"No, he hasn't," Helta said. "I've told him a dozen times to marry me, but he puts me off. He says he won't commit to anything except reclaiming Kal-Thax. He's stubborn, among other things."

And stupid, too, Tuft thought, but kept the notion to himself. Most of the dwarven women he had seen were far from beautiful, at least to his human eyes. But Helta Graywood was a striking exception.

Old Calan Silvertoe joined them, then, and they spread their blankets beside a fresh fire. Finishing off a roasted haunch of some delicious meat, Tuft said to Derkin, "I'd like to see your settlement in the wilderness. You people must be doing wonders there."

"No human has seen what we are doing out there," the dwarf said levelly, "and none will. But if you people ever get through with your stupid war, you'll see the results. We intend to open trade routes and trading centers-east, west, and north."

"That's after you reclaim Kal-Thax, of course," the Cobar said bluntly.

"Of course. That's what we're doing now. That's why we're building a wall."

"The land you're claiming-or reclaiming-is territory that Lord Kane considers his own," Despaxas said. "The Emperor Ullves granted it to him."

"Then the Emperor Ullves lied to him," Derkin said. "This land is ours. It was never his to grant, and never will be."

"You think a wall is going to stop Lord Kane from trying to take back what he considers his?" Tuft asked.

"Maybe not." Derkin shrugged. "Walls are like fences. They are built primarily to keep neighbors out. But they don't mean much to enemies."

"Then what's the purpose of it?"

"It will slow him down, at least," the dwarf said.

"You'll have to fight him," the elf said quietly.

Derkin studied them both with shrewd, dark eyes that were far more experienced than the same eyes had been just a few seasons before. His scrutiny also fell on Calan Silvertoe. "I expect to," he said. "And I'm beginning to understand why each of you was so anxious to help me before… and why you want to encourage me now."

"What you are doing here will help us in our war against the invaders," Despaxas said. "There's no secret about that."

"But I wonder if you-any of you-understand that I want no part of your war," Derkin growled.

"You didn't want to be anybody's leader either," Calan Silvertoe reminded him. "Sometimes there isn't much choice about things like that."

Derkin turned away, yawning, ignoring him. But he caught the glance that passed between Despaxas and Calan Silvertoe and felt a sudden coldness in his bones. They knew. The old, one-armed dwarf and the ageless elf, they knew what Derkin knew but didn't want to admit, even to himself. The human lord of Klanath would see Derkin's wall not as a boundary, but as a challenge. He almost certainly would not choose to turn away and leave Kal-Thax alone.

In the deepening night, muffled drums sang their songs through the mountains. Drums that Hylar crafters had taught Derkin to build and use as a boy-as his Hylar ancestors had always built and used them-and that Despaxas the elf had taught him a new song for, somewhere in the wilderness. The song of Balladine.

Now the drums were signaling, as they always signaled. Derkin's people-and the far-ranging Neidar who had joined them-now numbered some twenty thousand. The nine thousand here at Tharkas were the Chosen Ones, the fighting core of what had become a new and widespread clan. Most of the rest were in the wilderness, near a place called Sheercliff, though some were still farther west, staking out territory for a future trade center to be called Barter.

They were far separated in miles, but not in mind, and the drums carried their messages back and forth through the mountains.

Master of the Pass

For eleven days the dwarves worked on their wall, laboring nigbt and day while the sole human among them, Tuft Broad-land, watched with amazement. Except for his brief adventure in this place, years before, when he had helped the former Derkin Winterseed free dwarven slaves from the goblins in the Tharkas mine shaft, then watched as those slaves freed thousands more from the mines of Klanath, Tuft had never associated with dwarves.

He was amazed now at their energy, their stubborn intensity in the face of a task, and at their sheer physical strength. He knew, of course, that a mature dwarf a foot shorter than himself would weigh as much as he did, and he had heard that the massive little people were stronger, pound for pound, than humans. But as he watched their craftsmen handle and set huge stones day after day, the Cobar was awed. Time after time he watched a half-dozen dwarves-or sometimes as few as four-roll a ton of square-cut stone from side to side, working its surface with ringing tools, punching reinforcement holes in it with hammer drills, then wrestle the stone onto a sling board for other dwarves to lift from above.

They used winches and wedges, levers and slings, and all manner of other tools, in ways he had never seen such things used. And while some among them were more skilled than others at the cutting or drilling or setting of stone, he had the impression that any one of them at random could have done the job of any other.

"They work as though they were born with tools in their hands," he remarked to Despaxas as the Tharkas Wall towered overhead, growing tier by tier.

'They almost were," the elf said casually. "It is the manner of dwarves. It is said that a dwarf can climb before he can walk, hew stone before he can talk, and delve before he's out of his swaddling."

"They're an amazing people," Tuft allowed. "But can they use their weapons?"

"You will see soon enough," the elf answered. "To a dwarf, a weapon is just another tool. The only difference is in its application."

Now, on the eleventh day of the project, as the last of the stones salvaged from Lord Kane's outpost were hauled upward to be set into place, Tuft stood back to look at the huge construct. The wall was butted into solid stone on each side of the pass, completely filling it from side to side. Stout battlements of carved stone lined its top, protecting a bastion that could be reached by ramps on the south face. The north face of the wall, facing toward Klanath, was solid, almost seamless stone. And low in its center was a single, small opening, tall and narrow, sealed by a gate that looked as solid and massive as the wall itself.

Not an impassable obstacle, the Cobar decided as he studied the wall. Determined men equipped with grapples and lines could scale its north face and get across. But with a good defense on that bastion top, the price of such an attack would be fearsome.

And it had been built in eleven days! Such a project would have taken human craftsmen half a year to complete.

With the wall in place, most of the Chosen Ones moved their camp into the pass, just behind their barricade. And now Tuft saw the builders of the wall become soldiers of Kal-Thax. Putting away their stoneworking tools, the dwarves donned exquisite steel armor and clothing of a variety of bright colors. Fine, dwarven steel weapons were unwrapped, brought out, and buckled or strapped into place. Within a day after the completion of the stone wall, the Cobar found himself surrounded by thousands of stubby, helmed warriors, most of whom looked as fierce and formidable as Derkin Hammerhand himself.

Another thing he noted then, about the dwarves. A hundred pounds or so of steel plate, helmet, slung shield, and weaponry was no burden to a sturdy dwarf. In full battle attire, each dwarf appeared as comfortable and as nimble as though he were clothed only in kilt and smock. Afoot or on horseback, the short, sturdy warriors seemed as at home in armor as though it were part of them.