Drillers followed, in teams of two, working on precarious platforms all along the length of the reckoning. From below, the platforms with their two dwarves each looked like a hundred tiny dots, high on the sheer stone. But when they began to punch-heavy sledges ringing on steel drills-the echoes of their efforts were a chorus that could be heard for miles around.

And joining the chorus was the ring of axes, as Neidar foresters worked in the nearby forests to the north. Day after day, they selected, cut, and hauled the timbers from which dwarven woodsmiths and binders were fashioning a fleet of sturdy sleds to be used as stone-boats. The dismantling of the palace compound, and of the partially constructed new fortress which Lord Kane's slaves had been building when the dwarves attacked, had taken only three weeks. Now, with several inches of good snow on the ground, the building stones were being hauled away into Tharkas Pass. As full winter closed on the lands north of Tharkas, the only structure still erect there was Lord Kane's palace. The tall structure served now as headquarters for Derkin's army and for the dismantling of Klanath.

With hundreds of horses, oxen, bison, and elk harnessed to the new sleds, dwarven teamsters were now busily transferring everything except the palace itself to the border of Kal-Thax, four miles away.

The work of hauling the stone was enhanced, the teamsters were forced to admit, by a bargain that Derkin had made-a bargain that most of the dwarves still could hardly believe. Among the countless hundreds of slaves they had found in Klanath there were no dwarves, but there were some of just about every other race the dwarves had ever heard of. Most of the slaves were humans, some were goblins, a few were elves, and two were ogres. On Derkin's orders, all of the slaves-even the goblins and ogres-had been freed and told to go away. But at the last moment, Derkin had called the ogres back. Then, while the Ten hovered near with drawn weapons and hundreds of other dwarves looked on with awe and disbelief, the Lawgiver had calmly invited the hulking pair into his chambers in the palace for a talk.

Their names were Goath and Ganat. Now they worked happily alongside the dwarven teamsters, hauling building stones into Tharkas Pass.

Only Derkin, the ogres, and the Ten knew exactly what had been discussed in that private meeting of the Master of Kal-Thax and two of his people's oldest ancestral enemies. But it was widely rumored among the Chosen that Derkin had made them a deal-fifty milk cows and a good bull from Lord Kane's herds in return for a winter's work.

It was known that the Lawgiver had given the ogres one law by which to govern themselves during their service. Derkin had told Goath and Ganat that if they so much as laid hands on any dwarf, other than to assist him, Derkin would personally tear their hearts out.

The ogres themselves verified that last condition of their employment, and there was no doubt that they truly believed that Derkin would do exactly what he said. The fact that each of them was more than twice as tall as Derkin seemed to matter not at all to them. From the time they came out of Derkin's chambers, it was clear that Goath and Ganat respected-and were somewhat afraid of-their employer.

At first, many of the dwarves were horrified at the idea of working alongside ogres. Dwarves and ogres had always been enemies. Ogres were dangerous, and never to be trusted. But as the weeks passed, the Chosen Ones realized that Derkin had made a good bargain. Each of the huge creatures could move as much stone in a day as two or three of the sled teams driven by dwarves.

The Lawgiver's only comment about the matter-a comment repeated throughout the encampment-was, "Ogres aren't necessarily bad. Dull, of course, but not bad. And they don't stink like goblins."

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.