“Enough,” Vognar snapped. “When this is over,” he said while glaring at Emlin, “you and I are going to have a little talk about how I expect you to follow my commands.”
It hardly seemed possible but Emlin paled even further. His eyes dropped to the ground and he backed away from the king. Once again he reminded Derek of a dog; this time though it was of a dog that was used to being beaten.
Vognar turned from his cowering councilor back to Rotir. “How many guards do you have?” Vognar asked, repeating Derek’s earlier, unanswered question.
“Just over four hundred, but most of them are either older guards or new recruits. All my best men are at the gates.” There was something in the guard’s tone that sounded vaguely like a rebuke.
Vognar took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, you were right. We should have kept more of the experienced guards here.”
Rotir didn’t reply except to nod his head.
“Gather the guards at the entrance to the tunnels and have someone get my armor,” Vognar said.
“Your armor?” Blore and Rotir asked in unison.
“My king, surely you’re not going into the tunnels,” Emlin said, forgetting that the king was angry with him.
“I most certainly am,” Vognar snapped right back. Then he quickly raised a hand to cut off the numerous arguments against his accompanying them. “I will not cower in my bedchambers while young dwarves fight goblins to protect me.” He glanced around, his angry look silencing the other dwarves, then he turned back to Rotir. “You have your orders.”
Rotir bowed his head and touched his fist to his heart. “Yes, my king.” With that the tall dwarf turned and hurried back into the armory.
“Who is Rotir?” Kara asked. “Is he the Captain of the guard?”
Blore shook his head. “No, he’s the Captain General.”
“Captain General?” Kara repeated confused.
“Yes. Vognar has nine generals counting Rotir, but Rotir’s over all the rest. He answers only to Vognar.”
Chapter 16
It took less than a quarter of an hour to get the dwarven guards armed and assembled at the entrance to the tunnels. Rotir had referred to them as the old and the inexperienced but Derek had a hard time telling them apart from the other dwarves. They all had thick beards, but some of those beards were stark white while others were red or black.
The king, Blore, and Belgil had also armed themselves. They all now wore chainmail and carried axes. Kara and Derek had their weapons but they didn’t add any armor. They still wore the light, leather armor they wore when they arrived.
The last few stragglers were still forming into ranks, when a lone dwarf emerged from the tunnel entrance. He was a thin dwarf, which was rather unusual, but he also dressed strangely. He didn’t wear the heavy armor of the guards, or even the blue or red tunics common to so many of the dwarves. Instead he wore light-fitting, dark clothing. His clothes were not just black, grey, or brown, but a subtle combination of all those colors.
Derek squinted at the newcomer, his eyes having difficulty following the dwarf’s progress.
The thin dwarf stopped just inside the main cavern and scanned the assemblage. He located where King Vognar stood with Rotir and ran over to join them.
Derek and Kara hurried over, too. They arrived just as the thin dwarf bowed his head and thumped his fist to his heart.
Derek studied him up close. It was easier to see him this close, but only barely. Something about the clothing seemed to absorb the feeble light produced by the mold. The thin dwarf glanced at them once and then completely ignored the Guardians.
“Scout Himlee, sir,” the dwarf said.
“What news?” Rotir demanded. His whole body exuded tension; he was even leaning forward on his toes.
“So far, we’ve only located a small group of goblins,” Himlee replied. “Their numbers are hard to tell but no more than forty.”
The king and Rotir both exhaled a deep breath at the news.
“The Gods be praised!” Vognar said quietly. “If that’s all that survived the collapse, then we’ve been very blessed tonight indeed!”
“Just forty?” Rotir repeated watching Himlee.
“Yes, sir. The other scouts are still searching the tunnels, but we’ve not seen any other signs.”
“Where are they?” Vognar asked.
“They’ve left the area of the collapsed cavern and are setting up in the Ravine of the Winds,” Himlee answered.
“The Ravine of the Winds?” Vognar repeated, starting to smile a bit. “There are only three ways in.” He looked to Rotir. “We can block the two entrances up top and come at them from the rear, on the ravine floor.”
Rotir nodded and he too looked pleased. “I would like to leave one hundred of the newest recruits here to guard the entrance to the city. We’ll send fifty guards to the far side to block the tunnel entrance on that side and fifty to block the tunnel on this side.”
“And take two hundred with us?” Vognar asked, looking slightly surprised. “Do we need that many?”
Rotir shrugged. “Normally, I would say no, but most of my best men are still at the gates. I’m not sure how these guards will respond.”
After a brief pause, Vognar nodded.
“Excuse me,” Kara interjected. “What’s this Ravine of the Winds?”
The king started at being interrupted and glanced first at Kara and then to Belgil. He waved his hand at her. “Explain it to her,” he said. Then he and Rotir moved off closer to the assembled guards.
“The ravine is a cavern, a narrow and very deep cavern that cuts across one of the main tunnels. The tunnel intersects the ravine high up and a stone bridge connects both sides. The king is going to block both ends of the bridge and force the goblins to remain in the ravine. There’s a third entrance much lower that will let us out onto the floor of the ravine.” Belgil paused and lifted his right hand, pointing at them. “Watch your step. The floor is uneven and there’s many deep drop-offs. If you fall into one …” he stopped speaking, leaving the implications unspoken.
“Why is it called the Ravine of the Winds?” Derek asked.
“Three or four times a day an enormous amount of air is forced through the cavern; it’s reminiscent of winds on the surface – very strong winds,” Belgil answered. “Dwarves have lost their lives by being swept off the bridge that spans the Ravine. It can be a dangerous place.”
“Why would the goblins go there?” Kara asked.
Belgil shrugged. “Probably just looking for the deepest, darkest hole they can find to hide in.”
Derek would have bet everything he owned that four hundred dwarves could not move quietly. Thankfully no one took that bet because if they had, he would have lost everything. It was a tad eerie how over four hundred, heavily armed dwarves could creep through the tunnels silently. Several times, Derek or Kara tripped or stumbled, causing only a brief, tiny noise, but still every dwarf in the vicinity would shoot them an angry look. Neither Guardian would have ever guessed that they would be struggling to be as quiet as a dwarven host.
The dwarves split into four groups. The first two groups were of fifty and they hurried into the tunnel had disappeared in different directions. The mission of these first two groups was to block the two high entrances to the ravine; basically hold both ends of the bridge and keep any goblins from escaping into the tunnels. Both groups were made up a of mixture of old veterans and new recruits.
The third group also consisted of fifty dwarves, but these were Rotir’s best fighters, excepting those gathered at the gates. Rotir himself personally led them and they served as an advance guard. They were leading the way to the third opening into the Ravine of the Winds. Their mission was to block the lower opening into the ravine and make sure it was safe for the king to approach. It was a serious mission; Rotir had even argued openly with the king about staying behind, but the king would have none of it.
The fourth group was made up of just over one
hundred and fifty dwarven fighters, the king, Blore, Belgil, and the two Guardians. The dwarven fighters were a mixture of young and old, but none of them looked scared, at least not to Derek. Although to be honest, dwarves were very stoic and rarely showed emotion. They could have been nearly peeing themselves and he might not be able to tell.
King Vognar may have insisted on going along, but he was no fool and allowed his escort to surround him. Such a large party of dwarves moved silently through the tunnels, keeping the king, Blore, Belgil, and the two noisy Guardians in the very center.
Even though they traveled in silence, they maintained a brisk pace. Their passage through the tunnels was uneventful for the most part. Twice they stumbled across small groups of dwarves who started at the appearance of the king in battle regalia, but those dwarves were quickly ushered away, sent back to the city to be safe.
It was eerie walking through the dwarven tunnels in near silence. The tunnels were eerie on their own, but several hundred silent dwarves all around them only added to the tension. Several times Derek jumped as a shadow moved in the dim light, but each time it only turned out to be a dwarf that had been stationary for a moment.
Gradually the host slowed down and became even more quiet – something that Derek would have thought was impossible. Finally, the group stopped altogether, and they stood shifting from foot to foot in the gloom.
They stood in silence for several moments, and then a dwarf seemed to appear suddenly, almost right beside them. Derek recognized the dwarf as Himlee – the scout that had brought the news of the goblins’ location.
The forward dwarves parted to let him pass and he approached the king. He didn’t waste time on bowing or any such foolishness – there was a time for courtly manners and that was in the middle of the king’s court. Bowing and scraping had no place on a possible battlefield.
“My king,” Himlee whispered, drawing close. “Rotir is in place. I’ve confirmed that the two upper groups are also in position. The ravine is sealed. The only way out is through us.”
Vognar nodded. “Take me to Rotir,” he said also in a whisper.
Himlee nodded and headed back the way he had come. He moved quickly, without checking to see if the king was following.
The scout leading them forward acted as a signal and the dwarves that surrounded them moved forward as well, almost seeming to melt into the shadows.
They walked for another five minutes through twisting tunnels and corridors, finally coming to a stop when the tunnel dead-ended in a large opening. The opening was natural, not having been formed by dwarven hands. It was tall and roughly triangular in shape. The top of the opening was a good thirty feet above their heads, while the base was twenty feet wide.
Dwarven fighters stood five deep all around the opening. They stared into the gloom beyond the opening, as if they expected an attack at any moment; in truth, an attack could very easily occur.
Dwarves are at home in the deep places of the earth, but so are goblins. While dwarves mine and build things, goblins seem to live only to kill and tear things down. The two races hate each other, probably because they both covet the same holes to live in. Then again, goblins seem to hate everyone. It was a miracle that goblins tolerated each other long enough to reproduce.
Off to the right of the opening was a large rock that had fallen from the tunnel side. The very sight of it caused Derek to swallow hard and look around at the tunnel wall and ceilings. The thought of all that rock collapsing made his mouth go dry.
Just behind the rock stood Rotir. He noticed their arrival and waved them closer.
King Vognar hastened over and leaned in close to whisper, “What news?”
Rotir paused, giving Blore, Belgil, Kara, and Derek a moment to join them and then he replied, “Caught sight of some of the goblins moving around in the ravine. Not sure if they’ve seen us or not, but if we’ve seen them, then they’ve probably seen us.”
“How many?” Blore asked.
“Impossible to tell,” Rotir answered. “We’re still acting on the original information. We don’t expect more than forty of them.”
The words made Derek tense up. The action did not go unnoticed.
“What is it?” Rotir asked, looking at him.
“Probably nothing,” Derek answered, “but I’m beginning to see traps and deceit everywhere.” He shrugged. “Could it be a trap? Could more goblins have entered the ravine while Himlee came to get us?”
Rotir sighed deeply and considered Derek’s question, then he shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “It’s possible, but unlikely. And the only way to find out is to step inside.” He looked to the king for guidance.
Vognar paused momentarily. He looked grave but after a moment he nodded. “Go,” he said to Rotir. The king waited a moment while Rotir stepped away to give the orders. Then, he turned and nodded to Blore.
Blore stepped close to the king, and for the first time Derek noticed that Blore held an ancient-looking wooden box in his hands. The box had a hinged lid, but Blore held the box out closed to Vognar.
The king hesitated only a moment before reaching out and flipping the lid open.
Derek wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, perhaps a jewel encrusted sword or maybe an enchanted rod of power – he wasn’t expecting the old, plain axe that rested on velvety cloth.
Vognar gently lifted the axe from the box, holding it almost reverently.
Blore snapped the box closed and hurried to follow Vognar toward the ravine opening.
Derek placed a hand on Belgil’s shoulder, making the dwarf pause as he made to follow his father. “What’s so special about the axe?” he asked.
Belgil’s eyes went wide. “Surely you know what that was? Haven’t you heard the story of the Grimstone?”
Derek looked to Kara and she to him, and they both shook their heads.
Belgil’s excitement darkened a bit, but he spoke hurriedly. “The axe is legendary. It was built by Durnir at the beginning of time. It has been passed down from King to King as long as the dwarves have lived.” As he spoke, Belgil led the two Guardians toward the ravine entrance. “Hurry,” he added breathlessly.
Derek and Kara picked up their pace, hurrying to stay close to the excited Belgil. The dwarves ahead of them parted, letting them step through the entrance into the ravine.
Chapter 17
Derek and Kara paused just inside the ravine entrance. The chasm opened up quickly, going from a narrow crack to wide cavern. The floor was uneven and rough. Stalagmites reared up from the ground reaching for the darkness overhead. Here and there, dark pits dropped away into nothingness. It was gloomier in the ravine than it had been in the tunnels, probably due to the walls being far away.
King Vognar strode forward with Rotir right on his heels. He walked twenty yards or so into the ravine and stopped on a slight raised hill. Behind them came Blore followed by Belgil, who hurried to join them. Derek and Kara rushed after the others – they were unsure about what was to happen, but they didn’t want to miss anything.
The dwarves at the entrance slowly eased their way into the ravine – spreading out in both directions on either side of the opening.
Vognar stood for several moments without saying a word; the only clue to his unease was the flexing of his hands on Grimstone’s handle. Finally, he took a deep breath and shouted, “Goblins! The king of this realm bids you come out.”
Derek swallowed hard – not liking the idea of baiting goblins who were trapped in a dark hole.
A scratching sound and the loosening of sand on the ravine floor was the only warning as a large, and very ugly, figure stepped from the shadows. It was a black goblin.
Derek had seen two types of goblins before – white and black. They were so called because of the color of the fur that covered their bodies, but there are other differences. White goblins are man-sized and slightly stronger than a man. Black goblins are seven feet tall and more than a match for a man in unarmed combat.
The gob
lin that stared back at them was taller even than the average black goblin and heavily muscled. He had wicked looking fangs that stuck up from his lower jaw and he held a massive two-handed sword in his hands. He was covered in coarse black fur, everywhere except on his head, which was completely bald.
“What is your name, beast?” Vognar demanded. He spoke in the common tongue, although he could have also spoken in the language of the goblins.
The goblin hissed. “Mmee aaa beasstt?” he said, drawing out his words. He raised his arms above his head, making the dwarves tense. The goblin merely flexed his enormous arms to show off the bulging muscles. “Eaten many a dwarrfff ttoo get this big, I haveee.”
“Ignorant beast,” Vognar snapped. “What is your name?”
Rotir moved up closer behind the king to better be able to protect him.
“Orlac,” the goblin finally answered. “My nameee isss Orlac, and I’m the herald of my king, Ireru.”
“And is your king here?” Vognar asked. “Or perhaps he was in the cavern when it collapsed?”
Orlac shook his head, sending several droplets of drool flying from his fangs. “Hee had nottt come through yettt.”
Vognar nodded. “I see. I don’t think I’ve heard of Ireru before. What tribe are you from?”
“Not heard off Ireru before?” Orlac repeated, appearing insulted. “Maybe nottt, butt youuu know of hissss fathers.”
“Oh? And who are they? Where are you from, beast?”
“The White Mountains,” Orlac answered. His lips curved upwards in a grotesque smile.
The dwarves all tensed again and Derek looked around, trying to see why.
“The White Mountains you say. Is this Ireru descended from Ger’ock?” Vognar asked.
The name was strange, but Derek was sure he’d heard it before.
Orlac nodded. “Ger’ock is Ireru’s father’s, father’s, father.”
It hit him then, and Derek realized where he had heard of Ger’ock. It had been in King Vognar’s trophy room. There had been an ancient looking goblin skull on a pedestal. No wonder this Ireru wanted to kill the dwarves; they had killed his great-grandfather and kept his skull as a trophy. He imagined it was rather difficult to overlook such a thing.
A Gathering of Armies Page 14