Midger smiled condescendingly and turned to the other scout. “Well of course they are true, sir,” he said. “Everyone knows of the vanishings in Hamath Valley.”
“Bah,” Faengoril snarled. “I never believed it. It’s just a story they tell to keep people away.” The scouts looked to each other, but they let the point drop. Faengoril reached down and fastened his belt. He had undone it during the night in an effort to get comfortable. He never could sleep with the buckle digging into the bit of stomach that overlapped the belt. He then stretched and jerked his head to the side, cracking his neck. “How long till they enter the cave?”
“They haven’t begun the hike up the slope yet. We did see some that looked like they were preparing to scout the cave, though, just before we made our return. Given the size of the group and the items they are carrying, I would say we should expect the first of them just after noon. Otherwise, I would say that the Tarthuns are going to make camp at least for another night.”
Faengoril frowned. “Why make camp at the base of the hill?” he wondered aloud. “I don’t like it.”
“Sir?”
“If they are making camp, then perhaps they are not fully decided on going through the cave. Maybe they are considering riding around to the south through Hamath Valley.” The commander reached up and stroked his beard. He knew that if they rode quickly, it would only take a few days longer to go around to the south. It was time they could easily make up once they were inside the Middle Kingdom compared to walking on foot from here to the north to fight Penthal’s forces. Not only that, but they would be deadlier with their horses. “We need to make sure they want to come through the tunnel.”
“Sir, they wouldn’t survive in Hamath Valley,” Midger said.
Faengoril shook the notion away. “I do believe in dragons and magic, but I don’t believe in a ghost army that can destroy seven thousand Tarthuns,” he said. “I would rather see to that myself.”
“What should we do?” Midger asked.
“If I sent the engineers with you, could you cause a rockslide?”
Midger shook his head. “Not one that would reach the Tarthuns. Maybe we could hit part of the corral they made, but it would only break the barriers and scatter the horses at best.”
Faengoril snapped his stubbly fingers. “That’s it!” He then ran around the boulder and picked up a bit of paper. “Midger, you will take this to Captain Benbo. I want him to create a series of barriers inside the cave. We are going to place dwarves with crossbows at each one. He will send a handful of engineers with you, and you will help them find a position from which they can create a rockslide.”
“If we cause a rockslide, the Tarthuns will retreat away from the cave,” Midger pointed out.
Faengoril shook his head. “No. You and the other scouts will go down and attack the horses tonight. I saw a patch of Rot-blossom growing a short ways from here. I can have it turned into a potent poison. You’ll put it in the animal feed. Afterward, you can use crossbows to kill some of the horses and try to create a stampede. Then the engineers will drop rocks down on top of them. Whatever horses the Tarthuns save will then be killed with the tainted feed.”
“What if we are discovered?”
Faengoril shot Midger a stern look and shook his head. “Don’t get discovered.” Faengoril then went back to scribbling on the paper. “I will lead a group of dwarves out to the mouth of the cave and while everything else is happening, we will rain arrows down on the Tarthun camp. The goal here is to make them think our force is much larger than it is, and get them to follow us as we retreat.”
“I understand,” Midger said. Had Faengoril looked up, he would have seen the doubt written across the scout’s face, but he didn’t bother.
“Good. Get to it.”
The two scouts disappeared without another word.
It wasn’t long before Captain Benbo was approaching, eyes angry and face flushed. Faengoril had expected resistance from him. None of the other officers had come to support his objection, however, which meant that despite Benbo’s blustering, the other dwarves would be busy fulfilling Faengoril’s orders.
“Exactly what do you think you are doing?” Benbo gruffed.
Faengoril leaned back against the boulder and folded his arms. “Answer me this, Benbo, why are the Tarthuns setting up camp?”
Benbo threw his hands up in the air and angrily waved the question away. “What difference does it make? Maybe they are tired of marching, so they are going to wait for a couple days before coming into the cave. Maybe they are coming in the morning.”
Faengoril remained calm and pushed off the boulder to walk closer to Benbo. “Or perhaps they haven’t decided whether this pass is sufficient for them. What do we do if they skirt around to the south and then ride upon their horses up from Hamath Valley? We won’t be able to engage them then.”
“We can’t engage them now!” Benbo snarled. “There are seven thousand of them, or do you not understand arithmetic?”
Faengoril took in a breath, letting the slight roll off his back. “If the Tarthuns go south, we lose. If they turn back and then go north through the pass, we will lose.”
“I thought you said they were sure to come through here?” Benbo reminded him.
Faengoril nodded. “I was. I made a mistake, but we can solve this riddle easily by making the choice for them. We kill and scatter their horses. They will be too enraged to think clearly. They will see us as the threat. If we show enough force, perhaps they will even think we intend to invade the eastern wilds.”
“Stonebubbles,” Benbo growled. “What dwarf in his right mind would leave Roegudok Hall? He would have to be more than daft and crazy to want to fight for the eastern wilds too. They won’t fall for it. I say our best choice is to stick with the original plan.”
The commander shook his head. “This isn’t your call, Benbo.”
The dwarf clenched his jaw and folded his thick arms across his chest. His icy blue eyes bored into Faengoril’s own as if to spear through them. Benbo shook his head in disgust. “You won’t be happy until we are all dead.”
The commander shook his head. “I ask only for volunteers. All others who do not wish to take part in the new plan can remain with you, outside the cave.”
“What, now I am not good enough to include in your plan?” Benbo shouted.
Faengoril smirked and socked Benbo in the shoulder. “You are better than good enough,” he said. “That is why I want you outside. If things go sour, then I need to make sure my warriors are in good hands.”
Benbo’s demeanor changed instantly. His gruff, forceful exterior broke, giving way to a frown of concern and a nervous stutter. “Y-you better not- you better not be planning a suicide mission.”
The commander smiled. “This isn’t the time to suddenly start caring about me,” he said. “Besides, no one really plans on such missions. However, I can see the odds as well as anyone else. Despite your earlier comment, I am fairly good at arithmetic. That is precisely why this must be done. We cannot allow the Tarthuns to change their mind now. If I could move the mountain to bury them, I would. But I can’t, so I must make sure they come into the mountain. The best way to do that is to take away their horses.”
“So what shall I do?” Benbo asked.
“Just send the men to do as I asked on the orders. Ask for volunteers to man each barricade. Have at least twenty or thirty exit the other side of the cave so that once the horses are loosed and the rockslide hammers them, then there are enough to make the Tarthuns want to chase them into the hole.”
“Even if the plan succeeds, the Tarthuns will likely send scouts after us first,” Benbo pointed out.
Faengoril nodded. “That is true. However, if we are convincing, then perhaps we can suck them all into the cave.”
The dwarf commander spent the next several hours preparing for the fight. Volunteers moved in and out of the cave. Some were digging and building the rock barriers inside, while others were
getting into position to fight. A relay chain of scouts was set up on the other side of the mountain, keeping close watch on every move the Tarthuns made.
Fortune was with the dwarves, for no enemy scouts came to the cave that day. They were able to make all of their preparations without being discovered. Better than that, the surprise attack just before the next dawn went off without a hitch.
Before the sun rose, Midger came running toward Faengoril. The dwarf commander was already awake and dressed. He hadn’t slept a single wink that night. When he saw the scout, his heart jumped and his stomach twisted. Only when he saw the smile on the dwarf’s face did he understand that all had gone well.
“Sir, the corral has been destroyed. We managed to kill a few score of the horses with our crossbows. Several hundred of them actually stampeded up the mountainside and were crushed by the rockslide that followed after we snuck away. The rest are scattered off in every direction. Many ran through the Tarthun camp and it caused a great commotion.”
Faengoril smiled wide. “What of the poison?”
Midger nodded. “There were many feeding barrels. It looks as though the horses were set to graze on the grasses, but we made sure to poison each barrel we found.”
“Good, good,” Faengoril said. “Whatever horses they recover will likely be led by their riders to the barrels in order to comfort them.”
“The Tarthuns sent a dozen men to attack, but we slayed them. They sent another fifty, but we all regrouped at the mouth of the cave and fought them off. We had the high ground, so we didn’t lose a single dwarf.”
“Excellent,” Faengoril said. “Did they come into the cave?”
Midger shook his head and his smile disappeared. “No. They did send a force maybe two or three hundred strong up toward us, and we retreated at that point. We paused at the far edge of the lake, but they only came in as far as the waterfall and then they turned around.”
“What about the fake orders? Did you plant them?”
Midger nodded. “We left a single pack just outside the mouth of the cave. It had the fake orders and the map showing the route through the pass to the north.”
“Good, good. Now they will think our strategy was to circle up behind them. Combine that with the loss of horses they suffered and they will surely come after us. We have maybe a few hours at best before they send a scouting party after us. It is time to get into positions.”
CHAPTER THREE
Faengoril moved to take his place just inside. A group of cavedog riders were waiting for him. Each of them wore grim, yet determined faces. It was obvious to him that they had heard how many Tarthuns were coming. Still, if any of the twenty riders feared the day, none of them showed it upon their faces.
The commander went to the front of the group and clambered into his sturdy leather saddle. The horn of polished brass stuck up and he took hold of it while he turned in his seat to offer a final word of encouragement to his men. “We are not called upon to slay each Tarthun with our sword this day, though Ancients know we certainly could if we wanted to!”
The men chuckled and smiled to each other. They all knew it wasn’t true, but each of them acted as if it were exactly correct.
“We are few in number only because our brothers will cover our retreat. Our job is to wait until the Tarthuns have lodged themselves just deep enough in our cave so as to be stuck here. Then, we harass and pester them to make sure the rest of the savage mongrels follow in after them. On my mark, we will attack. The twenty-one of us will be able to maneuver easily in the cave while the Tarthuns are imprisoned by their own numbers. When I give the order we all fall back, pulling the enemy further into our trap. Once we are at the cave’s exit, I will blow my horn and the engineers will bring this place down around the enemy’s ears.”
The riders smiled wide, but none of them said anything. They all knew the possibility of Tarthun scouts, and shouting would create echoes.
They urged their cavedogs onward. The giant lizards, though bulky and very heavy, padded silently through the cavern. As the riders passed by defensive barriers where the others were hiding in larger groups, armed with crossbows and throwing axes, the groups would all offer nods and salutes.
When the riders finally reached the last bend, just before the large underground lake, they halted. Faengoril dismounted and crept around the rock wall just enough to enable him to use his spyglass and check the entrance.
White light broke the darkness from the opening, creating a faint rainbow over the newly-fashioned waterfall. For a moment he thought the tunnel was clear, but then he saw a pair of tanned legs slipping and sliding down the slope. Faengoril repositioned the spyglass to get a better look. The man was covered with a loincloth, and wore a pack slung over his left shoulder while his right hand gripped a bow. He wore no armor, and his head was shorn. The dwarf commander smiled to himself. The Tarthun’s lack of armor would make him an extremely easy target.
He slipped back around the wall just enough to signal with his fingers that one person was coming down into the cave. Then he poked back around the corner to watch. The Tarthun slowly approached the edge and looked for an easy way down.
He slipped.
Schnap! Even the waterfall was not enough to drown out the noise of splitting bone.
Faengoril winced when the Tarthun’s right leg broke below the knee and the man hollered out in pain. A moment later two more Tarthuns came rushing down. The three of them communicated with their hands at first, but after a few minutes of inaction the injured man started shouting at the other two.
Faengoril held his left hand out to make sure that none of his warriors moved. He was not about to give away their position yet.
He watched the trio blunder around for a while longer until another pair of Tarthuns came down the entrance. These two wore simple leather armor, and held spears in their hands to help steady themselves along the slippery path. They appeared to converse for a minute or two and then the newcomers disappeared up and out of the cave.
Faengoril feared that perhaps they had decided the path was too treacherous, but he needn’t have worried. Soon a large group appeared. They quickly created a ladder out of ropes and scaled down the waterfall. They hoisted the injured scout out from the cave and then the massive march began.
Fifty Tarthuns descended the chute, each successfully navigating the waterfall, and setting up a defensive perimeter on the far side of the lake. A few of the men ventured into the water, only to turn back once they realized it dropped off and would require them to swim the width of the lake.
After about ten minutes there were so many Tarthuns in the cavern that the group had to push forward around the lake toward the waiting dwarves.
Faengoril lost count, but he estimated the number were close to one thousand. He put away the spyglass and moved back toward his riders. He signaled with his hands that it was time to prepare. Each of them pulled up a crossbow and nodded back to him. The commander mounted his cavedog and counted silently to himself. He wanted the approaching group to come close enough that they wouldn’t be able to fire their own bows before the dwarves managed to get within range to attack.
The footsteps echoed over the lake and through the cavern. Flickering, dancing orange light played upon the walls. Faengoril’s own heart beat furiously as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.
“Ancients preserve us,” he whispered. Then he charged around the corner with a crossbow in each hand. The twenty riders followed after him.
He rounded the corner and leveled his weapon. He pulled the trigger. A second later a score of bolts flew from behind him. Twenty-one Tarthuns fell to the stone floor, a couple of them tumbling into the lake. A series of shouts erupted from the large group. Faengoril smiled wide. The group was stuck with the cavern wall on one side and the deep lake on the other. They were only able to stand about fifteen men shoulder to shoulder. It gave the dwarves the advantage.
The cavedog riders managed to reload and fire once more before
they collided into the oncoming Tarthuns. Spears and axes glanced off the dwarves’ armor as the giant lizards snapped out with their powerful maws and ripped legs out from under nearby Tarthuns.
Faengoril dropped one crossbow, tied to the saddle horn with an iron chain, and pulled a short battle axe. He deflected a spear and turned with a savage swing to the Tarthun on his left as his cavedog lunged up and bit a hunk out of the Tarthun on the right. The man cried out in agony and fell to the ground with only half of his midsection still intact.
Then, before the Tarthuns could encircle the dwarves, the cavedog riders turned around and fled. They fired their crossbows and took down another two score before disappearing around the bend. The echoing chorus of footsteps grew to a great cacophony. Shouts and yells followed after the dwarves. Faengoril led his riders fast as he could to the next bend. Then they dismounted and hid behind their cavedogs as they leveled their crossbows. The enemy came into view and the dwarves fired. This time only a few Tarthuns were hit as some of the shots went astray. This stretch of the cave was wider than the stone bank next to the lake so the Tarthuns fanned out. That was a mistake.
Several fell into the deep pits dug by the dwarves days before. Those who weren’t drowned or killed by hitting their heads on the stone as they fell were trampled by the unstoppable horde. Others tripped in the trenches, snapping ankles and legs like twigs.
Faengoril and the others fired three more volleys. By that time the Tarthuns organized and pulled bows out.
“Now!” Faengoril shouted. They leapt atop their mounts and made haste to escape around the next corner. A flurry of arrows crashed into the stone behind them. A couple arrows hit one of the riders, but they glanced off of his armor.
The dwarf commander had his group halt right on the other side of the curve. He wanted to surprise the Tarthuns as they rounded to follow. Faengoril signaled for everyone to dismount again. They did so, leaving their lizards in the Tarthuns’ path as they ran a few yards off and prepared their crossbows.
Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6) Page 3
