Ben barely understood a word of it, but he did understand one thing the bald gnome said.
I live because they died. I wish it was the other way around. And all these years I didn’t think they much liked me. I will remember. I will do right by them.
***
It was evening. Bayzog, Ben, Brenwar, Snarggell, Shum, Hoven, and the rest of the Roaming Rangers had led the horses up the roads to the meadow at the top of the cliff. Nath’s sword, Fang, had been recovered, but the warm glow of a campfire did little to lift the gloom.
“You have no Nath Dragon to assist now, Shum,” Bayzog said. “Now what will you do?”
Shum stood with his back to the fire, staring beyond the dark.
“It is all unfortunate and unforeseen. I cannot answer that,” the Wilder Elf said. “But the battle is still going on. And there are plenty more that need saving. We’ll focus on that.” He turned and faced Bayzog from the other side of the fire. “And what will you do?”
He looked at Brenwar and Ben. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I’ll probably start there.”
CHAPTER 23
“She’s persistent. I’ll say that,” Pilpin said to Devliik. The dwarves of Morgdon had kept their distance from Faylan the satyr and the Barnabus soldiers for the past several days. Pilpin wanted the falling of Faylan’s brother and the draykis to soak in. To let the little horned murderer feel their pain. “But I’m not sure there will be justice for this one, aside from that which comes from death.”
“Agreed,” Devliik said, sharpening his axe with a stone. “But the time has come to end this.” He dropped the stone, stood up, and sauntered into the trees.
The rest of the dwarves were spread out in the camp, sharpening weapons, feeding themselves, and stitching up each other’s wounds. Devliik had marched them nonstop for two days, winding through mountains and valleys, looking for something that he did not name.
Pilpin stretched his limbs and clawed at his beard. He wondered how the others were doing. Brenwar. Nath. And most of all, Gorlee. Wherever he went is where we should be headed. But that could be anywhere.
The dwarf called Wood Helm signaled to him.
“I suppose it’s time to go,” he said, gathering his gear. “On we march. On we march. On we march. Ho! Ho! Ho!”
In less than a minute, they were off.
Hours into the trek, the party of dwarves stopped on the bank of a stream that raced between the hills. A dragon’s roar sounded from above. Every thick neck bent up towards the sky.
“Fill yer flasks,” Devliik said, peering through the trees. “And get moving.”
A dark shadow darted through the clouds. Pilpin swore it had a bronze glimmer to it.
“It’s not looking for us,” Wood Helm said, “but if it does come looking, I’ve got something for it.” He shook his axe. “I’ll scale it like a flying fish, I will.”
Pilpin slapped him on the back and said, “You and I both will. And they say dragon skin makes for excellent armor.”
“Only one way to find out,” Wood Helm joked.
They filled their flasks, splashed through the stream, and up another hillside they went. Devliik’s path was difficult, but not impossible for an army to follow. And the dwarves were taking turns scouting the rear and making sure they were still being followed. As of yesterday, there were signs that Faylan’s army had slowed or backed. If anything, they came after the dwarves more determined than ever.
Huffing it up the slopes, Pilpin wondered if there wasn’t a better way to take Faylan out. They’d managed to trick her brother, Finlin, and the draykis and defeat them, so he thought there might be a better way to get at her. But Devliik seemed to be determined to try and set another trap, similar to the last. Pilpin was certain that she’d be too sharp for that.
We should just stage one grand ambush and end her.
He had shared those thoughts with Devliik, but the brown-bearded warrior shook his
I live because they died. I wish it was the other way around. And all these years I didn’t think they much liked me. I will remember. I will do right by them.
***
It was evening. Bayzog, Ben, Brenwar, Snarggell, Shum, Hoven, and the rest of the Roaming Rangers had led the horses up the roads to the meadow at the top of the cliff. Nath’s sword, Fang, had been recovered, but the warm glow of a campfire did little to lift the gloom.
“You have no Nath Dragon to assist now, Shum,” Bayzog said. “Now what will you do?”
Shum stood with his back to the fire, staring beyond the dark.
“It is all unfortunate and unforeseen. I cannot answer that,” the Wilder Elf said. “But the battle is still going on. And there are plenty more that need saving. We’ll focus on that.” He turned and faced Bayzog from the other side of the fire. “And what will you do?”
He looked at Brenwar and Ben. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I’ll probably start there.”
CHAPTER 23
“She’s persistent. I’ll say that,” Pilpin said to Devliik. The dwarves of Morgdon had kept their distance from Faylan the satyr and the Barnabus soldiers for the past several days. Pilpin wanted the falling of Faylan’s brother and the draykis to soak in. To let the little horned murderer feel their pain. “But I’m not sure there will be justice for this one, aside from that which comes from death.”
“Agreed,” Devliik said, sharpening his axe with a stone. “But the time has come to end this.” He dropped the stone, stood up, and sauntered into the trees.
The rest of the dwarves were spread out in the camp, sharpening weapons, feeding themselves, and stitching up each other’s wounds. Devliik had marched them nonstop for two days, winding through mountains and valleys, looking for something that he did not name.
Pilpin stretched his limbs and clawed at his beard. He wondered how the others were doing. Brenwar. Nath. And most of all, Gorlee. Wherever he went is where we should be headed. But that could be anywhere.
The dwarf called Wood Helm signaled to him.
“I suppose it’s time to go,” he said, gathering his gear. “On we march. On we march. On we march. Ho! Ho! Ho!”
In less than a minute, they were off.
Hours into the trek, the party of dwarves stopped on the bank of a stream that raced between the hills. A dragon’s roar sounded from above. Every thick neck bent up towards the sky.
“Fill yer flasks,” Devliik said, peering through the trees. “And get moving.”
A dark shadow darted through the clouds. Pilpin swore it had a bronze glimmer to it.
“It’s not looking for us,” Wood Helm said, “but if it does come looking, I’ve got something for it.” He shook his axe. “I’ll scale it like a flying fish, I will.”
Pilpin slapped him on the back and said, “You and I both will. And they say dragon skin makes for excellent armor.”
“Only one way to find out,” Wood Helm joked.
They filled their flasks, splashed through the stream, and up another hillside they went. Devliik’s path was difficult, but not impossible for an army to follow. And the dwarves were taking turns scouting the rear and making sure they were still being followed. As of yesterday, there were signs that Faylan’s army had slowed or backed. If anything, they came after the dwarves more determined than ever.
Huffing it up the slopes, Pilpin wondered if there wasn’t a better way to take Faylan out. They’d managed to trick her brother, Finlin, and the draykis and defeat them, so he thought there might be a better way to get at her. But Devliik seemed to be determined to try and set another trap, similar to the last. Pilpin was certain that she’d be too sharp for that.
We should just stage one grand ambush and end her.
He had shared those thoughts with Devliik, but the brown-bearded warrior shook his
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