The War of the Dwarves (69 page)

“Attack!” shouted Tungdil exultantly. “Don’t let them regroup!” His ax slammed into a shield, cutting through the metal and
severing an enemy wrist. A man fell screaming to the churned-up ground.

The battle began again, but this time Tungdil’s warriors had victory in their sights.

Even as the älfar emerged from the trees and threw themselves on the enemy, dwarven bugles heralded the arrival of the rest
of the army with Lorimbas, Xamtys, and Gemmil at the fore. Meanwhile, Djer
n was in mortal danger.

The White Army’s pikemen had made it their mission to bring down the avatars’ killer and they closed in on the giant, lunging
at him with their long-handled weapons and retreating out of range. From time to time he cut down a pikeman, only to be attacked
by another four.

Boïndil noticed Djer
n’s plight. “We’d better help old buckethead. He’s overextended.” Glancing at Tungdil and Boëndal, he
saw agreement in their tired faces. “It would be a shame to lose him after everyth—”

“Look out!” shouted Boëndal, hefting his crow’s beak and hurling it through the air. The powerful weapon ripped toward a rider
who was charging, spear in hand, toward the giant’s back. The rider saw the crow’s beak coming, and ducked just in time.

Meanwhile, Djer
n was too busy fighting the pikemen to notice the thundering hooves. Startled, he turned at the last moment,
and the spear pierced his side. The rider paid for his bravery with his life, the giant’s cudgel smashing against his chest.

At once the pikemen surged forward, falling on the injured giant and forcing him to the ground. Tungdil and the twins lost
sight of their ally.

“Quick!” shouted Tungdil, alerting the maga to the danger.

Narmora fixed her eyes on the skirmish, but Djer
n was lost from view. “I can’t see him,” she called back, sending a flickering
tongue of fire in the direction indicated by Tungdil. “Wait, I’ll burn a path.” The dwarves nodded and readied themselves
to sprint after the next fiery bolt.

Neither Tungdil nor the twins had any inkling that the maga wasn’t prepared to come to the giant’s rescue. Djer
n had been
useful on occasions, not least by revealing that some types of armor were resistant to magic, but he had played a key role
in the plot against Furgas, and Narmora could never forgive him for that.

If he dies, he dies. If he lives, it won’t be long before he falls in another skirmish
. She gazed after Tungdil and the others, who were leading a unit of thirdlings to save the injured giant.
They can risk their lives if they want to. I’m not wasting my magic on him
.

G
etting past the pikemen was the toughest challenge yet.

The advancing dwarves came to a halt in front of a bristling mass of long-handled halberds and pikes. Steel pike heads pointed
menacingly toward them, keeping them at bay. Every now and then a weapon sped forward, injuring any who sought to cleave the
shafts and cut a path to Djer
n, who was somewhere behind the blockade.

“That does it!” snorted Ireheart. “I’ll teach them what it means to rile a dwarf!”

His levelheaded brother pulled him back. “They’ll run you through like a pig on a spit.” He was stopped from saying anything
further by the arrival of a band of tall archers, who took up position next to them and leveled their bows. A flurry of arrows
ripped toward the enemy with deadly effect. A path opened up between the pikemen, nearly two paces wide.

“Go on then,” said a voice that Tungdil recognized as Ondori’s. “Hurry!”

“I don’t like it,” said Ireheart suspiciously. He leaned across and whispered in his brother’s ear. “What if they shoot us
in the back?”

“You’d die, of course,” said Ondori, smiling. “But we’re not going to shoot you. For the time being, we’re on the same side.”
Looking up, she saw that the gap had closed so she ordered her archers to loose another hail of arrows. “Hurry, Goldhand.”
She raised her bow and nocked an arrow to the string. “The pikemen won’t kill you; I want that pleasure myself.” Her gray
eyes were cold with hatred.

Remembering Djer
n’s plight, Tungdil had no choice but to trust her. He sent a quick prayer to Vraccas and charged into the
breach, followed by Boïndil, Boëndal, and the thirdlings. Even though he had promised himself he wouldn’t, he glanced over
his shoulder to check on the älf.

She was standing ramrod straight, a nocked arrow pointing at his heart. Even as he stared, the bow string released and the
arrow shot toward him. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for the feathered missile to hit. Nothing happened. By some miracle,
the älf had missed her mark.

She lowered her bow and pointed ahead.

Turning back, Tungdil saw the outstretched body of a soldier, felled by a single arrow. In his distraction, he had almost
impaled himself on an enemy pike.
It’s my own fault for not trusting her. She hates me too much to let me die.
He leaped over the pikeman and threw himself into battle. But Djer
n was nowhere to be seen.

Ireheart, thrilled to be in striking distance of the pikemen, rampaged through the enemy ranks. In the crush of bodies, the
pikemen were forced to rely on short swords, which gave little protection against hefty dwarven clubs, axes, and hammers.
Suddenly the battle shifted in favor of the dwarves, who weren’t in the mood for sparing lives. The enemy was shown no mercy.
By nightfall, the avatars’ army had been destroyed and the woods of Dsôn Balsur were strewn with corpses.

It was then they found Djer
n.