Soon he became accustomed to the sounds of the glade and the rustling and crackling became more frequent. Deer and wild boar tore through the undergrowth at his approach. There were animals everywhere, and like him, they seemed to sense the peacefulness of the forest and feel at home there.
I won't get too friendly with the elf maiden until I've learned more about her, he decided. His race and hers were sworn enemies, but Tungdil saw no sense in hating someone who had done him no harm. I'll see how she treats me first.
A branch snapped again. Judging by the racket, the culprit was a fair-sized animal, most probably a stag. Tungdil peered ahead, hoping to glimpse its magnificent antlers.
Another branch broke, twigs snapped, and a voice cursed- in orcish.
The harmony of the forest shattered like a bauble beneath a blacksmith's hammer. Orcs spilled out of the bushes and Tungdil, who moments earlier had been basking in a sense of security, was confronted with the prospect of being eaten alive. A penetrating odor of sweat and rancid fat filled the air.
The first beast, a particularly hideous specimen, stepped onto the path. He was armed to the teeth and nearly twice the height of Tungdil.
"Bloody greenery. We'd move faster if we burned the blasted forest down." The ore snatched furiously at a twig that had wedged itself in his armor. He still hadn't seen the dwarf.
The troopers who followed him out of the bushes were more observant. "Hey, Frushgnarr, take a look at that!"
The square-jawed head whipped round. Two small deep-set eyes glared at Tungdil as the orc opened his wide mouth in a blood-curdling shout: "A groundling!" He drew his toothed sword. "I love groundlings!"
"If only the sentiment was mutual." The dwarf strained to see past him and paled. The orcs were still coming, pouring out of the woods. At thirty he stopped counting. There was no hope of evading them this time. Like a true child of the Smith, he would go down fighting and take an orc with him. He would have liked to prove his credentials before he met his Maker, but at least Vraccas would know that his intentions were sound. "Now you're here, I'll have to kill you."
"You and whose army?" the orc jeered.
Tungdil lowered his bags. It was maddening to know that he had come so close to completing his mission, but he drew unexpected courage from his frustration.
"Army? I don't need an army when I've got my ax!" His inborn hatred of the beasts, common to all dwarves, was awakened by the foul creatures' odor. An image of Goodwater, houses burning and villagers slaughtered, flashed before his eyes. The bookish part of his brain shut down and he threw himself, shrieking, upon the nearest ore.
The beast parried his blow with a shield. "Are you sure you don't need an army?" he grunted scornfully. Snarling, he took a step forward and lunged.
The dwarf retreated hastily and backed into a tree. At the last second he ducked, the sword whistling past him, almost grazing his head. It buried itself in the bark.
On seeing the orc's sturdy thigh in front of him, Tungdil swung his ax toward the unprotected flesh. "Take that!" Dark green blood gushed from the wound, streaming down the beast's shin.
Abandoning his sword in the tree, the orc reached for his dagger to stab the dwarf instead. Tungdil's mail stopped the blade from penetrating, but the impact sent him reeling. Fighting to stay upright, he tripped over his bags and fell.
"So much for your ax, groundling! Prepare to die!" The orc hurled the dagger at him but missed.
Tungdil, who had succeeded in tangling himself in the straps of his bags, was still trying to free himself when his opponent decided to retrieve his sword, wrenching it out of the tree.
The beast limped toward him, snorting with rage and brandishing his blade. It hurtled through the air.
As the dwarf dove to one side, the bag of artifacts jerked after him, landing on his back just as the blade made contact.
The famulus's precious possessions absorbed the blow, but the splintering and jangling left Tungdil in no doubt that the artifacts had paid dearly for saving his life. Who knows if they'll ever get to Greenglade? His fury redoubled.
"I'm not done yet!" Rolling onto his front, he used his momentum to plant his ax in the ore's right thigh, almost severing his leg.
The beast yelped and fell to the ground beside the dwarf. Tungdil rolled away from him, sprang to his feet, and drove his ax into the creature's throat. He heard the bone crack. "Who says I need an army?" he panted. For the first time in his life he had slain a beast of Tion. He hoped to goodness that Vraccas would be satisfied since it was likely to be his last.
The band of thirty or so orcs stormed toward him. He knew there was no chance of him surviving the attack.
If I'm going down, one of you is coming with me. Tungdil squared his shoulders and tightened his grip on the ax. He could imagine how the fifthlings had felt when the northern hordes had assailed the Stone Gateway. There was nothing for it but to follow their example and die an honorable death.
The lead orc was only ten paces away when a bright, defiant bugle sounded close by. He heard clattering armor and a peal of colliding blades; then shouts went up as dying orcs tumbled to the ground. To Tungdil's astonishment, reinforcements had arrived. He was too grateful to worry about who they were.
"The groundling has friends," roared the chief of the band. "Bring me their flesh!" The green-hided beasts turned away from Tungdil to confront the enemy that had attacked them from behind.
The elf maiden must have sent her warriors. I can't stand by while they risk their lives on my behalf. He ran after the orcs, darting forward to drive his ax into the back of a dark green knee. The beast toppled like a tree.
That makes two, Tungdil thought grimly.
One of the orcs engaged his blade while the rest piled in on the new arrivals, hiding them from Tungdil's view.
Tungdil soon realized that his unexpected victories had given him more confidence than was merited by his skill. His third opponent saw through his feints and swiped at him relentlessly.
The dwarf checked five savage blows before his luck ran out. A fierce strike dashed the ax from his hand and it landed in the grass. For want of another weapon, he drew his bread knife. "Come here, you brute!"
"Gladly, groundling!" The orc gave a grunt of delight as he eyed Tungdil's knife. "What's that, a toothpick? Just what I need to clean your flesh from my jaws!" He raised his sword. Kingdom of Urgon, Girdlegard, Early Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle A joint army?" Lothaire laughed out loud. Urgon's sovereign was a youth of twenty-one cycles. He flicked his long blond hair and gestured for more water. "You want us to fight together against the Perished Land?"
King Tilogorn nodded. At forty cycles, he had a thin, earnest face and shoulder-length brown hair. He had journeyed to Urgon with the sole purpose of forging an alliance, but after four hours of discussion in the gloomy chamber there was no indication that the message had got through. In the meantime, the sun had passed over the mountains of Urgon and was sinking behind their peaks.
"It is rumored that the girdle is weak. If the magic fails, the orcs will attack our lands with a strength and ferocity more devastating than anything that has gone before." Tilogorn pointed to the map. "The seven human kingdoms of Girdlegard must unite. Your help is vital if I am to persuade Umilante, Wey, Isika, Bruron, and Nate of our cause."
Lothaire sipped his water and stared at Tilogorn over the rim of the glass. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Absolutely. Our survival depends on it."
"Shouldn't we leave it to the magi to repair the girdle before we-"
"The magi will take care of the magic, but we must be prepared to fight. I've dispatched a messenger to Lios Nudin to request a meeting with the council. I'm expecting word any orbit."