The dwarves nodded their understanding and began placing harnesses on all the wild beasts at the gates.
Mange hopped off the cart and pulled the cloak back from his eyes as his brother approached.
“Still no sign of Mersoth or Kragjaw?” he asked.
“None, but I am sure they will return. The two probably went out to convince the others to return.” Barth replied.
Mange furrowed his brow and bit his lip as he mulled over the possibility. “We have known Mersoth for many years, Barth. She does not do such irrational things. If she and Kragjaw left, they are up to something. Speaking of which, do you see the elven king staying out of the way at the end of the courtyards?”
Barth stole a glance inside the castle gates and spotted the elven king. It appeared Vulred was writing something, but Barth could not be confident of what it was.
“Aye, I see him.”
“We need to keep an eye on him, Barth. He is keeping something from us, but I cannot seem to place my finger on what it could be. He is eager to help, but it seems as though his eagerness is merely in learning our tactics. I have the nagging feeling that if we survive this war, the elves will try and take our kingdom.”
Barth knew from years of fighting in wars and counter-intelligence that the best way to stop the enemy was never let on that you know they are up to something. He kept his attention focused on readying the leolfs while speaking to his brother.
“So how do we approach such a subject with Fogrolir and the others?”
“Right now, we simply do nothing, Barth. The others already think that you and I are raving lunatics incapable of operating on their levels of normalcy. If we accuse someone of being a traitor or of being a future collaborator, we will indeed be belittled. I do not mind that, but it would then be known that we are wise and recognize something is not right, and Vulred would indeed become harder to keep tabs on.”
Barth agreed, and for the time their conversation focused on anything but the elven king.
Her power had not fully returned, and as such, she could not possess any of the dwarves that would generally befall her with ease. Metakon walked at the front of the troops alongside Margoor – the discussed various things from their strategies to what to do with any elves or dwarves that were taken as prisoners.
The conversation always came back around to the same three suggestions: torture, humiliate, and kill, though not necessarily in that order.
She watched as Metakon’s fondness for the giant grew, and she wondered how long it would be before he tried to double-cross her and form an alliance with the massive beasts.
As they walked, they eventually came to another bastille and overtook it with ease, as there were no dwarves to be found.
“It appears our enemy has forewarned the people of our impending approach. No doubt, we will locate the majority of the dwarven population in the kingdom’s central city, Hegh Thurim. I would love to continue our journey and attack during the night, but my cyclopses become vulnerable in the darkness.” Her tone was flat, as she purposely reiterated that the cyclops army was hers to command.
“I thought cyclopses saw better in the darkness. Did I hear incorrectly, or does the sunlight not hurt their eyes?” Margoor asked.
“No, Margoor, you heard correctly. The sun does affect their eyesight, but after a short time in the sunlight, their eyes adjust to it. If we attack at night, however, and a dwarf sends a blazing ball of fire into our encampment, the suddenness of the light will blind my beasts long enough to make them vulnerable to attack – even from dwarves.”
Margoor was not sure if she realized what she had just done: in her attempt to ensure the safety of her creatures, she had just given him vital information for killing the beasts. It would come in handy, since killing them after taking over the kingdom was his plan.
“This place will do for now. We rest here tonight, and in the morning…” he paused for dramatic effect, “Hegh Thurim falls.”
Margoor’s men cheered and slammed their fists into whatever was nearest as they hollered with excitement. Margoor allowed the men to have their fun as he watched them.
‘First the dwarves, and then you fools.’ He thought to himself as he smiled.
He noticed the Demoweir staring at him – he nodded in her direction, sat down on the dirt road, and placed his club behind his head. He would sleep well tonight.
Mersoth and Kragjaw returned during the cover of night – the only sign of their entry came from the sudden blotting out of stars in the sky for a split second as she passed overhead. Their journey was a short one, but it yielded a few positive results. Mersoth touched down in the stables as quietly as she could, and Kragjaw unsaddled himself and headed for the inner sanctum to find his friends.
He entered through the kitchen and made his way up the stairs to the main hall. His small shoes echoed with each step – he stopped and pulled the shoes from his feet – he did not wish to disturb the sleeping soldiers. The candlelight flickered in their sconces as a light breeze filtered through the arched windows. Kragjaw tiptoed toward the central tower – he knew his father and Fogrolir would be there, readying themselves for bed.
He was almost to the tower when a noise garnered his attention. It was a voice, cooing in the nighttime air. Kragjaw turned his attention from the tower and edged his way around the corner and down the next hall – the voice became clearer as he walked and he realized it was that of King Vulred Helethorn.
“They have no idea how to survive such an attack. If we are to make it through this ordeal, I will require your assistance.”
Kragjaw crept forward, gripped the stones at the doorways entrance, and slowly peered into the room. He expected to see one of the high elves or some other elven soldier, but there was no one in the chamber with Vulred.
Vulred sat stoic, one knee on the floor and his head knelt in prayer. Kragjaw watched for a moment, intrigued, as the leader of the elves continued his prayer. Dwarves never prayed unless spouting forth words such as ‘may the gods be forever on our side,’ or something similar was considered a prayer. The entire process was foreign to Kragjaw, and yet he felt a certain presence in the room – a familiar presence. It unnerved him so much that he turned and ran down the hall and did not stop until he was at the tower where his father and grandfather would be.
“Whoa there lad!” his grandfather said as he watched Kragjaw slide around the corner and place his hands on the walls on either side of the stairs to steady himself.
“You have been missing all evening, Kragjaw. Do you care to tell me where you have been?” he inquired in a low whisper.
“Yes grandpa, but I would like the others to be here as well.”
“Very well then,” Fogrolir said as he slipped past Kragjaw and planted his feet firmly on the floor, “I shall go ask Vulred to join us in the tower. Skalmaena, Lundrise, and your father are already there discussing battle plans for tomorrow.”
“No. Do not invite Vulred.” Kragjaw said as he glanced around the corner to ensure that no one was listening.
“Why not lad? He is every bit a part of this war as we are.”
“I will tell you shortly, but do not invite him. However, we should have Mange and Barth here for this.”
“They are not here right now, Kragjaw. They built some form of intriguing digging contraption, and they are out with a hundred or so men, digging the ground up to make room for the caltrops.”
Kragjaw smiled – “good. Then they are already ahead of my plan!”
He skirted up the stairwell with his grandfather right behind him and burst into the room excitedly.
“We have a backup!” he exclaimed.
Everyone turned their attention to him – their expressions ranged from happy to completely confused.
“What do you mean son?” his father asked.
“The Reophuse – they are going to help us.”
Skalmaena smiled though the look of confusion remained. “How are they going to help us? They
are swamp dwellers. They stay hidden in murky waters or attack from the treetops of the swamps. This battle is not being fought in the swamps, Kragjaw.”
“Oh, but it is, Skalmaena. You see, the ground that Mange and Barth are digging up is going to be deep enough to bury a giant up to their waist. The caltrops will work great for the first few imbeciles that try to walk across. Originally, we were just going to have it full of loose dirt, and they would misstep and become victims. That is great until they figure out what is happening and they start jumping over any area that looks as though it has loosened dirt.”
Skalmaena nodded and motioned for him to continue.
“Instead, we are going to move the dirt out and break the barriers of the swamps on the east and lakes on the west, making a new and vast river. The Reophuse have already agreed that though they will be able to swim the length of the waterways, they will not attack dwarves nor their animals. They will confine themselves to eating what they have always eaten: rogue dragons, giants, and the like. So the plan is now simple enough: place caltrops in the water, and…”
“And if the spiked caltrops do not get the giants and ogres – the Reophuse will.” Kurikjaw finished his son’s sentence.
“Exactly, father.”
“Kragjaw, you are still just a young boy in my eyes, but your mind is one of a great general. That is a masterful plan.”
Skalmaena nodded as well. Fogrolir turned and began to leave – “Where are you headed, Fogrolir?” Lundrise asked.
“Someone has to tell those two buffoons not to fill up the deep ravines with loose dirt. Moreover, someone has to break the barrier that holds back the lake. It is going to be a long night, but I welcome it with renewed vigor! Tomorrow – Umuosmar stands.”
Fogrolir left but turned back once more and entered the room: “Kragjaw – why did you not want me to ask Vulred to join us?”
Kragjaw looked around and motioned for Fogrolir to ensure no one was in the stairwell listening. When he was sure the warriors were alone, he told them of the prayer he overheard, how the feeling that entered his stomach, and how it reminded him of the feeling he had when he defied Praghock.
“The words sounded innocent enough, but the atmosphere in that room was evil. I do not know any other way to describe it.”
“Perhaps it just seems evil because dwarves do not pray regularly, son. Vulred has been nothing but good to us thus far.”
Kragjaw did not wish to cause division amongst his family and friends, so he nodded and let the issue go.
Fogrolir left the castle and informed the Taberlim brothers of the plan Kragjaw had in mind. When they were finished digging the trenches, Mersoth dug into the natural mud levees that held the western lakes in place – the dirt crumbled and water rushed through, creating a new river that separated the north from the south just below Hegh Thurim.
37
The rumbling of the earth woke Metakon in the middle of the night. He pulled on his mage robe and made his way out of the encampment to have a look around. He walked for what felt like forever until at last, he saw what was causing the noise: rushing water.
‘That is odd’ he thought to himself, ‘I do not recall hearing this rumbling noise earlier in the day.’ He was not sure what to make of the situation since it was apparent that it was nothing more than water traversing the waterway of the river. Had he been familiar with Umuosmar, however, he would have known that just hours before in the daylight, no river existed where he now stood.
He glanced at the roaring rapids one last time before turning around to head back to the camp. As he walked, it dawned on him that being out in the woods without a companion was a dangerous thing to do. His power had not yet returned, and so he had no real way of defending himself since he did not bring any traps or other weapons.
What Metakon failed to realize, however, was that the lack of power also made his senses dull. That dullness worked for the snake-like beast that slithered from one branch to another as it followed him back to camp; a beast known as Reophuse.
The rest of the night was uneventful. The giants slept soundly while the cyclopses prepared their armor for battle. Most of the beasts would wear only an iron chest plate and face guard to protect their lone eye from attack. They gathered their shields made of the bones of enemies killed in past battles and set them out so they could be grabbed quickly if the need arose.
As the sun rose the next morning, Metakon awoke to the sounds of steel clashing against steel. He bolted upright in a panic, looked around, and sighed with relief as two ogres continued to trade blows in preparation for the coming battle.
“Scared?”
Metakon glanced over his shoulder and found the Demoweir standing behind him with a bemused smirk on her face.
“Annoyed.” He replied.
Her gaze stayed on him until at last, he motioned for her to sit next to him. She chuckled to herself as she realized her protégé was beginning to think of himself as her equal.
“You left under cover of nightfall, Metakon. Why?” her eyes bore through his, sending a chill down his spine.
“I was awakened by some sort of rumbling. It was not present yesterday afternoon when we arrived here in the forest, so it caused me undue alarm. Nevertheless, it was nothing to worry about.”
“Oh?” she said with surprise as she leaned back on her elbows.
“It was just the rivers water flowing at a high pace. I do not know why I had not noticed the rumbling before.”
Her inquisitiveness gave way to suspicion – there were no rivers near their current position, and she could not fathom that Metakon would lie about something as simple to confirm as this.
“Where is this river, Metakon? I have been in these lands for well over an hundred years, and there is no river along our current route.”
It was now Metakon’s turn to look surprised as his eyes met her gaze.
“So that is why the water was rushing through the river! It is fresh built!” he stood up and began to pace while speaking to himself.
“Metakon!”
“But why would they build a river? Cyclopses are not afraid of water.”
“Metakon!”
“Unless they plan on slowing us down so their dragons can attack us from above. Yes, that must be it!”
“METAKON!” she shrieked. The suddenness of her outburst caused a few of the men to cast icy stares in her direction.
“Sorry, my master. It just occurred to me that the river must be new and was dug out by the dwarves in anticipation of this war. The river appeared broad enough that we shall have to traverse the waters to cross to the opposite shore. I would bet anything that dragons will be at the ready to attack the moment we enter the water.”
‘Does he really think that I will not find out what he is really up to? There is no river!’ Aloud, she stated simply, “Take me to this river. I wish to see it in person.”
Metakon nodded and stood. He gathered his robe once more, and moments later the two left the together. For Metakon it was nothing more than a request; for the Demoweir, it was a trap being set: if the river existed, she would allow him to live. If there were no rivers, however, she would kill the skinder without hesitation. For her plans had waited far too long, and she would not risk having anyone turn their back on her.
They marched from the Palace in Hegh Thurim just after sunrise, fully clad in their armor. The royal army, some two thousand strong, stood at the ready. Fogrolir and the others had not realized just how many soldiers Praghock really had throughout the land when he was in power; once the request went out for any able-bodied men to come and join the army, many soldiers came pouring in through the castle gates after nightfall.
“Men, are you ready?” Skalmaena said in her crisp, loud voice.
For as far as she could see, battleax’s rose into the air as the dwarves yelled in reply. Skalmaena sat on the backside of a leolf, entirely clad in protective armor. The armor slowed the animals tremendously, but it gave them much needed prot
ection against most enemies. Skalmaena closed the imperial helm, leaving nothing but her eyes visible.
She turned her attention just in time to see Lundrise and Kragjaw cross the great drawbridge. She was impressed with how good the suit of armor looked on him.
His was traditional dwarven armor. A dark green one-piece robe, which allowed for generous amounts of movement, made up the bottom layer. Atop it, a very finely made bevor that covered him from the waist up to the bottom of his chin. She imagined he was probably already cursing about how uncomfortable it made his beard. She never knew whether Kragjaw was more adept with his left or right hand, but the pauldron covered by the gardbrace on his left shoulder now gave her the answer: he was right handed.
She noticed the bevor was only a half-piece, protecting just his chest and not his backside. Under his left arm, he held his helmet – a simple dwarven helmet that covered the head and nose but left everything else unprotected. His gauntlets were unique – no doubt, something that Mange or Barth made the young man to wear.
“Almost as handsome as his old man.” The voice caught her off guard.
“Good morning Kurikjaw. You do not have to be out here with us. You can stay in the castle and help protect its walls.”
“I missed one war by being a coward. I shall not miss another.” He said nothing more and she could tell it was best to leave the situation alone.
The two meandered down the road, side-by-side. They were quiet for a while; each thinking about the task ahead and what was to become of the nation no matter the outcome.
“You know, Skalmaena – I am somewhat surprised to see Lundrise out here on the field instead of within the castle walls.”
Skalmaena nodded in agreement. She looked down the street and saw her friend avidly talking to Kragjaw.
Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2) Page 29