“I will ensure that the book makes it to its proper place.” The faun replied.
“Good – good.” the dwarf’s attention was elsewhere as his imagination ran wild with ideas. ‘If only I had a paint can like this one!’ he said to himself.
The faun began to turn and leave but paused for a moment:
“You cannot tell anyone that you met my workers or me. Our job is one of secrecy. We are the bearers of the forest, and we must not be found out. You are the first, and gods be willing, the last person to ever see me. That is, the first person who does not work with me.”
“Yes, yes of course. I shall not mention this to anyone.” The dwarf replied.
“Very well then, young dwarf. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I dare say that I hope to never see your kind again.” He smiled and glanced back at the dwarf. “If by chance, you feel the need to rest for a bit, you may do so here. You are in the heart of the forest, and the trees will protect you.”
The dwarf suddenly realized that he was indeed exhausted. He thanked the faun once more and sat down. He placed his backside against a tree and lowered his cap to cover his eyes. He fell asleep in mere moments.
Hidden amongst the plume of thick vegetation in the forest, the messenger watched as the dwarf foolishly handed the book of detailed information over to what appeared to be a creature he had only seen in dwarven fairytales.
The messenger wasted no time watching the two interact. He darted from his hiding place and ran through the outer edges of the forest – he had to return to Hegh Thurim and report the betrayal of the dwarf.
Had he stayed a bit longer, he may have been able to help the friendly dwarf survive the coming attack. The poor creature stood no chance as a lone leolf approached his sleeping body and clamped its teeth around the dwarf’s neck. The faun would not have to worry about the creature telling anyone of their chance meeting: the dwarf was dead.
33
The messenger arrived at the castle and relayed everything he had seen while hidden in the brush of the forest. Fogrolir was the first to receive the news and immediately gave orders for a troupe of Storm Riders to fly out and gather whatever information possible about their enemies.
“Skalmaena and Lundrise are in the north tower. Go relay the message to them as well. I have no idea what a faun is, as I was never read such stories in my childhood, but if someone is interfering with our journals, we must stop them at once.”
The messenger nodded and ran off to recount his story once more.
Fogrolir gave instructions to three men and sent them off at once to scout the enemy. He did not want to alarm the men, but his instincts told him that preparations for war needed to commence immediately.
“You, you, and you,” he said while pointing at three of the royal soldiers, “gather the caltrops, flails, and rolling crossbows.”
The soldiers followed orders without saying a word, and a half hour later the carts were filled with weapons, waiting to be taken to their destination.
“Wait here men; I shall return momentarily.” Fogrolir left the three men at the gate while he sought out Mange and Barth, as well as Skalmaena.
Mange and Barth were easy enough to find – all he had to do was follow the noise and the sounds of arguing. If the brothers were not arguing with each other, they were arguing with other dwarves.
“Mange! Barth! I require your assistance at once.”
The two stopped their bickering long enough to look at the Storm Rider:
“Dear brother, he did not say the magic word!” Barth said jokingly.
“Now!” Fogrolir said sternly.
“Close enough!” Mange laughed as he stood from his makeshift desk.
“What is it that you require, Foggy boy?” Barth asked.
“I think we should get to work and set the caltrops to slow the giants and their men. We must set them far enough from the castle walls that we do not have to worry about the beasts only grabbing boulders and launching them in our direction. This is a big endeavor, and I require assistance in making some kind of contraption that can dig a trench quite fast.”
Mange looked at Fogrolir and in a somber tone said: “The only contraption I know of that can help a man dig a hole in record time is called marriage, but it will not help dig a real ditch.”
Fogrolir laughed and shook his head. The humor was always present when dealing with the Taberlim twins, and though it could at times be strenuous, there were moments when their quips were the perfect remedy for an otherwise unpleasant situation.
“In seriousness, Fogrolir, dwarven battleax’s can slice through the ground with almost zero resistance. If we can make a harness of some sort that flings the ax’s round and round, we could slice through the soil in no time at all.”
“So, you need something like a wheel?”
Mange glanced at his brother Barth and smiled:
“A wheel, indeed! Foggy boy, I do believe we have the answer you seek. However, it will take at least a day to make this contraption – if not longer.”
Fogrolir puffed out his cheeks and released his breath in a loud manner – “Very well then Mange. While you work on your contraption, I will gather the required men and have them begin manually digging the trenches. War is headed our way, gentlemen, and it will not be a welcomed sight.”
Fogrolir walked with the Taberlim brothers for a few moments more before he evaginated and marched toward the north tower. Three shadows flew over the courtyard as his Storm Riders circled over the castle walls to get into formation before heading out toward the Crystalmist Bastille.
Several dwarves in the courtyards noticed the three beasts and their riders and thought nothing of the matter. King Vulred Helethorn, however, was apprehensive. He did his best to hide his fear, and for the most part, he was successful – or so he thought. Kragjaw Tuminar sat on the ground a few yards away from the elven king, and he noticed something was amiss, though he was not sure what it was; at least, not yet.
They trudged through the desert, their specialized cooling harnesses covered their bodies, keeping the mammoths cool under the hot temperatures of the Iceland. Steam escaped from the top of the harnesses every few minutes as the water cascaded over the backside of the mammoths.
The giants were not the brightest creatures in Umuosmar, but they were smart enough to devise a system to keep their beasts cooled. Tubes filled with water ran the length of the mammoths before dipping into saddlebags attached to either side of the monsters. Using suction, the water was pulled from the saddlebags and through the tubes, which lay in crisscross manner atop the heads of the creatures. When a mammoth sucked in a deep breath of air, the force pulled the water through the tubes, and it released on their backsides, keeping them nice and cold in the hot sun. Tubes ran down the neck of the beast on either side and were cut-off just inside the mammoths’ mouth. Though odd looking, it did not hurt the creatures, and it made their life in the desert plains a lot easier to survive.
As they moved through the sands, each mammoth had something in-tow. Some pulled a cache of the ogre and giant weapons; others pulled food, blankets, and other necessities. Not one mammoth was without some form of luggage, which only served to make the beasts appear even larger than they already were.
Riding atop the beast that headed the formation – a young ogre scouted the skies in search of any enemies. At first, his eyes saw nothing, but then what appeared to three small specs in the distance, continued to grow larger.
“Storm Riders!” he bellowed.
Ogres, sitting upon their mastodon’s, began to form a thick wall of moving armor around the mammoths. While the mammoths were magnificent beasts, they were not as mean as their little, more agile cousins. The troop of animals was almost to the Crystalmist Bastille when the ogre spotted the Storm Riders. The trees prevented Margoor and his men from seeing the approaching dragons, but they heard the ogre’s cry and readied themselves for battle.
Margoor kept his eyes affixed to the s
ky above as he awaited the dragon’s and their riders. When the enemy did not fly over after some time, he turned to the ogre raised his hands in a gesture as though he were asking for an explanation.
“They are circling the forest about a mile from our location, Lord Margoor. I cannot tell what it is they are searching for, but we do not appear to be their focus – that is, not right this moment.”
Margoor pondered what could possibly take away the focus of the Storm Riders from his men when the thought came to him: ‘spies. They must have a spy in the forest, and they cannot find him.’ His grin was apparent to all those around him, though no one dared ask why their newfound leader was smiling.
“Shall we remind them why their focus should only be on us?” he asked.
Choruses of ‘yes’ and ‘kill the dwarves” along with proclamations of ‘not their land anymore’ rang out among the giants and ogres.
“Good! Grab a boulder and heave it! Let us remind them of what their fate will be one day soon!”
A giant bent down and grasped a medium-sized rock between his two hands. He spun in a circle and heaved the stone through the air. It stood no chance of hitting the Storm Riders, however, as a giant can throw either at great length’s or height’s, but rarely are both combined; especially when the target is just over a mile away.
The boulder slammed into a tree and broke many branches. Right behind it were more boulders – each of various sizes and weights.
The Storm Riders watched as the giants taunted and teased them from afar. They were not afraid of the monsters – but when they saw cyclopses mixed in among the giants and ogres – their spirits waned, and fear began to set in.
“I thought the cyclopses and their odd-looking leaders would have been embroiled in a battle with the giants. What kind of alliance is this?” one of the Storm Riders said aloud.
“Not a good one, my fellow riders. Not a good one. We can handle one or the other, but an army of that size is almost sure to kill us all eventually.”
“Watch out!” one of the men yelled as a stone whizzed past them.
“What the hell was that?” the dwarf at the front yelled out incredulously.
“It is a cyclops, riders. They may not throw boulders like the giants, but it appears they are adept at throwing good-sized rocks a great distance through the air.” The fiery-orange dragon spoke aloud.
“There is more,” another dragon said as she maneuvered about to swing around and make the journey back to the castle, “the demon woman that enslaved the elves is among them. We must report this to the others at once.”
Indeed – the Demoweir stood among the beasts, though her powers were still drained. She stared at the dragon with malice and contempt as her allies.
‘I will make you all bow before me.’ She thought to herself as she watched the three Storm Riders turn and head toward Hegh Thurim.
When the dragons were sure neither the Demoweir or her mercenaries could see them any longer, the head dragon spoke:
“That ogre perched atop the mammoth – we should snag him and bring him back to Hegh Thurim. Make him tell us their plans.”
“This is an expedition for information only, Seltin; not a kidnapping.” One of the male dragons spoke forthrightly.
“What better information is there than a talking enemy? I say we nab the little fool and do it while we still can.”
The arguing continued for a time until at last the others agreed that Seltin was correct: they needed a hostage to gather information.
“If that is indeed the Demoweir, she will shred us with her magic before we make it within a hundred yards of that ogre.” One dwarf said with concern evident in his tone.
“That is why I shall have to go accomplish this task on my own. No rider of mine has ever been a practitioner of magic, and as such, my mind cannot be controlled by that demon. The only chance we stand is if I go alone.” Seltin made her intentions clear.
Her rider did not like the idea, but he knew she was correct – it was a job that only she could do. She sidled up next to the dragon that flew behind her only moments before, and keeping herself as steady as possible, she helped her rider leave his harness and make his way onto the other dragons backside.
“Godspeed, Seltin. Be safe, and good luck!” her rider called out as she banked hard to the left and swooped down to gather speed.
She shot over the forest and headed southwest, away from the Wyhirt Iceland region: she would circle back and approach the enemy from behind.
34
Two dragons with three dwarves returned to the stables in Hegh Thurim. The dwarves disembarked, and while they did so, the dragons reminded them to keep what they had seen to themselves until their leaders said otherwise. They nodded their agreement and set off to find the leaders so they could inform them of the days’ events.
“She is what?” Fogrolir screeched as he was given the news that one of his dragons was on a lone mission in enemy territory.
“How could you three let a dragon talk you into such a thing?” he paced back and forth across the cold stone; his face reddened with anger.
“It is a good plan, Fogrolir! It may yield great results for us to use against giants.” The eldest dwarf spoke up, his voice pleaded for understanding.
“Good plans result in dead dwarves. This is a bad idea – not without someone there to help if things go wrong. You two, I can understand being coaxed by a dragon, but you,” he pointed at the eldest dwarf, “you know better. You are the eldest of the riders aside from myself, and you know not to let a dragon’s cunning tongue make irrational decisions.”
Fogrolir’s beard stuck out like the quills on a hedgehog in defense mode. He was angry – not because the riders let the dragon plan such an endeavor – no, he was angry because no one was there to provide support if things went awry.
“Fogrolir,” Skalmaena spoke calmly, “perhaps you should send support riders out to help Seltin.”
Fogrolir shook his head in a state of disappointment.
“The ogres and giants are one thing, but if cyclopses are in their ranks, we cannot risk losing one of our Storm Riders before we are fully ready for war. Not to mention our dragons – they are our life blood, Skalmaena.”
Kragjaw pushed past King Vulred; excitement shone in his eyes: “What if the dragon and rider are not Storm Riders? Would that make a difference?”
Vulred, along with Kragjaw and Kurikjaw, had come to the north tower when they spotted the riders returning. They were trusted company and so filling them in on everything going on was not out of the ordinary.
“What do you have in mind, grandson?”
“Well, you heard Kemoth before our attack in Megh Borim. He knows the land better than any dragon, and he is faster and wiser than any other beast in these areas. I am his rider, as he has chosen me to be, and you know he is battle tested. His wings are made of metal that I forged, and I trust him with my life. Let me ride out, and if we do nothing else, we may cause enough of a distraction that Seltin can nab whomever it is she seeks to gather information from.”
The men and women looked at each other as they stood in the small, cramped tower. No one wanted to allow Kragjaw to leave, and yet no one wished to disagree with his notion that it was a grand idea.
“I am not sure that it is safe…”
“Grandfather, nothing is safe! Look around us – we are holed up in a castle tower preparing for a war with a makeshift army and the help of elves because we do not have the manpower. I am no more safe here than on the backside of a dragon, and I trust Kemoth!”
Fogrolir sighed. “He is your son, Kurikjaw. I do not wish him to go, but that decision is not mine to make.”
Kurikjaw bit his lip and stared at his son for a short time:
“Fogrolir – I am afraid that the decision is not mine to make either. Kragjaw is a grown dwarf now and can make such decisions on his own, though I do wish he would keep others considerations in mind.”
Kragjaw smiled. “You
know I do, father. I cherish you all, and I love you, but…”
“But you are going to go anyway,” Fogrolir said. “You are just like your mother – and that is not a bad thing.”
Kragjaw turned to leave but stopped and turned back to address the men one last time.
“Let me ask you something, and if you can answer honestly and it is a negative response to my going, then I shall stay. Tell me, when Kulok Greybrew ruled over this land, did you trust him?”
Everyone agreed.
“And when his father ruled before him, did you and your parents trust him?”
Once more, the dwarves and even the lone elf in the room agreed.
“Well, his father trusted Kemoth. Kulok Greybrew himself trusted Kemoth, and I trust him as well. Does that not say anything about what kind of regal beast he is then?”
No one had an answer that could merit any reason not to feel comfortable with Kemoth as a leader. In fact, Kragjaw’s stunt of challenging their minds had actually done the opposite – it soothed their souls, and they became content with his leaving to help Seltin.
“Hurry on then son. She may need your help – tell Kemoth not to put you in too much danger if it is not necessary.” Kurikjaw hugged his son.
In a thrice, Kragjaw was in the saddle and gone from the castle as Kemoth soared through the air to reach the desert and provide whatever help would be necessary.
The sandy brown color of Seltin’s skin made it easy for her to blend into the desert sands as she circled outward and banked to the left to swoop around and set her course for the enemy.
‘They should be just over this next hill’ she thought to herself as she squinted her eyes and scanned the horizon. She topped the last large sand hill, expecting to see the giants and ogres just ahead. Instead, the road to the bastille was empty – no giants or ogres in sight.
‘This cannot be! Where have they gone?’ her head moved frantically from side-to-side, searching for the enemy.
Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2) Page 27