"Home," Derkin rasped. "Home to Stoneforge, where there is work to do. If we remain here much longer, we'll be killing one another."
"And leave the pass unguarded?" Calan Silvertoe and Tap Tolec asked in unison.
"I'll remain here, with the Red-and-Grays," Derkin decided. "We'll stay until first snow. After that, the pass will guard itself until spring. Send for Vin the Shadow. He can take command for the trek to Stoneforge. I'll catch up along the way."
"You're being foolish, Derkin," Calan told him.
"I'm doing what I must," Derkin growled, gazing around at his people, with their accumulated boredom scars. "A few more days of doing nothing, and the Chosen Ones will be no better than those idiots in Thorbardin!"
Even before Tulien Gart had returned from Tharkas Pass, watchers on Lord Kane's battlements spotted movement high on the peaks above Klanath. With dwarven-crafted far-seeing tubes, they saw dwarves in the heights emerging from hiding, clambering away along impossible slopes.
"My message has done its work," Sakar Kane gloated when he heard the report. "The dwarves have had spies watching us, but now they are being pulled away." He strode across his great room and slammed the door open. "Captain of the guard!" he shouted.
When the captain of his household guard appeared, Kane said, "Ready the engines, Morden. We move on Tharkas Pass."
"It worked then?" Morden's scarred face split in a toothy grin. 'The dwarves believed in the truce?"
"I knew they would," Kane said with a sneer. "I knew itr-when that fool Gart described their leader to me. A Hylar dwarf, he said. It is well known that many of the Hylar are inflicted with those idiotic principles of chivalry and honor that our own Orders of Knighthood hold so dear. That is why I chose Tulien Gart to carry my message. He himself is something of a fool where chivalry is concerned… and he truly believes that I mean to keep my pledge to those dinks."
"Commander Gart is going to have a fit when he sees our siege engines rolling into the pass." Morden grinned.
"I seem to recall that the scar on your cheek came from Gart's blade," Kane said. "Does it ever pain you?"
"Its memory does," Morden answered. "One day I may repay the favor."
"As you please," Kane said. "Tulien Gart is of no further use to me."
Only six hundred dwarves remained in Tharkas Pass when great, lashed-timber siege engines rolled out of morning mist and were hauled into line a hundred yards from Derkin's Wall. Hammerhand had sent the Chosen Ones southward, toward Stoneforge. All that remained were Derkin himself, the Ten, the Red and Gray Company, and roughly fifty others who had volunteered to stay.
Now three full battalions of human soldiers and a thousand footmen drafted from the streets of Klanath emerged from the mists, towing tall engines of death, and methodically arranged themselves in siege-and-attack formation as dwarves crowded onto the wall in fury and disbelief.
"I told you so!" Calan Silvertoe shouted at Derkin Hammerhand. "I told you not to trust the humans!"
"I believed that man spoke the truth," Derkin said bleakly.
"He may have, but his prince didn't," Tap Tolec observed.
The sound of sledges rang in the pass as a dozen tall catapults were anchored into the stone, while ox-drawn carts came carrying the stones to feed them. Atop the dwarven wall, slings began to hum, and crossbows thudded. Here and there among the humans, men fell, but only a few. The range was too great for either sling-balls or bolts.
Without preamble, the first catapult was loaded, aligned, and released. Two hundred pounds of stone whistled through the air and crashed into the wall's battlements. Where it hit, stone shards flew and a dozen dwarves fell.
"Clear the wall!" Derkin roared. "Everyone down! Use the wall for shelter!"
Dwarves scurried past Derkin and the Ten, streaming down the ramps as those in the pass behind closed in, massing themselves behind the wall. Another catapult stone smashed into the wall, just below the battlements, and broke into a dozen pieces. Where it had struck was only a shallow dent, and Derkin thanked the gods for his people's habit of building sturdy structures. The catapults could punish the reinforced wall, but they would not tear it down.
Archers had positioned themselves between the siege engines, and now arrows flew around the few dwarves remaining atop the wall. Most flew past harmlessly, and some shattered against the stone, but several had to be deflected with shields. "Get down!" Tap Tolec begged Derkin. "It's you they're aiming at!"
"To rust with them," Derkin snapped. "Look, there beyond that second engine. It's Lord Kane himself!" Grabbing a crossbow from one of the Ten, he drew it, fitted a metal bolt into its slot, aimed carefully, and fired. A horseman directly behind the Prince of Klanath fell, pierced through the throat.
"I missed," Derkin rasped. "Give me another…"
"Hammerhand!" Tap Tolec roared. "Look out!" But it was too late. A huge stone, propelled by a catapult, whined over the wall, directly into the little cluster of dwarves there. The last thing Derkin Hammerhand saw was a flash of hurtling stone, and then only darkness.
Among the attackers, Sakar Kane raised his fist. "There," he shouted. "Their leader is dead! Now kill the rest!"
Captain Morden squinted at the wall, then turned. 'They are protected, Sire," he said. "Our stones bounce off that structure."
"Then raise your line of fire!" Kane snapped. "Aim for the sky, above the wall. Let the stones fly high and fall on those behind."
"Aye, Sire," Morden grinned. "That should do it."
"When we've dropped enough rocks on them," the Prince of Klanath added, "send footmen with grapples. I don't want a living dwarf left when we're finished here."
Cold winds sang through the valleys, low clouds hid the rising peaks, and spitting snow had begun to dust the marchers on the Stoneforge trail when those in the rear of the great caravan heard running hoofbeats overtaking them. A single rider came into sight around a precipitous bend, and those who had turned to look saw the colors of Hammerhand's personal guard, the Ten.
Within a moment Tap Tolec was among them, almost falling as he dropped from the saddle of an exhausted horse. A crude sling held his right arm close against his armored breast, and the right side of his face was crusted with dried blood.
"Where's Vin?" he demanded. "Send word ahead to Vin the Shadow!" As drums spoke and runners hurried forward, the First of the Ten staggered and sat down on the hard ground.
A few minutes later Vin was beside him, mask pushed up and large eyes bright with concern. "Tap," he said. "What is it? What's happened?"
"The truce was a trick," Tap told him, his voice thin with anger. "You hadn't been gone half a day when Lord Kane attacked with his entire garrison. They used siege engines… catapults. We didn't have a chance."
"And Derkin? Is Derkin…?"
"Turn your column," Tap rasped. "We're going back
18
A Time for Reprisal
In a snow-dusted mountain glade nine miles south of Tharkas, fourteen dwarves huddled around a little fire, sharing blankets from the day packs of three horses that stood head-low and exhausted a few yards away. Some of the dwarves had wounds, which others worked to bind the wounds with bits of torn fabric, snippets of leather, and tree bark.
Helta Graywood, her left cheek covered with a plaster of moss and mud, sat on a stone beside the fire, bathing Derkin Hammerhand's brow and right temple with a moist rag. His head rested on her lap. Nearby lay his polished helm, its right template scarred and dented. Grazed by a two-hundred-pound stone from a catapult, the old helmet-of long-ago Hylar craftsmanship-had saved his life, though he had only recently regained consciousness after several hours of nothingness. Now, as Helta bathed the crusted blood from his head, Talon Oakbeard-Third of the Ten-knelt beside him, talking in a low, tired voice.