The sergeant gave a shrill whistle and his forces began pulling back to the base of the mountains. Heavy pine boughs kept the sharp winds from slicing into the tired raiders. Walking single file so as to conceal their numbers and make movement easier, and having an established path, they quickly found themselves out of the combat the zone. The claustrophobia of the forest gradually gave way to open skies. Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars, deepening the shadows of the mountains in the process but Bahr had never felt freer. Almost.
He gave a final look back to the forest and the flames engulfing a large portion of the enemy camp beyond. Satisfaction finally set in. They’d accomplished what he was never truly certain could be done and all of his people had returned. The deaths of those brave Dwarves who dared to believe the cannons should be destroyed instead of revered were added to a lengthening list of the fallen and stored in a special place in his mind. He’d never gotten their names, nor had time to make friends with any of them, but they gave their lives all the same. Bahr was proud to have fought alongside the Dwarves. His thoughts turned towards finding Thord and securing their passage east to the Fern River and then south.
TWENTY-THREE
Preparations
“They did it!” Thord bellowed. His beard bounced across his chest armor as he broke into deep laughter. Months of waiting for the tide to shift had finally ended. Without their cannons, his enemies were vulnerable. Legions of Dwarves itched to be set free, to sweep the valley of their twisted cousins. But Ironfoot and the others hadn’t escaped yet. Thord was forced to watch through the looking glass as the enemy encampment devolved into chaos. As much as he wanted to loose his armies he knew he couldn’t, not while Ironfoot was still behind their lines.
Turning to his field general, a bitter-looking Dwarf with a long grey beard and a perpetual scowl, he said, “General Brek, form ranks. I want the legions ready to attack at first light. We’re going to break these bastards here and now, by Krug!”
Brek slammed a fist to his chest armor. “Yes sire. The Feral Axe battalion will assume point. The field shall be ours by nightfall.”
“Don’t take unnecessary risks, Brek. The Dark Hammer Dwarves are just as fierce as we are. This will not be an easy battle.”
Brek grinned, displaying a row of silver-capped teeth fixed after a Goblin hammer caught him in the mouth years ago. “No battle is easy. Besides, that would take the fun out of it.”
Thord watched him depart with great pride and a pang of jealousy. He wanted to don his armor and take up an axe for the cause but his place was here, in the command center on Bode Hill. He wasn’t a warrior anymore, not unless absolutely necessary. Any attempt to sneak into the lines would be met by a handful of guards forcibly dragging him back into the command center. He was a king and it was his place to rule, not fight.
The irony of it insulted him. His fathers had forged Drimmen Delf from the Goblins and mountain Trolls. They led charges and held the center of the line in countless battles. Time and laxity all but shoved him into lethargy. Thord wasted away, the sword at his hip all but useless as his armies fought in his name. Curse this crown. I belong out there, with my army. A true king would stand at the break, leading by example. This is akin to cowardice.
Already Dwarves were moving. Roused from unsteady slumber thanks to the cannonade, most were dressed and armored. Axes and swords were sharpened. Crossbow bolts and quivers were fletched and filled. The massive army of five thousand slowly spun into motion. At last, they were able to go to war properly, without fear of being pummeled by cannons the moment they left their trenches. Smiths stoked their forges. Surgeons prepped the hospital tents for the inevitable influx of wounded.
The general excitement of the camp flowed through the army, sweeping everyone away. The prospect of ending the war and reclaiming what belonged to them filled hearts with joy. Battle songs as old as the sun drifted up from around the camp. The Dwarves of Drimmen Delf were ready to go back to war and deliver the fury of their forefathers. The dark Dwarves had broken a sacred covenant among the clans. They turned their backs on justice, intent on vengeance for some perceived slight no one could explain. They came burning and killing as they took their war to the very gates of the great Dwarven kingdom. It was only through sheer determination that the defense held. Now Thord and his army stood on the brink of reversing their fortunes. Each Dwarf knew his orders. Every last Black Hammer Dwarf was to be killed outright. No surrender. No prisoners. Such evil shouldn’t be allowed to fester lest it return with even more strength.
Engineers and cannon crews pulled their weapons out of the protective bunkers and, using an elaborate system of pulleys and levers, moved the cannons close enough to drop rounds behind enemy lines. The additional range would throw the entire camp into chaos while covering the infantry advance. Without the threat of return fire, the battle was expected to devolve into a complete rout.
Another set of explosions broke across the night sky, much closer. Tacticians and strategists on the command staff instantly focused on the small part of the forest edge where great balls of black smoke billowed. Scouts used spy glasses to identify the source. Thord paced the bunker nervously. He couldn’t attack while Ironfoot and the strike force were still unaccounted for. His hands were tied. Frustrated, the king exited the bunker to get some fresh air. His guards hurried to catch up.
“Not a word,” he snarled without looking back.
Rebuked, the guards remained silent and shadowed their king.
Thord’s frustrations suddenly got the better of him and he punched the cruel rock wall as hard as he could. “Damnation! I want to attack but can’t out of fear of cutting off some of my most valuable assets. My damnable commanders are too stuffy to even think to allow me down onto the field like a true king and I am reduced to having nursemaids again! Which one of you four would like to wear the crown for a spell?”
They passed nervous looks, none daring to speak. Bad things happen when a king loses his temper. Fortunately each hid behind the partial facemasks of their helmets. Thord snorted and kept walking. The first jets of pain shot up through his wrist. He figured he’d broken at least two bones, if not more. By morning the hand would be swollen and a sickly combination of black and purple. But it was worth it. Anything to vent some of this nonsense I’m feeling inside. Only it wasn’t worth it, was it, you old fool? Punching that wall was the dumbest thing I’ve done since allowing my commanders to convince of my value. I never should have listened. A king needs to be seen leading, not watching. Ironfoot needs to get back here so we can finally end this dithering and go back to our lives.
“You are a Dwarf with much on your mind,” Faeldrin said, coming up from behind.
Thord stopped and turned. “You expected less? I am a Dwarf hidden behind bureaucracy instead of a shield.”
“There are times when a king’s life is more important than a battalion of soldiers. I have seen it a hundred times over the centuries, mostly in Men. They do seem to enjoy touting the successes hard fought by subordinates,” the Elf mercenary said.
“What made you break away from your traditions, Elf? I’ve never heard of Elven mercenaries before. Don’t get me wrong. I’m damned glad to have you. Your Aeldruin have proven invaluable in terms of intelligence gathering and screening our left flank.”
The Elf lord let loose a slow breath. It was a question he’d avoided answering for the first hundred years since leaving the city of Elvenara. None of his family and only a few friends understood his need to be more than just another Elf. Malweir was ripe with injustice. “There was a time when I was happy, content ignoring the troubles of the world. This was before the order of Mages rose. Before the dark times claimed us all. I laughed and sang like many of my kin. The world held no other promise than a very long, peaceful life. It was a better time, I think. Then the Goblin army came. So vast they blotted out entire valleys. They came killing and pillaging from their dark mountain holes.”
He continued quickly befo
re Thord could take offense. Secret histories had proven that the Goblins were once Dwarves, but that was a tale for another time. “No one race was prepared to withstand their might. Kingdom after kingdom fell before a coalition formed. We stopped the Goblins on the edge of the Jebel Desert. The slaughter was horrendous. So many lives were shattered that day. Several of the smaller races all but died out. What little remains of them are secluded in places long forgotten. It was in that moment, staring out across the ocean of bodies, hearing the weeping of hardened warriors, and seeing others wander aimlessly, broken in mind and spirit, that I knew our world was never going to be the same. So I gathered as many of my people to me that were willing to follow my command and formed the Aeldruin.”
“A harsh tale,” Thord grimaced. While far too young to have been there, the Dwarf king had read all of the old histories and knew full well the amount of carnage in that first war. This war paled in comparison.
“It was a harsh time,” Faeldrin replied softly. “What corruption claimed your fellow Dwarves, I wonder?”
“Greed. It’s an old tale, my friend. I’ve never understood why some just can’t be content with what they have.”
Faeldrin shook his head regretfully. “They are the same who want hand-outs, mistakenly thinking life is easier if someone else does all the work for them. Only, life has other plans, so their wishes devolve into a series of successive failures. The world needs strong beings to rule it. And if there aren’t enough of them there will always be orders like the Aeldruin to step forth and see justice done.”
Thord looked up at the taller and decidedly leaner Elf with curiosity. They had more differences than similarities but he felt a connection with Faeldrin. They were brother warriors, soldiers who had seen and done too much to smile often. Because of that shared emotion Thord felt like he could tell the Elf lord almost anything in confidence. I can’t believe I’ve never told a soul this before. “Faeldrin, I detest being king.”
If the Elf was surprised, he kept it secret. “Very few actually enjoy it. The idea is more promising than the achievement. Great kings struggle through this dilemma from day one and seldom live to see the truth of their legacy revealed. One day your praises will be sung, Thord. Do not fret. The future is more forgiving than the present.”
“Reputation be damned! I’m talking about grabbing an axe and making the charge with the front rank. I’m a Dwarf, Faeldrin, born and bred for war. Instead I find myself mired in politics and caught between opposing factions.”
He continued to stew as Faeldrin stayed silent. Briefly, he considered having his commanders strung up for blocking his desire to join the battle. What legacy will I have? A doddering old fool who let history pass him by? It was through great reluctance that he came to conclusion his advisors and commanders had his best interests in mind. They couldn’t afford to let him risk being killed against the dark Dwarves. Leaderless, Drimmen Delf would be exposed to attack from too many sides. Thord needed to be the king, not the warrior.
“Sometimes it’s not what you say,” he told Faeldrin.
The Elf merely nodded, memories of his own trials casually playing out before him. There was a time he might have been a king, before he decided to sacrifice the security and ease of a simple life for the greater good of not just the Elves, but for all of the races of Malweir. He’d never looked back, never questioned that decision. Faeldrin convinced himself that he had done the right thing. Sometimes even heroes needed to be reluctant.
Another Elf strode towards them, stopping respectfully short and bowing. “My lords, our scouts report seeing a large force of Dwarves moving back through the forest. The Men are with them as well.”
“It’s about bloody time,” Thord growled.
Faeldrin said, “Thank you, Euorn. Summon the others. I have a feeling the final battle is about to begin much sooner than anticipated. Oh, and see that Captain Ironfoot and the Sea Wolf are escorted here immediately.”
“Stop berating yourself, Ironfoot. You did good. You all did.”
Ironfoot struggled to meet Thord’s gaze. Deep in his heart he knew the words to be true, but that did little to assuage his guilt over losing half of his attack force. Enemy casualties notwithstanding, Ironfoot performed his duties admirably. Victory and honor were heaped upon his name. Scribes were already fastidiously composing his tale for the archives. Lore masters would tell of his valor in every hall east and west of the Kergland Spine. All Dwarves would bow their head in respect to Ironfoot and his raiders.
None of that mattered. He’d lost good friends destroying the enemy cannons. Good friends whose empty seats would fill his heart with sorrow come the morrow. He sighed and tried to accept Thord’s words. Try as he might, he couldn’t find solace. The war had already claimed too many and hundreds more were going to die when the sun rose. Ironfoot would be there, at the head of the advance. His axe would reap vengeance for lost friends.
“Sire, too many did not return. That is unforgivable,” he replied dourly.
Boen looked at Bahr and rolled his eyes. A true warrior never apologized for surviving. Especially not after successfully completing a difficult mission. These Dwarves should be celebrating, not mourning as far as he was concerned. War does strange things to us all. Bahr took it in with his usual demeanor. He sympathized with Ironfoot, images of the Dragon’s Bane burning to the water line and his crew killed on a whim fleeting past. He knew exactly what the Dwarf was feeling. The helplessness of not being able to do anything was strong, so strong it threatened to overwhelm those not strong enough.
Thord waved off Ironfoot’s concerns. “Many more will not return from this next fight. It is a small matter, Captain. We are at war and I need you to act like one of my best commanders. Can you do that?”
Bahr watched Ironfoot’s resolve stiffen his back. The Dwarf stood tall, head back and chest out. He had remembered his pride. “Yes sire. I’ll head back to my battalion and get them ready.”
“Good lad,” Thord complimented. “You’re already a hero, Ironfoot, don’t let it go to your head and act foolish out there.” Not like your fool of a king.
Ironfoot saluted and turned to Bahr. “I cannot thank you enough for your assistance. You have done our clans a great service. If ever you need my axe, you shall have it.”
“The honor was mine, Captain Ironfoot. May fortune favor you in the coming battle,” Bahr replied with a forced smile. Having seen the size of the enemy force, he didn’t know how anyone was going to survive.
“He’s one of my best,” Thord said thoughtfully after Ironfoot was out of sight. “Would that I had more commanders as capable, this war wouldn’t have happened. Hindsight is the great lament of kings. Sea Wolf, you have upheld your part of the bargain. The enemy won’t be able to use their cannons to stop my infantry advance. What Ironfoot said goes for me as well. I name you all Dwarf-friend.”
Bahr bowed at the great honor. What little he knew about Dwarves suggested the title was not given freely, or without cost. He and his friends had paid enough. It was time to leave and continue on with his quest. “Thank you, King Thord.”
“Unfortunately I can’t let you leave just yet. There is the small matter of a rather large and very angry army between you and the river. Have no fear. We’ll have them cleared out and sent crawling back to their caves in short order. I anticipate you being able to depart by dawn,” Thord said.
Not what I needed to hear but without Anienam’s correct deciphering of the book we don’t know how much time is left. I need to get back and find out what the delay is. “I understand, though I would rather leave as soon as possible,” replied Bahr.
“You may return freely to Drimmen Delf. Eat, bathe, and sleep. Your wagon will be supplied, weapons sharpened, and I’ll see to it that you have enough supplies to last a month of travel. I’d weigh you down with gold if I thought you could use it,” he added as an afterthought.
A lesser person would have demanded payment but Thord recognized the honor inherent in
Bahr. This is a Man who is good for his word. The world would be a better place if more strove to be like him.
They paused to watch Anienam and Skuld amble up the soft slope of Bode Hill. The look in the wizard’s eyes was wild, unpredictable. Bahr grimaced. The old fool clearly had something cooked up.
“Wizard,” Thord said in greeting. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”
“Wars are mundane, Dwarf-lord, but sometimes unavoidable. While I didn’t come to help you fight there are certain advantages to having a wizard on your side.”
Bahr felt his stomach tighten. What are you up to?
Thord eyed Anienam briefly, searching for signs of madness or genius. “What did you have in mind? It’s about to get nasty out there.”
“I have a few spells worked up that will aid your warriors during the advance. I don’t promise victory, mind you, just a little unexpected help.”
“Are you sure about this?” Bahr asked. Not what he wanted to say, but this wasn’t the place for arguments. Already the first battalions of Dwarves were assembling in formation. Time slowly ran off.
Anienam winked slyly. “Of course. There’s no real danger to me and any army welcomes as much aid as they can get. Hopefully I can speed the battle along and get us moving south again. In a way, I need to do this.”
Answerless, Bahr shrugged and took his leave. He’d seen and done enough. Standing idly by to watch hundreds of Dwarves die didn’t do much for his stomach. Besides, sleep beckoned. He slung his pack over a shoulder and headed towards the trail leading back to Drimmen Delf. The others followed suit, all but Boen. The Gaimosian stood and looked out over the battlefield. His eyes were clouded with debate. The warrior blood demanded he armor up and join the attack. It’s what Gaimosians were born and bred for. Age and prudence demanded otherwise. Reluctantly, he gave in to common sense and followed Bahr. He’d seen enough war for the time being.
A Whisper After Midnight Page 19
