The repairs required that the wheel be removed, so the dwarves had to move the weight to the good corner to allow the removal to take place. Repairing the wheel was no easy task because they needed parts to join the broken spokes back to the wheel rim. The dwarves who insisted the repairs be done immediately justified their decision when they cut pieces from the discarded wheel because they were already formed to the right shape. While they worked, some civilians went to a nearby stream to water the horses. The wagon’s horses were also given water from pails that were carried back from the stream. The repair took an hour and a half and the loading and shifting of crates and boxes took another twenty minutes.
Finally they were underway. Everyone, including Harran, had a chance to eat during the operation, so the military dwarves decided to ride straight through the day and into the night to make up time.
It was a rough ride for Harran and his head still throbbed. He must have passed out a few times during the night because the sky lightened in the east sooner than he would have expected.
The sun was just appearing over the horizon when he heard a strangled cry up ahead. More yells could be heard as the wagon altered course and started to pick up speed. It had been going at a brisk pace for hours, and the additional speed put additional strain on the repaired wheel. A splintering sound came from the wheel and the driver slowed the wagon in anticipation of another accident. He anticipated correctly as the wheel made another splintering noise before breaking apart. The wagon’s horses were reined in and the driver turned to the back of his seat to obtain a short sword. Then he jumped to the ground. A short distance away yells could be heard as the dwarves clashed with a contingent of ogres who had ambushed them.
“Let me help!” cried Harran as the driver ran past. The driver looked up at him briefly and then shook his head. “I haven’t got the key.” He turned and ran to join the attack.
Flashes of light could be seen as magic wielders made their presence known. Dwarves did not wield magic and neither did ogres, so Harran hoped it was Kazin and his companions coming to aid him. But that hope was dashed when the business dwarf came into view.
“Damned lizardmages!” he panted. He briefly looked at Harran as he scanned the wagon’s contents. He climbed up onto the broken wagon and tried to lift one of the boxes. It was too heavy for him. “My gold!” he wailed. “I’m ruined!”
“Let me out!” cried Harran desperately. He needed to get out of there in a bad way.
The merchant looked at him and his eyes lit up. “Wait! I can’t take the gold, and I can’t take you, but I can take your armour and axe!” He rummaged around the wagon for a moment. “Aha!” he cried. He held up a bag. “This is it!” He jumped down from the wagon and tripped as the weight of the bag made him lose his balance. Harran’s helmet flew from the bag’s opening and rolled under the wagon. The dwarf scrambled back to his feet. He started forward, but came to an abrupt stop. Appearing from ahead were two ogres. Nervously, the dwarf looked around in a panic. Then he dumped the sack and picked up Harran’s ice axe. With great effort, he hoisted it over his shoulder in preparation for the inevitable.
The ogres approached the armed dwarf confidently. They knew he was not a battle-hardened dwarf by his appearance. In their opinion he was easy prey. As they got close, the dwarf swung the ice axe with great effort. He swung too soon, but the axe did what it was made to do and solidly froze one ogre in its tracks. But the second ogre was far enough away that it was not affected. In two large strides it reached the dwarf, who was off balance and struggling to bring his axe into a backhanded swing. All it took was one solid punch with its meaty fist for the ogre to end the life of the desperate dwarf. The dwarf crumpled to the ground without a sound. The ogre looked between its counterpart and the ice axe a couple of times before deciding to take the axe for itself. Lumbering away, it ignored its frozen partner and went in search of other prey. Apparently it did not notice Harran in the cage.
Harran watched all this in dismay, not making a sound for fear of getting himself killed. Images of what the unauthorized ice axe would do to history plagued his mind. He held his head in his hands and wished all this was a bad dream, but he knew it was not.
Battle cries and yells raged on around him for another twenty minutes or so before the din died down. The victors were obvious as a number of ogres came into view of the wagon. The sun was visible through the trees and reflected on their dumb, emotionless faces. When they spotted Harran, some of them started forward in anticipation of another kill, but a shouted command halted them in their tracks.
An ogre wearing a helmet and chain mail appeared and strode past the others to peer at the dwarf in its cage curiously.
“What is it?” hissed another voice. A lizardmage wearing a black cloak ambled forward to see what was going on.
“A dwarf,” said the ogre chieftain, pointing at Harran.
The lizardman glanced at the ogre chieftain. “Obviously.” He looked back toward Harran curiously. “Interesting,” he said, drawing out the ‘s’ sound. “I see we have ourselves a dwarf in captivity. Why is that, dwarf? Answer, or we finish you like your brethren!” He gestured behind him.
“It is strictly a misunderstanding,” said Harran. He didn’t elaborate.
The lizardman chuckled. “It must be a serious misunderstanding for them to have you locked up! I think you did something very bad for that to happen. I think your precious honour has been compromised. Am I right?”
“My honour is none of your business!” snapped Harran.
The lizardman chuckled again. “Oh, but it is!” He turned to the ogre cheiftain. “Start getting the crates of gold and other items of value. Leave the human merchandise unless you need it. We have a good haul today.”
The ogres began emptying the wagon, paying no heed to Harran in his cage. One ogre even stopped to pick up the bag containing Harran’s chain mail.
The lizardman redirected his attention to Harran. “You have three choices, dwarf. I could kill you, I could leave you here to be found by the dwarven patrols - if they find you in time - or I could salvage your honour.”
“How?” asked Harran, although he was sure he didn’t want to know.
The lizardmage smiled - or what passed for a smile. “By doing something for me.”
“I would never do your bidding!” spat Harran.
The lizardmage chuckled. “The way I see it, if I let you free, you will be honour bound to repay me. So, in exchange for your freedom, I want you to do something for me.” The lizardmage paused before continuing. “On the other hand, since the other dwarves had you caged, you must not be an honourable dwarf. Maybe I shouldn’t be negotiating with you.”
Harran saw through the lizardmages’ manipulation tactics, but he knew this conversation was also keeping him alive.
By now, most of the wagon’s valuable contents had been removed. The ogres had no difficulty carrying the crates away into the forest. The wagon’s horses were freed and chased into the forest as well.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Harran stiffly. He had to look interested to keep the conversation going as long as possible, yet appear as though he was affronted by what was being asked of him. Maybe he could talk his way into being released from the cage. It was a remote hope, but it was all he had going for him.
The lizardmage hissed gleefully. “I was hoping you would see it my way. I want you to -,” he was cut off as an ogre came running into the clearing, out of breath.
“The patrols are coming!” he panted.
“Dwarves?” asked the ogre chieftain.
“Yes,” said the messenger. Even as he spoke, a horn could be he heard not far away.
The lizardmage hissed. “We were spotted! I told you to stay out of sight!”
“How many?” asked the chieftain.
“Many!” said the messenger.
“How many!” snap
ped the lizardmage irritably. “Are there more of them than us?”
The messenger considered for a moment. “Yes! They are many more! They are all riding!”
“Military patrols,” snarled the lizardmage. He turned to the ogre chieftain. “Have your army fall back! We need to regroup!”
The chieftain was not pleased but turned and gave the order anyway. A war horn sounded again.
“Too close!” hissed the lizardmage. He began to run into the forest after the ogres who had carried away the crates, but stopped and looked at Harran. He raised his staff to cast a spell. A third horn sounded. It was much closer this time. Harran was obviously not worth the time or effort of a spell with enemy troops bearing down on their position, so the lizardmage turned and melted into the forest.
It wasn’t long before the sounds of horses could be heard. The dwarven army reined in nearby and voices could be heard as the dwarves examined the primary battle area. Some patrols were dispatched and two mounted units rode in the direction of the raided wagon. It didn’t take them long to come across Harran sitting forlornly in his cage in the mostly empty wagon.
One of the patrols whistled and a number of mounted soldiers rode into the clearing to witness the scene. One of them was the patrol leader, judging by the red feather protruding from his helmet. He dismounted and approached Harran.
“Who are you?” demanded the patrol leader.
Harran rose to his feet. “Harran Mapmaker, at your service,” he answered, giving a stiff bow. “It’s good to see you.”
“What happened here?” asked the patrol leader. He ignored Harran’s small talk.
“We were ambushed by ogres,” said Harran. He pointed to the empty wagon beside him. “They took everything of value, including the gold. It’s too bad you weren’t a bit earlier. They just left.”
“Shall we pursue them?” asked one dwarf that Harran surmised was the second in command.
The patrol leader shook his head. “No. Once in the forest, they have the advantage. We will be slowed down by the horses. They won the battle this time. How many were there?” he asked Harran.
“Several dozen,” said Harran, “although I’m sure there were others.”
The patrol leader nodded. He eyed the cage Harran was confined in. “How did you end up in that cage?”
“I - I was knocked unconscious,” said Harran awkwardly. “I woke up in here.” He didn’t want to admit to being captured. It was not honourable to be taken by surprise.
“Are there any survivors?”
Harran shook his head sadly. “I don’t think so.” It was unlikely any were left alive. They would have fought to the death and he would have died with them if we would have been able to. But he also knew deep down his quest for Kazin was far more important - even more important than his honour. Suddenly it occurred to him that there was no one alive who could identify him as a prisoner any longer.
“Why didn’t they kill you like the rest?” asked the patrol leader.
Harran shrugged. “I don’t know. You arrived before I could get the lizardmage to tell me anything useful.”
“Lizardmage?!” exclaimed the patrol leader. “Did you say lizardmage?”
“Yes,” nodded Harran. He looked confused.
The patrol leader exchanged glances with his second in command.
“That explains the burn marks on the trees and ground, and the burned dwarves,” said the second in command.
The patrol leader nodded and turned back to Harran. “This is serious business. If the raiders are using magic, the king must be warned immediately! Our tactics need to be altered to deal with this.” He turned to his second in command. “Prepare to return home. We must make haste!” To another he added, “Free Harran. He comes with us.”
Several dwarves equipped with axes approached the cage and quickly shattered the wooden bars to free the prisoner. Harran stiffly climbed to the ground. A glint under the wagon caught his eye and he spotted his helmet. He quickly bent down and retrieved it. As he straightened up, a dwarf came up to him with a horse. Harran gratefully accepted it and mounted it expertly. Then he rode over to the patrol leader who was still issuing commands. He turned and eyed Harran’s helmet keenly. “Nice helmet, for a mapmaker.”
“I purchased it a while back,” said Harran. “It got knocked off before I was knocked unconscious.”
“These things happen,” said the patrol leader. He excused Harran’s feeling of dishonour with that comment. Had he been a military dwarf, he would have been reprimanded, but he was merely a mapmaker, so it was excusable.
If only he knew, thought Harran.
“Sir,” interrupted Harran when he thought it was a good time to ask, “Are you certain you need me to report to the king? Surely you don’t need me to tell him about the lizardman?”
The patrol leader eyed him suspiciously. “It would be better to give him a first-hand account of what transpired here. Why? Are you afraid of talking to the king? Most dwarves would envy the chance to speak freely before the king!”
Harran considered the comment and realized there was no way out of it. If he pushed the subject, he might arouse suspicions that could portray him as not being on the up and up. Going to the dwarven realm was not what he wanted, but to refuse to go was too suspicious by far. He laughed lightly. “I guess I am a little nervous.”
The patrol leader laughed and slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, my friend! He’s not a bad fellow once you get to know him!” He squinted at Harran. “You know, he looks a lot like you.” He turned away to direct the removal and burial of the dwarves who had been slain.
Harran shuddered, knowing he was soon going to meet his distant ancestor.
A couple of hours later they were under way. Harran looked back at the wagon as they departed. Up to this point, he had been going to the dwarven realm as a prisoner. It was ironic that he was still going there, but this time as an ally. Either way, there was no escape.
Chapter 19
Zylor gripped the chariot tightly with both hands as he bounced along the rugged trail. At first he ran alongside the dwarven convoy, but the dwarves made haste at maximum speed. This pace was too much for even the minotaur to keep up with, so he sprang for one of the two-wheeled chariots and let the horses do the work. They were powerful horses, and the crates piled upon the chariots were filled with heavy gold, so the large minotaur was an almost unnoticed additional weight for these horses to pull.
Things were a little easier for Olag, who rode one of the available horses that were used for the trek back to the mountains. He easily passed as a dwarf who specialized in concrete work and was not asked any uncomfortable questions upon his arrival. For the first part of the journey he could feel Zylor’s presence beside him, but a mumbled comment about tiring and jumping on one of the chariots informed him that the minotaur needed a respite from his run. The skink warrior made a point of riding near the chariot in case Zylor should wish to communicate with him, but conversation was minimal, partly due to the fact that the other dwarves were potentially within hearing distance. Their mission was too important to take any unnecessary chances.
So the first day went quickly and a brief halt was called at dusk to rest and water the horses.
Olag moved to a spot far enough away from the dwarves so he could talk with the invisible minotaur. From what they could gather so far, they were on the shortest route back to the dwarven realm.
“If Harran took any of the other routes,” said Zylor quietly, “we will be gaining on him.”
“Unless he took the route we are currently on,” said Olag.
“Then we are still on his trail,” said Zylor.
“If he even came this way,” said Olag.
“Oh, he’s headed back to the dwarven realm alright,” said Zylor. “The dwarf I interrogated confirmed that much.”
“If we get
to the mountains too late to catch up with Harran, we will have to enter the dwarven realm to find him,” said Olag.
“Then that is what we will do,” said Zylor fervently. There was no hesitation in his voice.
Olag sighed. “I just hope we don’t get found out.”
“Just leave the fighting to me,” said Zylor. “Kazin was right to change you into a dwarf. I would never have remained in that form for long enough to have done any good.”
“Just don’t get too carried away,” cautioned Olag. “We’re not here to change history. We just have to find Harran and bring him back.”
A dwarf suddenly whistled, signaling everyone to prepare for departure. Olag passed Zylor some dried meat and a sausage which promptly disappeared into Zylor’s invisible pack.
The convoy surged ahead again, but more slowly due to the darkness. The dwarven guides unerringly led the convoy through the night, and another break was called at dawn near a stream. The dwarves dismounted and stretched. Some of them prepared breakfast while others tended to the horses. The military dwarves went on short patrols to secure the area. An hour later they were off again.
The sun rapidly rose overhead and it was close to noon when an alarm sounded from the dwarves riding point up front. With practiced skill, some military dwarves redirected the chariots and civilian dwarves to cover. Olag was among those who were directed to keep quiet and concealed.
Spirit Blade: Book III of the Dragon Mage Trilogy Page 23