"Dreyus," Derkin muttered. With Helta clinging behind him, and the survivors of the Ten following, he spurred his mount toward the man. But the strange, dark cloud above swirled and lowered, a dipping funnel of darkness that reached downward to engulf Dreyus. It paused only an instant, then lifted, and Dreyus was gone. It was as though he had never been there.

Yet, just at the instant of the cloud's lifting, a shadow seemed to join it-a wide-winged bat-fish shadow that seemed more to swim in the air than to fly.

"Magic," Derkin muttered, turning away.

Then Despaxas was there again, beside him. With wide, wise eyes, the elf was staring at the place where the cloud had been. "Yes, magic," he said. "Of a strange kind, but Zephyr understood it."

"Zephyr?" Derkin cocked his head. "Your pet shadow? Did he help do that?"

"No, Dreyus did it, but Zephyr used it to escape the verge. He has gone back to his plane."

"I'm sorry," Derkin said, realizing that it was true.

"Be glad for him," Despaxas said. "For a long time, Zephyr has sought the path back to his world. I couldn't help him, but he found one who could. It's odd, the one who freed him from the verge was the only person I've ever known of that Zephyr couldn't even see."

Derkin was ready to fight some more, but it seemed there was no one to fight. All around, soldiers were throwing aside their banners and their heavy armor to flee in panic, while elves, dwarves and Cobar harried them on their way. Among the Cobar, Derkin thought he recognized Tuft Broadland, but the tall warrior was far off, and he couldn't tell for sure. He did see another human he recognized, though. Riding with the Cobar was the former officer of the empire, Tulien Gart.

Tap Tolec reined in beside Derkin. "We've run out of soldiers," he said. "What do we do now?"

"Have the drums sound assembly," Derkin said. "We're going home. There's still enough daylight left to see us back to the border of Kal-Thax."

By last light, the Chosen Ones and the Thorbardin volunteers made their way among great stacks of building blocks, to file through the almost hidden gate of Derkin's Wall. The war north of Tharkas Pass was at an end, and

Derkin Lawgiver left the elves and their allies to clean up the field. It was their land, not his.

The dwarves had gathered up all of their dead and carried them the four miles to the ancient place that a long-ago dwarf named Cale Greeneye had marked as the boundary of the dwarven lands. Tomorrow, the honored dead would be buried in their own land. For now, though, it was enough to simply build a few fires, tend wounds, and rest.

Derkin looked around him at the proud, battered people who had made him their leader and felt humble. For nearly a mile southward from their wall, they filled Tharkas Pass with their little fires, their clusters of bedding, their low, tired voices, and their snores. But they were far fewer than the bold army that had marched from this pass seasons earlier to depose Sakar Kane. For every three dwarves who had gone to war, only two had returned. Derkin found himself wondering if anything-even the fierce pride of a nation-was worth such a price.

As though reading his mood and his thoughts, Helta Graywood appeared beside him and gripped his hand with strong, warm little fingers. "If you decide to turn around this minute and do it all again," she said, "they will follow you. These people are your people, Derkin Lawgiver. They love you."

"I've never understood why," he rumbled.

"And I suppose you never will," she said. "But I understand."

Near midnight, guards came from the wall to awaken the Lawgiver. "There are people at the gate," they said. "They ask to speak with you."

"What people?" Derkin hissed, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. It was the first time in nearly a week that he had slept, and now his nap had been interrupted.

"Not dwarves," a guard said. "One of them is that elf, the one who was with us before. There are others with him."

By the light of a single rising moon, Derkin made his way to the narrow gate, yawning and surly, more asleep than awake. The timber door stood open, but several dwarves were blocking it, denying entrance to those beyond. They stepped aside as Derkin approached, and two of them kindled torches. Despaxas stood just beyond the portal, with other lithe, silent figures behind him. They were all elves.

Peeved and grumpy from being awakened, Derkin glared at the elven mage. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"We have what we wanted," Despaxas said. "The mountain road between the human empire and the central plains is closed. It is likely that Quivalin Soth will continue his insane attempts at conquest, but he can no longer strike swiftly or sustain a siege. For that we thank you, Derkin Lawgiver."

"Fine," Derkin growled. "Then you won't mind going away and letting me sleep."

"When your great-uncle established this boundary," Despaxas continued, ignoring the surly dismissal, "the agreement was between him and my mother, Eloeth. Between a dwarf and an elf."

"So?"

"So, know that from this day forward, the land north of here is elven land. It will be called Qualinesti."

"Fine," Derkin growled. "So you want me to get my building blocks off of your property, is that it?"

"I suggest you use them as building blocks should be used," Despaxas said. "Build a city. Here, where you have your boundary wall, in Tharkas Pass. My leader, Kith-Kanan, suggests that your people and mine consider a treaty to formalize the boundary between our lands. And if the boundary were to be a city, perhaps we could build it together."

"Together?" Derkin gaped at him. "You mean…dwarves and elves, together? Such a thing has never been done." He yawned. "Look, could we talk about this tomorrow? I'm tired."

"There is nothing more to talk about," Despaxas said. "I have presented thanks, and a suggestion. You have heard it."

"Fine," Derkin said. "I'll sleep on it."

With an innocent smile, Despaxas raised his hand and muttered something that Derkin could not understand. But suddenly the dwarf felt restored and content… and, somehow, very wise. "What have you done?" he asked.

"I have given you two gifts," the elf said. "One is from my mother. The second is on behalf of the people of Qualinesti. It is long life-if you don't get yourself killed first-and a touch more of that special talent which you have been acquiring over the past few years. You have the gift or the curse of leadership, Derkin. You will find now that you have it even more."

"Magic." The dwarf shrugged. "I don't like… Oh, well, thank you, I suppose."

With a nod-and another twitch of that innocent, catlike smile-Despaxas turned away, the other elves following him. Derkin watched them go for a moment, then called. "Wait a minute! You said there were two gifts! What's the first one?"

"If ever you need to know, you will," Despaxas called back. "Farewell, Derkin Winterseed-Hammerhand-Law-giver. You have been interesting to know."

"Aren't you coming back?"

"Who knows the future?" the elf called, and turned away again.

"Who knows the future?" Derkin muttered, irritated. "If anyone does, it's you, elf." Closing the gate between Kal-Thax and Qualinesti, the dwarf suddenly felt an odd loneliness-a sense of loss, as though a true friend had just gone away.

Helta was waiting for him beside his fire, but as he approached she backed away a step, her eyes widening. "Derkin," she said, pointing over his head, "what is that?"

"What's what?" He glanced up, saw nothing, and peered at her.

"Uh… nothing, now," she said. "But just for a moment, there was something above your head."

"There's nothing there," he insisted, looking again. "What did you think it was?"