The Swordsheath Scroll dn-3, page 8
part #3 of Dwarven Nations Series
"Aye," the First of the Ten said, saluting crisply. Followed by the others, he hurried away.
Tuft stared at Derkin and shook his head. "If s impossible," he said. "We'll never get past an entire brigade in that pass with barely two hundred fighters."
"We aren't going through the pass," Derkin snapped. "We're going over it."
The man blinked, then looked at the high, sheer walls of mountain climbing toward the sky. "No man could climb that," he muttered.
Beside him, Calan Silvertoe grinned. "We aren't men," he reminded the human. "We're dwarves."
First light of a new morning touched the mountaintops and reflected downward to light the lower slopes. Where Tharkas Camp had once stood, now there was nothing but the riven slopes, desolate ground, and feathers of smoke that rose from a place not only abandoned, but razed and leveled. Leaving Tharkas with his Chosen Ones, Derkin Winterseed left no one behind, and nothing that could benefit human intruders. Where once there had been mine shafts, now there were only tumbled slopes. The mines had been caved in and sealed. Where there had been a few buildings, now there were piles of ash. Everything that might be useful and could be carried, the Chosen Ones had taken with them. Everything that was left, they had methodically destroyed, scattered, hidden, or buried. Except for the diminishing smoke from the ashes and the scars left on the land by two years of human-directed mining, there might never have been a place called Tharkas Mines. A stranger viewing the scene on this morning would have seen no trace of life anywhere about-unless he looked upward.
There, a pair of miles away and half a mile above, a winding string of tiny dots moved on the sheer face of Tharkas Heights. In a place where no human could have gone, on a sheer, nearly vertical granite slope that no human could have scaled, Derkin Winterseed and the Chosen Ones crept upward, climbing toward the crest above the west side of Tharkas Pass. By rope and hammer, by spike and sling, by javelin and throw-line, by hand-and toehold, hoist, and piton, and by sheer, stubborn determination, the dwarves worked their way upward, doing the thing that was as much second nature to dwarves as was delving or metalcraft-climbing.
And those who could not climb-a few of the mine dwarves who were sick or injured, old Calan Silvertoe because he had only one arm, and Tuft Broadland because he was human-were hoisted, lifted, and carried in slings as baggage. For Tuft, it was an experience he would never forget. As they neared the top, he found himself swinging in space over a ledge, the nearest horizontal surface thousands of feet below him as he clung to a flimsy rope rising slowly to the tugs of a pair of burly dwarves perched precariously on an impossible slope above.
"If I ever get out of this," he swore over and over, "I hope I never see another mountain."
Just above and to his right, Calan Silvertoe lounged happily in a net sling, also being hoisted aloft. His voice rich with suppressed laughter, he said, "We've been trying for centuries to explain to you people, this land just isn't for humans. I guess now at least one of you agrees."
The journey to the crest above Tharkas Pass took most of a day. From the stony peak, the dwarves looked down into the shadowed depths of Tharkas Pass. More than half a mile below, seeming almost straight down, columns of soldiers moved, heading south. Lord Kane's expeditionary brigade was on its way into old Kal-Thax to take command of the dwarven realm.
"I'd like to drop rocks on the whole army down there," Calan Silvertoe growled.
"Leave them alone," Derkin ordered. "With them gone, we'll have fewer to contend with at Klanath." Turning away from the chasm, he got his shield and hammer from one of the baggage slings, donned his horned helmet and red cloak, and headed northwest, angling away from the deep pass. The slope on this side of the mountain wall was less precipitous, a long, rolling decline where wind-shaped trees dotted the rugged landscape, foretelling the forests that would begin lower down. It was easier travel than the long climb had been, but it was still twenty miles to Klanath, and he was anxious to be on his way. The Hylar had no illusions about how he had gotten into this venture. He had been manipulated by a magic-using elf and an old one-armed Daewar schemer. But with true dwarven stubbornness, Derkin Winterseed-once committed to a task-would pursue it with as much grim determination as if it had been his own idea all along.
Behind him, the Chosen Ones gathered up their packs, their supplies, and their weapons, and hurried to follow. Most of them had only the vaguest notion of what lay ahead, but the Hylar called Derkin had freed them from slavery, from imprisonment, and from goblins. He was their leader. He was their chieftain, and where he went they would go.
When Sakar Kane arrived at Klanath, with three brigades of the emperor's troops in addition to his usual retinue, the first thing he did was send one brigade south through Tharkas Pass. Rumors had come to his ears in Daltigoth that there were those among the secondary nobility who had designs on the former dwarven realm, now that the dwarves of Thorbardin seemed no longer to be a threat. Lord Kane had heard that at least two of his peers at court had plans of their own for the mountain lands and were gathering supporters.
By placing his own troops south of the pass, Lord Kane intended to stop any such venture before it began. The one who held Tharkas, he reasoned, would control access to the land the dwarves called-or had once called-Kal-Thax. Lord Kane had been assured that, in return for his services at Klanath, the emperor would grant the mountain lands to him to govern. He intended to have those lands thoroughly within his control when that occurred.
With the brigade on its way south, Lord Kane assigned the rest of his army to garrison and retired to the citadel that was being completed for him. He entered, followed by his servants, porters, personal guard, and attendants, and had the great gates closed. The dozen or so other nobles who had arrived with him, he left to find their own accommodations.
When he had dined and been entertained by musicians and dancers, he sent runners to find the Master of Klanath Mines, the chief of guards, and other local functionaries to command them to attend him. Then he retired to his private quarters.
Within the hour, every local notable in Klanath would be gathered in Lord Kane's great hall, awaiting his pleasure. He would let them all cool their heels for at least a day, pacing and fretting. It would remind them of who he was. Then, when he was ready, they would report to him individually. After that he would personally conduct the usual formal inspection of the mines. It was a tiresome routine, but the emperor commanded that it be done.
Lord Kane did not look forward to the inspection. The mines were dirty, stinking holes and did not interest him. But they were the public reason for Lord Kane's being here. The private-and primary-reason was to establish a base for a general invasion of the central plains to the east.
The assault had already begun, of course. It had been under way for nearly three years, but it had been a covert, scattered incursion so far. Small units of the armies had escorted hordes of "settlers" into various parts of the plains, driving out those already settled there and replacing them with people committed to the emperor's purposes. It was preparation for a full-scale invasion in force, that would carry the banner of the empire as far as the Khalkist realms and the elven forests.
The "quiet" invasion had gone very well, indeed. Vast areas east of the Kharolis mountains now were populated by the faithful. Only in two areas had there been real trouble. Those "settlers" entering the lands of the Cobar nomads had met fierce opposition. The Cobar tribes-barbarian horsemen mostly-had united against the intruders, and had literally driven them away, again and again. What should have been a simple taking of lands had turned into an all-out war, and it was still going on.
And far to the southeast, the emperor's subjects had come up against another kind of force. Elves from Silvan-esti had come out of their beloved forests, and were scattered throughout the rolling lands of eastern Ergoth. And the elves neither welcomed nor honored the empire's presence. Led by an elf called Kith-Kanan, the western- or "Wildrunner"-elves had stopped the emperor's "settlers" far short of their goal.
Privately, Lord Kane doubted the empire's ability to win a war against the elves, if it came to that. But that would be someone else's problem, not his. He had his own assignments and his own plans.
He would conduct his inspection of the emperor's mines and prepare supply lines for the armies that would soon be coming through, heading east. Then he would set about securing his hold on Tharkas Pass and the mountain lands beyond.
For days, nothing much had happened in the vicinity of the big underground cell behind the first soft-ore pit. Within the cell, some two thousand dwarves ate, slept, stood guard on their fortified gate, and waited. There had been some fighting right at first-companies of guards slipping into the outer corridor to try to direct attacks on the cell-but the dwarves had turned the attacks with swarms of missiles hurled or fired through the grating. And then, the soldiers had withdrawn. Now there was a strong guard on the corridor itself, but no assaults on the cell. The dwarves could tell by the sounds echoing in from the great pit that work was proceeding there. Other slaves had been transferred from other pits, and the mining went on.
It was Tap Tolec who first realized what was going on. "The inspections," he said, with good Theiwar intuition. "Those trumpets we heard before, they meant the inspectors have arrived from Daltigoth. I think the deputy is trying to keep us secret until the nobles leave."
Vin the Shadow crouched beside him. "Why would he do that?" he asked.
"He has been plotting against the Master of Mines," Tap surmised. "That's why the rich ore was hoarded in the seventh and ninth shafts. Shalit Mileen planned to bring it out at inspection and disgrace the old man. But then we barricaded the cell, and the guards couldn't reach us. For that, the disgrace would fall on Shalit Mileen. I think he's hiding us and using the hoarded ore to make it seem that the pits are in full operation so no one will know that a fourth of his slaves are in revolt and barricaded in their cell."
"It could be." Vin nodded. "Such a thing would truly disgrace him if it were known."
'Trobably cost him his head." Tap grinned. "Maybe we should get the word out that we're here. I'd like to see the pit boss beheaded."
"They'd behead us first," Vin pointed out.
"Well, yes, there is that," Tap agreed. "Of course, after the inspection, Shalit Mileen will have plenty of time to do with us as he will. My guess is, if we don't surrender then, he'll set delvers above and bury us alive."
"That bowl said help was on the way," the Daergar reminded.
"I know what the bowl said," Vin grumbled gloomily. "And I find myself wondering if we're all crazy, believing something a bowl told us."
Distantly, then, a trumpet sounded, followed by others. Around the dark cell, dwarves listened and glanced at one another. They had all heard that particular call before. It was evening call, but much more. It was inspection call, telling everyone in Klanath to prepare.
"Whatever that bowl has in mind," Tap said darkly, "it had better hurry. The inspection begins at first light tomorrow."
Vin the Shadow jumped to his feet. "Hush!" he said. "Listen!"
The distant blaring of trumpets had become a mighty chorus, with every caller in the city joining in. The blast of sound almost drowned out other, lesser noises… but not quite. Good dwarven ears heard something else, as well. Somewhere very near, weapons rang, and deep war cries — dwarven war cries-echoed the cries of frightened, surprised men.
7
Battle of the Pit
Arriving on tbe heights above the Klanath mines, Derkin Winter-seed waved his followers into cover and crept forward to survey the scene below. For a moment, the sight staggered him. He had never seen Klanath from above, and the sheer sprawl of the settlement shocked him. It was a fair-sized city, spread out on the flatlands and low hills below the mines. On a central knoll stood a grand stronghold-a palace rising among scaffolds, surrounded by walled courtyards. All around the central compound were clusters and rows of all kinds of buildings, many hundreds of them stretching downward and away toward the distant forests beyond.
At first glance, Derkin's impulse was to call the whole thing off. There were humans down there by the thousands, and among them armed patrols carrying the pennant of the empire. Even in evening shadow, as the sun of Krynn went to its rest beyond the western ranges, the task looked impossible. How were two hundred dwarves- more or less-ever going to slip unnoticed through such a place, to even reach the pit mines, much less free the dwarven slaves there?
Frowning and worried, he scanned the terrain below, memorizing it. And in memorizing it, he analyzed the patterns of it, and felt a bit more hopeful. City or not, the place was like any slave camp. Its defenses were designed to keep people in, not to keep people out.
Directly below him, and spreading out on both sides, were the ledges and ramps behind which were the shaft mines. Farther down the steep slope was a sprawl of ramshackle buildings, most of them no more than pole sheds. And just beyond those were the soft-ore pits-four deep, wide holes where lamps and torches moved. The nearest of the pits he recognized by its wide entry ramp. It was the first pit. And within it was the cell he had so recently occupied.
Everywhere in the city were patrols and guards, and on the distant northward road was a large encampment of empire soldiers. But the mining section had only perimeter guards, and those were mostly on the downward side. The various mines themselves had guards, of course, but mostly inside. There was no need for the Chosen Ones to make their way through the teeming sprawl of human Klanath. The city lay beyond the mines, below them. With a slight smile from a god or two, they could be in and out of the mines before forces from the city could react.
"Reorx," he muttered, making quick plans, "favor us now."
He signaled with his hand, and others crept forward to crouch beside him. "There," he pointed, indicating a brushy draw that led down the slope, separating the ledges of the shaft mines into two sections. "There is our path in, and with some luck, our path out as well."
At dark of evening, Derkin began his assault. Leaving the women and the injured hidden on the high slope, he led the rest into the wide, brushy cut and downward. Passing between shaft mines where lanterns were being lighted, they crept silently down the slope. A hundred yards, and they paused, listening. Another hundred, and they gathered in brush shadows above the cluster of barns and sheds. In a hushed voice, Derkin selected two squads of a dozen dwarves each, and gave them their orders. The selected ones were all young, strong, and agile, and all had at least some Daergar blood. When they understood what they were to do, he signaled the rest and stepped out of cover, heading straight toward the ramp of pit one. From here to the pit there was no cover, but Derkin was counting on the dusk and surprise, and counting even more on human nature. The guards at the ramp, he assumed, were interested in two things-the pit below them, and the stone-paved road that wound its way upward from the city.
"Humans are creatures of habit," his father had told him once, a long time ago. "They are quick to see what they expect to see, but slow to notice what they do not expect."
Beyond the sheds were fifty yards of open ground, with nothing to hide their approach. Therefore, Derkin discarded stealth in favor of speed and silence.
One hundred seventy pairs of strong, short legs raced toward the top of the ramp, where four cloaked guardsmen leaned on their spears. Sand scuffed beneath one hundred seventy pairs of running feet, and one of the guards raised his head curiously. Then another, and another.
"Reorx," Derkin muttered, taking a good grip on his hammer. And as he had barely dared to hope they would, all four guards became alert at the approaching sound… and all four turned their backs on the charging dwarves, turning instead toward the Klanath road.
Without warning or challenge, the dwarves hit them. One fell sprawling as Derkin's hammer thudded between his shoulders, smashing his spine. From the corners of his eyes, Derkin saw other guards fall, and he raced on, down the ramp. It seemed to him that their encounter had been noisy and clattering, but he realized instantly that the four guards at the foot of the ramp had not noticed it. It was always noisy in the pits, and the four were kneeling in a tight circle, playing bones. It was doubtful that any of them ever knew what hit them.
On the floor of the pit, slaves just completing their day's tasks gawked in astonishment as the armed dwarves streamed among them, heading for the cell corridor. One surprised slave dropped a loaded hod, and suddenly the mouth of the corridor was crowded with humans, gaping at the approaching attack, stumbling over one another as they grabbed up weapons.
Again without hesitation, Derkin led his Chosen Ones directly into the thick of the humans, slashing and battering with his hammer, his forearm shield dancing as blades rang against it.
There was no more silence now, nor any need for it. Derkin bellowed the only battle cry he had ever learned- an old Hylar war cry from distant times-and all around him other dwarves took it up, and the din of battle echoed with the chants that once had accompanied the beating of war drums.
The guard force at the corridor was a full company- fifty tall human males, armed with swords and maces, spears and daggers. The sheer force of the dwarven attack carried Derkin w;ll into the cell corridor and halfway through the clot of men. Then he found himself in the midst of all-out fighting on all sides. Nearby, a hastily crafted axe splintered its edge against a human shield, and a dwarf went down, writhing, with a spearhead through his chest. Dwarves were falling, but men were falling, too, and every good steel weapon that was dropped was grabbed by a dwarven hand before it stopped ringing.
The former slaves fought with a ferocious energy, making up in zeal what they lacked in practice. In a glance, Derkin saw two howling dwarves leap onto a human guard, wrench his sword from his hand as they bowled him over, then slash him to death with it.
For what seemed like hours, the fighting raged. Then the fury of it diminished suddenly. More than half the guard company was down, their blood mixing with that of a dozen or more dwarves who had seen their last sunrise. The rest of the humans were in panic, trying to escape the fury of the dwarves. A few scampered away, past attackers and out into the open pit. Most, though, turned and ran along the corridor, toward the slave cell. Shouting, Derkin pursued them, his Chosen Ones following. The corridor veered, then straightened, and the barricaded grating of the cell gate lay just ahead. Beyond it, the corridor ended.
