[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Tarn nodded, looking over his shoulder at the horde of refugees waiting
on the roadway behind them, carefully halted out of sight of the village.
He knew they were counting on him to lead them to safety, as they had
counted on him to hold them together during four months of exile. The last
remnant of Clan Hylar, driven from their home under the mountain by the
attacks of ruthless enemies, they had barely endured the summer and early
autumn in the barren valleys of the higher elevations. Shaken and
demoralized by life under the open sky, they had struggled to survive,
followed him as he led them to valleys of game, followed him as he
brought them down finally from the high country. They looked weary and
exhausted, and as Tarn gazed at the deep gorge he understood that most of
the tired, ragged mountain dwarves would never be able to make such a
climb.
 It has to be the bridge then, he said.
He turned his attention once again to the village beyond the span. He
studied the stone houses partially buried in the rocky slopes, saw the low
garden walls, the sturdy construction and thick, slanting roofs. A large
building, the source of the pounding hammer, puffed a column of black
smoke from a sooty chimney. Like his own people, the villagers were
dwarves but at the same time they were different, for they were hill
dwarves, bred under the sky. His own tribe, for generations, had called the
caverns under the mountains their home.
Past the village they could see the promise of their destination: a swath
of green fields, bright with sparkling lakes and great stretches of forest
that were sure to provide game and forage aplenty. The Hylar refugees
would be able to build huts there, maybe find a few snug caves, and with
luck the majority would last the coming winter. There would be food in
the lakes and forests and some respite from the brutal weather that would
soon seize the high altitudes.
Tarn pushed back from the summit, joining his two companions in
stretching, then settling down into a squat. He looked over the mass of
huddled dwarves awaiting his decision. They had built no fires, made no
shelters here beside the narrow road. Instead they lay where they had
halted, sipping at waterskins or chewing on thin strips of dried meat. Some
were armed, still hale and sturdy, but too many others were gaunt,
sunburned, bent with weariness. The eyes that looked to him for some
glimmer of hope were haunted and dark.
Behind the ragged refugees stretched the rugged ridges leading into the
High Kharolis. Snow dusted all the slopes, and the loftiest peaks were
buried beneath ten-foot drifts of soft powder. Plumes of wind-blown
crystals trailed from these summits, proof that winter s winds would soon
scour the valleys and chill the life out of anyone who hadn t planned
ahead for winter.
 Let s quit wastin time, growled the third dwarf, speaking for the first
time.  I say we move on the bridge before the hill dwarves even know
we re here. If they try to stop us . . . He didn t finish the statement, but
his hand, tightening around the haft of his great war axe, made clear his
meaning.
 Wait, Barzack, Tarn cautioned.  Let s make a plan and stick to it.
There s got to be a way to get across that bridge without people getting
killed.
 Bah they re hill dwarves! Who gives a whit if we have to cut a few
of them to pieces?
 You re forgetting we might have to live nearby to this place for the
whole winter. It ll be hard enough just finding food and making shelter
without having to worry whether we re going to be attacked by a bunch of
villagers intending to seek vengeance for a surprise ambush.
 Not to mention, Belicia added pointedly,  we don t know. Maybe
they re peaceful folk.
Barzack snorted. Like Tarn, he was a shaggy fellow, with long hair and
a bushy beard. Despite months of living off the land, his dark armor was
clean and polished and rust free. His boots and tunic showed signs of
wear, but his helmet fit tightly over his scalp. While Tarn and Belicia had
demonstrated patience and leadership in keeping the mountain dwarves
together during the months of exile, Barzack had proven capable and
useful as a tracker, a hunter, and a fighter of admirable courage and skills.
All the tribe had honored him when he had single-handedly slain a great
cave bear. Using only his axe he not only destroyed a threat to dwarven
lives, but he furnished enough meat for a grand feast and procured a pelt
that had yielded a dozen warm cloaks.
 The hill dwarves can t seek vengeance if they re all dead, he pointed
out with cold logic.
Tarn shook his head.  We re not looking for another war. Besides,
considering the state of the world, I d be surprised if that village is really
as sleepy as it looks. Maybe they aren t pushovers.
The other male glowered.  Let  em try and fight us I tell you, we
could use a little action.
 What about our elders and the children? Belicia retorted with a
gesture at the listless mob of Hylar.  Don t you think they d appreciate
having their warriors around for the winter? She turned to Tarn.  Let me
go down and talk to them, see if there s going to be any trouble.
 I think we should all go. That way they ll know that we mean
business, Tarn said.  We should be ready to make a move if they prove
balky.
 No reason to get them all alarmed, Belicia countered.
 If they see two thousand mountain dwarves waiting to cross their
bridge, they ll prefer to talk and they ll think twice before trying to stop
us.
Although he grimaced in disgust, Barzack nodded his reluctant
agreement.  It s bad enough living outside, having the sun beat down on
us for a hot summer. Now we ve got to kiss up to a bunch of hill dwarves,
just to hope they ll let us cross the bridge and pass through their little
town.
 Maybe you d rather go back to Thorbardin? demanded Tarn, his
temper flaring.
For a moment all three were silent, overcome by grim memories. The
Hylar had once been the proudest of dwar-ven clans, unchallenged rulers
of mighty Thorbardin. They had been driven from their ancestral home
during the past summer, victims of the treachery of dark dwarves. As if
the traitorous attack of their neighboring clans wasn t enough, they had
suffered an influx of demon creatures from Chaos that had wracked their
home with unprecedented violence. Now these refugees were the only
survivors of Clan Hylar. Their city was a ruin. No family had been left [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]