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?"
"It looked like a crown," Helta replied in awe. "Like a crown of gold, with stones in settings."
24
A Place of the Nations
What had taken the Chosen Ones a winter's work to collect- every usable timber and building stone in the now-vanished human city of Klanath-would take years to recut, bore, and reuse. In ordering the dismantling of Klanath, the Lawgiver had thought little about what to do with the architectural materials which now filled half of Tharkas Pass. His immediate concerns had been to make certain that the human city could not be rebuilt, and to give his people a season or two of enjoyable labor. Privately, he had hoped that Lord Sakar Kane might show up if they waited for a time on the slopes north of Tharkas. But Kane had disappeared. No one-not even the far-ranging elves-seemed to know what had become of him.
As a new season greened the pastures south of Tharkas, Derkin sent a crew of dwarves north one last time to complete "The Tidying" there. But they found nothing left to do. What the dwarves had begun, the elves who now claimed that land beyond the pass had completed. Except for the black quartz monument to dwarven law, there was not a trace or a hint that there had ever been a settlement of any kind there. The last vestiges of the old palace were gone, all traces of the mines were gone, all sign of the great battle that had been fought there had been removed, and the stony flats were green with grasses and clover.
The dwarves, reporting back, said that the forest seemed closer now, as though it were already advancing toward the mountains to hide the barren slopes in deep foliage. Only an enchanted forest could reclaim its grounds so quickly, they told their peers. They reported seeing a small band of elves, who waved at them from a distance. And two among them swore that they had seen a unicorn, just within the edge of the advancing forest.
But the elves had not touched Derkin's law stone. It stood where it had been, dark and austere among the wildflowers around it, with its stern warning: "… We will always retaliate."