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

by D. A. Adams

  I offer my life in place of the boy’s, Kwarck said.

  Why would I want a pathetic healer when I have a warrior in his prime?

  You know my powers. You’ve sought them for years.

  I no longer need them.

  There’s no chance this will work. Even if you reach the forest, the two of you will not be allowed to stay.

  And who will stop us? It seems all the warriors have left.

  Kwarck froze at the thought. An image of Lorac and Roskin standing over the slain elders filled him, and Lorac laughed.

  Thank you for giving me the path home, the dark one said.

  I will stop you.

  You will die.

  With that, Lorac shoved Kwarck from his mind, and the hermit collapsed, gasping for breath. Slowly, the coldness faded, and he struggled to his hands and knees. Contacting Lorac filled him with the same poisoned sensation as the night of darkness, and he crawled to the stream and washed his hands again. As the water rushed over his skin, the feeling evaporated. He settled by the stream and stared at the stars twinkling in the darkness. Though it had sickened him, connecting with Lorac had shown him two things: He now knew where they were in the Ghaldeon lands, and Lorac hadn’t yet fully broken Roskin’s mind. Otherwise, the two would already be moving to the Koorleine Forest. Roskin was stronger than Kwarck had believed. He smiled at that and drifted off to sleep, the sound of the stream in his ears.

  ***

  In the first light of morning, Bordorn stood on the steps of the inn with Krestreon and Krondious, looking out at the dwarves who had come to join them. Roskin and Lorac were nowhere in sight, and they had taken the horse. As Bordorn scanned the crowd, he noticed that nearly all the dwarves carried bows, but few had swords. From the crowd, an old dwarf stepped forward and bowed.

  “I fought against the Great Empire when they first attacked our lands, and I served in the Resistance for many years. Is it true you plan to drive them from our lands?”

  “We will fight them,” Bordorn said. “But our numbers are few.”

  “I’m old, now, and not the warrior I once was, but you have my bow,” the dwarf said, kneeling. Behind him, the others knelt, too.

  “Please, know,” Bordorn said. “The king isn’t sending any troops.”

  “He’s no king of mine,” the old dwarf said, struggling to his feet. “I serve the house of Logruhk.”

  Dozens of Ghaldeons echoed the old dwarf, and Bordorn warmed at the mention of his great uncle. He had no memory of the vanished king, but during his days among the Kiredurks, his uncle had told him many stories. King Logruhk had been a kind and generous Ghaldeon, and though he lacked the military skills to fight the Great Empire, his uncle had always claimed he was regarded as a good king. Hearing these dwarves, some of whom like him hadn’t even been born when the king disappeared, affirmed all his uncle had told him. He stepped off the porch and shook the old dwarf’s hand.

  “It’s an honor to meet you,” Bordorn said.

  “Are you King Logruhk’s son?” the dwarf asked, peering at him.

  “No,” Bordorn said, taken aback.

  “You look like him.”

  Bordorn had been told that as a boy by his kin, the ones who had sought exile among the Kiredurks, but hearing it from a stranger struck him as somehow more real. He thanked the old dwarf and told the crowd to get plenty of rest, for they would march for Mount Lokholme at first light the next morning. The dwarves cheered at the news and disbanded, moving to their campsites on the edge of town. Bordorn returned to the porch, where Krondious stared at him.

  “Are you crazy?” the white beard asked. “We can’t attack that army with them.”

  “It’s okay, Kronny,” Bordorn said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I have a plan.”

  ***

  Bordorn found Roskin and Lorac in the woods across from the inn. Roskin sat on the earth, staring down, his expression almost catatonic, and the elf stood motionless, still gazing to the east. Bordorn sat beside Roskin and touched his friend’s arm. Without looking up, the heir jerked away and wrapped his arms more tightly around his body.

  “Ghaldeons have come to help us fight,” Bordorn offered. “We march at first light.”

  “Where?” Roskin asked.

  “The slopes of Lokholme.”

  “Is that where I want to go?” Roskin asked Lorac.

  “No, we need to move east.”

  “Look here!” Bordorn said, standing and placing his hand on his sword’s pommel.

  Lorac spun around, one of his swords drawn, and pressed the tip of the blade to Bordorn’s neck. The elf’s aged face twisted in a ravenous contortion of hate that sent a chill through the Ghaldeon.

  “The only reason you still have life is because I choose not to end it.”

  “Roskin’s home is in danger,” Bordorn whispered, moving his hand from his sword.

  “His home is in the Koorleine Forest.”

  “I think I’m supposed to go north,” Roskin said, looking up at them as if they were having a pleasant conversation. “I can’t remember why, but it seems important.”

  “Fine,” Lorac said, sheathing his sword as quickly as he had drawn it. “We head north, for now.”

  Bordorn backed away slowly, afraid to turn his back. Never had he seen such a look of pure hatred, and he shook with fear. As he backpedaled, he repeated that they would leave at first light, and Lorac turned east, ignoring him. Roskin looked back at the ground, shivering beneath his cloak and tunic. When Bordorn reached a safe distance, he turned and ran from the woods. He had never considered himself a coward, but the elf terrified him. He wanted to get Roskin away from danger, but he had no idea how to do so without bloodshed, for he knew if he and a group of dwarves attacked the elf, Roskin would defend him. Lorac had so far shown no inclination to hurt the Kiredurk, and as he neared the inn, Bordorn decided it was best not to tell Krondious what had just happened.

  Composing himself, he entered the building and walked to the tavern where Krondious and Krestreon were finishing their breakfasts. Bordorn unhooked his scabbard and leaned his weapon against the wall before sitting. Kohldorn asked if he wanted a plate, and he nodded, though his stomach still burned with fear. Krondious glanced up at him and asked if he were okay.

  “Yeah, just a lot on my mind.”

  “A handful more dwarves arrived this morning,” Krestreon said, cutting into a sausage. “Word is spreading throughout the lands.”

  “My cousin won’t like that,” Bordorn returned, scratching his beard. “Have you already returned all that money to the people?”

  “The copper and silver, yes. We’re still dividing the gold. Why?”

  “Take half of it and put it in a chest. When soldiers arrive, offer it as a gift for the king.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Krestreon said, looking up from his plate.

  “You should stay and keep order,” Bordorn replied, folding his hands on the table. “We’re gonna need a supply line, and the king knows you are in charge here. If you give him that gold, he’ll be pleased for awhile.”

  “I want to defend my home,” Krestreon said, growing agitated.

  “You are,” Krondious interjected. “Bordorn’s right. You can keep a supply line open so we don’t starve through the winter.”

  “You’re a fine warrior. Better than I am,” Bordorn said. “But the dwarves in this town already trust you. If you leave now, there’s no telling what will happen.”

  “Okay,” Krestreon said, looking out the window. “But I don’t like it.”

  “Just think,” Bordorn chuckled. “You’ll probably get to fight the king’s troops before it’s all over with.”

  “You’re not helping,” Krestreon said.

  Krondious laughed and slapped Krestreon on the shoulder. The Ghaldeon looked at him and then Bordorn. At first, his expression remained serious, but then, a smile came to his lips, and finally, he laughed, too. At his laughter, Krondious roared even harder, which caused Bordo
rn to start. From the back, Kohldorn brought Bordorn his plate and asked what joke he had missed.

  “These two are crazy,” Krestreon said, still laughing.

  “You just now figure that out?” Bordorn asked, winking at Krondious.

  “All three of you seem a bit odd to me,” Kohldorn said.

  The three dwarves howled with laughter, and the barkeep shook his head and walked away. Bordorn wiped his eyes and looked down at his plate. Though he was about to launch a dangerous plan, at least he knew these dwarves. He was glad to have Krestreon keeping this town secure and Krondious at his side. His idea for fighting the Great Empire might get them all killed, but at least he would die having known good friends. In his life, he had been driven from home, maimed in battle, and betrayed by his cousin, and through all that, here he was laughing over breakfast. He only wished Roskin would come inside and join them. The Kiredurk’s behavior worried him, and he had no idea what would happen with the elf. Despite the uncertainty, he felt confident his plan had a chance.

  ***

  A week later, Bordorn and Krondious stood at the pass on Mount Lokholme. Krondious held the horse’s bridle and rubbed its nose to keep it calm. Behind them over a hundred Ghaldeons formed a line down the mountain. At the tail of the line, barely in Bordorn’s sight, Roskin and Lorac followed. Bordorn told the dwarf at the front to spread word that from this point forward, they would need to march as stealthily as possible. The dwarf nodded and whispered it to the one behind him. Then, Bordorn glanced at Krondious and asked if he were ready. The white beard nodded, so Bordorn started over the crest and down the mountain.

  They descended the steep slope, treading carefully on the loose path. A cold wind blew from the north, carrying the first hint of winter. Bordorn brought up the hood of his cloak to cover his ears and glanced occasionally to the east, watching for an opening that looked down on the valley. Throughout the afternoon, they moved slowly, winding their way along the path. At three thousand feet above the valley floor, Bordorn spotted a clearing that overlooked the land below. He halted the line, whispered for Krondious to hold them, and crept forward to the opening in the trees.

  Below him, just over a mile away, the army spread across the valley. He had barely seen them on their way out of the kingdom, for Roskin had been focused on avoiding them, but now, staring down at the force, the reality of ten thousand armed troops made his heart sink. As far as he could see, smoke rose from hundreds of campfires, and soldiers moved around the valley like a colony of ants. Remembering his plan, he studied the contour of the mountain. At this point, the slope leveled out, and about a half mile below the trees had been cleared by farmers. This area would work perfectly.

  He hurried back to the path and motioned for the group to follow. They moved off the trail and cut across the rough terrain until they reached the clearing in the forest. Bordorn moved them a few yards south, until they were behind a thick grove of ponderosa pines on a relatively level spot. He whispered for them to gather around, and as word spread, the group formed a tight huddle. Kneeling down, he drew a crude map on the dirt, marking the army, the line where the trees had been cleared, and their current position.

  “Many of you saw the force we face through that clearing,” he said, loud enough for those close enough to hear. He paused and allowed the others to repeat what he had said to those in the rear. “Clearly, we can’t fight that many head on.

  “We are here,” he continued, pointing to his mark in the dirt. “And here’s what we’re going to do.”

  He explained that those with bows would divide into two groups and spread to opposite ends of the tree line. Each group would have swordsmen who would stay hidden in the woods. On his signals, one group of archers would sprint to firing range and unleash two to three volleys. As soldiers gave chase, they would retreat to the woods. If many soldiers followed them, they and the swordsmen would keep retreating until the humans gave up. If only a few gave chase, the swordsmen would jump them as soon as they entered the woods. They would attack at random, sometimes multiple ambushes a day, and sometimes none, that way the army couldn’t predict when or from which side an attack might come.

  “What about those who are too old to run?” the dwarf who first spoke at Horseshoe Bend asked.

  “Those dwarves will stay here and hold the camp. It’s a solid mile to their lines and at least a half mile to the tree line. At any point, you can start up the mountain.”

  The old dwarf nodded, satisfied with the answer. Bordorn told the dwarves to divide into groups, and for several minutes, there was chaos as the dwarves moved about, searching for kin and friends to team with. Those with bows finally settled into two distinct units, and Bordorn told the remaining swordsmen to pick one to join. The dwarves who believed themselves too old to run, nineteen in total, formed a third unit. Bordorn counted each unit and asked Krondious to remember the numbers. The first group had thirty-four bows and ten swords. The second had twenty-nine bows and eleven swords. Only he, Krondious, Roskin, and Lorac weren’t in a group.

  “We can only harass them,” he said. “But we can chip away at their numbers like a miner flecks off stone. The more we can distract them, the better chance the Kiredurks have to drive them off Mount Gagneesh.”

  “What if they turn their bows against us?” a dwarf asked.

  “I don’t know much,” Bordorn said. “But they’re planning to invade the Kiredurk kingdom. I doubt they have many longbows. I’m guessing they brought more crossbows than anything, and we can easily stay out of range.”

  A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd.

  “We camp here tonight,” Bordorn continued. “No fires. If it gets cold, huddle together. Tomorrow, we’ll move into position and launch our first attack.”

  ***

  Captain Polmere sat in his tent, talking to his scout, who related that the trackers had found no trace of a tunnel or ambush to their east. The scout pointed to a map on the table, showing the entirety of the search area. The captain stared at the map, weighing his own thoughts. In his gut, he was certain the dwarves were planning some sort of ambush, but so far, there was no evidence. He wanted to trust his instincts, but given that the general had dismissed his concerns and the trackers had found nothing, he questioned his own judgment. He excused the scout and sat alone, leering at the map and wondering what he should do.

  ***

  As snow fell lightly on yellowed grass, Vishghu watched the ogre clans assemble outside her village. So far, nearly a thousand had come, and she and her mother agreed that would be enough to lure the army from Rugraknere. She had already packed her buffalo, carrying extra furs for the impending cold and two clubs. The ogres would ride out soon and camp a few miles from their final destination. The Winter Solstice was still a few weeks away, but the clan leaders had decided to arrive early to build fortifications before marching out to face the army.

  “Did you check on the food stores?” her mother asked.

  “Yes,” Vishghu replied. “Ten wagons, fully loaded. Once we reach the first camp, they’ll unload and return for more.”

  “Excellent. From all the signs, this winter will be heavy. We’ll need it. Do you have enough furs?”

  Vishghu nodded.

  “I want you to stay off the front.”

  “Why?”

  “To remain safe.”

  “This isn’t my first battle, Mother,” Vishghu said, thinking back to the plantation.

  “It’s your first against the humans.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “I know you’re not,” her mother said, reaching out and touching her arm. “But I am. When you have kids, you’ll understand.”

  Vishghu looked at her, expecting to see the same look of criticism she had come to expect, but instead, her mother stared back with tenderness. Vishghu grasped her mother’s arm and smiled.

  “I’m a good warrior,” she said. “I’ll stay safe.”

  “You’re my only daughter and the future matr
iarch of this clan. I couldn’t bear losing you.”

  An ogre arrived from the main group and said they were ready. Her mother thanked the messenger and mounted her buffalo. Vishghu also mounted and followed her mother to the group. Before the battle began, she would stay near the rear, but once fighting commenced, she would make her way to the front and prove her worth to her mother and her clan. If she were to be matriarch one day, they would need to know she was a capable warrior. Otherwise, none would respect her, at least not like they respected her mother. She understood the matriarch’s desire to protect her, but she had learned from Crushaw that people followed actions, not words. She leaned forward and brushed snow from her buffalo’s thick mane. These snows were light, hardly more than a dusting, but her mother was right about one thing. All the signs pointed to a harsh winter.

  ***

  Bordorn stood with the group of archers to the north, looking down at the humans in the Snivegohn Valley. The morning air was cold and sharp, and the dwarves rubbed their arms to warm themselves. The thirty-four bows spread out just inside the tree line, and the ten swordsmen each hid behind a tree. At Bordorn’s signal, the archers would sprint from the hiding place, run halfway to the army, fire two volleys, and then run back. Bordorn would watch for how many soldiers followed, and if the number threatened to overrun their position, the swordsmen would retreat up the mountain. Bordorn would stay and signal for the archers to keep running. If few gave chase, they would hold this position.

  The dwarves, who a week before had been farmers and craftsmen, wore no armor, so Bordorn wasn’t concerned about them being able to outrun the heavily armored troops. His biggest fear was that too many troops might chase and overrun the camp where the elderly prepared meals and crafted arrows. If the humans reached that point, those dwarves would be helpless. In the back of his mind, he also feared Lorac might warn the humans, but when Bordorn had left camp that morning, the elf and Roskin were sitting away from the camp, seemingly indifferent. Still, Bordorn didn’t trust the elf.