Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,9
blew across the Dwarf’s face, at least the parts not covered by the thick moustache and beard. Marching across frozen plains was not in the Dwarf’s best interests. He was infinitely more comfortable spending his days underground in the warmth and familiarity of his halls. Life above ground was meant for others. Still, Thord almost relished the freedom of having an entire world open and exposed before him. The sounds of his army marching behind him comforted him in ways only a soldier would understand. The jostle of armor. The accidental clank of steel on steel. The grumbling, cursing, and joking of soldiers as they marched. All were sounds so ingrained in the Dwarf Lord that he managed to take comfort in uncomfortable situations.
Wagons laden with spare weapons, feed and grain for the animals, and supplies for the army trundled along behind agonizingly slow. The cannons came next. Each was pulled by four oxen and followed by three additional wagons carrying the newly invented ammunition and gunpowder. Armorers roamed the camps at night, repairing the black-powder pistols and axes as necessary while the infantry recovered strength. The road to Delranan was long and Thord planned on having his army arrive, in fighting condition, by the end of ten days. Five had already passed.
Elf scouts of the Aeldruin ranged the fields and forests for sign of the enemy. Reports of the initial battle along the banks of the Fern River reverberated throughout the army. One hundred Dwarves gave their lives against an army estimated at more than fifty thousand. The Dwarves made the Goblins pay but not even Thord’s main body was strong enough to repulse an army that strong.
Dwarves and Elves shared no love lost yet were far from being considered enemies. Most of the Elves on Malweir were too aloof, self-absorbed in their own ways, to bother caring what the other races did or didn’t do. Thord was taken off guard when Faeldrin and his mercenaries arrived in Drimmen Delf offering to assist the Dwarves in their civil war. Very few individuals in the modern world offered aid without expecting something back in return. True to their word, the Elves performed scouting and light raiding duties without asking for more than food and shelter. Dwarf and Elf bonded almost immediately.
Dusk found the army breaking down into camps. The wagons were pushed into the center of four separate defensive squares. Fires were lit, for Dwarves held no fear of any living creature. They brazenly invited enemies to come closer. Guards were set. The army settled in for the night. Soon the smells of roasting meat invited grumbling stomachs and salivating mouths. Thord and his generals made their rounds among the rank and file. Nothing boosted morale for the lower ranks than seeing their leaders struggle alongside.
Exhausted but unwilling to admit it, Thord finally trudged back to his tent and readied to collapse shortly before midnight. He’d done all he could to get a gauge on the state of the army, stopping to fill his belly along the way. He’d checked the guard lines and the strength of the defenses in what was becoming a nightly ritual. No sign of the enemy had been spotted as of yet but he knew it was only a matter of time. An army the size of the Goblins was unheard of and moved much slower than his meager one. It would take time for the two to clash.
The Dwarf Lord tugged his boots off and leaned back on his cot. His rest was immediately interrupted by the gentle rap of knuckles on the wooden door pole. Grumbling under his breath, Thord reluctantly sat back up. “Enter.”
He frowned upon seeing Faeldrin sidle in. “King Thord.”
“Hmm, why am I not surprised? Don’t Elves ever sleep?” he growled.
The Elf Lord cocked his head. “A curious notion. We are told from an early age that there will be enough time for sleep when we are finally put in the ground. Life offers so much it is a shame to miss a single moment.”
“Would that I shared your sentiment,” Thord said.
“We are each different.”
Thord wasn’t sure if he appreciated the irony of the statement. “What brings you here tonight?”
Faeldrin gestured towards the empty stool uncomfortably close to the ground. “May I?”
Thord gestured with his head.
“My scouts have returned with their nightly briefings. Normally I don’t bother you or the other commanders with their tales of finding nothing of consequence,” he said and paused. “Matters discovered this night have changed