Douglas Niles - Fate of Thorbardin

Tarn’s son, like Kondike, had been disappointed at being left behind. The priestess had tried to ease his chagrin with words of encouragement about the future. Finally, though, after being charged with the dog’s care while Gretchan was away, the young dwarf had seemed to accept his decidedly minor role in the master battle plan.

By the time Gretchan and Brandon had descended from her room in the high tower, the whole of the Dwarf Home Army had assembled on the terraced ground just south of the great fortress. They looked ready to go to war.

Tarn Bellowgranite was at the center of a circle that included Otaxx Shortbeard, the Klar Wildon Dacker, and Mason Axeblade. He waved the couple over as soon as they emerged from the gates.

“Brandon! Gretchan! This is a great day!” he declared loudly. “Are you ready to make history?”

“Indeed we are,” Brandon said, inspired in spite of himself by the old dwarf’s ebullience.

Gretchan nodded, studying Tarn with slightly narrowed eyes. Brandon knew that Gretchen was worried about the absence of Crystal Heathstone and the effect that might have on the king. The Kayolin dwarf noticed Tarn glance once upward, toward the windows of his royal apartment, while an expression of sadness flickered across his face. But that look vanished immediately as the exiled king clapped a hand on the hilt of the short sword he wore at his waist and turned his eyes to the south, toward Thorbardin.

Bardic Stonehammer stood near the king. He clasped Brandon’s hand and embraced Gretchan. The hulking smith carried a leather-wrapped bundle slung over his broad shoulder, and Brandon, once again, was glad to have the burly dwarf along, chosen as the best one to wield the Tricolor Hammer. All of their hopes depended on that artifact doing what it was supposed to do: cracking the unbreachable gate of Thorbardin.

And that would be only the beginning of what was certain to be a long and bloody campaign.

Still, it was a column of optimistic dwarves who started on the mountain road. They had hot food in their bellies, a worthy goal before them, and a priestess of Reorx to counsel them. As if to beckon them onward, Cloudseeker was outlined in bright sunlight, the glacial summit sparkling like a massive gemstone before them.

The hope of all their futures awaited them under the mountain.

Meanwhile, the mad dwarf was skulking along the ridgetop, bouncing from ravine to ledge to rocky crest on all fours, peering around the corner of a boulder, watching his … his quarry? His friend …? His woman …?

More and more, he found himself thinking in terms of the latter.

Surely she recognized their bond too! Wasn’t that the reason she had come to visit him so often while he languished in his cell? Her kindness had been more than mere charity. That much was obvious. As the mad dwarf remembered things, he could almost hear the quiver of longing in her voice whenever she had spoken to him. Her eyes, when he had glimpsed them, had positively shined with what must certainly have been desire.

He had located a good vantage atop a rocky crest, with the road curving around the base of the elevation, and settled himself on a flat rock, lying on his belly as he studied Crystal Heathstone’s resolute progress away from Pax Tharkas.

She walked as if she knew that he was observing her; at least, that was the thought in the mad dwarf’s mind. The sway of her hips as she walked over the rough ground was alluring, a personal signal to him. His heart tripped. Was that a furtive look over her shoulder? A coy glance at the watcher on the hilltop? Did she suspect he was up there?

He almost convinced himself that she knew his position. Only with a great exertion of will did he restrain himself from leaping to his feet, waving wildly, and running down the steep and rocky slope to sweep her into his arms. Oh, how he wanted to!

But he had retained more than a vestige of his cunning, and he realized that, if he were wrong and he revealed himself too soon, she might flee in fear. So instead he contented himself with watching, shifting slowly along the slab of rock as she strolled along the road so far below, gradually making her way around the huge knob of granite.

As she continued on, he saw that the road wound away from him and she was already passing around the curve, vanishing behind the shoulder of the next hill. Garn sprang up, running down the slope so fast that he pitched forward and rolled all the way to the bottom, jarring to a stop in a ditch. Picking himself up, he limped on a bruised knee and wiped streaks of dust and gravel out of his beard but wasted no time in hastening after his quarry.

He jogged awkwardly along the road for several hundred paces until he sensed that he was getting too close to Crystal again. It was still too soon for him to reveal himself, so he jumped in the ditch again then started climbing up through the slope that would again carry him to a level high above the dwarf maid. His knee bothered him enough that he had to pull himself along by grasping tree trunks and outcrops of rocks.

The hill was not as steep nor as rugged as the previous one, and the forest of tall, thin pines extended all the way to the top. Using the woods as cover, he moved along as quickly as he was able and was at last awarded another glimpse of the beautiful white fur cloak worn by the former queen of Thorbardin. He limped along, grunting against the pain that stabbed through his leg, grateful for the thick concealment offered by the trees.

He was well hidden from her. He didn’t have to stay so far away. And as dusk started to settle through the hills, he knew it was time to move closer to her.

Once the army was ready to leave-and there was Gretchan, going away with all the soldiers-Gus was determined not to be left behind. He watched, innocently waving, as the troops packed up their gear, formed into companies, and made ready to march. The two Firespitters, with their accompanying carts of oil, were near the tail of the formation, and the gully dwarf casually made his way toward those ungainly vehicles.

As the great column of dwarves finally started along the southward road leading into the Kharolis Mountains, Gus Fishbiter left the shadows of Pax Tharkas and made his way to the dense center of the columns of the army, swelled by the soldiers of Tarn Bellowgranite’s Tharkadan Legion. He marched along, trying to look inconspicuous. Mindful of Gretchan’s orders instructing him to remain behind, he avoided going anywhere near the cleric, for the moment.

He finally found the cart in which he had ridden earlier-a vehicle carrying casks of oil for the Fire-spitters, the kegs stored carefully on beds of straw-and quickly scrambled up the side and into the bedding. Settling into the soft nest with a contented smile, he leaned back and stared up into the sunny sky, seeing the high ridges to either side of the valley road.

And almost immediately his view was blocked by two female faces, peering crossly down at him. Berta pulled herself over one side of the cart while Slooshy scrambled over the other.

“Hey! Almost forgot me!” Berta declared crossly, settling next to him in the hay.

“No! Almost forgot Slooshy! What kind of bluph-splunging doofar you are, anyway?”

Grumpily, Gus made room for his two bickering female consorts and spent the first day of the army’s march riding along, his happiness spoiled, in gloomy silence. He didn’t even spot his beloved Gretchan until late in the day, when the column started to climb a long switchback toward the first of several passes that lay between Pax Tharkas and their objective. Then, as the front of the column snaked around to pass along the road far above him, he caught a glimpse of her blue robe and golden hair. Not surprisingly, she was striding along at Brandon Bluestone’s side. Berta noticed and elbowed him for looking, and Slooshy elbowed Berta.