Nancy Berberick - Stormblade

Piper said nothing.

“I said,” he whispered aloud, “it must have been a—”

I heard you, Lavim. Hush! There’s no time for chatter now. They’ve got a few minutes—you’d better get in there while you can.

“Who’s got—”

Will you hush!

Who’s got a few minutes?

Hornfel and Stanach and Kelida and—

Stanach! And Kelida? What about Hauk? Is he there, too? I’ve heard so much about him, and it would be nice to finally meet him. Piper—

Footsteps, slow and heavy, sounded from within. Lavim peered very carefully around the edge of the doorway. He squinted into the darkness and held his breath.

A dwarf, his shoulders broad, his chestnut beard thick and long and shot through with silver, walked slowly down the narrow corridor. In his right hand he carried a sword, in his left a dagger. The clothes he wore were blood stained and torn.

That’s Hornfel, the Hylar thane.

Is it? Really? That’s what a thane looks like? He needs a good night’s sleep and—

The dwarf paused by a half-opened door and leaned against the stone wall. Then, as though chiding himself for resting, he quickly straightened. He looked at his sword and went back down the corridor the way he had come. After a moment, he toed open the door.

“It’s time, Stanach. They’re here, and they are many.”

“Stanach,” Lavim whispered.

It was Stanach who entered the corridor, followed by a thick-chested, stocky young man who looked like he needed not only a good night’s sleep, but several very good meals.

Abandoning caution like unnecessary baggage, Lavim whooped joyfully and scampered into the gatehouse.

“Hey! Stanach!”

The young man turned, sword in hand, and lunged for the kender.

“No!” Stanach shouted, “Hauk, no!”

Yelping in shocked protest, Lavim ducked, barely in time to miss being spitted by Hauk’s sword. His eyes on the glittering blade, Lavim picked himself up very slowly and put his back to the wall.

“Hey, Stanach,” he whispered, “do you think you could tell him I’m a friend of yours?” He glanced at Hauk and nodded with what he hoped was reassurance. “I really am, you know. Once, in Long Ridge, there were twenty-five draconians chasing him, and they would have caught him, too, but I saved his life. Then, when the—the waddayacall’ems caught him in the river caves, me and Tyorl and Kelida rescued him.

“And, well, Stanach probably doesn’t know about this—but it’s true, you just ask Tyorl when he gets here!—I used Piper’s magic flute, and we wouldn’t be here now at all if I hadn’t transported us right to the mountains. Or—well, maybe not right to the mountains. You see, the spell makes you a little sick in your stomach, and I didn’t want to turn up in somebody’s house or right in the middle of the city and, ah, make a mess. So, we kind of ended up in the bog and—gods!—that place is really burning!”

Squeezed nearly breathless in Stanach’s embrace, Lavim had no further chance to list the rest of his credentials.

The broad bay of windows in the west wall of Gneiss’s study looked out onto gardens simply designed and laid out in the forms of interlocking rectangles. The study within had been decorated in sparse, military fashion. What few wall hangings there were depicted legendary battles and campaigns in careful detail. Weapons, both ancient and contemporary, bristled in cabinets and showcases. The furniture of stark wood and stone would be inviting to few but old campaigners accustomed to the hard fields of war.

Yet, the gardens, deep and no wider than the length of the study itself, formed a maze of flowers, herbs, and shrubbery that was one of the Daewar’s secret delights. However, lush and beautiful as the carefully planned landscaping was, this was not the lure that brought Gneiss, as it always did, to the window.

From where he stood, he could hear the cries of dwarven children at play, among them his own grandsons. These sounds, and the sight of the youngsters’ rowdy and raucous games, drew a sigh and a contented smile from the old warrior that might have surprised even his friend, Hornfel. Aye, Hornfel! Where have you been these hours past? You should have been long back, my friend. Does your silence, he wondered, herald the revolution we’ve been braced for?

None had seen Realgar for about the same amount of time.

Armor chimed against stone, and Gneiss turned from the garden to answer the peal of battle. Two humans and the half-elf Tanis waited with discernible impatience at the map table. Tanis and the knight, Sturm, stood studying the map of Thorbardin. Dark-eyed and intense, the knight traced the streets he knew and carefully connected them to access ways and transport shafts, familiarizing himself with the infrastructure of the city.

One a planner, Gneiss thought, and the other a careful hunter. Their companion, the helmed and armored warrior Tanis had introduced as Caramon, lounged in a seat nearby. All long legs and brawny arms, he was the biggest human Gneiss had ever seen. The three seemed odd and out of place here.

Too big! Gneiss thought. All of ’em are just too damn big!

The dwarf cleared his throat roughly. Gneiss was, above all things, a war chieftain. He was never an orator. He cut right to the heart of the matter at hand.

“Hornfel is too long gone in the Northgate.” He nodded to Tanis.

“Three hours now since he’s left. I don’t like it. My runners and scouts report that the cities are too quiet. All but one. They are buzzing in the Theiwar holding like hornets about to tear out of the nest.” He held out a hand to the map table. “To work.”

He briefly made the three familiar with the six small cities of the kingdom known collectively as Thorbardin and then outlined the plan of defense he and Tanis had hammered out earlier.

“I still don’t know whether Ranee will rise to fight with Realgar’s Theiwar,” Gneiss said. “Troops of my own Daewar and the Hylar will keep the northern roads out of their city blocked.” He jerked a thumb at the southeast quarter of the map and nodded to Caramon. “With this giant and half the refugees defending the access between the Daergar city and the East Warrens, and Sturm holding the southern route with the other half, I think Ranee’s warriors are going to be spending most of the revolution caged, eh?”

Caramon chuckled low in his throat. “Depend on it.”

“I am depending on it, lad,” the thane said quietly.

Gneiss then turned to Tanis. “You will do me a kindness,” he said with awkward courtesy, “if you would command your folk and the refugees. Any questions so far?”

Tanis nodded, his own smile wryly appreciative. “Just one. That takes care of the possibilities.” He ran a finger over the northwestern part of the map, tracing the areas marked as Klar and Theiwar cities, running up to the ruins of Northgate. “What about the probabilities?”

“Call ’em certainties. That’s what they are.” Gneiss stabbed a finger at the Theiwar cities. Its shadow cut like a dagger across the finely detailed map. “Here and here is where the trouble will start. Tufa has already got his Klar between the Theiwar and Urkhan Sea. They won’t be enough to hold the sneaking bastards, but I’ll reinforce them with my warriors.” He looked up then, his eyes hard with warning. “Two fields of battle, and between them is the remainder of the refugees.

“You know those people best,” Gneiss added. “Assign them to whichever of your two captains here you think appropriate, but keep them as much out of the cities as possible.”

“A little hard on your allies, aren’t you?” Caramon drawled. Gneiss said nothing for a long moment, straining for the patience he would not otherwise have wasted on a human. By the Forge! He wished he had the manpower to do this by himself!