Whill of Agora woa-1

by Michael Ploof

  “Go with yer father and brothers!” said a dwarf named Dwelldon to Roakore. “MI and me brothers’ll buy you some time.” Dwelldon held a massive war-hammer, and his eyes shone with a burning fire. Roakore knew he would not be talked out of his resolve, so he simply nodded. The dwarves retreated quickly down the tunnel as Dwelldon and his four brothers stood shoulder to shoulder blocking the way. Roakore listened with shimmering eyes as they took up the battle song of the gods.

  As the dwarves, now numbering less than fifty, entered the next chamber, they were followed by the sounds of Draggard howls and of war-hammers thudding into bodies. This was the Chamber of Spears, another triangular chamber with a staircase leading to a great balcony. Atop the balcony awaited another hundred dwarves, this time brandishing huge spears. Roakore and the remaining dwarves from the Chamber of Arrows ascended the stairs and took up places upon the balcony as the drawbridge was lowered. Roakore found his father and brothers in the entrance to the next tunnel. They were huddled around someone lying on the floor. Roakore went to them and to his dismay found that the one they looked over was his eldest brother, Wrakkwor.

  “My son,” Roakore’s father said to the fallen dwarf. “Go now in peace to the Mountain of the Gods. You have earned your place among the kings of old.”

  Roakore wiped his eyes as he watched his beloved brother’s last breath leave his beaten body. “Take him to the last chamber!” his father ordered two awaiting dwarves. They took up the body and hurried down the tunnel. Roakore’s father turned to his three remaining sons with burning, tear-filled eyes. “They’ll pay.”

  Roakore grabbed his father’s arm as he stormed past toward the balcony. Roakore knew the Draggard had entered the chamber, for dwarf spears had begun to fly.

  “Be there word from the four groups that’ve doubled back to the main chamber?” he asked.

  Roakore’s father looked ill; his grey eyes burned still, but beneath that fire of hatred lay a hint of despair. “Yes, my son. They found the chamber full. The Draggard army numbers in the thousands. They fill every hall, tunnel, and chamber. We, my son, are all who remain.”

  Roakore knew in his heart then that they were doomed. The Draggard numbers were so great that still they filled the main hall and all surrounding tunnels. Although hundreds of tunnels and a vast number of chambers rooted out from the main hall of the dwarf city for miles, only two tunnels led to the surface.

  “Has word been sent to Ky’Dren?” Roakore asked his father.

  “Aye. When the horn blew, riders were sent out. But they’ll bring news o’ peril too late, I’m ’fraid,” he said gravely.

  Roakore said nothing; his father watched him keenly and recognized his fears. In a voice loud enough for all around to hear he yelled, “That is right, my son, they shall die, one and all! Let them come, and let them know the wrath of the dwarves!”

  His words were met with an enthusiastic roar all around him as he nodded to his now-eldest son, Roakore, and walked to the balcony. Roakore understood as well as his father that the fight would be lost. He also understood that his father could not in the face of such peril let the bleak truth diminish the dwarves’ spirits. They would all die fighting for their mountain, and they would all be rewarded in death with a place on the Mountain of the Gods.

  From where he stood at the tunnel entrance, Roakore could tell that the Draggard army was filing steadily into the Chamber of Spears. Soon his father’s command rang out into the room: “Bring the chamber to life!”

  Roakore heard the telltale sound of hundreds of spears being launched from their mounts upon the chamber ceiling, down into the ranks of the beasts. “To the next chamber!” The dwarves, led by Roakore, made their way down the tunnel into the next chamber.

  The Chamber of Mazes was not a chamber at all, but rather a series of interconnecting tunnels. Roakore led the group down the short tunnel into a small room that opened into four separate tunnels. He opted for the first tunnel to his right and urged the dwarves on.

  The route through the chamber was taught to every dwarf child at an early age. It would take less them than ten minutes to complete it. But anyone who did not know the way could explore the tunnels for days to no avail.

  Roakore led the group through the last series of tunnels and fake doors to the real exit. He knocked out a rhythm on the heavy door and was answered with the sounds of many disengaging deadbolts. The door swung open and the dwarves entered the Chamber of Traps, the last defense in the Chambers of Errakner.

  The chamber’s ceiling was over one hundred feet high, and the chamber itself spanned over one thousand feet in length and two hundred feet in width. The dwarves were careful to take the previously memorized route to the back wall. One false step in the perilous room could easily cost them their lives. Beyond the entrance to the chamber the room seemed fairly empty, but hidden within were hundreds of traps.

  More than one thousand armor-clad male dwarves waited at the end of the chamber, less than one-tenth of the full army within the mountain. Any who were not within the chamber could be assumed dead, having been out on mining expeditions miles away when the invasion started, or killed in the battles that followed. Those within the most distant mines of the mountain would return to the city to find it overrun with Draggard; they would die, but would no doubt take many of the beasts with them.

  At the end of the chamber behind the army of dwarves was a single door which led to the Hiding Chamber, where more than ten thousand terrified dwarf women and children and elders waited. Mothers held their young and soothed the crying children’s fears with soft words as the older, braver lads begged to be let to fight. The mountain had not been invaded in over seven hundred years, well beyond the reckoning of even the eldest dwarves, and never had it been invaded by the likes of the Draggard.

  The dwarves prepared for battle, sharpening hatchets and axes, checking each other’s armor and readying crossbows. They did not expect the Draggard to get through the maze for hours yet but were determined to be prepared. Roakore found his father and brothers and was met with a great hug from his youngest brother, who had grown a beard only the year before. “Today we avenge our people, brother. They will not get by!”

  Roakore responded with a gruff war cry, but he saw his brother’s fear. Not fear for himself or even the women and children, but for their father. For there was no place within the Mountain of the Gods for a king who had lost his mountain. His soul would linger eternally within the many tunnels and halls of the mountain.

  “Today we fight side by side, my sons,” the king roared.

  He was interrupted in his speech by a shout from one of the door guards. “They have reached the chamber! They have reached the chamber, and they are at the doors!”

  A hush came over the group, and in the silence the sounds of many clawed fists banging on wood echoed throughout the chamber.

  “They must’ve sniffed us out, the animals,” one of the dwarves growled.

  The king walked calmly to the front line with Roakore and his sons and addressed the army. “Archers into position!” he bellowed, and two ranks of one hundred archers took to the balconies on each side of the chamber. The banging and clawing upon the thick chamber door became louder, the king continued.

  “Good dwarves, today our deepest fears have been realized. Behind that very door awaits an army o’ thousands. We’re outnumbered, an’ we’ve come here to make our final stand.” He scowled and his powerful voice rose, filling the chamber and drowning out the sounds of the Draggard.

  “We fight now fer our mountain. The gods and kings o’ old watch us now, each an’ every one o’ us. What legacy will ye bring with ye to the Mountain o’ the Gods? What’ll ye do to ensure yer place?”

  He paused and eyed the battle-hungry crowd, fire burning in their eyes. The pounding upon the door escalated, and it finally gave way to the horde of Draggard. They poured into the room, dozens instantly taking to the walls. The king paid them no mind, however, and went on.

/>   “What we do here today shall echo in song throughout the great golden halls o’ the Mountain o’ the Gods! What we do here now’ll become legend! Let these foul beasts know our wrath, an’ let ’em rue the day they entered our mountain! We’ll fight till our last breath, bloody axe an’ crushin’ hammer. Leave none alive, an’ let the tale o’ this day echo eternally throughout the great halls o’ our gods!”

  The king’s speech was met with a thousand war cries, and the great voice of the furious dwarf army stopped the Draggard in their tracks. The king took up the war song of the gods and a thousand voices joined in. Axe and war-hammer handles banged upon the stone floor in unison as the fearless dwarves sang. The very stone beneath them trembled as the great song echoed throughout the chamber.

  The archers had begun firing upon the Draggard who had taken to the wall, and those who came straight across the room soon fell into the many traps. A group of fifty led the march across the great chamber, but they were not fifty feet into the room when suddenly the false floor beneath them gave out, sending all falling to their deaths two hundred feet below. Those who followed did so cautiously now, eyeing the floor before them warily and avoiding the pit widely. Then the faces of the Draggard changed: no longer did they show fear nor caution. They charged, careless of any danger, as if the whips of their masters were behind them. They set off many trip wires in their heated advance. Spears came up through the floor, killing a group of forty; another false floor opened, sending one hundred more to their deaths. But still they came, pouring into the room with loud howls and growls, though they were drowned out by the singing and pounding of the dwarves.

  One unfortunate Draggard stepped on the wrong stone tile and was utterly broken by a huge, swinging boulder. This put into motion a series of levers as hundreds of other swinging boulders began to move. None could maneuver the boulders, so instead they took to the walls. The dwarves had not designed the room with wall-climbers in mind, however, and they realized the time for battle had come. The power of their collective voices became tenfold as they took their battle stances. Hundreds of Draggard came down from the walls to the stone below, one hundred feet from the dwarf army. The archers shot frantically at the targets, felling many. But soon they took up their axes as the Draggard took to the balconies.

  The horde of beasts before the dwarfs charged, spears leading the way. Growls and hisses escaped from mouths full of hideously pointed teeth, and black eyes bore down on the dwarves, seething with rage.

  The king had taken his place among his sons, and together they faced their doom with unwavering courage, singing the war song of the gods with all their hearts. The dwarves at the front line sent their hatchets flying into the ranks, taking down dozens of the monsters. The archers had stopped firing, for they were now engaged in mortal combat along the two balconies. Draggard bodies fell steadily from those high perches as the angry dwarves cut them down as they advanced from the walls.

  The charging army of Draggard was twenty feet away when the dwarves began their own charge to match the momentum of the oncoming beasts. The two armies came together like colliding waves. Spears found dwarf flesh; axes hewed Draggard heads. The final battle had begun.

  The king and his sons cut through the beasts with a ferocity never seen before within the great mountain. Their prowess in battle was unmatched by any of the dwarves of their clan, and the very sight of the great warriors brought forth screeches of fear from any they faced. The lines of the dwarves held steady as one beast after another fell to their fury.

  Still the Draggard poured through the chamber door to aid in the attack; now more than two thousand of the beasts waited to reinforce the ranks. But the dwarves fought with such ferocity that they actually began to force the attacking army back. Draggard upon the walls jumped into the midst of the dwarf army only to be lost within a sea of blades and hammers. Few of the dwarves fell, and even those who were mortally wounded did not relent.

  Roakore had killed twelve already and eagerly engaged another beast. The monster lunged forward with its spear, which Roakore easily parried, and he smashed the center of his axe into the face of the beast. As it flailed back from the crushing force, Roakore advanced and cut through its shoulder, burying the blade deep into the Draggard’s chest. With a growl he dislodged his blade and cut down another. Then one of the beasts was upon his back. Claws raked across his face as teeth bit fiercely, trying to get through the armor to the tough flesh. The beast suddenly went limp as the king’s two axes found its back. Roakore threw the beast off and nodded to his father.

  The king returned the gesture and with a growl engaged another beast. Roakore watched with admiration as his father masterfully whirled his twin axes, cutting down the unfortunate beast before him.

  The battle raged on for more than an hour and the dwarves held their ground. Cutting down these beasts was no more tiresome than pounding rock all day, and they did not tire easily. Thousands of Draggard bodies littered the great chamber, but still they came. More than one hundred dwarves had fallen, which only intensified the rage within the dwarf army. But the Draggard numbers were far too great. Although the enraged dwarves fought with great ferocity, they had no reinforcements, and as they fell they were not replaced with fresh fighters as the Draggard were. Another hour passed and the battle began to take its toll on the weary dwarves. The Draggard came by the hundreds across the chamber, and the wall-climbers had started to become effective in their attack. The dwarves soon found themselves being attacked from all sides, and their numbers had been cut in half. The warriors fought side by side, even atop the heaps of dead bodies. Roakore claimed his one hundredth kill by chopping the head of one of the beasts clean off its shoulders. He then claimed another kill as his axe found the ribcage of another Draggard. Beside him his youngest brother was hit in the chest with a Draggard spear. He looked down at the protruding spear with a look of surprise that soon turned to rage. With a great swing his brother smashed the head of his attacker with his double-headed war hammer. Roakore watched in horror as his brother’s gaze caught his and he dropped to his knees and fell dead. Roakore stood frozen in his brother’s dead stare, oblivious to all around him.

  A sudden thud to his shoulder jolted him from his trance: a spear had found him. He then realized that he was surrounded by the growling monsters. He quickly pulled the spear from his shoulder but he felt no pain, for his rage fully engulfed every aspect of his mind and body. His mind became bent on one purpose; his body became an instrument of death. He threw the spear to the floor and met an attacking Draggard with an axe to the head. A great growl escaped him, a roar so fierce and full of rage that it brought looks of terror from the surrounding beasts. Roakore cut into them where they stood. He chopped the arm off one and the leg off another; he parried spear after spear and cut down his aggressors mercilessly. One beast jumped upon his back, knocking off his helm even as he cut down another. The Draggard then bit at his head, and sharp teeth scraped his skull as he tried to throw the monster from him. One of the beasts before him lunged forward with its spear and Roakore turned. The beast upon his back shrieked and let go as the spear sank deep into its back. Roakore turned again and threw a hatchet at the spear-wielder; it sunk deep in the monster’s forehead. In came the tail of another Draggard, whipping across his stomach and cutting through the chainmail, leaving a large gash. Roakore moved in on the attacker as it reared its tail for another strike. Avoiding the pointed end Roakore grabbed the thicker middle of the tail with both hands. With one powerful motion he lifted the beast off its feet and smashed it to the floor with all his strength, and it moved no more.

  No longer cornered, he found himself again in the midst of his kin. He retrieved his great axe and downed another beast, but then he heard a sound that tore at his heart and made him turn in horror. It was the pained cry of his father. Ten feet away he saw him, a spear imbedded in his back and two severed tails protruding from his chest. But the king fought on; his two axes chopped and slashed, and even
as another spear found his belly he did not relent.

  Roakore screamed in horror and fought his way towards his father as he fell. With his axe he plowed a path to him. “The king has fallen!” he cried, and all surrounding dwarves came to his aid, blocking off any further attack. Roakore carried his dying father to the door of the Chamber of Hiding and set him down beside it.

  The king’s grey eyes met Roakore’s, and through labored gasps and bloodied teeth he spoke. “My son, yer all that remains. Yer brothers have all fallen.” He coughed, and blood spattered Roakore’s armor. The king fought back death to utter his final words. “I be damned, me son, fer I’ll not see the Mountain o’ the Gods this day. I’ve failed. The mountain be lost.”

  Roakore started to protest, but his father quieted him with a raised hand. “Ye must go, me son; ye must lead the remaining fighters an’ the women an’ children to Ky’Dren. Swear to me that ye’ll avenge this day. Swear to me that ye’ll take back this mountain someday.”

  Tears fell from Roakore’s eyes as he looked upon his dying father. “I will, Father, ye have me word. I’ll free ye from yer limbo, and this mountain will again be ours. I swear it.”

  A smile was his father’s only response as his head fell back and his eyes closed, never to open again.

  Roakore shook uncontrollably. He wanted nothing more than to rejoin the fight, to kill every last one of the damned dragon half-breeds. But he did not. He had given his father his word; he knew what he had to do. He went to the door and knocked upon it in code. “It be Roakore, son o’ the king. I command ye to open this door.”

  A muffled voice came from the other side. “I’ve orders from the king not to open this door til I hear the song o’ victory! I’ll not disobey!”