Finally, tiring of wasting time watching the effects of the lightning clouds on the jotnar, he flung more blade blizzards to compliment the rain of coruscating death. He then told the guides to create force walls in front of any advancing foe and to continue decimating the now reorganizing enemy. The damn things were so numerous they could shrug off the smoking piles of dead and dying among their ranks. The situation was starting to affect the mage’s confidence. Creating a barrier, even a low one, across the entire width of the plain was an exercise in the impossible. Instead, he turned his attention to the battle in front of the dwarven lines.
There was a visibly lesser number of foes in front of the dvergar lines as well as before the companions. Asag’s ability over rock and stone had torn apart Sutr’s creations, his mimicry of the dwarves. What was left were the fiery elf-like warriors and beast jotnar. The strange, large beasts the mage observed upon their arrival were nowhere to be seen. The daemon apparently took particular notice of them.
By now, it was apparent that the assault on the dwarven lines had ceased, and what remained of the assault force was retreating. Unfortunately, their course of withdrawal led directly to the companions. Tyler’s company was an annoying little blot in the middle of the battlefield, and it had attracted the attention of the retreating jotnar. Apparently, they intended to assuage whatever disappointment they had in their failure to force the dvergar defenses on the irritating group. Unfortunately, the withdrawing stream still appeared to be a substantial force.
Tyler took a few steps forward and tapped Kobu. Despite the exile’s participation in the battle, he always made it a point to return to a spot near the mage. The warrior had taken upon himself the job of a fireman, quickly moving to endangered locations in the defense, and there were always weak sections in the wall of steel and magic surrounding the rocky island.
Looking at the ever-increasing numbers coming at them, bolstered by the retreating forces from the mountain, Tyler thought he had to extend some help against the strengthened enemy coming at the companions. His guides were already busy keeping the army at their rear at bay, and that left the mage some time to devote to their persistent and suicidal enemy.
Several clouds of blades now flew toward the new foes, with the mage thinking these new adversaries hadn’t had the pleasure of being the subject of his spells. The usual lightning clouds followed, but Tyler again restrained himself from casting flame-based spells. He couldn’t even use his usual grenade-like attacks as those were based on fireballs.
Then he saw a wedge formation of heavily armored warriors moving toward them from the mountain. They all looked like dwarves. On closer examination, it became obvious it was a rescue attempt. The two banners flying above the armored mass left no room for no doubt. To Tyler’s surprise, they were the banners of Otr the dvergar prince and Dvalin of the svartálfar, though the mage believed the latter was also a prince of that dwarven race.
“Hey, Asag! Why don’t you just pave the damned plain with stone and bury those bastards! My arms are getting tired,” the mage heard the ranger call out.
“And make it easier for the next wave of attackers? Phah! I would have expected you to notice that the cracks in the ground are being used to funnel enemies into killing zones,” bellowed the daemon.
Tyler was startled. He didn’t notice that particular fact, though he had no doubt Tyndur and Kobu had already taken note of it. The duo had not made such a request of the daemon.
But then again, I don’t have any experience in the tactical side of warfare. Neither does Habrok, reflected the mage as he continued with his magical attacks. Thyma had shifted her spells to the flanks of the company and the incoming dwarven wedge. The armored rescue juggernaut was already gathering speed, crashing through any foe they came across. Sutr’s forces were apparently caught by surprise. The sudden movement of the rescue forces was unexpected.
They must have expected the dvergar to merely be a covering force for repair work on the fixed defenses, concluded the mage.
“Circular defense!” ordered the mage. “Dwarven rescue wedge coming at us.”
The company quickly reformed and started moving toward the mountainside. As they shifted positions, everyone noticed the new players on the battlefield.
“A rescue by dwarves! I’d rather go to the Plain of Fire all by myself!” exclaimed the daemon with feigned outrage.
“Oh, shut up and move, Asag. What we’re here for is in dvergar territory anyway,” said the exasperated mage.
Tyler was already tired, and he had already been told by his guides that their combined expenditure of magical energy had drained their reserves by half. Something about Sutr’s magic on the plain was affecting the replenishment of the mage’s magic. Hal implied the constant use by the jotunn lord of the area’s ambient energy was affecting the mage’s magical restoration rate.
Caught between two killing machines, the surprised and now thoroughly disorganized jotnar didn’t stand a chance. There were still large enemy pockets on the flanks, but the mage saw they were withdrawing and now avoiding coming to grips with any of the two forces.
Regrouping? thought the mage. Exhausted as he was, Tyler didn’t dwell too much on the new development, and focused instead on meeting the dvergar sortie.
As the two groups met, Tyler saw the two princes he had fought with back in Hedmark leading the attack group. The company was gathered inside the armored wedge which began to withdraw in a reversed wedge formation, but with a strengthened rearguard. The two dwarven princes immediately went to the mage’s side, and both received the thanks and back slaps from members of the company. Tyndur, though, got hearty handclasps from Dvalin and Otr. The mage wondered what made them single out the einherjar from the rest – Tyndur’s fighting ability or his unique way of insulting people.
“Well met, my friends,” said Tyler, giving handclasps of his own to the pair.
“I never thought I’d see you here, First Mage,” laughed Otr with genuine amusement.
“And you owe me twenty gold pieces,” Dvalin reminded his counterpart.
“What? I didn’t bet. I merely made a comment I couldn’t believe he was the one in the middle of all that commotion!” protested Otr.
“It was a bet, and you know it. I hope you’re good for it. The other dwarven commanders were there too! I have witnesses,” came Dvalin’s smug reply.
“Other commanders?” asked the mage. It sounded suspiciously like a full-blown war between the dvergar as a whole and Sutr’s armies.
“Several kingdoms, dvergar and svartálfar, sent contingents to Sterkstein,” answered Dvalin. “Everyone realized what that flaming rat was planning once the scale of the attack became obvious. But we heard some reinforcements had been forced back by destroyed roads and ambushes. Instead, they’ll prepare a second line of defense if the jotunn lord’s forces bypass Sterkstein and seek other entrances to our kingdoms.”
It was an unusual revelation. From what he knew, the two branches of the dwarves really didn’t see eye-to-eye. One represented adherence to tradition, and the other, a more open mind to change. When the two groups met each other in the court of Hedmark, they immediately came to blows even when wearing ceremonial armor. Right in front of their host, the jarl of the region. Now, cooperation in battle?
“I thought your people hated each other,” commented the mage, marveling at the workings of fate. Sutr’s offensive against Sterkstein had galvanized the entire dwarven race in the north, and he wouldn’t be surprised if warnings had already been sent to the other underground kingdoms of the dwarves.
“Oh, we still do. But we hate that jotunn lord even more. Otr took care of calling dvergar kingdoms, and I sent for help from svartálfar realms. We’ll go back to bashing each other when this crisis is over,” explained Dvalin with a grin.
***
Night found the company on the top of the mountainside that looked so far away when they were caught in the battle on the plain. Now, they were seated among the
dvergar and the svartálfar contingent leaders. But even though more than fifteen dwarven nobles were sitting in the command tent, Prince Otr was considered as the first among equals, everybody else being in his territory. Even Tyndur couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the emblems and marks of the gathered dwarven houses in that one place. He told the mage he didn’t even recognize fully half of the marks in the display banners.
Tyler had a quiet talk with both princes an hour before the meeting and found good and bad news. The bad news was that the entry to Sterkstein itself had already been sealed by order of the king, Otr’s father, when it appeared the assault on the mountainside defenses was increasing in intensity and the jotunn lord wasn’t to be denied.
Any survivors, if the defense fell, were to withdraw south, hopefully drawing away some of the attacking forces and reducing the weight of metal Sutr could bear on the sealed entrance of Sterkstein. There were still a substantial number of defenders within the mountain. Some of the original defenders had been ordered to return when reinforcements from other kingdoms started to arrive. By Otr’s own count, an estimated one hundred thousand dwarves, in a uniformly foul mood, manned the defenses, though the injured had been sent to the nearest encampment far to the rear – a highly defensible cave system connected to a svartálfar settlement by several tunnels.
The dwarves knew they wouldn’t be able to withstand the brunt of Sutr’s full strength in one massive open and conventional battle. Even the present defensive system, admittedly the strongest in the north, was bound to fall if Sutr put his mind to taking it. The plan was to make the jotunn’s forces pay dearly and at the same time, make the jotunn commanders spread their strength to try to contain possible counterattacks by the dwarves from several locations.
It was a strategy that played to the strengths of the defenders and the weaknesses of the attackers. The only fault of the plan so far was the dwarves underestimated the number of enemies they were facing and the will of Sutr to break them.
Otr ruefully admitted they miscalculated the effect of the truce between the lands of fire and ice. Even if Sutr left forces on his lands to defend against possible treachery, what the dwarves had seen so far was unprecedented. The jotunn lord clearly had not been idle during the long period of peace.
The good news was that the area where the dark entity sought by the company resided was in a location not far from where they were. The dvergar of Sterkstein originally intended to create a settlement in the vast caverns since substantial quantities of various metallic ores had been found in the cave system. It didn’t hurt that the location of the newly discovered system was within Sterkstein’s territorial domain.
But as a result of the creature’s presence, what the king allowed was a small mining outpost, ready to move out of the caves at a moment’s notice. From the hints dropped by both princes, it appeared the history of both dwarven races was full of catastrophes resulting from disregarding or underestimating the presence of unknown entities they encountered in the depths of their mountain realms.
They also had encounters with other races who lived under the ground, and more often than not, such contact was hostile. Knowledge about these creatures was withheld by the dwarves from other races.
“Why?” asked Tyler. “Shouldn’t knowledge about dark races and entities be shared with friendly entities and peoples?”
“Ah, First Mage, the history of our race has ever been a tumultuous one, and our relations with men and the Alfar as tempestuous as a drunken woman with a grudge,” said Dvalin, shaking his head.
“We’ve been blamed for a lot of nonsense, even earthquakes. Except probably for our preference for that yellow metal. That one is true. But information about these new creatures would only lead to something which could be used against us – a malicious rumor could easily be spread, blaming us for awakening what was already existing and awake in the first place,” added Otr.
“Deep underground, our miners have a saying – don’t shake the wood, or a grave you will make. It refers to the tunnel supports. Same principle, different context,” said Dvalin.
“I understand,” replied the mage. “Where are these underground races now?”
“Still underground, driven from their usual haunts in many areas. Wars might flare up now and then, but nothing to be concerned about,” explained the dvergar prince. “And I do have to ask your forgiveness in place of my father.”
Tyler stared at Otr, an eyebrow raised, and curiosity etched on his face.
“It’s just that… the dvergar of Sterkstein won’t be able to properly greet and honor the First Mage. Your exploits at Hedmark are already legendary. Our abject failure to honor your presence shames us,” explained Otr. His tone clearly showed how embarrassed and dejected he felt.
What Tyndur had told him of dwarven protocol burst into the mage’s imagination – the long speeches, drunken brawling, and the dancing. Especially the dancing. Suddenly, he was quite happy about Sterkstein being closed and sealed.
“It’s fine, Otr. Don’t worry about it. I’ll personally break the news to Tyndur. I understand he was so looking forward to the festivities,” reassured the mage.
***
Flanked by Otr and Dvalin, Tyler entered the commander’s tent. It was a huge affair, a central shelter fitted with additional attachments to enlarge the space available. A practical field expedient, noted Tyler.
A long table was in the middle of the tent, with helmless dwarves in battle armor already seated. It was a noisy gathering filled with laughter and boisterous voices. The companions filed in after the trio, but they spread themselves along the sides, while Asag and the exile stood near Tyler.
When the seated assembly noticed their entry, silence filled the tent. They stood up one after the other, and at a shouted command in dwarvish, bowed as one. The mage noted the empty chairs near the head of the table. One vacant seat waited on the opposite end. Tyndur’s warning about the dwarven obsession with protocol returned to the mage’s mind, and the mage glanced at the einherjar. But the warrior was busy examining the banners at the back of each dwarven lord. Tyler decided instead not to disturb the einherjar and follow Otr’s lead, hoping not to embarrass the company.
All the dwarves remained standing as Otr grinned at the mage and led the way. Dvalin moved to the vacant seat. One by one, members of the company stood by the chair indicated by Otr. Tyler found himself at the right of the prince while Asag was given the left seat. Kobu was given a position beside the mage. The dwarven prince obviously remembered the exile’s role as the mage’s personal retainer.
Thyma, on the other hand, was given the last empty seat. The dwarves evidently didn’t know what her status was within the company. Yet Tyler was inwardly mortified, but an understanding smile from the Oracle removed such a concern. If someone were to ask Tyler, he’d place Thyma ahead of the daemon. But their host was clearly impressed by the efforts of the highly visible Asag. The sight of jotnar being stamped to pieces apparently awed the dwarven lords.
“A good evening to you, my lords, and yet again, a successful day of battle,” began Otr. “This time, we are pleasantly fortunate to have with us the First Mage and his companions. You know of him by his legendary reputation, and the prowess of his companions is enshrined in song among the dwarves. Hail, the First Mage!”
Otr’s declaration was answered by a deafening Hail! from everybody, including the guards. Tyler could already feel inquisitive eyes falling on him. Short, whispered conversations reached his ears. The mage guessed all of those quiet discussions revolved around his age. He deduced it was now general knowledge among the dwarves that the First Mage was known to be a human and traveled with a company of mighty warriors. Still, he doubted if his age was ever mentioned in such tales. The assembled dwarves must have been expecting a hoary and grumpy old man.
He could see incredulous expressions behind the long beards. It was one thing to see from a distance the mage casting deadly spells, and another matter to see Tyler u
p close. But the mage was confident the draken armor he wore would lay to rest any doubt about his identity.
If there were things the dwarves respected above all, even above gold, exquisitely crafted magical weapons and armor made from the finest material would fill that niche. And the company wore incredible suits of armor and had magical weapons worth a kingdom or two. Some attention was already focused on Tyndur’s battleaxe, Habrok’s bow, the warhammer of the daemon, and Kobu’s weapon which again took the form of a naginata.
Astrid’s xiphoi were sheathed and thus escaped scrutiny. The mage was amused to see the magical staves didn’t attract any curious or interested stares.
Probably expected of mages, thought Tyler. These guys must already be intensely interested in the weapons, not to mention the dragonscale armor.
Otr gestured for everyone to sit down and then glanced at the mage.
“When we’re at war, meetings like this are usually abbreviated affairs. But while we eat and drink, one of our best bards will sing the newest tale of our people – The Saga of the Battle of the Undead,” said Otr.
“Ah, that’s my favorite too!” came Dvalin’s shout.
Oh, crap. Hedmark, thought the mage, now worried about how long the song would take. The mage knew it was a hard and lengthy battle, definitely filled with plenty of material for an interested skald.
Yep, he concluded resignedly. The song is going to take a very long time.
A stout and bearded warrior entered the tent, stood before the seated assembly, and began to sing in a sonorous voice, yet monotonous tone. It was sung in the dwarven language which no one among the company understood, except probably for Tyndur. The mage wasn’t so sure about Thyma. It was the first time members of the party had been treated to such a spectacle, but Tyndur’s laughably forced smile was a dire harbinger of things to come.
The Accidental Archmage: Book Seven (Dragons and Demons) Page 24