It was suggested that a second such gate be placed at the northern end of the underground realm, but that was set aside for later consideration. It was also suggested that the great tunnel the Daewar had bored through Sky’s End might be converted to a trade route — assuming things beyond Kal-Thax eventually settled down enough to allow trade with the outside.
The armies of the thanes would be separate but would be at the common call to defend Kal-Thax against the threat of humans, ogres, or anything else that might threaten. And the Hylar agreed to train the troops in the ways that they had learned.
There would be exploration to determine whether a magma pit could be created to power foundries, as in Thoradin. There would be surveys of places suitable for installation of sun-tunnels and a complete mapping of the natural ventilation system, which seemed to flow from a deep, walled valley to the south — that same valley the Theiwar called Deadfall — with exhausts high above, among the Windweavers themselves.
So many plans and ideas were discussed, so many measures decided in those seventeen days, that hordes of scribes were kept busy just jotting things down for later enscrollment.
And somewhere along the way, Olim Goldbuckle glanced at the tomes of his scribes and turned to frown at Colin Stonetooth. “We have overlooked something,” the Daewar said. “Every thane but one has an assigned place for its delvings. Where will the Hylar live?”
Before Colin Stonetooth could respond, a voice behind him said, “There. There is Hybardin.”
They turned. Behind the Hylar chieftain’s bench, old Mistral Thrax leaned on his crutch. His free arm was outstretched, pointing upward, and the palm of his hand glowed dull red. As though there were no one there but himself, the ancient dwarf muttered, “It is the Life Tree. The Life Tree of the Hylar. There shall be Hybardin.”
He was pointing out across the sea, at the great stalactite standing above the waters, its upper reaches blending into the distant ceilings of the cavern.
“Mistral Thrax has spoken.” Colin Stonetooth nodded. “That will be the home of the Hylar. We will build our city within it.”
Olim Goldbuckle’s frown deepened. “The highest of the deep?” he muttered.
Colin glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” the Daewar prince snapped. “But now I have a question, and perhaps the Hylar have a suggestion about it. We have avoided this subject until now, but its time is here. Who will rule Thorbardin?”
All around the table they went silent, casting suspicious glances at one another.
Colin Stonetooth took a deep breath. It was the question he had dreaded, the one which could bring all their plans down around their ears. No Daewar was willing to be ruled by a non-Daewar, nor any Theiwar by a non-Theiwar, nor any Daergar by any but a Daergar.
“There are no kings here,” Slide Tolec hissed. “Are there any who would be?”
“I am prince of the Daewar,” Olim Goldbuckle noted.
“But not a king,” Vog Ironface rumbled. He turned toward Colin Stonetooth, and for the first time removed his mask. The features behind it were sharp and chiseled, like the face of a fierce fox. “And you, Hylar? Would you be king?”
Colin Stonetooth shook his head. “The Theiwar is right,” he said. “There are no kings here. Nor need there be any. Should the day ever come when Thorbardin needs a king, then — trust Reorx — a king may arise. But that day is not now. I would have Thorbardin governed by pact, not by power.”
“Then there must be such a pact,” Slide Tolec said.
“A sworn alliance,” Olim Goldbuckle mused. “A solemn covenant, forged from our oaths and our honor. A Covenant of Thanes.”
Aside, where a grim and silent group watched the proceedings, one sneered. “No king,” he muttered. “So they say. Yet the Hylar says there may be a king one day. I say that day will come much sooner than they think.”
And around him, others nodded while a few muttered, “Glome shall be king. Soon there will be enough of us.”
Glome the Assassin no longer looked as he had a season past, when for a brief time he had led the Theiwar. He had assembled a collection of disguises, which let him seem to be anything he chose to be. Today he seemed a Daewar footman, with a cloak covering his helm. It was part of the power he held over his followers. He could be anyone, it seemed. And he could go anywhere.
His followers were mostly Theiwar and Daergar, but among them now were a number of rebellious Daewar, disgruntled at the upside-down world to which their prince had led them, and a fair number of Klar, angry at the bullying of Bole Trune. The group was a subversion — a growing, ragtag band held together by a common belief that Glome the Assassin would prevail in Kal-Thax. Not everyone was happy with this council of thanes or with the kind of future their leaders envisioned. Many had been recruited simply by the promise that Glome would wind up in charge here, and that his friends would be rewarded. Never had there been a king in Kal-Thax, but there would be. And great wealth would go to those who made him king.
“Not Daewar,” Glome had told them. “Not Theiwar, not Daergar, not Klar. The king will be all of these … as I am all of these. I will be king.”
“Our leaders do not lead,” a Theiwar growled. “The Daewar prince, the mighty Daergar … even Slide Tolec of Thane Theiwar has surrendered to these Hylar. They give away our rights. They make pacts which will leave us as weak and soft as porous stone. They abandon the old customs because the Hylar have made them afraid. It is time for a king in Kal-Thax. A strong king,”
“Glome is strong,” another muttered. “Glome deserves to be king.”
For now, though, Glome and his supporters bided their time, waiting for their opportunity to strike.
*
When all of the articles of the covenant had been debated and the final arguments resolved, Colin Stonetooth had a forge set on the shore of Urkhan’s Sea, and dwarves of all the thanes gathered for the Hylar ceremony of binding and bonding. Ingots of seven metals were heated on the glowing coals, and a great anvil was wreathed in the woods of the stone. Atop the anvil, the ingots were laid one upon another, so that their shape was the shape of a star. Then, one after another, the leaders of the thanes struck with hammers, bonding the metals together into one single artifact.
Colin Stonetooth’s was the final blow, and his hammer rang echoes from the distances of the subterranean land. When he raised the hammer after striking, no ridge or seam remained on the surface of the joined ingots. There upon the forge lay a perfect fourteen-pointed amulet, smooth and gleaming from perimeter to perimeter.
“It is a covenant,” Colin Stonetooth intoned, and around him the others echoed his words. “It is a covenant … covenant … covenant.”
“Joined in seamless bond,” Colin said, and the voices around echoed, “Bond … bond … bond.”
“The Covenant of Thanes,” Colin said. “Thanes … thanes … thanes,” the voices echoed.
“A solemn pledge of all here gathered. A covenant of the forge … forge … forge … forge.”
“The Covenant of Thorbardin!” He laid aside his hammer, and the vast distances of the mighty cavern whispered the echoes, “Thorbardin … Thorbardin … Thorbardin!” With his calloused bare hand he picked up the hot amulet from the forge, turned, and strode to the lapping shore. With a heave, he threw the amulet far out over the water, and a puff of steam arose where it sank beneath the waves.
“Forever,” Colin Stonetooth whispered. “Thorbardin forever.”
*
When word came to the old fortress on Sky’s End that the Hylar would move one last time, Tera Sharn — now round-bellied with the child within her — assembled her belongings and began the loading of packs as the Hylar people waited for their escort. It was nearly fifty miles through the great tunnel to the place her father had named Thorbardin, they said. It would be a long, dark journey, but she was prepared. Her child would be born in Everbardin.