The Brotherhood of Dwarves: Book 02 - Red Sky at Dawn

by D. A. Adams

  The one directly in front tried to distract him by feigning thrusts, but Suvene listened for the other’s move. When the orc rushed forward, his armor clinked more loudly than from his controlled movements, and Suvene paused for nearly a heartbeat before dropping and rolling to his right. When he came back to his feet, he was now behind that orc and jabbed the pike into his back. As that one fell, the final orc charged too late, for Suvene sidestepped the protracted swipe and stabbed him through the side.

  With all five neutralized, Suvene found a rock and busted the locks on his shackles. Then, he took a pair of daggers and some dried meats from the fallen soldiers. After finding nothing else of value on them, he grabbed a pike and started north. He was now an outlaw among his own and would need to put as much distance between himself and the fortress as possible before they learned of the escape.

  As usual, Crushaw woke well before sunrise and went outside to watch the night give way to dawn. Kwarck had commented more than once that the old general was one of the few who regularly beat the wizard out of bed, a point that gave Crushaw pride. The self-exiled ogres were still asleep near the orchard, so he had the yard to himself. He and they had come to a tentative peace, as much out of respect for Kwarck as anything, and he was glad not to have to worry about one of them challenging him to a fight or ambushing him in the dark.

  Out of habit, he practiced with his sword, going through his repertoire of offensive and defensive moves. He did it mostly for exercise, for he was fairly certain that he had fought his last battle. He had thought about going so far as to bury his weapons under a field for a sense of finality, but he had decided against that because if he ever needed to defend Kwarck or the farm, he wanted them close at hand.

  As the sky lightened, he worked up a good sweat sparring with the shadows. His feet weren’t as light as they had once been, and he could feel that the blade took longer to finish each motion than even just a year before, but the familiarity of the routine was comforting. He had come a long way from chopping sugarcane as a slave, and as he neared the end of his life, with tiring muscles and stiffening joints, he had fulfilled a purpose greater than just killing ogres for a greedy emperor. He had helped free many from slavery, and while that didn’t absolve all his evil, it did help him sleep more soundly. If he were ten years younger, he would raise an army and conquer the orcs completely, but since that wouldn’t happen, he was content with the small thing he had done.

  By the time he finished the workout, Kwarck had awakened and prepared breakfast, so Crushaw went inside to join the wizard. They ate quietly, each enjoying the chorus of birds through the open window. For the first time in his seventy-six years, he was glad to be alive and looked forward to what awaited him each day. He had found on this farm that he was capable of more than killing, and in Kwarck, he had found a good friend, someone who wanted nothing more than an honest day’s work in exchange for food and shelter and someone who had not once judged him for his past. More and more, he had come to realize that Kwarck was the man Crushaw wished to be.

  When they finished eating, Kwarck suggested that they head to one of the corn fields because he had noticed weeds sprouting between the stalks. It would take most of the day to clear them, so starting at first light was a good idea. After clearing the table, the two men went outside to the tool shed to retrieve hoes. The eastern sky was beginning to lighten, and the horizon glowed bright red.

  “We may not be weeding today,” Kwarck said, pointing to the east.

  “Hmph,” Crushaw responded. “Looks bad.”

  “We should get the animals to the barns.”

  Crushaw nodded but lingered by the tool shed as Kwarck went to wake the ogres. He stared at the ominous horizon for a few more moments, hoping that Roskin and the others were somewhere safe. A sky like that could only mean ugly weather, and he hated to think of them caught in the open when it got bad.

  ***

  Roskin, Krondious, and Bordorn woke that morning to the same red horizon. They were less than half a day’s walk from the eastern gate and, at the threat of storms, packed camp without breakfast to get an early start. The wound on Roskin’s back, a seven inch long cut just inside his shoulder blade, was beginning to heal. It wasn’t deep but was painful, especially as it scabbed. To keep his movements to a minimum, they had immobilized his left arm in a sling, and from the wound, this final stage of the journey home had been the most unpleasant.

  Bordorn’s wound had also healed well, and other than missing his left arm from just below the elbow, he was nearly his old self. When Molgheon had found him bound to the bed, he had been grabbed from his labor just minutes before. The soldiers had come upon him without warning and had drugged him with something. As he swallowed the bitter liquid, Bordorn had figured that they had learned he was from the Ghaldeon nobility and were executing him. It was not poison, however, just a low dose of sleeping potion, for he had slipped in and out of consciousness even as they had bound him to the bed.

  On the walk from the logging town to the eastern gate, they had pieced together the story and realized that Jase must’ve known about Roskin going to Shaman Bokey’s house. He then probably sold the information to the soldiers. Knowing that Roskin was there to find Bordorn, the soldiers had laid the trap at the infirmary, expecting to catch the Kiredurk. Bordorn explained that Torkdohn had only arrived in town that morning, but the slave trader had become a regular, stopping there every couple of months to collect dwarves that wouldn’t conform to the Great Empire’s new labor laws. The fiend had been making a fortune off the Kiredurk outcasts.

  Once he had healed, Bordorn had been put to work at the loading yard, where from sunup to sundown seven days a week he had loaded logs onto wagons. The loading yard crew, five rock-solid dwarves with iron arms and nasty temperaments, were cruel to him at first because of the missing limb, but as he proved his worth each day, they had slowly come to accept him as one of the crew. Now, nearly a week removed from the yard, Bordorn missed those dwarves and the bond they shared. From the hard labor, he had learned how far he could push himself, and his body had become more lean and solid than he would’ve ever dreamed. Even so, he was glad to be returning to the Kiredurk kingdom and said as much to Roskin and Krondious as they walked.

  “You’ve no idea,” Krondious said. “It’s been many years since I’ve seen real darkness.”

  “The stars are nice,” Roskin said. “But there’s nothing so serene as underground.”

  “I’d almost given up on seeing the deep again.”

  “Have you seen the river of fire?” Roskin asked Krondious.

  “Only as a boy.”

  “What about you?” Roskin turned to Bordorn.

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “The earth’s blood is all I could think.”

  As they continued to talk, the road turned a steep incline and snaked up the side of a ridge. It climbed for nearly a mile, and as they reached the summit, each dwarf teased the others about losing their breath. When they cleared the top, the joviality ceased, however, for the eastern gate – still a few hundred yards away – was visible from this vantage. They stopped in their tracks and stared in utter silence.

  The gate’s stone foundation and frame had been smashed to large chunks by missiles from massive trebuchets. Thin waves of smoke rose from the rubble, and splintered wood and shattered steel lay strewn in every direction from the remains of the gate. Scattered among the ruins, hundreds upon hundreds of corpses, dwarf and ogre alike, lay broken and twisted in various stages of decay. The ground itself seemed to ripple with the movements of carrion, and the sky above the gate was dark as even more circled to wait their turn.

  Down the hill from the gate, thousands of ogres were hunkered behind crudely made fortifications, and more smoke rose from their fires. Even from that distance, the three dwarves could tell that the ogres were exhausted from the siege, and given the sheer number of dead, they figured the Kiredurks weren’t in much better shape. Had the Tredjards or
Molgheon been there, they could’ve explained that the scene was not unique, for each of them had seen protracted warfare before. Each had been raised near front lines and had grown to adulthood with the stench of death never far, but these three dwarves hadn’t seen this before. For each, the image was revolting, overpowering, and permanent.

  “We have to find another entrance,” Krondious said flatly and without sarcasm. “Those clouds are close.”

  Bordorn nodded his agreement, but Roskin remained silent and motionless.

  “Pepper beard,” Bordorn said, touching Roskin’s elbow. “We can mourn this later.”

  “There’s a hidden entrance not far from here,” Roskin said, his eyes still fixed on the ruins of the eastern gate. “Few know it’s there, so it should be safe.”

  “Can you find it?” Krondious asked.

  Roskin nodded.

  “Good,” Bordorn said. “Let’s get...”

  Before he could finish the sentence, three ogres burst from the trees a few yards below and charged up the rise at them. Roskin had been raised around ogres and had known hundreds in his life. Some he even considered good friends, but as these three rushed at him, their eyes flashed with animal savagery, much like the dog-beast. Their faces showed no trace of the civilized people he had known. With his right arm, he drew his sword, unsure if he could fight them without his left, but before he could move, Krondious leapt in front of him and crouched in an offensive position.

  “Stay behind me!” he roared, the savagery in his voice matching the ogres’ eyes.

  Raising his axe with both arms, he drew it back until the blade nearly touched his heels and, with one ferocious swing, struck the middle one squarely in the chest. The axe exploded through the ogre’s sternum, and the impact knocked it onto its back. Krondious then ripped the axe from its chest and dove from the attacks of the other two. With quickness that defied his thick stature, he came to his feet and smashed the closest one in the skull and, before the third could react, spun and struck it in the stomach. The ogre slumped to its knees, and before it could recover, Krondious finished the fight.

  Roskin and Bordorn stared in disbelief as he returned to them. While his breath was a little short, he hardly seemed fazed by what he had just done. In fact, the only person Roskin had ever seen so calm after a fight was Crushaw.

  “We need to find that entrance,” Krondious said, wiping the blood from his axe. “There’s sure to be more.”

  “You just killed three ogres by yourself!” Bordorn exclaimed.

  “My master was in danger.”

  “I’m not your master,” Roskin said. “But before we take another step, you’d better tell me where you learned to fight like that.”

  “I spent a lot of time alone in the woods, just me, my axe, and the trees. When you came to the tavern, something woke in me. I knew my purpose.”

  “What’s that?” Bordorn asked.

  “To defend Roskin until my death.”

  “Krondious, you don’t have to serve me.”

  “By my beard, I will. As long as I draw breath, nothing will get near enough to do you harm.”

  At that, Krondious knelt at Roskin’s feet and bowed his head. Roskin had not yet learned the protocol for accepting this kind of oath, so he turned to Bordorn for guidance. The Ghaldeon motioned for Roskin to touch the flat part of his sword to the dwarf’s head, so Roskin did as he was shown. Then, Bordorn mouthed the word “rise,” so Roskin said it aloud. Krondious came to his feet, his eyes welling with moisture, and shook each dwarf’s hand.

  “Now,” Bordorn offered, looking around for more ogres. “Like he said, we’d better find that entrance.”

  Roskin took the lead, heading southwest off the road they had been traveling. From mapping the kingdom, he knew where the secret entrance, reserved only for the royal family and special dignitaries, was located. Thunder began rumbling just over the next ridge, and flashes of lightning were just visible. After months of focusing on getting home, he had expected to be greeted at the gate with fanfare and spectacle, not to have to sneak in through a hidden entrance. The naivety of his expectations amused him as he pushed his way through the underbrush. Ever since he had left home in search of that statue, he had been a fool, so it was only fitting that he would be wrong about his return, as well. A thick drop of rain struck his forehead, followed by another, and then several. In a moment, the three dwarves were soaked by the downpour as they quickened their pace towards the secret entrance.

  ***

  Near the eastern gate, King Kraganere sat in the chamber that had been converted into a makeshift council room. The furnishings were modest and crude, missing all of the ornamentation of the hall in Dorkhun. For months, he, Master Sondious, and the five top generals had met in this room to discuss the best strategies for defending the gate. On one hand, they had been successful, for the ogres had not breeched it. On the other, hundreds of their own had been lost from poor planning, badly organized counter-attacks, and ineffective adaptation to tactics.

  While he and his army were still learning how to wage war, Master Sondious had proven himself a talented, albeit ruthless, tactician. Through the first few weeks, while he recovered from the broken legs, the gate had almost fallen, but as soon as he returned to the king’s side, the army’s efficiency improved quickly, and with each battle, they lost fewer and fewer soldiers.

  His legs hadn’t really healed, however, and he would never walk on them again. His temperament had changed also. Before, he rarely lost his composure or spoke harshly to anyone. Now, fueled by an absolute disdain for the ogres, he often shouted orders at subordinates and disregarded all manners and propriety during council meetings, interrupting anyone, even the king, when he disagreed with their ideas. If he weren’t so good at his job, the king would’ve had him removed from the council, but given the circumstances, Kraganere believed he could overlook those deficiencies in exchange for the leadership.

  The war itself had ground to a stalemate, with the ogres unable to breech the gate but the dwarves unable to drive them from the mountain. Recently, the ogres had begun tunneling just north of the gate, and at great peril each night, teams of Kiredurks would sneak out the damaged gate to attack the diggers and slow their progress. The fighting near the new tunnel grew more ferocious each day as the ogres were desperate to reach the underground and the dwarves were desperate to stop them.

  On this day, the war council was convening to discuss the launch of their most ambitious assault on the new tunnel, for as his army matured, so grew King Kraganere’s faith that they could repel the invaders. At their seats, he and the generals were studying sketches of the battle plans Master Sondious had prepared. In brief, every available crossbow unit would assemble at the gate and fire from recently carved openings in the ruins. With the cover, hundreds of soldiers would file out the narrow openings in the rubble and form ranks near the tunnel. They would engage the ogres to occupy as many soldiers as possible while a second team approached the tunnel from the north with explosives to close off the entrance and trap the diggers inside. On the crude parchment, the plan looked sound, but the king had many questions before he would agree to it.

  Master Sondious was wheeled into the room and took his place at the table, but before the king could call the meeting to order, Captain Roighwheil also entered the chamber. His cheeks were flush and his eyes danced with excitement. King Kraganere wasn’t used to seeing the captain like that, so his interest was piqued as the dwarf stepped before the council.

  “Captain,” Master Sondious snapped. “This interruption had better be important.”

  “My apologies,” he said briefly to the advisor. Then, he faced the king. “There’s news from a spy among the outcasts.”

  “What news from that rabble could be worth bothering battle preparations?” the crippled dwarf asked.

  “Master Sondious,” the king returned, his agitation with the advisor’s impudence obvious. “Let the captain speak.”

  “Perhap
s we should ask the ogres to stop digging while we discuss trifles.”

  “Perhaps we should send you to make the request,” the king snapped back.

  Master Sondious narrowed his eyes to poisonous slits and glared at him, but the king ignored the stare and focused his attention on Captain Roighwheil. The dutiful soldier showed his discomfort at standing between the two in this chamber, and the five generals all rustled in their chairs.

  “Come now, Captain. What’s this news?”

  “I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” the captain said, his eyes on the center of the table.

  “You said it’s important, so let’s have it.”

  “Well,” the captain said, looking back up at the king. The excitement returned to his eyes. “It’s about Roskin.”

  D.A. Adams Bio-presented by Christopher Rico

  D. A. Adams is a novelist, a farmer, an instructor of English, and in my estimation, a true gentleman. His breakout fantasy series, The Brotherhood of Dwarves, transcends genre and illuminates the human soul in all its flashes of glory and innumerable failings. His ability as a storyteller breathes life into every character, and his craftsmanship as a writer makes these stories about relationships; human or otherwise.

  He is active on the Con circuit and has contributed writing to literary as well as fine art publications, and maintains his active blog, The Ramblings of DA Adams. He lives and works in East Tennessee, and is the very proud father of two sons, Collin and Finn.