Death of a Dwarf

by Pete Prown

  * * *

  Sheriff Forgo was in the moment.

  As soon as an exhausted Dwarf scout had ridden into the village ten hours before, his world had become a blur of action and activity. The scout had warned them that the orkus host was headed their way, several thousand soldiers strong and prepared to lay waste to the Halflings villages. On another day, the Sheriff might have laughed it off as a joke, but when Flume, Magpie, and Two-Toes corroborated the rumor, Forgo got to work.

  He ordered Gadget Pinkle to run through the village, mobilizing folk to prepare for battle. Many of them also laughed, but word of the goblin army followed just as fast, and soon all of Thimble Down was roused to war.

  It was of no surprise that the Mayor fled from the village, but Farmer Edythe came to the gaol and began rallying the troops and heeding the Sheriff’s commands. Her brave actions did not go unnoticed by the denizens of Thimble Down.

  “How many do we have, Forgo?” cried Edythe, her red hair whipping in the rising wind. Rain would follow shortly, she knew.

  “Five hundred at most. If the scout’s estimate is accurate, the Dwarves are bringing a thousand of their own, but we’ll still only have half of the goblin army. This may be the end of all things, Edythe.”

  “Don’t give up yet, Forgo! We have spirit on our side. Look, there’s Mungo, Mr. Timmo, Farmer Duck, Minty Pinter, Dowdy Cray, Bog the Blacksmith, and Millin and Nutylla Parfinn. Well, I’ll be, it’s Osgood Thrip and his traders. Sure, they’re smugglers by day, but I’m glad they’re here anyway.”

  “And we have all the brawny miners and smelters from Bindlestiff’s—look’it, there’s Stookey McGee and Mrs. Mick—though perhaps not the man himself. Mark my words, that coward Bindlestiff is hiding somewhere in his forge. The townsfolk will run him out of town, if he survives.”

  “At the moment, Edythe, I’m worried if these townsfolk will tomorrow’s sunrise,” smirked Forgo, “We’re going to need everyone’s bravery today.”

  In the darkness, lit by torches, he saw the faces of friends and neighbors, mothers and fathers, and many Halflings he’d known his entire life. And Forgo knew some of them wouldn’t be here to see the dawn. He took a deep breath and spoke anyway.

  “Folks, in a few minutes, our world and way of life in Thimble Down will change—maybe forever.”

  The Sheriff took a big breath and put his hands on his hips, his belly bulging even under a heavy jerkin.

  “I won’t mince words. The goblins are coming and they’re comin’ to destroy our way of life. I already smell smoke, so figure the monsters have torched Upper-Down or maybe West Upper-Down. Or p’raps they’re making mischief in the Great Wood. Either way, Thimble Down is next, and it’s up to us to save it.”

  “I know there are more of those rotten beasties than Halflings, but we have heart and courage. And we have families and younglings to protect—but we’re all we have left at this point, so it’s up to you. Do you want to die in your burrows and let the orkus slaughter your young and your neighbor’s children, too?”

  “No!” roared the Thimble Downers in return.

  “That’s good because we’re gonna need your strength of heart,” said Forgo grimly. “Now here’s the lay of the land: First, we know the bastards are coming in from the North. I’m going to take half of you and create a perimeter just above Fell’s Corner and try to repel the bulk of the enemy there.

  “Fortunately, I know a little something about those buggers, and I bet some of ’em are sneaking around our border at this very second and might attack in any direction. So half of you are gonna stay here and patrol the village.”

  “And for goodness sake, look up! Goblins can climb up and over burrows like spiders, so keep your eyes open in every direction. When you see the rats—and you will—holler for backup, and start swinging your sword or axe like you mean business. Their middles are well protected, so chop at their arms, legs, and heads. It’s your best bet. Got it?”

  “Yes!” screamed the fighters in return.

  “Now let’s break into companies and get moving. Go!” roared the Sheriff, but out of the corner of his eye, saw Gadget running up the lane in a panic. “What is it, boy?”

  “Sheriff, they’re here! They’ve lit half of the Great Wood on fire and are almost in the village. And I heard that all that’s left of Upper-Down is flaming ruins!”

  With resignation Sheriff Forgo surveyed the fearful looks among his warriors.

  “Saddle up, folks,” he remarked with surprising coolness as he mounted his pony Tom. “It’s time to chop some goblin necks.”

  The Battle of the Burrows

  Dorro couldn’t believe he was still alive.

  In the past minutes, he’d engaged no fewer than ten goblin fighters, and by some miracle, many were dead and he was not. Granted, the bookmaster couldn’t take credit for winnowing down so many goblins—he was surrounded by Dwarf fighters, several of whom had assisted mightily. He was astounded with how ferocious both the Dwarves and goblins were, hacking and hewing each other with frightening sword, axe, bow, and mace blows.

  It was brutal combat in the cool Autumn air. The ground of the forest had become littered with the dead body parts and ash from the burning trees.

  The trees! There, I can be more useful, Dorro thought, and he immediately ran towards the flames. While the battle continued around him, he began stamping out flames and kicking dirt into the conflagration to reduce the heat. His jerkin and heavy gloves were helping him ward off the fire, and his efforts were beginning to pay off as a few hot spots began to smolder.

  From behind, Dorro felt something painful jab his ribs, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. He turned to find a goblin spear on the ground and its warty owner coming up to finish the job.

  “Stay away from my forest, foul beast!” he heard himself say, quite bravely in fact.

  “Ach, we shall burn all your trees to the ground, puny mouse, and slaughter yer children,” the goblin hissed back. “And I shall wear your bones as a luv’ly crown.”

  Dorro knew something about the genus orkus and how intelligent they were—this was just battle talk to intimidate him. However, the goblin didn’t know that; to him, Dorro looked like a frail Halfling about to wet himself. The bookmaster played that up as the beast moved within two strides.

  “Oh please, Mr. Goblin, don’t hurt me! I’m just a wee little fellow and more accustomed to gardening than fighting. You wouldn’t attack me, would you, especially considering your powerful arms and weapons?”

  The creature stopped short, listening to Dorro’s words. “You are one of the smart ones. We were told you miserable Halflings would just run and flee from us, but you are wise to realize our superior potential. We are the masters now. Maybe if I let you live, you will serve me as a slave. Träag will like that!”

  Dorro fell to his knees in supplication, weeping and moaning for mercy. Above him, Träag put his hands on his hips and laughed.

  “My own little puppy! You will be my pet, and the others in my clan will be jealous, especially my brother Knüt.”

  Träag was laughing so hard, in fact, that he didn’t see Dorro whip out his sword and swing it in a deadly lateral arc. Nor did he really understand what happened as he began falling to the ground. Had he been paying more attention, he would have realized that the tiny Halfling had neatly severed his leg just below the knee and that he couldn’t stand on one leg. It was only a fleet second later that the pair’s roles had been reversed—the goblin warrior lying prostate on the forest floor, while the Halfling stood over him with a bright sword, about to end his life.

  “You deserve to die, goblin scum! For what you did to our trees, I should kill you now.” Dorro was breathing hard and felt anger surging through his veins.

  “Spare Träag, oh mighty one. I only meant to toy with you; I would have freed you later, I promise!”

  “I would kill you, but seeing you up close reminds me of a friend, one of your kind,” said the bookmaster. “He
would have spared your life.”

  “You, friends with orkus? Impossible! An orkus who did that would die. Where is he?” screamed Träag, trying to staunch the flow of black blood from his leg stump with his belt.

  “Oh, he is far away and safe from you and your clan. I made sure your kind would never harm him.”

  “These are lies!” roared Träag. “You are a filthy Halfling after all!”

  The one-legged goblin leapt up on his stump and pulled a hidden dagger from his tunic, pulling back to stab his foe in the heart.

  Dorro knew the end was coming, but heard a giant Creak! behind him. Above them, a badly scorched oak tree broke in half, sending its upper trunk and crown hurtling towards the two. The Thimble Downer leapt out of the way as Träag screamed, yet without a second leg, could not move.

  Dorro looked just as the tree toppled to the ground, crushing the goblin to death. The bookmaster was horrified, but felt it was strange justice.

  No one messed with a Thimble Downer’s forest and lived to tell the tale.