Within less than an hour, the wagon train had moved without incident through the village, and rejoined with the members of the Helm. The human had been sent to the rear to rest in a lightly loaded wagon, and they had been making good time along the stone road since picking him up.
As the wagons clattered along the roadway, the dwarven legion marched at a jog along either side. Kubluk was as ever sat in the lead cart, where Tacken held the reins. Despite the danger from attack, the two dwarves were in high spirits, exchanging stories from the mountain home.
“And Labs said ‘wood? I thought you wanted it made of iron!” Tacken exclaimed, slapping his knees. Kubluk sat back on the bench, and laughed deeply.
“So,” Tacken asked, his face becoming a little more serious. “Did you leave anyone behind back home? A family?”
“There’s just me,” Kubluk replied. “My brothers were part of the guard that stood up against the giant. Neither or them survived the battle.”
“It sounds like they died well.”
“Aye, they did the family proud.”
He hung his head slightly, remembering their determined faces. They had both seemed so confident as they pulled on their helmets and left the fortress. He had never believed they would never return.
“Do you think we’ll ever go back there?” Tacken asked, after a moment of silence.
Kubluk paused, then recalled his conversation with Mebzuth the councilman at the gateway to their home.
“The mountain home has stood for over a thousand years. It’s survived fires, dragons, giants.” Kubluk replied. “It’s the true ancestral home for all dwarves, and I’m reckoning it’ll take more than just a little damp to bring it to its knees.”
Tacken nodded, somewhat satisfied with the response. Kubluk looked away, his eyes fixing on the roadway ahead of them. In his minds eye, he could see the waters rising through the tunnels of the mountain home. Furniture and dwarf alike pushed aside by the surging waters, the screams of panic from the trapped. He felt the bitter taste of the flood waters in his mouth and imagined how it would feel to finally disappear underneath the waves for good.
He shuddered slightly, and pulled his cloak tightly around him. The air was beginning to become colder, and a damp breeze was gradually picking up. Visibility was decreasing, as the evening began to draw in, and a thick fog began to settle around the convoy.
Legon jogged over to the wagon, and Kubluk helped him up onto the bench beside them. He paused momentarily to regain his breath before reporting.
“It’s beginning to get dark. We should stop soon before we can’t see more than a few feet ahead of us. Othtar doesn’t like the look of that fog either.”
Kubluk nodded. “I agree. Is there anywhere near we can stop?”
“Nothing marked on the map, it might be best to just make camp.”
Kubluk paused for a moment, then nodded. “You’re probably right. We’ll stop where we are, and pull everyone in close. I’m not feeling good about tonight.”
He wrapped his cloak even tighter around himself and shivered again. He wasn’t feeling good about that night, not even slightly.
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Topic: The Captain's Log- Spiritwood (Read 61276 times)