The Brotherhood of Dwarves: Book 04 - Between Dark and Light

by D. A. Adams

  “You are right,” Captain Polmere returned, hanging his head. “I was foolish to worry.”

  “Nonsense! You simply overestimate our foe. Once we turn east against the ogres, your strategic mind will prove itself, but for now, trust me. We have nothing to fear against these painters and sculptors. Return to your post and secure those farms. We have an army to feed.”

  The captain rode back to his previous position. The camp was a blur of activity as platoons moved about, heading to the next farms, going for chow, and rotating patrols. His confidence was renewed by the efficiency of the regiment even more than the general’s words. These soldiers were highly trained and rigorously disciplined. He felt ridiculous for his moment of near-panic, fearing it might lower his standing in the general’s eyes. From his mount, he scanned the valley again, now imagining what would happen if the weaklings did emerge from some hidden hole. His men would slice them apart before they could escape, and for a moment, he pitied the Kiredurks. The general was correct; it didn’t matter if they knew the attack was coming.

  ***

  “You insolent mule!” Master Sondious shouted, slamming his fist on the stone table. His aide jumped from the sudden motion. “I gave you very specific orders!”

  Captain Roighwheil lowered his head to hide his anger, and a palpable tension filled the room. The guards at the far end of the chamber stiffened, and the two advisors on either side of the newly crowned king stared at the polished surface of the table and held still, not even fidgeting with their papers.

  “Did I or did I not tell you to escort him to the gate?”

  The captain nodded slightly.

  “Answer me!”

  “Yes, my king,” Captain Roighwheil responded, hardly a whisper through gritted teeth.

  “Then why are you back already?”

  “Like I explained, there’s an army gathering in the Snivegohn Valley. I came to warn you.”

  “Did you see this army for yourself?”

  The captain shook his head.

  “So you just took the word of his friends and turned him loose in my kingdom?” Sondious asked.

  “With all due respect, I’ve known Roskin since he was born. Lying has never been one of his faults.”

  “Listen to me carefully, Captain,” Sondious said, leaning forward. “Because you saved my life, I’ll spare yours. This time. But if you ever disobey my orders again, I’ll have your head. And if I hear even a rumor that Roskin is still in this kingdom, you will be held personally responsible. Am I making myself clear enough this time?”

  “Yes, my king. What about the threat at the southern gate?”

  “I’ll send word to the guards to keep watch.”

  “I think we…”

  “Your job is not to think, Captain. Your job is to follow orders. Remove yourself from my sight and send in this supposed prisoner.”

  The advisors both shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact with the captain, who wheeled around and strode for the door. The guards saluted him as customary and one gave a slight nod, but he ignored them, for his anger had grown so intense, he could barely contain himself. He flung open the door and snarled for Jase to enter but didn’t wait for the outcast to respond. Instead, he stormed down the corridor and out the Halls of Gronwheil, heading straight for his barracks.

  A handful of townspeople called out to him, but his expression and abnormal lack of friendliness aroused hushed whispers as he passed. When he reached the barracks, he nearly broke the door off its hinges tossing it open and stopped in the doorway, looking for something to smash. Several of his soldiers stared, their mouths agape, for few had ever seen him anything but even-keeled. He spotted a wooden chest across the room and stomped to it. Hoisting it from the ground, he hurled it against the nearest wall. The chest, bound by bands of iron, didn’t explode but crashed to the ground, so he hefted it and threw it again. This time, the wood split from the bands, sending shards of wood and bits of iron in all directions.

  “What’s wrong, sir?” one soldier asked, moving towards him.

  Captain Roighwheil, his rage not sated, ignored him and grabbed an axe from the closest rack. He smashed it against the wall, spraying chips of rock around the room and causing the others to back to the far end of the barracks. He slammed the weapon against the wall over and over, until his arms finally grew too weary to swing again. When he dropped the axe, the blade was mangled beyond repair and the stone was pocked with dozens of deep scars. The captain stood frozen, gulping for air and trembling with rage.

  “What’s the meaning of this,” a voice called from the doorway.

  The captain turned to see the General of Dorkhun who, aside from the king, was the only military leader with authority over his position as captain of the King’s Guard. The reality of his outburst washed through him, and Captain Roighwheil lowered his head in shame.

  “Speak to me, Captain,” the general said, firmly but without malice. Then he added more softly, “We are friends, are we not?”

  “Forgive me, sir.”

  “Give us privacy,” the general said to the other dwarves. They saluted and left the room silently. Once they were gone, the general spoke again, “Talk to me, Captain.”

  “Master Sondious, I mean, King Sondious…” his voice trailed off. Speaking the words could be considered treason.

  “We are alone, my friend, and likely in agreement. I serve this kingdom, not a dwarf, especially not a dwarf who seems to have lost his judgment.”

  Captain Roighwheil explained about the army gathering in the valley and Roskin’s plan to ask the Ghaldeons and Tredjards for assistance. Then, quivering from frustration, he spoke of the new king’s dismissal of the threat. In a mocking tone, he repeated Sondious’s words that he would warn the guards at the gate. The general listened patiently, nodding in understanding. The captain told how Leinjar had described the gate, broken and twisted, the tunnel in ruins. When he finished, the general stood quiet for several heartbeats, clearly deep in thought. The captain waited, still shaking with anger.

  “I have an idea, but it’s dangerous for you,” the general said.

  “My life belongs to King Kraganere and this kingdom. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  The general asked the captain to check the door and make sure no one was listening. Captain Roighwheil peered through the eyehole, scanning the hallway for lingering soldiers, but the tunnel was clear. He fastened the latch, and when he turned, the general had moved to the far corner of the room and was sitting on a cot. Leinjar crossed the barracks and sat beside him, leaning in close at the general’s request.

  “Gather a hundred or so trusted soldiers,” the general said, barely above a whisper. “Take only those you truly trust and head for the gate as soon as you can. Tonight if possible, in the morning at the latest.”

  The captain nodded his assent.

  “You will be a renegade. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I will volunteer to track you down and lead as large a force as I can to the gate under the guise of bringing you to justice. If there is an army in the valley, at least we will have troops to fend them off until reinforcements can be summoned.”

  “I’m certain they are there.”

  “Just know, if they aren’t, you’ll have to leave the kingdom. I’ll protect you as much as I can, but we both know what’s happened to Sondious’s mind.”

  Captain Roighwheil bowed his head and stared at the stone floor. The thought of living above ground as a renegade was awful, but there was no doubt that what Leinjar had told him was true. He agreed to the plan, and he and the general shook hands.

  “Be as quiet and discreet as you can gathering your troops. I’ll keep the king busy with nonsense about ogres for the next several hours to give cover.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. A lot can go wrong between now and when you reach the gate. Find your soldiers and get out of Dorkhun quickly.”

  At th
at, the general rose from the cot and left the barracks. Captain Roighwheil sat for a moment, thinking of which soldiers he should approach. He wanted to take his son, but his unit was still near the eastern gate, overseeing repairs and keeping watch for a return of the ogres. His personal guards were trustworthy and would follow him, so that gave him twenty-five. Finding the others by evening might be more difficult, but he would think it through carefully before approaching anyone. In all his years of serving King Kraganere, he never once thought he would become a traitor. Even when Roskin had asked him to travel with Sondious, he had done so to serve the king. Now, he was willfully disobeying orders, and though his actions would be to benefit the kingdom, he was risking not only his life but the name of his family as well. The notion of sullying the memory of his ancestors weighed heavily, but this was the time for courage, not timidity. Taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply, he went to find his personal guards.

  ***

  King Sondious observed the prisoner limp into the room and studied the young dwarf’s face, which was a myriad of fearful expressions. He fidgeted and avoided eye contact, slouching and staring around the room. King Sondious remained silent, scrutinizing the renegade for any signs of malice. His first impression was of a simple peasant with no manners or sense of propriety. Around the table, his advisors sat quietly, waiting.

  “How did you injure your leg?” King Sondious asked, his voice stern and aggressive.

  “I was tortured with hot steel,” the peasant replied.

  “By whom?” the king continued, his voice softening.

  “A pack of thieves and bandits, the same dwarves who brought me here.”

  “Friends of Roskin?”

  “Yeah.”

  Master Sondious bristled at the informal lack of courtesy, but the peasant’s word choice solidified his assessment that this dwarf was a simpleton.

  “Tell me your name.”

  “I’m Jase.”

  “Tell me, Jase, why did these ruffians torture you?”

  “They were causing trouble in my town, and I stood up to them. See, Roskin started a fight, and I warned the authorities. I guess they wanted to punish me.”

  King Sondious ordered his aide to wheel him from behind the polished table and out to the center of the room beside Jase. Perhaps he was too quick to judge. Roskin’s temper had created more than one such episode and was, in fact, the reason why King Sondious was confined to this chair in constant pain. The dwarf fidgeted more as he approached, and the advisors leaned forward to listen.

  “We have something in common,” the king said. “I, too, was tortured because of mischief created by Roskin. Tell me, is there any truth to this story about the Great Empire preparing to attack our southern gate?”

  “I didn’t see no army.”

  “And do you believe Roskin has left this kingdom?”

  “He said something about gathering an army.”

  “That’s what I thought,” the king snarled. He turned to his advisors and growled, “Do you see? Roskin is not to be trusted. Make a note to warn the general to prepare for an uprising.”

  “Yes, my king,” one advisor replied, scribbling on his parchment.

  “Are you hungry?” the king asked Jase.

  “I’m starving. They fed me scraps while they feasted on fresh meat.”

  The king called for an assistant to bring fresh stew and ale. Peasant or no, this dwarf had given better information than the captain of his guard, and King Sondious rewarded those who served him well. He would take care of this poor boy and possibly allow him to remain in the court. Loyalty and fidelity held more value in his esteem than bravery and brawn, and this dwarf struck him as one who would remain faithful no matter the circumstances. And there was wisdom in having a fresh perspective around. Jase wasn’t someone groomed in Kraganere’s system, but a dwarf who had lived a hard life among the outcasts. Yes, the king thought, this dwarf could prove quite useful.

  Chapter 3

  The Life That Should Have Been

  In the faint light of dawn, Crushaw squatted and drew a crude map in the dirt near the gate to Kwarck’s farm, outlining the western mountains, the Mother of Ice, and the plains. Then, he marked where he wanted the ogres to set their defenses, several miles south of their border within the lands of Rugraknere. From traveling those lands with Roskin, he remembered an expansive field north of the last town they had stopped in that would serve perfectly. Across from him, Vishghu and Kwarck quietly watched, each staring intently at his scheme.

  “The Great Empire is here already,” he said, indicating the majority of Rugraknere. “So they’ll want to march north, clip the ogres’ western flank, and then turn against the Kiredurks. You must convince enough matriarchs to hold them here.” He dug the stick deeper into the dirt.

  “I know that area well,” Vishghu returned. “I’ll convince my mother, and she holds sway with many others.”

  “Good. I’ll approach from here,” he said, drawing an arrow from the east. “General Strauteefe is in command. He’ll want to wait for the spring thaw before advancing, but if you press forward in winter, he’ll be forced to meet you. I’ll arrive on the Winter Solstice.”

  “Does that give us time to train the army?” Kwarck asked, uncertainty tingeing his voice.

  “No, but it gives us the advantage of bad weather.”

  “I don’t know,” Kwarck said. “Extra time would be a better benefit.”

  “I agree with that,” Vishghu said. “My people could use the time to build better fortifications.”

  Crushaw dropped his stick and rose to full height. Despite his age, his presence became commanding and imposing. Clenching his jaw, he stared at them for several heartbeats, and their expressions changed from questioning to submissive. He exhaled sharply and pointed his right index finger first at Kwarck and then at Vishghu:

  “Do you know why I’ve never lost a pitched battle?”

  “I don’t doubt your judgment,” Kwarck said, lowering his eyes.

  “You’ve charged me with leading this army,” Crushaw snarled. “So do me the courtesy of answering me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Because I always choose the time and place,” he said, his voice a low growl. Shifting his attention to Vishghu, he continued, “Control those and you dictate the kind of battle fought. Strauteefe is cautious. He’s planning a siege up a mountain in the spring and summer. Do either of you know what that means?”

  Both shook their heads. Behind them at the gate, Vishghu’s buffalo stamped its front hoof, the sound startling in the quiet of morning.

  “He won’t have many long bows. Mostly crossbows for close range. And catapults and trebuchets. And infantry, heavily armored.”

  Vishghu nodded, a look of comprehension coming over her.

  “One thing the elves already know how to do is fire long bows accurately. That’s about our only advantage, and in heavy snow, I like long bows against armored infantry. I like knowing that catapults and trebuchets will be hard to maneuver. And I really like hitting my enemy before they want me to.”

  “You’re right, Crushaw,” Kwarck said. “I’m sorry.”

  “If you want me to lead, we do things my way.”

  “Understood.”

  “I like it,” Vishghu added. “And I’ll make sure we’re in place a few days before the solstice to draw them out.”

  Crushaw relaxed and breathed deeply. Of all the warriors he had trained, she was one of his favorites because she saw the larger canvas, much like he always had. Just over a year before, she had confronted him at this same gate, prepared to die to fulfill her duty of keeping him on the farm, and now, she was one of the few he trusted to execute a duty as imperative as this. Reconciling the forty years of violence against her people with the respect he had for her wasn’t easy, and part of him was ashamed of the hate he had carried against her kind. He knew there was no making amends for the ogres he had killed and tortured, but he hoped that helping them expel
the Great Empire would ease his shame slightly.

  “Get moving,” he said, extending his hand.

  She bypassed the handshake and hugged him, wrapping her massive arms around his shoulders. He returned the gesture as well as he could, his hands barely reaching her back, and pressed the side of his face against her chest.

  “I’ll see you both after the battle,” she said, stepping back.

  “Take care of yourself,” Kwarck said. “On your trip and on the battlefield.”

  “Remember your footwork,” Crushaw added.

  She nodded, reaching for the tether that bound her buffalo to the gate. As she mounted, Crushaw opened the gate and waited for her to ride through. She waved goodbye, and he closed the gate, watching her until she was out of sight. In his life, he had led and trained many soldiers, but that had always been business, devoid of emotion. Before Molgheon, other than a few elves on the plantation, no one had shown him much compassion, and as a result, he had always believed mercy the lowest of weaknesses. Then, Roskin had saved his life twice, and Kwarck nurtured him back to health. Now, he saw clearly Vishghu and Roskin were the closest things to children he would ever know, and he had watched both leave, uncertain if he would ever see them again. The feeling weighed on him foreign and heavy. Old age was making him sentimental, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. When he turned around after gathering himself, he was surprised to see Kwarck still standing there.

  “Do we need to clear the air?” the wizard asked.

  “We are friends. Nothing will change that, but if you want me in charge, never again question my leadership in front of someone. If you have concerns, talk to me privately. If these elves are going to follow me to the end, my authority must be absolute.”

  “You’re right,” Kwarck said, patting him on the shoulder. “You know far more about war than I do. It was foolish to question you.”

  “Do you want to make it up to me?”