by D. A. Adams
“Training is over,” Crushaw said. “You did well, young master. Pack your things. It’s time to march.”
“You remember our deal, right?”
“I do,” Crushaw said, turning for the house.
Suvene walked beside him, and Crushaw wished he could renege on the bargain. He admired the orc’s loyalty and skill. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought it possible for him to respect an orc, but Suvene was unique. He displayed respect and carried himself with dignity. He also valued life, not just his own, but others’ as well. It would be a shame to kill such a fine warrior, but a deal was a deal.
***
The leaders of the three races of dwarves met outside the barn where Leinjar and his sons had spent the night. After a few minutes of discussion, they agreed to split up to chase after the remaining soldiers. The General of Dorkhun would cut through the Kiredurk kingdom and head for Rugraknere. Leinjar would lead the Tredjards across the mountains, following the humans’ tracks. Bordorn would take the Ghaldeon volunteers across Mount Khendar into Murkdolm. If the humans were there, he would wait for Leinjar before attacking. If they weren’t, the Ghaldeons would raze the barracks and gather more volunteers.
“What about you?” the General of Dorkhun asked Krondious. “Want to join our ranks?”
“I’d like to stay with Bordorn if it’s all the same,” the white beard replied. “I want to search for Roskin.”
“I respect that,” the general said, stroking his beard. “When you find him, tell him the Kiredurks salute the Eleventh Heir of the Eighth Kingdom.”
“Let’s get moving,” Leinjar said. “There’s a lot of ground to cover.”
The dwarves said farewells and headed to their individual camps. Bordorn and Krondious headed for the southern section, where the Ghaldeon general had set up camp. The Ghaldeon army would remain there to secure the valley and restore order. The human prisoners, for their punishment, would bury dead and repair farms that had been damaged. Bordorn would lead only the volunteer army to Murkdolm. The nineteen oldest, who were too old to march and fight, had chosen to return home.
“I wish Roskin could see this, Kronny,” Bordorn said as they marched.
“Me, too.”
“The three races of dwarves united. I never thought I’d live to see it myself.”
When they reached camp, Bordorn explained to the general the decisions they had reached. The Ghaldeon liked the plans and asked when the volunteers would be heading out. Bordorn told him as soon as they packed provisions and then asked to speak with the general in private. The two excused themselves and walked behind a barn, damaged and crumbling from the battle. When they were alone, Bordorn spoke:
“May I ask one favor?”
“Of course,” the general responded.
“Make sure these humans are treated fairly?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve seen how the Great Empire treats dwarves. Some may want retribution, but we’re better than that.”
“I see,” the general said, scratching his beard. “Define fair.”
“No beatings, regular meals, and decent clothing for this weather.”
“To what end?”
“To show them our hearts. To not sink to their level, as so many of our kin already have.”
“Like Johreon?”
“Exactly. We need to remind our people who we truly are.”
“You’re wise beyond your years,” the general said, bowing his head. “I’ll see to it myself.”
After shaking hands, the two returned to camp, where Krondious held the bridle to their horse and scanned the clouds on the horizon. He said more snow was coming, and both dwarves agreed. Bordorn and Krondious said goodbye to the general and strode to the volunteers. They organized the dwarves for the march, sending many to nearby farms to ask for rations. Within minutes, the dwarves returned, followed by farmers who carried baskets of food. One farmer donated his wagon, which was quickly loaded to the brim with baskets. The farmers thanked the volunteers over and over, shaking hands and offering to provide more food if needed. Bordorn, who knew many of them, insisted they had donated enough. He spent a few minutes chatting with his old neighbors, and they patted him on the back and shook his hand more times than he could count. He excused himself and called for the volunteers to march. Waving farewell to the smiling farmers, Bordorn started for the road over Mount Khendar. If more snow were coming, the volunteers needed to cover as much ground as possible before sunset.
***
On Mount Khendar, Kwarck spotted the volunteers approaching and told Roskin. The Kiredurk doubled his pace, and as he closed the distance, their fuzzy images came into focus. Seeing Bordorn and Krondious, he called out and ran towards them. They rushed forward and greeted him, all three dwarves hugging in the middle of the road.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Krondious said, looking at the cuts on his arms and his busted lip.
“Is he dead?” Bordorn asked.
“Yes,” Roskin returned softly. “And this world is better for it.”
When Kwarck caught up, Roskin introduced them, and the hermit removed his pack to find herbs for the cuts and scratches they had received in the battle. As he did, Roskin asked what had happened in the valley. Bordorn and Krondious took turns explaining the story, from the ambushes to Leinjar’s assault. At mention of the Tredjard’s name, Roskin smiled, grateful his intuition had been correct. After all Leinjar had endured, the thought of him leading Tredjards into battle warmed Roskin’s heart.
“Are you heading to Murkdolm?” Roskin asked.
“Yes,” Bordorn said. “Some soldiers escaped the valley. We split into three groups to hunt them down.”
“I doubt they’ll go to Murkdolm,” Kwarck said. “They’ll try to join up with the force in Rugraknere.”
“If they aren’t in Murkdolm, we plan to burn their barracks and free that town,” Bordorn said. “Then, we may head to Sturdeon.”
Roskin turned to Kwarck and asked if the hermit would be okay traveling to Dorkhun alone. The half-elf laughed and reminded Roskin that he’d lived alone for many years. Roskin removed his cloak with the royal insignia and draped it across Kwarck’s shoulders. He explained that the hermit would have little trouble reaching the city, but once there, he would have to let Roskin guide him through secret passages to reach the injured king. Kwarck nodded and embraced the heir.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispered in Roskin’s ear. “Stay safe.”
“Please, take care of my father,” Roskin returned.
Kwarck assured him he would, shouldering his backpack. They said farewell, and the hermit continued on the road towards the Snivegohn Valley. Bordorn turned to the volunteers closest and introduced Roskin. Several dwarves came forward and shook his hand, and the Kiredurk bowed before them, thanking them for their efforts against the Great Empire. Word quickly spread through their column that the Kiredurk heir had joined them, and from the back, several more dwarves called out to him.
“Let’s get moving,” Bordorn said, eyeing the clouds.
“Yes,” Roskin returned, starting forward. “We’re not far from the pass.”
As they marched, Bordorn and Krondious pressed for details about what had happened with Lorac, and Roskin described what he could remember from meeting the elf on Mount Delkhun until seeing Kwarck on Mount Khendar. They asked about the fight, and Roskin simply said that he had beaten him. Krondious teased him about being too humble, but the heir went silent, not wanting to think about Lorac anymore. One day, he would tell them more, but for now, he needed to forget the hold the elf had had on him. For now, he needed to take comfort in the fact that the valley was free and the southern gate was safe. Without his cloak, the cold air made him shiver, a sensation all too familiar. Seeing him shake, Krondious pulled a blanket from their pack on the horse and handed it to him. Thanking his friend, he draped it across his shoulders and wrapped it tight against his body. As they climbed closer to the p
ass, he reached out to his mother, asking her to help him forget the Dark One. The same warmness he had felt from Kwarck filled him, and he pressed forward, grateful for the blessings in his life.
***
King Sondious rubbed his aching legs and asked the messenger to repeat the request from the General of Dorkhun. The messenger restated that Captain Roighwheil was in custody but that the general needed troops to reinforce the southern gate as he fought in the valley. The king looked around the table at his advisors, most of whom cast their eyes downwards, detached from the meeting. King Sondious slammed his hand on the marble table and screamed for them to pay attention. The advisors jumped from the sound and looked at him. He glanced at Jase, who sat at the king’s right. The fat dwarf finished his tankard of ale and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Troops for the southern gate. What do you make of this?” the king asked.
“Well, I’ve been thinking that this general might be in cahoots with Roskin,” Jase said.
“I’ve thought that, too,” King Sondious responded, scanning his advisors.
“I’d send another regiment to hunt them down and kill them,” Jase added.
“That’s what they want me to do,” the king muttered, rubbing his legs harder. “To leave the city’s defenses desperately thin.”
“You can’t let them get away with this,” Jase said, picking up a turkey leg.
“No, I can’t. I must secure the kingdom and create peace in these tunnels.”
“They all need to hang,” Jase said, chewing a hunk of meat.
“Yes,” King Sondious said, watching the dwarf eat, disgusted by his manners. “But they want me to weaken my position.”
“My king, what if this threat is real?” an advisor asked. “The General of Dorkhun is loyal to the throne.”
“The only threat is from within,” the king whispered to himself. Then, to the room, “Send runners to the eastern and Rugraknere gates. Order all troops to return to Dorkhun at once. We’ll defend this city to the last dwarf.”
“King Sondious, I don’t think that’s wise,” the advisor pressed.
“Silence! Or I’ll make an example of you.”
The advisor folded her hands and lowered her head. Sondious peered at her, breathing heavily through his nose and grinding his teeth. He would have to watch her, for obviously she was part of the plot against him. After a few moments, he repeated his orders and asked why everyone was waiting. The advisors sprang up and quickly filed from the room. The king turned to Jase, who licked turkey grease from his fingers.
“Do you disagree with my decision?” the king asked.
“No,” Jase said, lifting his tankard. “You’ve outsmarted them. I would’ve stumbled into the trap.”
“These are dark days, Jase. They want to remove me from this throne and put Roskin here.”
“He’s a sorry snake,” Jase replied. “You’re the rightful king.”
“Yes, the First King of the Ninth Kingdom.”
Sondious stared at the polished table, wondering why others couldn’t see all he wanted was the best for them. Roskin and Kraganere had nearly ruined the kingdom. They had gotten him crippled and started war, only to surrender before the fight was finished. They were unfit to rule. He was a true king. He would crush Roskin and his puny rebellion. Once those who opposed him were out of the way, he would rebuild the kingdom greater than it had ever been, driving the ogres east to take their lands and then claiming the Snivegohn Valley for the Kiredurks. He saw the future clearly. If everyone would just follow and trust him as Jase did, he would lead them back to peace and prosperity.
***
Vishghu sat behind her mother at the gathering of matriarchs and peered over her shoulder to study the battle plans. Of this group, only she and her mother knew of the elven army approaching from the east. The solstice was four days away, and they were still camped a mile from where Crushaw wanted them. However, they had built the fortifications the other matriarchs demanded, and as she studied the plans, she saw that her mother had convinced them to move forward the next day to wait for the humans to meet them. That morning heavy snows had fallen, blanketing the entire area in nearly a foot of fresh powder. So far, Crushaw’s plan was coming together perfectly. As long as they could hold their line until the solstice, the trap was set. She leaned back and smiled. The ogres had suffered for too long. Now, the time was at hand to drive out the Great Empire and begin a new era of peace.
About the Author
D. A. Adams is a novelist, a farmer, a professor of English, and in my estimation, a true gentleman. His breakout fantasy series, The Brotherhood of Dwarves, transcends genre and illuminates the human soul in all its flashes of glory and innumerable failings.
He is active on the Con circuit and has contributed writing to literary as well as fine art publications, and maintains his active blog, “The Ramblings of D. A. Adams”. He lives and works in East Tennessee, and is the proud father of two boys, Collin and Finn.
His ability as a storyteller breathes life into every character, and his craftsmanship as a writer makes these stories about relationships; human or otherwise.
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Lands of the Brotherhood of Dwarves
Also Available in the Brotherhood of Dwarves Series:
Book Four of
Title Information
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
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