nomads. His face was badly sunburned and his lips were peeled into little flayed and scabby strands, “Do your worst then.”
The nomads looked at the sunburnt dwarf and smiled as they closed in, “The sun is intense in the desert,” said one of them, “you need to cover yourself properly. Have you not visited our lands before?”
“Die,” came the girlish voice of Milli followed directly by a dagger that plunged into the eye of the second nomad who collapsed to the ground in a silent heap.
The four remaining warriors darted forward at Brogus but the dwarf whipped his tall, steel shield in front of him and deflected two strikes as he backed into the little hidden cavern. The nomads followed into the darkness which left them blind for the moment, and Dol took this opportunity to come at them with the Hammer of Fire. One of the warriors raised his light wooden shield as he sensed the motion but the heavy steel head smashed through it as though it weren’t there at all and pulverized two ribs, pushing one of them into the nomad’s lung. The three remaining warriors spun towards Dol and lunged at the shape; Dol deflected one sword tip but the other got through the defenses only to be turned aside by his heavy dwarf-made chain shirt.
Brogus used the moment to neatly cleave the head off one of the remaining warriors and the leader, almost blind in the cave, called out, “Retreat, back to the horses,” and dashed backwards out of the cave. His surviving companion tried to follow but Milli darted out, dashed under his feet, and his heel hit her side as he backed away and sent him tumbling. She spun around and neatly slid her dagger through his ribs and into his heart. He died without making a further sound.
Dol walked carefully to the edge of the cave, gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light, and then emerged in time to see Sufeka, the last of the warriors, mounting his horse and wheeling it to charge. “Death to invaders, for the Farrider clan, for the nomads, death!” and then he charged at Dol his horse almost leaping forward to close the gap between them instantly. His scimitar came down in a slashing blow but Dol ducked underneath it and brought the hammer through in a rising strike against the horse’s stomach as it rushed past.
Sufeka wheeled the beast but it screamed and spun against his movement which sent him spinning out of the saddle and onto the ground where his head hit the hardpan with a stunning crack.
By the time the nomad regained his equilibrium, Dol stood over him with the hammer poised in both hands ready to deliver a killing blow. “Take us to the Black Rider.”
The nomad glared up from the sand and spat out a wad of blood, “I do not understand your foul northern tongue, but I assume you want me to do something for you in order to ensure that I survive.”
Dol stared at him in total incomprehension and his eyes burned with fire. Suddenly he raised his hammer to bring it down on the head of the sneering nomad and only the intervention of Brogus, who grabbed Dol by the arm to stop the blow, prevented the attack.
“Dol,” said Milli. “What are you doing?”
“He cannot help us,” said Dol. “Why not get rid of him before he brings down more of his kind upon us?”
“Dol,” repeated Milli. “We are not the sort to murder in cold blood. Besides, if we can communicate with him perhaps he can tell us where we are.”
“In the meantime,” said Petra emerging from the back of the cave where she remained hidden during the fight, “We now have five horses and an excellent supply of water.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse like that?” said Brogus eyeing the muscled chargers that eyed them from nearby. He took a step towards one of the beasts but it reared and lashed out with a hoof. “They don’t look friendly.”
Sufeka laughed at the attempt to approach one of the horses. “You’ll never ride the horse of a Farrider, invader,” he said. “We train them too well.”
“I think he doesn’t like our chances of taming the steeds,” said Milli with a glance at the nomad on the ground. “If we can’t catch them then we can’t unload their supplies.”
Petra produced something from inside one of her pockets and began to hum a little tune as she quietly approached the horses while looking in the opposite direction.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” started Brogus as he reached out towards Petra.
Just a moment later the old woman was at the lead horse, cooing gently, and whispering soft words in its ear as she fed it something from the palm of her hand.
“Witch woman!” shouted Sufeka from the ground and started to rise but Dol merely turned the hammer in his direction and pointed it at him.
“This might work out,” said Milli as she cautiously approached the mammoth horse and held out her hand.
“How are you so good with animals?” asked Brogus, now wearing one of the floppy hats the nomads sported a few moments before. “Here, I got their hats. We should all put them on. I don’t know why we didn’t even bother to ask where we were headed.”
Milli looked down at the ground as she stroked the shoulder of the big horse, “That was my fault. If Petra hadn’t brought water and food we’d have died of thirst days ago. As it is we wouldn’t have made it more than another day or two and we had no idea what direction to head.”
“We still don’t know where to go,” said Brogus and looked at the man on the ground. A moment later all four of the companions wore one of the floppy hats as they stared at the prisoner.
“We can follow their tracks,” said Petra looking at the hoof prints in the ground. This scrub is good for that as long as there isn’t a storm.”
“I wouldn’t mind some rain,” said Milli, her face red and her skin parched and dry. “Even if it did wipe out the tracks.”
“We can’t wait too long,” said Dol, the fire in his eyes gone as suddenly as it came, and they were now returned to their normal, brown color. “When this patrol goes missing they’ll send out reinforcements. On horses like these it won’t take them long to find us.”
“Wait,” said Petra who pulled something out of the saddlebag of the leader’s horse. “It’s a map. I don’t understand the writing but there are symbols.”
“Let me look at that,” said Brogus coming over and taking the parchment from the hand of the woman. “We dwarves know a thing or two about map-making.”
The nomad on the ground watched them closely and thought about dashing for one of the other horses, but the tall dwarf with the short hair kept him under strong surveillance. He felt burning shame at the defeat at the hands of the barbarians, although he could see that the hammer was of great power. He could yet redeem himself by taking it back to his people.
“See this symbol here,” said Petra, as she, Milli, and Brogus huddled over the map and took sips of water from the large skin containers they looted from the great horse. “It’s the same as on the horses and their equipment. I think we’re right at the border of this other tribe. This other symbol looks like a black horse and I’d take that as a good sign we’re on the right track.”
“You could be right,” said Milli and turned her attention back to the man on the ground. “I just wish we could ask him a few questions. And, if we do find this Black Rider, how will we communicate with him?”
“He looks the hard sort,” said Brogus with a glance back at their prisoner. “I’m not sure he’d talk unless we put the tongs to him.”
“Brogus!” said Milli.
“What?” said Brogus. “He’s not going to volunteer the information, and besides, he can’t speak our language anyway.”
“Still, torture?”
“It’s just an idea,” said Brogus with a shrug of his shoulders and another sip from the water skin. “If Petra is right about this map then we can head… well… what direction is what?”
“They say you can tell by watching the sun,” said Milli pointing up.
Petra looked at the trio and shook her head, “Have any of you three ever been outside for more than a few days of your life?”
“I’ve been on trading caravans for weeks,” said Brogus. “But I didn’t pay too much attention to the sun. It’s awful bright.”
Milli shook her head, “I was outside as a little girl, but I don’t remember it.”
