Black Dawn - Chapter 15: The Dwarf of Dunarg

Sand returns to Ys with the dragons to find Turim missing, and Aldor leads the former captives to his home in Dunarg.

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

Music & SFX

[Starry Dream] by David Fesliyan, [Warm Light] by David Fesliyan, [Hymn to the Gods] Alexander Nakarada, [Borgar] Alexander Nakarada, [Stoovar] by Alexander Nakarada, [Mjolnir] Alexander Nakarada, [Spring] Alexander Nakarada, [Resolution] Alexander Nakarada, [The Last Time] Alexander Nakarada, [Rise Again] Alexander Nakarada, [I Never Met You] by Dreamy Royalty Free Music, [Novus Initium] Alexander Nakarada, [The Legion] Alexander Nakarada

Footsteps on concrete by NachtmahrTV,  Footsteps on Stone by Fission9, Audioblocks Sound, [See Previous Episodes for All Other Effects]

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

Chris Bellinger [Voice Actor] – Voices Gundak and Dwarf extras

Alexander Doddy [Voice Actor] – Voices Rail Markrune

Transcript

Chapter 15—The Dwarf of Dunarg

Updraft from the dragons’ wings stirred grass, dust, and ash into the air as Lasertooth and Thunderclap descended into the clearing near Dwellinghearth.

Sand was glad that the rains had moved westward and it was beginning to dry up again. He’d waited a whole impatient day beyond his scheduled arrival time on the island, and he hoped Turim would be all right for it.

“Fat chance of that,” Sand said to himself. “He’s going to kill me for making him stay an extra day.”

As he descended though, he felt a sudden sinking in his stomach. His eyes fell on the humble cabin, burned to the ground. Nothing but charred remains and blackened framework were left, strewn amidst the old stones that once formed a proud tower on the west side. Dwellinghearth was gone.

“Turim,” whispered Thunderclap. “What’s happened here? I fear. . .” He paused, clearly shocked at the possibilities. Then he growled, “We have to find out where Commander Gliderlance is.”

Lasertooth let out a low rumble of agreement.

Without a sign, Sand heard arrows speed through the air, followed by repeated thumps as they embedded themselves in the sod around him in a perfect circle. Lasertooth and Thunderclap let out furious roars and bent close to the ground, ready to strike the moment they discovered where their concealed enemies hid. Sand’s hand went to his sword while the other went to his buckle.

Then a gritty unknown voice called out from the trees. “Who comes to this place in the company of dragons and armored as a knight of some foreign land?”

Sand looked around slowly, his eyes narrowed. The treetops whispered in the autumn breeze, but that was all he could hear or see. At least they don’t want to kill me—yet, he thought.

He decided he’d better answer before another volley was aimed at him though. “I am Lieutenant Sand Rocketblade!” he shouted. “These are Thunderclap and Lasertooth. I’ve come to seek out my Commander, Turim Gliderlance. He stayed in this cabin. Please, what’s happened here?”

The silence sat for a few moments before the trees abruptly began dropping men and elves armed with bows all around the clearing. With them came the fall of gentle leaves and the crack of small branches. The men landed crouching but quickly sprang up. With a pull of their bowstrings, they drew a bead on Sand.

All wore dark green and olive cloaks that were travel-worn and hooded. No one spoke. After a few short moments however, one of the bowmen lowered his weapon and returned it to his back beside a quiver of green fletched arrows. But he was the only one.

Sand couldn’t see the man’s shadowed face as he approached. In a raspy voice filled with influence, the likes of which Sand had never heard, the man said, “We’ve caught news of your Commander.”

Sand tilted his head inquisitively.

“He was seen in a pub in Centerland. It’s been reported that he spoke with some of our own–some who are missing. What do you know of it, Lieutenant Rocketblade?”

The voice sounded accusatory. Gathering a bit of confidence at the thought that he had information these fellows wanted though, Sand smiled. “I know your rabble had better lower their bows,” he said, “unless you want my dragons here to make quick work of them.” He let his voice come out with the bitter, impatient feeling he had inside. “I came to retrieve the Commander, but it seems he’s gone missing.”

The dark-cloaked man lowered his hood and raised his hand in signal. The others around the clearing finally lowered their bows with a nod and stood quietly. “Forgive our haste in judgment,” said the man. “Perhaps we can help each other. We only wanted to protect the clues that are still here. I’m Rail Markrune, leader of this—rabble—as you call them, called the Rangers of Ys by some.”

The ranger reached out his hand. From his shoulder to his knuckles were bracers of solid, carved wood. His hair was a fiery red and his eyes were green like the color of spring leaves. Sand extended his grasp slowly, and the two men shook in wary greeting.

“The dark elves appear to have burned Dwellinghearth,” said Rail. “But don’t fear. Your friend left before it happened, and was with a smaller traveling companion.” He took several steps towards a rough trail leading north, still talking. “It wasn’t a halfling, he wore shoes. And the feet that made these tracks were more slender than typical sprites’. So our guess is that your Commander might have been with a kithkin—for whatever that’s worth.”

Not much, thought Sand. He kept a pleasant enough face though. Still, he had to admit it was an impressive deduction. He was also relieved to know Turim had escaped. But dark elves here? I was right?

“We captured several Dark Knights fleeing through our woods a short way to the north of this place,” Rail went on. “We persuaded them to tell us why they were here. We locked them away at our fort when we realized the only information they’d divulge was that they’d been sent after a Knight of the Hawk. We assume this knight they spoke of was your friend?”

Sand followed the telling, but it created just as many new questions as it answered. “Dark elves then? What part do they take in this?”

“I believe the dark elves are in the employ of the Dragon Army. Some of our rangers discovered many of their dead not far from here. Your knight’s footprints were found all over, as were the smaller creature’s tracks. The night before they disappeared, the rangers I’m missing told me of a knight staying here. They said that a trio of dark elves attacked them and that the knight helped defend them in their struggle. For these reasons I believe the dark elves came after your Commander some time later.”

“That sounds like Commander Gliderlance,” Sand chuckled to himself. “I wish I could help you find your rangers. I don’t have any information of my own to share. Commander Gliderlance was to meet me here today, a week after he came to your island.”

“So what will you do now then?” asked Rail, tapping his fingers along his bracers as he looked up to Sand on Lasertooth’s back still.

That was a good question. The best plan Sand could come up with though was to treat these rangers respectfully. They’d been useful so far. He swung down from Lasertooth and stood facing Rail. “I’ll probably need your help finding where Turim’s gotten off to. I’m a stranger to Ys and it seems you rangers spot everything that moves on the island.” A little flattery never hurt.

Rail grinned a half-smile, his eyes squinting as he tilted his head. “Not all that moves here, but much. Come though, we should discuss it over breakfast at the Fort. Bring your dragons, we’ll feed them too, if we can. I don’t know what it is that dragons eat when they’re not eating men, but I think we might have meat to suit their tastes.”

The other rangers scattered loosely around them, but began moving east, into the deep of the wood.

“These rangers aren’t a bad sort of people,” stated Thunderclap as he and Lasertooth fell behind Sand and Rail.

Sand, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure he agreed with Thunderclap. As far as he could tell, they’d just been taken prisoner—no different from the Dark Knights.

* * *

Turim and the others awoke and ate the last heavily rationed food they’d managed to scrape together. Bright rays cast light into the dark entrance of the Azhakar Mines, but now there wasn’t a single spot of cloud left in the whole sky. They had to get off as soon as possible.

That’ll keep them moving for a few hours at least, thought Turim.

Roused and ready, it wasn’t long before the travelers had risen and tramped along the winding, stony path toward the Modukaz Forest. They were visibly weary still, but hopeful.

Aldor and his miners continued to lead, followed by Darf, Meineken; and then Turim and Lala, clustered together. The rest strung out behind.

By midday, the green shadow of the forest canopy fell over the last in line—they’d reached the Modukaz Forest. The mountains became a fading memory behind them, or tried to. Few of them would ever forget their time in the cages.

Turim let Lala keep him occupied with stories. She chattered on, telling him how the elder of her settlement had taught her about The God and how to summon beasts from her Star in the Heavens.

“So these animals,” said Turim curiously, and trying to keep himself from fixating on the Dragon Army. “Do they come just bustling out of the woods or something of that sort? You know, aren’t they out in nature somewhere?”

Lala quickened her pace alongside Turim again. “Oh no, sir,” she began, “not exactly. Well, in a fashion. You see, there’s a Star for each summoner. It’s a place way up high, out there amongst the stars, which is why we call it a Star.”

“You don’t say,” Turim teased.

Lala kept up her attempt at explanation. “As for where they truly come from, it’s my Star. It’s like a tiny heaven for just my own creatures and beasts. I’m just a novice at this, so it’s easiest for me to summon animals, but many callers can summon monsters and other beasts too.”

“But, how do they appear?” asked Turim.

“They say,” said Lala, “that a caller’s creature appears always from ‘where the viewer’s looked but isn’t looking.’ So a summoned animal doesn’t necessarily show up in the exact spot to me as it does to you. You might see one of my wolves leap from behind a rock I’m staring right at. For me, it would come maybe from the other side of the rock, or from behind another place nearby.”

“That’s a bit confusing,” replied Turim, trying to understand.

“Try summoning creatures in the desert and spinning in circles to try and which way it comes from. Or think about two armies facing each other and how many different points of view the creature might be seen!” She laughed, for the first time Turim had ever seen. “Well, it doesn’t matter. The beast being here is a matter of perception anyway. After a moment, we’re both looking at the same creature in the same spot. It just initially appears to each of us in a different way.”

“Okay,” said Turim, stepping across some brush, “so what about this heaven of yours: your Star. You say each Caller has one?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Lala. “Each of us has our own. It is one of the first things a Caller learns about.”

“What’s it like?”

“Well, I don’t know much about that,” she said, trying to catch up. “But I’ve often wondered. I imagine that the creatures and beasts have exactly what they need there. I’d say it’s a beautiful place.”

“Hm. That’s about how I’d picture The Heavens themselves,” mused Turim aloud.

Turim found Lala’s talks interesting, though some of the specifics were beyond his reckoning. It distracted him for a while, but his mind eventually wandered back to the impending doom of his country, and his people.

He’d looked skyward regularly, praying each time that he wouldn’t see a legion of dragons descending on them, drowning them in a black wave of wings. Since he’d begun leading the freed slaves home, his sense of duty had constantly bit at him. Outwardly he tried to appear confident and in control. That was the duty of a good leader. Everything he’d learned with the knights taught him that. Inside, however, he knew better than any of the others what the Dragon Army might achieve. Each of their three divisions was capable of taking a single country. When they’d been together, they took over an entire continent—and in a single summer. It was this fear of their preparation and their superior numbers that kept creeping over him, driving what happiness he could manage away. It made it hard to stay confident. He just had to keep moving—had to keep them all moving.

The last few people with any morsel of food had kept it well hidden from the others, but two grumbling arguments arose in the late evening when everyone wanted nothing more than to eat. Nevertheless, the dwarves from Dunarg showed the others what mushrooms were safe, and which they could eat. They found several of a variety that grew deep and shared them amongst the company. Some of the bushes held the last few huckleberries, but these scant few were shriveled.

“Even a handful of huckleberries aren’t enough to fill the corners of my stomach,” complained Lala, popping a few into her mouth. “And there isn’t a handful to be had.”

“Get some sleep,” urged Turim. “We’ll have to make due.”

They slept that night under the trees of the Modukaz, some of their number standing watch for beasts. Turim found that he couldn’t get very comfortable on the ground because of the pain that still lingered in his re-injured shoulder. He did his best.

The next day seemed to move swiftly. A few of the locals began to recognize and call out small glades and tree clusters during the early afternoon hours. And when the main entrance that led below ground to Dunarg finally drew into view, many of the travelers shouted and ran toward it, overjoyed to have returned home at last. They were now truly freed from their dragonite captors. Even the humans who didn’t live in Dunarg were delighted to be back in a civilized place where people walked on streets, and marketplaces sold food of all kinds.

Aldor quickly explained the situation to the dumbfounded city guard, and soon everyone poured down the steps and out into the magnificent, stone streets of the underground city. As for the inhabitants of Dunarg, they’d apparently adjusted to the arrival of folk from various parts of Pebak ‘Din now that the Knights of the Hammer had been driven from Karagard Keep by the Dragon Army. Very few of them did more than turn a curious eye towards the survivors.

Aldor, Turim, Meineken, Lala and Darf trailed a short distance behind.

Turim looked to Aldor, “Will everyone be cared for?”

“I’ve asked a few of the city’s guards to take them to stay with folks for the night,” said Aldor with a nod and grunt. “Most of me’ miners are taking people in as well.”

Turim watched as the travelers slowly dispersed. Some gave their thanks to the companions, but most were too excited to do anything but run for home.

Darf shook his head, his mouth bent in disgust. “Ungrateful little—”

“Well, all of you come with me,” Aldor hastily interrupted him before he could say anything too loudly. “We’ll make for my dwelling. I have plenty of real food and drink. Enough to keep us merry for years to come.”

Darf’s grim brow softened. “My friend here’s come to quite a bit of wealth since he’s become Chief Miner of Azhakar. Only a bit more than what we made in the old days, eh dwarf?” The half-ogre swatted Aldor’s back, giving him quite a jarring that nearly knocked him to the ground.

They were a curious pair, but in a way, their friendship reminded him of Sand. He probably thinks I’m dead by now, he brooded.

As Aldor began leading them away, Turim felt uneasy leaving the world above behind. “Just a meal, and then we’ve got to get moving,” he said to the dwarf.

“Bones of Caball,” grunted Aldor, pushing past a few colorful dwarven folk on the street. “You’re still going to try to warn Genova? You heard what happened. The Black Division’s already at Karagard Keep. You said so yourself: the only thing holding them at bay was the rain, and it’s bone dry outside now. You might as well stay here in Pebak ‘Din. You’ll live longer.”

Turim let out a breath, considering the idea as he trod along the cobblestones. He was tired. His feet hurt, his shoulder was still sore, and his hopes of a timely return had all but melted away. Aldor was right. The Dragon Army would leave Dunarg alone—probably for years—decades even.

He looked down to Lala, walking along quietly next to him. He still wasn’t exactly sure what to do with her. Where was she going to go? She’s certainly better off here, he thought. There’s nothing in her village to go back to.

“Do you still want to go home to Genova?” he asked her as Meineken strolled up beside them.

“Yes, sir. Of course,” she said, grinning.

“You seem to enjoy traveling more than I’d expect from a halfling,” said Meineken.

Lala chuckled. “As much as I like cooking, spring harvest, and a good beer. I do like a good walk.”

“I’ve been places,” Meineken’s eyes darted about beside them, “but I’ve never seen a place like this!”

Turim looked up, allowing himself a few moments outside his thought. The underground city was a grand thing. It had certainly caught Meineken’s attention. In fact, for the next several minutes he barraged Aldor with questions about it until eventually, the dwarf reddened with frustration.

They traveled down a stone street for some time, passing from the marketplace and climbing a stair that was very wide and hewn cleanly. Once they reached the top of it, they turned to the right and proceeded for less than a mile.

Then all at once, Aldor pointed forward to a grand facade. “This be it!”

“Marvelous!” exclaimed Lala.

“Even I didn’t expect anything quite like this,” said Darf, scratching his head.

Aldor simply smiled at these remarks and took them through the front gates into his courtyard.

Great, thick roots draped down across the outer walls, the hewn stone tucked in each opening and cemented with an unknown dwarven compound. A doorway was cut between two fat gray roots. But the hewn stone doors had frames of gold and silver, and the handles shone gold as well. The home itself wasn’t a great deal different from other homes they had passed along the street, though it was much greater in size, and certainly had more gold adornment.

Aldor pushed the pair of doors inward, and everyone filed in after.

The walls inside were smooth as ice, keenly cut by the dwarves, and no less than five feet in thickness. An occasional root was used as a pillar or brace against a wall, but the remainder of the construction was broad, squared stone pillars carved with dwarven runes that none of the companions could read.

Turim enjoyed reading and learning other languages. He’d dabbled a bit in dwarven at the Academy, but it had been some time. “What do the pillars say?”

Aldor smiled back proudly. “That’s the story of my family’s line: a family tree if ye’ will. It goes back hundreds of generations, with no relative forgotten or overlooked in the record.”

“Are you sure?” asked Meineken.

Aldor frowned, and didn’t respond. In a moment, they met his chief servant in the entrance hall. He was stout, red-nosed, and dressed in a dark green and grey jacket with silver buttons.

“Gundak,” said Aldor happily. “If you could get the cooks to create us a feast for the famished, I’d be most happy.”

“Certainly, sir!” replied Gundak. Turim thought he looked overjoyed to see his master had returned home.

“Oh, and one more thing,” added Aldor. “Get some baths ready for this lot. They could all use a good rest and fresh clothes.”

“As you wish, sir. Anything else?” returned Gundak.

“Meet me in the south parlor. I’ve some business to discuss with ye’. Other than that, that’s all,” said Aldor. “Good to see you, Gundak!”

“I am glad that you’ve returned unscathed and well, sir!” the servant replied. And then he was off, his squat legs hurrying as fast as they could down the hallway.

Aldor turned to the others. “Now my friends,” he said hospitably. “Feel free to wash up. Take your time. Rest. But not too long—return to the dining hall and we’ll have a fine spread. If you follow the hall to my left, you’ll find rooms enough for all of you. The hot springs in Dunarg keep the water quite warm, so enjoy your bath. I’ll send some other servants to get you whatever you might need. Welcome to my home!” he concluded.

Before Turim could protest at all, Aldor turned down a hall to the right, disappearing down a stairway. Things were moving too fast. Aldor was behaving as though Turim had already decided to stay in Dunarg, and he didn’t like that. On the other hand, the thought of a bath after his trying journey was far too enticing to pass up.

He and the others made for their rooms quickly, parting in the hall.

Turim didn’t waste time in getting into the stone tub in his private room. He found more than just his shoulder wound. Healing cuts and bruises were all over, and stung in the hot water. Pleasant floral scents he was unfamiliar with filled the stone chamber. Relaxed, his eyes closed.

He thought again about leaving the whole Dragon Army behind. Ignoring them and staying in Dunarg. Sure, he’d miss the sun up above, but he could go out briefly. But guilt always seeped in. The rangers and Sinfa still waited for him. They hadn’t even had a chance at a bath. Back home, his grandsire and grandmother were in Lockwood City, in the Lockwood Forest. That’d be overrun if the Dragon Army took control of Genova. Grendelock Keep, where Grandmaster Strongthorn was, would be destroyed—so would Sand and the Wing. And his mother, alone on their farm, would probably die—or be forced to hide at least. And what would his father think?

Turim shook his head, rills of water running down his face. “There’s no way,” he whispered to himself. Even if I come too late. Even if I die along the road. I took an oath to defend my country. I’m not giving up. But his friends. He could leave his friends here safe.

One by one, the company appeared from their rooms—Darf, Lala, and Meineken. Turim nodded to the servant who’d given them towels to dry themselves and clean underclothing to wear. When they all stood together, the dwarf escorted Turim and the others to the dining hall.

There they were announced to Aldor, who was already waiting for them at the head of a long rectangular table. Twelve chairs with tall backs like soldiers encircled it, and all around the room were sconces that held chubby, red candles, their flames twinkling and flickering.

The meal was remarkable: roasted turkey legs, great pints of strong dwarven ale, crisp stonebread drenched in honey and butter, and sweet carrot and napa stew that was dark in color and rich in flavor. And for dessert, there were ripe purple kabocha that had been grown on dwarven farms deep below ground.

While the dwarven ale helped to ease his agitation, with every bite he took, Turim wanted to leave. But he remained civil and cordial.

“I want to thank you for aiding Darf,” said Aldor to Turim and Meineken after everyone had slowed down their eating enough to chat. “The long bitterness of the elves in the south has caused folks all sorts of pain.”

Darf was quiet, his head faced his plate.

“You live here in the east,” said Meineken leaning forward. “Do you know what happened to cause such hatred and disregard?”

“That tale that begins a very long time ago,” said Aldor. “But if you want to know, I’ll tell you what I can. Many years ago, I caught a look at the Book of Barûk that belonged to the Thunderfist clan, so I know a bit about it.”

“Yes. Please,” said Meineken curiously.

“In days long past—” began Aldor, but he was cut short.

“Wait!” said Meineken. “What’s a Book of Barûk?”

“For the love of The God, kithkin,” replied Aldor sternly. He still seemed a bit cross from the many questions he answered walking to his house. “Do you want me to finish or not? I was under the impression you needed to get home in a timely fashion! But if you must know, almost all dwarven families keep a Book of Barûk. Once a year, someone from that family takes the book to The Book of Barûk within their realm. It holds written lore of ages past, and many records of lineage and grudges unpaid.”

Aldor looked around the table slowly, his beard nearly dragging through his food. When he looked satisfied that none of the others would ask any other questions, he began again. “Before the realm of Genova grew to the nation it now is, the lands of Ruma ‘Din and Pebak ‘Din were one realm. The dwarves who lived there called it Kara ‘Din. King Ungril Thunderfist was a wise and just ruler of the dwarven people of Kara ‘Din, and his almighty stronghold stood at the pinnacle of the Ro’Druin Peaks, near Sorik Pass, which was at that time called the King’s Pass, or Mûmagud by the dwarves.” He paused again, looking around to each of them, clearing his throat. “Sorry. Brevity, right.”

He nodded. “So he had two sons, both strong and stout. Their names were Algrun and Undor.

When many ships of the elven explorers from Fronërion arrived on the eastern shores, King Thunderfist took them in happily. He treated them with kindness, and many of them came to dwell in his halls for a time, until at last there were some who wanted to return home. But many wished to stay in those lands, in the south where there was country for the taking. King Thunderfist welcomed them and gave them the lands to live in.”

“Oh,” said Lala, setting her napkin aside. “That probably didn’t go over so well.”

“This decision wasn’t well-received by all, no,” agreed Aldor, “including his son Algrun. Still, Undor tried to reason with Algrun. At one time, they were the closest of friends, as brothers should always be. But alas, Algrun wouldn’t have the elves living in their lands. There was little he could do to change it though, for his father the King wouldn’t change his mind, and rightly so of course.”

Aldor took a last bite of food, cleaning his plate with a bit of bread. He continued with his story well before he had finished swallowing his food. The first few words required some clarification.

“When King Thunderfist was three hundred and seventy-five, he at last perished from this world. Undor was the oldest of the brothers and stood to inherit the throne. It was then that Algrun begged his brother to drive the elves from their lands, and when Undor still wouldn’t, Algrun went north into the lands that are now known as Pebak ‘Din. The feud between the Thunderfist brothers began. After many years of war, King Undor Thunderfist and all his allies were driven from their fortress atop the Ro’Druin Peaks, down to the lands in the south of Kara ‘Din. The brothers declared their ancestral lands divided into two new countries: Pebak ‘Din in the north beyond the Ro’Druin Peaks was ruled by Algrun, and Ruma ‘Din by Undor in the south.

“When King Algrun Thunderfist of Pebak ‘Din finally passed on, peace returned to the two countries. Elves were free to roam again. Peaceful acceptance of the elves by the other folk in these lands didn’t last long though. The son of Undor, Grindor Thunderfist, although never so fierce as his uncle had been, didn’t treat the elves of Ruma ‘Din with kindness. And though the elves’ numbers had grown—even as the dwarves’ numbers diminished in the wars between the brothers, to the point that the elves were now its dominating race—the hatred of elves remained.

“Algren didn’t produce an heir. His line was broken in the northern lands of Pebak ‘Din. And after debate and battle, a new ruler came to power: Thokkhil Wardforge. And it’s his descendant, Bolkhil Wardforge, who rules presently. Though few elves from Ruma ‘Din have ever passed north into Pebak ‘Din, much of the hatred against them has now diminished here, save amongst the ancient folks.”

By the time Aldor’s tale ended, Turim had eaten plenty. Judging by the slouches and moans, the others had too. He’d even forgotten about the Dragon Army for a short time. But with a thought, it all came flooding back and he nearly stood to go right there.

“Ya’ know Turim,” grunted Aldor, tossing his napkin down and exchanging looks with Darf. “It was because they didn’t take action—that they did nothing—that they were split like that.”

The look between the dwarf and half-ogre lingered for several seconds.

“You’re insane,” grunted Darf.

“You owe me,” Aldor held his finger up.

Turim put both palms on the table. “I’m sorry, what?”

Then Aldor picked up a bell beside him and rang it. “The Thunderfist brothers,” he said. “They just let it boil. Now I don’t disagree the elves should’ve been given the lands—on the contrary. That was a hospitable thing to do. What I mean is, I’m not going to sit around here and watch the Dragon Army take everything.”

“Are you suggesting that you mean to come fight?” Turim questioned.

Aldor nodded slowly. “Darf and I. We’ll come.”

“You sops certainly need all the help you can get,” Darf’s gruff voice sounded resigned.

“The battle that will take place will be of epic scale,” said Turim harshly. “This isn’t some gladiator match you’re getting yourselves into.”

He couldn’t believe it. He was ready to leave all of them behind, and now these two wanted to go even further? Aside from the fact he hadn’t had a moment to sneak off, he’d realized he’d never make it there before being overtaken by the Dragon Army. There wasn’t time.

Then Gundak popped into the room, cutting Turim’s argument short. “Yes, Master Steelaxe?” he said.

“We’ll be leaving in an hour, prepare each of us traveling goods,” said Aldor. “We’ll also need ponies for the halfling girl, the kithkin and myself; and see if you can muster two great steeds for the half-ogre and half-elf. I know they’re scarce down here, but do what you can. We’ll meet you outside the west gate.”