The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5)

by A. Giannetti

  Despite the death of their commander, other Dwarves rushed by Elerian, voicing war cries as they bravely attacked the nearest Trolls with their hammers and axes. Despite the ferocity of their assault, Elerian saw that the Dwarves' axes were leaving only shallow wounds in the stony hides of the creatures. The hammer blows were also doing little damage although they did hurt the Trolls.

  “Their courage is useless here,” thought Elerian to himself as he watched the futile attack. “These are all mature Trolls, their flesh grown almost as hard as granite over the long years. Ordinary weapons will not overcome them.”

  Roaring with anger, the Trolls began to fight back against their small attackers, swinging their massive fists at the Dwarves while stamping and kicking with their great taloned feet. Elerian saw broken Dwarf bodies fall lifeless to the floor of the cavern while others flew over his head to land amongst the Dwarf troops packed into the cavern behind him. Behind Elerian, Ascilius seized a horn from a nearby Dwarf and blew mightily on it until the veins stood out like cords in his neck.

  “Pull back,” he shouted in his great voice. “We cannot hold them here!” When the Dwarves around Ascilius hesitated, questioning his authority to command them, he angrily struck the floor of the cavern with Fulmen. Light rivaling a lightning strike flashed from the hammer, and a deafening crack filled the air as the stone floor of the hall fractured where the hammer’s handle had struck it. “Pull back!” Ascilius shouted again, menacing the stunned Dwarves around him with his upraised hammer.

  “Pull back to the hall doors,” shouted Falco, adding his voice to that of Ascilius. “We can hold them there.”

  Forcing his way into the ranks of the Dwarves before him, Falco began to force his way toward the back of the hall. A trickle of Dwarves that soon became a flood fell in behind him, leaving Ascilius and Elerian alone in front of the ruined gate. On either side of it, the doors to the guardrooms flew open as the Dwarves who had defended the passageway between the inner and outer gates poured out into the hall, abandoning their posts in response to the horn blasts that called for everyone to retreat.

  Had they leapt among the retreating Dwarves, the Trolls might have wreaked enormous damage on their enemies, but drawn irresistibly to the scent of fresh blood and warm flesh that wafted up to their broad nostrils, they remained clustered in front of the inner gate. Yielding to their savage appetites, they picked up the broken bodies of the Dwarves lying at their feet, displaying a fearsome strength as they effortlessly tore away the Dwarves' mail shirts. Wrenching arms and legs from the corpses, they began devouring the still warm flesh of the slain Dwarves, tearing it away from the bones with their sharp fangs, bright blood running down their chins to puddle on the floor under their horny feet. Many of the retreating Dwarves paled at the terrible sight and averted their eyes.

  Behind the feasting Trolls, Elerian saw that ram was already being drawn out of the passageway by a fresh group of newly arrived Trolls, clearing the way for an assault on the city by the entire Goblin army.

  “Let us pull back also,” said Elerian urgently to Ascilius. “They will sweep us away in a moment.”

  “These creatures must first pay a price for feasting on the flesh of my people,” growled Ascilius in his deep voice. Before Elerian could interfere, he ran toward the closest Troll, his shield on his left arm and Fulmen raised high in his right hand.

  “Not again,” groaned Elerian to himself, cursing the blind courage of the Dwarf race as he sped after Ascilius.

  Avoiding a massive, bloodstained fist aimed at his head with an agile leap to his right, Ascilius broke the nearest Troll’s left leg with a single blow from Fulmen, white light briefly illuminating his grim face as the argentum inlaid in the hammerhead shone silvery white. As the Troll collapsed onto his right knee, he threw back his head, roaring in pain and anger. Leaping lightly past Ascilius, Elerian thrust Acris deep into the stony flesh of the creature’s exposed throat, the threads of argentum inlaid in the blade gleaming brightly as they drew on his power to enable Acris to penetrate the stony flesh of the Troll. Drawing on the wealth of power now stored in his ring, Elerian was spared the usual weakness he felt when his sword drew on his strength.

  “What a powerful weapon I gave up by weakening the ring,” he mused to himself as he sprang back, withdrawing his sword with the same motion. “If it could take power by force, I could clear this passageway singlehanded.” His brief thought was interrupted by Ascilius’s mighty voice.

  “That one was mine,” the Dwarf complained loudly to Elerian.

  Before the first drops of black blood from the wound Acris had inflicted splashed steaming onto the floor of the hall, Ascilius rushed among the other Trolls. Barely reaching the great creatures’ waists, he ran agilely between them, striking right and left with Fulmen as he rained down blow after blow on their great, horny feet. Elerian stepped away from the Troll he had killed, bemused for a moment by the sight of eleven great Trolls roaring in pain and dancing around on one foot as they cradled their injured members in their knotted hands.

  “Take that!” roared Ascilius as he flattened another stony foot. He meant to bring the whole troop to their knees if he could so that he might bash their heads in, but Fulmen was sapping even his great strength, slowing him down and making him lightheaded. Sensing an opportunity, a Troll standing stopped hopping about and swung a massive fist at the back of the Dwarf’s head. Springing lightly into the fray, Elerian swung Acris down in a glittering arc, cleanly shearing off the Troll’s huge hand at the wrist before it could strike Ascilius’s head. Upon hearing the creature’s roar of pain, Ascilius whirled around, dark eyes aflame with battle lust. Avoiding the black blood that shot from the Troll’s severed wrist and the hand that continued to clench and unclench on the floor as if still controlled by its master, Ascilius struck the creature on the left kneecap, breaking his leg. When the Troll collapsed onto its right knee, Ascilius leaped up and crushed its skull with a weighty blow from Fulmen. He staggered a bit from the aftereffects of the blow when his feet touched the floor, but that did not stop him from throwing Elerian a triumphant look.

  “We are even now,” he roared. “I will pass you with the next one.”

  “We should pull back with the others,” Elerian advised his companion, for the remaining Trolls had retreated into the passageway behind the ruined gate. Standing shoulder to shoulder with cold stone to guard their backs and sides, all the advantage was now on their side.

  “It is time to go, Ascilius,” shouted Elerian when Ascilius made no move to retreat. “You cannot maneuver between them now.” Eyes red with the battle fury that consumed him, Ascilius continued to ignore Elerian, instead menacing the Trolls with his upraised hammer.

  “Go back,” he shouted, “while you still can.”

  The Trolls laughed at Ascilius’s threat. Some of them made rude gestures with their great, clawed fingers while others taunted him, trying to incite him into attacking them again. Behind their bulky bodies, Elerian could see mutare massing in the passageway, their eyes glittering like yellow lamps in the shadows. Soon they would come pouring out to sweep away all before them like a dark flood.

  “We must retreat while we can,” Elerian shouted into Ascilius’s left ear, but still, the Dwarf ignored him.

  “In a moment, the fool will rush among them,” thought Elerian angrily to himself. Just then, he heard the pounding of heavy boots behind him. Turning his head, he saw Falco approaching with a dozen Dwarves at his back, all of them armed with long pikes.

  “Help me,” shouted Elerian to Falco.

  Sheathing Acris, he seized Ascilius from behind by both shoulders, but even his great strength failed to budge the furious Dwarf whose corded muscles seemed hard as stone beneath his mailed shirt.

  “Desperate measures,” thought Elerian to himself as he cast a spell. With his third eye, he saw golden light flow from his fingertips, covering Ascilius’s body in an instant. The Dwarf immediately became rigid, as if he had been turne
d to stone. When Elerian began to drag Ascilius away, the Trolls made as if to pursue him, but Falco bravely rushed forward with his small company, all of them thrusting their weapons at the Trolls, menacing their eyes and faces with their pike points. While they kept the Trolls at bay, Elerian picked up Ascilius in his arms and ran toward the exit to the hall, his awkward, heavy burden testing even his great strength.

  Behind him, Falco and his small company suddenly turned and ran for their lives when a swarm of howling mutare rushed between and past the Trolls. The uninjured Trolls joined the rush, eager to avenge their two dead companions.

  Upon reaching the passageway leading from the hall, Elerian stood Ascilius on his feet before releasing him from the spell that held him rigid. Then, leaving the indignant Dwarf behind, he ran back into the hall, passing Falco and his company of Dwarves.

  “Run!” Elerian shouted urgently to Falco when he saw the Dwarf hesitate. Then, acutely aware of the hordes of mutare rushing toward him, he raised his eyes, looking at the ceiling high overhead.

  “I hope that I have taken in enough power to accomplish this,” thought Elerian to himself as he raised his right hand. His third eye opened, allowing him to see a golden orb of light the size of his head as it flew from his hand toward the magically hardened ceiling overhead. Instantly, the sphere thinned and spread, covering a good portion of the roof above him as well as the tops of the pillars that supported it, turning everything back to ordinary stone. A second orb followed the first. With a thunderous crack, a spider web of cracks spread across the ceiling from the point where the second orb struck, followed by a slow, ominous rumble. A heavy, fist-sized piece of stone suddenly fell, striking Elerian a glancing blow on the right side of his head as he wavered on his feet, drained by the two potent spells that he had cast. As a black curtain fell before his eyes, and his head spun, Elerian heard screams of despair from the Trolls and the swarms of mutare trapped in the hall, drowned out an instant latter by the rumble of falling rock. With tons of stone rushing down at him, he sank to the floor, unable to run and filled with sadness at the thought that he would never see Anthea again.

  Then, strong hands suddenly grasped his shoulders, and Elerian felt himself effortlessly lifted into the air, as if he weighed nothing at all. As he was carried swiftly away, an avalanche of stone slammed into the floor where he had sat a just a moment ago. Elerian heard heavy doors slam shut behind him and then felt the floor tremble beneath his feet when he was set down as tons of rock filled the entrance hall, burying the doorway that led from the hall into the city.

  By the time the last rumble died away, Elerian found that he could see again. He discovered that he was just inside the entranceway to the hall, leaning on Ascilius’s sturdy right shoulder. The Dwarf lowered him to the floor, glaring at him with dark eyes that were full of anger and concern. Pale rock dust covered him from head to toe like a coating of flour.

  “You look just like a dumpling ready for the pot,” Elerian observed in a solemn voice.

  “You half-wit,” shouted Ascilius angrily. “This is nothing to joke about. I barely got you out of the hall in time.”

  “If a stone had not clipped me on the side of the head, I would have gotten out on my own with time to spare,” replied Elerian mildly as he reached up his right hand and gingerly felt the lump on his temple. Blood, warm and sticky coated his fingertips. “You, on the other hand, would be serving as a tasty morsel for some Troll, if I had not carried you to safety. I have never met a more obstinate, reckless Dwarf in my entire life.”

  “You are entirely mistaken about my intentions, as usual,” replied Ascilius, forgetting his anger and shaking his head sadly at Elerian’s lack of perception. “I was merely delaying the Trolls, giving everyone time to escape the hall. I would have left on my own in another moment or two had you exhibited a little patience.”

  “Liar. If I had not stopped you, you would have rushed into the midst of the Trolls who would then have torn you into pieces,” insisted Elerian.

  Ascilius started to sputter a response only to be interrupted by a deep voice. “Surely the two of you are the oddest pair of companions that I have ever seen in my long life,” said Durio sardonically.

  “Strange, but brave to a fault,” chimed in Tonare who sat at his feet.

  “I cannot deny the truth of that,” replied Durio to Tonare. “Their courage has saved the city, at least for now,” he admitted as he surveyed the closed doors to the hall. “The Goblins will break open the doors with their ram eventually, but first they must clear the outer hall of the rubble that now fills it. What should we do next, my lord?” he asked turning to Ascilius.

  Ascilius blinked in surprise at the sudden turnabout in Durio’s attitude toward him.

  “I have no authority here, Durio,” he said gloomily. “My uncle has told me to my face that he has no confidence in me.”

  “You will find that the king’s opinion of you, like mine, has changed,” replied Durio, a humorous glint in his dark eyes. “Eonis has no one else to rely on now that Gavros has fallen.”

  “He has you,” pointed out Ascilius.

  “I have already refused command of the city,” replied Durio firmly. “I can fight with the best, but cunning as well as courage will be required to save us now. We have our differences of opinion, but you have shown yourself to be crafty as well as brave, Ascilius. I will follow you only, whether it pleases Eonis or not.”

  “Let us organize a defense then,” said Ascilius quietly. Although his craggy face remained impassive, Elerian could tell that the Dwarf was touched by this sudden show of support from an old adversary.

  “At least some good has come from all this bloodshed,” thought Elerian to himself as he began to heal the wound on his temple, touching it lightly with the fingertips of his right hand before sending a healing spell into it. “It is about time that these thickheaded Dwarves begin to realize Ascilius’s true worth.”

  He continued to sit quietly, absorbed in the healing process as Ascilius and Durio cleared the passageway of Dwarves. Wagons carrying stonemasons and loads of cut stone soon began to arrive in the tunnel, and a wall of neatly fitted blocks was quickly erected before the hall doors.

  “If we had more time, we could harden the stone and make a proper barricade,” said Ascilius when he came over to stand by Elerian’s side.

  “Our only real hope now lies in abandoning the city, not more barriers,” said Elerian quietly as he rose to his feet. The wound and the swelling on his temple had disappeared, healed by his spell. Before Ascilius before he could make any reply, a young Dwarf ran up to his side.

  “My lord Ascilius, you are called into the king’s quarters,” he said breathlessly.

  “Tell Eonis that I am on my way,” replied Ascilius wearily.

  “Can you walk or must I have you carried?” asked Ascilius, turning to Elerian.

  “I can walk, but I was not called to this audience,” replied Elerian. “I can remain with Falco until you return.”

  “You will stay by my side,” said Ascilius firmly. “It was your spells which stayed the Goblins and kept them from overrunning the city. I will also need your advice. As Durio said, it will take a crafty mind to get us out of this situation, and yours is more cunning than most.”

  “Is that a compliment or a criticism?” asked Elerian as he rose slowly to his feet. He still felt weak from his exertions but well able to walk.

  “You may take it as you like,” said Ascilius with a sly gleam in his dark eyes. Leaving Falco and Durio behind to fill in the passageway and organize a defense, he hailed an empty wagon, directing the driver to take him and Elerian to the king’s quarters on the fourth level of the city.

  “I hope our meeting with his uncle comes to a better outcome than the first one,” thought Elerian to himself as he sat beside Ascilius in the dusty bed of the wagon.

  A CHANGE OF HEART

  When Ascilius and Elerian arrived at Eonis’s sitting room, they found the old king sea
ted in his chair, his eyes darting continually about the room as if he expected Goblins to spring out from beneath the furniture. A double bitted ax was clenched in his right hand instead of his staff, and he wore a gleaming shirt of mail instead of a tunic. Herias was there, too, but instead of mail, he wore a black hooded tunic of soft velvet and pants of the same material. Elerian was pleased to note that he sported an enormous lump on his forehead and a dark scowl on his pale face.

  “Thank the heavens that you have come, nephew,” Eonis exclaimed animatedly when he saw Ascilius. His former animosity appeared to have entirely vanished, for there was no trace of rancor in his voice now. “The Umbrae have penetrated even into my private chamber, sending one of their deadly servants to slay Herias and me. Poor Herias, as you can see, suffered greatly before I was able to drive the creature off. We have found no trace of it since then, but it may still be lurking about, waiting to sink its venomous fangs into one of us.”

  “What sort of sending was it uncle?” asked Ascilius with a frown on his face.

  “It had the form of a great, horrid spider, larger than any that I have ever seen before, with poisonous ichor dripping from its fangs,” exclaimed Eonis anxiously. “The Goblins must have sent it in through one of the air vents.”

  Ascilius’s frown deepened when a sidelong glance at Elerian revealed that he was carefully studying the ceiling, as if it had suddenly become a matter of great interest to him. His clear gray eyes shone in a way that Ascilius was all too familiar with and slight tremors shook his chest as if he had suddenly taken a chill.

  “I would bet my beard that he has been up to some mischief,” thought Ascilius to himself, “but at least it was directed toward someone else for a change.”