Here and there among the strangers, the high sun glinted on bright armor-the familiar flash of metal helmets, shields, and body plating-but what was more striking were the bright colors of fine garments. Each group and company seemed to have its own combination of colors. In one unit, yellow and brown were prominent. In another, green and black dominated, and in still another, blue and tan. Only among those in the middle of the array-those walking with the carts and pack animals -did there seem no pattern of colors, though even there bright hues were plentiful.
"They dress colorfully," the Daewar noted, his gaze dropping to the very head of the moving band. At the point of the first mounted unit, whose preferred colors seemed to be red and gray, rode a figure whose helm and breastplate reflected the sunlight like a mirror. He wore a cloak of bright red, and the same red was used in the trappings of his horse. The sentinel peered, trying to see more detail, then handed the tube to another volunteer, one of the Theiwar. "What do you make of that one in the lead?" he asked. "I don't think he's a Neidar. For that matter, none of them look like Neidar to me."
The Theiwar gazed through the tube's lenses, then handed the device back to the Hylar. "You look," he said. "See if that's somebody you know."
The Hylar squinted, then shook his head. "I can't make out any features at this distance. Why did you think I might know him?"
"I don't know." The Theiwar shrugged. "There's just something about him that reminds me of Hylar."
"When you've seen one Hylar, you've seen them all," the Daewar chuckled. "Of course, that applies to Theiwar, too. You people have arms as long as your legs."
"You can keep your opinions to yourself, gold-molder," the Theiwar growled good-naturedly.
The Hylar sentinel took another look, then passed the seeing-tube along and picked up his vibrar, hitching its leather sling over his shoulder. "We've seen enough to signal the gate," he said, gripping his mallets.
A masked Daergar turned toward him. "What are you going to say is coming, a caravan or an army?"
"That mob could be either one," another sentinel said, squinting through the tube. "Or it could be a little of both. Reorx! Look at all that armor!"
Ignoring them, the Hylar stepped to the edge of the sentinel ledge, raised his mallets, and began a deep, thunderous tattoo on the big vibrar's taut head, using the elaborate drum-talk his ancestors had brought to these mountains centuries before. The mountainside resounded with the voice of the drum. About a minute later, another drum-around on the south face of Sky's End-took up the song, echoing and relaying it. Moments later another drum joined in, farther away, and then another, a growing chorus of deep, thrusting rhythms, a string of receding thunders relaying the message toward the north gate of Thorbardin, many miles away on the lower slopes of Cloudseeker Peak. Some minutes passed as the drums sang, then the Theiwar who was still watching the strangers through the seeing-tube said, "Those people out there have stopped. They must have heard the drums."
"What are they doing?" the Daewar asked.
"I can't tell. Something is going on in that lead unit, but I can't see what."
The Hylar sentinel continued his tattoo for a time, then lowered the drum and listened. From the south came a brief response, and he nodded. "Message received," he said. "Northgate is alerted."
He was heading into the shelter cave to put up his vibrar when the air rang again with distant thunder. He turned abruptly, listening. The sound was coming not from the south, not from Thorbardin, but from the west, and the message of it made his mouth drop open. "It's them!" he shouted, pointing. "The strangers-they are signaling with drums!"
For a moment, all six sentinels stared in wonder at the distant assemblage. It was incredible that strangers, coming from the western wilderness, should have such drums. It was even more incredible that they would know how to use them. Even among the thanes of Thorbardin, few dwarves other than the Hylar ever mastered the vibrar signal-song.
The sentinels stared across the miles, listening, then the Daewar turned to the Hylar. "Well, what do they say?"
"They speak to Thorbardin," the Hylar said slowly. "They say greetings from Hammerhand, to the chieftains and the Council of Thanes. They say Hammerhand comes to trade. They say Hammerhand will make camp below Northgate, and invites the trade wardens out to inspect his goods. He also says that he will meet with the Council of Thanes."
"Who is Hammerhand?" the Daewar puzzled. "I've never heard the name. Have you?"
None of them had. "Whoever he is, he's arrogant," a Theiwar said. "An outsider, requesting audience with the Council of Thanes!"
"He isn't requesting," the Hylar said, still listening to the drums, interpreting their song. "He doesn't ask for a meeting. He demands it."
Throughout that day, and all of the next, sentinels on Sky's End and sentries on Cloudseeker watched as the throng of strangers approached, moving at the leisurely pace of the pack beasts among them. By the end of the second day, they had cleared the final ridges, with Cloud-seeker's north slopes directly ahead of them. The encampment they made there, along an icy little stream, was no more than three miles from the stepped slopes where the big mountain began.
By then, hundreds of seeing-tubes were trained on them, from the sentinel posts and from the walled ledge at the top of the great ramps that led to Northgate. The great oval gate was open, its impregnable plug retracted into the shadows behind its steel sheath, and a growing crowd of dwarves was gathered on the ledge, watching the intruders.
The strange drums were silent now. The strangers went about their chores, making camp for the night, and seemed to pointedly ignore all those on the mountain ahead who were gaping at them. Several times, drummers had come out of Thorbardin to signal, asking the strangers to identify themselves, asking where they were from and what they had that they wanted to trade, asking who was this Hammerhand who demanded access to the Council of Thanes. But there had been no response. It was as though the strangers had said all they had to say and were not interested in answering questions.
About sundown, Hylar guards appeared on the ledge, using their shields to clear a path through the crowd there. Behind them, two dwarves stepped from the great open portal, and walked to the wall to look down. If anyone could be said to be "in charge" of Thorbardin in these troubled times, it was these two. Both were mature dwarves, in their middle years, and both were hardened by the burden they carried. Of all the various chieftains, wardens, bosses, and gang leaders who came and went throughout the vast, subterranean realm of the mountain dwarves, it had fallen to Dunbarth Ironthumb and Jeron Redleather to keep Thorbardin functioning despite the explosive feuds and myriad hostilities within.
Jeron Redleather, chieftain of Thane Daewar and senior member of the Council of Thanes, was a burly, bright-eyed dwarf. The elaborate gold inlays of his helmet and breastplate reflected the gold of his flowing hair and full beard, and both the exquisite faceted stone set in his helm, just above his bushy brows, and the rich blue of his flowing cloak reflected the color of his eyes. Ruddy cheeks and a round pug nose gave him the appearance of constant, secret laughter, and the rich gaudiness of his attire might have seemed to indicate a strutting vanity. Like most Daewar, Jeron Redleather enjoyed bright color and rich attire to the point of seeming-to dwarves of other thanes-pompous and a bit preposterous, but was actually nothing of the sort. Jeron Redleather could be jovial on occasion, and might strut a bit now and then, but those who knew him-friend and foe alike-were well aware he could be as tough and rigid as the very stone of Thorbardin.