Within the circle, grim assault companies waited-hundreds of mounted, armed dwarves and many more hundreds of footmen. Even here, surrounded on a barren, open plain, without fortification except for the shrunken skeleton of the old palace where some of the women tended the infirm, Derkin's army was formidable. "They may kill us," the Lawgiver agreed, "but it will cost them dearly if they do."

It was midday when spotters on the palace ruins saw Dreyus's scouts returning from the east. Drums sang, and Derkin gathered his group commanders around him for a final time. "The human knows now," he said. "He has confirmed that Redrock Cleft is no longer passable. Now he will either leave or attack." He turned to the only human in his camp, Tulien Gart. "Which do you think he will do?"

Tulien Gart shook his head. "Any ordinary officer would leave," he said. "Oh, he might bluster around a bit, maybe curse you and send a few arrows your way, but he would see the futility of an all-out battle here, even a victorious one. He would withdraw and go in search of another route eastward. But that is no ordinary officer out there, Derkin. That is Dreyus. Dreyus does not like to be thwarted."

"You are free to leave," Derkin told the human. "They would pass you through their lines."

"No, they wouldn't," Gart said bleakly. "Dreyus would know that I have been here by my own choice. And he would know where you learned the field tactics of empire soldiers. If I must die, I'd rather it be here, quickly and with honor, than at the mercy of the emperor's torturers."

Derkin shrugged. "Arm yourself, then. And find a horse that suits you." He turned to his unit commanders. "Are we ready?"

Each commander nodded, and one said, "As ready as we'll ever be." They turned and headed for their units.

Tap Tolec nudged the Lawgiver and pointed. A short distance away, Helta Graywood had appeared outside the ruined palace. She was wearing oddments of armor and a helmet, all too big for her, and carrying a sword and shield. She was heading for the perimeter line.

"Do you want us to put her back in the shelter?" Tap asked.

"It wouldn't do any good," Derkin said. "She's decided to fight. Just bring her here, so I can keep her with me."

Trumpets sounded all around, and the human cordon began to close in on the dwarves. Dreyus had made his decision. Foot companies led the approach, with archers among them. When they were within seventy yards, the footmen halted and the archers paced ahead of them and spread, standing and kneeling in double ranks.

"First come the arrows," Derkin muttered, as though reciting from a manual of arms. "Drums!"

The drums sang, and shields were raised throughout the encampment. From the perimeter inward, the dwar-ven ranks became a wall of steel.

In unison, the human archers released their bows, and the sky came alive with arrows. But even as the arrows left their strings, small groups of dwarves charged through their perimeter at a dozen points, racing forward as fast as stubby legs could drive them. The arrows went over their heads to fall in the ranks behind them, and before the archers could recover or retreat, there were dwarves among them, slashing furiously this way and that.

Wide-eyed, bewildered bowmen, armed only with their bows and their daggers, fell by the dozens before the foot companies behind them could react. And when the better-armed soldiers did charge forward, hampered by retreating archers and the bodies of the fallen, they saw only the backs of the dwarven assault groups, scampering toward the safety of their shielded lines.

Among the dwarves, few had been hit by arrows. Most of the shafts had found only shields in their path. Others had hit nothing but the hard ground. Here and there, though, a few dwarves lay fallen, some dead and others injured.

"Bolts and slings," Derkin ordered. Drums beat a tattoo, and on the perimeter line every second dwarf knelt and raised his crossbow. Those between the boltmen whirled their slings, filling the field for an instant with a sound like big, angry bees. Then the crossbows twanged, the stones flew, and all around the dwarves, human soldiers screamed and fell.

"First assault, first reprisal," Derkin muttered. Clambering onto his war-horse, he pulled Helta Graywood up behind him. Around them, the Ten mounted and formed close guard. Drums tattooed, and all around the encampment, companies of dwarven riders climbed into their saddles. "He'll put his footmen forward one more time now," Derkin told himself. "Javelins!"

As though responding to Derkin's thoughts, trumpets echoed his drums, and human pikemen and macemen advanced at a trot from all sides. The dwarves on the perimeters knelt behind their shields, motionless, as the trot became a headlong charge. The humans closed to forty yards, then thirty, then twenty.

"Throw and rush!" Derkin ordered, the drums taking his message.

As one, the entire dwarven perimeter stood, aimed, flung their javelins, then followed instantly with a second throw. While the first wave of needle-sharp missiles was hitting the humans, and the second was on the way, every second dwarf in the outer ring raised shield and blade and charged forward, roaring their battle cries.

It was not a human strategy. It was a tactic the Chosen Ones had invented, and its effect was murderous. Still moving forward, confronted by javelins that tore through their ranks, stumbling over their impaled companions, the human pikemen and macers were taken completely off guard as a thousand or more dwarves hit their advance, cutting them down right and left. Edged pikes thrust and slashed, and usually went over the heads of the dwarves. Dwarven blades ran with human blood. Dwarven hammers and dwarven shields smashed human knees and jaws.

Then, as before, the dwarves wheeled and withdrew, hurrying back to their own lines. As they returned, those lines backed away, tightening and withdrawing toward the center, compacting their defense. Not all of the dwarves who had countercharged came back. Many lay now where they had fallen-their blood flowing, mingling with the blood of their enemies. But most returned, and the perimeter tightened inward to compensate for the losses.

All around the compact dwarven force, stunned confusion ran through the human ranks. At Dreyus's command, his officers had launched a standard field assault against a surrounded enemy. First an archery barrage, then pikes and maces to overrun the perimeter, with horse companies in reserve to mop up afterward.

It was a classical tactic, and it should have worked. But the dwarves had not played their part. Instead of cowering and fleeing from the arrows, they had come out under the barrage and decimated the archers. Instead of regrouping for defense against footmen, they had unleashed a deadly barrage of their own. And instead of falling before the pikes and maces, they had countercharged, and now the forward foot companies were in turmoil.

Trumpets sounded, and all around, human soldiers turned and retreated toward their original lines, some running as fast as they could.

Derkin walked his horse across to where Tulien Gart stood beside a human-saddled mount. "Thank you," the dwarf said. "You taught me well, about human strategy." Gart looked up at him bleakly. "It isn't over," he said. "That was only the first assault. They'll come again."

"Why?" Derkin asked. "They've lost hundreds of men. Isn't it enough?"

"It might be, for a regular officer," the man said. "But you've humiliated Dreyus now. He can't let you get away with that."

Behind Derkin, Helta Graywood leaned to look around him. "Who is this Dreyus, anyway?" she asked.

"I don't really know." Gart shrugged. "No one knows much about him, except that what he does is the emperor's doing, and when he speaks it is the emperor speaking. Some suspect that he may actually be Quivalin Soth, in some other form… in a second body, somehow. Two separate men, but with one mind. But even the wizards I've met don't know how that could be done."