The Covenant of The Forge

“the Drum” at this moment was a fierce, younger version of his father. “One of ours, Father. It was found wandering in the lower fields, lathered and stripped of its gear. Saman the Hostler believes it is Sledge Two-Fires’ mount, called Piquin.”

“Sledge led the missing patrol.” Willen Ironmaul added.

At the council table, Cullom Hammerstand, warden of trade, pulled a rolled scroll from his belt and placed it on the oaken surface. “Heed the words of the human prince, Garr Lanfel, Sire. He said this man is not of Golash, but is one of many strangers recently come. Garr Lanfel is an honorable man, Sire … for a human. His warning bears out these reports of the past several weeks. Large bands of humans have been converging, both on Golash and on Chandera. They come quietly and blend with the humans there.”

“Many people are adrift these days,” Talam Bendiron noted. As always, the tap warden was cautious about reaching conclusions.

“Many are adrift,” Cullom Hammerstand agreed, “but not this many.” He unrolled the scroll, squinting at it. “By our agents’ estimates, Sire, these ‘little bands’ converging on the neighboring realms now total several thousand human males, all of them well-armed, and all arriving just in time for the fair of Balladine. Also, in Golash they say the strangers speak to all who will listen, spreading vicious lies about dwarves. They seem to be doing all they can to spread a hatred of the Calnar. And a name is used often among the strangers. The name is Grayfen. Our agents suspect he may be a wizard of some sort.”

Colin shuddered slightly, as did most dwarves at the mention of sorcery. Magic existed, but it was considered an abomination. “Only in Golash?” he asked. “What of Chandera?”

The trade warden ran a finger down his scroll, read farther, then looked up. “Bram Talien of Chandera reports strangers, as well, Sire. Though not so many.”

“All of this, and this” — Willen Ironmaul indicated the sword at Colin’s hand — “are why I felt we should meet here today.”

“I agree with Willen, Father,” Handil said. “Balladine is at hand.”

“And I,” Tolon added. “I fear that evil approaches.”

“Evil.” Colin repeated the word. He waved toward the human prisoner. “Release his bonds. Let’s hear what he can tell us.”

Strong hands removed the cords and the gag. The man rubbed his hands, glaring at them.

“Do you speak our language, human?” Colin Stonetooth asked.

“I speak my language,” the man growled. “But not to dinks.”

“To what?”

“Dinks. Filthy dwarves.”

One of the guards shook his head, amused that this disheveled human, who smelled as though he had never in his life had a bath, should call dwarves filthy.

“You have heard what has been said, human.” Colin stood, facing the man. “What is your name, and how do you come to have this sword in your possession?”

“My name is Calik,” the man snapped. “And what I have is my own business.”

“What happened to the Suncradle patrol?” Willen Ironmaul demanded.

The man glared at him, tight-lipped.

“Who is Grayfen?” Handil the Drum asked.

The man’s eyes narrowed with hatred, but he said nothing.

Cullom Hammerstand looked up from his counting-scroll. “How many of you are there, and what do you intend?”

Still the man stood in silence.

Willen Ironmaul glanced at his chieftain. “With your permission, Sire, I might persuade this creature to talk to us.”

The man glared at him contemptuously. “It would take more than you, dink.”

Colin Stonetooth sat down. “Help yourself, Willen. But try not to damage him beyond repair.”

“Aye.” The captain of guards nodded. Stepping away from the table, he removed his weapons and armor and strode to a clear area in the arena, clad only in kilt, shift and boots. “Send him to me,” he said.

The guards pushed the man forward, and he balked. “What is this? One man, unarmed, against dozens with swords?”

“No weapons,” Colin Stonetooth decreed. “And no one else will touch you. Only Willen.”

“He wants to fight me? One puny dwarf? So I kill him, then what? The rest of you kill me?”

“If you defeat Willen Ironmaul, human,” Handil snapped, “I will ask for your freedom. Father?”

“Agreed.” Colin nodded, turning a disinterested palm.

Again the guards hustled Calik toward Willen. When he was past the table, they gave him a shove and backed away. The man hesitated for a moment, then grinned wickedly at the unarmed dwarf waiting for him. The man stood almost a foot taller than Willen and was strongly built, with long legs, long arms, and burly shoulders. “I’ve killed a dozen real men in the pits,” he hissed. “I’ll make this quick, dink.” His grin widened, and he spread his hands as though in embarrassment. Then, abruptly, he crouched and lunged at the dwarf.

It was as though the man had run into a wall — into it and over it. There was a thud of colliding bodies, then Calik was on the floor beyond Willen, tumbling and skidding. He raised himself, shook his head, and blinked. Then, with a shouted curse, he launched himself again, towering over the dwarf, hard fists swinging.

Willen met the man halfway, went in under his blows, and delivered a jarring punch to his midsection. Even as the man gasped, the dwarf was behind him, kicking his feet out from under him, and several solid blows rained on him as he fell.

Untouched and unshaken, Willen Ironmaul stepped back. “Are you ready to talk to us, human?”

Enraged, Calik got his feet under him, rushed, whirled, and aimed a lethal kick at the dwarf’s head. Strong hands blocked his leg, twisting it, and Calik fell on his face. Willen Ironmaul twisted the man’s arms behind him, ground his face against the stone floor, then stood and delivered a judicious kick to his ribs. “Now are you ready to talk to us?” he asked. “Everyone is waiting.”

Calik’s response was a sudden kick that caught Willen in the side and sent him staggering back. Snake-quick, the man pressed his advantage with a rush, a knee to the dwarf’s face, and a two-fisted blow to the back of the neck that might have killed a human. Willen went to his knees, seeming dazed, and the man threw himself onto him, trying to bear him down, to get a killing hold on throat or spine. But the dwarf who had seemed dazed suddenly was upright beneath him, lifting. In an instant, Willen had the flailing, writhing man above his head, and with a heave he threw him across ten feet of empty floor.

Calik lit, rolled, and crashed against the side of the council table. Before he could move, Willen was on him, pummeling, punishing and bruising him. Calik screamed.

Willen felt small, strong hands pulling him away. Tera Sham’s voice said, “Willen, please! That’s enough!”

He let her pull him back, breathing deeply to clear the battle-rage from his head. She was right, of course. The man lay groveling on the floor, obviously defeated. Willen turned toward Tera and heard a gasp as her eyes looked beyond him. Calik was not through. With a shout he came upright, grabbed the sword from in front of Colin Stonetooth, and raised it over his head. When it fell, slashing downward, its bright edge barely missed Tera. Willen pushed the girl back, out of the way, and waved off the dozen or more armed dwarves who were rushing toward him. “Stay!” he commanded. “The human has made his choice.”

Willen ducked aside from the maddened human’s second cut, dodged the third, and went in under the fourth. In the blink of an eye, Calik was bent over backward, the sword still waving in his hand, and Willen’s short, massive arm was around his neck. With his other arm, the dwarf locked the man’s shoulder … and pivoted, twisting.

The sound of Calik’s neck breaking was almost drowned by the clang of the dropped sword falling from a dead hand.

Willen stepped away, letting the big body slump to the floor. He looked toward Colin Stonetooth. “He chose not to speak, Sire,” he said.

“It is a bad omen,” Tolon Farsight muttered.

“A bad business,” Handil agreed. “Humans — even those friendly to us — won’t like dwarves killing humans.”