In the distance, bands of dark figures ran from the Theiwar camps toward the path of the intruders and disappeared over a glistening rise. Olim assumed an ambush was being laid. The Theiwar were very good at ambush. The strangers, whoever they were, were about to learn just how good. Olim smiled grimly as the army on the mountainside marched around a curve and out of sight — directly into a prepared Theiwar defense.
For a time, there was nothing to see. Whatever was happening on the north flank miles away, was hidden from the Daewar camps. Minutes dragged by as Olim Goldbuckle stared into the distance, imagining what Slide Tolec’s troops must be doing to the intruders.
Then, distant but strong on the wind, came a sound, and Olim paled beneath his whiskers. Errant winds gusted, driving curtains of snow across the slanted lands, but on the wind came the sound of marching drums.
The blowing snow drifted past, and figures seemed to rise out of it. Hundreds of armed, armored figures, some mounted high on tall, golden horses. They were well past the Theiwar camps and were closing fast on the Daewar line.
*
Colin Stonetooth paused for a moment as the Hylar cleared the twisting, snow-packed path and emerged into a low, rough canyon between caprock-topped cliffs. Beside him, Jerem Longslate nodded. “Those were ambush signals, all right,” he said. “And there is the ambush, just ahead. There … and there, up in the rocks. They are hiding from us, waiting for us to come to them. Definitely an ambush.”
“Hardly a greeting committee,” the chieftain agreed. He turned and beckoned. When Willen Ironmaul rode up beside him, he pointed ahead. “Those people Cale saw from the promontory. Some of them are in this canyon now, waiting to ambush us. Do you see them?”
“Aye, Sire.” The big guardsman nodded. “I see where they are.”
“I want to talk to them,” Colin Stonetooth said. “Have someone round them up and bring them along. We will go on to where those large groups are assembled, down on the pass.”
“Yes, Sire.” Willen wheeled his giant horse and pranced back to give his orders to the guard companies. “We have found some of our neighbors,” he said. “First section, take a foot company and gather up that ambush. Sections two and three, go have a look at those camps beyond. Gather up whoever’s there and rejoin us over where all those brightly clothed people are.” He circled his arm above his head. “Companies forward!”
“Sometimes your son-in-law sounds just like that human knight,” Jerem Longslate said to Colin.
“Sometimes you do, too,” Colin reminded the First of the Ten.
Jerem shrugged. “Well, the knight was the one who taught us.”
*
Beneath a slanting sun, the canyon lay in silence, only the mountain winds whispering through it. Then there were the echoes of steel-shod hooves on stone, the creak and clink of armor, the sounds of booted feet marching.
“They’re coming,” a Theiwar whispered in the shadowed clefts below the caprock. “Ready?”
“Ready,” other quiet voices responded.
Dark in the shadows they waited, and the intruders appeared at a bend, coming toward them. Slide Tolec frowned, easing forward for a better look. They were dwarves! But what kind of dwarves? And riding horses! They looked like no one he had ever seen — sturdy, dark-maned people with horned or plumed helms, edged shields at every shoulder, and wide, tapered blades at hand. They fairly bristled with weaponry.
Most of the strangers had trimmed beards that seemed swept back, as though they faced a wind. Again, Slide gaped at the tall golden-and-white horses and shook his head in wonder. He had seen horses, but he had never seen dwarves ride them. And such horses! They were half again the size of any horses he had ever seen.
Behind the company of mounted dwarves came footmen, a hundred or more of them, marching in perfect precision as though someone were calling the step. They moved as though a drummer were pacing them.
Slide had never seen such people. Dwarves or not, though, they were intruders. This was no new thane sprung from the Einar masses. These people were from somewhere other than Kal-Thax!
The column came directly below the ambush, and Slide Tolec raised his arm and sliced downward. From both sides of the canyon, a hail of stones and missiles crashed down on the strangers below. Thrown stones, sling- stones, bolts from throwing sticks, and several axes descended upon the intruders like raining death … descended, ricocheted aside, and rattled on the stone floor of the canyon.
Slide stared down into the chasm. At the instant of attack, even as the stones had rained down, the mounted dwarves had wheeled, separated, and pounded ahead, their tall horses hardly breaking stride as they angled up the snowy slopes. Directly below the ambushers, the canyon floor was a solid carpet of metal shields, covering every part of every intruder. And even as Slide gawked, the shields parted in neat rows, each shield tilting, and a barrage of iron balls whistled upward, driven by deadly, humming slings. Singing like angry hornets, the hail of balls smashed into the shallow caverns, throwing shards of broken stone, caroming this way and that among the Theiwar. There were shrieks and howls, and several dwarves plunged from hiding to roll down the crusted slopes where sturdy shields stopped them and strong hands disarmed them.
Slide Tolec stared in amazement. Once before, he had seen an ambush turned. But never like this! The strange dwarves moved and struck in perfect unison, wasting no effort. It was as though they were fierce, deadly dolls all dancing on a single string. The carpet of shields tilted again, turned to the sides, and a forest of iron-tipped javelins bristled there, held in strong hands on cocked, powerful arms.
Slide saw movement above and glanced upward. The caprock above the far canyon wall was lined with burly figures astride tall horses, all looking directly across at his hiding place. He started to retreat farther into the depths, but from directly overhead a lance point was thrust downward, pinning his sleeve to the stone beneath his arm.
A deep voice called, “You in the holes! Come out, and be quick about it!”
Pushing a thousand or more fleeing Theiwar ahead of them, scattering bands of Daergar and Klar as the wind scattered the drifting snow and gathering them, too, into their herd, wedges of Hylar warriors led by mounted elite guards moved in on the main camp of Olim Goldbuckle’s Daewar army and surrounded it. At a dozen points, Kal- Thax dwarves tried to charge the strangers, to break their lines, but they were repelled expertly and easily each time. There were few casualties in the attempts. Most were simply pushed back, pushed inward until the main camp — a quarter mile square at the head of a promontory looking out at the distant plains — was filled almost solidly with panicked dwarves, staring around in confusion.
Gem Bluesleeve attempted to rally a counterattack by the Daewar, a running wedge of shield-bearers thrown directly at the line of strangers. But the lead shields met lance-tips wielded by mounted dwarves, and the attack collapsed upon itself. Footmen flanking the riders charged forward and drove the Golden Hammer’s best warriors back into the crowded campsite. A hundred yards away, a howling charge by masked Daergar did no better.
Olim Goldbuckle knew a hopeless situation when he saw one. The Daewar leader climbed up on a rock, spread his hands, and bellowed, “Hold!” Then he dropped his shield to the ground, loosed his sword and dropped it, and stood empty-handed and defiant, his fists on his hips. “We are taken!” he shouted, looking this way and that at the solid line of strange dwarves facing him fifty yards away. “We yield! Who are you people, and what do you want?”
Directly ahead of him the line parted and a plume-helmed rider pushed through, accompanied by ten others flanking him in tight formation. The leader reined in his tall horse, sat in silence for a moment facing Olim Goldbuckle, then slung his great hammer and raised his visor. The face revealed there was as weathered and tough as mountain stone, framed by dark, clipped hair and a trimmed, back-swept beard with touches of silver in it. “Name yourself!” he demanded.
Olim squared his shoulders in defiance. “I am Olim Goldbuckle, Prince of Thane Daewar of Kal-Thax!”
Eyes like ice studied him. “Are you the leader of all these warriors?”
Some distance away the crowd rippled as a masked warrior in dark furs pushed through. Without removing the slitted iron mask below his conical helm, he faced the stranger. “I am Vog Ironface!” his hollow-sounding voice called. “I am Chieftain of Thane Daergar of Kal-Thax!”
And on the other side, a wide-shouldered dwarf in bronze-studded leathers stepped up onto a cask and pulled aside his mesh visor, squinting in the sun. “I am Slide Tolec!” he spat. “I am Chieftain of Thane Theiwar of Kal- Thax!”
