chin at him. “When the terrain favors us, we’ll get them,” he’d said. “Just keep those legs churning. We’ll march ‘em until their legs fall off.”
Pilpin obeyed. They all did. Stalwart. Unceasing. They’d bring Faylan to justice, but it would take more patience this time.
***
“Report!” Faylan said to one of her scouts. She stood on the edge of a stream. She and her army had been pushing through the brush for days, a tiresome task through rough terrain, and a handful of her soldiers had fallen.
A half-orc man in a buckskin vest and boots with a belt decorated in knives saluted.
“We gain,” he said, wiping the greasy hair from his eyes. “In a week, we’ll catch them.” He patted a knife on his belt. “Shorten their beards, we will.”
Faylan cocked an eyebrow.
“Did I ask for your commentary, orc?”
“No,” the half orc said with a bow of his head, “apologies, Commander.”
“Continue your charge and be away with you.” She shooed him with her hand. “And never try to amuse me with your jests.”
The half orc saluted and darted into the woods. Her soldiers, less than a hundred now, lined the stream, filling flasks and skins. Even in their heavy armor, they had moved well, but not well enough. Alone, she would have caught up with the dwarves within a day. This course simply took too long. She wanted vengeance, and she wanted it now.
“Azklan,” she said, rubbing a jaxite amulet the winged draykis had given her. “Come. Come to me.” The stone’s inner fires came to life, tingling the fingers on her hand. “Azklan, the time has come.”
A dragon-shaped shadow dropped out of the clouds that filled the valley and splashed into the stream, crushing two soldiers. The armored warriors scrambled up the banks, but no farther. The bronze dragon paid them no notice. Eyes focused on the amulet Faylan wore, it dragged its massive body though the waters until its head, crowned in horns, stopped just a few feet from her face.
Faylan’s heart raced. Her grubby fingers clutched the amulet. She swallowed, stepped forward, and placed her hand on Azklan’s snout. The scales were cool, its breath hot. Everything about it was magnificent.
“I want to see the dwarves die,” she said. “I want to see it with my own eyes.”
Azklan lowered his neck. She sensed his thoughts saying, “Climb on then.”
She stepped on his shoulder, climbed up, straddled his neck, and grabbed the harness configured around him. She yelled out to her soldiers and pointed up the mountains, “Meet us at the top.”
The bronze beast dashed down the stream, spread his wings, jumped up, and took off. Into the clouds she went, screaming with joy, soaring in circles. Her face lit up with an exhilaration the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She felt awesome. She felt invincible.
“I see them,” Azklan told her.
Her windblown face made a fierce grin.
“It’s time to kill them and avenge my brother.”
Folding back his wings, Azklan, a bronze bolt, a nightmare in the skies, crashed through the trees and landed in the midst of the dwarves. Fire, smoke and death erupted from his visage.
***
Never surprise a dwarf if you don’t want your skull cracked.
The saying was ancient. A warning to dwarven enemies. If you surprise them, then you had better kill them, else they unleash their wrath on you.
But that saying was made for orcs, lizardmen, gnolls, and bugbears. Not full-grown dragons.
Trees splintered, and the mountain shook when Faylan and the dragon dropped from the sky. Pilpin didn’t see it coming. None of them did. Head down on the trails, Wood Helm died first, smashed by the dragon’s scaled belly.
Flames roared from the dragon’s mouth, setting two dwarves on fire. The flaming dwarves charged with their axes before they fell. A spiked tail lashed out and skewered the fourth dwarf though his armor. Another strike sent the fifth dwarf through tree branches and out of sight.
Pilpin
Pilpin obeyed. They all did. Stalwart. Unceasing. They’d bring Faylan to justice, but it would take more patience this time.
***
“Report!” Faylan said to one of her scouts. She stood on the edge of a stream. She and her army had been pushing through the brush for days, a tiresome task through rough terrain, and a handful of her soldiers had fallen.
A half-orc man in a buckskin vest and boots with a belt decorated in knives saluted.
“We gain,” he said, wiping the greasy hair from his eyes. “In a week, we’ll catch them.” He patted a knife on his belt. “Shorten their beards, we will.”
Faylan cocked an eyebrow.
“Did I ask for your commentary, orc?”
“No,” the half orc said with a bow of his head, “apologies, Commander.”
“Continue your charge and be away with you.” She shooed him with her hand. “And never try to amuse me with your jests.”
The half orc saluted and darted into the woods. Her soldiers, less than a hundred now, lined the stream, filling flasks and skins. Even in their heavy armor, they had moved well, but not well enough. Alone, she would have caught up with the dwarves within a day. This course simply took too long. She wanted vengeance, and she wanted it now.
“Azklan,” she said, rubbing a jaxite amulet the winged draykis had given her. “Come. Come to me.” The stone’s inner fires came to life, tingling the fingers on her hand. “Azklan, the time has come.”
A dragon-shaped shadow dropped out of the clouds that filled the valley and splashed into the stream, crushing two soldiers. The armored warriors scrambled up the banks, but no farther. The bronze dragon paid them no notice. Eyes focused on the amulet Faylan wore, it dragged its massive body though the waters until its head, crowned in horns, stopped just a few feet from her face.
Faylan’s heart raced. Her grubby fingers clutched the amulet. She swallowed, stepped forward, and placed her hand on Azklan’s snout. The scales were cool, its breath hot. Everything about it was magnificent.
“I want to see the dwarves die,” she said. “I want to see it with my own eyes.”
Azklan lowered his neck. She sensed his thoughts saying, “Climb on then.”
She stepped on his shoulder, climbed up, straddled his neck, and grabbed the harness configured around him. She yelled out to her soldiers and pointed up the mountains, “Meet us at the top.”
The bronze beast dashed down the stream, spread his wings, jumped up, and took off. Into the clouds she went, screaming with joy, soaring in circles. Her face lit up with an exhilaration the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She felt awesome. She felt invincible.
“I see them,” Azklan told her.
Her windblown face made a fierce grin.
“It’s time to kill them and avenge my brother.”
Folding back his wings, Azklan, a bronze bolt, a nightmare in the skies, crashed through the trees and landed in the midst of the dwarves. Fire, smoke and death erupted from his visage.
***
Never surprise a dwarf if you don’t want your skull cracked.
The saying was ancient. A warning to dwarven enemies. If you surprise them, then you had better kill them, else they unleash their wrath on you.
But that saying was made for orcs, lizardmen, gnolls, and bugbears. Not full-grown dragons.
Trees splintered, and the mountain shook when Faylan and the dragon dropped from the sky. Pilpin didn’t see it coming. None of them did. Head down on the trails, Wood Helm died first, smashed by the dragon’s scaled belly.
Flames roared from the dragon’s mouth, setting two dwarves on fire. The flaming dwarves charged with their axes before they fell. A spiked tail lashed out and skewered the fourth dwarf though his armor. Another strike sent the fifth dwarf through tree branches and out of sight.
Pilpin
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