"What will the soldiers do next?" Derkin asked the man.

"Probably try the horse-charge approach," Gart said. "With their lancers leading, and footmen behind them. It is a time-honored tactic in circumstances like this, when a first assault has been repelled. Quivalin Soth has never been a soldier, and Dreyus probably isn't either. So he'll let his officers advise him one more time."

"The horse-charge," Derkin said thoughtfully. "Yes, we've planned for such. And if that tactic fails, then what?"

"Beyond that I can't predict," Gart told him. "Were his officers to fail again, I think Dreyus would take full command. There's no telling what he would try."

With the humans withdrawn, dwarves scampered through their lines to retrieve their dead-those they could reach without an arrow finding them. Dragging them back into the besieged encampment, they laid them out honorably and stood over them for a moment, willing their spirits to the mercy of Reorx. There was no time for burial now. That would have to wait until they, under Derkin Lawgiver's leadership, had chased the humans away.

Spotters atop the ruined palace signaled, and the drums spoke. All around the beleaguered dwarves, the mighty human army was regrouping. Horse companies were moving into the fore now, mounted lancers followed by great tides of foot soldiers.

The Last Day

By last light of evening, the lancers came, a unified attack aimed at three separate points in the dwarven defense. From the south, northwest, and northeast they charged-armored men on armored horses, lowering their lances as they closed on the stolid ranks of dwarven shields. As the gap narrowed between lancers and dwarves, trumpets blared, and long lines of foot soldiers poured across the frozen ground, following where the horses went.

The dwarves at the assault points stood as though rooted in the rocky soil as the lancers bore down on them. Steel tips with the momentum of charging steeds behind them aligned on steel shields held only by dwarves. Then, at the last possible instant, the shields fell away. Each dwarven defender at those points fell backward, flat on the ground with his shield on top of him.

The lance tips met only cold air in passing, and thundering hooves clattered and faltered as wild-eyed horses tried to avoid the strange footing of horizontal shields. Here and there a shield was battered downward by hooves, but far more horses pivoted and spun, or launched themselves into ill-timed jumps to clear the frightening footing. A few lancers were thrown from their saddles, and some found themselves charging back the way they had come, directly into their own footmen. Most, though, passed over the fallen dwarves and into the encampment itself. Behind them, dwarves rolled and rose, got their feet beneath them and their shields up, and drew their blades.

Several hundred human lancers now milled and wheeled inside the dwarven line, as the line closed behind them. A few found targets for their lances, but the sport lasted only seconds. With a thunder of hooves, the lancers were hit-from all sides, it seemed, by charging dwarven cavalry. Each horse carried a dwarf on each side. Each dwarf wielded a weapon and a fighting shield. With deadly efficiency, the dwarven war-horses tore through the disarrayed lancers, wheeling to charge again and again.

Armored by plate and chain of dwarven steel and protected by the same shields that protected their riders, each horse was a thundering juggernaut among the lightly armored lancers. Men and their mounts fell right and left as dwarwen blades and hammers lashed out from both sides of each war-horse, slashing and crushing whatever they could reach.

None of the lancers who had breached the dwarven perimeter returned to his ranks. Some, in their final moments, might have thrown down their weapons and surrendered, given the chance. But dwarves had died in the lancers' charge, and Derkin's signal when the trap was sprung was a down-turned thumb. No mercy, and no quarter. It was Derkin's fourth law, pure and simple: if dwarves were attacked, dwarves would retaliate. If dwarves died, their attackers would also die.

Throughout the slaughter of the lancers, Derkin had held back, simply sitting his mount with Helta behind him, watching the combat and hearing the singing of the drums. Now, as the last lancer fell, he looked at the dark sky and tasted the raw, cold wind that came with evening. He knew what he must do next. Hundreds of his people were dead and more were wounded. Through sheer, stubborn courage and wily tactics, they had accounted for three humans for every fallen dwarf, but were still surrounded and badly outnumbered. If the humans pressed their attack again tomorrow, the Chosen Ones would perish. It was inevitable.

'The enemy is withdrawing for the night," Derkin told Tap Tolec. "All this day we have defended. Now we must attack. Bring me our master delvers, and ask Vin the Shadow to attend me."

Tulien Gart drew near, leading a tired horse. The man was battered and bloody, his thigh gouged by a lance tip, but he stood with dignity before the dwarven leader. "I didn't think you could turn that charge," he admitted. "Humans could never have done it. Humans wouldn't have had the courage to fall under those horses, as your people did."

'They might have," Derkin said, "if they had ever been slaves." He climbed down from his horse and helped Helta down. "Take Commander Gart to shelter," he told her. "Bind his wounds and make a place for him at the fire. There is a cold wind tonight."

When the delvers were assembled along with Vin the Shadow and several of his Daergar companions, Derkin gathered them around him. "Is the stone-drilling complete up on the peak?" he asked the chief of delvers.

"It is ready, Lawgiver." The dwarf nodded, his blond beard bobbing in the firelight. "It needs only to be pried."

Derkin turned to Vin. "We have prepared the face of that peak above the Klanath Pits," he said, "to fill the pits with an avalanche. That was to have completed our work here, after the last cut stones were hauled away. But now I need that avalanche to occur tonight. Most of the delvers are of Daewar descent. They cannot climb such slopes at night. Do you have people who can?"

Vin had removed his mask, and his large eyes glowed in the firelight as his foxlike face twisted into a tight grin. "There's plenty of light for us," he said. "Just explain what has to be done."

"The delvers have drilled pry-holes all along a fault high on that peak." Derkin pointed. "They can tell you what to look for, and how to break out the stone. And they can give you their climbing slings and prybars."

"Will an avalanche help us get back to Kal-Thax?" Vin asked.

"It might." Derkin shrugged. "The wind is cold tonight. Our spotters say that some of the humans have made their fires down in the pits, out of the wind. It is possible that their leader, Dreyus, is there. Without him, the rest might decide to turn around and go away, rather than lose more men tomorrow for no reason."

"Then let's hope Dreyus is warming himself out of the wind," Vin replied, still grinning. "If he is, we'll bury him there."

"Reorx protect you, Vin the Shadow," Derkin said. "When you have done your task, take your climbers on up, over the peak. If we survive tomorrow, we will see you at Stoneforge. If we don't come, tell our people there of the four laws." He clapped the Daergar roughly on the shoulder, then turned and strode away, the Ten following.

"Do you really think Dreyus will be in the pits?" Tap Tolec asked doubtfully as they toured the perimeter, gazing at the hundreds of human fires encircling them.

"Who knows?" Derkin shrugged. "If Tulien Gart is right, Dreyus may not even feel the wind's chill. But we did set out to bury the Klanath pits, and I wouldn't want to leave that task undone. Besides, it is a matter of law. All this day we have been attacked. Whatever happens tomorrow, we must retaliate tonight. And I know of no better way."