The meeting had been enlightening. Nothing promotes co-operation in a dwarf more than a foreboding sense of doom. Within the space of two hours, a plan had been drawn up, scrapped, drawn up again, revised, revised again and finally given the stamp of council approval. Now all that was necessary was to get the ponderous wheels of the mountain home into motion.
Kubuk had been designated project leader. His complete lack of knowledge in ship-building matters was somewhat offset by his selection by the gods. Dirulal had already pledged his support to the mission, and had been designated as the council liaison to the mission. Servu had stepped up to the role of chief engineer, and was even now in his quarters drawing up blueprints for the mammoth project.
“What about transport?” Kubluk asked Dirulal, as they later strolled from the council chamber. “We’ll be packing a great deal of equipment and provisions with us. Do you intend on carrying it all on your shoulders?”
Dirulal gave him a faint smile. “All in hand Kubluk, all in hand.”
***
“You can’t just take my wagons!” Tacken exclaimed, grabbing the arm of the lead dwarf. The dwarves had come a few minutes previously, about a dozen of the council guard led by a rather official looking bureaucrat. They had burst in on his small butchery business and begun loading up his wagons, as their leader thrust a pile of official looking documents into his hands, saying something about a requisition order.
Tacken was not pleased, and stood his ground in the doorway. “You’re not taking my wagons,” he repeated, firmly.
“Why not?” the bureaucrat asked, watching his men fixing the mules to the front of the wagons.
“’Cause they’re my wagons! How am I supposed to transport my meat without my wagons?”
“We’ll be needing the meat as well. You’ll be compensated.”
“Compensated be damned, where are you taking them?”
“That information is classified by the council.”
Tacken watched in vain as his four wagons were led out of the gate. He stroked his beard, and finally made his decision.
“Then I’m going with them,” he stated, stamping his foot.
“I’m sorry?” the bureaucrat looked puzzled.
“They’re my wagons. If you’re taking them, then I’m going with them. I have to protect my investments, see?”
The bureaucrat consulted his papers, as if looking for a flaw in the dwarf’s argument. He finally looked up. “Very well,“ he said. “I shall add you to the itinerary. I would advise you to pack for a long trip.”
***
The Courageous Bolt stood to attention in the long chamber of the mustering hall. Around a hundred dwarves, coated in a wide variety of armour and sporting all manner of weaponry. Conformity of uniform was not essential in the Bolt, merely a devotion to the mountain home and willingness to spill as much blood as necessary for its protection. There was a sense of excitement in the ranks, as all dwarves eagerly anticipated the mission. They knew that few, if any of them would return, but that was the way of the Courageous Bolt.
Their commander Othtar stepped forward, a towering figure at almost five feet in height. His black armour glistened in the torchlight, a relic of over eighty years of combat. The men straightened audibly as he began to speak.
“Men of the Bolt. As many of you are aware, Kubluk of the Taniden clan has been selected by the gods to construct a mighty dwarven ship. This ship will escape the floods, and carry our bloodline into a new future. The construction of this ship will be a perilous process, and many carpenters will give their lives for such an ambitious project.”
The men nodded, giving their lives was a standard part of any project, as far as they were concerned.
“However. These men will need protection, and you soldiers of the Courageous Bolt have been selected to act as part of the defending force. You will be supported by men of the Helm of Jaws, and the Dutiful Stockade.”
“Sir,” Legon snapped to attention, his brow furled in confusion. “We are happy to give our lives for any cause. We exist purely for the good of the mountain home. But this is baby-sitting work, good for the likes of Jaws and Stockade, but why are we being roped in to escort duty?”
Othtar turned his back on the men, and strode over to a map on the wall. He picked up a stick from the wall and began to outline their travel plans.
“The caravan will leave the mountain home and wind its way north into the Wrackpit swamps. You can expect heavy resistance from any man-beasts dwelling in the abandoned villages of the region. We will then head east through the Crevice of Orbs, and no doubt encounter some undead along the way. Breaking through any resistance, the convoy will then proceed via the Wayward road to the north east across the Circular Plains. Here we will be visible for miles and liable for ambush. And finally, we will swing to the east, and set up a base of operations in the Spirit Wood.”
The men remained silent. The mission was beginning to look up.
“The Courageous Bolt is the only division with the experience necessary to penetrate so far into hostile territory. We can expect resistance at every step of the way, and after starting work in the Spirit Wood, the elves are certain to attack. It is your job to arrange the defences, and harass any attacking forces.”
He turned back to the board, and slapped the stick on a prominent symbol to the north of the Spirit Wood. “And finally, the Courageous Bolt is the only division with experience of combating Nganuz. The Demon has set up home near to the elven lands, and is mustering a force of goblins in the region. We have no idea when, but we can expect an assault on the elves in the near future. Your job is to keep Nganuz away from the construction site, and his eyes on the elves.”
The whisper of Nganuz’s name spread through the ranks. As one, the men drew their weapons from their holdings, and held them aloft. Othtar turned, and lifted his mighty battle axe. “Men of the Courageous Bolt. This caravan will get through, and Kubluk will have his ship.” His voice raised, “and if any of you happen to kill Nganuz along the way, then you will live on in name for eternity!”