The nearest fiend went down quickly, its right leg hacked through. Tempting as it was to drop the hammer on its head and finish the job, Doran needed both weapons to deflect and block the remaining two Reavers. He shoulder-barged one, giving himself some space, before swinging his axe in a wide arc. The blade found its new home in the hip of the Reaver and declined to come out. Since the creature was knocked to the ground by the force of the blow, Doran had to abandon it and face the last standing Reaver with his hammer alone.
Seeing the incoming downward strike, the son of Dorain sidestepped and let the mindless knight decapitate the one-legged Reaver. With a grin on his face, he smashed his hammer down onto the back of the mindless knight’s head, adding its corpse to the rest.
Turning to retrieve his axe and destroy the Reaver harbouring it, Doran was met by a new obstacle. With what energy he could conjure, the dwarf swore under his breath at the sight of Gondrith the Just and Hammer of the North. At least that had been his title many millennia ago, when Erador heralded him as a hero. Now, he was an undead Dragon Rider with a long hammer plastered with gore and dripping with blood.
Having already come across his dead dragon, Yillir, Doran knew that Gondrith fought without the aid of his companion, but that didn’t mean the Rider wasn’t a force to be reckoned with. With the son of Dorain in his sights, Gondrith shoved any and all aside to reach him. His hammer even knocked down Reavers if they got in his way.
“Ye’ve come for a piece o’ Heavybelly ’ave ye?” he provoked, hunching his shoulders into a fighting stance. “Many ’ave tried. Yet ’ere I stand!” he bellowed, beating his chestplate.
Gondrith dashed forwards, his hammer lifted high, while Doran charged forwards in a frenzy of rage. The two collided in a clash of steel and a battle of wills. The War Mason swiped with his axe, just as he had for the last two days, but the Dragon Rider displayed a set of skills the other Reavers didn’t possess. He evaded with swift ease and wielded his hammer as if it were no heavier than an ordinary sword. Doran had to work twice as hard to avoid its blow.
Concerned as he was with the slab of steel at one end, he forgot to block the end of the haft, which Gondrith slammed into the side of Doran’s head. The dwarf reeled away, trying to move in the direction of the blow, but the force was still enough to knock him off his feet. Hitting the dirt was painful, but the incoming hammer triggered all of Doran’s survival instincts. He ignored the aches and rolled one way then the other, narrowly avoiding the heavy strikes.
Stubborn as he was, the son of Dorain had no intention of giving up the fight. From the ground, he back-handed his hammer into the side of Gondrith’s leg, bringing the Reaver down to one knee. Doran used the opportunity to get back on his feet and catch his breath. Gondrith required no such reprieve. The Dragon Rider rose to his full height, his hammer still firmly in his grip.
“Come on then,” Doran muttered. “I’ll knock that ugly head right off yer shoulders.”
Gondrith twisted on the spot, bringing his hammer round in a sweeping arc. The War Mason wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could block such an attack and so he didn’t even try. Instead, he dropped and rolled under the swing. Popping up at Gondrith’s side, Doran swiped and hammered at his enemy, but the Rider took it all before turning to continue the fight. The son of Dorain, however, wasn’t finished. Using the curved blade of his axe, he hooked it over the haft of Gondrith’s weapon and pulled it down, exposing his head. Without pause, he thrust the top of Andaljor’s hammer into the Reaver’s face and repeated the action three times.
A final shoulder barge forced the Rider back a few steps and gave Doran a good look at the damage he had inflicted. Gondrith’s helmet was a crumpled mess, the iron digging into sections of his putrid face. So misshapen was it that one of his eyes had been crushed in by the hammer, giving him a blind spot.
It brought a smile to Doran’s face. “Welcome to the club,” he jeered.
Gondrith gave no hint of suffering or even offence. Using one hand, he dragged the helmet from his head without a care for the chunks of his face that came with it.
“Damn,” the dwarf cursed. “An’ I thought ye were ugly with the helmet.”
There was no witty retort from Gondrith, only action. The Dragon Rider kicked the head of his hammer up and took hold of the weapon in both hands. He then proceeded to roll the hammer over itself left and right as he approached the War Mason. Doran stepped back in an effort to anticipate his foe’s attack. When it finally came, his exhaustion slowed him down enough to have his axe batted aside and his hammer knocked from his grip. Gondrith brought his weapon to bear and shoved the haft of his weapon, horizontally, into the dwarf’s face. The next thing Doran knew, something strong impacted his chest and he was on his back again, only now he was absent Andaljor.
Gondrith the Just came to tower over the son of Dorain.
Looking up at his foe, Doran spat a mouthful of blood at him. It was all the defiance he had left in him. He had no words, in this his final moment. The dwarf let his eye wander up to the emerging stars where, beyond their light, Grarfath’s Hall awaited him. He almost giggled at the thought of Yamnomora’s warm and comforting embrace, for the Mother was always the first to greet the children of the mountain.
Gondrith’s hammer went high into the
