Each held a huge scythe in its hands, the match of the one Mortow was now holding. The hafts were made of a black metal and the sweeping blades appeared to be fashioned from bone. Mortow let his gaze sweep over them all and, in a deep, rumbling voice which carried to the far reaches of the cave, he inquired.
"Will you serve me or must I destroy more of you?"
As one, all eleven bowed to him and one came forward.
"We no longer doubt your power, Nine Key. We accept your offer of freedom and Kantwell in return for aiding you."
"It is agreed then. Come with me. There is much to discuss and even more to prepare." Mortow turned his back to the gathered beasts and smiled to himself,
"Ut specus supremus." A wind swirled through the cavern, and they all vanished to reappear in the upper chamber of the cave.
Trolls packed the cavern for as far as the eye could see, each bearing a torch and a huge bone club. The glint of chainmail was reflected in the firelight. Mortow stepped forward from the beasts, raised the scythe over his head, and shouted.
"The Garoliths are with us! Death to the Avari!" There was a resounding cheer from the trolls that could be felt in the very stone of the floor. As one, they raised their clubs over their heads and chanted.
"Mortow! Mortow! Mortow!"
Mortow allowed the chanting to continue, reveling in the heady feeling of power; power over nations, power over magic, power over the Garoliths, and soon, power over all of Thelona. He threw his head back, and his deep, rumbling voice called out above the shouting of the trolls.
"Return to Gratton. We have plans to finalize and a war to wage!" The chanting of the trolls swelled even louder, and they all began to thump their clubs on the stone floor in cadence. Then, as one unit, they all spun on their heels and started the long march back to Gratton. Mortow turned to the Garoliths.
"Keep yourselves hidden here until I call for you. It would not do for our enemies to learn of your release prematurely."
"As you command, Nine Key. We will await your summons." They all turned and slithered down into the cavern, the sound of their scaled bellies making a scraping whisper against the stone.
Mortow watched them disappear into the gloom beyond then spoke the words of transport. He appeared in his study behind his desk and sat down, closing his eyes.
"Voco ut bulla." Then he stared straight ahead and waited. Less than a minute passed when there was a knock on his door.
"Enter."
The door opened and Maklin stepped into the room.
"You summoned me, Master?"
"Yes. Is everything prepared as I ordered?"
"Yes, Master, they are in place. I personally transported them."
"Good. The trolls are marching back from the Garolith cavern. They should return in three days' time."
"Master, were they actually there? Imprisoned deep inside?" Maklin asked eagerly.
"Oh yes, they were there all right, twelve of them." Mortow grimaced.
"Nasty looking beasts, but then, the nastier they look, the more those Kantwell lackeys will tremble in fear. They will join us. Well, eleven of them will be joining us," Mortow smiled.
"What happened to the twelfth?" Maklin's eyes widened.
"He questioned my intentions, which angered me. But his fatal mistake was to doubt my power. He paid for that doubt with his life."
"I wish I could have been there with you," Maklin grinned.
"You’ll get to see them for yourself soon enough," Mortow replied waving his hand in a dismissive manner.
"Oh, not to see them, Master, but to see you destroy one of them."
Mortow raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
"Why Maklin, I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty. I must start watching my back more closely."
"I am completely loyal to you, Master," Maklin said earnestly.
"I know you are, apprentice, or you would not still be breathing," Mortow’s voice rumbled dangerously.
"Now, how goes the front with the dwarves?"
"The Weres continue to send small skirmish forces to harass them, nothing large enough to warrant a full mobilization of the dwarves, but consistent enough to keep them on guard and in their lands."
"What have our losses been?" Mortow inquired.
"We have lost maybe two hundred. Reports claim that only about seventy dwarves have been killed in the attacks. Not a good ratio, Master."
Mortow chuckled.
"That’s a very good ratio considering the fierceness of the dwarven Forgers. That’s roughly three to one. I bet they are tearing their beards out over those numbers. Fear not, Maklin. The dwarves are not great in number, and if that ratio holds, then we will have plenty of resources to wage this war. The Weres alone out number them five to one. No, the dwarves are not what concern me. This new sorcerer, he is still an unknown element. A lot will depend on what he can do and how we can make use of him. Have you checked in with Gann and the Weres guarding the portal?"
"Yes. I returned from there a little while ago. There has been no one come through or try to use the portal since Micah left. They remain vigilant and know what is expected of them. When Micah crosses back with the sorcerer, they will not let them get away."
"Good. While the trolls march, I want you to take a group of ogres, around a thousand of them, and head to East Gate. It is time to show the dwarves a little more might. Keep them locked in their valley. We wouldn’t want their healers to be available to come to the aid of Kantwell. Best to keep them busy right where they are," Mortow smiled.
"You want me to press the attack into Delven Vale?" Maklin asked.
"No more than is needed to keep the dwarves occupied. We don’t want them pouring out into the Steppes and pressing an attack of their own. We are not yet ready for a full scale war. Take ground and give ground as needed to hold them there. If you run low on men, fall back and bring in some Weres to keep the game interesting. I want you to coordinate your attack on East Gate with the attack on West Gate. Hit them simultaneously. That way, we hem them in and make them guard their own. That just might make them pull back and close off their lands. If they do, so much the better. We can then leave a token force to watch the gates, and we will have achieved our goal without expending further resources."
"As you command, Master," Maklin said with a smile.
"Remember, don’t overdo it. If it should happen to go bad, you are to return here."
"I understand."
"Good. Now get moving. Oh, by the way…tell the ogres no trophy taking. That would only provoke the dwarves further."
"As you wish." Maklin stood and spoke the words of transport and vanished.
"Now that the dwarves are taken care of, I believe it is time to give the men of Branna something to lose sleep over; and I know just the thing," Mortow chuckled.
Chapter Twelve
Three times they threw the Shifters back; three times just since dawn. Bran was beyond tired. He helped hold the front line all three times. He lost count of the number of Shifters he had slain in the last engagement alone. Settling his gaze on the carnage around him, Bran was pleased to see no dwarven bodies. All were headless humans, Shifters. It mattered not what animal form they took, when they were killed, they returned to human form. Currently, the enemy was retreating into the great marsh.
Bran heard the call of a dwarven horn sounding the notes to regroup. He glanced at the sky visible above. The sun had not even reached its zenith yet. He flipped his axe through a routine and slung it across his back. Bran felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and he instinctively reached for his axe again. Turning quickly, he saw the bearded face of his friend Kale. His hand fell to his side, and Bran smiled widely to see his friend still among the living. He had not seen Kale since the battles began earlier that morning, but he knew Kale was a stout warrior. It would take more than a couple hundred Shifters to take him down.
"Come, Gant sounds regroup, and we both could use some ale and a rest." Kale looked Bran in the eyes with a
slight smile on his face.
Kale was four feet five inches tall and slim for a dwarf. His face was covered by a brown mustache and beard, which reached almost to his belt. The ends of the moustache were braided in dwarven fashion, the braids trailing down half as far as his beard. His black eyes were hard set inside a full brow, and the face visible above the beard was spattered with blood, as were his hands. His black chainmail was intact as if he hadn’t even been touched by the enemy.
"Speak for yourself, Kale. All I need is the ale. My axe still itches for more Shifter necks."
Bran was slightly taller than Kale and had a much thicker build. He had blonde hair and beard and gray eyes. The length of his beard and moustache were a match for Kale’s. The two turned and started walking into the pass. The dwarves had established three pickets in DelvenPass. One at the entrance to Delven Vale, another in the center of the pass, and the final one, the one they were at, opened on to Glimmen Marsh.
"You have held the line thrice today, my friend. It is time to let others have a chance. We are called to Vale Watch. The other two divisions have moved forward to relieve us. Our week is up," Kale said with a slight frown.
"Relieve us? I have only just started to pay those Shifters back," Bran said with anger.
"Yes, but others have debts to collect from them as well. Trall’s division is here already. We must let others share in the fun even though it rankles my whiskers to return to Vale Watch."
"Do you have the count today?" Bran asked.
"No, but I’m sure Gant will tell us when we get back."
"What was your count?" Bran continued.
"I didn’t get many, only twelve today. How about you?"
"I lost count at thirty three in the last battle," Bran said.
Kale's eyes widened.
"No wonder I didn’t get many. You took the whole blasted lot for yourself." They walked for five minutes before locating the rest of their division. Gant was taking roll when he saw them walk up.
"There you two are. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you chased the Shifters into the marsh. It took you long enough to get here." Gant was shorter than both Bran and Kale, being only four feet tall. His shoulders and arms were so heavily muscled that it appeared as if he had no neck. Gant's black beard was tucked under his belt, and his blue eyes sparkled with laughter.
"Commander, what was the count today?" Bran asked.
Smiling broadly Gant replied.
"Two!" Both Bran and Kale were stunned.
"Two? Only two in all that?" Bran asked with amazement.
"Aye, we lost only two warriors. Den and Jall, may the Great One take them to His forge," Gant said bowing his head for a moment.
"What was the Shifter count?" Kale asked.
"Three hundred and twenty two," Gant said eyeing Bran.
"You did a fine job holding center line, Bran."
A young dwarf with a red beard, barely thick enough to cover his chin, broke from the group and tapped Gant on the shoulder. Gant turned to him.
"What is it, Hine?"
The young dwarf was staring with open awe at Bran, but he whispered to Gant.
"You sure about that, lad? Absolutely sure?" Gant asked with raised eyebrows.
The young dwarf nodded, never taking his eyes from Bran.
"No miscount, Father, err, I mean, Commander. I watched the line all morning," Hine confirmed. Gant turned to the massed company of dwarves and shouted.
"Men, we have an Axethane among us."
As one, the company of dwarves, including Bran and Kale, unslung their axes and went to one knee, holding their axes across open palms in front of them. Gant turned to Kale and Bran. Kale was grinning so widely it looked as if his face would split. Gant came forward and touched Bran on the head.
"Rise, Axethane, and bear witness to the honor of your people."
Bran was stunned, but he stood facing Gant. He then looked around at the all the kneeling dwarves. He tried to speak, but nothing would come out. He saw Gant unsling his own axe and go to one knee before him.
"I’m glad your axe works better than your tongue, lad," Gant whispered with a smile.
Realizing that all the dwarves were still on their knees, Bran finally found his voice.
"Rise brothers. I have done nothing any one of you could not."
Gant and all the other dwarves climbed to their feet. Gant placed his huge hand on Bran’s shoulder and spoke softly.
"Well spoken, lad, finally." He then turned to the company of dwarves.
"The count from Hine places over one hundred of the enemy slain today by the hands of Bran, Axethane; fifty two in the last battle alone. His count for the day is one hundred and twelve. Fully more than one third of the enemy slain today is accounted for by Bran's axe alone. Hail, Axethane Bran!"
All the dwarves thumped the iron tipped hafts of their axes on the ground once and cheered.
"Hail, Axethane Bran!"
"Now, let’s take our place as rear guard at Vale Watch and celebrate the might of the dwarves," Gant said, and they all turned and marched into the pass.
Kale laughed and slapped Bran on the back.
"Axethane. I knew you were destined for something great one day. I see now that I was lucky you left me any of the vermin to fight."
Bran, grinning at him, replied.
"Well, I promised Kara I would look after you. If I let you get hurt, she would twist my axe around my neck."
"Look after me? Don’t go getting a bloated head now. Kara should mind the young'uns and leave war to us. Look after me, indeed!"
Commander Gant set a steady pace as they marched into the pass. He knew his men were tired, but he wanted to reach Middle Watch by dinnertime. There, they could rest and eat, then continue the march to Delven Vale the next morning. In all, they would have to cover forty miles to get to Vale Watch, and the trek through the pass was a difficult journey.
At times, their route climbed hundreds of feet, only to descend hundreds more. Some places they had to march single file due to the closeness of the walls. Middle Watch was an established and fortified outpost. It was manned year round by a small contingent of dwarves, mostly to aid weary travelers and to keep fallen debris cleared. But, in times such as these, there were two companies standing guard. A full eighty dwarves patrolled its wall and guarded its gate.
The dwarven company, diminished now to thirty eight warriors, moved wearily along. They passed ale skins around and recounted the battles of the day. Bran came to find out that the only other one among them to slay more than a few Shifters was Gant himself. He claimed forty-two of the beasts.
Bran wondered at the staggering number he had slain. It baffled him to think that over a third of the enemy had come at him, and that he miraculously survived such an ordeal. Sure, his chainmail was battered, and he carried more blood on him than in him, and not all of it was Shifter blood. Bran had scratches and gashes all over, but they were slight, and only one really pained him. This was more from the bruise he knew he would have than the actual wound itself. A large bear Shifter had bitten down on his left shoulder. His chainmail prevented Bran from losing his arm and stopped the powerful teeth from doing any real damage. He only had four slight puncture wounds from what could have been a fatal bite. Yet, the punctures did not bother him as much as the crushing pressure of the bite. Bran rubbed his shoulder and flexed it to ease some of the stiffness already setting in.
Kale saw him working the shoulder and asked about it.
"You ok?"
"Aye, just sore, that’s all. A bear Shifter clamped down on it. I should have an impressive bruise to show for it tomorrow," Bran replied.
"You would have been better off if it had bitten your head. Probably would have broken its teeth," Kale jibed at him.
"Anyone ever tell you that you are about as funny as a cracked anvil?" Bran quipped, backhanding Kale’s shoulder.
Kale scratched his head and raised an eyebrow.
"Aye, Kara. A
ll the time. One time, she ruined a batch of biscuits and, as she was tossing them out, I told her to save them. I could use them for hammers at the forge," he replied smiling.
"Oh, I bet that got you put out for the night," Bran chuckled.
"Not at all. She just proceeded to throw them at me one at a time. You know, they would have made excellent hammers." Kale beamed a smile at him.
"It's no wonder you are so skinny. With comments like that, it’s amazing she continues to cook for you at all."
"I learned my lesson long ago. I duck now."
They marched for almost nine straight hours. Night had long since fallen in the pass when they saw the torches of Middle Watch come in to view. Gant increased the pace and did not relent until they were standing outside the gate.
Middle Watch wall spanned the width of the pass, measuring almost seventy feet. It had been crafted long ago by the dwarven Delvers to prevent passage through the natural entrance from DelvenPass to Delven Vale. The wall was over twenty five feet tall and almost fifteen feet thick at its base. The top was twenty feet wide making it hang outward over the base to help prevent enemies from scaling it. Gant’s company could see dwarves pacing its crenulated top as they approached.
The passageway, a ten foot square shaft through the wall, was sealed by a huge stone wheel that was five feet thick and fifteen feet in diameter. The gate moved across the opening in grooves built into the floor and ceiling. It took two dwarves to operate the crank mechanism that opened and closed it. Normally, the gate would have been open to travelers, but during times of war it remained closed as a means of defense
Gant moved into a pool of torchlight, looked up the wall, and shouted.
"Hail, Middle Watch. Gant’s company returns from Marsh Watch."
A voice called down in response.
"Hail, Commander. I’ll get the gate opened up for you straight away."
Gant moved back with his men and waited. A minute or so passed, and then they could hear the clacking of the gate mechanism turning. The gate wheel slowly started moving and opened only wide enough to admit them. A guard from inside dropped a ramp across the trench that the great wheel moved within and motioned them forward. The company marched wearily inside.
The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic Page 13
