In good times and bad, through years of dissolution and strife, even in the days when the feuding among thanes in Thorbardin had erupted into full-scale war, the Council of Chiefs and the Council of Wardens had maintained sentinel outposts to guard against intrusion. Thorbardin was impregnable, but not immune, and those within knew it. Even in the midst of fighting among themselves, the thanes paid common tariff to pay for outposts and sentinels, and volunteers were drawn from every tribe.
The volunteers served for one season at a time, and were paid according to the season. The hardiest among them sought the winter duties. A young dwarf tough enough to last out a winter in one of the Sky's End posts, or one of those atop the Thunder Peaks to the south, could earn a full year's easy living in Thorbardin, with coin left over for carousing among the dens and back ways of any of its several cities.
The west sentinel post on Sky's End was at an altitude of nearly twelve thousand feet, and its six lookouts-a Hylar, a Daewar, two Daergar, and two Theiwar-could see what seemed half the world on a clear day… or in the case of the Daergar, a clear night. Now, as the icy winds began to soften just a bit, and the valleys far below grew coats of green, they were all more than ready to go home. They had seen no one all winter-no little groups of migrating Neidar, no far-ranging elven patrols, no smoke of human campfires such as had been common in recent years since the fighting broke out on the eastern plains, not even so much as the occasional wandering ogre. All through the winter, an odd quiet had reigned in the mountain fastness, and the spotters were more than just tired of the ceaseless cold and the singing, mourning winds. They were thoroughly bored as well.
In recent weeks, their off-duty conversations had turned often to the comforts and pleasures of Thorbardin -mugs of heady ale before roaring fires in the countless ale shops of the cities, challenge matches in the pits, the smell of dark bread emanating from the bakeries, the pleasure of lifting fine metal from a cherry-red forge bed to craft upon an anvil, the joy of a leisurely game of bones, the excitement of wagering on worm-pulls… and the girls. Each of them had wonderful memories and exciting anticipations regarding some special female awaiting his return-or of two or three females or, in the case of the gold-bearded young Daewar, at least a dozen.
A camaraderie had grown among them during the long, cold season, and they shared their thoughts and their dreams as they would among close friends, ignoring the fact that, once returned to Thorbardin, they would likely be caught up in the clan feuds there as before, and soon be at one another's throats. Such harsh realities could fade from the mind in the course of a winter season on Sky's End.
Morning, evening, and night, by twos, they stood their watch on the cold mountainside and anticipated the bright coins they would receive beyond Northgate.
And then, one bright morning, their boredom ended.
The Daewar and one of the broad-shouldered Theiwar, on morning watch on the concealed ledge outside the sentinel cave, were the first to see the strangers, and they woke the others. Far in the distance, at least thirty miles to the west, there was movement on a ridgetop, the tiny, methodical "flowing" motion of a great many people-or some kind of creatures-on the move. For a time the six all stood on the ledge, bundled in the heavy bearskin robes that made them look like bearded badgers with bright helmets, as the distant movement continued. "There are a lot of them," a Theiwar observed. "Thousands, it looks like."
"And they are coming this way," the Hylar decided.
For an hour or more, the flow of distant movement continued, rank after rank of tiny specks appearing atop the faraway ridge, and moving down its visible slope, disappearing into some valley below.
"A herd of bison?" one of the Daergar suggested.
"Not likely." The Hylar shook his head. "They're moving in the wrong direction for bison in this season. I think those are people. Maybe a trade caravan?"
"From where?" the Daewar protested. "They're coming from the west. There's nothing out there but wilderness."
"There are Neidar settlements."
A Theiwar shook his head, frowning with intuition. "Those are people, all right, but they're not Neidar."
"The only dwarves outside Thorbardin in this season are Neidar." The Daewar frowned. "Do you suppose those are humans or something?"
"What would that many humans be doing out in the wilderness?" a Daergar puzzled. "And why would they be coming here?"
"Why do humans ever come here? To attack Thorbardin."
"They've been trying and failing for centuries. That last time-what was it, four or five years ago? Lord Kane or some such name? He brought a whole army all the way from Daltigoth. But they didn't get in. They just banged on Northgate for a while, then gave up and went away."
"But they came from the north. These people are coming from the west. Maybe they don't know that they can't get in. Or maybe they've forgotten. I hear humans are very forgetful."
The Hylar had brought out a far-seeing tube-a brass cylinder with glass lenses mounted in it-and they took turns peering through it. But the distant specks were too far away even for magnified vision. Then, after a time, there was nothing to look at. All of the moving specks had disappeared from view, hidden by intervening rises.
"I think we had better signal," the Hylar decided, turning toward the enclosed cave.
"Signal what?" a Daergar scoffed cynically. "Do we say something moved, and we saw it but we don't know what it was? I say we wait and get a better look."
The Hylar went on into the cave, and returned with a large vibrar and a pair of wooden mallets. But he set the drum aside and crouched on the ledge, waiting. "We'll take a better look when they're closer," he said. "But then, whatever or whoever is out there, we signal. Any time several thousand of anything approach Thorbardin, the gatekeepers ought to know about it."
"I agree." The Daergar who had spoken crouched beside the Hylar, his face hidden by the slitted iron mask his dark-sighted people favored in daylight. "But there's plenty of time. There are still a lot of miles out there, between us and whoever is coming to call."
The sun stood directly overhead when the strangers appeared again, topping another rise in the mountain terrain. Though still far away, they were closer now by several miles. And the direction of their line now was obvious. They were moving south of east, directly toward Thorbardin. The Hylar sentinel put the seeing-tube to his eye, peered through it, and grunted, "By Reorx! Those are dwarves!"
Beside him, the Daewar blinked in surprise. "Dwarves? What dwarves? Who are they?"
"I can't tell," the Hylar said, squinting into the seeing-tube. "Neidar, I suppose. All the other thanes are in Thorbardin. But so many? There are thousands of them! I've never seen more than a few dozen Neidar traveling together. Here, see for yourself."
The Daewar took the device and peered through it. Magnified, the distant horde was still tiny, barely identifiable, but there was no doubt: they were dwarves. He tried to estimate their number and gave up. It was as the Hylar had said. There were thousands of them. Several thousands. And they marched as an army marches-distinct companies in orderly ranks, maintaining their formations despite the rugged terrain.
In the lead and on both flanks rode mounted companies, brightly clad dwarven figures mounted on big horses, and among those afoot were hundreds of other large beasts, some pulling carts, some laden with packs.