Black Dawn - Chapter 13: Into The Dindaron Mountains

Captured and caged by dragonites, Turim and his allies caravan into the Dindaron Mountains as their hope dies.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

 [Sad Winds] by David Fesliyan, [Drifting Minds] Alexander Nakarada, [Torn] by David Fesliyan, [Nance] by Royalty Free Music Lab, [Last to Fall] Storyblocks, [Dissidents] Storyblocks, [A Storm Is Coming] Storyblocks, [Starry Dream] by David Fesliyan, [Ready to Fight] by David Fesliyan, [Wonderland] by Alexander Nakarada, [Birth of a Hero] by Bensound, [Molecular Dance] by Tarena

Dying Fire by AugustSandberg, bike-skid.wav by gerfaut83, woman crying with moaning and a screaming sob by tweedledee3, funeral home talking.wav by tim.kahn, Bat Wings (Fast) by Natty23, metalic squeeks and clunks.mp3 by soundmary, Footsteps, Puddles, B.wav by InspectorJ, Blades of Grass on Barbed Wire.mp3 by briankennemer, BODY FALL - V HVY - DIRT by leonelmail

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth and Darf Bloodshedder

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Thunderclap and Gulanis

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar and Aurthil

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

The Worlds Okayest DM [Voice Actor] - Voices Pond Grimslug

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot and Kithria Wraithchasm 

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Voices Aldor Steelaxe and Dark Elves

Transcript

Chapter 13 — Into the Dindaron Mountains

As afternoon drew on to early evening, the sky darkened with shreds of cloud. When it grew colder, Turim realized how much his knuckles still ached. They’d turned purple from the rapping he’d received in Cithilnor—but with the griffons and the near crash, and Meineken’s revelation about the march through Tusokan, he’d barely thought about it. He touched the bars of the cages. They were cold and uncomfortable, so he did what he could to sit close to the center of their steely trap. The halfling girl leaned in against him. The jarring wasn’t nearly as bad there that way.

A dark green canopy of pines loomed smothering and evil, concealing their capture, hiding their reptilian assailants. It seemed that the cages followed no trail or path, but their direction was ever pointed toward the Dindaron Mountains to the north.

Time rumbled along slowly. That night, the dragonites brought small pieces of some unknown meat to the prisoners. It smelled. As if to make it better, they also brought some brackish water. That first night, Turim didn’t eat.

The dragonites kept careful watch, and always made sure Turim and the others couldn’t communicate. They’d been the only armed and armored warriors taken thus far—as far as he could see—and the dragonites seemed uncertain of what he and his comrades were capable of. They also clearly preferred to keep from finding out.

The cloud cover darkened to deep grey and eventually, rain began to fall. It wasn’t too heavy at first. They kept dry for some time; the trees overhead kept most of the drops from them. But in the late hours of night, it began to pour, and the wind blew it sidelong into the cage, dampening them, deepening Turim’s despair. What was worse, the rain rolled right off the dragonites. Their slick scales and black wings glistened with water, and their hideous tongues flicked at their own faces, seemingly gleeful at the downpour.

But the marching slavers weren’t the most frightening of the dragonites. In front, and alongside each cage, were their raptor riders.

The raptors croaked and roared at seemingly nothing, as their dragonite riders clung to the beasts’ backs. Their eyes were bloodshot red, teeth razor sharp, and their long tails heavy enough to smite one of the cages over onto its side if it had an inkling. They walked on two legs, and at the end of their two toes were long, sharp claws nearly as big as Turim’s forearm. He hadn’t seen the dark elves’ tunnel raptors up close, but these felt bigger. He wondered how he and the others would ever escape their watch.

Another interesting puzzle was why these dragonites were here. How had they come to be in Pebak ‘Din? If he’d even suspected they were roaming around the Modukaz, he would’ve never agreed to stop, even when Sinfa pleaded with him. He should’ve known better.

And all the while, Turim worried, trying to spot and confirm each of the companions were well—that each of them were alive.

Strevan finally stirred during the night, much to Turim’s relief. He’d been muttering about ‘black scales’ in fevered sleep, and hadn’t moved to eat the stinking meat dropped in his cage. Even such foul fare would’ve at least warranted his examination. But he was alive, and the blood on his head had crusted over.

As time passed into the next day, and Turim continued to rack his brain for a plan of escape, he spoke softly with the halfling girl in their cage. “Where are you from?”

“Genova,” she answered. “Out on the Ivory Plains, almost to the coast and near the Road of Plassius that leads from Tusokan to the Calamon Wall, to the northeast of the seafaring city of Wednesfalas, my people built a small settlement.”

“I had a feeling,” Turim replied quietly. “We farmers know our kind.”

 He discovered her name was Lala Truffleroot. She asked of Turim’s journeys, and having little else to fear now, he explained what had happened since he’d taken leave on the island of Ys. He told her of the dark elves, of their attempt upon Master Shadowstar’s life, and of meeting Sinfa and the journey across the sea to Cithilnor that followed. He even told of how they’d met with Darf Bloodshedder the half-ogre, and how he’d left them to wander the Modukaz alone. 

She listened, interested, her arms around her knees. “What is the flying ship like?” asked Lala.

Turim adjusted his position to try to get more comfortable, but it was of little use. “See the girl who rides behind us with the red hat?” he said, pointing to Sinfa. “She built it. I don’t understand its workings, nor do I truly enjoy flying on its deck, but somehow it flies with the power of a steam engine and great propellers that lift it into the air.”

Lala’s eyes were full of astonishment. “Land sakes, mister,” she said. “I’ve not seen anything like that in all my days!”

“Nor had I.”

“But I really don’t know what an engine is,” said Lala. “How does it lift an entire ship?”

“You would have to ask Sinfa that,” Turim shrugged. “It might as well be magic to me.”

They hit a bump that shook the cage to the right, making the wooden wheels thunk against stone. The dragonite on their left looked sharply at them as they rocked, sticking his spear toward the bars. He hissed. They didn’t speak any language Turim knew. But they did speak, and they understood each other when they did.

“How is it that you came into these cages?” Turim asked, after their watchful dragonite had taken a few steps forward and seemed to have lost interest in their doings.

Immediately the halfling’s expression returned to the frightened rigidness she wore when Turim first landed in the cage. But slowly, her arms still tight about her knees, she relaxed.

“There were only fourteen of us, but Missus Swanford was soon to have a baby, making it fifteen…”

Lala’s voice trailed off. It seemed to Turim that she wouldn’t go any further. But then she wiped her round nose and continued on, though her voice was soft and shaky. “My mother and father had just broken ground for a garden that day,” she said. “A grand one with carrots and lettuce and lots and lots of wheat—obviously.” She smiled lightly.

“Pride of Genova.” Turim’s moustache raised a hint in return.

“Then they came in the night. The dragonites rode their raptors through our settlement and killed all the bovoxes first. Their dying cries are one of the most awful sounds I’ve ever heard. They’ll haunt me forever.”

Turim gazed on her with sympathy and nodded.

“Then they started attacking the rest of our folk. I fought back, and so did good ol’ Billman Earnbee—good ol’ Billman. . .” She sniffed again, her fond memories seemed to have stirred. “But nobody else would fight—they just gave up.”

“I’m sorry,” said Turim, his heart filled with sadness. “You needn’t go further.” He hadn’t seen any other halflings in the steely confines of the cages, but he could guess what happened to Billman and the rest of Lala’s folk.

“Why didn’t they fight?” she asked herself aloud. “The dragonites might’ve spared my parents and the others if they’d shown some pluck—like they spared Billman and me! They said the rest were too small for good work. Even after they caught me though, they killed Billman. He wouldn’t be put in the cage. He kept fighting until the very end.”

With that, she laid her head down in her arms and cried. Turim slid over and leaned against her the best he could with his arms tied behind him.

“We will survive this,” he said quietly, though with each passing hour he believed that a little less.

When the dragonites approached and poked their spears into the cage again, Turim and Lala decided it would be best to sleep a bit during the night. They would have plenty of time to talk together until a plan could be devised for an escape. Turim wondered if they could escape, but he vowed silently to die trying if he was given the chance.

At last, the trunks stopped rolling past as the line of cages broke from beneath the dark canopy, out into grassy dells. The land they traveled was hilled and uneven, and the cages seemed to rise and fall a thousand times, passing onward into darkness toward the mountains in the north.

To the west, the Modukaz stood silently between Turim and his home in Genova. The city of Dunarg—a masterful work of stonecraft and delving—was now nearly due west of them, deep beneath the earth.

He wondered for a moment why they’d seen no dwarven folk in their trek. He often saw dragonites going and coming, scouting around them, ready to slay or take anyone they saw. That was likely the reason.

Three days had passed in those cages when at last they left the foothills before the peaks. The train of cells began to ascend into the Dindaron Mountains, heading for some unknown destination, all the while thumping, bumping, and jostling the captives.

The dragonites stopped at times to make camp, circling the cages around a blazing fire. Even they had to guard against attack by things that roamed Pebak ‘Din in the night. Always as darkness fell, sounds of wild creatures sprang from far off.

This time about the fire was the most comfortable. The jostling ceased, Turim and the slaves had warmth, and every cage had view of all the others. It was during the first of these camps that Turim found Jaffrine and Meineken’s cages near.

Men, women, and even some children were captive, of primarily dwarven and human descent. Turim guessed that many of these people had been taken from his own country. They too spoke and dressed in the fashion of Genovans. The most recent addition had been from the Modukaz Forest, where several dwarven miners had been taken along a trail as they were coming from the Dindaron Mountains heading southward. They did their best to resist, but the dragonites were strong and many in number.

The miners swore oaths of vengeance, and they wept for one of their own who was slain by the creatures, smote down by a dragonite who rode upon one of the dark-skinned raptor mounts.

“Jaffrine!” Turim let a whispering shout when none of his captors were near.

She had a companion in her cell, a man dressed as a farmer—probably another Genovan. She leaned towards Turim, her jaw set. “Tartara? Have you seen her?”

“I…” Turim hesitated. He’d not.

“Did you see her killed?” whispered Jaffrine.

A dragonite shoved his spear into Turim’s cage, dangerously close to he and Lala. After that he sat quietly observing.

Turim never saw the fairie taken—he even smiled to know she was okay. She could go on living her life in the forests, not rot away as some slave—if they even made it that far.

He met eyes with Meineken a short ways further off from Jaffrine. He sat quite still, his arms bound behind his back and his legs crossed underneath him in his own cage. The brief moments Turim had spotted him during bends in the caravan’s path, Meineken appeared to be in deep meditation. I wonder if this even bothers him? Thought Turim. He isn’t afraid, but he’s no fool. He knows we may never make it home.

The dark clouds never did clear from the skies, though the rain stopped for brief hours at various times throughout their captivity. The void above was often filled with thunder and blazing bolts of lightning that lit up the nights like a lantern inside a grey canopy. Turim was sure some of the slaves, unable to ever truly dry themselves, had caught pneumonia. They coughed throughout the night, while mothers wept for their fevered children.

It was this miserable fact, however, that kept him from madness. He knew that it wouldn’t be possible for the Dragon Army’s assault to be made during the storms—at least, not with dragonriders. Lightning strikes against their lances were far too dangerous to risk—even for them. Visibility was poor. Wind was tumultuous. It was generally bad practice, and the dragons didn’t like it either.

It was the morning of the fifth day in captivity by Turim’s count that they were on a wide ledge leading into the higher part of the mountains. The greater part of their trip had kept them under cover of trees or tall rocky bluffs, but the dragonites could no longer keep their train of cells in hiding. They continued along this stone path even as it wound up into the Dindarons.

At midday Lala spoke strangely, bending to the side of their cage. “Did you see that, Mister Gliderlance?”

“What is it I’ve missed?” he sullenly replied. “I’ve seen nothing but rock and gray barked trees for days.”

“It’s just that—rocks. Small pebbles.”

Turim grunted, trying to keep from getting cross at her. “Speak plainly, little one. My spirits aren’t sufficient for riddles right now.” He’d been trying to find some way out still. Nearly all hope of doing so had died inside him, but thinking of a plan helped to keep the madness away.

“Falling from the overhang above,” Lala whispered to him.

Turim cocked his head to the side to see without drawing attention to where he looked, peering carefully upwards. There was nothing out of the ordinary. A plain overhang of reddish rock and a great many boulders lined the cliff. Its face wasn’t as steep as a common house wall, but close. It went almost straight up.

“I thought I saw it before, but then guessed my eyes were playing tricks.” She squinted, one eye peering upward. “Now I know. There’s gotta’ be something out there.”

The air seemed still. The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle, and the dark clouds now allowed a few cracks of sunlight to play upon the peaks lying across from the great ravine beside them. Ominous rumbling still played in the distance.

Then Turim heard the screeching voices of dragonites patrolling several cages ahead. He looked to Lala. There was apprehension in Lala’s voice when she spoke again. “Mister Gliderlance, what is it? Can you see?”

The dragonites guarding them bound away towards the source of the commotion.

Turim rolled over to the other side of the prison.

Lala gasped suddenly as a loud thunk jarred their cage, followed by a sound of metal bending under the weight of something dreadfully heavy.

The entire line rolled to a halt. Dragonites furled tiny wings, springing at Turim’s cage with hissing croaks. Whatever they saw was quite large, and it scared them. Then the great thing atop the cage leapt down, crushing one of the dragonite slavers underfoot, clubbing down the black raptor that pulled them.

“Darf?!” shouted Turim hoarsely when he made out the shape.

The half-ogre didn’t reply. He swung his steel club back and forth, crushing a dragonite up against the cliff face. Several more he knocked over the ledge into the deep ravine.

Hissing death cries tore through the air. Turim felt the chills ripple up his spine and looked back to Lala. But she wasn’t hiding. In fact, she knelt on her knees speaking soft words. Turim wasn’t sure what she was doing, but it seemed like she was saying a prayer. Though her little hands were bound, they folded tightly together for several minutes while the ogre outside continued crushing the foul creatures with his mighty club.

A bright flash like a star burning out suddenly shot through dark clouds. A deep stillness followed. Then a flock of leather-winged kobats—descendants from the bats of ancient times—flew from above.

As Turim tried to make sense of what was happening, Lala stood up, her eyes closed.

 She waved and the kobats joined in the attack. They swarmed over a pair of dragonites, biting and tearing at them with their sharp teeth and claws. The dragonites swung fiercely, but their targets were small and quick. Soon, a dragonite fell dead and another stumbled over the edge of the cliff.

“You are one of the summoners!” exclaimed Turim, suddenly realizing what was happening when he’d witnessed her command to the kobats. “A caller of a great many wild things!”

“Things not so great,” she said sheepishly, “and things not so many, but yes.” Her eyes opened once again, fixing on her creatures.

As Darf batted aside the last dragonite, he turned to their cage. “You and the ratling best move yourselves to the rear, knight.”

Lala scowled at their rescuer.

“Come on. Back!” Turim made sure Lala was at the far end of the cage, and joined her. He watched as the ogre reeled back and swung hard, bending the steel and knocking aside the sturdy lock. It clanked from its bindings and fell to the wet earth, landing in the muddy trail.

“Out.” Darf Bloodshedder, Feller of Locks, didn’t say anything more. He turned and made for the screeching and clamor of blades near the forward most cells.

“The God bless you, friend ogre!” shouted Turim, then turned to Lala. “Quickly! Down.”

He leapt from the cage. Despite the stiffness in his legs, he landed in the thick mud upon the trail. To his left lay a dead dragonite with its tail bent over its body.

“Lala, get on my back!” he called up to her, meeting her eyes. “I’ve got you.” Then he turned.

She put her arms around his neck, and Turim quickly set her down on the ground. “My apologies for the mud.”

He knelt in the sludge with his back facing the fallen dragonite. Lifting the creature and rolling it over, he pulled the sword from underneath. He stood up. “Come!” he said to Lala. “Here, hold it steady.”

They stood back to back, and Turim felt the little halfling’s hands grasp the hilt of the blade. Turim knelt again. He was still sore from dormancy and realized again that his shoulder ached from when the dragonites had tackled him. Carefully though, he drew the edge of the blade against the ropes around his wrists.

“Almost…” Then he was loose.

He turned a cut through Lala’s own cord. “The mud has never felt so good beneath my feet!” she cried, her smile bigger than Turim had ever seen it. 

He couldn’t agree more.

Now he surveyed what had become of the dragonite slavers who’d driven them on. Quite a ways down the line, toward the front, several lay dead, scattered along the cliff’s edge. With quickening steps, he walked closer. They’d been killed by some kind of stab wound. He saw Strevan’s cage had been broken open as well then, and he went to assist the ranger with his own bindings.

“Turim!” called Strevan from his cage. “Have you seen them? Bless me, it’s the ogre and a dwarf. Tartara brought them!”

“This is great news, friend!” replied Turim with equal enthusiasm. “Quick now! We have to help however we can.”

“I’m ready,” returned Strevan, leaping down. The mire splashed up around his boots. “Where’d they take my bow.” He growled.

“They’ve probably taken our effects to that baggage cage of sorts,” said Turim, his eyes flashing left and right. “You probably saw it—near the front of the line. But first, let’s get Sinfa.”

Strevan bent and took up a spear from one of the slain dragonites and nodded.

They made their way back south toward Sinfa’s cage, keeping distance from many of the carts where raptors were still harnessed and chained. Most of the creatures had been wounded, but all still flailed about, gnashing their teeth, letting out shrieks that made the blood run cold. It was only a moment before more dragonites saw Turim's escaped trio and ran toward them as fast as they could.

“Miss Truffleroot, stay behind me!” called Turim. “Attackers, from the south!”

Strevan and Turim strode forward, striking out with their enemy’s own weapons. One beast’s leg was cleaved, and then swinging back, Turim hewed the other’s head from its body. Strevan buried his spear deep in his enemy, then kicked him against the wagon wheel, freeing it.

When Turim looked up, Sinfa jogged towards them from the rear end of the train. And with her was the fairie, Tartara.

“We are in your debt, milady!” called Turim to the fairy as they approached.

“No time for thanks yet!” she returned. “There are lots of people here who need our help. Come on, we have to find Aldor’s miners!” She flew right past, heading for the front of the line as she spoke.

“Ehm. All right,” said Strevan. A puzzled look replaced the stoic fear on his face.

“It’s good to finally be able to speak to you, Lady Songbird!” said Turim, putting his hand on Sinfa’s shoulder.

Sinfa’s tired face looked back. “We might make it out of this.”

“I saw several miners among the captured,” said Turim. “But they were ahead of my cage. Who’s Aldor?”

Without waiting for an answer Turim turned to follow, hoping to discover it for himself. Sinfa, Lala, and Strevan came just behind.

“I’m glad you’re all right, milady,” said Strevan to Sinfa as they ran through the mud. “I could barely see you most of the way.”

“I’m okay,” she quietly grunted, “though my wrists hurt. The God help me if The Cloudracer isn’t safe—I don’t know what I’ll do. And I don’t know how we’re going to make it to warn the Commander’s keep in time after this. Has Genova lost already?”

“I thought about that,” comforted Strevan, “I was watching. If the attack force is of the scale Turim says it will be, then the sky would’ve be filled with more darkness than just these clouds.”

“You’re right about that,” called Turim, striding several steps ahead. “The storms should’ve kept them at bay. But for how much longer is anyone’s guess.”

Turim saw a flutter of red kobats that Lala had summoned. The flying creatures were beginning to group together again. After they gathered over Lala a moment, they flew up and out of sight, leaving the little halfling winded.

“Are you all right?” asked Turim. Taking notice, he slowed.

Lala nodded. “They can’t stay,” she said with her hands on her knees, stopping. “It draws from my strength to hold them here, away from their star, for long.”

“Stay near me until I can get you to safety,” said Turim, looking down at her. “I’ll protect you. I certainly don’t understand your craft, but I promise my blade will be before you.” His voice filled with strength.

As he turned to walk again, Turim looked down length of the path alongside the ravine. Those folk outside of cages hid in fear behind rocks. Some stood solemnly against the cliff face, unsure of what to do. Mostly, they looked miserable. But their faces brightened a bit when they saw Turim and his companions marching toward the front of the train.

A moment later, Turim and the others came upon Jaffrine. A plethora of vines covered in sharp, dagger-sized thorns surrounded her cage. Pillars of the vegetation climbed the cliff face, and several bound and slain dragonites and raptors hung among the thorns over the edge of the ravine. Jaffrine sat in her cage still along with the farmer, though its lock had been broken.

Turim guessed she’d decided it was safer inside when the dragonites came for her.

“Each of you still draws breath!” she called, her voice filled with emotion and relief. “Come, help me with my ties! I’ll join you!” Slowly, she stood from the floor of her cage.“Did you see Tartara?” she asked.

“She flew off faster than we could follow,” replied Sinfa.

Turim motioned for Strevan and Sinfa to go help untangle the winding vines. They were already moving.

“I saw her zip off north,” said Jaffrine, “Meineken went that way also, just moments before her. I’m just not sure how far.”

Turim continued to assess the north end of the cages.

“Please Turim, catch up,” said Jaffrine. “Tartara’s heart is big, but she can be… overly exuberant. I really thought she might be--”

Turim nodded, “I’m going. She must be with Master Shadowstar, but I don’t need to tell you of his judgment for danger. I’ll get to them as fast as I can.”

He knelt and spoke to Lala, his knee in the mud. “It’ll be perilous ahead. Stay with these four. They’re powerful allies, and my friends. You’ll be safe here.”

She nodded quietly and folded her arms behind her back. “Be careful, Mister Gliderlance.”

“Strevan, Sinfa,” Turim said to them as he stood. “When you’re done cutting her out, gather the people together. They don’t know what to do. And until the dragonites are gone or slain, they’re not safe.”

Strevan’s eyes met his. “Yes, Commander. Be careful of those… things.”

Turim then turned and broke into a run, heading toward the front of the line. His heart was still beating fast. He didn’t like leaving the others alone, but most of the fighting seemed to have moved to the front of the train. He’d barely had time to think. All he knew was that he needed to get to his blade, then find Meineken and Tartara.

At last, he came to a smashed cage—the one holding all sorts of arms and belongings. It looked as though it had been quickly searched, with bags and tools scattered around. Turim guessed Darf was responsible for destroying the cage door. Many of the miner’s picks were gone, and Meineken’s purple hilted katana was missing. Then he saw his own blade, issued to him by the brave Knights of the Hawk, a bright and shining white blade with its winged hilt. He took it up and dropped the dragonite blade in his hand to the mud and filth where it belonged.

Water dripped from his moustache and hair. He could hear the sound of fighting ahead. He leapt out of the cart and ran north again.

As he drew closer to the front, he saw a skirmish scattered across the cliffside. The black scales of the dragonite’s raptors reflected the dim light, which shone through the now trickling rain.

He slowed his pace as he approached. Meineken and Tartara fought in the middle of the ridge surrounded by a few remaining dragonites and mire raptors. Out over the precipice was a dark air, filled with mist and cloud. Far in the distance lay a slightly darker silhouette of another mountain. Darf, several dwarves, and some men even, also battled their captors a little further forward. 

When several dragonites came at Turim, he knew he was amidst the frenzy of battle at last.

“Cut deep, Turim! Their hides are thick and scaled!” shouted Meineken to him.

Turim couldn’t reply as the dragonites moved in on him. He knew Meineken could never understand the fear of battle. At least this time his companion wasn’t entirely alone thanks to the brave dwarven miners and the humans who fought beside him—not to mention Darf and Tartara. The dwarves fought together, standing with each other, stalwart in the defense of their comrades.

Turim spun wildly, catching blade after blade upon his own and slashed into the neck of an oncoming rider, avoiding the raptor.

Turim saw Tartara dart toward him in the air, dodging the blades of her opponents. “Turim!” she shouted. “There were so many! And none of them would run! They’ve kept fighting until they lay dying in the muddy road!”

Was this train of slaves so valuable? Turim didn’t have time to consider why. “If death is what they want, then we’ll give it to them!” he spat, rain and dragonite blood trickling down his face.

He struck out again, catching another limb, this time one of the dragonite’s leathery wings. He finished, slashing the raptor across the back of the leg, sending it stumbling over the Cliffside.

Meineken’s blade still sung swiftly through the air, cleaving bone and scaled flesh alike.

When an axe blade nicked Darf in the back, his mail shirt was all that kept him from a likely death. Sending a flying star shining across the battlefield, Meineken dropped the dragonite behind Darf into the gray mud where its last breath took in the muddy water.

Darf turned, swatting his club against the skull of a raptor. It was knocked back and slid through the slush several feet. “Watch your own back, kith!” he growled.

Blades clashed and the rain pattered softly upon the muddy road that had become a scene of carnage. The dragonite’s numbers dwindled until all of them had met their final stand against one of the brave slaves, who at last stood truly free.

The freed dwarves, manfolk and Turim’s companions had suffered their share of injuries. Several had fallen in the fight. Goadri the dwarf was one. Halathar, Wardman, Deril, and Marksis had also been slain. These last were men from Genova. Their bravery gave their deaths honor, but their families and friends wept for their loss.

# # #

Several hours had passed since the last dragonite fell. Darf stood alone on the edge of the ravine looking out to the mountains in thought. His back still hurt from the axe wound where the mail had driven itself into his thick skin. Ignoring pain and anguish weren’t that hard for an ogre, however. Not like manfolk, he said to himself.

He could see his breath in the darkness of the early evening hours. The rain fell, bouncing off his head and mail-covered shoulders. Far off to his right, silhouettes of the grave markers they’d fashioned for the fallen dwarves and men stood. Behind him, most folk gathered around a great bonfire, the flames crackling and sparking into the chilling night. He still felt like a stranger to these people.

Aldor came to his side, trudging slowly through the mud. “Thanks for your help, old friend,” he grunted. “I couldn’t have done this alone. It’s a sad thing about Goadri. He’ll be grieved—the oaths have been sworn for vengeance. But still I have gratitude for my fellows who lived. I owe you for that.”

One of Darf’s thick lips perked up in the corner. He’d missed this dwarf. “Aye. That’s an honorable thing you’ve done, rescuing your miners. Best chief I’ve ever heard of.”

Aldor chuckled low.

“I did nothing that wasn’t already owed you,” said Darf sincerely. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to come back.” He turned at the sound of boot on stone behind him.

Until that moment, the knight and his odd group had been making all sorts of arrangements for the slaves to return to their homes. Now he came up beside them, approaching slowly.

“Darf,” said Turim. “I haven’t had the privilege of meeting your friend. Aldor is your name?”

Darf looked down at the little knight. He was a bit full of himself for a kid, all full of manners and propriety. Not a bad guy though. And regardless of all that, the pointy-eared little guy could swing a sword with the best of them. He exchanged glances with Aldor a moment, then grunted.

The squat dwarf turned, warily extending his hand in greeting to Turim. “Aldor Steelaxe. I’m Chief Miner of these hills. These dragonite knaves captured most of my miners. I didn’t have much choice but to fetch them. If I hadn’t, I might be working the new vein all by my lonesome.” Aldor spat the water gathering on his beard. “And who might you be, boy?” he questioned as they shook hands.

“I’m Wing Commander Turim Gliderlance of the Knights of the Hawk. I was also taken by the slavers, along with my traveling companions.” He motioned to the others making camp by the fire, under the edge of an overhanging cliff. “We owe you our lives, master dwarf.” His eyes drifted to the gathered crowd.

Aldor smirked. “All favors are repaid in good time, Commander.”

You got that right, thought Darf.

“We don’t have much to shelter from the rain with,” said Turim, leading them back towards the fire Strevan had going. “But the Ysians have gathered together what they could from the cages. Over there they’ve set up a canopy of sorts. You’re welcome to sleep there tonight.”

Darf grunted an affirmation, examining the arrangement. Many of the other freed slaves had pulled some of the closer cages together to keep as much of the rain away as possible away. What was left of them clung to each other under the stone overhang from where he and Aldor had made their strike.

Turim named those he knew one by one as he pointed, then asked, “How is it you came to us here?” He motioned to some larger rocks that had been gathered to sit on.

Darf exchanged looks with Aldor again. He looked out to several eyes around the fire staring back at him before finally sitting. Aldor joined him on a smaller boulder next to his.

 “When I left your company five days ago, I headed through the forest where that flying contraption made landing.”

Tartara flitted up to land on Darf’s shoulder. “I really would stop calling it that. Sinfa calls it an airship.”

Darf hadn’t gotten used to how spunky this green haired little fairy always was. Or her just landing on his shoulder.

“Fine,” he grumbled, glancing around for the red-head. She wasn’t at the fire, but wandering around checking on the other freed dwarves and manfolk. “I’ll call it an airship. How was I supposed to know what it was? I’ve never seen an airship, and I’d rather not see an airship again.”

“Well if we don’t,” said the kithkin from across the fire. He’d been wiping down his sword ever since Darf had sat. “Genova will probably come under attack by the Dragon Army without warning.”

“Can ye’ let my friend finish his story,” grunted Aldor, slapping Darf on the knee. “You sops asked.”

Darf cleared his throat. “So I went to the city of Dunarg first. But there were lots of guards at the gates heading down into the city—way more than I remembered.”

“Oh yeah,” agreed Aldor. “That wasn’t typical.”

Darf went on, “We got to talking. They told me about a big battle near the coast, an attack by the Black Division of the Dragon Army. They said dragonites and Dark Knights and goblins all came on ‘em at once.”

The others around the fire, especially Turim, got all squirming in their seats then. Darf lowered his eyebrows. Clearly it had disturbed them.

Aldor cut in again. “The dwarves from the Knights of the Hammer had stood against them,” said the dwarf with a look of sad pride on his face. “But they failed, leaving Karagard Keep in ruin upon the shore, they say. Countless sieges had held there, but the Dragon Army overtook the keep with a deadly force like none they’d ever seen before, the knights said. Those who remained alive had come to Dunarg for refuge, and every last dwarf was broken—in spirit and body.”

“So I passed into Dunarg,” continued Darf, “and stepped down into the deep where I came to its streets. I decided to head to the gladiators arena, like I told you I would. I’d hoped to find Aldor there, or get some news at least.

“I searched a long while—spoke with lots of old friends. I left the arena later that night with some good ale in my gut, and a good idea where Aldor was. Then I heard a voice behind me—and wouldn’t you know it, Aldor Steelaxe. We used to be gladiator partners. Good ones at that. The fairy was already with him.”

The knight had his moustache in between his fingers. He looked ridiculous, but seemed to be thinking hard about something. Darf wondered if he was paying attention to the story at all. At least the red headed ranger fellow seemed entertained.

“A battle against the Knights of the Hammer means the Dragon Army is close,” Turim muttered. “Far closer than I’d hoped. They can’t have made an attack by air yet though.”

“It must be the fleet that will come along the southern coast of Cornerius,” said Meineken, looking up again. “They overran the keep for an outpost there along the coast for their Dragon Wings.”

Turim nodded.

Darf frowned, lowering an eyebrow.

“I’m listening,” said Turim. “Please, go on.”

“Aldor was about to set off on his journey to find many of his workers who hadn’t come back from the mines,” said Darf, holding his hands to the fire. “Knowing dragonites had been wandering the Modukaz and the Dindaron Mountains catching slaves, he suspected the worst.”

Tartara suddenly started chittering like a bug from Darf’s shoulder. “After I escaped when all of you were captured,  I found my way to Dunarg. Darf thought I’d followed him, which, I sort of did. But just because I’d needed help. Anyway, I came across this Chief Miner I’d heard was heading out to rescue his miners, and told him about how we’d been captured too. Then we bumped into Darf.”

Darf waved his hand in the air. “We decided you could use our help, so the three of us set out to free you and the rest from your captors. That’s how we came here. The fairie’s quite the tracker, and then we found the cart trail and followed it north.”

Darf looked down on Aldor, checking if he’d missed anything. With a wagging, bearded nod, Aldor added, “I brought us through the Azhakar Mines to catch up to this line of cages. Saved us quite a bit of time.”

“So what comes next then?” Turim asked all of them as Sinfa came and finally sat next to Jaffrine. “I know I still have to get back to Grendelock Keep, and The Cloudracer was my means for doing so. We’ve been traveling north for five days by my count, so it’ll take at least that much time to return to the airship.”

 “It’s been left in the open of the forest for a while,” said Sinfa, holding a cup of something hot. “I’m worried.”

“And what’s worse,” said Turim with a serious tone, “You tell me the Knights of the Hammer have been driven from the coast of Pebak ‘Din and that the Dragon Army is on the coast of this very country now.”

“As for your journey back,” said Aldor, gently grinding the butt of his pick into the ground. “I think I might be able to help. My mine’s passages will cut some time out of yer trip. I’ll lead ye’ through them, if that be your will, half-elf.”

Turim’s face looked like sour milk. “I… I have to speak with the others. Now that we’ve been thrown off our original course, I wouldn’t blame any of you for returning to your homes in peace. You’ve all suffered far more than any of you expected already, I’m sure.”

Strevan’s voice rose. “Do not for a moment think we’d turn back,” he said. “We’re bound now. We’ll see it through, Turim. Even your halfling friend Lala wants to join us now that we’ve told her of our quest.” He motioned over to the little halfling sitting on Aldor’s left.

Darf nearly spit, catching a laugh. But as he looked around, it seemed he was the only one.

“I can’t allow her to join us—I’m not drawing anyone else into this,” said Turim sternly.

“Mister Gliderlance,” came the halfling, Lala’s voice. “I live in Genova. As long as you take me with you, it’s really on the way.”

“Indeed you do,” mumbled Turim. He was quiet a moment. It was clear he was considering it. “So be it then. We’ll all go, but we need to deliver these people from the mountainside first. We’ll set out tomorrow at dawn and head through the mines. And we’ll hope it’s The God’s will to hold the Black Division at bay.”