by Tiger Hebert
“Stir up their wrath?” replied the human out of confusion.
“You obviously have provoked them—” started the cynical dwarf.
“Provoke! To breathe is to provoke the Zenari! You are mad if you do not know this. They have left the ancient home of the elves in ruin and have now done the same to our homes across the Plains of Nashia!” cried the man in frustration.
“The elves were attacked too?” questioned the dwarf.
“The Shaillone Peninsula is now in ruin and deserted. The Zenari kill everyone,” said the man in anguish.
“Hmm, very well. Tend to your wounded here. We will send nurses to assist. We must call a council of elders to make a determination beyond that,” answered the elder matter-of-factly. “By the way, human, what is your name?” he asked in a gruff tone.
“I am Nal’drin, son of Am’drin,” replied the human as he rose to his full height.
Dwarves typically were only about chest-high to most human males, but this young man towered over them even more. Ronnick guessed that he must have been at least six foot two.
“Very well, Nal’drin. I am Ronnick, commander of the army of Dar Mar’Kren,” responded the commander.
“Thank you, Commander,” replied Nal’drin sincerely.
“Send for the nurses and call the council right away,” barked Ronnick in his deep voice as he turned to walk back into the mountain fortress. Dwarves ran off ahead of him to fulfill his requests, some to call for nurses and others to order the assembly.
Ronnick carried his stocky dwarvish frame with a sense of urgency. His broad shoulders swayed back and forth as he moved with intent. His pale face was framed with faded black hair. Much of his face was hidden by a frosted black mustache and beard. His hair was long and tied back into a gray-streaked ponytail. His skin was rough, and its creases were well defined, yet his eyes belied his age. The azure orbs pierced everyone in sight with their frigid and calculating gaze. The flickering light of the nearby torches shimmered over his armor’s regalia. His chestplate bore the graven image of a lion’s face. The very hair of his mane was plated in gold, his eyes two fiery stones of jasper. The unsavory look that inhabited the dwarf’s face looked like it had taken root. Silently he moved with purpose to the center of Dar Mar’kren. It was here, in the heart of the mountain, that they would hold the council of the elders to discuss this turn of events. Despite his stoic appearance, his mind raced regarding this new information.
Ronnick marched into the chamber and made his way to his seat. The room was lined with seats and a table around the outside, forming a circle in the center. The circle at the room’s center sat a step lower than the rest of the room. The seats that lined the room sat behind a carved wooden table top that formed nearly a full circle save for the door. Here the elders would gather to discuss their plan of action. Ronnick sat in his seat and waited as the room filled. The room was surprisingly devoid of noise and chatter as the seventeen longbeards took their seats. The last one into the room closed the large door behind them.
“The Nashites sit on our doorstep, wounded and broken. Their leader, a man named Nal’drin, claims that the Zenari laid waste to their homeland, killing many of their kin,” reported Ronnick.
“And we should trust a human?” asked Mort.
“They probably got what they deserved,” remarked Zorin arrogantly.
“Probably were sniffin’ about their women,” crudely shot Tomel, sparking a round of laughter.
“The elves of Trellion have been bitten by this flea too,” remarked Ronnick.
“They’re chasin’ after elven women too? I know they’re fair and all, but a wee bit boney, eh? I prefer a little meat on my—” carried on the comical Tomel, eliciting another round of laughter.
“That’s enough,” warned the unamused Ronnick as he cut off Tomel.
“So what are you saying, Ronnick?” asked Baumgarde.
“If these Zenari have wiped out the humans and the elves, then we cannot ignore this anymore.”
“Who cares about elves? If they spent more time being men, instead of acting like faeries dancin’ an’ prancin’ in the woods, they might know how to protect themselves!” Fennel laughed as he made a whimsical gesture, inciting another round of laughter.
“You men fail to see the point,” answered Ronnick as he reached the end of his patience.
“What point are you trying to make, Commander?” inquired the most senior dwarf in the council.
“King Dorn, the elves are not our kinda folk, but they are not a warring people, at least not this side of Aurion. We can laugh and make jokes about them for their foolish ways, but one thing we can’t argue is that they do not start wars. Those dainty folk would rather sing and dance than take up arms for any reason. If they were driven from their homes, then we must take note,” explained Ronnick.
“What do you suggest we do, Commander?” asked the king.
“We must tend to the humans long enough to gather more information from them. Their knowledge of this Zenari could prove to be invaluable. If this enemy is to become an enemy of ours, then we will not want any surprises,” answered Ronnick directly.
“What are we to do with the humans when you have collected this information?” questioned the royal figurehead.
“I am sure that if we leave them to their own devices, they will finish each other off, and we will wash our hands of them,” said Ronnick.
“I think that your estimation of the humans is off,” interjected Dominar.
“Really? And why is that, Dominar?” snapped the irritated Ronnick with a glare.
“As a rule, our people have had a long-held distrust and distaste for all other kinds. We keep to ourselves, as we look down on every other life form, judging them with our proud assumptions,” answered Dominar calmly.
“The world is going to hell, so they just show up on our doorstep, and it is our duty to rescue them?” retorted the angered commander.
“If the world is going to hell, then we are going with it, especially if we turn our back on those that need our help,” replied Dominar with a gentle but deep voice.
“Is it comfortable sitting atop such a lofty perch of self-righteousness, Dom?” Ronnick fired back.
“I know without a doubt that I am not righteous because of anything I’ve done. That job belongs to one much higher than us,” insisted Dominar. “Secondly, my friend, have you forgotten the day that we were the ones in need of rescue?”
“That was a different time and a different place!” countered Ronnick.
“Maybe to you and I from inside these thick walls and faded memories but not to them out there,” stated Dominar emphatically.
“I pray you are right, old friend,” chimed in King Dorn.
“Prayer is a good place to start,” said Dominar with a wink.
“You want to help these humans? You want to trust them? Then you are responsible for them for as long as they are here!” snarled the commander as he pointed his finger at Dom.
“I accept,” replied Dominar with a simple nod of the head.
“That settles it then?” asked the king.
The entire council grumbled, but there were no more objections, so the king called the council to a close. Ronnick stormed out of the chamber without saying another word. Dominar shook hands and said good night to the remaining council members before he slipped out of the chamber. He was happy with the council’s decision to allow him to extend a helping hand to the humans. He knew that the reality was that despite this small victory, he was on Ronnick’s bad side for the time being. It could make things difficult for him for a while, but he knew it didn’t matter. It was more important to make sure the council made the right choice and not the one that was more comfortable or convenient.
Dominar took a stroll from the chamber back to the outer court. Most of the commotion had long since faded as the crowds mostly dispersed. Only the humans and a small detachment of nurses remained as they cared for the sick and the wounded tha
t lined the courtyard and spilled into well beyond the outer walls of Dar Mar’Kren. Dominar made his way toward the tall human who had spoken on their behalf earlier.
With a smile on his face, Dominar said, “You said your name was Nal’drin, eh?”
“That’s right. Have we met?” replied Nal’drin with a quizzical look on his face.
“Only just now, my friend. The name’s Dominar. Call me Dom if you like,” said the dwarf.
“Nice to meet you,” answered the tall man.
“Do you have charge over these people?” the scruffy dwarf asked with a kind voice.
“Yes, yes, I do. They were my father’s people. He…they are my people now,” answered Nal’drin as he wrestled with his emotions. The dark hair that glanced across his eyes could not hide the tears that he was fighting back.
“King Nal’drin,” Dom replied respectfully with a slight bow. “You and your people are under my care while you remain here.”
“King? My father was a king. I have no crown and no kingdom. No, I am just a son who must bury his father’s dream,” said the young man through clenched teeth.
“Crowns and kingdoms, a king does not make. Rather, it is in the heart of a king that those other things are created and kept. You can bury a man’s bones, but you don’t have to bury his dreams with them. You will understand in time,” spoke Dominar in a calm voice.
The rugged young king cocked his head to one side as he stared at Dominar. The expression on his face changed to one of contemplation. He stood silently with arms folded across his chest, and made the slightest of nods with his head. He wanted to understand what this old dwarf was telling him, but the reality that he was facing was all too harsh.
“Thanks for your kind words, Dominar, but you couldn’t understand,” replied Nal’drin respectfully.
“I know exactly what it feels like. Your head hears me, but the pain in your heart is so loud that your heart doesn’t. But it will in time, my friend,” explained Dom as he placed a comforting hand on the man’s arm.
“Are all dwarves as wise as you, Dom?” asked the young king.
“Not even close!” answered Dom with a big smile as they both had a little laugh. “So how many of you are left?” asked Dominar.
“Unfortunately, when we were overrun by the Zenari, my people were scattered in all directions. I think it is limited to primarily what you see. I doubt we have more than two thousand able-bodied men among us. Many are wounded and being tended too, thanks to your nurses,” reported Nal’drin.
“So what events surrounded the attacks?” inquired Dom.
“First we noticed that, occasionally, people would end up missing, never to be seen again. This typically happened to those whose farmsteads were to the north, near the jungles. At first we thought it was rogue beasts that dared to venture beyond the confines of the jungle. Then entire families were found slaughtered on their farms. The crimes began to spread along the entire border. Over the last year, our people have moved away from the jungle, far out on the plains. We thought the attacks would end. But instead of stopping, they increased. Then the attacks ceased for a little more than two moons. We thought that the worst had passed, and then they sent their army to destroy us. Our men that could fight tried to slow their advance, but we were outnumbered at least three to one. We didn’t stand a chance, so we tried to evacuate our people as quickly as possible. Most were cut down in those fields. They burned our homes and our farms to the ground. They even torched the very fields themselves. Those monsters slaughtered thousands of my kin-farmers, women, and children, all dead. What kind of men would do such evil?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds like we have much work to do,” replied Dominar.
“Work?” asked Nal’drin.
“We must prepare for war,” answered the blacksmith.
15 A Race Against Time
The moon was brilliant, shining its soft white light across the desert expanse. No voices could be heard among the travelers, but the sounds of the caravan rose steadily above the backdrop of silence. The caravan was accelerating. Hralls worked tirelessly without hesitation as they propelled their burdens forward with surprising speed.
Without words, the orcs on each wagon were roused from their slumber. With serious expressions and direct hand gestures, they were given instruction. Their once-sleepy eyes alertly scanned their surroundings as their hands scurried about with urgency. Once their battle trained hands found their intended weapons, they waited anxiously.
Shattering the silence, the Hungering Sands came to life with shrieking howls filling the night air. The cries were otherworldly, just like the Ni’al themselves. The wretched creatures were nightmarish to behold. They emerged from hidden places in the earth, and they raced over the sand dunes. Six spiny legs encased in a pale brown exoskeleton, carried their armored frames. Their dagger-shaped bodies darted through the moonlight. The pale glow illuminated the swirling black markings of their shells. Vertical mandible jaws opened and closed, oozing milky saliva. The hardened jaws carried rows of short barbs. The barbs curled inward like devious little hooks. Two black orbs stared menacingly toward their prey from both sides of the massive jaws. Plated arms stretched their blade-like appendages forward as they scurried frantically toward the wagons.
More bloodcurdling howls erupted in the dusty wake of the speeding wagons. The once sleeping caravan had come to life. Startled, they quickly fought to gain their bearings. One after another, the orcs prepared their large bolt throwers. The orc ballista began firing the heavy duty bolts at their pursuers.
The sound of the bolts ricocheting off the hardened shells of the Ni’al mixed with the sounds of shells cracking from the more direct hits. The defensive barrage silenced the howls of the desert hunters by ones and twos, but their numbers seemed to grow.
Those who did not have bolt throwers took up arms still. They grabbed whatever they could get their hands on, be it spears or axes. The women fearlessly took up positions, defending their families right alongside the men. Children that were not old enough to take up arms huddled low in the covered portion of each wagon.
The hellish Ni’al swarmed toward the wagons. They closed with feverish speed, and they were gaining ground from all angles of pursuit. More bolts were fired into the swirling dust storm that trailed the wagons. Most of the shots glanced off the armored bodies, some missed entirely, while a few continued to land their blows. The orcs were slowly thinning out the waves of attackers, but they were losing ground quickly.
“We must bring our wagons side by side, so it is harder for them to flank us!” shouted Ogron as he motioned for the lead wagons to fall back ever so slightly.
The drivers of each wagon slowly maneuvered their wagons to bring them alongside their counterparts. The caravan was now racing through the barrens as a wall of wagons. While the drivers jostled for position among the other wagons, Theros and Ogron rode their hralls to the rear of the formation, remaining side by side at the center. They knew that their hralls had virtually no defense against a Ni’al attack, save for their own efforts, so they remained close to each other and the wagons. The brilliance of the formation shift was evident immediately, as it provided many of the orcs the necessary line of sight needed to fire upon the insects. More bolts joined the aerial assault, but still few of the hunters were felled.
Shrieks and howls continued to erupt from the Ni’al as they dashed closer and closer to their prey. Propelled by their hunger, some of the six-legged monstrosities leapt toward the wagons. The first creature hurled its long frame into the air, only to be filled with a series of bolts tearing through the soft shell of its underbelly. Crashing to the ground, the Ni’al hissed as it tore at the objects impaling its body.
A second creature crashed down hard on a wagon to the far right. Its weighty impact shook the wagon, sending two orcs crashing over the side onto the desert sand. Nearby Ni’al rushed forward to devour the fallen orcs, their cries silenced without hesitation.
The
monster in the wagon hissed at them as it swiped its bladed arms wide to the left, slashing another orc across the chest. The orc screamed in pain as his bloody body was knocked from the wagon. He fell to the sand, and was quickly eaten by the pursuers. Female orcs charged the beast with their spears, catching it off guard. The creature reeled from the attack. A man swung his cleaver with great force, severing its left appendage. The women pushed forward with all their might as they buried the points of the spears through the hardened shell of the creature. The Ni’al snapped its head forward, trying to bite at the women, but they were beyond its reach. With another downward swing of his axe, the orc severed one of the creature’s hind legs. This last blow proved to be too much. Losing its balance, the insect fell backward, rocking at the edge of the wagon before it fell to the ground in a storm of dust.
One Ni’al dashed past the others and closed on one of the wagons. Reacting instinctively, Ogron steered his hrall right into the monster. The sideswipe by the massive beast sent the unsuspecting creature crashing to the ground before it spun into a wild barrel roll.
Despite the small victory, there was still no time to celebrate, because the Ni’al continued to chase them. Another flurry of bolts rained down upon the assailants, picking away at their number. Yet nearly two dozen of these sand demons still closed in upon them. The Ni’al made another handful of attempts to board the moving wagons. The first creature came down forcefully upon the middle wagon, crushing its victim under its massive weight. The beast shrieked wildly only to roll over, exposing the spear that was buried in its underside. The Ni’al writhed in pain for a moment before it crashed lifelessly onto the sand.
Another Ni’al leapt upon one of the wagons, quickly grasping one of the women with its powerful jaws. The curved barbs tore into her, preventing her from freeing her shoulder from its maw. Before the other orcs could respond, the creature leapt away with its prey in its clutches. As that beast was disappearing into the swirling sandstorm, another monster charged a different wagon from the far left side, smashing his armored body into the side of the wooden frame. The shock of the impact was immediately evident as the whole wagon rocked from right to left. Losing his balance, an orc warrior tumbled over the lift gate at the back of the wagon. His body slammed onto the ground with great force. The warrior tried to get to his feet, but before he could leave his knees, he was snatched away into the cover of the dust clouds.
