by D. A. Adams
Focusing on the task at hand, he scanned the army below. At this distance, he couldn’t make out much detail, but they seemed relaxed and nonchalant as they ate their breakfasts. In fact, as far as he could tell, no sentries watched this direction. Since they had subdued the farms, they must not have feared any threat from the west. He looked down the line of archers, who all watched for the signal. Their nerves were obvious as they fidgeted with their bows and breathed rapidly. Steadying himself, Bordorn raised his arm and motioned for them to charge.
The Ghaldeons broke from the tree line and ran hard as they could down the slope. When they got in range, they stopped, notched arrows, and unleashed their first volley. Thirty-four arrows whistled into the massive force, and Bordorn watched the shocked soldiers scramble for cover. He couldn’t tell how many arrows struck someone, but the camp had become a torrent of motion. The Ghaldeons launched their second volley and didn’t watch their arrows. Instead, they turned and sprinted up the hill. This time, Bordorn did see a couple of soldiers fall from being struck, but to his surprise no one gave chase. When the archers reached the tree line, he motioned for them to stop.
“Excellent,” he called out, slapping several on the backs as they caught their wind. “Stay and watch for them to send a search party. Use your discretion whether or not you want to engage. Thin their numbers with your bows if you can. I’m going to the other group to prepare for another attack.”
As he jogged away, he heard the dwarves congratulating each other on their success. He couldn’t believe the soldiers hadn’t come after them, and he hoped the second ambush, which would come from nearly a mile further south, would catch them as unaware. It took several minutes of running to reach the second group, and when he did, Krondious asked how it went. He smiled at the Kiredurk, breathing deeply in the cold air. Krondious grinned back, and the other Ghaldeons silently cheered the small victory.
“We’ll wait until closer to lunchtime to attack,” he said, once he’d caught his breath. “You archers keep an eye out for any soldiers heading this way.”
The dwarves crouched in the trees and waited quietly. As his adrenaline faded, Bordorn’s arms and legs became weak, so he sat on the ground and rested. Krondious pressed for details, and he described what had happened. The Kiredurk listened intently, stroking the twin braids of his white beard. He whispered that Roskin would be proud, once he regained his wits. Bordorn nodded and glanced up the slope in the direction of camp. He wanted to tell his friend the news. Maybe hearing it would clear whatever fog blocked his mind, but he decided to stay with this group until after the attack. He raised himself from the ground and peered down the mountain at the army. At this end, the soldiers appeared more alert, so Bordorn figured word had reached them of the ambush. He walked down the line and whispered to each archer that when they attacked, they would need to stay watchful for any counter. The archers nodded one by one as he told them, and when he reached the end of the line, he crouched beside a pine tree and waited.
***
As lunchtime approached, the humans lost interest in scanning the trees for the dwarves, instead focusing on their meals. As soon as Bordorn saw them turn away, he signaled the archers to get ready. Krondious positioned the swordsmen behind trees and hid behind one himself, and as soon as they were ready, Bordorn motioned for the archers to charge. The same as before, the anxious dwarves broke from the trees and rushed down the slope. Twenty-nine arrows filled the sky, and again, the soldiers were caught off guard. This time, however, as the second volley flew, two dozen men charged from the camp after the archers. The Ghaldeons raced up the mountain, and Bordorn signaled the swordsmen to ready themselves. Krondious gripped his axe and leaned against the tree, bracing for his first swing. Bordorn drew his sword and waited. He had left his shield at the camp, fearing its weight might slow him if he had to run. The archers burst through the tree line and kept running a few yards into the woods.
As they ran up the hill in their armor, the human soldiers yelled insults and curses. Bordorn set his feet and readied his sword in low guard. When the soldiers entered the forest, the hidden swordsmen waited for them to pass before attacking. A soldier ran by Bordorn, noticing him just as the Ghaldeon slashed at his legs. A shocked expression came over the man as the blade sliced through flesh and bone, followed by a scream of agony as he collapsed. Blood poured from his wounds. He clawed at the ground with his hands, but Bordorn pounced him, driving his blade through the man’s back.
The forest filled with screams as the Ghaldeon swordsmen and Krondious slaughtered them, and Bordorn gathered himself and peered down the mountain at the army. In the camp, the soldiers moved back and forth in confusion, tending to their wounded and looking up the mountain. Even from that distance, he could see the shock on their faces as the screams carried down to them, but no more gave chase. He turned to the group, who had finished the last of the soldiers, and ordered them back to camp. Both ambushes had been more successful than he could’ve hoped, and as the second group retreated up the mountain, he ran back to the first group. When he reached them, he motioned for them to retreat as well. He waited until the last one had started up before following them to the camp. As he climbed, his legs burned from the ascent, and keeping his balance up the slope with one arm was harder than he had thought. However, when he finally reached the camp, he was greeted by loud cheers.
“You’ve got a keen mind,” the old dwarf told him, embracing him in a tight hug. “We bloodied their nose.”
“We need to set up sentries,” Bordorn said, gasping for breath.
“I’ll take care of that,” the dwarf responded. “You rest.”
As Bordorn settled on the ground, Krondious came to him, a terrified expression on his face. Before he spoke, Bordorn already knew what he was going to say.
“Roskin’s gone,” the white beard said. “So’s the elf.”
Bordorn hung his head and stared at the earth. He should’ve expected this, but with all of his focus on the ambushes, he hadn’t thought about it.
“I swore an oath,” Krondious said. “What do I do?”
“I don’t know,” Bordorn responded. “Can you track?”
Krondious shook his head.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Bordorn said, grabbing a handful of dirt. “But he’s on his own.”
Krondious turned and scanned the forest, but Bordorn tugged at his pants and asked him to sit. The Kiredurk looked at him, his face a mix of disparate emotions. Bordorn asked again, and finally, Krondious relented and slumped to the ground beside him.
“We can’t leave these dwarves, now,” Bordorn said. “He’s like a brother to me, but whatever is happening to him, it’s his and his alone.”
“I should’ve killed that elf on Delkhun.”
Bordorn nodded and glanced around the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of the heir, but in his heart, he knew they were long gone, heading for the Koorleine Forest. As the Ghaldeons continued to celebrate their victories, he closed his eyes and hoped that Roskin would be okay.
Chapter 13
As Tides Turn
Leinjar halted his force just before the crest of the road over Mount Khendar. As the Tredjards prepared their campsites, he dispatched two scouts to discern the status of the valley. Before his troops crossed over, he wanted to know how many humans guarded the rear, whether or not the Great Empire had begun their siege up Mount Gagneesh, and whether or not Roskin had launched an assault from the west. These factors would influence his strategy, and the more information he could gather, the better. As the scouts disappeared over the ridge, he sat beside his sons and ran his whetstone along the blade of his halberd.
“Have either of you seen combat?” he asked before blowing shavings from the blade.
“No, sir,” the oldest, whose name was Zhanjar, responded.
“Both of you listen,” he said, his tone serious. “It’s nothing like training. Not knocking your training, but once the fighting starts, you’ll hear a
nd see things that’ll sicken you.”
“I’m not scared,” his youngest, Tehnjar, replied brazenly.
“You should be,” Leinjar said, arching an eyebrow at him. “A little fear will heighten your senses.”
“Are you scared?” Zhanjar asked, his voice uncertain.
Leinjar gazed at his weapon, noticing the fine scratches where the whetstone had filed metal. How could he explain to his sons all he had seen and experienced? He had lost nearly two decades with his family, would never see his wife again, and had been forced to kill kin with his bare hands. He had slept on hard ground that stank of blood and feces and had eaten rotten scraps for food. More nights than he could count, he had hoped for death to take him in his sleep just so he wouldn’t have to face one more day of hopelessness. He didn’t want them carrying his pain, but fear had fled him in that cage. In a heart void of hope, fear has no room.
“Yes,” he said, looking up from the halberd and at his sons. “I’m scared of failing at my duty, scared of bad decisions that’ll cost good dwarves their lives.”
“Are you scared of dying?” Tehnjar asked.
“Death’ll claim us all,” he said, moving his eyes back and forth between theirs. “No need wasting energy fearing it.”
His sons peered at him, their faces revealing they were deep in thought. Leinjar reached into his pack and pulled out a wedge of cheese he had been saving. With his dagger, he sliced it into three equal pieces and handed one to each. Then, he found his three best slices of dried meat and shared them, too. His sons started gobbling down the meal, but he stopped them and told them to savor each bite. He bit into the yellow wedge, allowing the cheese to melt on his tongue. The sharpness filled his mouth, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, his sons were chewing slowly.
“When the fighting starts,” he said. “Stay near me.”
“Yes, sir,” they responded.
He smiled at them, pride filling him. For the first time, he was grateful for the cage. Those years had led him to this moment. All the pain, humiliation, and disgrace of being a leisure slave faded, for no moment in his life compared with this one, sharing this meal with his sons before leading them into their first battle. He would gladly relive every moment of slavery if it brought him back to this place. He took another bite and savored it, enjoying the fleeting moment of splendor.
***
“Eleven attacks this week alone,” Captain Polmere said to the general. “Each time, they emerge from a different part of the woods and disappear before we can catch them.”
“How many casualties?” the general asked, sipping his flask.
“Ninety-eight dead, over two hundred wounded.”
“Send two hundred troops to scour those woods. Slaughter every dwarf they find.”
“Sir, may I suggest sending five hundred? The area is quite large.”
“Five hundred? To catch a handful of dwarves nipping at us like fleas? Captain Polmere, I gravely misjudged you.”
“Five hundred could encircle them and prohibit their retreat.”
“Again, you overestimate our foe. This has become a trend. Two hundred is more than enough. Send them this evening. Report to me in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said through gritted teeth.
“One more thing,” the general said. “The officers are gathering in the grand tent tonight for a banquet, if you care to join us.”
“No thank you, sir,” Captain Polmere said, readying himself to leave.
“Very well. Dismissed.”
The captain left the tent and strode to his post, fuming at the general’s stupidity. The idiot had just sentenced two hundred good men to their deaths, for with longbows and the cover of woods, the dwarves could thin their ranks before they reached the tree line. Too few would make it far enough to outflank them. For a moment, he considered disobeying the order and sending five hundred anyway, but his sense of duty and ambition stopped him. The general already doubted his judgment; disobedience could lead to outright dismissal or execution. When he reached his post, he called to his sergeant and relayed the orders. The sergeant saluted and left to gather the force. Captain Polmere watched him leave, knowing in his gut the attack would never succeed.
***
From his hiding spot in the center of the forest, Bordorn saw the troops start up the mountain, half a mile away. He turned to a swordsman and told the dwarf to rush to the other group and have them move to this spot. The dwarves weren’t more than a couple hundred yards away, so they should be able to make it before the soldiers. The dwarf dashed along the edge of the forest, and Bordorn turned to the archers, instructing them to ready bows and fire as soon as the soldiers were in range. Then, he told Krondious and the remaining soldiers to prepare.
“Finally, a decent fight,” Krondious said, gripping his axe.
“If we don’t thin their ranks,” Bordorn said. “We’re falling back deeper.”
Krondious huffed and faced the approaching troops. The archers let loose their first volley, and eleven arrows found their mark. The line advanced forward, so the archers let fly a second round. Fifteen more soldiers fell. To his right, Bordorn heard the second group approach. He turned and called for the archers to fire, and the dwarves moved to the tree line and took aim. The soldiers were within a hundred yards, and with both groups firing together, the third volley brought down forty-three more. The soldiers continued to climb the rise and were within fifty yards. There were still too many for the swordsmen to match, so Bordorn directed all to fall back fifty paces.
The dwarves turned and ran into the woods. When he reached fifty steps, Bordorn turned and yelled for the swordsmen to form a line. The dwarves grouped together and readied themselves. Bordorn ordered the archers to fire at will as the humans entered the woods. The bows assembled behind the swordsmen a few feet above on the slope. When the soldiers reached the tree line, a fourth volley whistled through the pines, striking down thirty more. Their ranks cut nearly in half, the soldiers hesitated for the first time. As they paused, the archers fired again, dropping forty-eight where they stood. Their sergeant called for retreat.
Bordorn screamed for one more volley, and as the soldiers turned to flee, twenty-eight more arrows found their marks. Krondious broke from his position, chasing the panicked soldiers and calling for the swordsmen to charge. The dwarves raced after, gaining on the armor-laden troops. Halfway down the clearing, the Ghaldeons caught them and finished them off. Before more soldiers from the camp could react, Krondious called for retreat, and the dwarves raced back to the forest. All along the slope, men lay strewn on the ground, most dead and some ccrying out in pain from the arrows in their stomachs and chests. As the dwarves reached the forest, Bordorn commanded everyone back to camp, in case more soldiers gave chase. The dwarves marched steadily up the mountain, congratulating each other and shouting aspersions at the fallen men. Bordorn waited for Krondious to join him before heading up himself, and as the white beard reached him, they smiled at each other and patted each other’s backs. While successful ambushes had been good, this was the first pitched battle the Ghaldeons had won against the Great Empire in nearly fifteen years.
***
As the sun set and the air cooled, Leinjar listened to his scouts describe the Great Empire’s camp at the base of Mount Khendar. Only a handful of sentries patrolled the road and less than a hundred soldiers guarded the rear. The scouts described a large tent where it appeared they were setting up a party. Leinjar asked them if they were certain, and both scouts nodded. He looked at his sons and then the other two leisure slaves, who all sat around a small fire.
“You dwarves up for a battle tonight?” he asked.
“Yes,” Zhenjar called out, jumping to his feet.
Tehnjar and the other two smiled and nodded. Leinjar turned to his captain, a stocky Tredjard roughly his own age, and told the dwarf to send the other officers forward and ready the troops to attack. Smiling, the dwarf saluted him and moved towards the
army, which snaked down the road as far as the eye could see. Leinjar walked over to the fire and collected his armor. Zhenjar helped him strap on his chest plate and vambrace, and once his helmet was on, Leinjar walked down the path to where the officers gathered.
***
As the shadows grew long on Mount Lokholme, the energy in the Ghaldeon campsite crackled with joy. The oldest ones, most of whom had been driven from their homes to the east, danced jigs from their youth, and the others, farmers and carpenters and blacksmiths, told and retold stories to each other about the battle. Bordorn smiled as he watched them. Occasionally, groups of two or three would come to him and slap him on the back. He thanked each graciously but, despite the festive mood, couldn’t stop worrying about Roskin, who had been gone for a week.
Krondious also seemed distracted by thoughts of the heir, for he sat alone, staring to the east in silence. Bordorn gave the Kiredurk space because it had been Bordorn’s decision not to go after their troubled friend. While the victory this evening had confirmed the decision had been correct, he still felt guilt for not doing more to help Roskin. Perhaps if he had told Krondious about what had happened in Horseshoe Bend, they could’ve stopped Lorac from leading him away. This was, after all, Roskin’s idea, and he should be the one leading these dwarves against the Great Empire. At some point, Bordorn would need his knowledge and experience, for up to this point, he merely had been making up strategies as he went. That could only last so long.
Behind him up the mountain, he heard a noise and jumped to his feet, looking for his sword and shield. Krondious must have heard it, too, because the Kiredurk had also risen and hoisted his axe. Bordorn strapped on his shield and slid his sword from its sheath, which he left on the ground. The noise grew louder and more distinct, and Krondious hissed for the Ghaldeons to look alive.