That in itself was a daunting thought that would see most run away, never to return. Fortunately, the old ranger in him knew exactly how to tackle such a fight: the knights of Erador were just monsters. He had fought and slain more monsters than he had eaten hot meals. That’s all this was. Just another day killing monsters.
With that thought underlying his determination, he kept Pig on a straight heading and ploughed deeper into the mountains. Overhead, the dragons deliberately double-backed on themselves again and again to stay close to the army until they reached The Bastion. The valley, however, was mile upon mile of mounting snow, so thick in parts that the Warhogs struggled to move through it. Costing them vital energy and resolve, their journey went on and on, hour after hour, until the sun was hidden behind the western mountains.
“Camping in this is going to be hellish,” Sir Ruban called out against the wind.
Doran was about to agree when he noticed the dragons fading away into an evening sky. They were angling into the north, to the dwarf’s right, and heading for the top of the nearest mountain.
“I don’ think we’ll be campin’!” the king replied, returning his gaze to the open valley before them. He held up a balled fist and orders were immediately called out to halt their incessant march.
Faylen’s horse approached to bring the High Guardian over. “The Bastion must be up there,” she reasoned.
Kassian Kantaris came up from behind Doran, having left his horse with his Keepers. “If The Bastion is up there,” he posed, “where are all the Reavers guarding the passage?” The young mage surveyed the valley as they all had. “It’s just… more snow.”
“And the sun is dropping fast,” Sir Ruban added, as the wind whipped snow about them. “It will be dark soon.”
The son of Dorain scowled at the setting. “I don’ like it.”
“Perhaps our assessment was wrong,” the captain continued.
“Alijah must have ordered his forces up to The Bastion,” Kassian said gravely. “If we don’t find that path before nightfall we’ll never get up there.”
Doran shook his head, his eye never wandering from the valley. “We’re dealin’ with a necromancer,” he reminded them. “He’s not playin’ by our tactics.” The dwarf climbed down from his Warhog and was dismayed by the deep snow he discovered.
“What are you thinking?” Faylen enquired.
Doran squared his jaw and frowned. “What am I thinkin’?” he echoed. Unable to answer the question, he started forward, through the snow. Thaligg and Thraal naturally made to follow but the king stopped them with a gesture. Instead, he looked back at Kassian. “Bring yer wand, lad.”
With the Keeper beside him, Doran broke away from The Rebellion forces. Together they walked further into the valley, though no further than their ability to call back. As light faded from the world, Kassian brought his wand to bear with a glowing light shining from the tip.
“What are we looking for, Doran?” he asked.
The dwarven king ran a hand through his blond beard, taking some of the snow out of it as he did. “Somethin’ ain’ right,” he muttered, though the wind snatched it from the air before the words could reach the Keeper.
Standing still, his sight battling with the feeling in his gut, Doran let some of the tension go in his hand, allowing Andaljor’s hammer end to dip into the snow beside him.
Doran froze and not from the plummeting temperature.
He looked down at where the end of his hammer would be, where he had just heard the familiar sound of steel knocking against steel. Kassian had heard it too and quickly turned on the dwarf, his wand pointed down at the pile of snow. Now that the light was directed at the ground, they could see the definition in place of the white out. The ground was covered in piles of snow similar to the one Doran was standing beside.
The king looked up to meet Kassian’s eyes and found the same cold dread of realisation that lived in him. Without wasting another second, Doran turned back to The Rebellion and cried, “SHIELDS!”
At the same moment, thousands of Reavers sprouted from the valley floor, their numbers curling around the edges of the rebel forces, at the foot of the mountainside. The Reaver beneath Doran’s hammer shot up from the snow only to receive a destructive blast to the face from Kassian’s wand, the tip ignited with a devastating spell.
Enemies rising left and right, the son of Dorain had no choice but to heft Andaljor and swing with all his might. After hammering the closest Reaver in the chest, he took the opportunity to unclip the two halves of the ancient weapon. By the time he was wielding both axe and hammer, Kassian had unleashed a torrent of colourful spells and sent undead fiends back to the afterlife.
Not far away, Faylen and Sir Ruban gave the order to close ranks and organise a shield wall - they had only seconds before the Reavers were upon them. Doran glimpsed Thaligg and Thraal darting away from the formation and riding towards him on their Warhogs, and Pig close behind them. Inevitably, the Reavers swelled between them, cutting the brothers off from their king.
Now, with Kassian already disappearing behind a wall of Reavers, the son of Dorain faced the battle of his life, alone.
56
Where it all Began
Alijah’s maniacal laughter echoed through the halls of The Bastion. The Rebellion had entered The Vrost Mountains with all the finesse of a Troll and wandered into a fight they couldn’t possibly win. Even now, he watched through the dead eyes of his knights as they fell upon Doran Heavybelly with
