Lord Kane issued orders to all of his units to take prisoners when possible. It proved difficult. Even when a trap was sprung, and a party of raiders surrounded, the dwarves refused to lay down their weapons, preferring to fight to the death. Finally, though, a mounted guard company did bring in five dwarf captives. The guard captain reported that they were all that remained of a group of fourteen, decoyed and trapped on the supply road, and that it had cost him eighteen men to collect them.
Two of the prisoners were females, and all five of them bore the marks of slaves. One of the males had worked in the Klanath mines. The other two, and the females, had been slaves at Tharkas.
Lord Kane had the five taken through the pass, deep into the mountains to the south, and tortured to death on a ridgetop where their bodies would be found, to serve as a warning to the wild dwarves. Through it all, even in dying, only one of the dwarves made a sound. That one, a female, spat at the men who broke her legs and said, "Hammerhand will deal with you, when he is ready."
There was only one more raid following that incident. Early one morning, five of Lord Kane's household guards were found dead on the very doorstep of his Klanath fortress. They had been bound and gagged, then tortured to death. After that, the dwarven raids had ceased, and the dwarves simply disappeared.
Lord Kane kept one of his brigades in residence south of the great pass as a permanent outpost and center for roving patrols. But the dwarven threat was only part of the reason for that. In Klanath, Lord Kane kept a staff of mapmakers and planners who received regular reports from the roving patrols. It was Lord Kane's plan-once General Giarna's campaigns were concluded-to populate the once dwarven lands with people of his own choosing. The dwarves' revolt had emptied Kane's coffers. One day the lands taken from dwarves would amply refill them.
Tuft Broadland came out of sleep in the manner of a Cobar warrior. In one instant he was asleep, in the next he was awake, crouching beside his sleeping mat with his naked sword in hand, his eyes searching the gloom around him, his ears aware of every minute sound.
For a moment, he sensed no presence but his own. A summer breeze fluttered the fabric of his small tent, and from beyond came the muted night sounds of a guarded camp-the reassuring night-bird calls of sentries, the faint stampings and shufflings of horses' hooves in the nearby rope corral, and the quiet voices of people talking at some fireside.
He knew it was not these sounds that had awakened him. It was something else. As chief of the Tekar, one of the seven Cobar tribes, he had his own tent and on this night had not shared it. But now he sensed that he was not alone. Then, in the shadows a few feet away, something moved, and a quiet voice said, "Hold your sword, human. I mean you no harm."
Tuft squinted, still tensed to strike, and the voice said, "Don't you remember me, Tuft? It has not been so long."
Now he recognized the voice and let the point of his sword angle downward. "You!" he muttered. Without turning, he reached to the edge of his mat and drew out a little soft leather pouch. Opening it with one hand, still holding the sword in the other, he withdrew a small metallic object, a palm-sized container with a hinged lid which opened at the press of his thumb. Within the lid, under his thumb, was a small serrated wheel of tempered steel resting against a shard of flint. He flicked the wheel, and sparks flared, igniting a cotton wick soaked with distilled mineral spirits.
The flame was small, but it was enough to see by. In the far corner of the little tent, a hooded figure squatted comfortably on soft-booted heels. "I see you still carry the toy I gave you," the intruder said, his voice low, musical, and not quite human. "Flint, steel, and kindling all in one small package. One of my mother's more practical ideas, I think. Eloeth has no taste for magic, but she does enjoy conveniences."
"Despaxas," Tuft said, laying his sword aside. "You could have made a less dramatic entrance, elf. You almost made my heart stop."
"There is nothing wrong with your heart," the newcomer said, throwing back his hood to reveal a tapered, ageless face with wide-set, amused eyes and no beard. The delicate tips of pointed ears were almost hidden by his long, flowing hair. "There's nothing wrong with your reflexes, either, I might add. One slight whisper, and you were awake and ready to fight."
The Cobar drew a candle from his pouch, lit its wick from his flame, then closed the flint-and-steel tool and put it away. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you had gone back to your forests years ago."
"I did." The elf nodded. "But now I've returned. A seed you helped plant back then has grown well and is ready to bear fruit. I thought you might enjoy participating in the harvest."
"A seed…" Tuft paused, his eyes brightening. "The dwarves? Has Derkin molded his army?"
"He has prepared himself," Despaxas said. "A season ago, he encamped below the dwarven fortress with his 'chosen' people, all of them willing to fight at his command, even without proper arms. Now the season has turned, and they are on the march toward the pass at Tharkas. They carry the finest weapons dwarven skills can produce."
"He plans to attack the soldiers at the pass? With a mob of dwarves?"
"With an army," the elf corrected. "Maybe a fine army. Would you like to observe the campaign?"
"Of course I would," Tuft snorted. "But I know you, Despaxas. You have something more in mind than just to allow me to watch while Derkin tests his forces against Lord Kane's stronghold."
"Naturally." The elf smiled. "Nothing is ever quite that simple." He waved an eloquent hand toward the tent's closed flap. "You have a strong tribe here, Tuft. I estimate at least three hundred warriors in this camp."
"Three hundred and eighty-one," the man admitted. "And that many more women and children."
"A hundred will be enough for what I have in mind," Despaxas said. "A hundred of your best cavalry."
"They're all my best!" the man snapped. "They're Cobar warriors. They're the finest cavalry in the world."
"Fine. Then any hundred will do. We'll leave at first light. We should be able to reach Redrock Cleft in two days, shouldn't we?"
"If the weather holds fair," Tuft replied. "But my men and I aren't going anywhere without a reason."
"Of course not." Despaxas shrugged. "Is a chance to ambush a column of empire footmen reason enough?"
"It might be." Tuft's eyes narrowed. "Are they on their way to Cobar territory?"
"I could tell you that they are," the elf said. "But, no, they aren't. They're on their way to the southern plains, to reinforce General Giarna's forces there. The path they follow will miss your steppes by many miles."
"Then they're the elves' problem," Tuft observed. "Why have you come to me about this? Why aren't you talking to Kith-Kanan? His Wildrunners are as adept at ambush as we are."
"As you suggested," the elf said, "there is more to it than meets the eye. If the empire's reinforcements are hit by elves, Lord Kane is unlikely to come out of Klanath to retaliate. He knows the elves, and would know that his chance of pursuing and overtaking Wildrunners isn't very good. He might have to follow them all the way to General Giarna's cordon. Lord Kane has his own interests in mind and wouldn't expend that kind of resources."