Goath and Ganat were still shunned by most of the dwarves. At night, the ogres made their own little fire at some distance from the dwarven shelters and ate and slept in isolation. Only Derkin approached them freely, though two or three times, when the ovens had been fired, Helta Gray wood had led a party of women out to the ogres' fire, delivering fresh bread to go with their meat.
Now as midwinter approached, Derkin Lawgiver-he had accepted the name, since everyone suddenly seemed determined to call him that-climbed to the top of the highest tower of the palace and took a long look around at the work that had been done here and the work that remained. His gaze lingered on a distant group of dwarves working with picks and levers on the wide, stone slope just below the entrance to Tharkas Pass. The monument stone was complete-a ten-foot-high, rectangular obelisk of black quartz with the "fourth law of Kal-Thax" etched deeply into each of its faces. The workers out there had dug a hole in the stone of the slope, a socket into which the base of the law stone would be set.
"We will finish here in the spring," Derkin said. "Then we return to Kal-Thax."
"Back to Stoneforge?" Tap Tolec asked. With his broken arm healed, the broad-shouldered warrior had returned to his position as First of the Ten.
Derkin shook his head. "Some of us, but not to stay. Not for a while. We still have work to do at the border."
Tap glanced at the Hylar, wondering what Derkin Lawgiver had in mind now. But he didn't ask. Instead, he listened to the distant chorus of stone-drills high on the peak, to the sounds of axes in the nearby forest, the sounds of hooves and sled runners on the hard-packed snow below, and to the constant, never-ending chorus of voices-the voices of thousands of dwarves-boisterous, cheerful, and thoroughly at work. "You're right about our people," he said. "We don't idle well."
"It's our nature." Derkin nodded.
"I remember how Thorbardin sounded when we went there to try to get their help," Tap said, frowning. "The voices there-most of them, anyway-sounded sullen. The whole place reeked of anger and suspicion. It was an unhappy place. I didn't like it much, though I've thought that I might like to live there someday."
Derkin turned, gazing at his friend with unreadable, curious eyes. "Why?" he asked.
"I don't know," Tap confessed. "I've never lived beneath stone. I know some of my ancestors were Theiwar, but my people have always been Neidar, never Holgar. We have lived under the sun, not the stone. And yet, sometimes I feel a need to be… enclosed. As though maybe I really am Holgar at heart."
"I often have the same feeling," Derkin confided. "Some of my ancestors have been Neidar, but most were Holgar. I was born in Thorbardin. I left because I didn't like what Thorbardin had become, but there are times when I feel I would go back… if I could change things there."
"Change things?" Tap growled. "Those people are so set in their ways, you couldn't budge them with a prybar. How many angry fights did we see, just in the time we were there?"
"Dozens." Derkin shrugged. "They have nothing better to do. They have made it that way. But our people were contentious, too, when there was nothing to do except watch that wall in Tharkas. That's why I tried to send most of them home."
"They're not contentious now." Tap gestured, indicating the thousands of busy dwarves, everywhere one might look. "They're happy. I'm happy, too, except that sometimes I dream of having good stone over my head. Maybe I am Holgar, at heart… like you, Derkin."
Derkin dismissed the conversation with a shrug and headed down the spiral stairs of the tower. He had his own work to do-a thousand details of command, a thousand things to think about, to decide. Ever since his days of slavery in the Klanath pits, people had thrust leadership at him, forced it upon him, conspired to make him be their leader. At first, the idea had been repugnant. But now, he found that he enjoyed the challenges of leadership: to command an army, to plan a settlement like Stoneforge, to negotiate a treaty, to orchestrate the building of a wall-or the demolition of a human city-to think a thing through, to decide a course of action and then lead his people in doing what he had decided. In many ways, it was the hardest work imaginable, to lead. The responsibility he carried was heavier than any stone his workers were wrestling onto sleds. But somehow it had become a comfortable weight.
He recalled a thing he had found in some old scroll, a bit of advice from some forgotten Hylar scribe of long ago: 'To live is to find the thing that one does best, and then to do it thoroughly, and always. To do less than this is to never live at all."
Tap's comments about Thorbardin had brought back old memories and old feelings. For a moment, it had seemed as though the Theiwar-Neidar was speaking his own thoughts. He didn't like Thorbardin. He was disgusted with the ways of Thorbardin life. He had left Thorbardin, never to return. And yet, in his heart, Derkin Winterseed… Derkin Hammerhand… Derkin Lawgiver was as much a part of Thorbardin as the undermountain fortress was of him.
More often than he would admit, Derkin knew the feelings Tap had described. Tap Tolec had always been Nei-dar, but at heart he was Holgar. Derkin had tried to be Neidar, but at heart he remained Holgar. Sometimes he longed to return to Thorbardin, to live again within the living stone.
If only the people there would live as dwarves should live. If only they would live!
At the foot of the tower stairs Helta Graywood waited for him, bringing his midday meal. She fell into step beside him as he walked toward the Great Hall. On impulse, Derkin said, "You've been inside Thorbardin, Helta. Could you live there?"
"I can live anywhere you live," she said matter-of-factly. "When are you going to marry me?"
"But Thorbardin is a sullen, idle place," he pointed out, ignoring her question.
"It wouldn't be," she said, "if you were in command there."
With a snort, Derkin crossed to Lord Kane's throne and sat down. The chair of state was the only item of human furniture that remained in the palace now, and even it was changed. Derkin had taken a saw to the thing, cutting its base down to a height more comfortable for a dwarf. Helta handed him his platter of meat and bread, then perched on a bench beside him with her own.
Derkin ate some of his food, then looked at her. The bandage was gone from her cheek now, and the scar there was as evident as he had known it would be. But, oddly, it did not make her ugly. If anything, it distinguished her. She was still the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Tearing his eyes from her, he went back to his dinner. 'That's enough talk about Thorbardin," he said gruffly. "Thorbardin doesn't have a single commander. It never has had a single leader."
"Maybe that's what's wrong with it," the girl said. "Maybe it needs a king."
"Well, I'm not a king," Derkin snapped. "And I don't want to talk about Thorbardin anymore."
"You brought it up, not me," she reminded him. She said no more about Thorbardin, but a sly smile played at her lips when he looked away, a smile that seemed to say, "You aren't my husband, Derkin Whatever, but one day you will be. And who's to say what else you might one day be?"
When all of the stone from the two compounds had been removed to the border of Kal-Thax-huge, neat stacks of cut stone now stood in Tharkas Pass, completely hiding Derkin's Wall-the Lawgiver set his demolishers to work on the palace itself. Through the final weeks of winter, the'towers came down. The entire palace seemed to shrink day by day. As sleeping quarters disappeared, temporary shelters were erected outside. And through all the activity, the distant ring of stone-drilling continued to echo from the peak above.