“That one’s good,” he heard one of the dwarf brothers saying as he walked over to the cart.
They all looked up at Jerrie. “What?” he said, raising his hands.
Grundel laughed. “Dobo and Gobo were just commenting on how dangerous you are with those knives of yours.”
Jerrie looked over at the two dwarves. “You mean the two dwarves who look like they just took a shower in orc blood?”
Dobo and Gobo laughed. They unbuckled their spiked bracers and they both pulled towels out of their packs to clean them.
“We should hit the river in a couple of hours if we push west. We can follow the river south until we get to a bridge,” Rundo said, nodding to the two dwarves covered in black blood.
It was late afternoon when they made it to the river. They all washed themselves in the clean water and then pushed south along the river until the sun began to set. They had passed a footbridge, but they hadn’t found anything they could get the cart across. They set camp for the night, and Rundo scouted ahead with Messah. He sat there for a few minutes with his eyes rolled back into his head. He blinked a couple of times and looked at the others.
“There is a stone bridge an hour or so south of us,” Rundo told the group. “We can cross first thing in the morning.”
The next six days of travel were uneventful. The day after the fight, Grundel was very sore, but by the time they made it to Patria he hardly noticed the soreness in his abdomen. On the afternoon of the sixth day, he saw for the first time the city his mother came from.
Chapter Eleven
Last Days in Portwein
The wizard Dirigente walked next to King Bergmann. Chaos surrounded them. Men and dwarves fought to their deaths and died by the thousands. He walked along next to the dwarf king of chaos, tendrils of dark energy flying from his fingertips. Bergmann was winning. He was destroying the other dwarf kingdoms. The images shifted, and he was in Portwein. The city was burning. Men fought each other. The king was dead. The other nobles were all fighting for power. The city guards had been bought by the leaders of the city and were pitted against each other. Chaos reigned. King Bergmann stood on the balcony of the palace laughing like a madman.
Dirigente woke with a start, sitting up in his bed. That hadn’t been a dream. Those were images of what could be. That was a message from Delvidge, the god of chaos. The dwarf king had already taken over Portwein’s army. He would do what he could to help. Delvidge obviously had big plans for him.
Bergmann walked through the parade field. It had been in constant use along with the training ground. His dwarves were training the human army. There were a few companies that might just be useful. He wasn’t worried about the humans winning him the war. They would all likely die, but if he could hold in reserve the units that showed some promise, they might be useful after the dwarves of Shinestone wore themselves out fighting through the others. Then his dwarves could come in and finish off the exhausted army. He would convert or kill every dwarf in all of the dwarven kingdoms, just like his father had done in Tiefes Loch. Bordin was a weak god. He wanted to control the dwarves, he kept them weak, and the ideals of the dwarves following him were slowly destroying the whole race.
Captain Walsh had proved to be quite capable. His battalion was training with the dwarves right now. He had put talented men in charge of his companies, and had even pulled one of the men from the more experienced battalion to come over and be one of his company commanders. He didn’t accept failure. A failure was met with a correction. If a soldier continued to make the same mistakes, he was punished. At one point on the first day Bergmann had seen at least a hundred of Walsh’s men standing out in the heat of the day holding their swords out in front of them for a set amount of time. When one man let his sword fall they all had to start the time over. They never actually made it the designated amount of time but after holding their swords out at arm’s length for the better part of an hour, all of the men were exhausted. Each day the commander’s punishment was different, but every day that group had gotten smaller. Right now there were about fifteen men off to the side of the parade field, squatting. A lieutenant stood watch with a stick. When one of the men stood up or fell, he was smacked in the legs with a bamboo rod.
Bergmann watched as the men went through their drills. His dwarves formed up into a shield wall, and the men moved forward, fighting the shield wall with their own shield line. Bergmann had the men equipped with tall shields that were as high as a dwarf. They covered the men from feet to chest. It would make it difficult for the dwarves to get any attacks in. The men practiced with wooden versions of their sabres. They practiced having the men behind the shield wall reach in between the shoulders of the shield men and stab at the opening in the dwarves’ armor around the neck. His dwarves were coming back a little more bruised at the end of each day. The humans would still take dozens of casualties for every dwarf casualty, but at least now they would be able to inflict casualties instead of just tiring out their enemies’ sword arms.
Bergmann also watched Captain Walsh. Walsh didn’t just command his men from the sidelines; he got in there and worked as hard as any of them. The dwarf in front of Walsh raised his shield slightly to block a sword thrust coming in over the top of his shield, and Walsh slammed his shield against the dwarf’s. With his shield up to block the strike coming down, the dwarf’s balance was off to stop the shield that struck his, and he stumbled back a step. It left an opening in the shield wall for only a second, but Walsh capitalized.
“Strike,” he called out, and the men on either side of him struck. With the mutual support of the shields being compromised, the dwarf to either side of him was stabbed in the neck.
“Stop!” Bergmann shouted out. The dwarves and men all stopped the drill, and turned toward the dwarf king and leader of the army. “Captain Walsh, come here.”
Captain Walsh came running over. “Yes, King Bergmann?”
“Do you know what you just did?” Bergmann asked.
“I just saw an opening and took advantage, King Bergmann,” the captain answered.
“I know that, but explain to me what you did,” Bergmann responded.
“Well, King Bergmann, when anyone raises his hands up to defend, he changes his center of balance, so when the dwarf in front of me raised his shield I knew he would be weaker against an impact from the front, so I slammed my shield into his. He stumbled back, and with the opening that he left, the dwarves to his left and right were open to an attack,” Captain Walsh explained.
Bergmann nodded approvingly. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Captain Walsh, I want you to assemble your commanders, and have each of them practice doing what you just did. Make sure you supervise them until they get it right. When your men move on to other training, I want you to leave some men to train the leaders of the next battalion to come out here. They won’t have to stay to teach every battalion; I will have men from each battalion teach the next, do you understand?”
“Yes, King Bergmann, I will get the men started on it right away,” Walsh responded, and then stood waiting to be dismissed.
Bergmann admired Walsh. There weren’t many humans that he thought had any sense, but Walsh was one.
“That is all, Captain Walsh.”
The captain slammed his fist to his chest, then ran back to the men he had been training with. He spoke with them for a minute and then three of them ran off, presumably to gather the company and commanders.
“King Bergmann, the wizard is coming,” Rupert said with a hint of disgust.
So he did break his perfect composure sometimes, Bergmann thought. Bergmann couldn’t blame him; he hated wizards, too. Magic just wasn’t natural. Thinking about it, Bergmann considered that Rupert might be feigning his disgust to serve some purpose, but either way it didn’t matter. The man was clever, he had to give him that.
Bergmann turned toward the Black Dragon leader. “Dirigente, have you figured out a way for your wizards to be useful yet?”
> “I have gathered thirty Black Dragon wizards and another thirty assassins to accompany us. Thirty wizards will be more than enough, I assure you. They will scout ahead while we travel. I will send someone forward to Patria and Ambar while we travel, so we will have constant updates of information. My wizards will be most useful getting you into the mountain. Once inside, their usefulness will be limited by the confines of the space, but we will spread out through your ranks once the fighting starts, and do what we can,” Dirigente said.
Dirigente was the only man who didn’t bend to his will. The man might explain what he was going to do, and offer his services, but he did not answer to Bergmann, and he knew it.
“Good. Getting into the mountain will be the hard part—that is true whether you’re trying to get into a mountain or a city. The only difference is that you have to use the gate on the mountain; there are no walls to scale. I am sure Grizzle and Kraft will be there, and they will have some clever traps prepared to cut into our numbers. Your wizards should be useful there. We are leaving tomorrow,” Bergmann told the wizard.
Dirigente didn’t react at all. “Yes, I had heard that. We will be with you when you leave. I will see you then.” With that, Dirigente turned and went back the way he had come.
Bergmann saw Commander Boris walking through the ranks, observing the training. Bergmann grabbed a nearby soldier by the arm.
“Go get Commander Boris.”
“Ah yes, ah, Commander, ah, Your Highness, sir,” the fool said nervously, but did not move. Bergmann pointed to the commander. “Yes, sir,” the idiot said before taking off at a run to the commander.
Commander Boris came over. “Good morning, King Bergmann, what can I do for you, sir?”
“Just make sure the army is ready to march at first light tomorrow,” Bergmann said.
“They will be ready, King Bergmann,” the commander answered.
Bergmann turned and headed toward the palace. When he made through the palace entryway he heard shouting. He walked down the hall to the king’s audience chamber, where the king met those who brought their concerns to him. It was his cousin again.
“They’re all inbred filth. I won’t be associated with them. You are the king! Tell that fool dwarf that he is to reinstate me. The city watch isn’t a command,” the fool was shouting at the king. There were two guards standing inside the doorway of the room.
Bergmann had had enough of this fool. He walked up behind him, drawing his axe, and then brought it down onto the king’s cousin’s skull. Blood sprayed across the king’s face.
“Wha . . . wha . . . wha . . . what did you do that for?” the king asked.
“He was a problem for you. He would have eventually tried to take your throne, and he did nothing but harass you. Plus he was trying to assassinate you,” Bergmann said, pulling the dead man’s belt from his hip and dropping it on the ground in front of him. The king stood staring, openmouthed, and speechless.
Bergmann turned to the guards at the door. “You two, the king’s cousin just attempted to assassinate him. I stopped him just in time. Now come get this body away from your king; it’s making him uneasy.”
The two guards walked across the room. When they bent down to pick up the body, Bergmann swung his axe down, cutting clean through the neck of the first. The other guard was quicker; he was able to get his sword out and attempt to block, but it wasn’t strong enough, the spike on the back of his axe punched straight through the man’s sword and steel plate, and into his chest. The man fell to his knees. Bergmann tried to pull his axe free, but it was stuck. He put his boot against the man’s chest, forcing him to cough up blood. He pulled hard, and his axe came free.
The king sat on the ground and put his hands on his head.
“Your cousin and those two guards tried to assassinate you. Hey!” Bergmann shouted at the king. The king looked up. “You hear me?”
“Yes, they tried to assassinate me.”
“Good. Your cousin was angry with you because he was relieved of his command. When you wouldn’t reinstate him, he tried to kill you. He hired your personal guards to help him. I showed up just in time to stop them. It has just enough truth to it that it will be believable,” Bergmann told the king, and then he turned to Rupert, who had watched the whole thing without any reaction. “Rupert, go summon the guards.”
Rupert went out into the hall and screamed. “Guards, guards, the king has been attacked!” Bergmann watched as he walked back into the room with his usual composure, as if nothing had happened.
Bergmann had known the man was capable, but in that moment he knew he was dangerous. Any man who could watch a brutal murder like that without any reaction was someone who could be dangerous; the only question now was how he could use him.
A minute later six guards came charging into the room. “The king has been attacked. I saved him, but he should be looked at by a healer just in case,” Bergmann said, and then walked from the room. He had done that as part of his long-term plan, but it sure had been fun. In one move he had killed that annoying cousin, who had come to the palace everyday complaining, put the king even more solidly under him, and set Portwein up for a collapse. Merwein didn’t have an heir, and the only other man with the family’s bloodline was spilling that royal blood out onto the marble at the king’s feet. After the war, Portwein’s army would be almost completely lost, leaving only the city watch. When the king fell, the city would implode. All of the powerful nobles would fight to take the throne, and when the dust cleared, there would be nothing left. This was the repayment for turning on him all those years ago. He wouldn’t destroy them; he would just set them up to destroy themselves. He was, after all, a child of chaos. What could he do to please his deity more than to set up the largest of the five cities for complete chaos while he fought the children of Bordin, his oldest and most hated enemy.
Chapter Twelve
Patria
Grundel drove his cart up to the gate of Patria. Patria was different than any city he had seen, at least from the outside. The wall was raw. It was made of huge stones stacked on top of each other and mortared together. They had made no attempt to cover the wall with mortar and make it flat and hard to climb, but perhaps it wouldn’t matter anyway: the wall was a hundred feet high. The gate was made of two, one-foot thick wooden doors with steel bands set around them in intervals. Each of the doors was about eight to ten feet wide and about twenty feet high. Grundel saw the spikes of a steel portcullis just barely sticking down above the tops of the doors.
Two guards stood outside the gate, blocking the entrance. “Welcome to Patria. What is your business in the city?” one of them asked.
Before Grundel could respond, his mother cut him short. “I am Anna Patria. Take me to the watch commander immediately,” his mother said with a demanding voice he had never heard her use before.
The man froze for a minute, then turned and walked through the gate. The other guard didn’t speak, but continued to block the road. A few seconds later the first man returned with four additional guards. One of them walked over to the cart.
“Your Highness, if you would follow me, I will lead you to the watch commander. I have already sent a runner to inform him of your arrival. A royal escort should be ready by the time we arrive.”
Anna nodded. Jerrie and Rundo were riding in front of the cart, and Dobo and Gobo were riding behind. Two of the city guards walked next to their horses. The one who had spoken and the other walked ahead, in front of Rundo and Jerrie. Once inside the gate, Grundel saw that there were tables and benches just inside where guards could relax. There were four guards there now, but they were watching them. There was also a small shack that was likely where the man who was leading them had come from. Grundel processed this. That meant that at any given time they had at least ten men at the gate. They were vigilant. The men waiting on the benches could easily drop the portcullis if anyone tried to enter.
The area inside the gate was clear of buildings. This area was de
signed so that men could assemble here and defend. Again, Grundel had to appreciate the city’s preparedness. The nearest building was about two hundred paces down the cobble road, inside the gate, and it appeared that was where they were headed. As they approached he realized that the buildings next to the first one were barracks. In the grounds outside men were training. There was an area where men were training with swords, and another where men on horseback tried to get the end of a long pole through a little ring on a post. It seemed that Patria kept its army well trained. Grundel had heard that most of the human cities let their armies become lazy and their equipment fall into disrepair during times of peace. That didn’t seem to be the case with Patria.
Men were forming up outside the first building as they approached. When they got there, the men had formed in four ranks of ten, with one man standing out front.
“It is a pleasure, Your Highness. I am Captain Thompson. I have already sent a runner to inform the king of your arrival. I will lead you to the palace, if you wish.”
“Thank you, Captain. Please lead on,” she told the man.
The Half Dwarf Prince Trilogy Page 28