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

by D. A. Adams

  “I’m sorry, my king. I had no idea.”

  “It’s worse. To the west, some great evil grows in the mountains. It’s killing many cattle, and all troops I’ve sent to investigate have never returned. The people are losing faith in my ability to rule.”

  “What is this evil?”

  “No one knows for certain. Some say it’s a monster roaming the slopes. Others have seen a crazed elf wandering there and believe he’s the culprit. All I know is that my soldiers are too scared to travel into those mountains and find it.”

  Bordorn stared at the floor, searching for something to say.

  “I know you’ve come to ask for troops, but as things stand, I have none to offer under these circumstances.”

  “I understand,” Bordorn mumbled, his stomach sinking.

  “However, I’ll make you a deal. If you and your friends can capture Alganeon and his inner circle and then destroy whatever evil this is to the west, I’ll give you all the troops I can spare.”

  “Can you send troops to help us with Alganeon?”

  “No, if he sees any of my soldiers, he’ll sneak out of town and hide like he always does.”

  Bordorn considered the twenty soldiers who had surrounded Krondious and him and the other ten who had entered the inn. Eight against thirty wasn’t easy odds, but then, he thought about Krondious, the Kiredurk who had slain three ogres without breaking a sweat and also a troll with one strike of his axe. Between his might and Roskin’s skill, the odds didn’t seem so daunting, so he found himself agreeing to the deal before even realizing he had done so.

  “Excellent, cousin,” the king said, the expression of sorrow lifting from his face. He called for his page. The dwarf entered from the antechamber, and the king spoke sternly, “Give these dwarves back their weapons and enough rations to reach Horseshoe Bend.” The page bowed and waited for Bordorn.

  “What should we do with Alganeon?” Bordorn asked.

  “Bring him to me. Dead or alive. It makes no difference. Now, get moving.”

  Bordorn nodded and followed the page out of the court. The Ghaldeons and Krondious would be pleased with the opportunity to face Alganeon again so soon, but Bordorn wasn’t sure how Roskin would react. Time was already against them, and this task was only the first they had to complete. The Kiredurk might not understand why they would have to spend so much time helping the Ghaldeon king, but Bordorn believed he had made the right choice.

  ***

  After Bordorn left, the king summoned his advisors back into the court. They took their seats and stared at him. He sat in silence, a smile stretching his red beard.

  “What was that all about?” one asked.

  “Killing three birds with one stone,” the king said. “The fool thinks I bought his nonsense about the Snivegohn Militia. Like we didn’t already know about the Great Empire taking the valley and preparing to attack the Kiredurks.”

  “What’s the plan?” another advisor asked.

  “First, they’ll subdue Alganeon for us. Then, I’m sending them to Mount Delkhun to investigate.”

  “The thing?”

  “Yes. Even if they succeed with Alganeon, the thing will do them in, and not only will the last of the house of Logruhk have no claim to this throne, the Kiredurks will be repaid for their treachery during the Resistance.”

  “But what if the Great Empire crosses Mount Lokholme?”

  “Then, they will face the might of our army on our slopes. The Great Empire is no threat to us here.”

  ***

  At the armory, Bordorn explained the deal to the group. As predicted, the Ghaldeons and Krondious slapped him on the back and cheered the news, but Roskin hung his head and didn’t speak. Bordorn moved beside him and extended his hand.

  “It’s the best I could do,” he said.

  Reluctantly, Roskin shook his hand and nodded.

  “We need to get moving,” Bordorn added.

  “We need clubs,” Roskin said.

  “Clubs?” Krondious asked, his hand rubbing his axe.

  “Yes, clubs. We’re not drawing blades on our kin.”

  “But we’re already outnumbered,” Krestreon said, his voice rising an octave.

  “I don’t care. We subdue them, not kill them.”

  “Can you lend us clubs?” Bordorn asked the page. He had known Roskin long enough to identify his obstinance.

  The page shrugged, a bemused expression on his face. He opened a cabinet, retrieved eight clubs, and passed them to the group.

  “This the biggest you got?” Krondious asked, looking at the stick.

  The page nodded and closed the cabinet. Then, he led them to the pantry, where they gathered rations for the trip. He finally showed them to the stable where their horses had been fed, watered, and groomed. The Ghaldeons took the bridles and led them from the stable, turning down the road back to Horseshoe Bend. Bordorn trailed behind the group a few feet, hoping he had made the right choice accepting this deal.

  ***

  Roskin stopped just before the bridge and explained that they would leave their horses there and march into town, armed only with the clubs. On the way out of Kehldeon, Krondious had exchanged his club for an axe handle with a merchant who didn’t want to make the trade but also didn’t want to argue with the thick-chested white beard. They would walk down the middle of the broad street and stop near the inn. Roskin expected the thugs to surround them, so he wanted the Ghaldeons to guard their rear, while he, Bordorn and Krondious would take on any in front.

  Bordorn adjusted the shield on his left arm and then picked up his club with his right. He gripped the handle with his sweaty palm and walked between Roskin and Krondious. The Ghaldeons followed them, and Bordorn glanced back at them. Krestreon winked at him and grinned, and Bordorn nodded back, but he was too nervous to smile. In the safety of Kehldeon, this idea had seemed simple enough, but now, on the rutted street of Horseshoe Bend, it seemed foolish to willingly face such overwhelming odds armed only with fancy sticks. He wished he had demanded the king send troops for backup.

  As they neared the inn, the same group of dwarves sat on the porch, and again, at the sight of them, one jumped up and scurried off to another building. This time, however, two rushed into the inn. Roskin motioned the group to fan out. He and Krondious moved close to opposite edges of the porch, leaving Bordorn alone in the middle, and the Ghaldeons turned around and also fanned out. After a few moments, well-armed dwarves appeared from the other building and approached. The three remaining on the porch rose and walked in front of Bordorn. Within seconds, they were completely surrounded, not by thirty but closer to forty heavily armed dwarves.

  “You flea beards don’t listen too well,” Alganeon called from the inn’s porch.

  “Tell these dwarves to lay down their weapons,” Roskin responded. “And we’ll only deliver you to the king.

  “Not only can’t you hear,” Alganeon said, laughing. “You don’t see so well, either. This time, we throw your corpses in the river for the fish.”

  “Last chance,” Roskin growled.

  Bordorn raised his shield and readied his club. The thugs drew their swords into low guard, the afternoon sun glinting off the metal. A bead of sweat dripped from Bordorn’s nose, and he glanced at Krondious, who leaned on his axe handle like he was taking a break from a leisurely stroll. Astounded by the Kiredurk’s nerves, Bordorn refocused on the dwarves directly across from him. They glared at him without a trace of mercy.

  Alganeon yelled for his troops to attack. Suddenly, all became a torrent of motions and sounds. Bordorn braced for the assault, using his shield to block the strikes of the three who reached him first. The swords thudded against the metal within a heartbeat of each other, and the force of their blows drove him back a step. As they recovered to strike again, he swung his club at the one to his right, hitting the dwarf firmly in the shoulder. The brown-bearded dwarf winced from the impact and staggered back, but the other two slashed again. Bordorn blocked them, but
before he could counter, they hacked at his shield, this time pushing him back another step.

  He swung wildly but missed, which left him off-balance. They raised their swords to high guard and slashed downward. He raised his shield just in time to block both blows, but his arm stung from absorbing all the hits. He scrambled backwards and regained his footing, but the thugs were relentless, charging again. This time, they swung from opposite directions, and he blocked one with his shield and the other with his club. His breath came in heavy gulps, and his legs had grown cumbersome. To make matters worse, the third had recovered from the hit to his shoulder and was rejoining the fight. Bordorn stiffened, hoping his strength would hold out.

  ***

  As soon as Alganeon spoke, Krondious sprang forward, swinging his handle in sweeping arc with his right hand. He struck two Ghaldeons in their faces with his first swing, crumpling them to the ground. Then, with his left hand, he backhanded a third, knocking him off-balance. Before the dwarf could recover, Krondious jabbed him in the mouth with the handle, and the dwarf collapsed. The others charging him stopped mid-stride and backpedaled away. One stumbled on a rut and fell on his backside. Krondious kicked him in the head, knocking him out, before engaging the other three.

  With three quick blasts from the axe handle, he took care of them before they could react and turned to check on Roskin. Seeing that the heir was also handling his group with ease, he then found Bordorn, who had three dwarves overwhelming him. Krondious sprinted to his friend and, swinging as hard as he could, broke the leg of the first one he reached. Screaming in agony, the dwarf tumbled into the next one. Bordorn gathered himself and struck the third one in the side of the head. The dwarf slumped backwards and fell to the ground.

  “Stay down,” Bordorn said to the second one, who was trying to push his wounded friend off him.

  The dwarf dropped his sword, and Bordorn kicked it from his reach. Krondious looked at the five Ghaldeons and saw that they needed help, so he asked if Bordorn was okay. He nodded, gasping for breath. Krondious patted him on the shoulder and then raced to the Ghaldeons. The thugs were encircling them, so he drove into them, swinging wildly. The first three he struck tumbled to the street in awkward clumps, and the others froze from surprise, giving the freed slaves an opportunity to attack. Within moments, the battle was settled.

  ***

  As soon as he finished off the last thug, Roskin looked at the inn, searching for Alganeon. The dwarf had fled the porch, and Roskin spotted him ducking down an alley. The Kiredurk sprinted after him. From living above ground for hundreds of years, Ghaldeons were good runners, but Roskin was half-elf and a foot taller than Alganeon. No dwarf had ever beaten him in a foot race, and he caught the fleeing magistrate easily. Roskin shouted for him to halt, and the dwarf drew his sword and turned. Roskin stopped and crouched into a defensive posture.

  “Give it up,” he said, readying his club.

  “This is my town,” Alganeon returned, feigning with his sword.

  “Not anymore. Lay down your weapon.”

  Alganeon attacked, a clumsy, desperate thrust that Roskin sidestepped. As the Ghaldeon stumbled from the miss, Roskin jabbed him in his exposed ribs with the club. The dwarf howled from the pain and sank to his hands and knees. Roskin pounced on his back and, gripping each end, pulled the club against Alganeon’s windpipe. The magistrate struggled briefly but soon blacked out. Roskin knocked his sword out of reach and searched him for more weapons. He removed two daggers from the dwarf’s belt and tucked them in his own. Then, he rifled through Alganeon’s pockets until he found a large bag of coins. He rose from the prone dwarf and gripped the bag with his left hand.

  “On your feet,” he snarled, nudging him awake with the club.

  Coughing and sputtering from the choke hold, Alganeon managed to stand. Roskin led him back to the inn, where Bordorn had the others tying up the dazed troops. Many dwarves had appeared from surrounding buildings and gawked at the scene. Kohldorn had also emerged from the inn and stood on the porch, smiling broadly. Roskin shoved Alganeon at Krondious, who grabbed the Ghaldeon and held him fast while one of the freed slaves bound his wrists.

  “You pissed off the wrong dwarves,” Krondious snarled.

  Alganeon hung his head, disbelief and shame on his face.

  “Lucky for you we only had sticks,” Krondious continued.

  “That’s enough,” Roskin barked. “Gather their weapons and put them in a pile. All of you make sure the ropes are secure and keep an eye on them.”

  Roskin turned to Kohldorn and asked if he would join him in the tavern. Once inside, Roskin dumped the bag of coins on the table and sorted through them, picking out the ones he recognized as his. Then, he scraped the remaining money back into the bag and handed it to the barkeep.

  “I’m certain these belong to the dwarves of this town. Will you make sure they’re divided evenly?”

  “With pleasure,” Kohldorn replied. “He also has a safe next door and keeps the key in his boot. There’s no telling how much he’s stashed in there.”

  “Rotten scum.”

  “I knew you’d return. The moment I saw you, I knew you weren’t a coward.”

  “I appreciate that, but my friends are the ones you should praise. They’re the reason we came back.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re their leader. In all my years, I’ve never seen anyone fight like you and that white beard. Clubs against swords, too! If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t believe it.”

  Roskin thanked him for the compliment and asked if the barkeep had anything to keep his coins in. The old dwarf hurried into the back and returned with a small cloth pouch. It was worn and aged, and Roskin could tell it had belonged to the dwarf for many years.

  “This was my father’s,” Kohldorn said, holding it out.

  “I can’t take that.”

  “Hogwash! I don’t have children. I’d be honored to say you’re the dwarf I passed it on to.”

  Without thinking, Roskin hugged the dwarf and thanked him. Kohldorn returned the embrace and started crying. The Kiredurk released his hug asked what was wrong.

  “I thought I’d die under the heel of Alganeon,” he said. “You’ve made an old dwarf very happy.”

  Roskin wiped his own eyes and smiled. Kohldorn composed himself and handed over the pouch. Roskin dropped in his coins and attached it to his belt. The old dwarf smiled.

  “Daddy would’ve approved,” he said.

  Roskin motioned for them to head back outside. The barkeep led the way, and as they stepped outside, they were greeted by a loud cheer from the crowd gathering in the street. Hundreds of dwarves had come from their shops and homes to see if the rumor spreading through town was true. Roskin waved to them, and they cheered even louder. He stepped from the porch and walked to Alganeon.

  “Give me the key,” he said.

  “What key?”

  “Do you really want Krondious to remove your boots?”

  The dwarf sighed and bent over. Struggling with his bound hands, he removed his left boot and dumped the key onto the dirt. Roskin picked it up and handed it to Kohldorn. The barkeep asked Krondious to help, and the two disappeared into the building where the safe was hidden. A few minutes later, they emerged, Krondious carrying four large sacks of coins. The Kiredurk hefted them onto the porch of the inn, and a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Roskin hopped onto the porch and raised his hands to silence them.

  “Dwarves of Horseshoe Bend, this money belongs to you.”

  The townspeople erupted in wild cheers. Roskin waited for the din to die down before continuing:

  “Kohldorn will distribute it equally among you, but you must give him time to count and divide it.”

  As the crowd erupted again, Bordorn stepped onto the porch and leaned in close to Roskin.

  “Someone’s gonna have to maintain order,” he whispered. “Otherwise, this’ll turn into a wild mob.”

  “We have to get moving,” Roskin whispered back.


  “Yes, we do, but I have an idea.”

  Roskin stared at him, waiting to hear it.

  “Leave Krestreon and the other Ghaldeons here to restore order. They can rejoin us when we come back through.”

  Roskin glanced down at the Ghaldeons, whose attention was still focused on watching their prisoners. He liked the notion but wasn’t certain the three of them could escort nearly forty dwarves all the way to Kehldeon. He whispered the concern to Bordorn.

  “We can get a few volunteers to travel with us. Kohldorn can tell us if they’re trustworthy.”

  Roskin nodded. The freed slaves deserved the time to rest in soft beds and eat hot meals. He called Krestreon to the porch and asked what he thought of the idea. The dwarf’s mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide. He tried to speak but no words would come. Roskin put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and smiled.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said to the dwarf. He raised himself erect and addressed the crowd once more. “This is Krestreon. He disappeared from here many years ago and survived the torment of slavery.”

  The crowd broke into flurries of conversations as they asked each other if they recognized or remembered him. A handful of dwarves pushed through the throng and approached Krestreon, tears streaming down their faces. The freed slave recognized them as family and hugged each one. His aunt explained that his parents had moved south, unable to bear the pain of losing him and his papaw, but were still living. Krestreon broke into sobs and hugged her. As they embraced, Roskin silenced the crowd again:

  “We have to deliver these dwarves to the king, but Krestreon and these four will remain to assist rebuilding your town. We need a few volunteers to help escort them. Any interested in traveling to the capital should meet us at the bridge in one hour. Everyone rejoice. You are free once more.”

  The crowd exploded in a cacophony of wild cheers, and Roskin turned and walked inside the inn. Kohldorn, Krondious, and Bordorn followed him, and Roskin asked the barkeep if he had any rabbit stew prepared. The old dwarf smiled and led them to the tavern. He motioned for them to sit and disappeared into the back. The three dwarves sat in silence, waiting for his return. When he came out, carrying the steaming bowls of soup, they devoured the meal, and all three agreed, it was the best rabbit stew they had ever tasted.