Hundreds of cycles have passed in Girdlegard since Tungdil Goldhand vanished. The dwarf Goïmron works as a gem carver in the city of Mallenias Watch. He is particularly fascinated by the old times, the great times of the five dwarf tribes, and so spends his spare time searching the markets for records and artefacts for clues about their proud history.
And then Goïmron comes across an extraordinary book. The wealth of detail it contains leaves no doubt that the book must have been written by the heroic Tungdil Goldhand himself. But, impossibly, the last entry seems to be recent. . .
When Goïmron sets out in search of the legendary dwarf, he and his troop of companions soon find themselves in the middle of ancient intrigues and brutal power struggles between ruthless humans, mysterious albae - and dragons.
Once again, the land of Girdlegard needs the wisdom, humour, fighting spirit and stubbornness of the dwarves. Heroes old and new will accept the challenge . . . but will the dwarves rise again?
Publisher:
Quercus Publishing
Print pages:
512
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1023 P.Q. (7514th solar cycle in old reckoning), spring
The lantern swung from side to side, turning the walls and roof of the tunnels into a hectic dance of dark and light and illuminating the faults and fissures in the rock. The brightness was magnified with mirrors and directed forward by means of metal flaps on the lantern; the rays of light pierced the surrounding blackness and a rhythmical metallic squeaking noise came from the carrying handle as it moved.
Klaey was the one holding the lantern pole; he was the leader of this troop of ten. They had come a long way from their home in Brigantia. ‘Take care, mind you keep quiet to listen out for any sounds the rocks make,’ he said, passing the order back over his shoulder. The reflected light flattered his face with its neatly trimmed dark beard. ‘I’ve no desire to end up buried under a collapsed roof.’
There were murmurs of agreement.
Eight orbits previously, they had crossed the Brigantian border, and now they were in the no man’s land of the Brown Mountains with its network of corridors, endless tunnels, and chambers with vaulted ceilings at giddy heights. A real labyrinth. But Klaey and his little unit were not without a plan as they made their way through the ancient realm of the groundlings who had fled a thousand cycles before, when the earthquakes had started.
On the contrary.
They often had to climb or squeeze themselves through gaps in the rock or force their way perilously under half-collapsed bridges. Their journey had shown them all the construction skills of the earlier inhabitants, who, deep under the earth, had built impressive halls and chambers decorated with consummate artistry and specialised tools. No other folk in Girdlegard could match these dwarves for engineering skill and handiwork. Most of it had already been lost as the hundreds of cycles had passed: broken, plundered, covered in scratches, paint and slogans. Everything, that is to say, that the earthquakes had not already destroyed. The enemies of the groundlings had taken their revenge and had stolen anything they could haul away.
With one exception.
And it was just that exception that Klaey and his selected band of trusty friends were searching for. Again and again he wiped the dust from his face and brushed bits of crumbling rock out of his dark hair, which he wore long and plaited and shaved stylishly close on the right-hand side of his head.
The young banner officer cadet was in no mood for taking a rest or admiring the ruins and the stone remains of the Fourthlings’ work. In exactly eleven orbits’ time they were due back in Brigantia from the scouting mission they were supposed to be on. Otherwise their absence would be noticed and there would be awkward questions to answer on their return. For example, what was a low-ranking member of the supply corps doing, taking troops out on a manoeuvre on his own initiative? The Omuthan might well be rather displeased.
‘Apparently there should be a right turn after this tunnel. And then we ought to find a gate. A locked gate.’ To Klaey’s immense relief, they had not come across anyone or anything on their way that could have caused them a problem. No monsters. No spectres. Occasionally they found the remains of some orc that had not got the better of a sharp blade, many hundreds of cycles previously.
‘And then we’ve done it?’ Ayasta pushed her way to his side. Like the rest of the unit, this fair-haired young warrior was sporting a lightly padded armoured tunic. Nothing too heavy that would be difficult to march in on their long trek. It was bad enough having to carry all their food and the equipment they were going to need. ‘It’s gone well, hasn’t it?’ She took the lantern and shone its light around where they had halted. ‘So, if we’re getting closer to the forgotten hoard now, won’t you tell me again how rich I’m going to be?’
‘How rich we are going to be, you mean. It will be for all of us,’ Klaey corrected her, laughing. He rubbed the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, touching as he did so the decorative brand on the bridge of his nose. It was warm down here underground. And then they were all excited about the prospect of immense fortune awaiting them. ‘Hundreds of gemstones. Whole rooms full of rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and all that other stuff. Everything the dwarves will have left behind in their workshop. It’s where they kept all the jewels from the mines in the north-west. The gem chippers always intended to go back and retrieve their treasure once the mountains came to rest.’
His band of soldiers gave whoops of excitement.
‘Rubies!’ Ayasta squirmed with pleasure. ‘I’ll have a wonderful necklace made with the rubies! And then I’m going to buy myself a country estate, outside Brigantia, of course, and . . .’ The others’ laughter broke rudely into her train of thought. ‘You idiots! Bleating like a load of sheep! I think my plan is amazing. I want to spend the evening of my life at ease on the bank of a lovely river, in a beautiful posh house. And I’ll have masses of trusty doulia slaves to do my bidding . . .’
‘They’ll steal from you. And then brigands and vagabonds will come and take over and grab everything you’ve got,’ Klaey embroidered, grinning. ‘If you’ve got a smidgeon of sense, you’ll not only leave Brigantia but get away from Girdlegard altogether.’
Ayasta shrugged her shoulders. ‘Maybe I haven’t got a smidgeon of sense. But how about you all come and visit?’ She turned round and shone the light in their eyes, shaking her fist. ‘Don’t you dare try and steal my stuff, though! I’ll steal it right back!’
The company, who didn’t like the lantern dazzling them, met Ayasta’s plans with mocking laughter. A half-hearted handful of thrown gravel came her way.
Klaey went back to examining the scribbled map covered with dwarf runes that he had taken off one of the lower orders in his military supply unit. The simple-minded soldier had been making preparations for his own excursion and had been easily caught out on a lie. The clumsy excuses as to why he would be needing the armour and provisions he was storing had piqued Klaey’s interest. One thing had led to another and the soldier had met a sudden tragic end before the map changed hands.
Klaey compared the translated descriptions on the map with their actual location. His light-blue eyes took in every detail. Moving the lantern around revealed the corridor he had been expecting to find. But the way was blocked with a wall made of great lumps of granite; to the right there was a tunnel.
‘Almighty Cadengi, give me strength!’ he exclaimed. Curses! The way is blocked.
One by one the others made their way over and stared at the impassable obstacle. Some of them started to mutter.
‘It’s going to be harder than we thought, folks. Out with the tools and roll your sleeves up! Let’s get stuck in!’ Klaey placed the lantern on the floor. ‘It’s nothing we can’t handle.’
‘Are you absolutely certain we’re in the right place?’ Ayasta looked at the map and pointed at the symbols. ‘What if the runes haven’t been translated right? Did you get the chart checked by one of the scouts before we left?’
‘How could I have done that without letting everyone know about all the jewels awaiting us, right there’ – Klaey gestured with the tip of his pickaxe at the wall. ‘Do you really want to share it all with my brother?’ He didn’t let on that he had been the one who had done the translation. He had always been gifted with languages and as a child he had enjoyed deciphering unfamiliar scripts. It had taken him only a few orbits to work out the patterns in the runes. This facility was something he owed to his mother, he thought, and to the special circumstances of his birth.
The passage walls echoed with heated arguments. Nobody was keen to let others in on their expected prosperity.
‘Right, then. Let’s get to work.’ With this encouraging suggestion, Klaey handed his pickaxe to the blonde soldier. ‘It shouldn’t take you more than half an orbit. As long as you keep at it.’
Ayasta cast an offended glance his way. ‘So you don’t intend to get your own hands dirty?’
‘Indeed not. I am the leader. And I’m standing guard.’ Klaey nodded towards the dark tunnel to their right. ‘I shall be protecting you with my life so that all of you can safely dig your way through to the treasure store.’
‘Such a noble leader.’ Ayasta got to work with the others, picking away at the gaps between the massive stones, ready to lever the granite blocks out one by one. ‘But if you’re not sharing in the work, I think you should accept a smaller share of the treasure. We’ll have been working our arses off. Just to let you know how things will be . . .’
Klaey grinned and watched his unit for a while as they laboured and hammered away. Then he took a few steps into the dark tunnel and sniffed. Stuffy. Airless. Obviously no one had been in this part of the Brown Mountains for a long, long time. Any trace of a draught would have indicated that somewhere nearby there might be some kind of opening, or a connection up to the surface through which other creatures could have found their way in.
But that was not the case here, so Klaey remained calm and relaxed.
He took out his prepared tobacco pipe. It was as long as his forearm. He sucked at it without lighting it. He loved the way the luxurious aroma of the kedonit spread over his tongue. He would light his pipe in celebration as soon as he had the first of the gemstones in his hands. I shall have deserved it.
Every so often he got his troop to stop their hammering so that he could listen out. But there was nothing – neither any dangerous cracking noises from the roof nor any strange sounds emanating from the tunnel. Apart from themselves, there were no living creatures around and the Brown Mountains were not about to collapse and bury them alive.
Stone dust hung in the air and was visible in the lantern light. There was a distinct smell of sweat. The constant metallic scraping of their tools was hard on his ears.
After a while Ayasta called him over. She was covered in a fine layer of filth. ‘We’re through!’
‘Already?’ Klaey made his way past his soldiers as they stood aside for him. Behind the wall was a double portal. ‘Well done!’
The fantastic workmanship the groundlings had put into the construction of the two doors of the portal was stunning. Iron bands as thick as a finger bound the heavy kergan wood. There was not a speck of rust on the metal. A huge lock secured the entry, along with many chains fastened with padlocks. Although it had only been a question of deterring visits from robbers, the groundlings had not spared their efforts, displaying all the mastery of their craft. The doors and the fastenings showed ornate carvings and ornamental runes decorated with gemstone slivers.
‘We’ll be seeing those real jewels soon with our own eyes. This is what we came for.’ Ayasta wiped the dirt and sweat on her face, creating a spontaneous kind of warpaint decoration. ‘I could really do with a nice cool flask of wine.’
‘You’ll soon be raking in enough gold coins to buy yourself barrels of the best.’ Klaey held up the drawing to show the others. ‘You see! This is the very door! Just like it’s marked on the plan here.’
Everyone cheered.
‘Right. Here we go!’ Klaey kissed the lucky charm he wore round his neck and then got to work with the wires and hooks and the fine tools he would need to unlock the complex metal mechanisms. The lantern gave him the light he needed for the task.
‘Why go to such trouble?’ said Ayasta, taking a long drink from the flask she carried at her belt. ‘Let’s just bash the door down with a nice big stone.’
‘No.’ Klaey poked at the iron cover of the hefty lock. ‘If we use force there’s a chance of triggering some kind of a trap and we’d all be done for. The groundlings have always known how to keep their treasure safe from marauding hands. I’m not going to risk everything when success is so close. Patience is the name of the game.’ Klaey turned calmly back to his task, working with great concentration until a succession of clicks indicated that the mechanism was about to give way. ‘Here we are, ladies and gentlemen.’ He wound the chains out from the fastenings, then stood up and placed his hands on the two handles of the double doors, pushing down. ‘Behold! Our treasure!’
But however hard he pushed and pulled at the handles, the doors refused to open.
Dirt trickled down from the edges of the doors and there was a considerable amount of creaking, but the door remained firmly closed. The intruders were not about to be admitted.
‘What’s happening? You told it to open up, didn’t you?’ said Ayasta. ‘You chose not to exhaust yourself with the hard work like the rest of us, but now you’re too weak to open the doors? How about you use your terribly impressive voice and sing them a nice little ditty?’
‘To Tion with the wretched groundlings! You know what? It’s barred from the other side!’ Klaey glared at the doors in anger. I’m not giving up now! He kicked the door several times and there was a crash – the double doors gave a little. I want my treasure. ‘Come on, everyone. One, two, three.’
A human battering ram was established – a double row of soldiers took a run and set their shoulders against the heavy wood. With a splintering noise, the doors finally sprang open.
Klaey and Ayasta were the first to go through, closely followed by the rest, stumbling and falling over each other in their eagerness.
They did not need the lanterns to see where they had ended up. A huge vaulted hall with numerous columns and painted glass lights on the walls and the ceiling. The reddish light thus provided showed beautiful wall paintings and decorations on the pillars. The pictures told the story of a single warrior, showing him sometimes in combat and sometimes on a journey. He might be reading. Or resting.
‘This is no groundling workshop!’ Klaey took a closer look at the perfectly executed paintings. The brilliance of the colours was extraordinary. The creatures and the warrior portrayed here were so lifelike you could have expected them to step down any moment from the walls and continue their fight under the domed ceiling of this very hall. Strangely, the hero wore no conventional armour but seemed to have metallic plates actually fixed permanently into his flesh. His weapon was depicted as a black tionium spear adorned with shimmering runes.
Klaey’s troop spread out, staring at the dimensions of the hall, eighty by a hundred paces. The columns were as high as the mast of a sailing ship. On the long side of the hall, quite close to where they stood, they could see the proper ceremonial entrance. It was an enormous double door of solid metal.
‘And in no way is this place anything like abandoned!’ Ayasta turned on Klaey, fury in her voice. ‘I see no jewels. No treasure at all!’ When the dwarves’ door had crashed open, much of the masterly wall decoration that had been on the plaster behind the door had been destroyed. The damage to the wall was acutely obvious. ‘Where in the name of all the blazing demons of the world have you brought us, you fool?’
Klaey stared at the map in utter confusion. He thought his way back through the recent orbits but could not work out what had gone wrong. I should have taken out my lucky amulet and kissed it before we broke down that door.
‘Where? I brought you where—’
‘Hey!’ The voice of one of the soldiers further away echoed back down to them. ‘Come and have a look at this!’
He was indicating a long, white stone platform in the centre of the hall. It stood about one and a half paces high and there were lights focused on it from the four corners of the ceiling. They showed those same engraved tionium armour plates, armoured gauntlet and runic spear that featured in the paintings; one of the armour sections was holed, where something the size of a crossbow bolt must have passed through.
If Klaey had at first assumed the plinth with its carvings and elaborate filigree work was marble, he recognised his mistake when approaching for a closer look.
‘Is that . . . bone?’ he muttered, shuddering. ‘By the mother of Cadengis! The whole thing is made out of bones!’
The reliefs and the borders had inlaid gold and vraccassium patterns. Black tionium and polished silver decorated the altar, together with a selection of jewels that shimmered and sparkled in the light.
‘Holy shit! We’ve landed in Dsôn Khamateion!’ Ayasta pointed to the huge figure in the nearest wall painting. ‘It’s an älf!’
And here is its armour. Klaey stepped slowly away from the bone plinth. The map had not shown where the corridors really terminated – he would never have knowingly ventured into älfar lands.
‘This is the älf’s memorial.’
‘Almighty Cadengis, be with us!’ Ayasta did not move back. ‘The black-eyes have taken over your abandoned workshop cavern and turned it into a tomb!’ She pointed to the most valuable of the gems on the altar. ‘Still, plenty of stuff up for grabs, though!’ She pulled out her knife. ‘Come on, everyone. Help yourselves.’
With a sudden rumbling sound, the mighty bolts securing the huge entrance were pulled back. A series of clicks followed as further fastenings were opened. The real entryway revealed itself.
‘Quick, everyone. Hide!’ Klaey ducked behind one of the pillars. There wasn’t time enough for all of his scattered troop to escape back the way they had come in. ‘Don’t attack till I give the order! With any luck, maybe they won’t notice us.’
‘I’m not leaving without a souvenir.’ Quick as a flash, Ayasta had dug a diamond out of its setting on the plinth and then ducked down on the side of the bone platform furthest from the entrance doors. She stowed the stone away and kept the dagger in her hand as three älfar strode ceremoniously over to the altar.
A black-haired female älf in a flowing, floor-length dark blue robe gathered at the waist carried in her hands a bundle of glowing incense sticks. Her companions, both in full armour, followed at a respectful distance. Although their bronzecoloured armour was made of metal, there was a rustle rather than a clanking sound as they moved.
Is she maybe a priestess? Klaey was hardly aware that he was holding his breath. He hoped his people had all found good hiding places. Even if there were only two armed älfar warriors to contend with, there was little hope of winning, given that a single shout would surely bring more guards running into their venerated hero’s memorial chamber.
Crouched behind the platform, Ayasta had her eyes tight shut – like a child convinced no one could see her. She kept the dagger ready to attack in her right hand.
The graceful female in the blue robe knelt down at the plinth, holding up the glowing incense sticks and waving them in circles, making shapes so that the smoke trail left mysterious patterns in the air. As she did this, her voice kept up a low chanting. The two warriors bowed their heads.
They haven’t seen us! Klaey was jubilant. We’re going to escape with our lives! And with rich pickings to boot! The soldier he’d taken the map off was, of course, already dead, or Klaey would have been making a mental note to kill him when he got back as punishment for having led them into this danger.
The other half of his mind was on the words spoken by the älf woman; he concentrated on finding speech patterns and repeated sounds. He wanted to understand their language. He had never heard the like. It was darkly poetic.
The grace and elegance and the immense skill in decorating armour, devising fabrics and weapons – all this the älfar shared with their arch-enemies, the elves. In the half-light here, you would not be able to distinguish between them. But if exposed to sunlight, the eyes of an älf would change colour and go black. This would reveal the true nature of the älfar: incredibly cruel and very, very dark.
Klaey was extremely keen not to fall into their hands. These creatures painted pictures with the blood of their victims and he surmised they would make ghastly but stunning works of art with his own skin and bones. But only if they considered his remains to be of the correct quality.
From the hole in the wall the Brigantians had made on bursting through, there came a faint clanking of chains; the volume of the noise was steadily increasing. It sounded as if someone in shackles were shuffling this way.
Klaey looked over to the gap they had made in the wall. What’s this? By Cadengis . . .
In staggered a dwarf. Coming into the low red light, there he was, hands in irons and a gag in his mouth. His beard was filthy, his leather boots torn and in the same miserable condition as his leather tunic. His build was on the scrawny side, suggesting he was probably a Fourthling.
No, no, no! Stay there! Don’t come in! Before Klaey could intervene, the dwarf had staggered past, into the hall, groaning, falling to his knees, chains rattling and clanking.
The female älf rose to her feet and stared at the manacled dwarf. Then she swept the room with her eyes. At an order from her, the two warriors moved to the right and to the left, brandishing their spears, going off to search the vaulted hall. For her own part, she separated the bundle of incense sticks, keeping them in her hands. She waited calmly.
Where did that groundling come from? Klaey placed his hand on the hilt of his rapier and squinted over to the exit that might save them. Has he come from some prison or other? One of our prisons, maybe?
A shout, a weapon clanging and the sound of a body thumping to the floor indicated the start of the fighting Klaey had been afraid of. One of his soldiers had been discovered and killed. So now they know we’re here. The game’s up.
Ayasta jumped up from behind the altar and was about to hurl herself at the älf priestess. ‘Finish off the black-eyes!’ As she spoke, she stabbed at the heart of her opponent with her dagger. ‘Or we are lost!’
The elegant dark-haired älf woman moved neatly aside, jamming the burning incense sticks into the girl’s face again and again, before delivering a kick to her chest, knocking the screaming blonde Brigantian off the altar. There came the sound of Ayasta’s neck breaking against the edge of the plinth. Ayasta slipped dead to the floor, her face disfigured by black and red burn marks.
‘Withdraw, everyone!’ shouted Klaey and raced for the gap in the wall. ‘Retreat! Get out of here, or else . . .’
A slim black sword blade stabbed down out of the dark of the passageway, piercing Klaey’s thinly padded armour.
‘Stay where you are,’ someone whispered in a strong accent. ‘I’m going to need you.’
A tall figure in a hooded robe pushed the groaning Klaey, fixed on the double-edged blade as if on a spit, before him back into the hall. ‘You are going to be a great help. Just like that groundling.’
The sword was yanked out of his body. Klaey collapsed next to one of the pillars. Whatever is happening? Klaey tried to close the wound with his right hand but the blood came pouring through between his fingers.
The figure moved over to the grand entrance and bolted and barred the doors to prevent anyone escaping. Then it swept into the midst of the fight – on the side of the soldiers from Brigantia, attacking the älfar warriors from behind – only to subsequently turn on the hopelessly outmatched men and women of his unit and slaughter them.
Klaey watched, bleeding heavily, as the hooded figure exchanged a few words with the priestess, who had been on the point of attacking him, before he felled her with a blow on the left shoulder. Then he lifted one of the Brigantian swords and poked the blade around in the wounds inflicted on the fallen älfar.
He must be trying to put the blame on us. Klaey struggled to understand and then collapsed in a heap from the pain.
The hooded figure took the pieces of armour from the plinth along with the gauntlet, placing it all in a carrying sack. He took the rune spear in his left hand.
It was hard for Klaey to follow because his vision was blurring over. He heard the dwarf give a last gasp and then slip down.
After a while, the slight rasping sound of the tionium armour plates shifting in the sack came closer.
‘My thanks, human scum. You have served me well by taking all the blame.’ The blade was placed at Klaey’s neck. ‘Or you will have done, of course, once you all are dead.’
‘But what . . .?’
‘Your death’ – white-hot pain shot through Klaey’s throat – ‘bears the name of Mòndarcai.’
To the north of the United Great Kingdom of Gauragon
In the foothills of the Grey Mountains
Kingdom of the Fifthling dwarves
1023 P.Q. (7514th solar cycle in old reckoning), spring
‘Wake Gundelgund! Get her and her sister up and ready!’ Barbandor shouted, catching his breath after racing across the open stretch of land between the woods and the outer curtain wall of the dwarf settlement. ‘At once!’
Barbandor had long since abandoned his fishing tackle; all he was carrying was the bloodied battleaxe in his right hand. The cart with Giselgar and the human casualties was a long way in front, already through the gate. He had nearly caught up with them, but there were still a good five hundred paces till he was in safety.
Using trickery and the shortcuts he knew in the stony terrain by the riverbank, Barbandor had managed to confuse the four dozen orcs and lead them quite a dance. But finally the beasts had worked out what he was doing and they had driven him into a corner. He had sent three of them to their god, Tion, with mighty blows from his axe. After that the only hope was to race for the safety of Platinshine’s protective walls. Ignorant humans liked to think of this settlement as being a fortress.
From there Gundelgund and Gindelgund could come to his aid. Just as long as, that is, they were quick enough off the mark. Sometimes those sisters took a long time to get ready for a fight.
An arrow whizzed past and buried itself in the soft earth in front of Barbandor. That was too close for comfort! Three further shots followed, which he avoided by running in a zigzag. The beasts were worryingly adept with their short bows and could use them accurately while careering along at full tilt. He heard their yelps of delight when they discovered the rampart wall.
‘Do you really think you can win?’ Barbandor gasped, staggering, as a further arrow landed between his feet. It was not enough now to rely on swerving out of danger. He fell flat, rolling over and over, his hand firmly on the handle of his axe.
Let’s get out of here! He tried to push himself up but an arrow hit him in the lower leg, pinning him to the ground.
He hurled himself about, shouting – and saw the next shot heading his way. This arrow had a string attached to it. They want to harpoon me like a fish! In the nick of time he drew in his uninjured leg and managed to avoid the vicious barb. I’m supposed to provide your supper, am I? A nice little snack?
The orcs charging towards him were less than fifty paces away. Five of them stopped and readied their bows. The others were armed with various bladed weapons.
‘You miserable beasts!’ With great difficulty, Barbandor got to his feet, supporting himself on his upturned battleaxe. ‘Let’s be having you!’ He skilfully manoeuvred his weight on to the sound leg and lifted his heavy weapon with both hands. Greenish-black blood and bits of orc skin and hair were sticking to the head of the axe. ‘By Vraccas! Listen good, you orcs! I swear I’ll send ten of you on your way to your creator before you get the chance to use my skull for a drinking vessel. And I’ll eat my own beard so you don’t use it to wipe your arses!’
Barbandor thought he could feel the ground shaking under the impact of the orcs charging towards him. He saw their gaping muzzles and ink-stained teeth. A delighted roar escaped them as they anticipated killing their prey. He saw the mountains of muscle and flesh towering over him where the armour did not cover them, and the jagged blades they were brandishing. And those dreadful tusks.
I’m heading for the Eternal Smithy, and no mistake!
Determinedly, Barbandor lowered his dark head and selected a victim from among the orcs. He would kill this one before he was forced to yield to their violence. One at the very least. And after that, as many as I can manage.
The five orcs waiting at the back fired off their arrows. The missiles rose as black streaks, but suddenly they broke up in mid-air as if they had been shattered by an invisible power. Clumps of earth sprayed around and the eight orcs at the front fell to the ground without uttering a single cry. They lay motionless, bleeding from countless wounds.
‘By Vraccas! Serves you right!’ yelled Barbandor, relief obvious in his voice. My thanks, sisters! Well done, Gindelgund and Gundelgund!
Ten orcs lumbered forward over the bodies of their fallen companions, but again they were struck down as if by a phantom hand. Dust and grass whirled around in the air.
The rest of the band of orcs came to a halt in confusion, not ten paces away from where Barbandor was. Although the dwarf was almos
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