“Who are these little mice inside our new home?” King Nar said. He gestured to the orcs around him. “Kill them all! I will wear their bones.”
19. Destruction
“Run!” screamed Mugla, as hundreds of green faces turned toward them. Kathir grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, and he and Skemtun sprinted down the passage as fast as their legs would take them.
“Turn here!” huffed Skemtun as he turned a corner, “There’s a storage alcove nearby. We can hide in there.” Kathir darted after him.
They could hear the orcs shouting and running behind them. Skemtun threw a hasty glance over his shoulder. “Almost there,” he said as he ducked into a hidden passageway and eased himself into a narrow crevice. The space was so small that Kathir had to roll himself into a ball in order to fit inside.
Mugla raised her hands and muttered a quick spell. “Be still!” she whispered frantically, as she cast a concealment spell around them. They heard the shouts of the orcs as they ran past. They froze for several minutes, hoping that the orcs would all pass them by.
Eventually, Skemtun whispered, “They’re alerted, now. There’s no way we’re gettin’ out of here alive.”
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you both alive,” said Kathir quietly. “We need a diversion. I’ll cover your escape.”
Skemtun shook his head. “I’m not leaving ye behind. Stay here and ye become a martyr… I won’t let ye.”
Mugla’s face was streaming with sweat, and her hands were trembling. “Whatever ye decide, ye need to do it quickly. I’m almost spent—I can’t hold this spell much longer.”
“Do you have enough strength to contact the dragon riders?” asked Kathir.
Mugla nodded. “Aye… but I can’t maintain both spells at once. I’ll have to stop the concealment spell.” Her breath gasped in her chest.
“I think we’re safe for the moment. Can ye contact Tallin and then cover us until we get to the atrium?” asked Skemtun, thinking of their next move.
“I can try,” she replied, smiling weakly.
“What do you have planned?” asked Kathir.
“The dragon riders will be enterin’ the mountain from the caldera; the atrium is right below it, and it’s the only place large enough to hold ‘em all. If we make it there alive, then the riders can pick us up after they activate the runestones. It’s our only chance.”
Kathir nodded. “Let’s do it, then. Mugla, are you ready?”
Her head shook in a trembling nod. She stopped the concealment spell and took a deep breath. Then her eyes took on a blank, dazed look. Her lips moved silently as she chanted the new spell. Seconds passed, and then she gasped. Her body went limp as the strength drained out of her.
“Catch her!” said Kathir, who was unable to move his arms in his crouched position.
Skemtun grabbed Mugla’s limp body before she could fall to the ground. Her skin was ashen. He slapped her cheeks gently. “Mugla! Hey, come on, wake up.”
Mugla blinked. The room was spinning. She closed her eyes again. “Ugh…my achin’ head.”
A war horn sounded out over the city. They all glanced at each other, but none of them moved. The sound was quickly picked up by dozens of other orcs throughout the city.
“We’ve got to get out of here now,” said Kathir, his intense concern written plainly on his face. “We’re sitting ducks if we stay.”
“Were ye able to contact the others?” asked Skemtun.
Mugla nodded. “I wasn’t able to reach Tallin, but I did contact the elves. That’s why I fainted. Telepathic communication with elves is grueling.”
“Are they coming inside the mountain?” asked Tallin
Mugla nodded again. “Aye, everythin’ is ready for the attack. I asked them to give us five minutes to reach the atrium. No matter what, they’ll come in when five minutes is up. If we aren’t there in time, then our goose is cooked.”
“We’ll make it,” said Skemtun. “We have to—I’m not dying inside this mountain with a bunch of greenskins.”
Skemtun poked his head outside the crevice, just far enough to see down the passageway. “The passage is clear… for now. Are you ready, Mugla?”
Mugla nodded and muttered the words to the concealment spell once again. “We’ve got to move quickly,” she said, “that’s the only hope we’ve got.
Kathir hopped up and picked her up again, dashing down the narrow passage while Skemtun led the way. They rushed down the winding stairs into the atrium. The minutes ticked by threateningly.
They inched against the wall and hid in the darkness, slipping past a group of orcs as their backs were turned. They smiled in silent victory as they passed the orcs guarding the atrium gate. They made it to the interior of the atrium with only seconds to spare, and then disaster struck. Kathir tripped. Mugla fell to the ground.
She hit her head on a rock and landed with a loud crack. She lay there with her eyes closed, blood trickling from her temple. The concealment spell dissipated, and they all became visible to the orcs.
“Oh no,” Skemtun said, trying to swallow his panic.
Kathir drew his sword. “We’ve got to stand and fight now.”
Skemtun drew his axe, and they positioned themselves back-to-back so their opponents couldn’t jump them from behind. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then one of the orcs saw them, raised his blade, and lunged for Kathir. He attacked the orc a with death stroke through the eye.
“First blood is ours,” said Kathir. The corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile. “It’s not much, but in these situations, one must be thankful for small victories.”
Skemtun gave a short bark of laughter. “Victory or not, if the dragon riders don’t get here immediately, we’re dead.”
The orcs were closing in rapidly, and Skemtun and Kathir were soon overwhelmed and flanked on all sides. Kathir grunted as an orc managed to slice a deep wound into his side. The next blow hit him squarely between the eyes, causing blood to gush from his forehead. Kathir staggered, clutched his head, and collapsed.
Skemtun placed himself in front of Kathir and Mugla. He was surrounded on all sides by orcs. The orcs stopped for a moment and started to laugh.
“Go ahead and laugh, ye pig-muzzled blighters!” he shouted. “Even if I die here, ye’ll be followin’ me to the grave soon enough!”
An orc dashed forward, and Skemtun was struck in the stomach by a mace. Waves of pain shot through him as he felt his skin split open. He stumbled back, and warm blood spilled onto his tunic.
Just then, there was a loud roar from above, and the dragon riders swooped down from the caldera into the atrium. The orcs hollered and jumped back in fear.
Skemtun rose to his bloodied knees, holding his side. He reached down and wiped Kathir’s bloody face with his torn sleeve. “Kathir…can ye hear me?” He asked weakly. At first, Kathir didn’t move, but then, he suddenly shot up into a seated position.
“I’m awake,” he said. He looked around with a dazed expression.
The dragons were breathing fire in all directions, and the elves were chanting loudly, surrounded by a glowing blue nimbus of magical energy. The orcs screamed and raised their hands up to cover their eyes from the blinding light.
Tallin shouted down at them. “Hurry! We’ve already activated the runestones. Grab Mugla and give her to me, and then the two of you split up and get on the other dragons.”
Kathir staggered to his feet, picked up Mugla’s tiny frame, and carried her over to Duskeye. Mugla groaned but did not wake up. Tallin placed her in front of his saddle and tied a rope around her body to keep her from falling.
“Move! Move! Move! We don’t have much time!” shouted Tallin.
Skemtun tried to run toward Fëanor and Blacktooth, but he stopped and doubled over with pain.
“Are you alright?” asked Kathir.
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“I think my ribs are broken.” Skemtun gasped for air and held his gut. “But we’ve got to move.”
“Let me help you,” said Kathir, wrapping one arm around his friend’s waist. When they reached Blacktooth, Fëanor looked down at them with blank stare. “Put the dwarf behind me on the saddle,” he instructed in a cold voice.
“Can you climb up on your own?” asked Kathir.
Skemtun shook his head. “I—I don’t think so.” His held his hand pressed over his wound. Blood dripped down between his fingers and onto the floor.
Kathir picked up his friend gently and placed him on the saddle. He wiped his bloody face on his sleeve and said breathlessly, “Looks like we made it! I’ll ride with Sela and Brinsop.”
But before he could move an inch, an orc threw a huge spear at them. Kathir’s eyes widened with shock—he had no weapon to deflect it. Determined to protect Skemtun, he instinctively blocked the weapon with the only thing he had—himself. His black eyes gleamed as the spear pierced his body.
“No!” screamed Skemtun, watching his friend fall. He tried to reach down, but Fëanor stopped him.
“You cannot save him, dwarf.”
“It’s my fault! I have brought him to this!” cried Skemtun.
Kathir dropped to his knees. “Go, my friend… I promised to save you, and I did. Make sure I do not die in vain.” Then Kathir fell back, crumpling to the floor. He shuddered once and lay still.
“No!” Skemtun sobbed, shaking his head. “Please. He can't be gone.”
Tallin pushed Skemtun back onto the saddle. “I’m sorry---It’s too late to save him… but we can still defeat the orcs.”
All the dragons rose up into the air, almost touching the ceiling. A brief moment later, there was the sound of a huge explosion and the air around them was filled with dust. “The eruption has been triggered!” cried Tallin “Everyone move out now!”
The dragons flew up through the caldera, which was now filled with black smoke. They scattered in opposite directions, flying as quickly as they could. The mountain rumbled, and the earth started to shake.
Above the fray, the riders could see thousands of orcs streaming out of the mountain, shouting and pushing through the front gates as they tried to escape the deadly lava flows.
Mugla groaned, and Tallin helped her sit upright on the saddle.
He saw the blood on her temple. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Mugla nodded. “I’m fine…” She looked down at the chaos below. The orcs were scattering in a million directions as they fled the mountain. A huge column of dark smoke trailed upwards into the clouds. “I can’t believe it worked,” she said quietly.
“It’s a bitter victory. The orcs have been routed, but Mount Velik has been completely destroyed. The clans will never be able to return,” said Tallin.
“That’s true,” she answered. “But it’s still a victory—and a lucky one, at that.”
Tallin watched the sky fill with smoke. The dragons were already headed back to Highport. It didn’t feel like a triumph. As a matter of fact, he felt as if they’d lost. Kathir was dead, and Mount Velik was demolished. The dwarf clans were permanently displaced. They’d lost everything.
“Dear… let’s go, there’s nothing else we can do,” said Mugla. “Let’s get back to Highport.”
Tallin nodded and spurred Duskeye’s saddle. He followed the others north—away from the destruction.
20. The Clans Choose
The dragons flew toward Highport, picking up Bolrakei, Komu, and the others along the way. Once they reached Highport, the riders delivered their report to Utan, who accepted the news somberly. There was no celebration. The knowledge that Mount Velik had been destroyed eliminated all hopes of merriment.
The elves left soon thereafter. They were anxious to return to Brighthollow and deliver their report to the queen.
Skemtun was badly injured and was taken to the infirmary to recover. Elias took over his care, but the wound was grave. He had lost so much blood that he was as pale as an egg. The outlook worsened when Elias discovered that the orc’s weapon had been tipped with a slow poison.
“His ribs are shattered, and there is much internal damage. One could normally survive such a wound, but the poison…” Elias said quietly to Tallin and Sela.
The dwarves slowly resigned themselves to accepting Highport as their new, permanent home. They had nowhere else to go. They would have to make do.
It was decided that an election would take place. New leaders would be chosen for all the dwarf clans, and representatives from all the clans began secret talks. The talks were contentious, as always. The men hissed insults at one another, but there were no physical altercations as there had been in the past. Skemtun voted by proxy, and Tallin acted as his representative. Bolrakei, Utan, and Skemtun remained the leaders of their respective clans; once all the leaders were chosen, it was time to elect a new ruler.
All the clans gathered to watch the final vote. At the table, sat Bolrakei, Utan, Tallin, and the two newly-elected clan leaders. Bimbek was the new leader of Odenskapr, the soldier’s clan, and Harsk was the new leader of Strikeforge, the weaponsmiths’ clan.
Skemtun was very ill, but he still asked to be carried into the main hall on his bed for the final vote. The clans cheered when they saw him. He raised his pale arm and waved and offered a weak smile.
“Today, we choose our king… or queen,” Bolrakei said to a chorus of cheers. “All the clan leaders present shall be allowed one vote each.” Bolrakei smiled.
A dwarf ran up to the table and handed Tallin an ornate scroll. “The polls for the clans have been decided. These are the nominees for King and Queen.” Tallin unrolled the scroll, and read aloud: “Bolrakei, leader of Klorra-Kanna, has been nominated for queen by her clan. Utan, leader of the Vardmiters, has been nominated for king by his clan. And lastly, Skemtun, leader of Marretaela, has been nominated for king by his clan. The clans Odenskapr and Strikeforge have decided to refrain from nominating a king.” Cheers filled the hall again, and Tallin sat down.
Skemtun raised his hand. His voice was fragile and weak. “I’m sorry, but I must withdraw my nomination. My health prevents it, and I won’t saddle my people with another sick king. However, I won’t abstain from votin’. I choose to cast my vote for Utan.”
Utan nodded his thanks, but his face remained expressionless. “I, Utan, leader of the Vardmiters, cast my vote for myself.”
Bolrakei seethed and turned to look Skemtun straight in the eye. He returned her stare without comment. She crossed her arms in front of her breast. “I cast my vote for myself, Bolrakei, leader of Klorra-Kanna.”
Bimbek spoke. “I, Bimbek, leader of Odenskapr, cast my vote for Bolrakei.”
A hush settled over the room. It came down to the last vote, and it went to Harsk, the new leader of Strikeforge. Like his predecessor, Harsk was young and open to new ideas. “I have considered this decision long and hard. Although I believe that Bolrakei would make a good queen, I also believe that all the clans owe Utan their lives. He saved us and welcomed us into his home. Therefore, I cast my vote for Utan.”
Bolrakei’s mouth fell open. Her eyes bulged. She began to wheeze. A wave of gasps ran through the hall. Bolrakei’s mouth opened in shock—she couldn’t believe it. “B-but… that’s impossible. Utan is a Vardmiter! A Vardmiter! Do you understand what that means?” Her voice rose to a screech. “There’s never been a Vardmiter King in dwarf history! Not ever!”
Skemtun smiled. “Well, there’s a first time for everythin’, right?”
Pandemonium broke out at the table. Cheers went up from the Vardmiter clan, while boos and jeers ran through Klorra-Kanna.
Tallin stood up. “The clans have spoken. With the exception of your clan, there’s not a one of them that feels that Utan shouldn’t become the ruler of all the clans, including myself. Yo
u must accept this decision and pledge your loyalty to your new King.”
Bolrakei slammed her fist on the table. “This is intolerable, this is intolerable!” She tore at her hair.
Tallin’s locked eyes with hers, and his temper soared. “Deal with it,” Tallin said too softly. “Your crusade of bigotry against the Vardmiters is over.” As he finished his words, Bolrakei’s face contorted with anger.
“You are destroying our way of life!” she cried. Bolrakei stared at him in silent fury, but he met her gaze unflinchingly. She spun and stomped out of the hall, followed by her entourage.
“Utan is the new king of the dwarves,” declared Tallin, shouting so the entire hall could hear. Then he smiled and looked at Utan. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”
Scattered applause turned into a rousing ovation, and everyone began stomping their feet and calling Utan’s name. Tallin smiled and stepped back as the crowd rushed forward to offer fealty to their new king.
“What happens now?” asked Skemtun, calling Tallin over to him. For a moment, his expression was bleak. “Do ye think Bolrakei will cause trouble?”
Tallin shrugged. “Undoubtedly. I’m sure she will. But she will also accept the council’s decision… with time. She lost the vote, and Utan is the king. Nothing can change that fact.”
Skemtun smiled and sighed. “I’m so glad to hear that. I was worried for a moment.” He fixed his gaze firmly on Tallin. “Sela told me to talk to ye privately, but I guess now’s as good a time as any.” He coughed. “My clan needs new leadership—a strong person—someone who is fair and who will stand up to Bolrakei. I was never cut out to be a clan leader; I was happier being a miner. Leadership was shoved in my lap, and I did the best I could.”
Tallin looked at him oddly. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’ve done many things in the past that I’m ashamed of, but I’m tryin’ to do right. I treated the Vardmiters like dirt in the past, and I’m regretful of that. I’m trying to make up for it now. Kathir died tryin’ to save me, and he had a dark past too. No matter what he did, in the end, he died a hero, and I’m hopin’ to do the same.”
Kathir's Redemption (Book 6) Page 18