Within the space of an hour, the distant moans of the undead subsided into the distance, and the caravan reduced its speed to a crawl. Aboard each wagon, the dwarves were taking stock of their losses. A cursory roll-call of the military dwarves revealed a loss of as dozen, with civilian casualties of at least twenty. The gaps in their numbers were evident from the unattended packs laying abandoned.
Within the silence and privacy of a covered wagon, Labs sat shielding himself from the scrutiny of the others. The dwarf instinctively scratched at his wounded arm, and cursed to himself as he felt a sliver of flesh peel away. He knew he should stop, but the infernal itching was driving him crazy. And the cold, the deep penetrating cold that had spread from his arm throughout his whole body. He shivered involuntarily, and wrapped his blanket tighter around him.
Aboard the lead wagon, Legon spat into the road. “Those damned deadites. You should have let us finish them off!” he growled accusingly at Kubluk. The unwilling leader of the expedition looked startled, and stammered for a response.
“But, we were losing. We needed to escape…” he finally answered.
“We’re dwarves,” Legon snapped. “We don’t run from anyone. And you made us run.”
“If we’d stayed, we’d have all died for nothing!” Kubluk snapped. “You agreed with me at the time! You said we should run!”
“Then I was wrong,” Legon growled. “We should have stayed and fought!”
Othtar leaned over from the other side, and placed a large hand with affection on Legon’s shoulder. “Calm yourself Legon, Kubluk didn’t make us run away. He is a true dwarf, and he led us courageously into the battle.” He grinned, and waved his other hand to encompass their surroundings. “It’s not his fault the deadites were too slow to follow us here.”
Legon looked around the wagons at the empty plain. The landscape was undisturbed, and swayed gently in the breeze. In the distance, a gull cried.
“The Battle of the Silent Plains,” he nodded to himself, finally satisfied. “Let it be remembered to history as the first fight in which the dwarves were the only side courageous enough to take part.”
He raised his axe above his head, and bellowed a battle cry into the silence.
“Courage and honour!”
Tacken snapped at the reins, and the wagons increased speed to a gallop. Aboard the wagons, soldier and civilian alike clung to their perches as the dwarves rode into battle against their absent opponent.
***
High above them atop the distant cliffs of the Crevice of Orbs, a lone rider sat astride a powerful black horse, watching the charge of the dwarves with a faint smile of amusement. He brushed a silver hair from his eyes, and tucked it behind his tall slender ear.
“There you are,” the elven rider quietly remarked to himself, before gently steering his mount away from the cliffside.
Author
Topic: The Captain's Log- Spiritwood (Read 61274 times)