by D. A. Adams
“My scouts tell me the orcs have withdrawn many troops from our border,” the king said. “So we could probably spare ten thousand. Is that enough?”
Leinjar nodded, words still escaping him.
“My king,” Leinjar’s oldest son said. “We volunteer for this service.
Leinjar looked at his boys, conflicting emotions pulling at him. On one hand, pride filled him that they had grown into brave soldiers, but on the other, he knew the horrors of war and had just learned they were safe and happy. The last thing he wanted was to lose them in battle before he had gotten to know them again.
“That is up to the Lord of Arms,” the queen interjected.
The king looked at her, the expression of a husband who had spent a lifetime having his wife answer questions for him but still got aggravated by it.
“He’s their father,” she said, a stern look on her face.
“After all these years, I’m still second in command of my own kingdom,” the king said, smiling at Leinjar.
“Daddy,” the younger one said. “We’ll serve you well. Please, don’t leave us here.”
Leinjar thought about that night, the sound of the older one’s voice as he asked him to come with them to the shelter. That moment had been the hardest of his life, worse than anything he had endured as a slave. Leaving his children, even to defend them, had ripped a hole in his heart that had not healed until this night. Even though he would prefer them safe, he couldn’t leave them again.
“If it pleases the king,” Leinjar said. “You can serve.”
“Don’t ask me,” the king said, feigning hurt. “She’s the one who has to approve.”
Leinjar laughed and asked the queen if she agreed. She called his sons to her, and they rose from their seats and knelt on each side of her. She placed an arm around each of their necks and hugged them. As he watched the queen embrace his sons, Leinjar filled with warmth. They had been much loved while he was gone, and even though he had missed so many important moments of their lives, at least he could see they had been treated well.
“You are Tredjards,” she said. “If you want to serve your father, fight like Tredjards.”
“Yes, ma’am,” his sons said.
“It’s decided,” the king said. “You have your first two volunteers. Give me a couple of days to organize the rest of your force.”
As his sons returned to their seats, Leinjar thanked the king again.
“It’ll be an honor to assist the Kiredurks. Pity knows they won’t find any help in Kehldeon.”
“Why’s that?” Leinjar asked, thinking of Roskin.
“Johreon the Red is a pathetic excuse for a king.”
“What do you mean?”
“He cares only for his own power and comfort. He treats his subjects like pigs. I have no use for him.”
“Roskin went to ask him for help.”
“Hmmph, he’ll find no help there.”
Leinjar wondered about his friend and hoped he was safe.
“No worries, Lord Leinjar,” the king said. “The Tredjards will drive the Great Empire from the valley. Now, let’s feast and celebrate your return. No more talk of business for the rest of the night.”
With that, the king raised his glass and called for a toast to the Lord of Arms. Everyone in the room toasted to him, and then the king called for music. Musicians entered the room, playing a lively tune usually reserved to celebrate a military victory. Dwarves rose from their seats and began dancing, including Leinjar’s sons. They pulled him to his feet and told him to join them. The former slave had forgotten how to dance, and other than the brief time among the Marshwoggs, he hadn’t enjoyed luxuries in so long that the revelry and festivity of the banquet seemed excessive. Throughout the orc lands, there were still thousands of Tredjards living on scraps, half-starved and scared of the lash or worse. While he enjoyed seeing his children happy and appreciated that the king wanted to honor him, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for celebrating while so many still endured so much.
***
A week later, Lord Leinjar stood at the Ghaldeon gate, his sons and the other two leisure slaves by his side, and as the king had promised, ten thousand troops filled the tunnels behind him. He and the other two had been given new armor and weapons, and as they waited for the captain of the gate to emerge from his office, he studied his new halberd. While the orc pikes had served well enough, nothing compared to Tredjard weaponry. The handle was measured perfectly for his height, and the counter-weights gave the weapon excellent balance. His new mail hauberk fit comfortably, too, with a chest plate, vambrace for his arms, and a helmet, all tinted black. His palladium beard clip shone ever brighter contrasted against the dark metal.
“Forgive me,” the captain said, emerging from his office. “I was checking my duty roster.”
“I understand,” Leinjar said, extending his hand.
“And I’m sorry if I or my men mistreated you, Lord of Arms,” the captain said, shaking his hand.
“You did your duty,” Leinjar responded. “We’re heading out, now.”
“I can’t remember ever hearing of Tredjards leaving the kingdom to fight.”
“Me either, but we must turn back the Great Empire before we’re fighting them here.”
“Well, I wish I were going with you.”
Leinjar nodded, thinking the dwarf should be careful what he wished for. Then, he told his younger son to notify the troops they were marching out, and the captain ordered the sergeant to open the gate. As the gate opened, Leinjar strode through the door and up the trail. Behind him, thudding boots and clanking metal thundered out the tunnel’s opening, but he didn’t look back to watch. Instead, he marched swiftly in the cool autumn air, mixed emotions stirring inside. He had visited his wife’s grave and said good bye, and though his heart was heavy, he had duty to fulfill. They were at least a month from the valley, and he wanted to arrive before the first snows made crossing the mountains too difficult. Roskin counted on him, and from what the king had told him, the Tredjards would be the only reinforcements the Kiredurks could rely on.
Chapter 11
Deep and Tender Scars
King Sondious watched Jase down his ale and wondered aloud what was taking the General of Dorkhun so long. The general had been gone for weeks, and no word had come from the south about his whereabouts or those of Captain Roighwheil. With each moment, the king worried that somehow the traitor had gathered a large enough force to defeat the general and was now planning an attack on the Halls of Gronwheil. With this growing fear, he had ordered extra watches around the city and had called troops away from the eastern gate to reinforce the capital. He hated weakening the defenses near the ogres, for more than anything, he wanted to launch an attack against them before winter, but with the traitor on the loose and the general unaccounted for, he had no other choice.
“My king, perhaps there was truth to the threat in the valley,” an advisor said.
“Nonsense,” the king muttered.
“I saw no army,” Jase said, snapping his fingers for an assistant to bring him fresh ale. “You can’t trust that Roskin.”
“You see!” the king yelled at the advisor. “The Great Empire isn’t preparing to attack. It’s Roskin and that traitor Roighwheil.”
“But my king, we don’t even know this dwarf,” the advisor said, pointing at Jase.
“Why are they picking on me?” Jase asked. “I’m just a poor cripple.”
“So far,” King Sondious hissed. “Jase is the only one I can trust. Send out more scouts to locate the general.”
“Yes, sir,” the advisor said, rising from her seat. As she walked by Jase, she shot him a glare, and the former exile smiled back smugly.
King Sondious called for an assistant to bring him something for his legs, which were throbbing in terrible pain. He would find the rebellion and crush it, even if it meant delaying his attack on the ogres until spring. Those who opposed him would be made examples of, and everyone would
soon learn he was a mighty king.
***
“Our best bet,” the General of Dorkhun said to Captain Roighwheil, pointing at a crude map of the valley. “Is to stay behind these fortifications and make the Great Empire climb the mountain.”
“Until Roskin returns with an army,” the captain said.
“If that happens, we’ll wait till the humans have turned most of their infantry to face them, and then we’ll attack from behind, but for now, we have to assume we’re alone.”
“I agree, but Roskin will come through for us.”
“Let’s hope so,” the general said. “You did a fine job getting that gate built. It’s better than before, I believe.”
“Roskin deserves most of the credit,” the captain said. “He had the repairs underway before I arrived.”
“Really?” the general responded, stroking his beard. “All I know of him is that young brat who threw tantrums when things didn’t go his way.”
“He was a handful,” the captain chuckled. “But he’s grown into a fine Kiredurk.”
“You know, many of my soldiers blame him for all of this,” the general said gravely. “Many grumble.”
“I hope before this is over, they get an opportunity to see how thick his beard has become.”
“Perhaps.”
***
Molgheon noticed the wagon’s tracks had grown fresher. She was gaining on them at last. Either they had slowed their pace, or they had stopped for an extended time. Whichever the case, she was now only minutes behind instead of a full day. They had passed Murkdolm and were now just three of four days from Sturdeon. As they had passed through Murkdolm, she had given up their track and circled around the town for fear of anyone recognizing her. On the road to Sturdeon, she had found the wagon’s track and was certain it was the same one she had been following for so long.
She had barely eaten for three days, having run out of rations and not wanting to waste arrows on hunting. Only six remained in her quiver, and since she had no idea how many people occupied the wagon, she wanted to save the ones she had. She survived on berries she could gather along the roadside and occasionally worms she dug from the rich soil. During her time in the Resistance, she had survived for longer on less, and while worms weren’t the tastiest of meals, they were a great source of protein. Hopefully, she would catch the wagon before Sturdeon and then, after killing Torkdohn and anyone who protected him, could salvage good rations from the slave traders.
As she cleared a steep rise, she spotted the wagon at the bottom of the hill, roughly half a mile below. Her instincts had been correct, for it was a slave trader’s wagon, and she saw two dwarves and a human opening a cage in the bed. She crept from the trail into the thick brush and slithered along the hillside, moving quietly. From that distance, she didn’t recognize one of the dwarves as Torkdohn, but she was positive he was among them. She moved along the ridge until she could see the wagon’s profile and climbed a tall tree.
As the wagon came into full view, she peered at the people moving on the ground, but neither of the dwarves was him. She steadied herself on the branch and watched. On the seat of the wagon, a third dwarf held the reigns, but he wasn’t Torkdohn either. The dwarf sat leisurely, propping his feet on the front board and daydreaming. The three on the ground stood together, laughing about something. Molgheon knew they had stopped and opened the cage because they had caught someone, but she saw no indications of a captive anywhere. Just as she was about to climb down, rustling in the brush behind the wagon caught her eye.
Torkdohn emerged from the growth, dragging a young dwarf in a net. Sweat poured from his face, and he struggled to get the net the last few feet. Carefully, Molgheon unslung her bow, stretched out on the branch, and notched an arrow. Before she could aim, Torkdohn turned and reentered the woods. The two dwarves on the ground hoisted the net into the back and opened it. The young dwarf tried to dart from their grasp, but the human struck him with a club, knocking the captive down in the bed. The young dwarf crawled towards the front and curled into a ball.
Molgheon turned her aim to the driver. She decided to waylay these four and hurry down to the wagon before Torkdohn returned. She pulled back the string and exhaled slowly. The arrow whistled through the air and struck the driver in the side of his neck. He slumped over in the seat, and the other three turned in his direction, calling to him. Before any of them could move, a second arrow struck the human in the chest. He collapsed to his knees, clutching the arrow, and then crumpled.
The two dwarves froze, staring at the dead man, and before either regained their wits, a third arrow struck down one of them. The last one ran for the front of the wagon, but in his panic, he ran along the side facing Molgheon. Her fourth shot dropped him before he reached the front wheel. She tossed her bow to the forest floor and shimmied down the tree. Grabbing the bow and checking her last two arrows, she sprinted down the hill. The brush tore at her skin, but she ignored the stings and burst from the growth onto the road. The sudden change in incline cause her to lose her balance, and she fell to the packed earth. The last two arrows spilled from her quiver, but the bow wasn’t damaged.
She pushed herself up and got her bearings. Standing just a few yards away, Torkdohn stared at her, his mouth open. He dropped his hold on the second net he had been dragging, turned, and bolted into the woods. Molgheon grabbed her arrows and started after him, ignoring the screams of the dwarf in the net. She could hear Torkdohn just ahead, but the brush was too thick for a clear shot. She ran as hard as she could, trying to close the distance, but her legs were weak from lack of food. She heard crying off to her left, the sound of several young dwarves calling out.
She ran a few more steps, focused on her hatred for Torkdohn, but then, she stopped chasing him and turned towards the sounds of the captured dwarves. She slowed her pace to a steady jog and followed the noise. After a few yards, she came upon a small stream where three dwarves lay trammeled in nets, crying for help and struggling against the ropes. She slung her bow across her back and knelt beside them.
“It’s okay,” she said, undoing the knot closest to her.
As soon as the net opened, a dwarf no older than ten crawled from the trap and scrambled on her hands and knees away from Molgheon. The archer moved to the next net and opened it, and an even younger dwarf crawled out and froze in front of her. Finally, she freed the last one, a child of maybe five. She picked him up and soothed him, calling for the other two. The middle one came to her immediately, but the third stopped by the stream and held her ground.
“You’re safe,” Molgheon said.
“There are more,” she whimpered.
“They’re gone,” Molgheon replied. “Please, let’s go find your friends.”
Reluctantly, the ten year old got to her feet and moved beside them. Carrying the youngest and holding the middle one’s hand, Molgheon followed the path Torkdohn had tramped to the wagon. Before they cleared the brush, Molgheon stopped and set the youngest on the ground. She asked the middle one to sit beside him and turned to the oldest.
“Please, don’t let them see what’s out there. None of you need to see that.”
“Did you kill them?”
“Yes,” Molgheon said.
“I want to see them. I hate them.”
Molgheon reached out and stroked the young dwarf’s cheek. The girl flinched from the touch but didn’t pull away.
“Please, don’t let the little ones see this.”
The girl nodded and sat beside them. She pulled a blade of grass from the ground and showed them how to tie it in a knot without breaking the blade. Molgheon stepped onto the road, where the human and dwarf lay dead, their dark blood pooling around their bodies. She walked over to the child still struggling against the net and knelt.
“You’re safe, now,” Molgheon cooed.
“Let me out of this thing,” the girl sobbed.
“I will, but please stay calm. The little ones are safe, but I don’t want them t
o see these bodies.”
“The youngest is my brother. Did they hurt him?”
“No, they’re all okay. When I let you out, go to them and keep them in the woods until I come get you.”
The child nodded, stifling her sobs, so Molgheon undid the knot and freed her. The girl wrapped her arms around Molgheon’s neck and hugged her, sniffling on her shoulder. Molgheon patted her back and whispered that she was safe. After a few heartbeats, the girl pulled back, her tears subsiding. Molgheon pointed to the woods, and the girl wiped her face before walking in that direction. Molgheon climbed into the bed and checked on the boy who had been struck by the human. He was dazed and had a large lump on the side of his head but didn’t seem seriously hurt.
“Can you stand?” Molgheon asked.
“I think so,” he replied. From his thin beard, Molgheon figured he was at no more than fourteen.
“I need you to help me move these bodies before the young ones come out of the woods.”
They climbed out of the bed and dragged each body from the road into the brush where Molgheon had come down the hill, and she managed to salvage two of her arrows from them. After they were moved, Molgheon had the boy clean as much blood from the seat as possible. As he cleaned, she removed the door from the cage and dragged it to the bodies. The children would have to ride in the cage, but she didn’t want them closed up. She then gathered the two nets from the road and tossed them on top of the door. She covered the bodies, door, and nets with as many leaves as she could scrape from the forest floor. The camouflage wouldn’t hide them long, but she hoped it would buy enough time to get the children home safely.
She stared towards where Torkdohn had run and burned to chase after him, but she couldn’t leave these children alone, especially if a sentry happened by and saw the carnage. He was likely heading for Sturdeon, and after the children were home, she would find him there. Then, she would finish this. If she had learned anything during the Resistance, it was to maintain patience when hunting a foe. He was lucky she had lost her balance. Otherwise, he, too, would be laying in that pile. As she stared at the woods, the boy moved beside her.