A Whisper After Midnight (24 page)

A Dwarf stepped across her path. She took his head in one swift move. He died without a sound. Rekka pushed forward. Her eyes scanned the area, never resting. She didn’t relish the idea of being caught unaware. One of the dark Dwarf cannons managed to fire off its first round. She decided to make that her primary target. The initial surprise had passed and the enemy army was slowly coming to its senses. Dwarves ran everywhere to get into their battle positions.

Rekka adjusted the straps on her satchel charge and attacked. She made no sounds on her approach. She brought her sword up over her head and leapt down into the cannon pit. One Dwarf managed to get a cry of alarm off before the sword chopped diagonally into his neck and collar bone. Hot blood sprayed her face. A second Dwarf tackled her to the ground, hammering blows to her exposed ribs with his meaty fists. Grunting through the sudden jets of pain shooting up her side, Rekka managed to roll just enough to make him miss. Drawing the small dagger at her hip, she plunged it deep into the Dwarf’s sternum and gave a sharp twist.

She brought her knee up into his groin and heaved with every last ounce of strength. The Dwarf toppled over, dying in great agony. Rekka pulled herself up and attacked the five remaining cannon crewmen. A thrown axe flashed past her head, catching strands of dark, black hair. Her arms moved frantically as she cut and severed. One by one the Dwarves fell under her onslaught. The last Dwarf ran up behind her, hoping to take her head for a trophy but caught only a belly full of steel as she stabbed backwards. The combination of his momentum and her force buried the sword to the hilt in his gut. His face twisted in a rictus of pain. His axe dropped uselessly to the ground. Blood frothed from his lips. Rekka rose and turned, studying her foe before yanking her sword free. The Dwarf fell dead.

Breathing heavily, she did a full sweep of the gun position before dropping the satchel charge. She struggled to recall everything Ironfoot had instructed her to do. Exhaustion and the added pressure of adrenaline clouded her mind. Rekka started shoving the heavy bags of gunpowder into the barrel. A new set of explosions dominated the battlefield. Three enemy cannons smoked and burned. Forcing them from her mind so she could focus, Rekka lit the fuse to the satchel charge and ran.

She darted past Dwarves who were too busy trying to get to their positions to bother with her. Flames and shrapnel bloomed across the gun pit when she was already a hundred meters away. The thin line of a smile cracked her stoic face and she continued running. The rapid escalation of chaos consumed the camp, forcing the Dwarves to be cautious. A great number had been killed in the covert assault and that message was being passed up through the chain of command. The sudden delay in action was enough to give Rekka and the others time to escape.

A lone Dwarf stepped out of the shadows to confront her. He was the largest Dwarf she’d ever seen. Massive forearms strained from holding equally massive axes. His left eye was dead, blinded by the same scar that ran from his temple to his chin. Beardless, the Dwarf looked terrifying in the firelight. He was a warrior. Rekka recognized this before she slowed to a halt.
At last, a true challenge
.

She raised her sword in salute and planted her feet shoulder width apart. Sneering, the Dwarf gestured with his chin. Rekka obliged and attacked. Her first blow was meant to distract him, opening his guard to be ripped apart by the second. It failed. The Dwarf dodged the overhand strike to his head and parried low with both axes. He trapped Rekka’s slender sword and lodged a mighty kick to her stomach. She flew back and dropped to the ground. He laughed.

“You’ll need to do better,” he said mockingly.

Rekka struggled to suppress her rising anger. Only a clear mind was capable of dominating an opponent. Taking a deep breath, she rose and dropped back into a defensive stance.

Either being respectful or overly confident, the Dwarf allowed her enough time to reset before barreling towards her. His finely sharpened axe blades glimmered in the flames. Knowing she did have the size or fury of the Dwarf, Rekka crouched, bunching her strength for what she hoped was the killing blow. The axes scythed out. The Dwarf roared. Rekka saw the futility of her move and tucked into a roll as fast as she could.

Infuriated by his inability to kill the Human female, the Dwarf began to circle. “Come to my blade, Human. I promise to make it quick.”

Trained by weapon masters from the age of five, Rekka ignored the bait. Distraction was a key principle in single combat. One she’d used often enough. To defeat this Dwarf she needed guile. She flashed a toothy grin and raised her sword with one hand. With the other she quickly pulled her dagger and flung it as hard as she could at his face. He easily blocked the dagger away but didn’t see her second move until after the sword slashed across the top of his thigh. He grunted and staggered back.

Rekka pressed the advantage. She delivered a series of blows. High. Low. Right side. Left side. The Dwarf struggled to fend her off but had lost mobility and was losing blood rapidly. Rekka hacked and slashed. Every blow was aimed at ending the battle. Finally, she broke through the Dwarf’s defenses and felt the reward of her steel slicing across his grizzled throat. Some life left in him, he dropped one axe and brought the second down with as much strength as he had left. Rekka narrowly sidestepped the attack and watched him pitch forward. Dead.

He’d been a worthy opponent and she honored that by wiping his blood in the snow rather than on his corpse. True warriors deserved better than what they mostly received. Finished, Rekka looked around for more Dwarves before heading back to the ditch. She was tired and abused, but still in the fight. The easy part was over. The enemy cannons were destroyed. Now they needed to find a way back to the forest and their own lines. All that stood between the tiny group and freedom was an army of angry Dwarves.

Escape

The last explosion threw mounds of dirt and debris into the ditch, prompting curses and menacing glares from the Dwarves. Ironfoot watched as his assault teams gained the ditch, counting each Dwarf. Several didn’t return, confirmed by the dour looks of their friends and a curt headshake. The losses, while more than he wished, were still in acceptable margins.
Besides, what’s done is done. We all knew what the cost might be. They died well. I will raise a horn to their honor when next we feast.
He took the remaining satchel charges and started digging them into the lip of the ditch. They would slow their pursuers down for a time.
Hopefully long enough to let us get a good lead
.

Rekka Jel brought up the rear. Her sword gleamed with blood. Dorl noticed her ragged state, worse than his own, and briefly considered going to her. Her stern look cautioned otherwise. She was a warrior. He had to remember that. There wasn’t any room for weakness; it would only get them both killed.

“Is this it?” Ironfoot asked.

Rekka offered a quick nod. “I am the last. The enemy is disorganized but they know the primary purpose of the attack was to disable their cannons. They are searching for us, in great numbers. We must be quick.”

There were shouts of panic mixed with oaths of vengeance as the dark Dwarves organized into hunter-killer teams. The escape window closed by the second. Ironfoot looked to the nine survivors.
So few. The enemy shall pay for this
. “Grey Beard, take point. Bahr, you and your people follow. I will bring up the rear. Move, now.”

Rekka laid her hand on Ironfoot’s shoulder. “I shall walk with you.”

One look at the determination etched into her face was enough for him.

“They’ve seen us,” Boen grumbled.

Ironfoot looked to where Boen pointed and his heart fell. Hundreds of dark Dwarves had assembled and were cautiously making their approach on the ditch. Time was up. He gestured to Grey Beard and the weary band hurried back to the perceived security of the forest. Ironfoot paused long enough to light the fuses before hurrying to catch up. They only made a few meters before the first shouts went up. Black crossbow bolts flashed past. Some struck trees in a shower of splinters while others went harmlessly into the forest.

Bahr ducked reflexively despite knowing it didn’t matter. When the enemy was behind you there was no safe way to move. Still, he and the others started weaving through the trees in the vain hopes of avoiding getting shot. His knees ached with every step. Age and over exertion disagreed with him, giving him pause as to whether or not he was the right Man to undertake a quest that could possibly save the entire world. He berated himself for such weak thoughts.
Now is not the time!

“Burn the forest!” a voice bellowed.

Heart threatening to rip from his chest, Bahr doubled his speed. He’d seen forest fires before. The flames spread through the canopy much faster than anyone or anything could run. They’d be roasted alive in minutes. Fear drove him on. Thick plumes of breath froze on the chill air. Snow crunched under his boots. He knew it wasn’t enough. Flames would engulf them and blacken their corpses without mercy.

Then the satchel charges exploded. Scores of dark Dwarves died in the blasts. Screams of the wounded drowned out orders shouted by their leaders. The enemy advance halted abruptly. No Dwarf was a coward, but seeing so many of their comrades ripped apart in the span of a few heartbeats gave them pause. They milled about, suddenly fearful of meeting the same fate.

Bahr didn’t have time to savor the moment. The Dwarves were used to explosions and would regroup and redouble their efforts in short order. He stopped weaving and ran as straight as he could. Trees gradually thickened until Bahr was certain they were securely back in the forest. He used that base comfort to calm down and focus. Far few Dwarves returned with them, a sad fact that only made finding them harder. He desperately searched the night for signs of the iridescent paint marking their tunics. Darkness mocked him in reply. Panic struggled to win free.

His efforts were rewarded when he finally spied the soft glow of silver paint. Bahr hurried to catch up to the Dwarf before he was lost in the night. So focused on the paint, he nearly slammed into the Dwarf after he abruptly halted. The sounds of heavy panting filled the immediate area. Bahr felt like throwing up. His stomach clenched miserably. His eyes watered, red and raw. Smoke burned his lungs. The battle had been intense, much more so than any he’d been forced to endure in a very long time. His energy was nearly gone. It was all he could just to stay standing.

“Head count,” Ironfoot’s strong voice ordered suddenly.

They’d gone a few hundred meters and the forest thickened. Without the benefit of torches or moonlight there was a very real chance many of them would get lost or worse. One by one the survivors said their names until the Dwarf captain was certain all were accounted for. He turned to look back at the flames raging through the dark Dwarf camp. Any satisfaction of a job well done remained elusive. They still had nearly a league to go before they would be safe behind their own lines. He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his thick brow.

“We’ve got a little time. The satchel charges will have given them a reason to be cautious. We’ve stung them, but not enough.”

“Enough for what?” Dorl asked between ragged breaths.

Ironfoot fixed him with a stern gaze. “For them to stop chasing us. We’ve cast great shame on their commanders. The leadership will view our success as an insult to their honor. They will not stop until we either escape or are killed for their own sport.”

“Sorry I asked,” Dorl replied. He snuck a quick look at Rekka. She seemed to be in better shape than he was. Not that he took much comfort in that. Dorl started to think they weren’t going to make it back to the mountains. Right now he wanted nothing more than to take Rekka in his arms and whisper a last “I love you” before they made their charge back to Drimmen Delf. The threat of rejection kept him from doing so.

Boen cleared his throat and spit a large wad of phlegm. “Do you have any more of those bombs?”

Ironfoot shook his head. “I used the last of them at the ditch. Do not think of it. The enemy will send more than even you can stop.”

Boen bristled at the challenge but relented. As much as he enjoyed a good fight, sometimes running was the best option. Besides, he’d already made up his mind to ask King Thord to be in the front lines of the main assault. The glory would be heaped upon his shoulders. A proud representation of vanquished Gaimos.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Bahr cautioned. “I can hear them coming through the trees.”
Which is odd, considering we didn’t make a sound on our way there
. There was only one conclusion. The enemy wanted them to know they were coming, and in force.

“Let’s move.” Ironfoot drew his axe and turned to face the dark Dwarves.

Rekka wordlessly hefted her sword and did the same. Grey Beard led the others away before anyone succumbed to heroic, and foolish, notions. They started to jog. Each was exhausted, pushed to their limits, but slowing down meant death. Bahr secretly wondered how the Dwarves knew which way to go. He was hopelessly lost.

“Come on, old man. I’ve got you,” Nothol said as he kept Bahr from falling after tripping over an exposed tree root. “We’re almost there.”

Bahr shot him a menacing glare but didn’t have the energy to reply. Instead he kept running. He didn’t know how far they’d gone before Grey Beard slowed and then stopped. He turned and drew his axe in a fluid motion. The others ambled to a stop and followed suit.