The crowd roared and stomped, and the racket echoed deafeningly in the cavern. It was like an ocean tide of voices, ebbing and flowing and crashing in crescendo with a life of its own. Tarren swooned and patted Helzendar’s shoulder and steadied himself. “Good luck,” he said, trying not to sound nervous, but he was sure his voice sounded like a squeak.
“Bah, luck be havin’ nothin’ to do with it,” Helzendar boasted. Then his face changed, and Tarren saw the slightest look of concern. “Have no doubts, Tarren, you be faster than even meself. Keep your feet movin’ and go for the eyes.”
Tarren nodded to his best friend and looked to the center stalactite with the others as a loud voice boomed over the crowd. All speech stopped, and the high priest Bouldarr greeted them all.
“Good Dwarves o’ Ro’Sar, whose king be Roakore son o’ Ro’Din, nineth king o’ the Ro’sar Mountains. This be the day o’ the trials.”
The crowd gave a cheer so loud that Tarren feared one of the mammoth slabs would come crashing down on their heads.
“These strong, young Dwarves stand as a testament to our revenge, our steadfast determination, and the victory o’ our king.”
Again there was pandemonium as the chant for Roakore was taken up. Tarren blocked out the noise and took the opportunity to scope out the arena on the level below him. The arena that would hold the trial was a maze that he guessed was nearly two hundred feet long and twice as wide. Stalactites protruded from the ceiling, threatening to crush those below should the world decide to twitch. They made Tarren feel his smallness.
Judges walked the tops of the maze walls. From their vantage point, they would be able to call out any Dwarf that was successfully hit by an opponent. The fighting was not to the death—though there were accidents. A competitor was called out when they received what would be a killing blow with metal weapons or were knocked out. For the trial wooden weapons, like those they trained with in practice, were used. Tarren gripped his staff, Oakenheart, tightly, his mind racing to memorize the maze.
The high priest Bouldarr again addressed the crowd; calling names from a long scroll, he divided the Dwarves into groups. Tarren was ecstatic to hear his name called along with Helzendar for the same team. The fifty fighters had been divided into ten teams of five, each with a captain. To no one’s surprise, Tarren’s team captain was Helzendar. Tarren knew it was not for his station but for his clear excellence in fighting and his leadership qualities that Helzendar was chosen. Tarren did not miss that many of the Dwarves, while not outright scoffing at the idea, nevertheless, were not happy having “the weakling human” on their team. But their apprehension had disappeared and been replaced with jubilation when they learned that they would have Helzendar at their side.
The Dwarves separated into their groups, and Dwarf boys, that had only just stood together as mates, began to eye the opposite teams, sizing up the competition. Vulgarities abounded, and taunts were yelled. Helzendar brought his group together in a huddle.
“This be it, boys. If the game be capture the flag, Tarren be our carrier, and ya’ll best watch his arse like it were yer girl’s arse. If the game be to get some object first, I want Tarren after it and us at his back.”
One of the Dwarves rolled his eyes at the mention of Tarren again. “You got a problem with me orders, Cake?” Helzendar asked.
Cake’s real name was Grimlock, but no one but his mother called him that. He was possibly the fattest and widest Dwarf Tarren had ever seen, child or adult. He was nicknamed Cake because he was rarely seen without it in hand. He had no beard yet and wore only a long tail atop his shaved head. His rosy cheeks bulged so much that it appeared his eyes were nearly closed. His nose hid behind his face, and his brow was ever furled. But when he smiled, he lit up like a baby, and it was hard not to smile too.
Cake looked to his captain and to the others in turn. He had just shown a sign of disloyalty, and he knew his folly. He stuttered to make right his mistake. “I…I…it’s just that the human is so small. I ain’t yet seen him win a fight.” He looked to the other Dwarves on his team for support but found none. “C’mon, he’s done broke more bones than most people know they got. He ain’t no warrior.”
Helzendar scowled at his teammate. “He keeps comin’ back, don’t he?”
Cake stuttered in the affirmative. Helzendar grabbed Cake’s armor and jerked the fat Dwarf forward. “He fights bigger, stronger opponents, and he always bleeds. He suffers daily to achieve his goal, but he always comes back for more, don’t he?”
Cake nodded, and Helzendar released him. “This human be the ward o’ Whill o’ Agora, you be knowin’. He already seen things that would make you shat your pants, and mark me words, one day he’ll be a great leader o’ men.”
Helzendar let his voice rise all the while as he chastised Cake. He wanted to intimidate the other teams a bit, not to mention stand up for his friend. Cake bowed his head and blushed at the attention they had earned. Quickly, those near turned away as Bouldarr began to explain the game.
“Today’s trial will be capture the flag.”
The crowd murmured, and the nearby Dwarves whispered conspiratorially. Helzendar gave Tarren a wink.
“Also…I’ll have me voice heard; settle down now,” Bouldarr bade the crowd and put up a quieting hand. “Also, there will be a quest object.”
The crowd sucked in a breath, and frantic talk broke out again amongst the competitors. Everyone began to crane their necks, trying to find the quest item. Before Bouldarr said it, Tarren saw it, and his eyes widened.
“Whichever team is left with their flag in possession at the end wins...or, whichever team reaches the scepter o’ Krowlen first shall win instantly,” Bouldarr declared and pointed high to the top of the glimmering waterfall. There, dangling from a rope near the mouth of stone that fed the falls, hung the Scepter of Krowlen, once possessed by the high priest Krowlen. The crowd oohed and aahed at the priceless relic.
Bouldarr let his hand drop and looked to the fighters.
“Those young warriors on the winning team will all pass their trials, and others also that prove themselves in battle. Teams to their starting points, and may the best Dwarves be winnin!”
The crowd roared, and the group was led to their maze entrance. There at the entrance stood a blue flag on a three-foot pole. Tarren looked to Helzendar with apprehension. The last thing he needed was a target on his back. The Dwarf ignored the look. Instead, he looked to Cake with a scowl. “You keep everyone away from Tarren, and your discrepancy be forgotten.”
Cake frowned, confused.
Helzendar sighed. “You want to redeem yourself? Then protect Tarren like you would the last piece o’ cake on Agora!”
Cake smiled this time, now understanding. In his eyes his thoughts played out, first a smile of realization, then grim determination, then a puzzled look as he looked to Tarren.
“But cap’n. I would eat the last piece o’ cake.”
Helzendar shook his head in frustration. “Don’t be eatin’ me flag runner, Cake, just protect him.”
Helzendar pointed at one of the other Dwarves. This one was lean, even for a Dwarf, and had black curly hair that hung down to his gray eyes. He was alert and smiling, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Trett, you are gonna be our spy. You stay ahead o’ the group as far as the next maze turn, unless otherwise ordered.”
“I got this, boss,” Trett exclaimed cockily.
“And you, Brezzerk,” Helzendar addressed the last of the group. “You watch’r backs by a corner’s length. If you see someone coming, give word, and we all stand together and fight in the same formation. Trett at lead, Cake behind him, Tarren and meself, and Brezzek in back, got it?”
“Yes, sir!” was said by all. They all took their places and readied their weapons.
Dwarves possessed strength up to seven times that of the average human; therefore, they did not often carry swords but rather huge axes and war hammers. Cake carried such a war ham
mer. Its handle was short and thick, and though metal weapons were not yet wielded by the training Dwarf boys, many of the weapons had steel-reinforced shafts, lest the great weight of the blade snap the handle in two. Such was Cake’s hammer shaft; its head was a smooth-cornered block of wood as big as Tarren’s torso. It was bound in leather at the head’s center, with small rubies weaving around and down the handle. A blunted wooden spike, eight inches long, poked out of the top of the war hammer’s head.
Trett carried twin single-headed axes, their shafts long and thin with wooden half-moon blades. Brezzerk was one of a few Dwarves that used a shield and sword. The blade was nearly eight inches wide, double-edged, and four feet long. The thickest point, down the center of the blade, was four inches. The sword was the same thickness throughout. It had not a point but a curved tip; it was meant for hacking, not stabbing, and, appropriately, it was named Hacker by Brezzerk. His shield was of identical weight as his sword, for maximum efficiency, and covered him from shoulder to shoulder, neck to kneecap.
“You thinkin’ the other groups’ll go for the scepter, captain?” asked Brezzerk.
Helzendar shrugged. “I don’t know ’bout the other captains, but I intend to get it, and Tarren be the one to do it. He be faster than most and more nimble. I say we take and get to the stone face o’ the waterfall’s wall and guard while Tarren climbs it.”
The Dwarves nodded in agreement, and Trett began moving into the maze. Only when he peered around the corner and waved them on did the group proceed. Tarren found it impractical to carry the staff and flag separately and took them up together in both hands as one.
They met no one as they journeyed through the maze, but the sounds of fighting and the roar of the crowd indicated that some of the groups had clashed. To their dismay, the Dwarves found that the maze led them farther away from the waterfall and hanging scepter. But Tarren assured them that all of the halls of the stone maze had gone far and wide from the start.
“You all must have seen the large opening in the center. I would guess that all of the ways lead there, as to force the groups to collide. It is there that we must be swift and cut across to the entrance to the waterfall,” he informed them.
Soon they came to a crossroads in the maze, and there, at the four corners, were three prone Dwarves, lying where they had fallen and been called out by the judges. One such judge walked the maze walls to the group’s right and watched the fallen Dwarves to be sure they did not communicate anything to those still in the fight.
Everyone looked to Tarren, and his mind went to work. He had glimpsed this section of maze earlier, but the memory was not clear enough for him to be sure.
“This way.” He indicated the passage to their right and away from the falls. Before anyone could argue, he cut them off, “This be a maze. The other way toward the falls don’t mean that is where they lead. This way.”
Helzendar nodded when Trett looked to him for approval, and they headed down the right passage. After a short time, Trett raised a hand after jerking his head back around the corner. He made a fist, put up three fingers and began to back up.
“Were you seen?” asked Helzendar.
“Yes,” answered Trett.
“Fall back, shoulder to shoulder.”
A war charge was heard coming from ahead as three Dwarves turned the corner and charged. Trett, Cake, and Helzendar stood together, blocking the way completely. Cake’s massive war hammer swept across and took one Dwarf in the shoulder. The blow slammed the attacker into the wall and left him unconscious. The other two slid to a stop and squared on the three. Helzendar and the others quickly overpowered the two, and their flag was taken.
Once again, the group got into formation and ventured through the maze. When again they came to a split in the maze, they went left. When Trett raised a fist, they all stopped. Either Tarren’s memory was right, or they had gotten lucky, for they had reached the center opening, and it was a killing field.
Nearly a dozen Dwarf boys lay where they had fallen, and judges waited at the top of the stone to witness the next battle.
“Them idiots atop the stone will give our location away,” Tarren cursed.
Helzendar looked to one and nodded with a scowl; he adjusted his helmet and looked to be contemplating. “Or they are giving away another group’s location.”
“You want me to flush ’em out, boss?” asked Trett as he bounced anxiously.
Helzendar considered his eager lookout. “Good idea. Check the ways leading from the center, be swift and do not engage—”
“I ain’t for running from the enemy—”
“You ain’t runnin’, ya idiot, you’re scoutin’. If you ain’t for listenin to orders, you can be relieved.”
“I can listen, boss. I got this.”
“Then go!”
Trett complied, and Helzendar took his place. He peeked around the corner and counted the disqualified Dwarfs. He knew many of them by name, and judging by the flags littering the ground, he guessed that three teams had fallen here. Counting his own team and the one they had beaten, the field had nearly been cut in half. Now only five other teams remained. Unless, of course, others had fallen that he was not aware of.
Tarren looked back and then forward again, listening. The crowd had become very quiet, and every far off face he could see seemed to be staring in their direction. Alarms went off in his head.
“It’s an ambush,” he murmured to himself. “It’s an ambush!” he said louder. It was too late for warning. As he spoke, four Dwarf boys dropped down from the tops of the seven-foot-high stone walls. One came down with a huge ax; his entire body arched into the blow meant for Cake’s back.
“Cake!” Tarren yelled.
Another leapt right at Tarren and would have landed on top of him had Helzendar not intercepted the flying Dwarf boy with his half-moon staff. He came up and under the Dwarf and caught him in the curved end of his staff. Using the Dwarf’s momentum, Helzendar flung the boy over his shoulder with a heave. The screaming Dwarf boy flew into one of his fellows, and together, they landed with a thud. The fourth Dwarf landed between Tarren and Brezzerk, who was charging in fast. He slammed into the Dwarf with his shield as the boy landed.
“To the other side of the maze!” cried Helzendar, and he pushed Tarren to run for the opening before they were bottled in. Brezzerk stayed behind, battling the attacker as Tarren, Helzendar, and Cake charged forward blindly into the opening. Cake nearly bowled over Trett as he ran at them; four Dwarf boys chased after him. Trett quickly dropped to the ground and slid past Cake as the fat Dwarf boy slammed into the four charging opponents. Helzendar and Tarren leapt over the fallen Dwarves as Cake wrestled with them.
Trett came up out of his slide and leapt at Brezzerk’s opponent. With his twin axes, he scored two hits, one to the Dwarf’s helmet, the other to his back. The Dwarf was distracted long enough for Brezzerk to take advantage of the opening and smash his blade into the other Dwarf’s chest. The blow sent him stumbling backward, and a judge called him out. They chased after Tarren and Helzendar into the opening.
Tarren looked quickly around the wide convergence of halls. It seemed as though more than two teams had grouped together to take out the others. Blocking every one of the exits were at least two Dwarves. Helzendar abruptly skidded to a halt, and Tarren bumped into him. Trett and Brezzerk came rushing to their side. Cake, however, had been called out along with those he fought.
There were no words spoken, only glances and nods from the enemy captains to each other. The air became thick with anticipation, and Tarren feared this was the end for his team. He gripped his staff and his team’s flag tightly, his mind racing for a plan.
Then he saw, far off ahead of them, at the other end of the maze, a lone Dwarf climbed the stone wall next to the waterfall. One hundred feet above him hung the scepter that could end the trial.
“Someone is going for the scepter!” he yelled.
Those ahead of him did not see what the rest of the
m saw, but a few noticed that the crowd was split between looking at the small battlefield and the wall climber. Many began to cheer on the Dwarf as he expertly climbed the stone. He was nearly halfway already.
“After him!” ordered a captain to Tarren’s right.
“Don’t let them get there first!” cried another.
The captain of the Dwarf that had snuck off and now climbed the wall screamed, “Don’t let anyone down that hall.”
Fighting quickly broke out between all the teams as Dwarves rushed toward the halls that led to the falls, and others fought to block the way. Tarren and his team were all but forgotten, standing there at the center of the clearing.
“Them other Dwarves walked atop the walls and weren’t disqualified. No one ever said we couldn’t. Get to the falls! Get that scepter!” Helzendar frantically told Tarren.
“Gotta get me on them walls first.”
Helzendar looked to the walls and nodded. “Follow me at a distance o’ six bricks.” And then he ran toward the heart of the fight, where more than a dozen Dwarves fought for control of the exit leading to the falls. Trett and Brezzerk were close behind.
The son of Roakore stopped ten feet from the far wall and turned and clasped his hands together low and crouched. Tarren knew Helzendar’s mind and ran at his friend and stepped up onto the open hands of Helzendar, who then heaved Tarren up into the air.
Tarren was startled by his flight as he soared over the fighting Dwarf boys and came in fast toward the top of the wall. He had too much momentum to be able to make the landing without falling over the edge into the maze, so instead of trying to land, he sprang into a leap off the top of the wall. Skipping from on to the other, he barely cleared the gap and landed on the edge of the opposite wall and fought for balance.
Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora) Page 62