“What has become of him?” Abram asked the faint wind.
Zerafin looked at the ground. “He has been taken by Eadon. Our greatest fears have been realized. We have won today’s battle at a great expense, but without Whill, we cannot win the war. We have no other option but to try and free him from Eadon’s grasp.”
“How do we free him from one so powerful?” Abram asked.
Zerafin shook his head. “How indeed?”
The tale of the Battle for the Ebony Mountains
The dwarf ran down the long tunnel. Screams and sounds of battle echoed off the walls and filled him with dread. He clutched his great axe, frantically trying to get to the fight. One hundred dwarves followed Roakore, holding similar axes or war hammers. The Draggard had invaded the mountain. The Draggard! The dwarves had not seen the attack coming, hadn’t even considered it a possibility. But now it was a grave reality. Roakore turned the corner of the great tunnel into a larger hall. Before him was a sight that would haunt his dreams until the day he went to the Mountain of the Gods. Hundreds of Draggard were within the hall, and hundreds of his kin alike. Roakore’s shock was short-lived, however, as a seven-foot Draggard came barreling at him with a long, mean spear leading the way. Roakore spun with the attack and came around with his axe in one smooth motion, burying the blade deep in the monster’s back. The Draggard fell to the floor, writhing and twitching in agony. All around him hundreds of similar battles played out. But it did not take the dwarf long to realize that most of the battles were ending differently. For in the great hall the dwarves were outnumbered three to one, and still more Draggard came rushing in through the tunnel they invaded from.
Axes clanged, hammers fell, spears dove, and blood poured. Rage welled within Roakore as he watched his kin fall one after another, Draggard after vicious Draggard pouring into the room. He knew that this battle would soon be lost. The dwarves’ only hope was to go to the chambers of Erakknar, a series of tunnels, halls, and chambers used in the ancient days in times of invasion. Never before had the mountain been lost, for no army of foes could withstand the defenses set forth within the chamber of Erakknar. Roakore turned to his fearless band of dwarves and roared, “To Erakknar!” His companions repeated the command. The tunnel to the chambers, however, was at the other end of the great hall. Roakore led his group straight into the heart of battle with a war cry that echoed through the hall and grew as it was taken up by his fellow dwarves. The cry grew to such an intensity that for a moment the Draggard lost their momentum in the fight. The expressions on their lizard-like faces turned from rage and bloodlust to doubt and fear. Roakore and the others jumped at the hesitation. A wave of rage-filled dwarves barreled into the Draggard, relentless in their attack. Holding a tight V-formation as they went, and adding many to their ranks as dwarves who had been in the middle of the battle joined them, they made a steady charge for the tunnel.
The Draggard fought violently, fighting with spears and teeth and claws and long, spiked tails. Roakore watched as the dwarf next to him went down as a pointed tail impaled him through the chest. Roakore swung hard with his axe and took the head off the shoulders of the attacking Draggard. Again he swung, and again and again until he was covered in the blood of his enemies. Before long he had led the band of dwarves to the tunnel. The Draggard army was considerably thinner, but as one Draggard fell, two more poured in from the tunnels. The deadly swarm followed closely behind the dwarves, picking off those at the end of the thick line. Roakore and the rest of the dwarves ran as fast as their stout legs could carry them down the tunnel. They did not run in fear, they did not run to save their own hides; they ran to meet with the rest of the dwarf population who had undoubtedly gone to the Chamber of Erakknar when the warning horn had blown.
Light emanated from the end of the tunnel-blue it shone, telling Roakore that the defenses where ready. He and his men, fewer now, rushed into the first chamber. It was narrow at first but then widened with every step until it met the adjacent wall. The shape of the room resembled a smooth triangle, the tunnel they had come from being at one of the three points. Before them was a great staircase that climbed high but then zigzagged to a balcony landing. Atop the balcony Roakore was glad to see fifty or more dwarves holding great boulders over their heads, ready to crush the oncoming army. Roakore waited at the stair and rushed his men past, waiting for the last before he ascended. He quickly questioned his actions, however, as the last dwarf ran past, followed by an ocean of teeth and claws and spears.
Roakore followed closely on the heels of his fleeing friends as the Draggard filled the chamber and also started up the stair. He knew that the defensive attack would not begin until he reached the first landing, but he wondered if he would make it. Claws scratched at his armor as a Draggard tried to catch him when finally he reached the landing and spun around with his axe. Whether it was his rage or the adrenaline rush or a little of both he did not know, but as he turned on the Draggard he chopped it clean in half with one mighty swipe. On cue the boulders began to fall like rain upon the Draggard as they ascended the steps. The Draggard were effectively cut off from the stair by the shower of rock. All but five were on the safe side, along with Roakore.
One Draggard bounded at the dwarf foolishly and was met with an axe to the head. But the other four took the opening and charged, leaping after the dwarf as well. Roakore ran at the Draggard who were now in the midst of their long leap. Roakore used their momentum to his advantage, and as he passed under them he turned and chopped at the closest one. His mighty axe found the Draggard’s chest and tore through the scale armor and sunk deep, bringing down the vile creature but also Roakore. He bounded to his feet in a flash and struggled to free his axe as the other three Draggard landed. Unable to free his axe, Roakore removed the hatchets he had strapped to his outer thighs. He clanged them together as the Draggard hissed and growled at him. Roakore returned the growls with one of his own.
“Urrr, come on!” Roakore roared in defiance. The Draggard again hesitated before the crazed dwarf-just what Roakore needed. He raised his arms and cried, “Ohn zrak kytho sjendi zwikor henin ty!” The Draggard hesitated no longer and advanced on the dwarf. Roakore made no movement to defend, he only repeated the chant. As the Draggard charged, two of the great falling boulders changed course and flew directly over Roakore’s head, smashing two of the Draggard hard against the wall. Before the remaining Draggard knew what was happening, the dwarf was upon it, hacking and chopping, fire burning in his eyes until all that remained of the Draggard was a heap of gore.
“Come, Roakore!” came a voice from above. Roakore quickly retrieved his axe and ascended the stairs to the great balcony. Looking down upon the carnage that was the stairway and tunnel opening, he was not pleased. More than fifty dwarves continuously heaved great stones down onto the Draggard. This had stopped their approach so far but still the Draggard poured into the room. Roakore peered into the stone holding room and discovered to his dismay that only a few hundred stones remained. Also, upon turning back to the chamber, he discovered that dozens of Draggard had begun scaling the walls. To his left Roakore saw his three brothers and his father. They had begun the chant to the stone, and Roakore quickly joined in. As the dwarf before him tossed a great boulder, Roakore took control of its momentum with the power that only he and his family possessed. He sent the boulder smashing into one of the climbing Draggard, squashing it like a bug. The crushed and lifeless beast, along with the rock, then fell to the waiting horde below. Roakore and his brothers and father successfully kept up this attack until every rock had been thrown.
The scene below was a slaughter. Hundreds of Draggard lay in waste, their bodies crushed and bloody among the rocks. But though the stones ceased to fall, the Draggard did not cease to enter. The tunnel entrance had been essentially barricaded with the rain of stone, but still gaps remained. Through the gaps in the fallen stone the horde of Draggard continued to pour.
“To the next chamber!” Roakore’s father ordered. The dwarves retreated from the balcony and past the stone holding room. Beyond was a descending staircase and another chamber, the Chamber of Fire. Roakore stayed behind the group as the dwarves hurried to the end of the chamber and up another staircase. Unlike the other chamber this one was rectangular, with a high ceiling and a stone-tiled floor. Between each of the stone tiles was a three-inch gap, two inches deep. At the top of the staircase Roakore could see that the five large barrels of oil had been tapped. Oil poured forth down a circuit of stone gutters and onto the floor, filling the gaps between the stone. Fifty dwarves waited at the top of the staircase, which led to an arched doorway to the next chamber. In the chambers beyond, more than one thousand dwarves waited, armed and ready. Roakore, however, stayed within the Chamber of Fire, shoulder to shoulder with his kin atop the staircase, waiting for the Draggard. The trap’s effectiveness counted on the dwarves’ waiting until the room filled with Draggard, which also meant that they had to hold them off for a while.
