Distantly, then, a trumpet sounded, followed by others. Around the dark cell, dwarves listened and glanced at one another. They had all heard that particular call before. It was evening call, but much more. It was inspection call, telling everyone in Klanath to prepare.

"Whatever that bowl has in mind," Tap said darkly, "it had better hurry. The inspection begins at first light tomorrow."

Vin the Shadow jumped to his feet. "Hush!" he said. "Listen!"

The distant blaring of trumpets had become a mighty chorus, with every caller in the city joining in. The blast of sound almost drowned out other, lesser noises… but not quite. Good dwarven ears heard something else, as well. Somewhere very near, weapons rang, and deep war cries -dwarven war cries-echoed the cries of frightened, surprised men.

Battle of the Pit

Arriving on tbe heights above the Klanath mines, Derkin Winter-seed waved his followers into cover and crept forward to survey the scene below. For a moment, the sight staggered him. He had never seen Klanath from above, and the sheer sprawl of the settlement shocked him. It was a fair-sized city, spread out on the flatlands and low hills below the mines. On a central knoll stood a grand stronghold-a palace rising among scaffolds, surrounded by walled courtyards. All around the central compound were clusters and rows of all kinds of buildings, many hundreds of them stretching downward and away toward the distant forests beyond.

At first glance, Derkin's impulse was to call the whole thing off. There were humans down there by the thousands, and among them armed patrols carrying the pennant of the empire. Even in evening shadow, as the sun of Krynn went to its rest beyond the western ranges, the task looked impossible. How were two hundred dwarves- more or less-ever going to slip unnoticed through such a place, to even reach the pit mines, much less free the dwarven slaves there?

Frowning and worried, he scanned the terrain below, memorizing it. And in memorizing it, he analyzed the patterns of it, and felt a bit more hopeful. City or not, the place was like any slave camp. Its defenses were designed to keep people in, not to keep people out.

Directly below him, and spreading out on both sides, were the ledges and ramps behind which were the shaft mines. Farther down the steep slope was a sprawl of ramshackle buildings, most of them no more than pole sheds. And just beyond those were the soft-ore pits-four deep, wide holes where lamps and torches moved. The nearest of the pits he recognized by its wide entry ramp. It was the first pit. And within it was the cell he had so recently occupied.

Everywhere in the city were patrols and guards, and on the distant northward road was a large encampment of empire soldiers. But the mining section had only perimeter guards, and those were mostly on the downward side. The various mines themselves had guards, of course, but mostly inside. There was no need for the Chosen Ones to make their way through the teeming sprawl of human Klanath. The city lay beyond the mines, below them. With a slight smile from a god or two, they could be in and out of the mines before forces from the city could react.

"Reorx," he muttered, making quick plans, "favor us now."

He signaled with his hand, and others crept forward to crouch beside him. "There," he pointed, indicating a brushy draw that led down the slope, separating the ledges of the shaft mines into two sections. "There is our path in, and with some luck, our path out as well."

At dark of evening, Derkin began his assault. Leaving the women and the injured hidden on the high slope, he led the rest into the wide, brushy cut and downward. Passing between shaft mines where lanterns were being lighted, they crept silently down the slope. A hundred yards, and they paused, listening. Another hundred, and they gathered in brush shadows above the cluster of barns and sheds. In a hushed voice, Derkin selected two squads of a dozen dwarves each, and gave them their orders. The selected ones were all young, strong, and agile, and all had at least some Daergar blood. When they understood what they were to do, he signaled the rest and stepped out of cover, heading straight toward the ramp of pit one. From here to the pit there was no cover, but Derkin was counting on the dusk and surprise, and counting even more on human nature. The guards at the ramp, he assumed, were interested in two things-the pit below them, and the stone-paved road that wound its way upward from the city.

"Humans are creatures of habit," his father had told him once, a long time ago. "They are quick to see what they expect to see, but slow to notice what they do not expect."

Beyond the sheds were fifty yards of open ground, with nothing to hide their approach. Therefore, Derkin discarded stealth in favor of speed and silence.

One hundred seventy pairs of strong, short legs raced toward the top of the ramp, where four cloaked guardsmen leaned on their spears. Sand scuffed beneath one hundred seventy pairs of running feet, and one of the guards raised his head curiously. Then another, and another.

"Reorx," Derkin muttered, taking a good grip on his hammer. And as he had barely dared to hope they would, all four guards became alert at the approaching sound… and all four turned their backs on the charging dwarves, turning instead toward the Klanath road.

Without warning or challenge, the dwarves hit them. One fell sprawling as Derkin's hammer thudded between his shoulders, smashing his spine. From the corners of his eyes, Derkin saw other guards fall, and he raced on, down the ramp. It seemed to him that their encounter had been noisy and clattering, but he realized instantly that the four guards at the foot of the ramp had not noticed it. It was always noisy in the pits, and the four were kneeling in a tight circle, playing bones. It was doubtful that any of them ever knew what hit them.

On the floor of the pit, slaves just completing their day's tasks gawked in astonishment as the armed dwarves streamed among them, heading for the cell corridor. One surprised slave dropped a loaded hod, and suddenly the mouth of the corridor was crowded with humans, gaping at the approaching attack, stumbling over one another as they grabbed up weapons.

Again without hesitation, Derkin led his Chosen Ones directly into the thick of the humans, slashing and battering with his hammer, his forearm shield dancing as blades rang against it.

There was no more silence now, nor any need for it. Derkin bellowed the only battle cry he had ever learned- an old Hylar war cry from distant times-and all around him other dwarves took it up, and the din of battle echoed with the chants that once had accompanied the beating of war drums.

The guard force at the corridor was a full company- fifty tall human males, armed with swords and maces, spears and daggers. The sheer force of the dwarven attack carried Derkin w;ll into the cell corridor and halfway through the clot of men. Then he found himself in the midst of all-out fighting on all sides. Nearby, a hastily crafted axe splintered its edge against a human shield, and a dwarf went down, writhing, with a spearhead through his chest. Dwarves were falling, but men were falling, too, and every good steel weapon that was dropped was grabbed by a dwarven hand before it stopped ringing.

The former slaves fought with a ferocious energy, making up in zeal what they lacked in practice. In a glance, Derkin saw two howling dwarves leap onto a human guard, wrench his sword from his hand as they bowled him over, then slash him to death with it.

For what seemed like hours, the fighting raged. Then the fury of it diminished suddenly. More than half the guard company was down, their blood mixing with that of a dozen or more dwarves who had seen their last sunrise. The rest of the humans were in panic, trying to escape the fury of the dwarves. A few scampered away, past attackers and out into the open pit. Most, though, turned and ran along the corridor, toward the slave cell. Shouting, Derkin pursued them, his Chosen Ones following. The corridor veered, then straightened, and the barricaded grating of the cell gate lay just ahead. Beyond it, the corridor ended.