But what had shaken him most was Dreyus's demand that Klanath and the Klanath region-the granted fief of Lord Kane-be guaranteed under control and trouble-free.
Dwarves had fought at Sithelbec. And now, if Tulien Gart could be believed, an army of dwarves was encamped behind a stone wall just four miles from Klanath. Such a thing was aggravating, at the least. But now-in light of Dreyus's plans-it was intolerable. Something would have to be done, and quickly.
He was very glad that he had confined the Third Battalion to quarters. It would not do for Dreyus to learn about the problem in Tharkas Pass. That was something that Lord Kane would have to deal with himself.
In a quiet glade on the perimeter of the Chosen Ones' encampment, Despaxas and Calan Silvertoe sat together, the old dwarf watching the elf while the elf gazed into a shallow bowl partly filled with milky liquid.
Long minutes had passed this way, and Calan was growing impatient. "Come on," he rasped. "What does it say?"
Despaxas looked up innocently. "It doesn't 'say' anything, my friend. That isn't how it works."
"I don't care how it works," Calan said. "I just want to know what you've learned."
"Well, I've learned that Kith-Kanan and his allies were victorious at Sithelbec."
"I already know that," Calan grunted. "You told me that a week ago. What's the news this time?" "General Giarna is disgraced," the elf said. Calan grinned. "Good," he said. "Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person. Does that mean the war is over?"
"No." Despaxas shrugged. "The human emperor will start again, with new command. That's what puzzles me. The command has already been decided, but I don't know who it will be. There is someone… a presence… but I'm not sure there's really anyone there. If s as though he-the presence-is somewhere else entirely."
'That doesn't make any sense," Calan snapped. "It might." Despaxas frowned. "Three years ago I was with Kith-Kanan on the Singing Plains, where the Wild-runners were fortifying a village. Giarna was only forty miles away, with his army, and I went to have a look at him. Zephyr was with me. We reconnoitered the human army, but there was something puzzling about it. There was a man there, with Giarna… an emissary of the emperor's, named Dreyus. I saw him, but Zephyr couldn't. To Zephyr, there was no one there." "Magic," Calan growled.
"Magic, yes," Despaxas said. "But not a magic I have been able to understand. I'm wondering now if the new commander of forces might be that same Dreyus." The elf gazed into his bowl thoughtfully. Then, with a quick twist of his hand, he turned the bowl over, spilling its contents onto the stony ground. The wet spot lasted only seconds, then was gone. The elf stood, slipping the bowl into his robe. "I'll be needed now, where Kith-Kanan is." With a quick nod, he strode away from Calan, who sprinted after him.
With his one hand, the old dwarf grabbed the elf's cloak and halted him. "Here, now!" he demanded. "You mean you're leaving again, just like that?"
"Of course." Despaxas smiled. "I'm not needed here now. This situation is in good hands." He glanced at the stump of Calan's arm and corrected himself. "Well, in good hand." He reached out, clasped the old dwarf's burly shoulder for a moment, and just for an instant Calan thought he saw a deep sadness in the elf's eyes. It was as though Despaxas were saying a final farewell to his old friend. But then the look was gone, and the elf turned again and walked away.
Halfway across the encampment, Despaxas found Tuft Broadland. "Get your horse, human," he said. "It's time for me to leave, and your people will be missing your leadership by now… if they've noticed yet that you're gone."
"Crazy elf," Tuft said sourly. "Shouldn't we say goodbye to Derkin before we go?"
"Why? He'll know we've gone."
"I'd like to bid him well," Tuft said. "And you should, too. He has done a remarkable thing here."
"Derkin's task-or his ordeal-has only begun," Despaxas said quietly. "We leave now, human. I have seen a glimpse of what is to come. But I cannot help Derkin Hammerhand. Destiny is upon him."
"If you know something of use to him, he deserves to be told," the Cobar said with a scowl.
Again, there was a flicker of sadness in Despaxas's expression, quickly replaced by a cold determination. 'Trust me, Tuft Broadland. We must leave here now."
Confused, as he often was by Despaxas, the Cobar hesitated. Still, he had trusted this strange elf in the past, and had never regretted it. "All right," he said finally. "I'll get my horse, and you can say your spell. But I'll be hanged if I'll be in the saddle when you do."
17
Lord Kane's Revenge
Weeks had passed since the defense of Derkin's Wall against the attacks of the Third Battalion. And during those weeks, not a single soldier had been seen in Tharkas Pass.
Derkin's lookouts, hidden in shallow, camouflaged delves high on the peaks above Klanath, reported strange, unexplained activities in and around Lord Kane's stronghold. The great mines outside the city lay silent now, and it appeared that all of their slaves had been relocated. Some of them had been taken to bustling new stone quarries nearby, others into the city itself. And now, building stones by the hundreds were being hauled into the city, and there was construction going on in a large enclave just east of the palace. Timber crews moved back and forth between Klanath and the forests to the north, bringing back hundreds of logs.
It looked, the drums said, as though the humans were building a new fortress within the city.
Derkin Hammerhand admitted to those close to him that he was puzzled. What the humans were doing in Klanath was their own business, but he was surprised that there had been no further attempts to clear Tharkas Pass. He had been sure that Lord Kane would launch at least one attack in full force. It was not like the man to simply accept an ultimatum such as the dwarves had sent. Kane was not a passive person, nor one to accept a loss. He considered the lands south of the pass as his own. Would he lose them without a fight?
The Chosen Ones were becoming restless, too, and that added to Derkin's worries. With the wall in place, and no plans for permanent delves at the pass, they had little to do. Quarrels, brawls, and fistfights had become common in recent days, and Derkin knew it was the result of sheer boredom. Without work to do, his people turned to fighting, and there was no one here to fight except themselves.
He longed to leave the wall, to somehow know that Tharkas Pass was safe from invasion so that he could take his people back into the mountains. There, they could join their ten thousand peers in the work of hunting and herding, of planting and harvesting, of building and delving and living their lives.
The wall, like the little metal stake on which it was built, was really nothing more than a symbol. It was a signal to those beyond that the lands south of it were not theirs for the taking. It had needed to be built, and they had built it. It had been a certainty that the humans would test it, and the dwarves welcomed the test.
But Derkin had not intended to spend months or years here in Tharkas Pass. There were other places to be, and other things to do. Just as a great nation of dwarves had been carved out of the mountain wilderness so many centuries ago, now that nation must be renewed, and securing Tharkas Pass was only the first step.