With a sniff and an angry cough, Derkin drew himself up harshly. "Well, you won't see another one there," he promised. "Kal-Thax requires sweat, and sometimes it demands blood. But it has no use for tears."
Back at the compound, Derkin found Calan Silvertoe waiting for him. "We'll have at least a week," the old Dae-war said. "But not more than two. Those horse soldiers who left here last night are out chasing barbarians. Des-paxas promises that they'll be…"
"Despaxas?" Derkin stared at him. "Your elf? Is he here?"
"He's not my elf!" Calan snapped. "And he's not here. But sometimes he… ah, sort of talks to me inside my head. I don't know how he does that, but he does."
"I believe it." Derkin nodded. "And what does he say?"
"He says the Cobar will keep the human soldiers occupied for at least a week, and maybe more than that. But he says we'd better hurry, because even if they keep those troops out there longer. Lord Kane's post patrols still use the pass, and the next one will be coming through in about two weeks."
"Then let's get work parties organized," Derkin said. "Break out trowels and prybars, splitting mauls and winches. I'll take the red-and-grays and scout the pass. You get some foresters up on those slopes for timber.
Tomorrow we build stone-boats."
"Aye," Calan agreed. "And where do we go for good stone, then? There isn't time to quarry and cut it."
"We have enough to start with right here." Derkin turned, pointing at the big eight-foot wall encircling Lord Kane's outpost compound. He extended the gesture, pointing at one and then another of the big stone barracks within the area. "We'll begin with these stones," he said. "The humans won't have need of them anymore."
At one end of the compound, human prisoners sweated in the sun, digging a pit to bury the hundreds of dead soldiers stacked there like cordwood. All around them were armed dwarves, watching and guarding. No human from Tharkas Camp had gotten away to carry an alarm to Klanath, and none was going to. At the far end, outside the compound, some dwarves also were digging, burying their own. They would not permit the humans to even touch, much less bury, a fallen comrade. In the background, drummers maintained a soft, mournful tattoo on muffled vibrars.
Derkin gave orders for the red-and-grays to assemble, then strolled to where the dwarven graves were being dug. For a moment he stood watching, his helmet in his hand. First blood, he thought. We have sworn to retake Kal-Thax, with or without anybody's help, and now we have made a beginning.
There weren't many dead dwarves to bury, but there would be more.
Kal-Thax, he thought. Land of the dwarves. Land of my people. Kal-Thax needs sweat… and sometimes it demands blood.
14
The Reclamation
It was after sundown when Lord Kane's Third horse Battalion came within sight of the barbarians' camp. The wide plains here, below the Kharolis foothills, could fool the eye. What had appeared to be campfire smoke four or five miles away had proven to be campfire smoke nearly fifteen miles away. But now they were within a mile, and in the mountain-shadowed light of evening, the soldiers could see the fires beneath the smoke.
"About a hundred savages," a lieutenant remarked, riding beside the battalion's leader, Commander Tulien Gart. "That's what the footmen back there estimated. I see nine or ten separate fires, and that's about right for a camp of that size. What do we do with them when we have them?"
"We shall have to kill some of them, I suppose," the commander said, his austere features showing his distaste. As a proud soldier and descendant of knights, Gart found no honor in harassing simple barbarians. "They'll fight when we fall upon them, but we shall take as many prisoners as possible." Privately, he wondered if sparing any of their lives was a kindness. As prisoners, they would become the property of Lord Sakar Kane. The prince would likely use them as examples-a message to any other savages who might think of attacking an empire march.
"These plainsmen have fast horses," the lieutenant noted. "If they see us coming, they'll run."
"We'll wait until just dark, to attack," Gart decided. "I want no talking, no clattering armor, no sound at all from this point. We proceed in silence, by hand signal only. Pass the word to all units. Silent approach, then at my signal spread, form, and charge."
The lieutenant grinned and saluted, reining his mount around. 'The savages will never know what hit them," he said.
As darkness fell across the rolling plains, the members of the Third Battalion walked their mounts up a grassy swell. They paused there, spreading and wheeling into a long line, facing the peaceful camp three hundred yards away. Signals were relayed from the center by platoon officers, and each soldier carefully removed the mufflings and strappings from his armor and the armor of his horse. Such muffling was necessary for a silent approach by an armored unit, but would only get in the way in a charge.
With shields and lances at the ready, the line of horsemen waited, squinting, peering at the little camp. It looked as though no alarm had been given. The fires were burning low, and a few recumbent figures sprawled near some of the fires or sat in the entrances of the three or four little shelters that were visible in the firelight. No sentries were visible, and no one seemed to be doing anything beyond just sitting around, enjoying the evening breeze.
"Poor, ignorant savages," Commander Gart muttered, raising his arm. "This won't take any effort at all." All along the line, lieutenants raised their arms, ready to relay his signal.
"And to think we get paid for this," a soldier whispered somewhere.
The evening had darkened, and the time was as good as any. With a sigh of anticipation, Tulien Gart brought his arm down and forward, and put spurs to his startled mount. The big horse gathered its haunches and surged forward in a fast trot that became a belly-down run. To the right and left, the entire line moved in unison with the commander, and the quiet of evening erupted into a thunder of hooves and a rattling of mail.
In nine seconds, the thundering line had gone a hundred yards. In seven more seconds it covered the second hundred, and six seconds later it smashed into the little camp, a wide, sweeping juggernaut of armored men and armored horses, bristling with leveled lances. Fires were scattered by flailing hooves and smothered by rising clouds of dust. Tents and lean-tos collapsed and were trampled into the soil. Lances pierced the reclining figures, vaguely seen in the turmoil, and voices were raised in surprise. "What is this, anyway?" a soldier shouted. "This isn't a man! It's nothing but a straw dummy!" "Same over here!" another responded. "Where are they?"
"Dismount and search!" Tulien Gart ordered. "Find them! Find their tracks!"
"They can't have gone very far," a lieutenant noted. "These fires have been tended within the past hour."
For a time, the entire Third Battalion was afoot, torches held high and swords in gauntleted hands, searching.
Tulien Gart stood in the center of the ruined dummy camp, shouting commands as the search widened, then widened again. But when an hour passed with nothing found, he sighed and called them all back in. "We'll camp here tonight," he decided. "It's too dark to move. In the morning, we'll find their trail."
The battalion was just building its fires when an ashen-faced brace of lieutenants hurried up to Tulien Gart and saluted. "We're missing some horses, sir," one of them said.
"And we know where the savages have gone," the other added.
Gart stared at them. "Missing… horses? How many horses, and what became of them?"