them. With methodical, determined dwarven logic they pressed and pounded, slashed and cut until what had been a massed assault was a broken, scattered battle, humans blindly fighting and trying to get away all along a mile-wide field.
Olim Goldbuckle found himself abruptly unoccupied as the latest gang of humans fled in panic, and signaled to Gem Bluesleeve, who polished off a barbarian, gave quick orders to his company, then hurried to join his prince.
Olim had climbed to the top of a boulder and was surveying the field. Carnage was everywhere, and some scattered fighting still went on, but Olim was looking for something else. “Where are the horsemen?” he snapped as Gem reached the boulder.
Gem looked around. He hadn’t seen a horseman since the fighting started. He climbed up beside his prince. Far south, near the steeps, companies of Daergar in iron masks were methodically attacking bands of humans who had fled in that direction, turning them away from the rising lands. Gem looked to the north and muttered an oath. There was no one on that side — only a few fleeing bands of humans with his own people in pursuit. “Where are the Theiwar?” he hissed. “They should be over there on our forward flank. That side of the pass is wide open!”
Olim shaded his eyes. “Have they betrayed us? Have they let the outsiders through and betrayed the Pact of Kal-Thax?”
He had barely spoken when shouts erupted on the near lines, where pairs of Daewar turned to point westward, up the rise.
Coming over the crest were human riders — hundreds of them, with the owl-feathered barbarian in the lead.
Gem cupped his hands. “Turn!” he roared. “Turn and defend!”
Swiftly the Daewar line reversed itself, regrouping in the two-at-ten-yards pattern to meet the charging riders.
The horsemen thundered toward them, but not as riders attacking in a charge. Instead, they seemed to be fleeing from something. Then, above and behind them, Theiwar warriors came over the crest. There was blood on their dark swords, and on their dark-steel armor, and through their mesh face-plates clamored their battle cries.
“They ambushed them!” Gem gasped. “The gods’-rejected Theiwar! They let those people through the lines, then ambushed them!”
“I don’t believe it,” Olim rumbled. “Twist Cutshank is stupid, but he isn’t
“See for yourself, Sire. They are pressing their attack.”
“Pressing, yes,” Olim growled. “Right down on our lines. Defend! Defend!”
“Nets and cables!” Gem shouted, signaling. Jumping to the ground, he ran to help.
Like a ragged juggernaut, the Cobar swept down on the thin Daewar line. Sling-stones stopped a few, and thrown nets attached to anchored cables brought down a few more, but the human riders had the slope to their advantage. Slashing and ripping, they went through and over the Daewar line … and didn’t even slow down. Once in the clear, most of them kept on going. For now, they had had enough of dwarves.
One, though, hauled rein on the slope just below Olim’s boulder, turned, and screamed a cry of hatred. Owl feathers rippling in the wind above his helmet, the Cobar leader heeled his mount, raised his sword in both hands, and charged the Daewar prince.
Two blades flashed as one in the sunlight. The human’s blade sliced toward Olim’s head and was deflected by an iron shield on an arm that, inch for inch, was far stronger than any human’s. Olim’s whistling blade came around in a wide arc and caught the human in midsection, just below his belted chest-plate. It almost cut him in two.
As Owl Feather flopped to the ground, dying, Olim straightened and scowled at the blood on his bright sword. Oddly, in that moment he noticed — or realized consciously for the first time — that human blood was precisely the same color as dwarven blood.
Just up the slope, so near that he could see their dark eyes behind their mesh masks, half a hundred Theiwar warriors clustered as though to flee. Chasing after the human riders, they had become separated from their main forces and now found themselves practically in the middle of the Daewar defenses — far too close for comfort. Raising his sword in command signal, Olim shouted, “Gem! Circle those Theiwar! Capture them!”
Gem Bluesleeve barked commands, and companies in the Daewar line headed up-slope at a run, encircling the confused Theiwar who turned to flee only to find themselves ringed by Daewar blades and shields. Gem Bluesleeve strode into the ring and ordered, “Theiwar! Lay down your arms! You are prisoners!”
From atop his rock, Olim watched, anger glinting in his blue eyes. If these Theiwar behaved themselves they would not be hurt, but he didn’t want any of them reporting back to Twist Cutshank just yet.
The Theiwar treachery — letting humans through the line and them turning them back upon the Daewar — had been a vicious trick, but Olim suspected there was more to it than just Twist Cutshank’s peevishness. Now he intended to find out.
14
The autumn sun had gone behind the peaks, and twilight lay upon Kal-Thax when Theiwar watchers saw a little band of brightly clad dwarves making their way northward. They were obviously Daewar, but there were fewer than a hundred of them, and many appeared injured.
Within minutes, Twist Cutshank himself was on the spotting ledge with Brule Vaportongue and a dozen others. “The plan worked,” the Theiwar chieftain gloated. “The humans cut them to pieces. Those are all that are left.”
“That’s Goldbuckle himself in the lead,” Slide Tolec noted, pointing. “I know him by his floral cloak.”
“It worked!” Twist repeated, a fierce grin parting his whiskers. “Glome was right. The Daewar are defeated. All we need to do is finish the job. Mark their route and get ready. I want Olim Goldbuckle’s head on a javelin tip. With him gone, we’ll have no problem taking over that stronghold of theirs.”
“You mean to ambush them?” Slide asked. He was surprised and a bit shocked at how few Daewar survivors there seemed to be. It didn’t seem right, somehow, that the human horsemen could have done so much damage — could have killed so many. And yet, there they were, no more than a hundred battered, slow-moving Daewar. And no returning Theiwar had reported anything of what occurred after the horsemen returned to the battle. In fact, there were quite a few Theiwar missing, as well.
“Of course we ambush them,” Twist grunted. “That’s part of Glome’s plan. Then we go take over that fortress they’ve been digging. No Daewar will ever again think of being king of Kal-Thax!”
“You really think the Daewar wants to be a king?” Brule Vaportongue asked.
“You heard Glome,” Twist snapped. “Why else would the Daewar have been digging a fortress all these years under Sky’s End?”
Glome himself was not there, and Slide realized that the assassin had been gone most of the day. It was as though he had shown up just long enough to persuade Twist Cutshank to start a war, then disappeared. Brule crouched on the shelf, staring out at the approaching Daewar, and the frown on his V-shaped face was as puzzled as Slide’s own. Still, when Twist Cutshank proceeded to organize his ambush and set out with his troops, they both remained silent. Something was very wrong here, and they both felt it. But they didn’t know what it was, and they knew the chieftain would not listen to their vague suspicions. It seemed the only person Twist listened to, now that he was chieftain, was Glome the Assassin.
By evening light the Theiwar ambushers were concealed along both sides of a narrow draw along which the Daewar must pass. Twist Cutshank crept to a stone out-cropping and watched them approach. They were near now, and the Theiwar’s eyes fixed on the gleaming helmet and floral cloak of the Daewar prince. Soon, he told himself. Soon, the Daewar will be dead.
“I don’t care how many of the gold-molders you kill,” he called softly. “Kill them all, for all I care. Just make
