The young dwarf from Klorra-Kanna stood up and tried to creep away, but Skemtun grabbed him. “Hey! Where do you think ye’re going?”
The young dwarf pointed back toward the other end of the tunnel. “I’ve got to go back inside the caves. I’ve got to save my clan’s treasury.”
“Are you stupid, boy?” Skemtun demanded, jabbing at the boy’s temple.
“Ow!” cried the young man, trying to swat away Skemtun’s hand. “That hurts!”
Skemtun released him. “I’ve got dwarves cutting away the only thing that’s holding up the roof. That means this tunnel is coming down, and anyone on the wrong side of it won’t be getting through. Now, which side of it you want to be on when it caves in? The side with the exit, or the side with the orcs?”
The young dwarf’s face paled, but he still tried to move away. “Please! Lady Bolrakei sent me on this mission personally. She’ll be very displeased if I return without everything she asked for.”
“Forget yer stupid orders!” Skemtun snapped. “I’m tryin’ to save yer life! Bolrakei’s an idiot for sending you down here. Mark my words, boy—if you go down that passage, you won’t ever come back!” He shoved the young man back in the opposite direction. “Now get a move on! I won’t have your death on my conscience!” The youngster frowned but didn’t argue any further. Skemtun turned to Kathir and pointed his finger at the boy. “If you catch this fool trying to go back down this tunnel again, tie him up. I’ll carry him out on my shoulder if I have to.”
“Understood,” Kathir said, smiling.
The young dwarf gnawed at his lower lip. “Bolrakei won’t be pleased when I tell her about this.”
Skemtun fixed him with a withering stare. “Well, Bolrakei isn’t here. She ran off with the first rush of dwarves escaping the mountain. If she wants her precious gemstones that much, she should come get them herself!”
“Bolrakei sent this boy back into the mountain? That seems quite…unscrupulous of her,” Kathir said quietly.
Skemtun grunted, but otherwise said nothing. Bolrakei had acted selfishly, but she was the leader of the richest and most powerful dwarf clan. She didn’t get there by accident—she got there by being ruthless. He hated Bolrakei’s self-serving attitude, but he wasn’t about to make a fuss about it right now, not when their lives were at stake. He had to concentrate on the task in front of him.
He tried to push his anger out of his mind so that he could concentrate on saving his men. A loud crack sounded behind him, and a cloud of dust fell from the ceiling. “Stop! That’s enough, lads!”
The soldiers stepped back. Skemtun took a length of rope from his rucksack, knotted it carefully around the largest beam, and then walked back to where Kathir and the others were standing.
They were just in time. Skemtun could see the flicker of grease torches in the distance. The orcs grunted and howled at each other to communicate, and there was no doubt that their voices were getting closer. Another group was coming, and it was larger than the last one—too many for them to fight.
“Everyone grab the end of this rope and form a line,” Skemtun barked. “Hurry up! We haven’t got much time!” The others quickly grabbed the rope and formed a line behind their leader. “When I shout, everyone pull the rope as hard as you can! All at the same time. Got it?”
They all nodded in agreement.
“Now pull! Pull!” he yelled and strained his aching muscles against the weight of the beam. “Pull the rope! Pull harder!” Skemtun bellowed, throwing every scrap of strength he had against the rope. He could feel the others doing the same behind him. With a loud crash, the first prop finally gave way.
The other damaged props also splintered and fell, but the roof did not collapse. For a few tense seconds, the dwarves stood frozen in place. The orcs were screaming and charging down the tunnel now. The orcs were so large that they had to crouch in order to fit inside the passageway.
Just then, there was another loud cracking noise, and a shower of pebbles fell down. The orcs stopped and looked up. The cave-in seemed to happen in slow motion. The roof of the tunnel shook, then the entire roof crashed down all at once, in one giant slab. The orcs screamed as they disappeared beneath the rubble. Thick dust clouded the air, blinding the dwarves for several minutes. But slowly, the dust began to settle, and soon the dwarves could see that the pile of rubble ended about ten paces in front of them.
“Did it work?” asked Kathir, between coughs.
Skemtun nodded. “Yup. It worked. The tunnel’s blocked. There’s no way back now.” He was pleased that his plan had worked, but he also felt guilty—how many of his people were still trapped inside the city? Mount Velik was in absolute chaos, and he had just blocked one of the few exits they had left. If any of the survivors inside tried to escape using this passageway, they would be trapped and killed.
Kathir noted Skemtun’s unhappy expression. “Don’t beat yourself up over this,” he said quietly. “None of this is your fault. This needed to be done. We can’t leave any of these passages open for the orcs to use.”
“I know,” said Skemtun, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d spent his whole life mining and building in these tunnels—building them to last for generations—and now he was forced to destroy them. It went against everything he had ever believed in. But he had to accept it—the city was a complete loss. Now his only concern was the safety of his men.
“Come on,” Kathir said. “We should get moving.”
Skemtun nodded. “Aye, let’s go. This tunnel snakes through the entire mountain, so it’s a long way to the outside. If we’re lucky, we’ll reach exit before sunrise.”
“And then what?” asked one of the soldiers. “Where do we go from here?”
Skemtun sighed. “We must go west,” he said. “As much as I hate to admit it, we must seek refuge with the Vardmiters. The clans are homeless—and we’ve got nowhere else to go.”
5. Fleeing the Mountain
It took Skemtun and his men hours of walking to reach the small, concealed exit leading out of Mount Velik. The ragged band of survivors crawled out of the tiny opening and emerged on the south side of the mountain, about two leagues away from the main road. It was dawn when they finally reached the outside.
The exit was so small that Kathir had to disrobe and squeeze through like a caterpillar in order to fit. But they all made it out alive.
Sela saw them exiting the mountain while she was patrolling. She and Brinsop landed nearby and covered them with a concealment spell so they could escape to the tree line unseen. Luckily, most of the orcs were stationed on the other side of the mountain, near the front gate, so they were able to make it into the forest relatively easily.
“Sela, do you have any news for us?” asked Skemtun.
Sela nodded. “Most of the women and children were able to escape, but the orcs are tracking them. I believe that Nar is planning to send out raiding parties. Elias and Nydeired are trying to help as much as they can, but there’s only so much they can do. Elias is already tending dozens of wounded in a ravine nearby. He has his hands full as it is. Nydeired has scared off several roving bands of orcs, but there’s so many of them—we can’t possibly root them all out. Eventually, your people are going to be attacked.”
“And what of our men?” asked Skemtun “How many of our soldiers survived?”
“It’s difficult to say,” said Sela. “An accurate count would be impossible now. Your general, Baltas, is dead, along with his entire contingent.”
“None of his men survived?” asked Skemtun.
“No,” said Sela. “None of them surrendered. None of them turned back. Baltas held the main passage for two days, which was a feat in itself. He died bravely with his men beside him. All of your spellcasters are probably dead, too. I haven’t been able to get a telepathic message from anyone inside since yesterday, and the last message I received w
as frantic and very troubling. Then everything went silent.”
Skemtun shook his head sadly. “This is terrible news for us to hear. Hundreds of men, all dead. All the dwarf spellcasters—gone. My people…” He put his face in his hands and wept softly.
Sela placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Skemtun. I know this is difficult for you. What’s worse, the road to Highport will be rough, and there are almost no soldiers to cover your escape. The survivors are on their own.”
“Thank ye, for all ye’ve done for us,” said Skemtun, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “We’d best get moving.”
Skemtun asked if Sela and Elias could remain at the mountain for at least a few more days, just in case there were other survivors who needed their help to escape. Sela nodded and mounted her dragon saddle. “I’ll cover you until you get a little deeper inside the forest, and then I’ll go back to the mountain. Elias has a few ponies in the ravine nearby; you can take them and catch up with the rest of your group.”
As soon as Skemtun and his men were safely in the trees, Sela raced back to the mountain to resume her patrols.
Everyone was tired, but they couldn’t stop and rest. They had to catch up to the rest of the survivors.
Kathir and Skemtun retrieved two ponies from Elias so they could ride ahead. Moving at a swift pace, they caught up to the straggling dwarf refugees in a matter of hours.
“By the gods, look at all these people!” Kathir said shaking his head.
A long line of people snaked through the mountain trails—mostly women, children, the elderly, and the wounded. Some carried small bundles or packs, but most had nothing but the clothes on their backs. The dwarves trudged along in scattered groups; their heads bowed with shame and grief. A small contingent of battered soldiers brought up the rear to protect them.
Skemtun rode up behind the line and spoke with one of the soldiers.
“Hey there, boy!” Skemtun hollered at him.
The young man paused. He looked exhausted. “Skemtun, that you?”
“Aye, it’s me,” he replied. “How are ye gettin’ along?”
“Not too good. The greenskins attacked us last night. About twenty orcs came out of the forest in a nighttime raid. None of us has been able to get any rest.”
“Did they steal anything?” asked Skemtun. “Supplies, or horses?”
The soldier shook his head. “No…they seem to be doing it for sport. The orcs killed a woman and five men. We chased ‘em off, but they’ll be back again. The women and children are terrified.”
“How are we on supplies? Do we have enough food and water?”
“Enough almost for six days, give or take. We’ve got water, but we already started rationing food. We didn’t have much to begin with—only what people could carry with them. We’ve been tryin’ to forage in the forest as we walk, but there isn’t much here. The orcs did a lot of damage when they marched through here. A few men offered to go hunting, but they disappeared and didn’t return. We think the orcs got ‘em. After that, our captain told everyone to stay together and keep walkin’. It’s too dangerous to go out alone.”
Skemtun looked around. “Were you able to save any of the livestock? That would have helped us along the way.”
“Not much, sir.” The young man pointed toward the front of the line. “We saved some ponies and a few mules. The ponies are carrying the wounded, and the mules are carrying the food supplies.” Skemtun could see the mules moving slowly in the distance. The pack animals were laden with supplies. “That’s all we’ve got. Everyone is tired of walking.”
Skemtun reached down and patted the young dwarf’s shoulder. “Thank ye, son. Let’s keep movin’. The farther away we get from the greenskins, the safer we’ll be.”
The soldier’s voice dropped and he lowered his eyes. “We’re going to Highport, aren’t we?”
“Aye,” said Skemtun. “There’s nowhere else for us to go, lad. We’ll have to take our chances with the Vardmiters.”
“That’s what I figured.” The soldier scratched behind his ear. There was an crust of blood near his hairline, and his hand was wrapped with a bandage. “Oh, I forgot to mention—I also saw a messenger ride up earlier. He gave a scroll to Bolrakei. She’s ridin’ a mule up at the front of the line.”
Skemtun was about to ask more questions, but he was interrupted by a sudden shout. A raiding party of orcs emerged from the forest and attacked. The women and children started screaming and scattered into the trees.
“Let’s go, men!” Skemtun called out as he charged forward. Kathir followed behind him on his pony. He looked up into the sky—the dragon riders were nowhere in sight. They were on their own.
They rode into the fray, already holding their weapons. Skemtun raised his axe, swung as hard as he could, and severed an orc’s hand. The orc screamed like a wild animal and clasped his wrist. Blood spurted outward, splattering Skemtun’s face and chest. He wiped his face with his sleeve and raised his axe to strike again.
As fast as lightning, Kathir sank his sword into the throat of another orc. He ducked and felt a spear whiz over his head, grazing his hair. He turned to see Skemtun’s axe embedded in another orc’s skull.
From short distance away, dwarf soldiers fired their arrows into the band of orcs as quickly as they could. More dwarves ran forward, joining the fight with their crossbows, slings, and axes. Skemtun and Kathir stood in the center of the fight, their weapons swinging.
Minutes later, the orcs retreated back into the forest. The dwarves watched them go, and then went to recover their precious arrows from the bodies of the slain. No dwarves had been killed—not this time. There were five dead orcs on the ground, and several more that had been wounded and escaped.
“Good job, lads!” Skemtun called out to his men. He tried to give the dwarves the confidence to keep fighting, but everyone could hear the weariness in his voice.
Skemtun climbed on top of a boulder to give himself a better view of the trees. “The orcs are gone. We’re safe for now.”
“Your men did a good job,” Kathir said, passing him a water skin.
Skemtun uncorked the skin and poured a little water into his mouth. “We were lucky,” he said softly. “We’ve got to be prepared for more attacks.”
“You’re right,” agreed Kathir. “Scuffles like this will continue for a while. Fortunately, it’s late in the year, and we’re moving north. Orcs don’t like the snow; they’re cold-blooded, and freezing weather makes them sluggish. There’s already snow on the ground in the plains. Once we reach the forest’s edge, your people should be safe.”
Skemtun nodded. “I hope ye’re right. In the meantime, we’ve got to keep moving. I can see that these raids are takin’ a toll on everyone. All the men look exhausted.”
“Things are hard right now,” said Kathir, “but it’s going to be all right. You’re doing a good job leading your people. I’m proud to be fighting by your side.”
Skemtun raised an eyebrow. “Ye say that, but ye’re a mercenary. Aren’t ye gettin’ paid to be here? Miklagard is still paying ye, aren’t they?”
Kathir shrugged. “So? What of it? I’m not going to apologize for being a mercenary. It’s my job. I can be proud of what I’m doing and get paid to do it at the same time.”
“That’s an odd perspective, my friend,” replied Skemtun.
Kathir smiled, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he looked out upon the dwarves. The women and children had returned from their hiding spots and were walking on the trail again. They stretched out into a rough column along the path.
It was obvious that the dwarves never expected Mount Velik to fall. They had failed to prepare for the worst. There had been no time to gather proper supplies for a long journey. That was their worst mistake, and now they were paying for it. They moved with the painful slowness of people who were losing hope.
The days passed as the dwarves trudged ahead. Some started collapsing from fatigue, and so the hard decision was made to stop to rest for the night. They set up a makeshift camp, and Skemtun set up a perimeter of guards. Everyone took turns sleeping on the hard ground. Thankfully, the orcs didn’t attack them during the night.
They broke camp and moved on the next morning. As they continued onward, they found themselves without any shelter. There were no caves as they moved further north, so they were left vulnerable to the wind, the cold, and the rain.
They were also low on provisions. The women scavenged what they could, collecting mushrooms and wild berries, but it wasn’t enough for everyone to get a meal. They had found very little to eat in the forest, and now even their water was running low.
Some of the wounded died along the way and had to be buried in shallow graves. There was no time to grieve properly.
Times were hard, but there were some bright spots. As they got closer to the edge of the forest, hunting became easier, and they were able to catch small game on a regular basis. Everyone searched for food; even the youngest boys hunted with slingshots and caught smaller animals like birds, rats, and snakes. They ate everything—nothing was wasted.
One day, Kathir got lucky and shot a bear with his crossbow. With the dwarves’ help, he used ropes to hoist and hang the carcass up in a tree. Trembling with excitement, they dressed the bear and then cooked the meat over several campfires. The dwarves were so thankful that they threw a makeshift party right then and there. That night, everybody ate and slept well.
The dwarves eventually crossed over the Orvasse River and travelled into an area of open fields. The days turned into weeks, and eventually the snow-capped Highport Mountains became visible in the distance. A vast plain of snow broken only by occasional trees extended into the distance in front of them.
The temperatures dropped, and the snow on the ground froze into a solid crust. Their supplies were depleted, and everyone was cold and hungry. Everyone knew this last stretch would be the most difficult part of their journey. And yet, people were still hopeful—after everything they had been through, their quarrels with the Vardmiters seemed easily forgotten.
Kathir's Redemption (Book 6) Page 6
