"Of course." Despaxas smiled. "I'm not needed here now. This situation is in good hands." He glanced at the stump of Calan's arm and corrected himself. "Well, in good hand." He reached out, clasped the old dwarf's burly shoulder for a moment, and just for an instant Calan thought he saw a deep sadness in the elf's eyes. It was as though Despaxas were saying a final farewell to his old friend. But then the look was gone, and the elf turned again and walked away.

Halfway across the encampment, Despaxas found Tuft Broadland. "Get your horse, human," he said. "It's time for me to leave, and your people will be missing your leadership by now… if they've noticed yet that you're gone."

"Crazy elf," Tuft said sourly. "Shouldn't we say goodbye to Derkin before we go?"

"Why? He'll know we've gone."

"I'd like to bid him well," Tuft said. "And you should, too. He has done a remarkable thing here."

"Derkin's task-or his ordeal-has only begun," Despaxas said quietly. "We leave now, human. I have seen a glimpse of what is to come. But I cannot help Derkin Hammerhand. Destiny is upon him."

"If you know something of use to him, he deserves to be told," the Cobar said with a scowl.

Again, there was a flicker of sadness in Despaxas's expression, quickly replaced by a cold determination. 'Trust me, Tuft Broadland. We must leave here now."

Confused, as he often was by Despaxas, the Cobar hesitated. Still, he had trusted this strange elf in the past, and had never regretted it. "All right," he said finally. "I'll get my horse, and you can say your spell. But I'll be hanged if I'll be in the saddle when you do."

Lord Kane's Revenge

Weeks had passed since the defense of Derkin's Wall against the attacks of the Third Battalion. And during those weeks, not a single soldier had been seen in Tharkas Pass.

Derkin's lookouts, hidden in shallow, camouflaged delves high on the peaks above Klanath, reported strange, unexplained activities in and around Lord Kane's stronghold. The great mines outside the city lay silent now, and it appeared that all of their slaves had been relocated. Some of them had been taken to bustling new stone quarries nearby, others into the city itself. And now, building stones by the hundreds were being hauled into the city, and there was construction going on in a large enclave just east of the palace. Timber crews moved back and forth between Klanath and the forests to the north, bringing back hundreds of logs.

It looked, the drums said, as though the humans were building a new fortress within the city.

Derkin Hammerhand admitted to those close to him that he was puzzled. What the humans were doing in Klanath was their own business, but he was surprised that there had been no further attempts to clear Tharkas Pass. He had been sure that Lord Kane would launch at least one attack in full force. It was not like the man to simply accept an ultimatum such as the dwarves had sent. Kane was not a passive person, nor one to accept a loss. He considered the lands south of the pass as his own. Would he lose them without a fight?

The Chosen Ones were becoming restless, too, and that added to Derkin's worries. With the wall in place, and no plans for permanent delves at the pass, they had little to do. Quarrels, brawls, and fistfights had become common in recent days, and Derkin knew it was the result of sheer boredom. Without work to do, his people turned to fighting, and there was no one here to fight except themselves.

He longed to leave the wall, to somehow know that Tharkas Pass was safe from invasion so that he could take his people back into the mountains. There, they could join their ten thousand peers in the work of hunting and herding, of planting and harvesting, of building and delving and living their lives.

The wall, like the little metal stake on which it was built, was really nothing more than a symbol. It was a signal to those beyond that the lands south of it were not theirs for the taking. It had needed to be built, and they had built it. It had been a certainty that the humans would test it, and the dwarves welcomed the test.

But Derkin had not intended to spend months or years here in Tharkas Pass. There were other places to be, and other things to do. Just as a great nation of dwarves had been carved out of the mountain wilderness so many centuries ago, now that nation must be renewed, and securing Tharkas Pass was only the first step.

In his dreams, Derkin saw a time when the Neidar of Kal-Thax could live securely, where and how they chose, knowing that they had champions to come to their aid if they were threatened. The Chosen Ones would be those champions. They would be the army of Kal-Thax. They would serve the dwarven nation as the Holgar-the people of Thorbardin-had once promised to.

He had little hope that Thorbardin would ever reverse itself, ever again become the vital, central fortress of Kal-Thax. Not enough of the people now living in the subterranean fortress had the spirit their ancestors had once had. There were a few Dunbarth Ironthumbs and people like the Daewar leader Jeron Redleather and his son Luster, but only a few, it seemed.

If Kal-Thax was to be restored as a realm, it would be up to the Chosen Ones to do it.

But this silence was unnerving. Not only had Lord Kane not come with his armies to test the walled border in force… he hadn't done anything at all.

Each evening's breezes, coming through the great pass, were cooler than those the evening before. Each morning now, there was frost. Winter came quickly in these mountains, and it would come soon. Derkin Hammerhand chafed at the silence, and at the waiting.

And then, four weeks to the day after the defense of the wall, the drums told of people coming. A small party, riding toward the border.

When they came into sight, Derkin went to the battlements. The people coming were human soldiers, wearing the colors of the empire and carrying the banners of Klanath. But there were only a dozen of them. As they neared, Derkin recognized the one in the lead. It was the officer he had given his message to, the one named Tulien Gart. With sudden decision, Derkin hurried down the ramp, opened the gate, and went out to meet him. The Ten, as always, went with him, but he ordered everyone else to stay.

Tulien Gart saw the dwarves come out from the gate and halted his escort. Then, holding a hand up, palm out, he rode forward alone. Six paces from the group of dwarves, he drew rein. "I am Tulien Gart," he said. "I have words for Hammerhand."

The dwarf in the lead stepped forward a single pace. Gart recognized the polished helm and the scarlet cape, and now he could see the face that went with them-a wide, stern dwarven face with dark, backswept beard and eyes that seemed to look right through him.

"I know you, Tulien Gart," the dwarf said, in the deep voice the man remembered. "I am Hammerhand." .

"I carried your words to my prince, Lord Kane," Gart said. "He has sent me with his response. Lord Kane directs me to say that he does not recognize your claim to the lands bestowed upon him by His Imperial Majesty, but neither does he wish to expend his forces and his energies in needless combat. He therefore suggests a truce."

"A truce?" Hammerhand scowled, and Gart noticed that the Ten behind him raised their shields slightly, as though preparing to draw their weapons. But Hammerhand eased them with a gesture. "What sort of truce does Lord Kane suggest?"

"Lord Kane asks your word of honor that you and all your people will remain south of your… ah… border, and make no move against Klanath, until such time as Lord Kane and Hammerhand can negotiate their respective claims and possibly arrive at a peaceful solution."