Son of the Storm

by Michael DeAngelo

  His human son was well on his way toward the carriages. Lund saw his approach and slapped a hefty mallet into his open palm.

  “I’d turn back if I was ye, Boil!” he called out.

  It wasn’t until then that he saw the winged witches falling from the sky. Dark blue feathers, nearly the same tint as his vest, were pulled back and up from the wind, and narrowed eyes fought past that fierce gust.

  The harpies were falling fast.

  Halting just as quickly, the caravan drivers tugged firmly at the reins of their mules. As the witches neared the ground, they seemed to make no distinction between dwarf and donkey. They quickly shifted, letting their sharp talons lead the way. Claws lacerated the mules without reprieve, sending the beasts of burden braying and charging forward.

  Dozens more of the winged warriors dropped below the clouds, some adorned with armor but most as naked as the one that attacked Fali. Whatever armor was present typically seemed to be the same shade as their icy looking skin or their cobalt feathers. Barely any of the dwarves had ever seen the sky so full of their sworn enemy, but not all of them were so taken by the shrieking women.

  Lund charged forward, keeping pace with his fleeing wagon. As a harpy landed there, she tore at the canvas roof, managing one long slice before a hammer collided into her spine. She flopped to the ground, writhing in pain. Lund arrived before her, waiting until she met his gaze. At that moment, he dropped his boot upon her face, crushing her skull. The dwarf bent low and scooped up his hammer, prepared for the next encounter.

  Bolt heard as his name was called again but chose to ignore it. Finally, the urgency of his father’s voice urged him to turn around. Sharp talons swept down, and it was only the young man’s quick reflexes that kept him safe. The human pivoted away, keeping his shoulders away from those claws. He reached out with his leading arm, his open palm mere inches from the harpy’s chest. She grasped his hand with her slender fingers, scowling at what seemed like a meager plea.

  He made no such request.

  As a wry grin appeared on his face, a bluish light emitted from between his fingers. The harpy looked down at it, stunned by the man’s sudden magical manifestation. Her smooth hands tightened around the man’s for a moment before she was flung backward, landing in the dirt with a thud. A faint wisp of smoke rose from her chest. She focused on that briefly before falling into unconsciousness.

  To Bolt’s side, another wagon barreled forth, its mule team unlikely to stop. A harpy sat atop the vehicle, tearing through the canvas with a crude, awkwardly shaped knife. The human could hear a startled cry from within and watched as the winged woman dove into the wagon.

  “No,” he heard. “No!”

  To his surprise, both the harpy and a dwarf emerged from the vehicle, connected only by what each firmly grasped. Within their hands, a large squared war hammer separated the two. The dwarf, covered in an odd burgundy robe, seemed to ripple back and forth as he teetered on the end of the weapon. Lunging forward, he grasped one of the harpy’s clawed feet. With a growl, the sky witch crossed with her other leg, slashing the diminutive fellow across the face. He could hold on no longer, tumbling from the air, colliding into the wooden frame of the carriage.

  Bolt charged ahead, leaping off the wagon. The harpy flapped her wings, lifting her legs high, just out of reach. With a mischievous snicker, she took to the sky, glowering at the human. “My sisters!” she cried out, her voice sinister yet soothing. “I have it! I have the hammer!”

  Those harpies that could break free of their encounters did, fleeing into the air. Many more were enthralled in their battles.

  Shortly after, the sounds of fighting subsided. As the gleeful cheers of the parting harpies echoed into silence, the Goldenscale Cliffs were filled only with the sounds of the injured and dying.

  Bolt turned, surveying the damage. A score of harpies had fallen, stray feathers blowing in the wind. It was a mournful breeze, however. Several dwarves ceased to move, lying in pools of their own blood.

  The young man felt a firm grip on his arm and turned to see his father there.

  Dorn wrenched his son toward him, squeezing him in a tight embrace. “Don’t ever do that again!” he lectured. As they separated, though, Dorn saw the carriage that had been torn to shreds and stood astonished.

  Lund sped to the carriage that once housed the legendary hammer as well. Other dwarves restrained the drive team. The guard was only concerned with one person in particular. “Mordek, please tell me I heard wrong,” he said.

  The dark red garbed dwarf, on the ground on all fours, groaned. Lund reached down and tugged the mage to his feet.

  “Tell me something,” he demanded, pushing the diminutive fellow away.

  Finally, the dwarf known as Mordek squared his jaw and nodded. “They have Stonemaw,” he said. As Lund advanced on him, he raised his hands in protest. “But all is not lost,” he cried.

  “Ye better have some great news fer me, wizard,” the guard spoke.

  “I marked the one who took the hammer,” Mordek said. “After all this time, we’ll finally find where the harpies roost.”

  Lund’s eyes went wide, and he turned to the group of dwarves that surrounded him. A mischievous grin appeared on his face. “Even from his grave, old Vaulen can’t keep his hammer from those birds.” He clapped his own weapon into his hand again. “Seems we’ll finally be able to pluck those ladies clean.”

  A great cheer echoed across the cliffs then.

  Bolt looked to his father, an eager grin on his face.

  Chapter Five: Beware the Tempest

  The tunnels were thick with dwarves, all trying to catch a glimpse of the event unfolding at the front of the cavernous complex. One clandaughter held tightly to her child, tugging him along down the steps. Buzzing like a hornet’s nest, the Thunderfury Dwarves kept growing louder and louder. Rena’s brow furrowed when she couldn’t ask for some room to pass.

  Finally, she had enough. Dipping her shoulder, she rammed a path between other unsuspecting folks. When a terse voice or closed fist headed in her direction, she simply stood straighter, inviting a cause for her wrath. More than once, those fists turned into shoulder pats at the last moment.

  As Varek’s niece made her presence known, her clan parted before her. The meager torchlight of the main hall was reinforced by the brightness of the throne room. Still, dark topics affronted that light, as if no torch could shine through it.

  “How did they know we’d found the hammer?” one dwarf yelled. “We’d only just found out about it ourselves!”

  “What does it matter?” Lund asked. “They’ve taken a part of our heritage. And what’s more, they don’t know we can track them. I say we burn that roost and end this feud for good!”

  A string of cheers broke out, and Rena could see that her uncle grew uneasy. Sitting upon the throne, Varek’s face grew redder by the second, and perspiration marred his wrinkled brow. The dwarven king rose from the padded chair, standing proudly over his people. He took his time to look over the clan, slowly beginning to nod his head.

  “The time has come,” Varek conceded. “I will lead the clan to wherever the harpies roost. We will leave at next light, and we will crush them into submission so that such foolish attacks never happen again.”

  More cheers broke out at the sound of that promise. As the fervor died down, one dwarf offered up his own opinion.

  “Begging your pardon, my king,” he said. Rena stopped in her tracks, no more than a dozen feet from her uncle. She swallowed hard, recognizing the voice more than any other in the clan. “That is a foolish plan.”

  Gasps could be heard from the crowd, but everyone in attendance was quickly hushed to silence. Varek squared his jaw, but his features almost seemed to soften. All eyes pointed toward Dorn instead.

  “We know the harpies have Stonemaw,” he said, combating the silence. “But we don’t know why. What reason could they have in taking an old, cracked hammer?”

  “That cracked ha
mmer is worth more than yer life, fool!” Lund contested.

  Many other dwarves agreed, voicing their distaste for his words. Still, Dorn raised his hands to quell the masses. “It’s worth more than anyone’s life,” he said. “To us,” he quickly added. “But what is it worth to the harpies? Why would they take it?”

  “Bah, what’s it matter?” a hefty dwarf behind Lund asked. Humber seemed to be gaining considerable weight in his old age. “They took what’s ours. Let’s take it back.”

  “And leave the Goldenscale Cliffs undefended?” Dorn quickly retorted before the rest of the clan could agree. He turned then to face Varek once more. “My king, if you’re going to send someone after the hammer, you can’t leave our home unguarded. Your place is here. You’re to defend this place from what happened above. If our people weren’t here to protect this place…”

  “That’s enough, Dorn,” the ruler interrupted. “I appreciate your counsel, but your words are spoken as if to a human. It is my right as your king to go where glory waits. Reclaiming Stonemaw should have been the greatest achievement of our generation. Instead, the harpies have left a dark spot on this day.

  “Still, your words are wise,” Varek continued. “The harpies have always known us—and our home—better than we’ve known them. If we march out to wherever they live, two by two, they’ll know this place is unguarded.

  “But we’ve always been better warriors,” he insisted. “One of us for every five of them lie dead up there.” He turned to the crowd, narrowing his eyes. “I shall take our warriors with me, but it will be a small group that I pick. We will not allow our home to be taken by those witches from the north.”

  Rena cut through the crowd, finally reaching her husband. His friends and his son stood beside him, but all of them seemed to diminish beneath the raucous chatter of the clan.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” Fali said, elbowing Dorn in his side. “With the king gone, the council is in charge. If anything happens to Varek, Humber’ll be our clan leader.”

  “Then we’ll have to make sure nothing happens to the king,” Dorn said. He turned toward his wife, accepting her strong embrace. He tousled Eli’s hair then as well. “How are you, lad?”

  Eli only nodded. Bolt, behind his father, pulled the young dwarf back into the crowd.

  “Did ye just say what I think ye said?” Rena asked.

  Her husband raised a finger to his lips and nodded toward their king.

  “Everyone should go home and sleep in their beds tonight. Me boys’ll come to let me group know who’s in it. The council members should go to their chamber and start drafting up a plan should I not come back. I’ll be picking my retainer, and ye can bet it isn’t one uh ye!”

  Some laughter broke out and, beneath that, some quiet grumbling. Rena could see the narrowed eyes of some of those old and weathered dwarves.

  “I wonder,” Dorn said to his friend, “if you could take Bolt and Eli with you. I’d like to stay behind and speak with the king.”

  “I want to stay with you, Father,” Eli said.

  Bolt firmly gripped his younger brother’s shoulders, but he nodded solemnly.

  “Well, ye heard me,” Varek said. “Get!”

  As the crowd dispersed, the king stepped toward the edge of the dais, looking down upon the members of his family. Dorn noticed that glance and nodded in understanding. Before long, only Varek, his niece, and her family remained behind. Rena looked to Dorn, inviting his gaze over to his friend.

  Sighing, Fali stepped back and placed his hands behind the children’s backs. “All right, lads,” he said. “Which one of ye could use an ale?”

  Dorn bowed his head as Fali began ushering the children away. He stopped just at the hallway and looked back upon his friend with concern in his eyes. The mighty doors to the throne room shut, resonating throughout the underground.

  “I know what ye were trying to do, Dorn,” Varek said, “and I appreciate it. But at the end of the day, if I don’t go with them, that’s a fate worse than death.”

  “I’m not so much worried about you getting into trouble as trouble brewing back here in your absence,” Dorn replied. “The council has been trying for years to usurp you, and you know it well.”

  “They can try whatever way they must to try and get around the rules,” Varek challenged. “Every dwarven clan on Tellest has run this way, and that’s not soon about to change.”

  “Uncle,” Rena said. “Ye’ve never fought out in the world like this.”

  “I know, lass,” the king spoke, sinking back into his throne. “But I’ve ran my skirmishes with Jor and his boys plenty of times. If anything could prepare me for the real thing, it’s the Lightning Guard.”

  “Have you thought about who you’ll be bringing?” Dorn asked.

  “Ye asking?” Varek said.

  Dorn tilted his head slightly, a small shrug raising his shoulders. That silence was permeable, and his wife turned, her eyes wide but her brow furrowed. “Ye’ve never hurt a damned beetle!” she cried. “What makes ye think ye can just up and go off to a damned harpy nest?”

  “You know how I feel about family,” Dorn said. “Varek’s my family now, and I can’t let him go alone.”

  Rena collapsed against her husband’s chest, disguising the moisture in her eyes. “What if ye don’t come back?”

  “Lass, I haven’t even said I’d let your husband along on this adventure,” Varek said. “There’s much thought to be put into this, and I won’t make me choices lightly. Why don’t ye all go home for the night and put this day behind ye? Could be getting upset over nothing.”

  * * * * *

  The hall was eerily quiet. All the dwarves had vacated the area, leaving the place looking abandoned. Even the mead hall, farther down the tunnel, seemed to be unusually absent of activity. Dorn could feel Rena’s weak grip and gently tugged her forward. When they entered the mead hall, it was just as haunting as he had predicted. On some of the tables, mugs of half-drunk mead rested, a travesty to his people.

  Only one dwarf remained in the place, and he was made of stone. A statue of Zeb sat before the entrance to the mines. The old dwarf cracked a smile, holding a cage in his hand. Even Jimmer had been immortalized in stone. Though times were dire, Dorn couldn’t suppress a smile when he saw his old friend.

  He and Rena proceeded through the mead hall, crossing to the opposite side. They emerged outside on the western side of the cliffs and began crossing a rope bridge that connected it to the other side. Dorn took a moment to look over his shoulder, his vision landing upon the place he used to call home. A light was on inside. Some other dwarf began making use of it when he had left. Again, he couldn’t hide his grin.

  As they pressed on, they reached the eastern cliff. A tunnel was carved inside and led to multiple homes, like a warren. Dorn and his wife focused on only one in particular, a mossy wooden door left to swing slightly ajar.

  Neither of them waited to press on that entryway. They hastily stepped inside.

  Bolt and Eli both rose quickly from their seats, rushing toward their parents. Fali remained seated, holding a pitcher of ale in his hand, froth covering his beard. He grumbled when he was not immediately acknowledged.

  “So what’s the plan, Dorn?” the gruff dwarf asked, slamming down the glass so hard his guests suspected it might have cracked. “What’s Varek thinking? Are we going to be plucking some feathers?”

  Dorn separated from his family and stepped forward. “You know about as much as we do, Fali. The king is going to be knocking on doors early tomorrow morning, so you’ll want to get some shut-eye.”

  “Bah, no dwarf’ll be sleeping tonight.”

  “Likely not. But we’ve got to wait for the call anyway.”

  “Ye don’t think he’d come and ask you, do ye?” Fali asked.

  Throwing up his arms, Dorn could only shrug.

  “Do you think it’s possible, Father?” Bolt asked.

  “I don’t know, lad. What I do know is
that your Uncle Fali is well known for his fighting. There’s a good chance Varek will depend on him in the days to come. We’d best say our goodbyes and send him off to sleep.”

  Grumbling again, Fali stood from his seat, the stool almost falling back. He welcomed the embrace of the children and Rena but pressed Dorn to arm’s length. “Ye best not be holding out on me.” He pointed with his free hand. “What’s going on?”

  Turning to his wife, Dorn furrowed his brow. “Get the lads home. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Rena swallowed hard but nodded her consent. She grasped Eli by the hand and took her leave. Bolt followed slowly, only exiting the abode once he received a firm nod from his father. When the door was shut, Dorn turned back to Fali.

  “You fool,” he said. “You’re making my poor wife worry herself to death.”

  “We all are,” Fali retorted. “As long as most of us’ve been here, we’ve never been in a proper war.”

  “I don’t think you’re choosing the right word there,” Dorn said.

  “There’s a lot of dwarves that won’t come home from where it is we’re going.”

  “We’re dwarves. That’s part of the job.” Dorn sighed as he considered everything. “I need you to promise me something. If Varek or his lads come here, convince them to let me along. I’ll not be left behind just because I talk a little funnier than the rest of you.”

  “A little?” Fali said, inducing a subdued chortle from his companion. “Might be that ye can get along better’n the rest of us.”

  “Might be,” Dorn agreed. “Stay well, my friend. One way or another, I’ll see you in the morning.” He clapped Fali on the shoulder and stepped back toward the door. “Don’t forget.”

  The gruff dwarf nodded and turned to his pitcher of ale. He brought it to his mouth, but sure enough, some of the golden liquid leaked from the bottom. Dorn couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of that.

  When the door was firmly shut and the laugher drifted into silence, the warren seemed eerie. All was quiet, for no one behind closed doors spoke loudly enough for their neighbors to hear.