by D. A. Adams
One day, as Roskin and Red were sneaking out the storm cellar’s outer door to practice, they heard a human voice calling from the town square. They stayed put and listened as the man explained that he was from the Great Empire and was hunting the cowardly murderers of one their soldiers. The Great Empire was offering a reward for their capture, and any dwarf who helped catch them would be regarded favorably, but any dwarf caught assisting the fugitives would be considered an enemy. Roskin closed the outer doors and turned to Red who was partially down the stairs.
“Get our stuff together from upstairs. I’m going to find Molgheon and Bordorn.”
Red nodded and went back inside the house. Roskin ran to the infirmary and sneaked in a side door. He found Bordorn and Molgheon in an exercise room, where she was helping him walk slowly around the room. His color was still poor, but he could make two or three laps around the room, and his severed arm hadn’t gotten infected.
“Did you hear him?” Roskin asked.
“Who, Pepper Beard?” Bordorn said.
“The human in the square. They’re looking for us.”
“Great,” Molgheon said, helping Bordorn sit in his wheelchair. “How many?”
Roskin shrugged.
“You three leave. I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t just leave you,” Roskin said. “We all go or we all stay.”
“They’re just looking for you and the old man,” Beshnic said, entering the room. “They’ve put up posters all around town.”
“You’re sure?” Roskin asked.
“That’s what the poster says, a Tredjard and a man.”
“Will you be safe here?” Roskin asked Molgheon.
“We’ll have to be, won’t we?”
“Hurry, Pepper Beard. Don’t get cornered here. Someone’s bound to turn you in.”
Roskin knelt beside the wheelchair and took Bordorn’s left hand.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Don’t get soft on me,” Bordorn scoffed. “I could’ve stayed home, but I had a duty to fulfill.”
“Your family’s obligation has been repaid,” Roskin said.
“What are you talking about?” Molgheon asked. “Duty and obligation, my foot. We got ambushed.”
“Roskin’s family helped mine,” Bordorn said. “When we had to flee Sturdeon and the conquered lands.”
“Bordorn is the great-great nephew of King Logruhk the Vanished,” Roskin said.
Molgheon and Beshnic both gasped and bowed, but Bordorn, blushing, told them to stand.
“I’m not your lord,” he said. “I’m a farmhand in the Snivegohn Valley. Thanks, Roskin, son of Kraganere.”
The other two showed no reaction.
“For my part,” Roskin said with a grin. “You are my captain.”
“Get going, Pepper Beard, before I turn you in.”
Roskin hugged his friend and shook hands with the others. Then, he scampered back to the house where in the back bedroom Red had gathered most of their equipment. He had Roskin’s backpack already finished but didn’t have anything to use for the rest. Roskin stared down at the hunting traps, cookware, and supplies trying to think of something to use as a pack.
“What are you two doing?” Bokwhel called from her bed.
Roskin went to her room and stood in the doorway.
“We have to go,” he said.
“What do you mean? You can’t just leave us. You’re wounded. He’s sick.”
“I think I’m better. Anyway, we have to go.”
“You ungrateful mule” Jase said from behind. Roskin turned to face the lazy dwarf.
“This is none of your business,” he said with a voice like stone.
“Don’t talk to my son that way. You are acting ungrateful. We’ve fed you and helped you heal and taken in that drunk thing.”
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to leave like this, but we’re in trouble.”
“Nanna, they’re murderers and thieves.”
“That’s not true,” Roskin said to her. Then he turned to Jase. “Why don’t you hush?”
“There’s a reward for them, Nanna.”
“Go fetch those humans,” Roskin said, poking Jase’s chest. “Bring them here to arrest me, if your beard is thick enough.”
“I will, you sorry mule.” Jase turned and hurried from the house.
“I appreciate all you’ve done,” Roskin said, turning back to her. “But we’ve got to go.”
“Then leave, but hear me well. You’re still wounded, and he’s a sick old man. Out there, you won’t last long.”
Roskin turned and went back to the other room. He was hurt and offended by the old dwarf’s tone, and he wanted to slap Jase across the mouth, but he didn’t have time to deal with them. He stripped a sheet from the bed, and a cloud of dust rose and swirled around them. He threw the equipment into the middle of the sheet and tied the four corners into a knot, explaining that they could just throw the sheet into the wagon. Red slung the makeshift pack across his back and groaned as he adjusted to the weight. Roskin shouldered his pack and carried the sword in his left hand. The dwarf and man slipped out of the house and slunk along an alley until they reached the livery.
Inside, they got the stable master to hitch the horse and wagon, and Roskin paid him for the month’s service, using his next to last Kiredurkian coins. They loaded their gear into the bed, which was stained from blood, and rode out the back exit as the human soldiers arrived with Jase at Bokwhel’s house. No one noticed the wagon as they rode along the edge of town and into the rolling hills, but the soldiers had already mounted their horses and were riding north. Roskin and Red stayed on the bare ground and rode east for a couple of miles but turned north and began working back towards the road. The spring afternoon turned windy and chilly as they moved deeper into Rugraknere with two platoons of soldiers not far behind.
Chapter 6
A Busy Day
The exiled Kiredurks who maintained the stone road that had once been the trade route from Sturdeon to Grefdoughn labored diligently to keep the path smooth. They believed that one day the trade route would reopen, and when that day came, their dedication would prove profitable. After eighty-five years, some had begun to wonder. Their skill was without question, however, because the wagon hardly jostled or shook as Roskin and Red rode north towards the next town. Up to that point, Roskin had hated riding because of how much he bounced and vibrated over the rough land, but on the road, he enjoyed not having to walk.
They were well beyond the farms of the logging village and still many miles from the next town. A thick forest of oak and chestnut grew on either side of the road, and dense underbrush made passage into the forest nearly impossible. The forests Roskin had seen to this point had been in the highlands and comprised of cold weather conifers, so he had never seen anything like these trees, many of which stood more than a hundred feet tall. The dwarf let Red take the reins and spent his time looking around at the newly formed tree buds and the brightly colored flowers in the undergrowth. Much like he had been smitten by the green meadow of the valley, Roskin was trammeled by the forest’s brilliance.
But his enjoyment was short-lived, for an image of soldiers riding behind them appeared in his mind. He looked around, but the road was clear. Nonetheless, he could feel the dark fear rising, so he pulled his sword from the back and nudged Red.
“Soldiers are coming.”
“I wish I had a taste.”
“Take my dagger.”
Red’s hand was much too big for the dwarven blade, but he held it anyway, hoping the need to use it would never arrive. Roskin climbed into the bed and rearranged the gear to give himself a clear place to stand, and then he waited for the soldiers to come into view. The mounted platoons topped a hill and were trotting quickly. As they neared the wagon, the riders kicked their horses into a gallop and closed the last few yards.
They broke into two lines and galloped to either side of the wagon. To Roskin’s right, the first sold
ier drew his long sword and swung at the dwarf, and Roskin had to duck the blow. To his left, the closest soldier dove into the bed and landed just in front of him, and Roskin, still hunkered down from ducking, punched the soldier in the face. The soldier tried to scramble to his feet, but the dwarf pushed him out of the bed while he was still unsteady. The one to the right swung again, aiming downward this time, but the dwarf saw the blow coming and side-stepped it. He countered with a draw across the soldier’s forearm, and the soldier dropped his sword and stopped giving chase.
Back to the left, another soldier had come alongside the wagon and tried to stab the dwarf in the back. Roskin sensed the attack and turned to block it. To the right, two more riders were beside the wagon. One had moved to the front and was trying to stab Red, and the other jumped into the bed and struck the dwarf with a forearm to the head. Roskin rolled with the blow to lessen its effect and brought the sword across into the man’s hip. Then, he used leverage to flip the man over the left side, where he knocked the other soldier from his horse.
Up front, Red was ducking and dodging clumsy swipes from that horseman. When he saw a clear shot, Red threw the dagger and hit the man in the ribs, but just as soon as that one fell another took his place. Roskin saw the peril and picked up the sword one of the humans had dropped. He leaned over the seat and laid it between Red and the soldier, and Red picked it up with his left hand and parried the first blow.
As Roskin did that, two more soldiers jumped into the bed, and when the dwarf turned back, he was punched in the jaw by one. The other swung his sword diagonally, but as the punch knocked Roskin backwards, the sword missed its mark and lodged in the wood. Roskin recovered from the blow and thrust the swordsman in the stomach and then withdrew the blade and cut horizontally at the other’s throat. The man leaned back from the blow but lost his balance and fell from the wagon. Roskin shoved the dying swordsman out of the bed and turned in time to see Red stab the horseman in the shoulder, which caused him to tumble from his horse.
The final four riders pulled up their reins and stopped chasing. Filled with rage and adrenaline, Roskin shouted guttural noises and motioned for them to come on, but the riders dismounted and began tending to their wounded and dying. Red let their horse slow back to a steady working canter, and they continued down the road.
“The Great Empire has gotten sloppy,” Red said after Roskin had climbed back up front. “In my day, you and I’d already be dead. These soldiers are a pitiful lot.”
“Maybe we’ve seen the last of them for awhile.”
“Maybe.”
“Does it seem strange to you?” Roskin asked, cleaning his blade.
“How’s that?”
“That they’ve sent so many to catch two.”
“Young master, you have much to learn,” Red said, laughing. “That empire will try to catch you, no matter how many men they lose doing so.”
“That’s madness.”
“That’s their military, but like I said, we were much more cunning and skilled in my day.”
According to Roskin’s map, which had very little detail about Rugraknere, the next town could be reached by late evening, so they only stopped for a few minutes to rest the horse and eat a bite themselves. Low, gray clouds were gathering to the west, and the wind blew continually and made them shiver. The deciduous trees gave way to black spruce, and the thick underbrush had all but disappeared. They traveled slowly but steadily all day, and as twilight neared, the forest gave way to lands cleared for fields and pastures. By dark, they had reached the outskirts of Kukhmorghan, a town that had very little industry or commerce since the trade route had ended. Ambitious dwarves had long since moved away, and the inhabitants who remained mostly fell into one of two categories: the shiftless and outcasts not wanting to be found. Little of that mattered to Roskin and Red, for the cold wind had chilled them deeply, and they both wanted a fire and a little whiskey to warm by.
Most of the buildings of Kukhmorghan were more than a hundred years old, but the masons hadn’t been as skilled as those of Murkdolm. Many structures had crumbling blocks or failing mortar, and rubbish and junk were piled against walls or strewn about the ground. While an entire section of Murkdolm had been abandoned, those buildings still held an impression of nobility, but the whole of Kukhmorghan had a veneer of grunge and poverty that had never known glory.
They found the tavern, and the noises from inside were rowdy and churlish. Red tethered the horse, and Roskin fixed his sword to his belt and kept his left hand on the pommel. While the dark fear hadn’t flared up, it had risen enough to make him wary. Inside, various card games were being played around the room. At tables without games, dwarves carried on loud conversations and boorish laughter. Along the bar, several dwarves who were stained head to foot from mine dust were quietly drinking hard liquor. Roskin and Red found an empty table in the corner.
A female dwarf with unkempt hair and leathery skin took their order. As Roskin tried to figure out what they could afford, she tapped her fingers on her forearm and explained the choices. Finally, he decided on a bottle of cheap whiskey and gave her his last silver coin. She returned with the bottle, two glasses, and several copper coins for change. Roskin thanked her and poured their drinks.
“You talk strange. Where you from?”
“Murkdolm,” Roskin answered. “We’re heading to Dorkhun on business.”
“Ain’t been to either. No use for foreigners.” She turned and went to check on another table.
“Maybe we should take our bottle and leave,” Red said.
“Let’s get warm. Then, we’ll find an inn or something.”
Across the room a scuffle broke out at one of the card games, and a pair of dwarves took the fight outside. A few others followed them, and most of the games were put on hold while the players crowded at the windows to watch. As the two punched and gouged each other, the spectators whistled and cheered, but the miners at the bar never turned from their drinks. When one dwarf had whipped the other, both came back inside splattered with blood and coated in dust. The crowd cheered them crudely.
“Let’s go,” Red said, standing.
“All right.”
They made it outside, but three of the dwarves who had gone outside to watch the fight were in the bed of the wagon, going through the packs.
“May I help you, gentlemen?” Roskin called.
“What kind of sissy dwarf are you?” one asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You talk like a sissy. Are you dumb, too?”
“I apologize.”
One of the others jostled the speaker and motioned to Roskin’s sword.
“You a soldier?” The young dwarf had lost some of his cockiness.
“We’re just traveling through,” Roskin said, fingering the grip.
The other two dropped what they had picked up and jumped from the wagon. They disappeared down the street as the other stood still.
“You gonna kill me?”
“Maybe,” Roskin said, moving closer to the bed.
“No he’s not,” Red said. “Just put down the stuff.”
The thief dropped a hunting trap and started to leap from the bed, but Roskin reached up and grabbed his leg, which tripped him. He landed with a thud, and Roskin jumped in beside him and pinned him to the wood.
“What’s going on here,” a dwarf said from the tavern’s door.
“This one was robbing us,” Red said. “Two others got away.”
Several dwarves came outside and formed a semi-circle around the wagon. Roskin stood and pulled the dwarf to his feet.
“We just want to find the inn,” Red said. “No harm done.”
“Shut up, human. Did you steal from these two?”
“I wasn’t stealing nothing.”
Several more had come outside, and Red moved to the leather strap that tethered the horse. The crowd moved closer to the wagon.
“I don’t want to fight my own kind,” Roskin said, letting go of the dw
arf and then drawing his sword. “But I’ll kill the first one that takes another step.”
“Calm down, black beard. None of us is armed.”
Red undid the strap and scratched the horse’s muzzle. Roskin told the young dwarf to get out of the wagon, and the thief jumped out and ran off in the same direction as his friends.
“We’re leaving,” Roskin said. “You folks just back away.”
Several in the crowd stepped back, and some went back inside, but a handful stood their ground. Red had moved to the side with the handbrake and released it, and then he began rolling the wagon backwards. The horse stepped with the motion.
“Must be a thin beard,” a stocky dwarf said.
“Excuse me?” Roskin returned.
“Gotta hide behind that sword. You must not have much of a beard.”
Among Kiredurks, no insult was sharper, and while Roskin knew that he and Red were almost away and that once they got the horse moving they would be safe, he couldn’t ignore it. He dropped the sword in the bed and jumped over the rail.
“You think your beard is thicker?” he asked.
“Let’s find out,” the stocky one said. His blond beard was streaked from ale, and his plump cheeks were bright red.
Roskin let his opponent attack and blocked the first two punches, getting his timing down, but when the dwarf threw the third punch, a lazy hook that arced too wide, he ducked under the blow and smashed the dwarf’s chin with a thunderous uppercut. The dwarf was unconscious before he hit the ground. Roskin motioned to the crowd and called for the next brave one. A skinny dwarf with bad teeth and sunken eyes stepped forward. Roskin jabbed him with three quick bursts from the left hand and then laid him out with an overhand right. He called for another.
No one in the crowd stepped forward, and Red, who had gotten the wagon backed into the street, yelled for Roskin to get in. The enraged dwarf ignored him and taunted the crowd, many of whom were heading inside. The ones who remained were trying to get the fallen two to their feet. Roskin continued his diatribe, using every Kiredurkian insult he could think of, but the dwarves wouldn’t take the bait. Red called again, and Roskin finally got in the wagon. Red snapped the reins, and they moved away from the tavern.