Child Of Storms (Volume 1) Read online

  Brundig had before him a chance to please Faxon and maybe win a command of some human troops, provided his mission was successful. Whoever those warriors passing through these hills were, the little priest had made it clear he did not want them reaching Swordhaven - let alone getting to Falneth.

  “You will find them along the one path running through the hills,” Faxon told him, fixing his cold eyes upon him with deadly seriousness. “Find them and kill them.”

  All Brundig had to do was wait until after nightfall. Then he could creep in closer and murder the warriors in their tents before they had time to react. Then he could present their severed heads to Faxon and win promotion and honors.

  One of the gruks on his left crept around a boulder and strained his long neck to get a better peek at the warrior atop the hill. The idiot lost his footing on a slick rock and slipped. He fell forward into the brush, pushing the rock down the slope beneath him and making a great racket in the process.

  Brundig glared at him and looked back up the hill. The human warrior was standing straight up and scanning the slope below. He might spot them or cry out at any second.

  Brundig notched an arrow on his bowstring. The tall warrior was coming down the hill to investigate the noise and in another moment would surely see them all. Brundig decided he had no other option left. A well-placed arrow might silence him before he could give alarm. His gruks could then creep up the hill and might still have the element of surprise on their side.

  Brundig stood and fired at the tall warrior. His aim was low. The arrow hit the warrior in the hip and buried itself deep. The warrior cried out loudly and fell backwards. He started crawling around the nearest boulder as best he could, but the pain from the arrow was so bad he could hardly move.

  “Ambush!” he cried out. “Ambush!”

  “Damn,” Brundig muttered. “Kaas curse ‘em!”

  _______

  Ironhelm glanced over at where Thormund walked off a few minutes before and wondered why he was gone so long. He was probably sneaking belts of brandy again, Ironhelm figured.

  Ironhelm leaned out from the overhang in front of his tent and scanned the edge of the camp. Everything was quiet. Shrugging, he started to turn back to his ale when he heard a cry. Ironhelm grabbed his axe and shield and ran towards the commotion. Fylfast and Hunwald, too, grabbed their swords and long metal shields and were right behind the dwarf as he made his way to the edge of the steep hillside.

  Thormund lay on his belly thirty feet downhill, beyond a large boulder sticking out from the side of the slope. He was struggling to claw himself back up the hill, an arrow sticking out of his hip. A trio of gruks charging up the hill fell upon the wounded man. Thormund tried to shield himself with an upraised arm to no avail. Ironhelm saw the gruk bury its axe in the man’s chest, blood splashing up and spraying all over the laughing brute.

  Ironhelm charged down the hill, his own axe raised to strike, still somehow unnoticed by the gruks. The one who slew Thormund looked up from his victim to see a charging dwarf warrior bearing swiftly down upon him. The gruk shrieked, raising his axe in hurried defense. Ironhelm struck with lightning quickness, his axe meeting the creature’s neck. Black blood squirted upwards into the cold winter air as the gruk fell dead.

  Ironhelm turned to the gruk on his right as Fylfast and Hunwald were cutting down the one on his left. He raised his shield to deflect the gruk’s attack and narrowly missed with his own counterattack. A pair of arrows flew by them from down the hill, a third burying itself in the gruk’s leg. The gruk squealed in pain, stumbling forward. Ironhelm took advantage of the stumble, bringing his axe down upon its head. The creature fell dead as another pair of arrows flew by. One landed by Ironhelm’s foot and the other clanged harmlessly off a rock.

  Ironhelm dashed behind the large boulder sticking out of the ground next to where Thormund lay dead. He crouched down, looking over to his left. Hunwald also lay on the ground, an arrow buried in his chest.

  Fylfast crouched behind a medium-sized boulder ten feet uphill.

  “How many?” he shouted.

  “I don’t know,” Ironhelm said calmly.

  He risked a peek above the boulder, scanning carefully down the slope. He saw a trio of figures crouching behind some brush, but there were also several large boulders which could easily hide a few gruks. He waited, watching the brush below, and saw a red-bearded human with a long nose and bushy eyebrows emerging from behind one of the boulders and shouting something at the trio of figures in the brush. The human glanced up the hill in Ironhelm’s direction and the dwarf got a good look at his face.

  “What are they? Bandits?” Fylfast said. “There’re no brigands in these hills.”

  “I don’t know, laddie ,” Ironhelm said, crouching back down behind the boulder. “There are at leas’ three more down there tha’ I can see. Aye, maybe more.”

  “What do we do?”

  Ironhelm glanced down the slope again, dismissing the thought of charging the archers. He looked back up the slope. It was twenty feet to the top, after which they would be out of any line of fire.

  “Make for the top, laddie,” he said. “Aye, use the boulders for cover.”

  “You mean flee?” Fylfast said.

  “You’d remain here, aye, would you laddie?” Ironhelm growled. “They’ll send a few gruks around to the back of us, they will, and they’ll rain arrows down on our backs. Aye, tis true. We withdraw to the high ground. Fight smart, laddie, or die young.”

  As if to emphasize his point, a pair of arrows flew over their heads and buried themselves in a nearby tree. Ironhelm risked a final peek over the boulder and quickly counted half a dozen gruks, spreading out slowly along the bottom of the hill. Far to the left, he could see two creeping up the slope and outflank them.

  “Ach! No more talk,” Ironhelm shouted. “Go!”

  Ironhelm gripped his axe and, turning, ran out from behind the safety of the boulder and scrambled up to the next bit of stony cover.

  _______

  Brundig saw the dwarf emerge from behind the boulder, a second later the final human also coming back into view as they retreated up the hill. He let loose an arrow at the dwarf but it was too late. The arrow, along with a trio fired by the gruks, missed widely.

  It was not that the dwarf was lucky. They were firing at moving targets up a steep incline some distance away, and with every step the dwarf took there were more rocks and trees to aim through. It was hard enough to get a clear shot through it all, let alone to hit a swiftly moving target appearing for only scant seconds at a time. They would have to attack him there at close quarters, Brundig realized. Well, so be it.

  “At them!” he shouted. “Up the hill!”

  He dropped his bow, grabbing the long horn at his belt. He lifted it, bringing it to his lips. He took a deep breath and blew into it. A deep, resounding sound issued forth, echoing against the hills all around. He waited a few moments, recovering his breath and blowing again as the gruks ran up the hill.

  At last, the response came. From somewhere far in the distance, a long hornblast could be heard sounding. Brundig smiled and backed off down the hill. The other hunter groups had been alerted and would be descending upon their prey before long. Even if that dwarf warrior could handle the gruks dashing up the hill at him, not to mention the others Brundig had sent looping around the other side of the camp, there would be many others coming soon enough. He drew his sword, marching slowly up the slope towards the camp.

  _______

  Ironhelm reached the top of the ridge and the edge of the campsite when he heard the first hornblast. There was a small boulder at the crest of the hill, just big enough to conceal a crouching dwarf. He ducked behind it and waited.

  A second horn blast rang out, this one sounding some distant away.

  The hills, Ironhelm knew, were probably teeming with gruks who would soon be converging on the spot upon which he stood. He pictured hundreds of the creatures rushing towards the clearing,
surrounding them beyond all hope of escape. They would have to move quickly if they were to have any chance of survival.

  The gruks charging up the hill, meanwhile, arrived at the edge of the clearing. Fylfast stood to meet them, his shield held out in front to deflect the attacks of a pair of gruks.

  Ironhelm heard another gruk charging up the hill just to the dwarf’s right, and timed his attack perfectly. He leapt out from behind the rock, taking the gruk by surprise and burying his axe in the creature’s chest. It fell, but two more gruks came up the hill right behind it. Each came at Ironhelm from opposite sides and gave the dwarf little time to react. He hurled his shield at one of them, slashing at the other. The first gruk was slowed by the surprise of a large wooden disk flying at his chest, just enough to give Ironhelm a chance to slay the other with a skillful axe blow. Ironhelm turned back to face the remaining gruk and dispatched him with equal ease. Gruks were poor fighters. Slow and clumsy, they were easy opponents to a seasoned fighter.

  Ironhelm turned toward Fylfast. The human was proving his merit, one gruk already slain as he traded blows with another. Ironhelm started towards him, ready to aid the human against the remaining gruk if need be. He paused, letting the lad have the satisfaction of finishing the last one all on his own.

  An arrow flew in from behind both of them, somewhere on the other side of the camp, burying itself in between Fylfast’s shoulder blades. The human fell forward onto his knees and the gruk he was facing gleefully slashed at him with his crude broadsword. The gruk laughed, hacking at Fylfast again and again even after the lad was dead.

  Ironhelm saw none of it, instead turning to spot the source of the arrow. Ten feet away stood a short gruk with a leering mouth full of sharp teeth. The gruk reached back for another arrow from the quarrel on his back, his gaze fixed upon Ironhelm. The dwarf did not pause to wonder how this gruk had managed to slip around them unnoticed. He grabbed one of the throwing axes from his belt and hurled it at the gruk just as it was notching its second arrow.

  Ironhelm’s aim was nearly too high. The axe struck the gruk’s forehead, sending it falling backwards dead before it hit the ground.

  The dwarf turned towards the final gruk, the one who had slain Fylfast. The creature looked back and forth nervously, aware it was the sole fighter left facing this fierce-looking dwarf. Ironhelm fixed his gaze on the gruk, stepping towards him. The gruk turned and started to run away, but did not make it far. Ironhelm pulled a second throwing axe from his belt and took careful aim, this time dead-on. The axe flew through the air and struck the gruk in the center of its back. It fell with a thud.

  Ironhelm recovered his throwing axes, stuffing them back in his belt, and looked over the clearing just as yet another horn blast sounded from somewhere off to the south.

  Ironhelm scrambled over to his tent, grabbing his satchel and throwing it over his back and trying to get his bearings. The attack had come from the south, as did those horn blasts in the distant. That meant any additional gruks would probably be coming from that direction. Fortunately, Swordhaven was to the northeast and the hill path ran roughly east. If he hurried, he could stay ahead of whatever was coming with those horn blasts.

  He left the camp, stepping back onto the hill path and trotting eastward as quickly as he could manage.

  He was glad he had eaten. It was going to be a long night.

  _____

  Brundig approached the top of the hill cautiously. He could hear the sounds of battle above him, the clanging of metal and of gruks shrieking in pain. Then all fell silent, and there was no sound but the wind through the tall trees along the hillside.

  The bodies of the first three gruks lay sprawled further up the hill next to the tall human. Nearby was another of the slain human warriors.

  The silence continued, Brundig wondering what had happened. He knew the gruks would be celebrating noisily had they slain the dwarf. Slowly, he climbed closer. Reaching its edge, he surveyed the scene. The campfire still burned in the center of the clearing, the remaining human dead with an arrow sticking out his back. The gruks lay dead all around the clearing as well, but the dwarf was nowhere to be seen.

  Drood and four more gruk archers appeared on the far side of the clearing, looping around the hill and reaching the other side of the campsite. They approached, ready at last to join the battle. They stood their looking confused.

  Their prey had eluded them.

  “Damn,” Brundig muttered.

  _____

  The trail wound gently along the top of a ridge of hills for some distance as the winter sky grew darker and the freezing rain fell harder. Ironhelm ran without pause for what felt like a mile, eager to put as much distance between him and the campsite as possible. Hearing voices calling to one another somewhere up ahead on the trail, he stopped and listened carefully. He did not know anything of that rough speech gruks called a language, but he recognized its guttural shouts and abrupt tones.

  Ironhelm sized-up his situation. Swordhaven was somewhere off to the northeast, to his left. The gruks sounded like they were right in front of him. Thus, going that direction was no good. Going right was pointless, as well, since it would only move him deeper into the Clegr Hills and farther from Swordhaven. But to the left he had a chance, if he was fast enough and Swordhaven was as close as he thought.

  He scurried off the trail, making his way down a steep incline. He heard more gruk shouts behind him and ducked behind a nearby boulder, almost slipping on the icy rocks as he glanced back up the hill. The gruks were moving along the trail and he could hear their voices right above him but could not make out anything coherent. A few of the voices sounded human, but he could not be sure.

  Clutching his axe, he waited until after the voices had passed and made his way hurriedly down the rest of the hill. It was only a matter of time before his pursuers figured out where he had gone. They would not find pursuing him over rough terrain so easy, however. No dwarf could ever be slowed by a few rocky hills.

  Ironhelm leapt over rocks and wove swiftly through the trees, now and then glancing behind him. It was dark, but dwarves could see particularly well at night and Ironhelm was no exception. He could make out every rock, tree, and boulder easily..

  He reached the bottom of the hill. A tiny stream, completely frozen over, ran across his path, the next hill rising sharply on the far side of the little waterway. Ironhelm saw the stream as a great stroke of luck, for Swordhaven was built right on the shores of the Bachwy Bay somewhere to the east. The stream ran in that general direction, possibly all the way to the bay. If Ironhelm followed the tiny stream, he just might find his way to Swordhaven by morning without getting chopped to bits by gruks. He dashed off, plodding along relentlessly at a slow trot.

  Ironhelm knew enough to not sprint the whole way to Swordhaven and so wear himself out long before he arrived anywhere near the coast. He kept up a moderate but brisk pace, doggedly covering mile after mile. An hour passed, with no sounds of pursuit reaching his ears, the stream steadily widening the whole time.

  The stream continued its descent down through the rocky hills as the sleet at last began to subside. Ironhelm continued working his way along the stream, watching the sky for some clearing of the clouds above. If he could get just one glance at the stars he would know the exact direction he was going in. He was still headed northeast, as near as he could tell, but it would help to be certain.

  He paused near a huge boulder, at least a dozen feet tall, overlooking the ever-widening stream. He reached into his satchel, took a swig from his canteen, and continued picking his way through the rocks and trees in the darkness. Anyone but a dwarf would have been hard-pressed to find their way through it all, but the little bit of moonslight which managed to make it through the clouds was more than enough for Ironhelm to make due.

  A short way past the tall boulder Ironhelm heard a distant shout behind him and he quickened his pace. He passed another waterfall thirty feet tall and climbed down along one side of it. T
he water flowing under the thick ice burst through in a few places and turned the waterfall into a half-frozen wonder.

  Ironhelm hurried ahead, finding a barely-visible old path along the edge of the stream. He ran along it, making good progress for several hundred yards.

  The ground to his right grew steeper than before, rising to a sheer cliff. The trail ran between stream and cliff, stopping and making a swift turn right towards the cliff. In the dark, Ironhelm could make out a series of stone steps leading up the cliff. Carved right out of the stone, they were old and grown over with vegetation.

  Ironhelm glanced along the stream. The river bank disappeared as the slopes on both sides became a deep gorge.

  Turning, Ironhelm began to climb the stairs. The steps were shallow and steep and the footing precarious. Halfway up, he heard more shouts behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw nothing but darkness.

  Ironhelm arrived at the top, a full hundred feet above the river. The stairs ended in a broad, flat area a hundred yards across covered with scattered patches of trees and piles of stone rubble. In the center of the clearing was a stone tower four stories high.

  Ironhelm recognized it at once and was gladdened. The Hill Path, he knew, ended when it met a road running along the edge of the bay ten miles south of Swordhaven. He recalled his last voyage to Swordhaven, many years ago. He remembered seeing the pair of abandoned watchtowers that stood upon the hills overlooking the bay and towering over the road to Swordhaven. This had to be one of them, which meant he was less than a mile from the bay.

  He recalled, as well, how all along the bay were tiny fishing hamlets. The villages were populated by stout fisherman of northern stock, the descendants of Frostheimic mariners who long ago settled these shores. They were formidable fighters, every man among them trained in sword and pike from a young age. They were well-disposed toward dwarves, as well, whose merchants often bought a large share of their catch of salt cod to haul back to their mountain realms.