by Greg Ricker
Perhaps, too ready.
It took some time, and a whole lot of weaving through elbows, before Lanum found Randor, and Carlin, in the enormous crowd that had come to watch the armies depart. They were standing in front of the crowd, and he could see the scroll, still in Randor's hand.
Lanum had not stopped kicking himself since he had seen them last, and he could still feel Carlin's fingers, digging into his throat.
Stepping up to them, he was afraid, but cared more about the scroll.
"Are you ready, Lanum?" Randor asked.
"Ready for what?" Lanum asked, anger in his voice.
"To deliver the scroll, of course." Replied Randor.
"They're coming!" Carlin announced as those same two words were passed through the crowd.
Desperation got the best of Lanum, then. ¨What shall I do!¨
Randor could only hope that his rumor had been eating at the Mynnorah army.
Then all would go as planned.
"I have an idea." Said the Dwarf in all black.
"Give me the scroll, Randor." Lanum was becoming furious.
"Be patient." Said Randor.
Lanum felt he had been patient enough.
"Wait until the King is passed us." Randor suggested. "Then run through the lines made by the men from Bowenn, and right up to his horse."
"Are you insane?" Lanum asked. "The soldiers will never let me through."
Randor had no comment.
Lanum had no choice.
They watched the foot soldiers march by, and then the horses were in front of them. Directly in the middle, they saw glimpses of the King and the General's.
"Not yet." Said Randor, placing a hand on the taxidermist's shoulder. "Wait a moment...not yet...another second...now!"
He gave Lanum the scroll, as well as a hard shove, and the Dwarf went running toward the lines.
Lanum bolted at breakneck speed, until he was in line with the King's position, and he darted under the heads of the outside soldiers' horses. By then, however, everyone had spotted him, and if the men he passed had been Dwarves, action would have already been taken. Fortunately, the men from Bowenn were looking to the Dwarves for orders to stop the man, and that was all the time Lanum needed, to get nearer to the King.
Curic saw a man running in the corner of his eye, just before he disappeared within the sword-wielding soldiers. It was happening? The King was in danger!
When the man appeared again, he was right next to Nerol's horse, holding something, and the General made his move. From out of his belt, he pulled free his long, thin dagger. He drew his arm back and launched the weapon quickly, with arrow-like speed and straightness.
From the window in his front room, Traft could see the army approaching. He frowned at the thought of his scroll staying behind in the castle the entire time the King was gone. He grabbed the windowsill, and looked closely at the crowd in the street.
He did not have to look long, before he found Lanum among them, and he was standing with Randor and Carlin. Why was he talking with their like? Then he saw Lanum take something from Randor, and run out into the street.
It looked like he held the scroll in his hands.
"Lanum!" Traft called from the window. "No, Lanum!"
He watched as his friend ran into the marching lines, dodging horses.
Traft also saw, when Lanum grabbed his throat, and fell.
"No!"
In a flash, the Emissary of the Advancement was standing in front of his home. Surprise, fear, and anger had all appeared on his face. He looked at a crowd full of loyal members, all standing with their mouths gaping. They were equally as shocked.
"Advancement!" Traft shouted for all to hear. "Assail!"
The thugs who bullied soldiers for fun in their spare time, were the first ones to charge the foot soldiers. Fists began flailing around. Before long, hundreds fought in the street.
"The King!" Curic yelled. "Guard the King with your lives!"
The army came to a halt, as Dwarves ran into the lines punching, shoving, and kicking.
"Do not draw your weapons!" Nerol ordered. "Harm no one!"
It was a difficult order to obey, when two or three men were punching you all at once. One free axe or sword, would end the fight quickly enough. These were their neighbors, though. Parents of friends, and even some blood relatives were in the mix, so the soldiers would take the scratches and the bruises, and do nothing in return.
The rebellion, however, had obviously become a stronger bond than kin. Anyone who accepted the King's laws, was the enemy. It was a thought blown way out of proportion, and the cause for a very bitter departure.
Curic and Carmon had positioned themselves with just Nerol and Danuel between them. Not a single man had broken through to them, and the foot soldiers were surrounding the horses to help even more.
"Do not fear, my lord!" Said Curic.
"Just get us out of here!" Growled Nerol. His face was a mask of sorrow.
Kaylel never stopped looking back at Danuel. Her horse was getting a little nervous, from all of the shouting and running people.
"Just stay beside me." Danuel would not let her out of his sight. "You'll be okay."
She only hoped that her horse, Hunter, could understand him.
"Go back where you belong!"
"Return to your families!"
"Cowards!"
The armies heard an earful of comments from the angry Dwarves. Aimed at both armies.
There was little concern on the faces of Wade and Deril. They were sure that the Mynnorah army would do their job and protect them well enough, but they would not hesitate to stick their knives into anyone who assaulted them. No matter what the Dwarf king ordered.
"When I get home I promise never to return to a big city!" Deril declared.
Wade nodded his head. He was surprised to find himself agreeing, so soon after leaving Tylas. Perhaps his partner was right about the comfort of their present positions back home. Small town. Small problems.
When the fight moved on further down the street, Traft could see Lanum lying alone on the cobblestones in a pool of blood. He ran to his friend and knelt by his side. Next to Lanum's body was something quite familiar. He picked it up to make certain, and found that it truly was the scroll he had written. Now crumpled and torn from the boots and hooves that trampled on it repeatedly.
Traft could only wonder, and despair.
He looked up with tear filled eyes, and saw Randor and Carlin watching him from a safe distance, talking and laughing. Then Randor's eyes met his, and his laughter turned to a growl.
Randor was all too quick to grab Carlin by the arm, and pull him into an alleyway, disappearing from view.
Traft did not know the two men very well, but he knew that they were always around when trouble presented itself. He had an idea that they were behind the soldier's recent death, but he definitely knew that they were involved in Lanum’s.
As other Dwarves came to see if they could offer some assistance, Traft stood, and ran after the two men.
Laws, justice, the Advancement...none of them mattered anymore.
He would see their blood spilled, as well.
"I don't see him." Said Carlin, looking back as he ran a step behind Randor.
The Dwarf in black did not listen, he knew that Traft was behind them, but in his present state of mind, he did not fear the possibility of a confrontation with him. Perhaps that was why he could not leave the scene right away, as planned. He had to stay, to see Traft's face, when he discovered Lanum's death, and when he picked up the remains of his silly scroll.
Randor led the way, on a mad dash around buildings, through alleyways, and across narrow side streets. He stopped finally, in an alley between two tall buildings.
"I think we lost him." Carlin sounded sure of it, as well as short of breath. He leaned on one of the buildings, and then replaced the hat he had to carry during their flight.
Peeking around the corner, Randor saw Traft ru
nning in their direction.
"Quickly!" He opened the only door in the alley. "In here!"
It seemed a good idea at the time, but he soon realized where he was, when a small room inside, led to a spiral staircase that disappeared from view above. They were standing inside the bell tower. Then another fact surfaced in his mind. The door they had entered, was also they only way out. They had to go up, just in case Traft happened to peek inside.
Halfway up the seemingly endless spiral staircase, the two Dwarves grew weary of running, but they fought back against their aching knees, and pressed on.
Randor knew that there would be little chance of escaping a fight, should they be found.
There was no door at the top, just an opening in the floor above, and the two stepped up into an even smaller room at the top. The walls were lined with windows without glass or bars, only wooden shutters that were then wide open, letting the cool morning breeze blow through. Above them, was the enormous, ancient bell, its pull rope was dangling just above the floor.
"Watch those stairs!" Shouted Randor, and Carlin pulled a dagger from his belt before he planted his feet at the top of the steps.
The tower was once a place to view the city in its entirety, but the construction of many tall buildings over the past several decades, had abolished that. Randor saw that the street below was empty of both anything and anyone, save for the crowd around Lanum´s body, and he sighed with a little bit of relief.
The noise of a small bird inside of the bell, drew Carlin's attention away from the stairs for a moment. When his eyes returned, he saw Traft only a step away, and did not have time to block the fist that landed right between his eyes. He was unconscious before he hit the floor, and Traft was quick to grab the dagger from Carlin's open hand.
Randor turned to see what had happened, and he held out his dagger. Foolish bravery replaced with wide-eyed fear.
"What was your part in all of this, Randor?" Sweat was pouring down Traft's bald face.
"I'm done with your idiocy, Traft!" Randor sneered. "Done with your whining, and complaining!"
He wished that Carlin would come to, and stab Traft in the back.
Or was that Carlin´s dagger Traft was holding?
"I defend what is best for the people!" Said Traft. "So did Lanum! Were you done with him, as well?"
"What have you accomplished, Traft?" Asked Randor. He began to circle Traft, both with their weapons before them. "All this time, and nothing has changed! You have made no progress!"
"Do you think it is easy?" Traft lowered his weapon a bit, but did not fail to see that Randor had noticed. "Do you think your actions help my effort?"
Randor did not reply, and that gave Traft his answer.
"So that has been your game all along." He saw the look on Randor's face, and it had guilt written all over it. "You have been doing these things purposely to hold us back, haven't you?"
Again, there was no reply from the Dwarf in black.
Then Carlin caught their attention, when he sat up and moaned, his face bloodied and sore. Randor took the opportunity to charge Traft, his dagger aiming for the heart.
Traft was quick to step aside, and the two stood three paces from each other, daggers ready to kill. He had to do something before Carlin joined in. He lunged, and almost struck Randor's gut, but his opponent dodged it, and then threw himself upon him. Randor's body weight took Traft to the floor, where his dagger flew free from his hand.
Now Randor had a great advantage, and he was smiling wide, as he knelt over Traft, using both hands to drive his blade toward the Emissary's chest.
It was all that Traft could do, to keep the blade only inches away.
"When you are dead," Randor started, "perhaps I'll take the opportunity to comfort your lovely wife."
Suddenly he pulled the dagger back, freeing it from Traft's hands, and then he brought it quickly down again.
Traft could not catch it a second time, and it sank deep into his upper abdomen. He did little more than moan, when the knife went in, and even returned Randor's evil smile, right back to him. Then, with surprising strength, Traft lifted Randor off his feet as he stood, and flipped him up over his head.
Randor screamed horribly, as he was thrown through the open shutters of a nearby window, and he continued his horror stricken cry, until he struck the street below.
Traft fell to the floor, leaning against the wall, while blood poured from his wound. He pulled the dagger free, needing the weapon still, and held it weakly before himself, as Carlin stood up.
Mouth gaping wide, Carlin looked at him for a moment. Traft did not look like much of a threat anymore, his dagger wobbling, and eyes rolling back into his head.
Apparently, it was still enough to send Carlin running down the stairs.
Traft dropped the dagger, and placed two hands on his wound to slow the blood flow. He did not know how hurt he was inside, but he would surely die, if he did not get help soon. There was no chance of him making it to the street on his own two feet, and there would be no one to be found on this side of the city, with all the excitement at the gates by now.
He pulled himself up, and attempted to walk.
He fell on his face.
Perhaps this was the end. With Lanum, and himself, removed, the Advancement was doomed to fall apart. Its strength would die with them. Carlin and his ruffian friends would have their way in the streets for years to come. Jesmane would be left in a city of despair.
Alone.
He was not ready to let that happen.
Traft pulled himself up, and wrapped bloodied fingers around the pull rope of the giant bell.
The people of the city were settling down, as the army exited the gates, and left their sight. They threw what was left in their hands over the wall, and shouted until they grew weary of it. They began to disperse then. Soon they would return to their jobs, and their homes.
The Dwarves of Mynnorah were all startled, when the bell in the tall tower began to ring, and curiosity was strong enough in several Dwarves, to make them run toward it to investigate.
XX
Dragdath And The Ambersham
Flying throughout the night, found General Nysin and his thirty soldiers, at the foot of Dragdath Mountain, by sunrise. They ate and drank, and tended to the Dragynn, before attempting to find the secret entrance that Sawl had drawn on one of his notes. It was nearly twenty feet up on the east side of the mountain, and according to Sawl's book, it would be blocked off somehow.
The Orcs climbed to a large ledge, and began their search. Nearly thirty minutes passed, when one of the soldiers found something. He had pulled back a massive tangle of dead vines, and found a stack of rocks that did not look as if it had fallen into place naturally. Thirty more minutes, and enough rocks had been removed to allow passage to the cave entrance, hidden behind them.
Feeling fearless, and well prepared, Nysin led the way inside, slowly.
Light filled the area, the instant that the General dropped his necklace over his ears. The square, green jewel on it, emitted a glow brighter than tOrchlight. He did not know how it worked, he only knew that when he put it on, its magic was activated. It had to be a very old jewel, for only those who possessed magic, could activate newer items.
The other Orcs followed, and watched him with envy. Most of them had never even so much as touched a magical item.
The cave tunnel floor was rough, and walking was slow. At least, it was straight and level traveling. Some looked about nervously, watching their backs. No one could tell them what to expect inside Dragdath, and their imaginations had run wild during their flight to the mountain.
The area then changed drastically, when the tunnel opened up into a large cavern. The Orcs spilled into it, and stopped to look about.
Nysin thumbed through his maps.
Stalactites, and stalagmites, covered the cavern ceiling and floor, many so large, that they met at their ends and formed massive columns. A sparkling pool of water sitti
ng motionless below, was a mirror image of everything above it, and some of the Orcs had to look twice, to make certain that it was a pool there, and not a deep pit.
Nysin began to lead the party down the slope that led to the cavern floor, and they made it with only one Orc falling to his knee. The noise of the soldier's stumble, got him an angry stare from the General, and he quickly returned to his feet. Unfortunately, he had kicked a small rock, and sent it rolling down the slope, then into the still water below.
The pool began to bubble, as if at a full boil.
The Orcs stepped back, but when water shot up in the form of a serpent's head and long neck, they scurried like frightened mice. All but Nysin, who calmly remained where he stood. He watched the angered water beast thrash about, and his men running for cover behind rocks and cave formations.
A brave party he had assembled.
He could only blame himself.
Swiftly, the water serpent brought its head crashing down on some of the fleeing Orcs, and the entire formation vanished in an explosion of water. Some managed to slide into their hiding places, but the rest fell to the wet cavern floor.
Then a second serpent emerged from the boiling water, and it was quick to try and snatch an Orc in its gaping mouth. Those that could not jump out of the way, rolled free of its reach, then quickly found cover somewhere.
Nysin continued to watch fearlessly. He knew exactly how to deal with the creature, and he stayed just out of its reach. They would not be able to leave the cavern, until the serpent got what it wanted, and he waited for that to happen.
Vargan, the youngest of the party, stepped out from behind a large stalagmite base, and fired his crossbow. The bolt was aimed well, and it hit the water serpent directly in the throat, and even came out the other side, but without harming the creature. A second bolt proved to be no better than the first.
More frightened than before, Vargan ran to the General.
"How do we kill it, General?" Vargan did not take his eyes off of the serpent. It crashed down on the rocks where most of the Orcs hid, and was quickly replaced by another.
