by Jeff Inlo
Holli ignored the sorceress. Heteera's last mistake was not that crucial. The barrier was destroyed, but in her mind, that mattered little. It would serve to hasten the invaders arrival, but that mattered even less. Those who gathered at Pinesway were already prepared to battle. Time was not something they needed.
She then thought of the group heading into the desert. She hoped Ryson was also prepared.
Chapter 22
Ryson waited for the obstruction within the tunnel to collapse. The passage had been used before, both by dwarves that attacked the algors and sand giants that in turn marched on Dunop. The way had been blocked, but the dwarves were known to make easy work of such obstructions.
The rocks blocking the passageway fell downward into a sub tunnel that had been quickly constructed beneath the main passage. Once clear, dwarves filed past the settling dust toward the sandstone cliffs that waited just beyond a few twists and turns of the catacombs.
Ryson met the leader, a battle force commander named Kevok Mettelston, and after quick introductions, the delver made a most surprising revelation to the dwarf leader.
"The algors don't want your help," the delver revealed.
The force commander's eye's widened a bit in surprise and then squinted into an angry glare.
"They refuse?"
"They do."
"The reason?"
Ryson really didn't want to explain, didn't want to lay that kind of fault at the feet of the dwarves that were there to help, but he had no choice.
"They still blame you, all of the dwarves, for attacking them."
The dwarf commander made the obvious counterpoint.
"And do they forget the sand giants they set upon Dunop?"
"No, I guess they feel that was simply a response to your attack... that it was justified."
The dwarf nearly shouted in rage, but caught his anger. Eventually, Kevok turned upon the diplomacy that brought him and the thousands of dwarf warriors to the cursed tunnels of baking heat. None of the dwarves behind him—dwarves ready to do battle, ready to die—had been forced to march through tunnels under the desert. They all volunteered. They wished to right a wrong, remove a stain of the past.
"The algors are entitled to their point of view," Kevok allowed. "In fact, it is even more reason for us to be here. If the algors believe that creating an army of sand giants to destroy a dwarf city was justified by the misguided attack of fanatical dwarves, then they must agree to let us restore our honor. We have an obligation to prove we are not the same dwarves that preyed on the innocent."
"I wish they would agree, really, and I have talked to them. But they're adamant about this. I don't mean to insult you, but they don't care about your honor. I think the wounds may be too recent for them. It's also... it's hard to explain, but as much as they try to be independent, they view themselves as a single entity. When one is killed, they seem to all suffer." Ryson paused. Not wanting to incite the dwarf, he searched for the right words, words that eluded him. "They lost a great number. I think that multiplies the grief for them more than it would for any other race. It's like everyone lost thousands of fathers, mothers, sons and daughters."
Kevok frowned. "Dwarves understand loss as well, Ryson Acumen. You were in Dunop when the sand giants attacked us. How many fathers, mothers, sons and daughters of dwarves were lost that day?"
"A great many," Ryson responded with great torment at the memory. "Too many."
"And should we then call it even? We attacked them, they attacked us. What's done is done? We don't think so. We are here for that very reason, because we are ashamed of what happened. Are the algors not also ashamed?"
"I don't know what to say," Ryson admitted. "I just know they don't want your help. I believe they would probably attack you if they find you invading their home."
"Attack? Invading? Fah, if we were invading, they would know it."
"I'm sure they would, but I did try to talk to them. I tried to convince them your intentions were honorable. I saw the anger and the pain. I'm not saying it's justified. I'm just saying it's there. So if you go forward—not invading, just wanting to help—and they see you as an enemy, what happens in these tight caverns?"
Kevok examined the surrounding catacombs near the sandstone edifice and looked back upon the long line of dwarf soldiers ready for battle. They stood at attention, but he could sense their growing impatience. These dwarves wanted to wash away the dishonor on their reputation, but honor was a two way street in his eyes.
"You have informed them of our intentions, but you still believe they see us as an enemy?"
"I do."
"Fah."
And Kevok frowned again. He took another look back upon those ready to die for the algors that would continue to view them as an enemy. His pride in his troops grew, just as his opinion of the algors sank.
"Perhaps we will go forward anyway. They would not dare attack two battalions of war-ready battle dwarves. They may not wish to accept our help, but it is not entirely up to them. Word has spread as to what is about to happen. The dwarves that work with the humans of Connel—humans smart enough to accept when a dwarf admits he's wrong—have relayed the story of the slink ghoul and the impending war with the dark creatures. The desert is of strategic importance to all the land. It is as much in our interest to protect the desert as it is the algors. Inform them that we are coming anyway. If they don't wish to view it as assistance, that is their problem, not mine."
Ryson didn't like the sound of that and he imagined what would happen.
"It may be everyone's problem. You may not think they'll attack, but I'm not so sure. I've also seen what they've been up to. They've been preparing to face a legion of dark creatures and they're ready for a battle. I'm not saying they could defeat all of your soldiers, but it would be a mess. And who wins in the end? The very creatures you came here to fight."
Kevok folded his arms across his chest. With further contemplation, he considered the predicament.
"You believe they would still attack us... despite the fact that a slink ghoul's legion is upon their doorstep?"
Ryson nodded.
Kevok almost laughed, but he also found respect for the algors. Dwarf pride was legendary, but perhaps algor pride was also worthy of admiration. The algors would face certain annihilation, but they would also apparently not forget their dead. Some might look at it as pointless arrogance, even unjustified vengeance, but Kevok could not dismiss the true emotion behind the sentiment.
Accepting the algors' decision, he turned his musings to his own situation. He understood his mission and the needs of the dwarves. One objective was to restore the honor of Dunop. They had hoped to fight alongside algors, to prove their integrity. In his eyes, that proof already existed. It was now the algors' pride that kept the races apart. Dwarf honor was no longer in question. It had been restored. That part of his mission was now complete.
As for protecting the land, he could utilize the situation with the algors to his benefit. He would adjust his battle tactics to minimize losses of dwarf soldiers, and he professed as much to the delver.
"Very well. We shall not proceed into the algor shelter."
Kevok made the announcement with such resolve that the delver imagined the worse.
"You're not leaving? Are you?"
"No, I still have my orders to defeat any invading dark army hoping to lay claim to these lands. I do not, however, need to concern myself with algor losses. If it is their wish to disregard our assistance, that is their choice. I will move my forces into surrounding tunnels of our construction. We shall allow the algors to have their way. They will meet the coming invasion on their own and we will wait in reserve. If my information is correct, I have very little faith in the algors success, but they might inflict enough casualties to allow my forces to route the enemy when the initial battle is complete."
"And that's it? You're going to come in and clean up the dark creatures only after the algors have been decimated?"
It was a pointed question without any true answer. It was the decision of the algors to relinquish assistance. The dwarves simply guaranteed the desert would not be lost. What more could Ryson ask of the dwarves?
"No, I don't have any other ideas. I'm just sorry it couldn't have been different."
"Fah, leave remorse for a more worthy situation. The honor of the dwarves is no longer in question. We were willing to shed dwarf blood to save algor blood. The algors wish to face the enemy on their own. That is their wish, and it holds some degree of honor as well. Respect that honor, do not dismiss it."
Ryson saw only foolishness and further complications to his plans. He would fight with the algors, but the battle seemed already decided.
Kevok noticed the failing spirit of a delver he knew saved the dwarves, saved the entire land of Uton.
"Keep yourself safe, my friend." Kevok stated. "You remain honored among the dwarves, and we will do everything to help you once we enter the battle. We owe you that."
"I'm not sure that's going to help me. I have to stand with the algors. I can't explain it, but I have to."
"I see that. You are willing to fight with them, but that is no reason to die with them. Do everything you can... short of sacrificing yourself. I am simply telling you that if you can hold out to the end, there is hope for you."
Ryson considered exactly what that meant. Hope for him, but none for the algors.
Chapter 23
"You can see them?" Ryson asked the algor who stood next to him on a ledge of the sandstone cliff.
"I cannot, but others have spotted them. We have been following their movements."
Ryson could neither see nor hear any threats in the distance. His senses were far superior to those of any individual algor, but they seemed to share information in a way that allowed them greater overall awareness. Algors far out along the eastern edge of the desert were clearly communicating the progress of the oncoming force.
"How soon before they get here?"
"The winged ones will arrive shortly, unless they pause to coordinate their attack. So far, they show no signs of slowing. I believe they are impatient. A mistake."
"How many of them in total? I mean all of them, not just the ones in the air."
"How many grains of sand can you see?"
Ryson was not at all pleased at that answer.
Previously, he had been surprised to the point of optimism at the algors' preparations. Ever since he warned them of the coming dangers, they had worked to build their defenses. Where their refusal to accept dwarf aid left the delver to the point of despondency, the algor's defensive efforts reversed his gloom.
Once the word spread of the advancing invaders, thousands upon thousands returned from the desert. The algors ranks swelled to form an impressive army. They worked together beyond any force Ryson ever witnessed. Though there were no officers to lead, no chain of command to direct their efforts, the tailless lizards moved with cohesive unity. They all seemed to understand the design of some grand plan, though no plan was ever outwardly discussed.
Even while constructing their defenses, they concentrated on collecting the magic that they could not store naturally for long periods of time. The energy bloomed within each algor, and though Ryson's connection to the magic remained limited, he could not deny the charge of power that grew in the desert. Just as they assembled their weapons, they prepared themselves both physically and magically for battle.
While the great majority of the algors worked in and around the sandstone cliffs, it was apparent that several scouts remained out in the desert. Perhaps they utilized some of the magical energy that almost pulsated within their community to communicate their foes' movements. There were no alarms or signals given, but they all seemed to understand what was coming. Even before the enemy came into sight, the algors moved into their coordinated positions and formed their defensive lines ready to repel the attack. No one could ever fault the algors for lack of organization.
Ryson, however, could fault them for other reasons. He still wished they would accept the help of the dwarves that remained waiting in reserve, waiting for the algors to perish before they would rush in to confront the dark creatures. The delver wondered how many algor lives that mistake would ultimately cost. His considerations were further dimmed by the announcement of the algor beside him. If Baannat's invaders did number as the grains of sand, then even the coordinated movements of the algors would not be sufficient.
The delver recalled the number of creatures that had attacked him, Holli, and Sy back in the dark realm. It was a frightening sight, and Baannat conjured that force up in mere moments. How many more could he send into the desert? The answer was about to become clear.
"Actually," the algor noted, "you should soon see what approaches. Turn your delver eyes to the east and look just above the horizon. They cannot hide their numbers in the open air."
A shadow raced across the sky. It was as if night chased away day, but it wasn't the darkness of evening that flowed across the skies. Dusk came gradually in the desert, slowly choking off the light. This darkness moved with speed and created a definite border between light and shadow. The gloom rolled in much like a bank of angry storm clouds, but there was a much more violent motion throughout. A multitude of flying nightmares beat their wings with a demon's fury. There was no thunder, only the screeches and shrieks of unthinkable monsters.
As they closed upon the sandstone cliffs, Ryson's sharp eyes picked up greater detail, but he could barely distinguish the hook hawks from the spin vultures, while razor crows filled in any available space between the two. The sky turned into a cruel mass of shifting, soaring carriers of death and destruction.
Hide their numbers?
They didn't have to.
Ryson pulled the two war blades free from their sheaths. He could not reach the invaders if they remained in the sky, but in order to assault the algors, they would have to swoop down within range of his blades. He was certain such a force was not there simply to scout the land. They were going to attack, and he in turn would be forced to fight for his life and the lives of the algors.
A heaviness fell upon him. Death was coming... death for these birds of prey, death for the algors, and maybe even death for him. He didn't wish to fight, didn't wish to kill, but what could he do? He couldn't run. He had vowed to stand with the algors, and so he would. Baannat's legions were coming to spill blood. There were few choices. Would he sacrifice himself? Would he allow algors to perish around him? He looked at his war blades. Or would he serve up his own form of death? He cursed under his breath.
More struggles.
He thought he was tired before... tired of the conflicts he faced, tired of the decisions forced upon him. He was now sick of the struggle.
The delver looked over the algors around him. They armed themselves with clubs, spears and slings. He wondered if they had any chance with such crude weapons.
He imagined the coming conflict. The winged monsters would swoop down with razor sharp claws and hardened beaks. The fighting was certain to be brutal.
Ryson didn't want to see such carnage, let alone be part of it. Violence, blood, and death—more byproducts of the struggle. Pointless and foolish.
Such thoughts forced him to reconsider his decisions. Was it foolish to include himself? Where did he truly belong? The answer was clear—with Linda. And yet, he could not deny the strong sense of obligation he had to these strange lizard-like beings that considered him one of their own. The war might have been beyond foolish, just as the struggle was beyond his comprehension, but standing with the algors was neither.
A decision made with finality—a decision to fight for and with the algors—he examined their formations. They stood in close contact along haphazard lines stretched across the desert floor as well as across the many ledges of the sandstone cliffs. They took no cover. They waite
d patiently for the shadow in the sky to move closer, and it did.
The algor Ryson had questioned tilted his head as he addressed the delver.
"It is time for you to be what you are. You are algor... but you are delver. Do not stand idly by. Move—as is your custom."
Ryson didn't know what to say, but he couldn't disagree. He would have to fight. Baannat was forcing the issue—and probably laughing with glee. He forced the slink ghoul out of his mind and focused on staying alive and saving as many algors as he possibly could. The algor was right. His strength was his movement, and now was the time to use that strength.
He raced down one ledge and leapt to another. Utilizing the downward motion to add to his speed, his momentum carried him past hundreds of algors as he dodged his way down to the desert floor.
Once upon the ground, he gave another quick look to the progress of the predator birds. They closed the distance in a great hurry. The battle was almost upon him before he had any further chance to examine his conscience and the ramifications of his actions.
As the first wave of flying beasts came into range, the algors grasped their slings. Every algor, whether perched on a rock ledge or standing shoulder to shoulder upon the desert sand, took hold of the long straps and began to swing. They moved as one.
Stones in the sling cradles swung through the air in a dramatic display of unity. The twirling motion at first made only the faintest whirring whisper that barely defied the cackling of the razor crows, but it soon turned into an angry whine that overpowered the calls of the swooping birds.
Ryson actually paused at the sight. He did not stop moving, but he slowed and released his attention from the incoming predators. He simply could not ignore the algors. Their cohesive action demanded his attention. Thousands upon thousand of algors twirling their slings in complete harmony. It was more than individuals acting in concert. It went far beyond that. The algors became a single entity—one objective, one perception, one thought.
