The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5) (24 page)

“They would be much safer on the far bank,” he thought to himself as, still invisible, he walked with a light, silent step through the half circle of wagons. Behind him, the Dwarves in the rearguard spread out to take up positions around the perimeter of the caravan.

Elerian found Ascilius walking near the inner line of wagons, directing anxious glances toward the meadow and the forest beyond it whenever he came to a gap in the half circle. He started badly when Elerian suddenly sent away his ring and appeared beside him, but Elerian found that he took no pleasure in making Ascilius jump. The cold, dead feeling in his heart made him wonder if he would ever laugh again.

“Where have you been?” asked Ascilius, worry and irritation sharpening his voice.

“Hunting Goblins,” replied Elerian grimly. “My knives have drunk deep this day, enough to weary me, but still not enough to satisfy me. Why are the wagons still on this side of the river? The Goblin reinforcements must be almost upon us by now.”

“They are not here by my choice,” replied Ascilius somberly. The bridge is damaged beyond use.”

Elerian followed Ascilius to the bridgehead and saw for the first time that the stones and the thick oak planking that should have covered the floor of the bridge, an area about twenty feet wide and over one hundred feet long, were missing, revealing a framework of supporting beams that were blackened and charred, as if someone had attempted to set fire to them. Dozens of Dwarves were working frantically to repair the damage to the roadbed, standing on the weakened timbers with the swollen waters of the river rushing by beneath their feet as they laid down fresh planking cut from trees they had felled across the river.

“The Goblin commander has been one step ahead of me ever since we left Galenus,” Ascilius berated himself aloud. “I never thought to send an advance force to keep his Mordi from damaging the bridge.”

“A small force would never have made it this far, while a larger force would have weakened you overmuch,” observed Elerian. “I think that you have done the best you could do given the circumstances.”

“Your words do not comfort me,” replied Ascilius morosely. “I had hoped to be across the Caldus tonight, with the bridge destroyed behind us. High as it is, the river would have been a serious obstacle for the Goblins. Now, we must make our stand on this side of the river where we are weaker, for it will be hours before we can make enough repairs to allow the wagons to cross over the bridge.”

“You ought to organize a defense then instead of wasting time grumbling,” said Elerian, a glint of his old mischief suddenly lighting his gray eyes.

“I see that you have become your annoying self again,” replied Ascilius. His voice was sharp, but secretly, he was relieved that Elerian’s fit of despondency appeared to have passed.

“Not entirely,” replied Elerian softly. “I have taken a wound to the spirit today which will never heal. Only an endless stream of Goblin blood will ease the sting of it.”

“Now you sound like a Dwarf,” said Ascilius approvingly. “Come with me while I organize my defenses.”

Like a second shadow, Elerian followed Ascilius as he walked about giving orders to his captains. Under their direction, hundreds of Dwarves exchanged their weapons for picks and shovels, quickly raising an earthen dike about four feet high around the outer ring of wagons. The trench in front of the dike, about five feet deep and almost six feet across, was then flooded with water from the river when the Dwarves opened the ends of the moat to the rain swollen waters of the Caldus. Once the fortification was complete, sentries took up positions behind the earthworks, watching the dark edge of the forest on the far side of the meadow with alert, anxious eyes.

By this time the Dwarves working to repair the bridge had succeed in making a temporary road bed ten feet wide down its center. Ascilius immediately sent another company under the command of Durio across the partially repaired bridge to dig a second dike along the far bank of the Catalus. Following this company came the first of the wagons, rumbling across the bridge with their lanterns lit to illuminate their way through the dark. After passing through a gap in the second dike, they continued north on the road, under orders from Ascilius to continue on through the night until the ponies became too weary to pull the wagons any farther. As Ascilius and Elerian watched the Dwarf caravan rumble over the bridge, Eonis and his two sons, Cordus and Cyricus, approached them, bringing a frown to Ascilius’s face.

“You should be traveling north with the caravan, uncle,” he said sharply.

“After the last of the wagons crosses over, a rearguard will be needed to delay the Umbrae,” replied Eonis firmly. “I have decided to remain behind with a company of volunteers to man the dike on the far side of the river. Once we destroy the bridge, we can hold back the enemy for a long time.”

“Your plan is a good one uncle, but I must be the one to stay,” Ascilius insisted.

“I am old and my death will be no loss,” replied Eonis stubbornly. “I should be the one to stay.”

“Who will lead the caravan if you remain here?” asked Ascilius in a last attempt to dissuade his uncle. “I know without asking that Durio will also choose to remain behind.”

“Herias has volunteered to travel north with the wagons,” replied Eonis. “He will send runners to apprise Dardanus of our situation so that the bridge over the Catalus will be well defended when our people reach it.”

“This nephew of Ascilius has the cunning of a fox,” thought Elerian to himself when he heard Herias’s name mentioned. “He has managed to make himself appear to be a hero while at the same time distancing himself from the coming battle. Would he mourn at all I wonder if all of his relatives fell here beneath the weapons of the enemy?”

“If I cannot persuade you to leave, then let us rest and have somewhat to eat,” said Ascilius, giving in to Eonis at last, and at the same time, interrupting Elerian’s thoughts concerning Herias.

“Join me at my fire, then,” suggested Eonis. “Quincius should have supper prepared by now.

A BRIEF RESPITE

Elerian noticed then that the sharp smell of wood smoke filled the air and that small fires had sprung up in the space between the dike and the riverbank. The light from their flickering, red orange flames played across the faces of the Dwarves cooking their evening meals, one moment illuminating their stern, craggy features and the next casting them into shadow.

After following Eonis to his cook fire, Ascilius and Elerian sat with the king and his two sons on folding chairs that Eonis’s steward had set up around his campfire. Behind them, the Dwarf caravan continued to rumble steadily across the plank bridge. Without much talk, Eonis, his two sons, and Ascilius made a hearty meal of bread, cheese, dried meat, and dried fruit washed down with copious amounts of wine and beer, but Elerian ate only a little bread and cheese while sipping occasionally from a cup filled with red wine.

“The Dwarves may have abandoned their treasures, but they certainly managed to save a goodly amount of their spirits,” he thought dryly to himself as he quietly observed his fireside companions.

“You ought not to drink so heavily,” he advised Ascilius softly. “By now the advance force that I saw this morning has most likely joined the Goblins concealed in the forest. They are likely to attack soon, before the last of the wagons crosses the bridge.”

“It will take more than the small amount of spirits we have drunk to slow the hands or wits of a Dwarf, young Elerian,” said Eonis before Ascilius could make any reply. “In my own case, it is all that I have to renew the fire in my blood and to blunt the aches and pains of my elderly limbs. Old age is a bitter draught even for the Dwarves,” he concluded sadly.

“Drink some of this,” said Elerian, offering Eonis his water bottle which still contained a quantity of aqua vitae. “It will accomplish the same end without clouding your wits.”

“How long will it last?” asked Eonis, sniffing the contents of the bottle after removing the stopper.

“Several hours at least,” replied Elerian.

“It is not a cure for old age then,” said Eonis in a disappointed voice.

“I know of no spell that will reverse the decay brought on by the passage of time,” said Elerian regretfully. “Take only a small amount,” he warned Eonis as the old Dwarf raised the water bottle to his bearded lips with his right hand.

“I must drink in accordance with my years,” said Eonis in return before taking a long swallow of the aqua vitae, draining almost all that was left in the water bottle. Immediately, a sparkle entered the old king’s dark eyes, and the exposed parts of his bearded cheeks became flushed. With beads of sweat springing out on his brow, he sprang out of his chair with the alacrity of a young Dwarf, the water bottle slipping unnoticed from his hand.

“Good heavens, I am on fire!” he shouted before rushing off toward the nearby river with his two sons in hot pursuit.

“Can he swim?” asked Elerian of Ascilius as the sound of a loud splash came to his ears.

“No more than any other Dwarf,” replied Ascilius taking a deep draft of his mug of beer. His dark eyes shone with laughter, matching the gleam in Elerian’s gray eyes. “The river is shallow near shore. I am sure that Cordus and Cyricus will pull him out.”

“Perhaps I should go for a walk then, before he returns,” said Elerian, laughing softly now as he rose lithely from his chair and retrieving his fallen water bottle. “I warned him about the potency of the drink, but he may be in an uncertain temper until the effects of the aqua vitae are lessened a bit.”

“I think that I will join you,” said Ascilius. “He might decide that I am guilty by association.”

Walking side-by-side, Elerian and Ascilius hastily left the fire behind, walking toward the midpoint of the dike which was directly in line with the bridgehead. To their left, a steady line of wagons continued to cross the bridge.

“I wish that the wagons were all over on the far side of the river,” grumbled Ascilius to Elerian as they finally came to a stop in the deep band of shadow that lay behind the dike. The sky was still overcast, but in spite of the lack of starlight, Elerian’s gray eyes still saw clearly when he looked over the barrier toward the edge of the forest. In the shadows of the trees, he saw many dark shapes gathering at the edge of the meadow.

“We would be better served if they were, for the enemy is assembling for an assault,’ said Elerian quietly to Ascilius. Ascilius immediately turned to count the wagons remaining on east side of the bridge, waiting for their turn to cross the Caldus.

“It will take at least another half an hour for the last wagon to cross over,” he said grimly to Elerian. “We must hold the dike against the Goblins for at least that long.”

Raising a horn to his lips, Ascilius blew a mighty blast, transforming the peaceful scene behind him. Abandoning their food and drink, Dwarves stamped out their fires and armed themselves before rushing off to gather behind the dike. Eonis and his two sons also appeared, all three of them soaking wet.

“You should cross the bridge and stand with Durio,” Ascilius advised his uncle.

“I will fight here,” insisted Eonis, taking up a position on Ascilius’s left. “The drink that your companion gave me has burned away half my years. I will cleave Goblin skulls once more at least before I take my final rest.”

“Well spoken, father,” said Cordus. “We will both stand beside you,” added Cyricus, echoing his brother.

“My sons will not leave me,” said Eonis to Ascilius in exasperation. “I am the king, but they will not heed my orders to cross the bridge and fight beside Durio.”

“Let them stay then, for there is no safe place tonight outside of the gates of Iulius,” replied Ascilius, taking the side of his cousins.

Just then the sharp pop and crack of leather whips came clearly through the night. Ungainly looking, hairy figures dressed in leather armor and carrying shields and short swords suddenly leaped out of the trees on the far side of the meadow, racing toward the dike on their short, powerful legs.

“The reinforcements that you saw this morning have arrived,” said Ascilius unhappily to Elerian as the mutare were followed by companies of Wood Goblins, their slender, lithe forms contrasting sharply with the bulky, shambling shapes of their changeling allies. Packs of shaggy canigrae ran along the outskirts of the Mordi foot soldiers. Last of all appeared a company of tall Urucs, riding from the wood on black atriors. Long, steely muscles rolled beneath the sleek hides of their fiery mounts which snorted impatiently, eager to join in the coming battle.

Leading the Goblin cavalry were two captains: Zaleuc and beside him, Agar, the same Goblin who had flown from the castella of Galenus to warn Sarius that the Dwarves had recaptured the fortress. It was he who had led the reinforcements Elerian had seen on the road that morning, ordered by Sarius to join with Zaleuc and to delay the retreating Dwarves until the bulk of his army overtook them.

“The little people have repaired the bridge sooner than I would ever have expected,” said Zaleuc harshly to Agar, who rode easily on his left side. “I had hoped to catch most of their wagons on this side of the river.”

“It does not matter,” replied his second in command. “The caravan will not escape us for long. Night has spread its dark, friendly cloak over the land, and the Dwarves are in the open, far from their stony tunnels. Even without the surprise we have waiting for them, we have sufficient force to destroy their army.”

Behind the dike, Elerian watched the mutare, who formed the van of the Goblin host, draw closer to the Dwarf barricade. Around and behind him, Dwarves had formed a defensive line behind the dike.

“The Goblins outnumber us again,” he heard Eonis say grimly to Ascilius as he took in the size of the enemy force advancing across the dark meadow. Eonis could not distinguish features in the dark as Elerian could, but his Dwarf eyes were able to discern the individual, shadowy forms that made up the dark host in front of him. “Our odds of defeating them would have been greatly improved if we could have fought them from the far bank after burning the bridge.” The faint, accusatory note in the old Dwarf’s voice annoyed Elerian, as if Eonis was blaming Ascilius for the wagons still crossing the Caldus.

Ascilius frowned but did not respond, preferring not to start an argument with his uncle with the enemy almost upon them. Glancing sidelong to his left at Ascilius’s craggy face, Elerian saw that red motes now floated in the back of the Dwarf’s dark eyes.

“Let the Goblins and their allies come but a little closer and I will hammer them like nails, however great their numbers are,” he said fiercely to Elerian, gripping his hammer and shield firmly in his powerful hands.

“Tonight my lust for Goblin blood will exceed your own,” Elerian promised his companion as he drew Acris from its sheath with his right hand, at the same time raising his shield with his left.

Just out of bowshot on the meadow, the changelings suddenly halted their advance, ignoring the whips of the Mordi drivers running behind them. Behind them, the Goblin ranks also came to an abrupt stop. Holding their position, the mutare began to make a tremendous din, snarling, roaring, and leaping into the air.

“The changelings lack the courage to attack us without first working themselves up into a savage frenzy,” said Ascilius contemptuously to Elerian. All along the dike, Dwarves began to shout insults in deep voices at the Goblins and their allies, taunting them for their lack of courage.

At the head of his cavalry, licking his lips in anticipation of the slaughter to come, Zaleuc raised a glossy black horn with a silver mouthpiece to his thin lips, blowing a harsh blast upon it which rang out across every corner of the meadow. Other horns echoed his own, and the Mordi driving the mutare cracked their whips more vigorously. Eager to escape the stinging leather wielded by their masters, a few mutare charged forward, shields held out in front of them. As if a dam had burst, the rest of the changelings surged forward, their howling rending the still night air, and their eyes glowing with a hungry, pale light.

“Crossbows,” roared Ascilius.

Elerian heard the thrum of bowstrings and the deadly hiss of steel flying through the air. Changelings stumbled and fell, pierced by the darts that struck among them.

“Not enough are going down to stop their advance,” thought Elerian grimly to himself. The quick and active mutare were proving to be difficult targets for the Dwarves, and their heavy steel shields protected them from the crossbow bolts if they were raised in time. Ignoring the deadly quarrels thinning their ranks, the survivors leaped over their fallen comrades, continuing their savage rush toward the dike.

“The battle begins,” thought Elerian calmly to himself as the first of the changelings reached the moat. Effortlessly they leaped across, landing on the top of the dike before recklessly flinging themselves into the midst of the Dwarves below. Stepping swiftly to his right, Elerian stabbed a great wolf like creature through the chest with Acris as it leaped down on him.

“Stop them,” roared Ascilius on Elerian’s left as he crushed the skull of a bearlike creature with a single stroke of his hammer.

On either side of Ascilius and Elerian, Dwarves battled the mutare as they leaped from the top of the dike. The changelings fought strongly but clumsily with their weapons, holding their swords and axes awkwardly in their hairy, long fingered paws. More dangerous were those who suddenly reverted to the bestial side of their natures, casting aside their armaments and fighting with tooth and claw. Swift and sure with their natural weapons, gifted with an unnatural strength, they became dangerous adversaries, careless with their own lives and intent only on killing so that they could drink the blood of their victims.

On his right, Elerian saw a mutare fling itself recklessly on a Dwarf warrior. The Dwarf’s short sword pierced the changeling’s heart, dealing it a fatal wound, but the unnatural vitality of the creature kept it alive long enough for it to close its fanged jaws around the Dwarf’s mail covered throat. A savage wrench of the mutare’s jaws broke the Dwarf’s neck, and the two combatants fell to the ground, still locked in a savage embrace that even death could not break apart.

“Once again these creatures accomplish the purpose for which they were created, spending their lives to weaken the Dwarves by deaths and injuries while their masters watch safely from a distance,” thought Elerian angrily to himself as he stabbed at the mutare who leaped down on him from the top of the dike, the argentum inlaid in Acris’s gleaming sides flashing silver white with each swift, deadly accurate thrust through a hairy throat or savage heart. Light footed, supple as a willow shoot, he avoided the claws and teeth that reached out to rend or tear at him during the changelings’ death throes, remaining unscathed in the midst of the bloody battle that raged around him.  

To his left, Ascilius fought more deliberately, using his shield and strength to fend off the changelings’ attacks while he crushed their skulls or legs with Fulmen. Shorter than the beast men, he was even more powerful, flinging aside with his shield those who leapt on him in an effort to bear him down to the ground. The mutare he sent sprawling never regained their feet, for Ascilius sprang on the with the ferocity of a lion, Fulmen flashing like lightning as it crushed steel and bone as if they were no more than soft clay. To Ascilius’s left, Eonis fought in similar fashion, rejoicing in the newfound strength given to him by Elerian’s potent drink. His two sons were hard put to guard his back and sides as, white braids flying and dark eyes flashing fiercely, he struck down any mutare who came within reach of his ax.