Vengeance on the Silver Road
***
Firelight flickered in the hearth, dim and dull, barely more than embers now. Beside it a chair creaked and groaned as a dwarf lowered himself into it. He was Gorrik Steelbrow, Master of the Watch.
A title millennium old, millennium lost.
Gorrick lit a pipe as he leaned back into his chair, his ancestors chair, and gazed at the tapestry hanging above the hearth. It was an old thing, commissioned by the first members of their clan to celebrate their new home, their lost home, or at least that is what the long beards had told him when he was beardling.
It told the story of Rok Forgefury in golds, silvers, reds, and blues. Of his final stand in defense of caravan, a feat that granted their clan the right to build a watchtower on the silver road.
The colors of the tapestry were dull now, and great rips and tears stretched across the threads, rips and tears from the hands of goblins that had nearly ripped it from their ancestors' hands as they were forced out of their home.
Despite the damage though, despite the faded colors, the tapestry still remained in a place of honor of the clan. Even as a new tower was built, as new riches stored in vaults, and new tapestry commissioned, this tapestry remained.
A soft knocking jolted Gorrick Steelbrow awake. With a muttered curse he rose from his chair, how could a watchdwarf just fall asleep like that? Maybe it was time to consider passing on the title. Maybe.
"Yah, yah." Gorrick said as he reached the door. "Stop tugging my beard, I'm coming, I'm coming."
As he opened the door he looked down at a beardling, perhaps twenty-five years old, shuffling his feet and looking positively shaken.
"Well," Gorrick said gruffly as he waited for the beardling to gather his wits together, "what is it?"
"It's a letter, sir." The beardling said, and with shaking hands held out a pure white roll of paper.
"From whom?" Gorrick asked as he took the paper from the poor beardling. Even just holding it he could tell it was high quality paper, the highest quality of paper.
"It's from Karaz-a-Karak." The beardling said, the words exploding out of him in a rush of wind. "Addressed to the Master of the Watch, sealed with the High King's ring."
Well, Gorrick thought as he turned the paper over to see the King's sigel pressed into blood red wax, that would certainly explain why the paper was of such high quality.
***
Warm light from a crackling fire illuminated a finely decorated sitting room and Gorrick sat down with a groan as his wife poured him a pint of ale. Outside he could hear rain pounding against the watchtower, but just barely. His ears were still ringing from the arguments from the clan meeting.
"That could have gone better." Scurwe, his wife, said, as she sat down next to him and handed him his mug.
"It could have." Gorrick agreed after taking a healthy pull from his mug. "It could have. Aortic certainly came prepared. I wonder how long he's spent in the vaults to pull out those outdated Umgi contracts."
"Any idea why Aortic is digging his heels in so hard about this? He and Gorugg came close to blows today." Scurwe asked.
"Aye." Gorrick said. "He doesn't have as many sons as Gorugg, and none of them are martially inclined. They have prestigious positions here and valuable connections with many of the Umgi of the valleys. That all changes if we leave."
"Hmm…" Scurwe hummed as she nursed her ale. "Perhaps a marriage would soothe egos?"
"A marriage?"
"Yes." Scurwe said, setting her mug down. "Clan Ironfoot has several daughters of marriageable age and are already committed to leaving. They even have a blood connection to Karaz-a-Karak. A marriage with one of those daughters would provide a considerable boost of prestige for one of Aortic's sons, and they have the wealth to pursue such a match."
"That would soothe egos," Gorrick said, "and that is something we can pursue, but right now to get any traction over Aortic's faction we need to come to an agreement with the Umgi of the valley. That appears to be the only way out of this deadlock."
A soft knock from the door elicited a groan from Gorrick, but he got up anyway. "I just sat down." He grumbled. "What is it?" He said as he opened the door.
The same beardling as the one that gave him that fateful letter was again shuffling his feet at the door's threshold.
"Ah, Master of the Watch." The beardling said, trying, and failing, to impose gravitas to the situation. "There is a group of Umgi elders, from the villages in the valley, wanting to meet with you."
Gorrick raised an eyebrow and turned to look over his shoulder at his wife who tilted her head quizzically before shrugging her shoulders.
"Well then." Gorrick said as he turned back to the beardling. "Let's get them out of the rain and by a fire, Umgi elder's are frailer than our longbeards after all. After that, we'll talk."
***
The fire, Gorrick thought as he smashed another screaming goblin into the dust with his shield, was getting out of hand. All around him crude rickety goblin shanties were catching fire. Scrap wood and mushroom fiber catching like tinder and burning ferociously. Gorrick didn't know where the fire had started, probably some idiot goblin had an open fire that got scattered in the attack, but it didn't matter. Soon there would be nothing left in here but ash, broken stone, and cracked metal in this tower.
"Fall back!" He roared over shrieking goblins and laughing flames. "Fall back Clan Bronzebones! Let the flames take the greenskins."
Around him warriors tightened their shieldwall and began slowly backing up the staircase. With each step goblins threw themselves at them, desperate to escape the growing inferno.
Fighting paused though when a deep groan of shifting stone echoed over the battle. Gorrick's eyes widened. The tower was collapsing.
"Flee!" He said, his voice once more drawing the eye of every living thing. "The tower is collapsing!"
At once the dwarf formation broke as they abandoned the shield wall and they thundered up the stairs. Axes flashed among dancing flames as the goblins took advantage of the gaps in the line to push closer.
With every step the groaning grew louder, more insistent, but even as Gorrick could begin to see the ceiling starting to shift his heart soared. They were almost out, he could see the setting sun blazing through the door.
Then something grabbed his leg.
He fell hard, his shield barely catching him as his helmet struck the steps. Dazed Gorrick looked up towards the door, saw the vanguard starting to turn to help, felt the stone around him shifting ominously.
"Flee! Don't turn back!" Gorrick yelled as his free foot kicked behind him, breaking something with a snap. "Keep running!"
To his satisfaction the hesitation of the vanguard disappeared and they kept running towards the door, towards safety. As he stumbled back up to his feet though a shrieking weight hurled itself on his back, forcing him back down. Quickly he rolled over, crushing the goblin on him into the sharp edges of the steps while his shield blocked a wild blow from another goblin. His ax flashed upward, removing another evil smile from the world.
Above him he heard a final groan and crack. Stone rumbled down, sending dust into the smoke and cutting off the dimming light of the sun. Gorrick cursed and reached behind him, grabbing the crushed goblin, and threw the body down the stairs, knocking two more goblins down with it. Then he rushed up the steps two at a time. One look at the rubble blocking the way out confirmed his suspicions.
With all his strength Gorrick struck the stone with his ax, the sound of metal against stone echoing through the passageways. It wasn't a chisel, but it would work in this case. It was a simple set of runes after all.
"Alright you cowards!" Gorrick roared, as he turned back around, his voice strong and steady despite the smoke and dust filling his lungs. "My name's Gorrick Steelbrow," he continued even as he proved his namesake to a goblin rushing him, "Master of the Watch! Master of this tower! Remember it for I'm going to carve it into yer bones!"
Then he descended, down into the shrieking darkness and cackling flames, ax flashing as steady as a pick all the way.
***
Torches, each one burning merrily, each one lit by the same bonfire outside, pushed back the darkness of the tombs. In an unspoken tradition that was perhaps accidently started by the dwarfs of Karak Eight Peaks, but was no less embraced for it, the tomb was the second place repaired in the captured watchtower, right behind the gate.
As one the dwarfs of clan Bronzebones marched forward. Hoisted aloft by the strongest members of the clan were slabs of stone, each one carrying a body positioned into a pose of repose. All but the first slab, which only carried charred pieces of bone, a cracked and bent shield, and a blackened ax head.
One by one the slabs of stone passed through a gate swung silently opened by the priests of Gazul. The same gate that their ancestors would have passed through to continue their journeys towards the glittering realm. There was one difference though. The keystone of the arched gate had been changed. Now it bore a collection of hastily carved runes. Runes carved not with a chisel, but with an ax. Runes that shared a simple message.
Vengeance
A.N
It's been a while since I wrote something for this story, but the ideas of the second war for the silver road were just strong to pass up. I hope you enjoyed it.
