The Half Dwarf Prince Page 8

  Fredin had realized that the saddle on the lizard was empty when he had driven his swords into the beast. When Hure finished it off he immediately spun around, facing down the tunnel the lizard had come from. He didn’t need to dodge out of the way of the javelin because it wasn’t aimed for him. He heard the thud as it hit Hure’s shield. They had chosen a target out of anger, Fredin reasoned—that was the only explanation why that javelin hadn’t been aimed at him, the closest target, but at the one who had killed this kobold’s lizard.

  Fredin didn’t look back, though he had heard metal on wood, and was already moving toward the one who had thrown the javelin. The kobold had another in his hands by the time he reached him. Fredin swung hard across his body with the sword in his right hand. His left hand was already coming over his right arm as he knocked the javelin to the side, and his sword slid between the kobold’s ribs and into his lungs.

  Fredin followed the tunnel into a chamber. He stood at the only exit to the chamber. The room was about thirty feet long and thirty feet wide. In front of him were close to a dozen kobolds and three lizards. He heard the orcs coming behind him. Hure would be the first, followed by a few others. He didn’t know how many and he didn’t care. He charged forward. Three javelins came at him and he did the only thing he could do: he threw himself on the ground, his momentum rolling him forward. He came up in front of a kobold that was already leveling a javelin at him. He brought his sword across, but the angle was wrong. He felt the bite of metal as it glanced off his ribs. His sword came across and buried into the kobold’s side. The blade caught in bone, so Fredin released the weapon.

  He stabbed out at the kobold coming in behind the one he had just killed. He was aiming for its throat. The kobold tried to duck, but it was too late. Fredin buried his sword in its face. He abandoned that blade as well. He was in an open chamber. Without the closed confines of the tunnels he could use his greatsword. He was in battle and he had his greatsword; nothing else registered—not the pain, not the odds, not Hure. He charged toward the closest kobold. It scurried around him more quickly then he could follow but not quick enough to outdistance the nearly six-foot sword that he swung out to his side with one hand. The blade dug into the kobold’s back. If the cut didn’t kill it quickly, he would suffer on the ground bleeding to death with the pain of a broken back. Another kobold was charging him on the back of a cave lizard. Fredin stared into the eyes of the kobold for the second it took the lizard to cover the fifteen-foot distance. At the last second, when the lizard opened its mouth to snap at him, Fredin forced the tip of his sword down and drove it into the lizard’s mouth. The momentum and weight of the lizard was more then he could hold and he went into a roll with the dying beast. The kobold had been thrown off its back.

  Fredin came up battered and bruised, but not seriously hurt. As he retrieved his sword he saw Hure smash the skull of the kobold that had gone flying over his head toward the tunnel. Another lizard rider and two other kobolds were headed toward the exit as six orcs entered behind Hure. Fredin paused just long enough to see her get her round wooden shield up in time to block the javelin of the lizard rider. Seven orcs against three kobolds and a lizard—he left them to it.

  He turned back to the last lizard rider and five kobolds arrayed in front of him. He knew what was coming next, and he was glad he had his greatsword in his hand. Two of the kobolds moved to his left and three out to his right. When they all began charging him the lizard rider kicked his heels into the lizard. Fredin knew he couldn’t let them surround him. He stepped to his left then dove and rolled. When he came to his feet he had the two kobolds in front of him, and the other three were in line a dozen paces behind them. The lizard had sprinted past where he had been and the kobold was already turning it back toward him.

  He lowered his sword and charged the kobolds. He skewered the first one. The second one dove out to the side and he ran past him. He jerked his sword to the left, ripping it out the side of the kobold’s body. The other three kobolds were still charging, and he swept his sword back to the right, extending his arms as far as they would reach. He cut the first two in half, but the third was out of reach. Swinging wildly had put him off balance. He saw the outstretched javelin of the kobold and all he was able to do was tuck his elbow into his side as he stumbled forward. He felt the javelin dig into his arm as he fell into the kobold. They rolled to the ground together, but Fredin continued his roll straight to his feet. His weight had been enough to crush the kobold pretty badly. He stomped on its throat for good measure. When he looked up he saw the lizard and rider coming at him.

  Fredin saw the flash of steel as something that one of the orcs had thrown slammed into the kobold’s back, knocking him from the lizard’s back. The lizard didn’t change its course, though. Fredin hadn’t had time to retrieve his sword, so he did the only thing he could: he pulled the javelin out of his bicep with a roar of pain. He put his foot on the butt of the five-foot weapon and barely got the point up in time. The lizard barreled over him, impaling itself on the javelin. The next thing Fredin knew, he was lying on his back with the heavy lizard on top of him.

  Hure was quickly there with two other orcs. Together they rolled the lizard off him. Fredin was able to stand on his own, but he realized now that the javelin that had gone through his bicep must have cut into his side as well. The leg he had stabilized the javelin with hurt badly after taking most of the impact of the lizard. He limped over and picked up his greatsword. Then he limped back toward the tunnel, stopping to grab his dwarven blades. He didn’t even attempt to wipe any of them off; he would clean them when he was back in his own room. He knew in his weakened state he was vulnerable. He walked back the way they had come, toward the stairs.

  Vingaza watched as a battered and bloody Fredin limped toward him. “We need to get him out of here,” the orc next to him said.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked the orc. Before Gescheit could even answer, the orc platoon leader at the base of the stair walked out in front of Fredin. Vingaza recognized him. He wasn’t positive, but he thought this was the orc that had followed around the other clan chief that Fredin had killed a few days ago.

  “I am Bogar of the Dungins. I challenge for lead,” the orc said. Vingaza was about to say something when Gescheit grabbed his arm. He looked over and saw the orc was shaking his head. He couldn’t interfere, Vingaza understood; this was their way. He knew that if Fredin fell, Gescheit would not lead. The Black Dragons wouldn’t be safe sticking around with one of these fools in charge. He might not be able to intervene outwardly, but if Fredin got in trouble he had a few spells that the orcs wouldn’t even notice.

  Fredin started to pull his sword when Hure stepped in front of him. “I will accept your challenge,” Hure said.

  The orc looked at her with confusion. “I challenge for the Dungins. I no want to claim you.”

  She already had her mace and shield in hand. “I am a chief amongst the Dungins. My clan are Dungins, but they follow me after Fredin. I have first right to challenge. If you want all Dungins, first you must take mine.”

  The orc looked at her, confused. Fredin realized that what she said could be true, but he also knew that the other orcs would see him as weak if he let her fight for him. If he had to, he might actually let her fight for him. She would win this fight, he knew, but he still had another fight in him. He pulled the dwarven blades from his hips. His wounded arm wasn’t strong enough to wield his greatsword. He could barely grip the dwarven blade. He set the flat of one sword against Hure’s arm and pushed. She looked back and then moved out of the way. “I am Fredin, leader of the Dungins. And I accept.”

  The other orc opened its mouth to speak, but Fredin was already walking toward him. He held the sword in his left hand, low. He would only block with that blade and only if he had to. The other orc saw his wounded arm and went for it immediately, leaping out to that side and trying to score a hit on the wounded arm. Fredin had expected that, and he simply stepped ba
ck. When the other orc tried to score a hit on that arm again he faked a block with his weak arm, and then swung the sword in his right hand at the inside of the other orc’s leading leg. His block had been weak and he felt the bite of the blade after it knocked his sword out of the way, but he had scored a hit. The other orc just didn’t know it yet.

  Fredin stepped back and watched as the orc tried to put weight on his leg. He nearly fell. It only took a few seconds. Fredin watched the confusion on the orc’s face. Everyone always worried so much about the head and neck or the heart. If you could open the inside of a leg, the bleeding would kill someone almost as quickly. Fredin just stepped back another step and watched. After a few seconds the orc slumped to the ground. He reached down and tried to stop the bleeding in his leg, but he would never be able to. The ground around him was soaked in blood. After a minute the orc’s eyes had rolled back and his chest didn’t appear to be rising and falling anymore. Fredin didn’t even take the time to go finish him. The flow of blood was already slowing. The orc was dead or nearly there.

  Fredin turned and walked toward the stairs. When they got to the top of the steps there were a hundred orcs waiting. When their leader saw Fredin he stepped out in front of him. Before he could even get the words of a challenge out of his mouth, Hure caved in his skull. Fredin just smiled. He looked at Gescheit and nodded at the platoon of orcs. He heard Gescheit ordering the orcs to go down and clear the level below. Hure walked next to him and the human walked behind him. He trusted Gescheit to finish everything up. They had gained a foothold and the orcs were clearing the level. If Vingaza was down there, that meant his wizards were collapsing the tunnels to the lower levels. The kobolds on that level would all be dead within an hour, now that the orcs had filled the level.

  He followed Hure into their room. He lay down on the bed and fell asleep. He had seen that Hure was going to be loyal to him, and Vingaza needed him. He was safe for now. He could deal with everything after he had slept and taken some time to recover. He heard Vingaza casting a spell as he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Dragons and Supplies

  Grundel walked down the street with Rundo. Jerrie followed them from a distance. He didn’t like the attention and said that it would be better to be able to surprise anyone who might attack them. Grundel had to admit Jerrie was good. Every once in a while he would turn around to look for him. Even in uncrowded areas, Grundel could almost never pick him out. When he did it was usually because he had somehow gotten ahead and was standing at some corner waiting for them to pass.

  They were close to one of the gates when they found the wagons. There was a rope around them and a small mud hut built up against the city wall. They walked toward the mud hut. An man probably close to fifty years old came out. He had a hunch in his back, and he was missing three fingers on his left hand. The man was old, but his body had obviously been through a lot. He had probably been a soldier.

  “Hello. You must be Grundel.” Grundel looked at him curiously. It seemed a lot of people in the city knew who he was, but how did this man know him? The man gave him a knowing smile. “Our mutual friend told me you would be coming.”

  “Oh. In that case, did he tell you what we were looking for?” Grundel asked.

  The man looked at eleven wagons in line over by a far rope. They were all covered. Covered were better than open wagons, but Grundel knew that was going to cost him more. “What is that going to cost us?” he asked the man.

  Now it was the man’s turn to look confused. “You are Grundel, right?”

  “I am,” Grundel answered.

  “Who sent you here?” the old man asked.

  “Jerrie,” Grundel answered, unsure what had caused this line of questioning.

  The man shrugged. “Jerrie has taken care of everything. Those wagons are yours.”

  Grundel and Rundo looked at each other and then back at the man. “We would like to keep them here, and return them here when they are loaded. We still have a few days before we leave. Would it be all right to store them here? You wouldn’t have to worry about watching them. We would send some dwarves to keep on eye on them.”

  The man just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you want.” He turned and walked back into the little mud hut before Grundel could even ask about payment for storage.

  Jerrie was standing at the opening in the rope as they walked out. “What do you think? Will those work?”

  “You bought the wagons?” Grundel asked.

  Jerrie laughed. “No, these are all my wagons. The old man works for me. I saved his life once. He has no family, so I gave him a job watching over the wagons. He even rents some of them out on occasion. I tried to build him something a little nicer to live in, but he built that mud hut himself, and I’m sure you know how stubborn the elderly can be.”

  Grundel just shook his head. “So you are rich, then?”

  “All these personal questions,” Jerrie joked. “No, I’m not rich. I’m not broke, either. No need to go into where I got my money, just know I didn’t steal it.”

  Grundel realized he was interrogating the man who was actually doing a lot to help him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Thank you for the wagons. Where can we buy some horses?”

  “There is a stable down this street, but those horses are as likely to die as be race horses. If you want something a little more reliable, there is another stable a few blocks away with well-fed, well-taken-care-of horses. It will be a little more expensive but you will get your money’s worth,” Jerrie told them.

  Grundel smiled. “Well, we got a great deal on the wagons, so I guess we can afford to spend a little more on the horses.”

  “The stable is down this street. After two blocks you will see the first one on your right. Keep going another block and then turn left. The better stable is down that street on your left,” Jerrie explained, then turned and started to walk away.

  “Where are you going to be?” Rundo asked.

  “I’ll be around,” Jerrie said, looking back over his shoulder with a smile.

  Jerrie had gone down the same street had told them to go down, but when they turned onto the street he was nowhere to be found. They passed the stable on the right. It smelled bad, even for a stable, and Rundo just shook his head.

  “What are you shaking your head at?” Grundel asked.

  “Those animals aren’t healthy. They’re all sick and sad,” he answered, still looking back toward the stable.

  “You want to get them instead?” Grundel asked.

  Rundo shook his head. “No. I can’t take care of them, and they aren’t healthy enough to do what we need them to do. I have accepted that I can’t save every animal in the world. It’s just a little harder when you can sense what they’re feeling.”

  Grundel couldn’t really understand, of course, but he understood the idea. They continued down the street and made the left where Jerrie had told them to. They could see the stable down the street. When they got close, they saw that behind the stable was a field of grass that stretched for two blocks behind the stable—a big field in the center of the city. Grundel looked down at Rundo, who smiled up at him and nodded.

  The man that walked out wore knee-high leather boots over thin brown leather pants and no shirt. He was heavily muscled and very tan. When he shook Grundel’s hand, Grundel felt the thick callouses on his hands. This man wasn’t just the man who made the deals; he worked with these horses for sure.

  “I’m Isaac. How can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, his eyes only lingering on Grundel for a short second.

  “We’re going to be pulling eleven wagons for about two weeks. We were thinking we would need two horses to each wagon.”

  Isaac nodded toward his shop. “In that case, come with me.”

  They followed the man into the shop, which had everything dealing with horses on the walls and on shelves. They walked through the shop and out into the stable. There were thirty stalls running down each side o
f the stable. The first ten on each side were empty. “These guys are out in the field right now. They aren’t what you’re looking for, but you’re welcome to take a look. They are all racing or show horses. The work horses you’re looking for are down here. They’re not nearly as fast, but they have endurance. As long as you rest them and keep them fed, they will pull for you all day long.”

  “So, if we strap two of these to a wagon loaded with food, they could pull it every day for two weeks, as long as they got a full night’s sleep and plenty of water and oats?” Rundo asked.

  Isaac thought about it for a minute. “That shouldn’t be a problem as long as none of them get injured and they just walk all day. It wouldn’t hurt to rotate them out so that different horses are pulling the heaviest wagons each day. After a trip like that I would give them plenty of time to rest before using them again. At least a week, I would say.”

  “So what are these beautiful horses going to cost us?” Rundo asked, reaching his hand into the nearest stable and rubbing the horse on the nose. He didn’t look back at the man as he considered the price.

  “I can go as low as four silvers or a single gold for each. It’s a bit more than you’ll pay at the other stables in the city, but these are the only horses that you can count on to do what you want. You’ll have to spend as much on extra horses just to make sure you don’t have to abandon your wagons.”

  Rundo laughed as the horse stuck his head out and buried its muzzle in his neck. Grundel just laughed and shook his head. It was less then they had planned for back in Evermount, and he hadn’t had to pay for the wagons. He reached into a pouch inside his shirt and grabbed three small coin purses. Each one held ten gold pieces in it. He poured five coins out of one of them and handed the three bags to the man. “That is twenty-five gold pieces. You mind if we keep the horses here for a couple more days?”