The Brotherhood of Dwarves: Book 03 - The Fall of Dorkhun

by D. A. Adams

  ***

  Four days earlier, as the Western Regiment of the Emperor Vassa’s Army marched up Mount Roustdohn, they happened across a freshly and rapidly abandoned campsite. The orders the captain had been given were clear and direct; Emperor Vassa wanted the Western Regiment to assemble in the Snivegohn Valley and procure enough farms to sustain themselves through the winter. The captain, an ambitious young leader who wanted to make general before forty, had every intention of achieving that objective ahead of schedule, so he wasn’t about to slow the march to inspect one campsite.

  However, he was curious what so many dwarves were doing ahead of his army, so he dispatched his personal scout to find the two trackers in the forest at the base of the mountain. The trackers were a strange lot; their ancestors had lived among wood-brains, which had made them unfit for work outside a forest. They usually stayed away from the regular infantry and spent nearly all of their time tromping through the forest. To him, they were a lazy, lower class of soldier, and truth be known, he was glad they kept to themselves so he didn’t have to tolerate their presence.

  But they were good at their jobs, and he was confident the two of them could find the dwarves, determine the threat level, and handle the situation. So he sent his scout to find them and kept his soldiers marching up the mountain even as twilight made the way difficult. The Snivegohn Valley would be his first major conquest and the next step in his ascent through the ranks.

  ***

  The two trackers inspected the campsite the next evening, and though the regiment had trampled most of the evidence, they garnered a decent grasp of what had happened. Nine dwarves had been there, with five saddled horses and a wagon. They had heard the regiment and had bolted up the mountain. Then, their trail stopped abruptly. Even though someone had tried admirably to re-hide it, the camouflaged gate was easy for them to locate in the daylight, so they climbed over and sneaked down the overgrown trail.

  The house was well-hidden from the main road, and had they not been tracking the nine dwarves, even they might not have noticed it. They inspected the yard and found the abandoned wagon in the dilapidated barn, discarded remains of three freshly slain deer, and tracks leading into the forest away from the house but parallel to the main road. The dwarves were on foot, leading the horses, and they had been gone for one to two hours at most. Inside, an ancient dwarf sat alone in the living room. He barely clung to life and was no threat to their mission.

  “Should we end his suffering, Londis?” one asked.

  “No, Jarren, let’s not waste our time,” Londis answered. “Let’s follow these dwarves and see what their deal is.”

  It took the trackers the rest of the day to catch them on the rough terrain. The dwarves set a torrid pace, and Jarren was impressed by their stamina. He had little experience with them, and most of what he had heard was how lazy they usually were, but these dwarves were anything but lazy. He and Londis had to push themselves to catch the group, and now just matching their pace on the difficult terrain was strenuous.

  Londis, who was a few years older and much more experienced, decided they should follow the dwarves for a while to figure out what they were up to, so they stayed a good distance behind and followed them down the northern slope of Mount Roustdohn. The next day they began up Mount Khendar, and Londis decided to get above them on the ridge and move parallel. When the dwarves stopped for a brief lunch, he pulled Jarren behind a tree and whispered:

  “Let’s let them spot us to see how they’ll react.”

  “Okay.”

  “If they attack, just disappear into the forest and loop back to where we camped last night.”

  “I’ll run them so deep, they’ll never find their way out.”

  “You are a good runner. If you do have to fight one, keep it away from your body. They can overpower you in close.”

  Jarren nodded.

  When the dwarves resumed their march, the two trackers let themselves be spotted, and when the female who led them dropped to the rear, Londis warned Jarren to watch for a charge. Mere heartbeats after the warning, the female and a dark-skinned dwarf with peculiar eyes broke from the rest and rushed up the incline. The female went at Londis, and for a moment, Jarren felt sorry for her. Londis would disappear before her eyes and catch her off guard. She would never know what had happened.

  As the dark-skinned one came after him, Jarren ran deeper into the woods. He had grown up in a harsh existence, raised alone by his father because his mother had taken ill and died when he was a young boy. His father had also been a tracker and had raised him in the forest. From an early age, Jarren had learned the cruelty of the world, and throughout his life, those lessons had served him, providing an inner strength few could match. That was what made him such a good runner. He could find that place inside that had been forged during life and death struggles at an age when most were playing games with their friends, and pain no longer existed.

  He had spent most of his life far from these mountains, tracking near the Koorleine Forest, and only recently had he requested to be sent here. He had wanted adventure, something new to challenge him, and already he was leading a dwarf on a chase up Mount Khendar. The thrill of the moment exhilarated him, and he quickened his pace up the slope, expecting the dwarf to give up any moment.

  But this dwarf didn’t relent and matched his pace. Jarren was impressed by its resolve. From his lack of experience, he didn’t know dwarven bodies were evolved to thrive on mountains, and his longer legs needed more than twice the energy to bend on the incline. Had he been running this dwarf on flatter lands, his strategy would have worked, but he also didn’t know his enemy had endured an ordeal that made Jarren’s childhood seem plush. Had he known that this dwarf had forsaken any fear of death while Jarren’s mother was still alive, he probably would’ve tried a different strategy altogether. Had he known that after half an hour of racing up the mountain he was nearly within earshot of the Western Regiment, he might not have stopped abruptly to face this tenacious Tredjard.

  But Jarren didn’t know any of that, so he decided since he wasn’t putting any distance between himself and the dwarf, he should change strategies and kill this one before backtracking to the campsite where Londis was probably already waiting. He spun around, raising his sword in middle guard, and set his feet for attack. The dwarf, however, never broke stride. As Jarren swung horizontally, his opponent blocked the short sword with his pike and slammed his shoulder into Jarren’s abdomen. Jarren hit the ground hard, and his breath was knocked from him.

  He gasped, the pain and sensation of suffocating making him panic, but while he tried to get his breath, the dwarf sprang to his feet and readied his weapon. Jarren hadn’t felt real fear since he was seven, but when he made eye contact with the dwarf and saw not a glimmer of compassion, a wave of terror washed over him. He tried to call out, but with no air in his lungs, all that came was a raspy exhale. Then, pain exploded in his chest as the pike pierced his sternum.

  ***

  Molgheon followed the two runners up the slope, fearing for Leinjar alone against a Ghost in the forest. The first time she had encountered one, her husband had been alive, and she had barely escaped. Just now, she had gotten lucky with that first shot, for if it had missed, the Ghost would’ve been on her with his sword before she could react. Leinjar had no training to face this enemy, and if the one he chased knew these mountains, he would run the Tredjard until the dwarf was too tired to fight and then attack. Or he might run him to the main road where likely there were more soldiers from the Great Empire.

  Whichever the case, she couldn’t imagine a good ending for Leinjar if she couldn’t reach him in time, so she pushed herself up the mountain after them. Her legs burned, and she gulped for air with each step. Even in her youth, she hadn’t been a great runner. She had always been quick over short distances and stealthy in the woods, but on long distances, she was merely mediocre. Even so, she gritted her teeth and increased her pace slightly.

  After
nearly forty minutes of a steady run up the mountain, she heard rustling ahead and stopped. Her breath came in deep gulps, much too loud to hide, so she loaded another arrow and braced herself. When the rustling continued moving closer, she realized that even a novice Ghost wouldn’t move so clumsily toward an enemy, so she relaxed a little. Even though she now expected to see him, when Leinjar pushed through a patch of creeper vines and appeared before her, she was surprised he didn’t have a scratch.

  “Thought you said those guys were tough,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “I said stealthy,” Molgheon returned, replacing her arrow in her quiver. Slowly, her breathing was returning to normal.

  “Whatever. That one,” Leinjar said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Couldn’t have survived a plantation.”

  “I have to stop underestimating you,” Molgheon said, securing the bow across her back.

  “How long did that buy us?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Not much. We need to get to the valley before the soldiers, and we’ll have to march all night to do it.”

  Leinjar nodded.

  “I just hope the others kept moving forward,” Molgheon added. “If they stopped to look for us, we may not have any hope of beating them.”

  The two dwarves started down the mountain, moving swiftly but not running because of the slope. They turned slightly northeast, hoping to pick up the old trail not far behind the others. If there weren’t tracks on the old trail, they would know to turn back and find the group, but with any luck, the Ghaldeon had obeyed her order and kept moving forward. Then, it would just be a matter of catching them before they made camp. Any lost time would make reaching the valley ahead of the army nearly impossible.

  Moving at the slower pace across a longer distance, it took over an hour to reach the trail, but once they did, both dwarves nearly shouted for joy at seeing the others’ tracks through the brush. Molgheon jogged steadily, and Leinjar stayed on her heels as they raced. The difficult terrain made their pace perilous, but safety was not a luxury they cared to indulge in with the army on the main road and probably ahead of them. If they couldn’t make it to the valley first, they would have to follow another side path the length of the valley, which would add at least a day to the walk, and none of them knew how far into the valley the army would press. If they went to the southern gate, the dwarves would not get by.

  ***

  As the army reached Khendar Pass, the captain called for his scout. The trackers had been sent after the dwarves long enough that one of them should have reported by now. Patience and understanding were not the captain’s best traits, so he berated his scout to find out why neither tracker had returned. The scout, a loyal soldier who had served with him a few years, excused himself and rode from the throng.

  To the north, the Snivegohn Valley stretched out before him, its fertile farmlands plush in the height of summer. For years, the Great Empire had been scouting this land, making sure the army wouldn’t find itself trapped in a place it couldn’t retreat from, so the captain knew only a handful of Ghaldeon villages populated the area. Their patchwork militias would be no match for the Western Regiment. Securing the valley would be simple; his primary task, however, was to keep as many farms intact and in production as he could. The valley would become the Western Regiment’s personal commissary, and the generals and reserves would then cross over the mountains.

  Once everyone was in place and trained, the invasion of the Kiredurk Kingdom would begin. The war with the ogres at the eastern gate would have the dwarves pre-occupied, and if it had ended already, their focus would be on rebuilding their defenses, so the southern gate, which the Kiredurks felt was impenetrable, would have a skeleton crew at most. The Western Regiment would overrun it, and once a foothold was established underground, it would only be a matter of time before the entire kingdom fell. Emperor Vassa had given them through the following fall, more than a full year, to overrun the southern gate and enter the mines.

  Surveying at the valley, the captain smiled. The glory he would garner as part of this campaign would earn a general’s rank for sure, and before all was said and done, he would be even more famous among the army than Crushaw. After all, ultimately, Evil Blade had failed to conquer the ogres, but this campaign wouldn’t fail, and the captain would be one of the central reasons why. He might even earn the rank of General over Emperor Vassa’s Capital Guard, the highest military rank in the empire. And it all began at the bottom of Mount Khendar, where his army would seize its first foothold on the way to Mount Gagneesh.

  Though it was not quite evening, he called for his aide-de-camp and ordered the regiment to camp on the summit for the night. He wanted their legs fresh tomorrow when they reached the first of the farms, and the climb that day had been severe. To push further down the mountain today would not expedite the conquest. The aide-de-camp appeared surprised by the order but obeyed, turning and rushing to repeat it to as many Lieutenants as he could. The captain shouted for his servant to bring his dinner. As he waited, he stared at the valley, imagining the farms he would soon control.

  ***

  Molgheon and Leinjar had calculated accurately on their descent and needed only another hour to catch the group. The others were just beginning to consider setting up camp and waiting for them, and upon hearing that they would have to keep marching for several more hours with little rest, they groaned and cursed the Great Empire. Leinjar barked for the Tredjards to be silent, and they immediately stopped talking. Instead of also issuing an order, Molgheon retrieved from one of the horses and passed to each dwarf slices of deer meat cooked and packed in salt. Then, without a word, she continued marching. They fell in line behind, eating as they marched, and the only grumbles the rest of the night came when someone slipped on loose footing. Otherwise, they followed in silence, and reaching deep inside herself to the place she used to lead the army of freed slaves to the Battle for Hard Hope, she pushed herself beyond any normal limits of exhaustion. In that manner, they rounded the northeastern loop of Mount Khendar and reached the main road through the Snivegohn Valley an hour before sunrise.

  Chapter 12

  A Strange Calm

  Crushaw balanced a long pole across his shoulders. On each end were buckets of water, and as he trudged in the heat of summer, the weight grew nearly unbearable from the springhouse to the far edge of the field. Rarely had he felt overwhelmed by a task, but now that age was getting the better of him, his strength and endurance had waned. When Crushaw reached Kwarck, the hermit looked up from the plant he was tending.

  “Set those down and take a rest,” Kwarck said, pointing to the dirt. “You look flushed.”

  “I’m getting old, my friend,” Crushaw said before hoisting the pole over his head and setting it on the ground.

  “Time and gravity are the only things still undefeated.”

  “Very true,” Crushaw chuckled, sitting in the dirt and stretching his long legs.

  “Farm work suits you, though.”

  “This is much better than the sugarcane. That’s for certain.”

  “Slavery is an awful thing.”

  “Were you ever captive?”

  “Not personally, but many of my elven kin have been, and I have felt their pain.”

  Crushaw described what he remembered from his childhood. The morning bell rang before sunrise, and any who failed to answer received a thrashing from the overseer. Breakfast came in a trough similar to a pig’s and usually consisted of the previous day’s leftovers from the masters’ tables poured in like slop. Then, they worked until noon with no breaks. For lunch, they received fifteen to twenty minutes to eat the gruel or stew prepared that day. After lunch, they worked until sunset and then returned to the food trough for a supper of leftovers from lunch.

  “What made you run away?” Kwarck asked. “I mean, most people born into slavery don’t know anything beyond that.”

  “The elves. They taught me about the world.”

 
Kwarck smiled, adjusting his body to reach one of the buckets Crushaw had brought.

  “There was a longing inside to be more than a field-hand,” Crushaw continued. “It took four years of planning to work up the courage.”

  “How did you escape?” Kwarck asked, dipping water from one of the buckets and pouring it at the base of a plant.

  “I slipped out of the quarters at night and crossed the Wilds.”

  “On foot? Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “Too young and dumb to know I shouldn’t, I guess.”

  Kwarck laughed and dipped out more water for the next plant.

  “When we crossed them again to go after Roskin, I realized how lucky I must’ve been back then. I had no weapon, no training, and no clue where I was going.”

  “Our will can be our greatest weapon.”

  “Yes, my will has served me well.”

  “Mine, too,” Kwarck said, dipping again.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Here, probably seventy-five years or so.”

  “Really? Did you grow up here?”

  “No, my friend. Remember, I’m half elf. Elves live much longer than humans. Compared to you, I’m quite old.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. The elves on the plantation didn’t live much longer than anyone else. The labor broke their bodies young.”