by Joel Babbitt
“Well, then, Manebrow,” Durik said as he turned his wolf about to leave. “We should probably go and arrange our next trap for the horde.”
“Um, sire,” Manebrow interrupted, the first hints of urgency appearing in his voice.
Durik turned Firepaw back about. “What…” he stopped as the words died in his throat.
Flying over the mountain, wreathed in a plume of flame and smoke, was a large red dragon, its wings outstretched as it landed on the tallest peak. The baleful gaze it gave to the southern valley made both of the kobold leaders shudder, even though it was far away, back toward the area of the Doorstep where the orcs had camped the night before.
“Manebrow,” Durik broke the fearful silence, “you don’t suppose Morigar actually succeeded, do you?”
Manebrow shook his head. “Not likely, sire. It’s more likely that he just upset the monster, and that it’s come looking for revenge.”
Durik’s sigh was one of resignation and painful emotion. “Manebrow, remind me why we didn’t just tie up Morigar and leave him with in the Dwarven Outpost?”
“I’ve asked that more than once myself,” Manebrow replied. “Although I’m sure Lord Krall wouldn’t have approved, now it appears our forbearance may cost us all, dearly.”
Mananthiél flexed his wings and rolled his long neck about to stretch it a bit. It had been a long night followed by a short sleep, followed by yet more intense hunting. But now, finally he was getting somewhere. He had felt the presence of the little stone of power down in the bowels of the mountain he had perched upon, just once when whatever it was that had it had communicated with it. Pondering over the dilemma, the dragon thought about his options for a bit. Finally he decided that he couldn’t root the little creatures out on his own. After all, there was a path down into the underdark from there, and he wasn’t about to chance loosing it into the underdark.
Throwing himself into the air and catching his immense weight with his wings, Mananthiél soared through the air toward the pillars of smoke that were rising into the sky from a broad canyon a few mountains over. He knew his orc horde was around here somewhere, and it didn’t take much of an imagination to guess where they might be.
Ardan, scout for the Kale Gen and leader of a small team under Durik’s Company, was not aware that his company had been dissolved yet, nor that Durik had been put in charge of the Wolf Riders. After all, his team had been sent to Lord Krall’s forces to warn him of the approaching orc horde, and since then he had been mostly serving with Lord Krall’s scouts. The fight against the ants that had been in the valley for some time had been going well. They seemed to have lost the fury that they’d had after Jerrig had slain their queen. But only this morning did they understand why.
Not long before now messengers had arrived from his gen, bringing word with them that another much larger ant horde, apparently headed up by the dead ant-queen’s mother, was approaching the valley through the underdark. This horde of ants was apparently more mature, which as the messenger explained it meant that there were many more warriors and hunter ants, and almost no drones. Apparently the Kale Gen had just sealed up Sheerface around dawn in the upper world to keep them out. There had been no word about Durik or Ardan’s other companions that had been traveling through the underdark, but that was how war was; full of miscommunication and unintentional half-truths. He wondered how true the reports of this other ant horde were.
Now, as his team on their borrowed riding dogs, packdogs that had been pressed into service really, approached the mouth of the canyon where the orc encampment had been, Ardan looked about himself. Something didn’t seem right.
Beside him, seated on a particularly stocky looking yellow dog, Keryak was struggling to guide the carefree beast away from every butterfly and interesting grasshopper. It had been a constant thing, only changing when the four dogs got to running, then they all fell in line with the lead dog readily enough.
Behind him and Keryak, Tohr and Kahn were having better luck with their mounts, but their lack of skill showed in the chafing at the bit that their mounts displayed. Nonetheless, the entire team seemed to be doing fine.
Looking about himself, Ardan couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t right. Always one to trust his gut instincts, as they’d kept him alive this far, Ardan raised his hand to signal a halt, and reined in his mount.
“What is it?” Keryak asked as he finally was able to guide his dog up beside Ardan.
Ardan sat looking about the area, his brows knitted and his eyes narrowed to block out any glare from the mid-morning sun. Seeing Ardan in his listening mode, Keryak began to look around as well. Seeing the two in front stopped, the twins stopped a little way back from them and drew their bows.
Several moments passed, then suddenly from around the bend of the path ahead of them a pair of kobolds mounted on riding dogs appeared. The dogs looked almost exhausted, and the riders were crouched down in the saddles as if to make a smaller target.
Ardan drew his sword while Keryak leveled his spear. He thought he remembered the Kobold cavalry riding wolves, not dogs, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Halt!” Ardan called out, keeping his voice as low as the situation allowed.
The two dog-riders reined in just in front of the four Kale Gen warriors. As they lifted their faces, a broad smile came across Ardan’s face.
“Krebbekar! You’re still alive then!” Ardan exclaimed. “And Morigar as well,” he said in more subdued tones.
“Run!” the older kobold warrior replied, a haunted look in his eyes. Behind the pair, the low sound of what seemed to be an avalanche could be heard coming from the area of the former orc encampment at the mouth of the Doorstep.
“What’s wro…” Ardan started, but stopped cold as a massive beast with burnt red scales that shined in the mid-morning sun appeared on the top of the mountain they were approaching. “A dragon!”
“And Ants!” Krebbekar said. “Now move!”
The four Kale Gen warriors didn’t even have to command their dogs to move. In unison the four packdogs-turned-riding dogs turned tail and ran for all they were worth back down the trail, their riders doing everything they could to hang on.
“Ants?” he called out to Morigar, who was closest to him. The situation was changing so rapidly, leaving Ardan struggling to catch up. “Which horde? The old one or the new one?”
Morigar looked over at him with a confused look. “What do you mean old or new? When did a new horde of ants arrive?”
“They’re coming through the underdark!” Ardan called. “It’s the queen mother’s horde. Mostly warriors and hunter ants!”
Morigar’s eyes got wider. The panic written across his face grew wider.
“Where did this dragon come from?” Ardan called out, but by then Morigar’s dog was moving into the lead of the fleeing group.
Finally, as they reached a small streambed that bisected the path, Ardan was able to get control of his dog, and to stop the other dogs of his team in their flight. The group had fled at least a mile or more in their panic. Morigar had beat them to the streambed and had kept going, but it was several moments later that Krebbekar finally arrived.
“A dragon!” Keryak cried out. “What’s that all about? Aren’t an orc horde and two ant hordes enough?!”
“Two ant hordes?” Krebbekar shook his head. “When did the other ant horde arrive?”
“Remember the queen that Jerrig killed?” Ardan asked. “That’s her mother’s horde come for revenge!”
“Well, they’re…” Krebbekar stopped in mid-sentence. A deep, almost painful fear had begun to settle over the group. “The dragon! It’s spotted us! Run!” he cried out, kicking his already exhausted dog into motion.
The small group of kobolds splashed quickly through the little stream and urged their mounts up the far slope, through the underbrush along the bank, and out into a large meadow. On the far end of the meadow, Ardan could see Morigar heading into the woods.
Suddenly, a massive shadow swooped by overhead.
The dogs went crazy with fear. Ardan’s dog dropped to the ground and began to whimper. Keryak’s dog sprinted across the meadow behind Tohr and Kahn’s dogs. Krebbekar’s dog, however, was so exhausted it had just barely reached the top of the slope when, all of a sudden the massive weight of the dragon slammed down in the meadow, shaking the earth and throwing Krebbekar to the ground in front of it.
As Krebbekar slowly stood up, gingerly trying to not put weight on his broken right foot, he saw his dog running as fast as it could down the stream. Knowing what fate awaited him, he looked up, and up, and up into the massive dragon’s eyes.
The beast looked down at Krebbekar with a withering gaze. The heat of its sulfuric breath alone was almost more than he could stand. As it shifted its weight slowly from its back feet to its front claws, Krebbekar could feel the ground shudder with the weight of the beast.
“What do you want from me?” Krebbekar asked in his native tongue. He figured he was dead anyway, so what did he have to lose by trying to talk to the beast?
The mighty dragon’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the tasty morsel in front of him that had likely put him in this little dilemma. After a moment, it spoke back at the squeaky-voiced little creature.
“You took the Stone of Krech,” its thunderous tone resonated across the meadow. Off to one side of Krebbekar, the dragon’s landing had shaken Ardan’s dog out of its paralyzed state, and dog and rider had leapt together into the streambed. Even now, though Ardan’s dog had fled behind Krebbekar’s, Ardan hid down in the streambed, behind the tall plants and watching as Krebbekar’s right to continue living stood on the edge of a razor.
“No!” Krebbekar called out. “The Krech Stone is with the elf! He was going to leave it for you at the other side of the mountain! It is sitting outside the entrance on the north side!”
The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “Then you admit that you took the stone!”
“NO!” Krebbekar almost squeaked out. “It wasn’t me! It was a young fool that I was traveling with! He took the stone! When we found it, I made him give it up!”
With his hands raised, seemingly to hold back the dragon, Krebbekar had stumbled backward a couple of steps. Seeing how close he was to the edge of the slope, Ardan began skirting the slope toward him to see if perhaps he could help Krebbekar escape the dragon’s wrath, all the while carefully keeping out of view of the dragon.
“Liar!” the dragon roared. From its mouth came a ball of fire that flew toward Krebbekar, impacting the ground and exploding with such great force that Ardan was thrown back several steps. At the same moment, Krebbekar fell backward down the slope and was lost in the explosion.
With a mighty flap of its wings, the massive beast threw itself into the air and began pounding it into submission as he rose ever higher into the air. Behind him, only the sound of crackling embers broke the stunned silence of the meadow.
Goryon and his son Gorgon pulled furiously on the rope while at the base of the sharp hill Goryon’s warriors prepared another load of cut branches and stones. Behind the pair of muscular warriors, Jerrig and Arbelk were attempting to build something of a shelter out of the logs and stones they’d brought up in the first couple of loads, while Troka set about hiding the Great Bows under a light covering of cut branches, mingled with uprooted bushes to give a more natural structure to the camouflaging attempt.
Around the entire area where the gens had arrayed their forces not a kobold could be seen in the open. After the dragon had been sighted, the various leaders of the various forces had gone about hiding them. To the credit of all the kobolds that had gathered here this day, none of them had run, not even the outcasts, who were clearly the least disciplined of them all.
Now, as the dragon dipped down into the forest, then back up and off toward the pillar of smoke at the loyalist enclosure, kobolds all throughout the area that had been looking out from under the boughs of trees or the branches of bushes scurried back under cover at the first sight of the monster.
Gorgon and Goryon immediately threw the branches about themselves, while the rest of Gorgon’s team tried to build the shelter as best they could under the cover of some hastily cut branches. The dragon did not fly straight toward the enclosure, however, instead flying broad circles over the area of the Doorstep, as if surveying the area. As the dragon looked about the valley, the little team of Great Bow crew stopped their efforts and prepared to flee their perch if necessary.
Not long after, the dragon stopped its observing and flew to the loyalist enclosure on the northern side of the valley, dipping down among the columns of smoke there. Like weeds springing up from the ground, the peak of the sharp hill came alive as Goryon, Gorgon, and his team sprang back into action, building the shelter for all they were worth and trying to camouflage things. Soon they had set to action on a quick ladder made up of a long, skinny tree trunk with steps cut into it.
The appearance of the dragon had changed many things, not the least of which was the confidence of all the kobolds gathered on the field of battle this day.
Chapter 12 – The Orcs Arrive
Now was not a time of hesitation, but rather a time of action, and Durik could feel it. The buzz of nervousness, bordering on fear, was reflected in every move of the riders about him. The arrival of the dragon had changed everything. Before they had been leading the orcs on a merry chase. Now their only plan was to not be found, at least until after the dragon left, if it ever did.
Seeing Kiria, Myaliae, and their warrior-guard Terrim mounted but waiting in the middle of a little clearing as the line of wolf riders beat a path past them, Durik reined in next to them, pulling Firepaw out of the line of wolves and riders with some difficulty.
“Why have you stopped?” he called over the din of his passing warrior group as he came to a stop. Kiria’s face had a strange look of determination on it that took Durik a bit by surprise.
“Sire,” Kiria said, “why are we running from the dragon?”
Durik just stared at her in wonderment. “What do you mean? It’s a dragon!”
The look on Kiria’s face was one of pain or disappointment, Durik hadn’t seen it before.
“Durik, if we don’t fight this dragon, who will?” she asked, her eyes suddenly pleading.
“I… um…” Durik shook his head. “Fight the dragon? Are you crazy? How are we going to do that?”
From the rear of the column of wolf riders, Manebrow came riding up and halted next to his leader. “Sire! Come! We need to regroup at the next ambush point!” he called out.
“Manebrow,” Kiria shouted over the din, “we have to fight this dragon! We can’t let it go after our gen!”
Manebrow looked at Durik. By the look on his face, Durik was as skeptical as he was. “What makes you think we can take on a dragon?” he said, the noise of the passing riders fading as the last of them plunged into the wood line on the far side of the clearing. Manebrow, irritated by talk, when he was expecting action, watched them go.
“I don’t know if we can,” she said, almost pleading, “but we have the Kale Stone! My father, and the rest of the warriors of our gen, have only spears and arrows. Surely they won’t be able to take on the dragon!”
Durik’s head was spinning. She actually wanted them to go after… the dragon. In a moment, he thought back to the battle with the orc shaman in the Dwarven Outpost, and how he had been protected from the magical fire that the shaman had put up to block him. He wondered if, indeed, that would happen again if they fought the dragon.
Manebrow had noticed his leader’s silence, and grabbed him by the arm. “Sire! You’re not indestructible! Just because you carry the stone of the last Lord Kale doesn’t mean you can take on a dragon. After all, it obviously didn’t keep the last Lord Kale from getting killed.”
Durik shook his head. “Yes, I was thinking about it, and yes, I think Kiria may be right. Who else has any chance against the dragon?”
“Sire!” Manebrow said emphatically. “No one can stand alone against a dragon! Come, we will meet our army at the low hill soon enough. Then, if you’re still of a mind to face the dragon, at least we can do it with a host of archers at our back.”
“But what if the dragon goes there now?” Kiria asked.
“Then there’s nothing we can do about it,” Manebrow said. “It flies, we run. It’s much faster than us. We’ll be there soon enough. In the meantime, I doubt the dragon will lead the orcs to our army, so let’s get back to doing that, shall we?”
Durik nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”
“That’s right,” Manebrow said emphatically, glaring at Kiria as he slapped her riding dog’s flank. Soon, all five of the companions were riding quickly toward the next meadow where Drok and his team of riders were already setting up their next ambush point. Back in the woods overlooking the loyalist enclosure, Pintor and his team waited for the dragon to pass, and prepared to lead the orcs along nicely into their next trap.
Drakebane the Mighty was used to being the master of his domain. He had stood up to every challenger over the years, most of them his own sons. He had even stood up to ogres, and the occasional cave troll that wandered into their lair as well. When it came to dragons, however, even though his name meant ‘Bane of Dragons,’ the orc chieftain was as humble as a mud-rat.
“Yes, my lord,” the mighty chieftain spoke loudly, his head bowed as he knelt before the mighty beast, Ahn-Ki the hobgoblin mercenary kneeling on one side of him while Shagra, now his most powerful son, kneeling on the other. All around him orcs and ogres had either fallen to the ground in fear, or were on their knees in awe. Those who were too weak to resist the dragonfear had fled into the palisade of sharpened tree trunks behind them, while off in the woods the entire contingent of kobolds from the northern gens tried to remain unnoticed while corralling up those levies who tried to flee.
