Between Dark and Light (14 page)

He swung wildly but missed, which left him off-balance. They raised their swords to high guard and slashed downward. He raised his shield just in time to block both blows, but his arm stung from absorbing all the hits. He scrambled backwards and regained his footing, but the thugs were relentless, charging again. This time, they swung from opposite directions, and he blocked one with his shield and the other with his club. His breath came in heavy gulps, and his legs had grown cumbersome. To make matters worse, the third had recovered from the hit to his shoulder and was rejoining the fight. Bordorn stiffened, hoping his strength would hold out.

***

As soon as Alganeon spoke, Krondious sprang forward, swinging his handle in sweeping arc with his right hand. He struck two Ghaldeons in their faces with his first swing, crumpling them to the ground. Then, with his left hand, he backhanded a third, knocking him off-balance. Before the dwarf could recover, Krondious jabbed him in the mouth with the handle, and the dwarf collapsed. The others charging him stopped mid-stride and backpedaled away. One stumbled on a rut and fell on his backside. Krondious kicked him in the head, knocking him out, before engaging the other three.

With three quick blasts from the axe handle, he took care of them before they could react and turned to check on Roskin. Seeing that the heir was also handling his group with ease, he then found Bordorn, who had three dwarves overwhelming him. Krondious sprinted to his friend and, swinging as hard as he could, broke the leg of the first one he reached. Screaming in agony, the dwarf tumbled into the next one. Bordorn gathered himself and struck the third one in the side of the head. The dwarf slumped backwards and fell to the ground.

“Stay down,” Bordorn said to the second one, who was trying to push his wounded friend off him.

The dwarf dropped his sword, and Bordorn kicked it from his reach. Krondious looked at the five Ghaldeons and saw that they needed help, so he asked if Bordorn was okay. He nodded, gasping for breath. Krondious patted him on the shoulder and then raced to the Ghaldeons. The thugs were encircling them, so he drove into them, swinging wildly. The first three he struck tumbled to the street in awkward clumps, and the others froze from surprise, giving the freed slaves an opportunity to attack. Within moments, the battle was settled.

***

As soon as he finished off the last thug, Roskin looked at the inn, searching for Alganeon. The dwarf had fled the porch, and Roskin spotted him ducking down an alley. The Kiredurk sprinted after him. From living above ground for hundreds of years, Ghaldeons were good runners, but Roskin was half-elf and a foot taller than Alganeon. No dwarf had ever beaten him in a foot race, and he caught the fleeing magistrate easily. Roskin shouted for him to halt, and the dwarf drew his sword and turned. Roskin stopped and crouched into a defensive posture.

“Give it up,” he said, readying his club.

“This is my town,” Alganeon returned, feigning with his sword.

“Not anymore. Lay down your weapon.”

Alganeon attacked, a clumsy, desperate thrust that Roskin sidestepped. As the Ghaldeon stumbled from the miss, Roskin jabbed him in his exposed ribs with the club. The dwarf howled from the pain and sank to his hands and knees. Roskin pounced on his back and, gripping each end, pulled the club against Alganeon’s windpipe. The magistrate struggled briefly but soon blacked out. Roskin knocked his sword out of reach and searched him for more weapons. He removed two daggers from the dwarf’s belt and tucked them in his own. Then, he rifled through Alganeon’s pockets until he found a large bag of coins. He rose from the prone dwarf and gripped the bag with his left hand.

“On your feet,” he snarled, nudging him awake with the club.

Coughing and sputtering from the choke hold, Alganeon managed to stand. Roskin led him back to the inn, where Bordorn had the others tying up the dazed troops. Many dwarves had appeared from surrounding buildings and gawked at the scene. Kohldorn had also emerged from the inn and stood on the porch, smiling broadly. Roskin shoved Alganeon at Krondious, who grabbed the Ghaldeon and held him fast while one of the freed slaves bound his wrists.

“You pissed off the wrong dwarves,” Krondious snarled.

Alganeon hung his head, disbelief and shame on his face.

“Lucky for you we only had sticks,” Krondious continued.

“That’s enough,” Roskin barked. “Gather their weapons and put them in a pile. All of you make sure the ropes are secure and keep an eye on them.”

Roskin turned to Kohldorn and asked if he would join him in the tavern. Once inside, Roskin dumped the bag of coins on the table and sorted through them, picking out the ones he recognized as his. Then, he scraped the remaining money back into the bag and handed it to the barkeep.

“I’m certain these belong to the dwarves of this town. Will you make sure they’re divided evenly?”

“With pleasure,” Kohldorn replied. “He also has a safe next door and keeps the key in his boot. There’s no telling how much he’s stashed in there.”

“Rotten scum.”

“I knew you’d return. The moment I saw you, I knew you weren’t a coward.”

“I appreciate that, but my friends are the ones you should praise. They’re the reason we came back.”

“Maybe so, but you’re their leader. In all my years, I’ve never seen anyone fight like you and that white beard. Clubs against swords, too! If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t believe it.”

Roskin thanked him for the compliment and asked if the barkeep had anything to keep his coins in. The old dwarf hurried into the back and returned with a small cloth pouch. It was worn and aged, and Roskin could tell it had belonged to the dwarf for many years.

“This was my father’s,” Kohldorn said, holding it out.

“I can’t take that.”

“Hogwash! I don’t have children. I’d be honored to say you’re the dwarf I passed it on to.”

Without thinking, Roskin hugged the dwarf and thanked him. Kohldorn returned the embrace and started crying. The Kiredurk released his hug asked what was wrong.

“I thought I’d die under the heel of Alganeon,” he said. “You’ve made an old dwarf very happy.”

Roskin wiped his own eyes and smiled. Kohldorn composed himself and handed over the pouch. Roskin dropped in his coins and attached it to his belt. The old dwarf smiled.

“Daddy would’ve approved,” he said.

Roskin motioned for them to head back outside. The barkeep led the way, and as they stepped outside, they were greeted by a loud cheer from the crowd gathering in the street. Hundreds of dwarves had come from their shops and homes to see if the rumor spreading through town was true. Roskin waved to them, and they cheered even louder. He stepped from the porch and walked to Alganeon.

“Give me the key,” he said.

“What key?”

“Do you really want Krondious to remove your boots?”

The dwarf sighed and bent over. Struggling with his bound hands, he removed his left boot and dumped the key onto the dirt. Roskin picked it up and handed it to Kohldorn. The barkeep asked Krondious to help, and the two disappeared into the building where the safe was hidden. A few minutes later, they emerged, Krondious carrying four large sacks of coins. The Kiredurk hefted them onto the porch of the inn, and a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Roskin hopped onto the porch and raised his hands to silence them.

“Dwarves of Horseshoe Bend, this money belongs to you.”

The townspeople erupted in wild cheers. Roskin waited for the din to die down before continuing:

“Kohldorn will distribute it equally among you, but you must give him time to count and divide it.”

As the crowd erupted again, Bordorn stepped onto the porch and leaned in close to Roskin.

“Someone’s gonna have to maintain order,” he whispered. “Otherwise, this’ll turn into a wild mob.”

“We have to get moving,” Roskin whispered back.

“Yes,
we
do, but I have an idea.”

Roskin stared at him, waiting to hear it.

“Leave Krestreon and the other Ghaldeons here to restore order. They can rejoin us when we come back through.”

Roskin glanced down at the Ghaldeons, whose attention was still focused on watching their prisoners. He liked the notion but wasn’t certain the three of them could escort nearly forty dwarves all the way to Kehldeon. He whispered the concern to Bordorn.

“We can get a few volunteers to travel with us. Kohldorn can tell us if they’re trustworthy.”

Roskin nodded. The freed slaves deserved the time to rest in soft beds and eat hot meals. He called Krestreon to the porch and asked what he thought of the idea. The dwarf’s mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide. He tried to speak but no words would come. Roskin put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said to the dwarf. He raised himself erect and addressed the crowd once more. “This is Krestreon. He disappeared from here many years ago and survived the torment of slavery.”

The crowd broke into flurries of conversations as they asked each other if they recognized or remembered him. A handful of dwarves pushed through the throng and approached Krestreon, tears streaming down their faces. The freed slave recognized them as family and hugged each one. His aunt explained that his parents had moved south, unable to bear the pain of losing him and his papaw, but were still living. Krestreon broke into sobs and hugged her. As they embraced, Roskin silenced the crowd again:

“We have to deliver these dwarves to the king, but Krestreon and these four will remain to assist rebuilding your town. We need a few volunteers to help escort them. Any interested in traveling to the capital should meet us at the bridge in one hour. Everyone rejoice. You are free once more.”

The crowd exploded in a cacophony of wild cheers, and Roskin turned and walked inside the inn. Kohldorn, Krondious, and Bordorn followed him, and Roskin asked the barkeep if he had any rabbit stew prepared. The old dwarf smiled and led them to the tavern. He motioned for them to sit and disappeared into the back. The three dwarves sat in silence, waiting for his return. When he came out, carrying the steaming bowls of soup, they devoured the meal, and all three agreed, it was the best rabbit stew they had ever tasted.

Chapter 9

Unleash the Dark One

Roskin, Krondious, and Bordorn stood before the court of King Johreon the Red while the crowded room celebrated their success at subduing Alganeon. Krondious seemed uneasy at the attention, and Roskin seemed annoyed by the waste of time, but Bordorn soaked in the applause. Throughout his life, he had felt disconnected from his people, even while living in the valley, so for him, the recognition was most welcome. He almost wished he could stay there and take his place as part of his cousin’s court.

For most of his youth, he had dreamed of becoming a great warrior, one of the heroes who expelled the Great Empire from his homeland. Now, however, after having fought in real battles and having seen Roskin and Krondious for himself, he had grown to recognize he was not a true warrior. They were built for combat – Krondious with his unnatural power and Roskin with his grace and speed. At best, Bordorn might develop into an above average swordsman, but he would never be great. Despite the pangs of pain in his chest from that admission, he accepted that his contributions would have to come in different forms.

“Cousin,” the king said, motioning for the crowd to silence. “You’ve done better than I could’ve hoped. Rounding up the entire group, that’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you, my king,” Bordorn returned, bowing at the waist. “But these two are the real heroes.”

“Please, step forward,” Johreon the Red said, waving at Roskin and Krondious. The two Kiredurks advanced and stopped between Bordorn and the king. “I’m guessing you are Roskin, son of Kraganere.”

“The Eighth Kingdom salutes the House of Johreon,” Roskin said, bowing as Bordorn had.

“And who are you?” the king asked Krondious.

“I’m a lumberjack,” the dwarf replied, obviously out of place.

The room filled with laughter, and Bordorn felt as if he should defend his friend.

“A lumberjack, eh?” the king asked, chuckling too.

“He’s too modest,” Roskin interjected before Bordorn could. “He’s my personal bodyguard and once killed a cave troll with one strike.”

“That so?” the king asked, growing serious. The laughter in the room faded.

“It’s not so hard,” Krondious mumbled, shuffling his feet and staring down. “If you know where to hit them.”

“You
are
too modest,” the king added. “It’s decided. Tonight, we feast in honor of the troll slayer.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Roskin said. “We’d like to head on to inspect this other problem you have.”

The king arched an eyebrow, and for a moment his eyes flickered with anger. Bordorn scrutinized his face, alarmed by the expression. The king glanced at him and quickly composed himself, changing his appearance to one of hurt.

“My king,” Bordorn said, stepping forward. That look unsettled him, but he couldn’t quite place why. “Our troops await us. Perhaps, if it pleases your highness, once this peril has passed, we can return for your hospitality.”