood waiting.
Finally, a large group of lithe beings entered, each one mantled from head to foot in swirling veils, their steps silent, their progress somehow elegant. And all the Dwarves, but for Dalek, knelt upon one knee as they passed by. These graceful creatures were a half a head taller than most of the Dwarves.
“Chakia,” whispered Pipper. “These must be the Chakia.”
“Females, you mean?” asked Binkton.
“Yes. Don’t you remember the diary of Beau Darby?”
Binkton nodded. “Female Dwarves.”
“Don’t be too certain of that, Bink,” said Pipper. “Beau himself wasn’t sure, and Tipperton said they were beautiful. I can’t imagine a Dwarf, male or female, as being described as beautiful.-And look. See how they are revered? What kind of creature would cause such regard?”
Binkton snorted and asked, “Why would someone not a Dwarf ever consider being the mate of a Dwarf?”
Pipper shrugged, but then said, “They tell that Elyn of Jord loved a Dwarf.”
“That’s just a legend, Pip.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Oh, Bink, perhaps this is what we are supposed to keep secret.”
“That Elyn loved Thork?”
“No, no. The Chakia of this holt. The children, too. Mayhap we’re supposed to keep quiet about how many there are. Perhaps the numbers of the Chakka, as well.”
“I don’t know what it is we are supposed to keep quiet about, except absolutely everything we see herein, just like we vowed.-Now, get ready, for it looks like they’re all finding seats.”
As the Chakia took places in the front rows midmost before the stage, and the Dwarven children-all males- sat alongside them, the remaining Dwarves spread out among the benches and tiers behind. They all sat when Dalek did so at the very front.
Anvar stepped to the fore of the stage and called out in the Dwarven tongue of Chakur, announcing Fire and
