As night fell, so did the fog. The dwarves had drawn the wagons round into two rough circles; an outer defensive perimeter patrolled by the military dwarves, and a smaller inner circle where the civilians would bed down for the night. With unspoken agreement, few fires were burning around the camp, and conversations were being conducted in a low whisper.
The Courageous Bolt were on guard duty, so Othtar was awake with Kubluk in the centre of the camp. The two were feeding on two substantial cuts of meat acquired from Tacken’s supplies, and their conversation was sporadically punctuated by the sound of chewing meat.
“So how did you end up commander of the Bolt?” Kubluk asked, after swallowing a particularly troublesome chunk of meat.
“Taking command of the Courageous Bolt is a little unorthodox. Very few dwarfs have ever been promoted to the position. It’s more a question of necessity. As one commander falls in battle, the next guy picks up where he left off. I’m actually a sergeant.”
Kulbuk looked confused. “Then you’ve never had any training in command?” he asked.
“No-one can train you how to command. You just do it. If it’s a good command, people live. If it’s a bad command, people don’t come home. You just learn to live with it, and learn from your mistakes.”
Kubluk hung his head. “I’m just glad I’ve got dwarves like you around me. I don’t think we’d have got this far without the Courageous Bolt.”
Othtar chuckled. “We’re only dwarves, just like you and every other carpenter and trader in the caravan.”
“But the stories of bravery, of courage. I couldn’t have done those things.”
“We didn’t have a choice. It was either live, or die. One day I’m sure you’ll have to face the very same decisions, and I can tell you this, “he continued, “you’ll fight as hard as you can for as long as you can, because you just don’t have any other choice.”
Kubluk nodded, before biting another chunk from the meat. He wasn’t sure what he was eating, but from experience, he knew better than to ask.
“How’s our human guest?” he asked finally, after another long pause in the conversation.
“Pretty shaken up,” Othtar replied. “He’s still sleeping, but I’ve ordered Diesalot to watch over him and call us when he wakes. I’d still like to see what more information we can gather from him.”
***
Within the protection of the inner perimeter, the woodcutter Labs was trying to sleep. With a sigh, he rolled over on the hard ground, and cursed as another pebble dug into his back. He shivered in the cold night air, his breath condensing with each heave of his chest. Finally, with a huff, the woodcutter finally accepted the inevitable. He was going to have to relieve himself.
Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, he grumbled himself to his feet, and strolled in the direction of the camp latrine. The going was slow, as every few seconds he was forced to pick his way between the various prone bodies of the slumbering dwarves. Passing a lone sentry in the darkness, he nodded to the dwarf before moving onwards. The guard merely inclined his head towards Labs and sighed, a deep rush of air moving from his lungs.
Finally and with great relief, Labs arrived at the latrine, and set about performing his business. After several moments, he looked up and was surprised to find that the sentry had followed him. The soldier now stood motionless several paces away, watching him silently.
“Diesalot, is that you?” Labs asked, recognising the dwarf from his shape in the damp fog. The soldier hissed quietly in response, and tilted his head in a strangely unnatural pose.
“Can’t a dwarf pee in peace?” Labs demanded. “Bugger off and leave me be.”
Diesalot began to move towards him. Not in the slow deliberate manner of a military dwarf on patrol, Labs thought to himself. No, more in the slow deliberate manner of somebody wanting to eat his brains.
“Oh sod,” Labs exclaimed, before scrabbling to do up his trousers. Picking up a nearby length of branch, he swung it at the dead dwarf. “Wake up!” He shouted. “We’ve got zombies!”
Diesalot lumbered forward, his feet scraping an unnatural rhythm on the dusty ground. His mouth opened in a sickening parody of a grimace and he moaned an unearthly sound. He raised his arms to reach out and grab for Labs, who hefted the tree branch like an axe.
“You want my tasty flesh?” Labs asked, pacing backwards from the zombie. “Well you’re going to have to come get them. It’ll take more than a deadite to bring me down.” He took several steps backwards, before hearing an unpleasant squelch. He looked down to find his left foot in the latrine.
“Now look what you’ve made me go and do,” he complained, before charging forward at the undead.
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Topic: The Captain's Log- Spiritwood (Read 61300 times)