Markus Heitz - The Dwarves

Ireheart was the first to recover from the shock. He reacted true to type.

"Oink, oink! Come here, you runts," he screeched excitedly, whipping out his axes. He glared at the others. "Leave them to me."

Before anyone could stop him, he had launched himself out of the wagon and landed ax-first among the startled beasts. In his battle-crazed fury, he accidentally killed the driver, leaving no one in charge of the brakes. The wagon hurtled through the tunnel while the scuffle continued inside.

Ireheart spotted a row of stalactites ahead and used them to his advantage. Maneuvering skillfully, he tricked a careless ore into dodging his ax and colliding face-first with the hanging calcite. There was an explosion of gore and a peal of maniacal laughter; then the dwarf pushed the headless creature over the side.

The runts struggled to defend themselves as Ireheart slashed through their ranks; the suddenness of the attack and the cramped circumstances worked in his favor, and his frenzied cackles, along with the shrieks and howls of his victims, vied with the noise of the wagons. Soon he reached the last of the orcs, a muscular beast whose armor was superior to his companions'.

"Stop! Don't kill their leader!" shouted Tungdil. "I want to interrogate him."

But the warrior was in the grip of his fiery spirit. Brandishing his axes, he charged toward the orc, who didn't stand a chance of deflecting both blades at once.

Andфkai barked an order, and Djerun seized the doomed beast by the scruff of his neck. Like the boom of a crane, the giant's metal-plated arm swung toward the company's wagon and deposited the creature at the rear. The orc stopped struggling as soon as he felt the giant's sword against his throat.

"Hey! That's cheating!" Undaunted, Boпndil leaped back into their wagon, still intent on hacking the orc to pieces, but Andфkai barred the way.

"Don't be foolish, Boпndil," she warned him coldly. "I've replenished my powers, remember. Stop of your own accord, or I'll make you. Tungdil's right; we need to find out what we're up against."

Reason and fury struggled for mastery of the warrior's mind. Panting for breath, he returned to his seat: Good sense had triumphed. "Question him if you must. I'll kill the other runts when we get to the mountain."

Tungdil turned to the orc and looked at him keenly. "What's Nфd'onn doing at the Blacksaddle?" he asked in orcish.

"I'm not telling you anything, groundling."

"Maybe you'd prefer to tell my friend." He reached toward the seated giant and flipped back his visor. Violet light bathed the hideous features of the prisoner, who looked away in horror and fear. Tungdil took care not to look at Djerun; what he had glimpsed in the desert village would haunt him forever. "Or do you want him to bite off your arms?"

The orc squealed something that Tungdil couldn't understand, then said more clearly, "No, don't let him touch me!"

"What are you doing at the Blacksaddle?"

"We're besieging the groundlings," the orc answered, his voice cracking with fear. "They tried to hide from us, but Nфd'onn wants them dead."

"Why?"

"How should I know?"

"Is he there?"

The orc fell silent but kept a wary eye on Djerun.

Tungdil could practically smell his fear. "Is the magus at the Blacksaddle?" he repeated. When nothing happened, the giant seized the initiative. His head sped forward, and they heard a loud crunch.

Screaming, the orc stared at the mangled stump where his arm had once been. "You're right, you're right," he cried, howling with pain. "The magus is at the Blacksaddle!"

"When is he going to attack?" Tungdil asked pitilessly.

"I don't know. I was ordered to be there in four orbits." The beast groaned, trying to stop the gushing blood with his other hand. Green gore spurted through his fingers. "That's all I-"

Djerun hadn't eaten for ages, and the sight of a fresh meal was too tempting to resist. Without consulting Andфkai or Tungdil, he seized the orc, killed it, and devoured its twitching corpse. His back was turned, so none of the dwarves could see his face.

At the sound of the maga's voice, he dropped the body like a shot, closed his visor, and sat back down. Drops of green blood trickled from his helmet and there was a sickening smell of orc guts.

"Throw the rest away," Andфkai ordered. Djerun dropped the remains of the beast over the side of the carriage.

"By the hammer of Vraccas, if we didn't need the giant for our mission…" Ireheart broke off his threat. "He's a monster-a tame one, but a monster all the same." He glanced at the maga. "I hope your god doesn't get tired of you and turn the brute against us." His axes disappeared back into his belt. "I'm here if you need me; just say the word."

Andфkai declined to comment.

So Samusin's son devours his father's creatures. Tungdil stared in fascination at the demonic visor. Djerun's helmet was still glowing violet as if an eternal fire were blazing inside his head. Tungdil caught Narmora's eye. "The orcs were supposed to be there in four orbits. We've got a new deadline." He turned to face the front and felt a rush of air that cleared his nostrils of the smell of dead orc. Girdlegard will soon be free of evil-or forever in its thrall. Underground Network, Kingdom of Gauragar, Girdlegard, Winter, 6234th Solar Cycle Later on they came across another fifty orcs whose bodies had been stacked to the side of the track. Their mysterious protectors had been at work again, although they continued to hide themselves from view.

The rest of their journey was uneventful, and they surfaced in the former kingdom of Gauragar, not far from the Blacksaddle.

Tungdil recognized the area straightaway. "It's this way," he told them, leading them to the hill from which he had first seen the Blacksaddle. Crouching low, they scrambled to the top, hoping not to be spotted by sentries. They weren't ready to don their disguises yet.

"Vraccas almighty, we're not a moment too soon," he whispered.

The murky forest of conifers was gone, replaced by a ring of wooden structures whose platforms were crawling with miniature figures that looked like orcs. The towers were already dizzyingly high, but the beasts were adding extra stories in the hope of storming the stronghold from the summit or the upper slopes. They must have tired of banging their heads against the solid base of the Blacksaddle or perhaps the growling mountain had shaken them from its flanks. It looks more sinister than ever without the trees.

Every now and then black torrents cascaded from the hidden stronghold, forcing the besiegers to flee the steaming liquid or perish in its flow. Elsewhere, fiery projectiles rained down on the army from chinks in the rock, landing among the beasts and dousing them in oil. Countless troopers were incinerated in the blaze.

They've resurrected the old defenses.

But despite their losses, Nфd'onn's soldiers continued undeterred. The beasts were swarming like ants around the base of the Blacksaddle, scouring the flat ground for anything that could be used in their assault on the flanks.

A detachment of ogres had been put to work splitting tree trunks and building siege engines. The defenders focused on toppling the towers or setting light to them before the orcs could climb high enough to pose a threat; but it did nothing to discourage the ogres, who collected the debris and started again. Their smaller comrades milled about impatiently, desperate for the attack to begin.

"It's strange, isn't it?" said Tungdil to his dwarven companions. He kept his eyes fixed on the mountain ahead. "The thirdlings built the stronghold to wipe out the other dwarves, but now it's the only thing protecting us from Nфd'onn." He suddenly remembered the runes that he had found on his first visit to the mountain. Roused by the thirdlings / Against the will of the thirdlings. / Drenched again / In blood, / The blood/ Of all their / Line. He wondered what it could mean.