Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6) (3 page)

“What should we do?” Midger asked.

“If I sent the engineers with you, could you cause a
rockslide?”

Midger shook his head. “Not one that would reach the
Tarthuns. Maybe we could hit part of the corral they made, but it would only
break the barriers and scatter the horses at best.”

Faengoril snapped his stubbly fingers. “That’s it!” He
then ran around the boulder and picked up a bit of paper. “Midger, you will
take this to Captain Benbo. I want him to create a series of barriers inside
the cave. We are going to place dwarves with crossbows at each one. He will
send a handful of engineers with you, and you will help them find a position
from which they can create a rockslide.”

“If we cause a rockslide, the Tarthuns will retreat
away from the cave,” Midger pointed out.

Faengoril shook his head. “No. You and the other
scouts will go down and attack the horses tonight. I saw a patch of Rot-blossom
growing a short ways from here. I can have it turned into a potent poison.
You’ll put it in the animal feed. Afterward, you can use crossbows to kill some
of the horses and try to create a stampede. Then the engineers will drop rocks
down on top of them. Whatever horses the Tarthuns save will then be killed with
the tainted feed.”

“What if we are discovered?”

Faengoril shot Midger a stern look and shook his head.
“Don’t get discovered.” Faengoril then went back to scribbling on the paper. “I
will lead a group of dwarves out to the mouth of the cave and while everything
else is happening, we will rain arrows down on the Tarthun camp. The goal here
is to make them think our force is much larger than it is, and get them to
follow us as we retreat.”

“I understand,” Midger said. Had Faengoril looked up,
he would have seen the doubt written across the scout’s face, but he didn’t
bother.

“Good. Get to it.”

The two scouts disappeared without another word.

It wasn’t long before Captain Benbo was approaching,
eyes angry and face flushed. Faengoril had expected resistance from him. None
of the other officers had come to support his objection, however, which meant
that despite Benbo’s
blustering,
the other dwarves
would be busy fulfilling Faengoril’s orders.

“Exactly what do you think you are doing?”
Benbo gruffed.

Faengoril leaned back against the boulder and folded
his arms. “Answer me this, Benbo, why are the Tarthuns setting up camp?”

Benbo threw his hands up in the air and angrily waved
the question away. “What difference does it make? Maybe they are tired of
marching, so they are going to wait for a couple days before coming into the
cave. Maybe they are coming in the morning.”

Faengoril remained calm and pushed off the boulder to
walk closer to Benbo. “Or perhaps they haven’t decided whether this pass is
sufficient for them. What do we do if they skirt around to the south and then
ride upon their horses up from Hamath Valley? We won’t be able to engage them
then.”

“We can’t engage them now!” Benbo snarled. “There are
seven thousand of them, or do you not understand arithmetic?”

Faengoril took in a breath, letting the slight roll
off his back. “If the Tarthuns go south, we lose. If they turn back and then go
north through the pass, we will lose.”

“I thought you said they were sure to come through
here?” Benbo reminded him.

Faengoril nodded. “I was. I made a mistake, but we can
solve this riddle easily by making the choice for them. We kill and scatter
their horses. They will be too enraged to think clearly. They will see
us
as the
threat. If we show enough force, perhaps they will even think we intend to
invade the eastern wilds.”

“Stonebubbles,” Benbo growled. “What dwarf in his
right mind would leave Roegudok Hall? He would have to be more than daft and
crazy to want to fight for the eastern wilds too. They won’t fall for it. I say
our best choice is to stick with the original plan.”

The commander shook his head. “This isn’t your call,
Benbo.”

The dwarf clenched his jaw and folded his thick arms
across his chest. His icy blue eyes bored into Faengoril’s own as if to spear
through them. Benbo shook his head in disgust. “You won’t be happy until we are
all dead.”

The commander shook his head. “I ask only for
volunteers. All others who do not wish to take part in the new plan can remain
with you, outside the cave.”

“What, now I am not good enough to include in your
plan?” Benbo shouted.

Faengoril smirked and socked Benbo in the shoulder.
“You are better than good enough,” he said. “That is why I want you outside. If
things go sour, then I need to make sure my warriors are in good hands.”

Benbo’s demeanor changed instantly. His gruff,
forceful exterior broke, giving way to a frown of concern and a nervous
stutter. “Y-you better not- you better not be planning a suicide mission.”

The commander smiled. “This isn’t the time to suddenly
start caring about me,” he said. “Besides, no one really plans on such
missions. However, I can see the odds as well as anyone else. Despite your
earlier comment, I am fairly good at arithmetic. That is precisely why this
must be done. We cannot allow the Tarthuns to change their mind now. If I could
move the mountain to bury them, I would. But I can’t, so I must make sure they
come into the mountain. The best way to do that is to take away their horses.”

“So what shall I do?” Benbo asked.

“Just send the men to do as I asked on the orders. Ask
for volunteers to man each barricade. Have at least twenty or thirty exit the
other side of the cave so that once the horses are loosed and the rockslide
hammers them, then there are enough to make the Tarthuns want to chase them
into the hole.”

“Even if the plan succeeds, the Tarthuns will likely
send scouts after us first,” Benbo pointed out.

Faengoril nodded. “That is true. However, if we are
convincing, then perhaps we can suck them all into the cave.”

The dwarf commander spent the next several hours
preparing for the fight. Volunteers moved in and out of the cave. Some were
digging and building the rock barriers inside, while others were getting into
position to fight. A relay chain of scouts was set up on the other side of the
mountain, keeping close watch on every move the Tarthuns made.

Fortune was with the dwarves, for no enemy scouts came
to the cave that day. They were able to make all of their preparations without
being discovered. Better than that, the surprise attack just before the next
dawn went off without a hitch.

Before the sun rose, Midger came running toward
Faengoril. The dwarf commander was already awake and dressed. He hadn’t slept a
single wink that night. When he saw the scout, his heart jumped and his stomach
twisted. Only when he saw the smile on the dwarf’s face did he understand that
all had gone well.

“Sir, the corral has been destroyed. We managed to
kill a few score of the horses with our crossbows. Several hundred of them
actually stampeded up the mountainside and were crushed by the rockslide that
followed after we snuck away. The rest are scattered off in every direction.
Many ran through the Tarthun camp and it caused a great commotion.”

Faengoril smiled wide. “What of the poison?”

Midger nodded. “There were many feeding barrels. It
looks as though the horses were set to graze on the grasses, but we made sure
to poison each barrel we found.”

“Good, good,” Faengoril said. “Whatever horses they
recover will likely be led by their riders to the barrels in order to comfort
them.”

“The Tarthuns sent a dozen men to attack, but we
slayed them. They sent another fifty, but we all regrouped at the mouth of the
cave and fought them off. We had the high ground, so we didn’t lose a single
dwarf.”

“Excellent,” Faengoril said. “Did they come into the
cave?”

Midger shook his head and his smile disappeared. “No.
They did send a force maybe two or three hundred strong up toward us, and we
retreated at that point. We paused at the far edge of the lake, but they only
came in as far as the waterfall and then they turned around.”

“What about the fake orders? Did you plant them?”

Midger nodded. “We left a single pack just outside the
mouth of the cave. It had the fake orders and the map showing the route through
the pass to the north.”

“Good, good. Now they will think our strategy was to
circle up behind them. Combine that with the loss of horses they suffered and
they will surely come after us. We have maybe a few hours at best before they
send a scouting party after us. It is time to get into positions.”

Faengoril moved to take his place just inside. A group
of cavedog riders were waiting for him. Each of them wore grim, yet determined
faces. It was obvious to him that they had heard how many Tarthuns were coming.
Still, if any of the twenty riders feared the day, none of them showed it upon
their faces.

The commander went to the front of the group and
clambered into his sturdy leather saddle. The horn of polished brass stuck up
and he took hold of it while he turned in his seat to offer a final word of encouragement
to his men. “We are not called upon to slay each Tarthun with our sword this
day, though Ancients know we certainly could if we wanted to!”

The men chuckled and smiled to each other. They all
knew it wasn’t true, but each of them acted as if it were
exactly
correct.

“We are few in number only because our brothers will
cover our retreat. Our job is to wait until the Tarthuns have lodged themselves
just deep enough in our cave so as to be stuck here. Then, we harass and pester
them to make sure the rest of the savage mongrels follow in after them. On my
mark, we will attack. The twenty-one of us will be able to maneuver easily in
the cave while the Tarthuns are imprisoned by their own numbers. When I give
the order we all fall back, pulling the enemy further into our trap. Once we
are at the cave’s exit, I will blow my horn and the engineers will bring this
place down around the enemy’s ears.”

The riders smiled wide, but none of them said
anything. They all knew the possibility of Tarthun scouts, and shouting would
create echoes.

They urged their cavedogs onward. The giant lizards,
though bulky and very heavy, padded silently through the cavern. As the riders
passed by defensive barriers where the others were hiding in larger groups,
armed with crossbows and throwing axes, the groups would all offer nods and
salutes.

When the riders finally reached the last bend, just
before the large underground lake, they halted. Faengoril dismounted and crept
around the rock wall just enough to enable him to use his spyglass and check
the entrance.

White light broke the darkness from the opening,
creating a faint rainbow over the newly-fashioned waterfall. For a moment he
thought the tunnel was clear, but then he saw a pair of tanned legs slipping
and sliding down the slope. Faengoril repositioned the spyglass to get a better
look. The man was covered with a loincloth, and wore a pack slung over his left
shoulder while his right hand gripped a bow. He wore no armor, and his head was
shorn. The dwarf commander smiled to himself. The Tarthun’s lack of armor would
make him an extremely easy target.

He slipped back around the wall just enough to signal
with his fingers that one person was coming down into the cave. Then he poked
back around the corner to watch. The Tarthun slowly approached the edge and
looked for an easy way down.

He slipped.

Schnap!
Even
the waterfall was not enough to drown out the noise of splitting bone.

Faengoril winced when the Tarthun’s right leg broke
below the knee and the man hollered out in pain. A moment later two more
Tarthuns came rushing down. The three of them communicated with their hands at
first, but after a few minutes of inaction the injured man started shouting at
the other two.

Faengoril held his left hand out to make sure that
none of his warriors moved. He was not about to give away their position yet.

He watched the trio blunder around for a while longer
until another pair of Tarthuns came down the entrance. These two wore simple
leather armor, and held spears in their hands to help steady
themselves
along the slippery path. They appeared to converse for a minute or two and then
the newcomers disappeared up and out of the cave.

Faengoril feared that perhaps they had decided the
path was too treacherous, but he needn’t have worried. Soon a large group
appeared. They quickly created a ladder out of ropes and scaled down the
waterfall. They hoisted the injured scout out from the cave and then the
massive march began.

Fifty Tarthuns descended the chute, each successfully
navigating the waterfall, and setting up a defensive perimeter on the far side
of the lake. A few of the men ventured into the water, only to turn back once
they realized it dropped off and would require them to swim the width of the
lake.

After about ten minutes there were so many Tarthuns in
the cavern that the group had to push forward around the lake toward the
waiting dwarves.

Faengoril lost count, but he estimated the number were
close to one thousand. He put away the spyglass and moved back toward his
riders. He signaled with his hands that it was time to prepare. Each of them
pulled up a crossbow and nodded back to him. The commander mounted his cavedog
and counted silently to himself. He wanted the approaching group to come close
enough that they wouldn’t be able to fire their own bows before the dwarves
managed to get within range to attack.

The footsteps echoed over the lake and through the
cavern. Flickering, dancing orange light played upon the walls. Faengoril’s own
heart beat furiously as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

“Ancients preserve us,” he whispered. Then he charged
around the corner with a crossbow in each hand. The twenty riders followed
after him.

He rounded the corner and leveled his weapon. He
pulled the trigger. A second later a score of bolts flew from behind him.
Twenty-one Tarthuns fell to the stone floor, a couple of them tumbling into the
lake. A series of shouts erupted from the large group. Faengoril smiled wide.
The group was stuck with the cavern wall on one side and the deep lake on the
other. They were only able to stand about fifteen men shoulder to shoulder. It
gave the dwarves the advantage.

The cavedog riders managed to reload and fire once
more before they collided into the oncoming Tarthuns. Spears and axes glanced
off the dwarves’ armor as the giant lizards snapped out with their powerful
maws and ripped legs out from under nearby Tarthuns.

Faengoril dropped one crossbow, tied to the saddle
horn with an iron chain, and pulled a short battle axe. He deflected a spear
and turned with a savage swing to the Tarthun on his left as his cavedog lunged
up and bit a hunk out of the Tarthun on the right. The man cried out in agony
and fell to the ground with only half of his midsection still intact.

Then, before the Tarthuns could encircle the dwarves,
the cavedog riders turned around and fled. They fired their crossbows and took
down another two score before disappearing around the bend. The echoing chorus
of footsteps grew to a great cacophony. Shouts and yells followed after the
dwarves. Faengoril led his riders fast as he could to the next bend. Then they
dismounted and hid behind their cavedogs as they leveled their crossbows. The
enemy came into view and the dwarves fired. This time only a few Tarthuns were
hit as some of the shots went astray. This stretch of the cave was wider than
the stone bank next to the lake so the Tarthuns fanned out. That was a mistake.

Several fell into the deep pits dug by the
dwarves
days before. Those who weren’t drowned or killed by
hitting their heads on the stone as they fell were trampled by the unstoppable
horde. Others tripped in the trenches, snapping ankles and legs like twigs.

Faengoril and the others fired three more volleys. By
that time the Tarthuns organized and pulled bows out.

“Now!”
Faengoril shouted.
They leapt atop their mounts and made haste to escape around the next corner. A
flurry of arrows crashed into the stone behind them. A couple arrows hit one of
the riders, but they glanced off of his armor.

The dwarf commander had his group halt right on the
other side of the curve. He wanted to surprise the Tarthuns as they rounded to
follow. Faengoril signaled for everyone to dismount again. They did so, leaving
their lizards in the Tarthuns’ path as they ran a few yards off and prepared
their crossbows.

The first row of Tarthuns came around the corner. They
never saw the dwarves hiding in the dark before the cavedogs tore them down.
Startled, the second row tried to run backward, but the pressing throng pushed
them into the cavedogs’ waiting jaws. Faengoril whistled, calling the cavedogs
back. Then the dwarves fired their crossbows to cover their mounts as the
animals rushed back to them.

Enraged, the Tarthuns shouted and fired their bows.
This time, one of the cavedogs went down with several arrows riddling its back.
The rider was able to double-up with another dwarf.

“You steer and I will shoot!” he shouted. The group
raced down the cave, firing their crossbows and trying to duck clumsy arrows as
they hurried toward the next bend, which also was narrower and would bottleneck
the invading enemy.

Luckily, even with the torches the Tarthuns were
unable to clearly identify their targets when they aimed their bows. The
dwarves, on the other hand were just as comfortable in the darkness as they
would be on the open fields. Almost every crossbow shot hit its mark.

They continued on like this for several hundred yards,
stopping at turns or behind rock outcroppings to antagonize the horde. The
Tarthuns were playing right into their hands. They had already passed two of
the trigger points, and there was no sign that the Tarthuns were slowing.

As the riders ran out of their crossbow bolts, they
rounded the first defensive blockade. The dwarves there not only prepared their
own shots, they tossed new quivers to the riders.

When the Tarthuns came into view they were met with a
wall of biting steel teeth flying through the air. Shouts and shrieks filled
the cave. The Tarthuns grouped into formations and fired back. The dwarves
ducked behind the blockade, waiting for the arrows to stop so they could fire
another volley. The arrows
plinked
and
tinked
off the blockade, bouncing over the dwarves or back up
the cave. The arrows came incessantly. Faengoril looked to the others and
realized that the Tarthuns were rotating their shots in order to keep up a
steady volley to suppress the dwarves.

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize this until it was too
late.

The arrows stopped right as Faengoril started to shout
his order, but he never got the chance. No sooner had the arrows stopped than a
wave of Tarthun warriors leapt over the barricade, hacking down with their
spears and axes. Faengoril caught a spear in the chest. The point didn’t pierce
his armor, but the force of the blow knocked him to the ground. Faengoril’s
lizard snapped its jaws around the attacker’s leg at the knee. The bone
crunched amidst a spray of blood and then the real fighting began.

“Footmen out!”
Faengoril
shouted. “Drop the ceiling!”

This was the order to spring a trap that had been set
at this first blockade. A lever clicked off to the side and a series of pikes
and sharpened branches dropped down from the ceiling, angled at the oncoming
enemy. Each of the points had been crafted to stop just a few inches above a
dwarf’s height, thus placing it squarely in a Tarthun’s chest without hindering
any of the dwarves as they retreated from the first blockade.

The anguished screams blotted out all of Faengoril’s
following orders. The riders stayed with him, firing their crossbows from a few
yards beyond the pikes and shouting at the dwarves on foot to get out of the
cave as fast as they could.

Many dwarves fell, but most were able to escape. The
riders picked up the last few stragglers and made a dash for the next blockade.

The next station would afford them better odds,
Faengoril knew. The dwarves there had fashioned fake walls and rigged them to
create miniature cave-ins. This time he knew to trigger the trap shortly after
the arrows began flying.

As they cleared the next set of traps, the other
dwarves were already standing atop the next blockade and aiming over Faengoril
and the other riders. The crossbows began firing before Faengoril and the
others reached the blockade. The dwarf commander cast a glance over his
shoulder and saw the Tarthuns close on their heels. Many of them slipped and
tripped in the trenches and pits still, but the horde as a whole was moving
much faster now, infuriated by the dwarves’ assault.

Arrows flew back. Two riders went down as arrows found
their mark between the plates of armor and also stabbed through their lizards.
Still, they couldn’t stop until after they rounded the blockade. Faengoril
ordered the riders to fire their crossbows again. Now it seemed as if the
Tarthuns were unstoppable. They went down by the dozens, but each corpse only
barely hit the ground before being swallowed in a wave of angry Tarthuns.

A pair of dwarves fell from the blockade, looking like
pincushions as they hit the stone with a plethora of arrows protruding from
their chests. Faengoril cursed the Tarthuns and ordered the next retreat.

A stout dwarf at the far end of the blockade pulled a
heavy lever with the help of two more dwarves. A flash of sparks blasted out
into the cavern as rocks exploded out from the walls and crushed a huge number
of the enemy.