The Fall of Dorkhun (3 page)

Each time the wagon bounced severely, the door would slide an inch, sometimes more, on the hinge, then crash back to its base. Molgheon could tell that with enough force, it would come off completely and create enough space to squeeze out. The weakling was of no concern, but once free, she would have to subdue Torkdohn quickly. From his years capturing slaves, he was cunning and dangerous, and she would have to fight him hand-to-hand.

She shifted her gaze to the wheels of the wagon, measuring the time from when the front hit a bump to when it jostled the rear. Once she had a good feel for the rhythm, she adjusted from the seated position into a crouch. She didn’t want Jase to realize what she was doing and warn Torkdohn, so she moved slowly, stretching several times as if her muscles were cramping from the cage being on its side. While the space was confined, she had been trained to relax her body in the most uncomfortable of stances, and during her years in the Resistance, she had spent many hours wedged into worse places. Once in a good position, she focused on the front wheels and waited.

When the wagon hit an especially hard rut, she launched herself against the back of the cage, timing so that she crashed into it just as the rear wheels bounced. As the cage flew out, she rolled into a tight ball, tucking her head between her knees and protecting her ears and temples with her arms. The cage hit the ground and flipped twice end over end. With each tumble, she struck against the thick bars, and blinding pains shot through her body. When it came to rest, she lay still for a moment, making sure none of her bones were broken. Then, she opened her eyes and got her bearings.

As hoped, the door had separated at the top hinge, and she pushed her way through the open space. She scrambled to her feet and faced the wagon, which had stopped a hundred yards away. Jase jumped out and hid behind the front wheel, but Torkdohn hopped to the ground and dug under his seat. Molgheon sprinted towards him, focusing on his arms and hands. He produced a crossbow from the wagon and loaded a bolt. As he locked it into firing position, Molgheon stopped thirty yards away and directed all her attention on his right hand, especially the tendon on his index finger. Time slowed, and her auburn hair fluttered in the light breeze. A grasshopper landed on her left foot and her hair covered half her face, but as Torkdohn leveled his aim, her focus did not waiver.

The instant his tendon flexed, she dove to her right, and the bolt whistled by. She rolled to her feet and sprinted for the old slave trader. He began loading another bolt, but she reached him before he could lock the wire over the firing mechanism. She kicked the crossbow from his hands, and it fell into the seat of the wagon. The old dwarf stumbled backwards a couple of steps but gathered himself quickly, drawing his dagger and crouching.

Seeing the blade, Molgheon held herself just beyond his reach and waited. He circled to her left, and she moved with him, staying out of reach. He feigned a couple of jabs, but she didn’t flinch, so he stepped into her, slicing horizontally. Molgheon stepped in as well, striking his right forearm with her left fist, causing him to lose his grip on the dagger. As the blade landed on the ground, she drove her right arm under his left and grabbed his tunic. Then, using her right hip as leverage, she flipped him to the ground.

The old dwarf grunted as he hit, but Molgheon didn’t give him a chance to recover. With as much strength as she could muster, she punched him in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs and stunning him. As he lay there gasping, she kicked him repeatedly. He tried to cover himself with his arms, but her fury was too much, and after four solid blows to the head, he was out cold. For good measure, Molgheon kicked him one more time in the ribs and then turned to find Jase.

As soon as the coward saw that Torkdohn was subdued, he jumped from his hiding spot and ran for a grove of trees several yards away. Calmly, Molgheon took the crossbow from the wagon and locked the bolt into place. She walked around the wagon to get a clear shot and aimed carefully. The bolt struck the back of his left thigh, sinking deeply into his hamstring. The weakling shrieked in pain and collapsed on the ground. As Molgheon approached, he thrashed around and screamed for someone to save him.

“Shut up,” she said, grabbing his hair and dragging him back to the wagon.

“Please, don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you locked me in a cage.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“You’re with him. That’s enough for me.”

She tied Jase to a wagon wheel and then dragged over Torkdohn, who was starting to stir, and secured him as well. Then, she unhitched a horse and led it to where the cage laid busted open on the ground. She fastened a leather strap from the bridle to an iron bar and led the horse back to the wagon, dragging the cage. She rummaged through several boxes under the wagon’s seat until she found a heavy mallet. Then, she pounded the hinge back into position and tested the door to make sure it was latched. Satisfied that it would hold, she went to Torkdohn and searched him for the key to open it properly.

The old dwarf was coming to his senses, so she smacked him in the head with the mallet and knocked him back out. Jase squirmed against his binding and whimpered again he didn’t want to die. Molgheon ignored him and turned the lock with the thick key. The door popped and groaned from the damaged hinge but opened enough to get both inside, so she undid Torkdohn’s lash and dragged him to it first. Then, she went back for Jase.

“What are you doing?” he whined.

“I’m gonna drown you in the river,” she returned flatly, untying his strap from the wheel and grabbing him by the hair.

“Please, no. Someone help.”

“Shut up.”

“Please, I’m sick. I’m not even a fighter.”

“You should have thought of that before you struck my friend in the back.”

She dragged him to the cage and shoved him in on top of Torkdohn. The door popped and groaned again as she shut it, but the lock fastened tight, securing them inside. Then, she took the horse’s bridle and led it towards the river. In the distance, horses approached rapidly, but she didn’t care who they were or what they wanted. Her entire being was focused on watching these two sink in the Yuejdeon. Jase screamed hysterically, and the horse strained as the cage plowed against the uneven sod, but Molgheon walked calmly and steadily forward.

As she neared the bank, the approaching horses came up behind her. There were five horses total, each mounted by a Ghaldeon, and three carrying a Tredjard as well. Sliding down from the back of his mount, Leinjar shouted for her to stop, but she didn’t look at him, instead walking around the horse and cage and squatting at one end. Gripping the upper edge, she shoved with all her might to push the cage down the bank, but it didn’t budge.

“Wait, Molgheon!” Leinjar shouted, running to her. “What are you doing?”

“Drowning these two in the river,” she returned, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Help me push this.”

“You can’t kill them.”

“I can and I will. One of you get down here and help me.”

“We swore to Roskin they’d be taken to Dorkhun for trial. Let him have his justice.”

“I’m sure he’ll feel it’s been served once they’re at the bottom. Someone help me.”

Leinjar motioned for them to stay on their horses, and the dwarves obeyed. They had taken the most solemn oath a dwarf can take that the two traitors would be caught before they crossed the river, and none intended to break it.

“They’ll be punished,” Leinjar said, kneeling beside her. “You can be certain.”

Molgheon had fought in countless battles, had survived for weeks in desperate wilderness, and had watched her husband die a slow, wretched death. She had suffered such torture that she could no longer stand the touch of another living thing. Despite all of that, when she had been locked in the cage by Torkdohn and the human captain from the Great Empire, she had never felt so forsaken. Something about the confinement overwhelmed her, and standing in that cage in the center of the logging town with a regiment of humans leering at her, she had vowed that she would kill both Torkdohn and the captain. Roskin had already taken care of the human, and though not by her own hand, she had greatly enjoyed watching Grussard’s blade strike him down. Now, she needed the fulfillment of watching the river take Torkdohn.

“We swore on our beards, Molgheon,” Leinjar said, leaning close. “We can’t let you do this.”

Molgheon stood and faced him, and he stepped back, raising his open palms toward her. She knotted her hands into fists and gritted her teeth. More than anything, she wanted to kill Jase and Torkdohn, wanted to hear the river take them, but deep inside, she knew Roskin deserved the chance to punish Torkdohn more than she.

“Fine,” she said, turning away. “Let the white beards kill them. What do I care how they die?”

“Do you know this area?” Leinjar asked, stepping closer.

“Well enough.”

“Can you guide us to the Kiredurks?”

Molgheon stared into the distance, trying to remember her one trip to the southern gate more than twenty years before. She knew the northern Ghaldeon lands up to the Snivegohn Valley as well as anyone but spent little time any farther north. She knew she could get them to the valley, but from there, they might need help.

“Just head west,” she said, not looking at him. “I can get us close.”

Leinjar motioned for the others to dismount and help him, and together, they loaded the cage into the wagon. In a matter of minutes, they had the wagon loaded and the horse hitched and were ready to turn back towards the Kiredurk Kingdom. Still angry, Molgheon refused to climb into the wagon, instead choosing to walk behind. Leinjar rode beside the cage, and the other two Tredjards got into the front to drive. The Ghaldeons remounted and rode two in front of the wagon, three behind. Because the horses had been driven hard, they settled on a slow pace, and the dwarves agreed that after the frenzied chase, this part of the trip was already better. After a few minutes, Torkdohn began to stir.

“You’ll regret not letting her kill me,” he said to Leinjar. “Mark my words.”

Molgheon started to shout at Torkdohn, but Leinjar spoke first.

“If you speak again, I’ll cut out your tongue myself,” he said. “I dare you to try me.”

Hatred flashed in the old Ghaldeon’s eyes, but he remained silent.

“That goes for you, too,” Leinjar said to Jase. “Both of you keep your mouths shut.”

The wagon groaned and popped as it moved along the uneven ground, and Molgheon watched the cage closely, making sure the old dwarf didn’t catch one of them off guard with some trick. Since she had planned on drowning them, she hadn’t searched either one properly, and there was no telling what Torkdohn might try.

Despite her legs being stiff and sore from confinement, she kept pace easily. Walking felt good, and after a couple of miles, her joints and muscles loosened up enough that the pain was mostly gone. In the distance, the western mountains rose high, the snow-capped peaks radiating golden light as the afternoon sun sank towards the horizon. The sight was the most welcome thing Molgheon had seen in many, many years. She was almost home.

***

Suvene was being hunted. He knew it, could feel the gaze as he stumbled up the steep, rocky path. He hadn’t seen whatever it was that stalked him, but it had been there for three days. Once or twice in his peripheral vision, he thought he had seen it rustle leaves in the underbrush, but by the time he had turned in that direction, the rustling had stopped, and the woods were as still and quiet as death, an unnatural silence that bothered him more than if he actually saw the creature.

A week had passed since he had escaped the orc guards who were supposed to escort him back to the fortress for punishment, and at first, he thought he was being chased by his own people, but when nothing happened on the first night, he realized it had to be something else. Soldiers would have rushed him and not let so much distance pass. This creature was taking its time, almost as if it were enjoying the hunt.

He continued up the trail, his legs and lungs burning from the climb, and as the third night approached, he scanned the mountainside for a good tree to sleep in. Through the day, he had managed to scavenge a few berries, but he was weak with hunger. If he didn’t find a good meal soon, he would become too weak to fend off his hunter. After everything he had survived, the thought of dying a predator’s prey before killing Crushaw tormented him.

To his right, a few yards off the trail he spotted a tall oak. Its base was wider than his arm-span, and its lowest branches were eleven feet off the ground and thick enough to support him. He fixed the shaft of the pike to his back and drew his two daggers. Then, using the daggers, he climbed to the first branch that was good enough to stretch out on. He drove the daggers deep into the bark of the trunk and, using strips of cloth from his shirt, tied the pike to the branch above. Satisfied that his weapons were secure, he leaned against the trunk and steadied himself.

He dug out the berries he had kept and chewed each one slowly, as if relishing them might offer more nourishment, but as soon as the last one was gone, his hunger roared more fiercely. How had his life come to this? He had been a loyal soldier and had stood toe-to-toe with the phantom on the Slithsythe Plantation. He had risked certain death to get word to the fortress of the approaching slaves and had tracked down the phantom in the Marshwogg lands. But here he was, a fugitive running from his own masters, starving in a tree, and hunted by a creature he couldn’t spot. None of it made any sense.