The War of the Dwarves Read Free Page B

the roaring, thundering beast. His mouth filled with snow. He clutched at the air until
     his right hand grabbed a falling shield, which he clung to as if he were drowning.
    His descent was fast—so fast that his stomach was spinning in all directions. He had no way of orienting himself in the snow,
     but the shield cut through the powder like a spade.
    Tiring of the dwarf, the White Death dumped him and covered him over. The weight of the cold beast’s body pushed the air from
     his lungs.
    A little while later Boëndal blacked out. Night descended on his consciousness and his soul was ready to be summoned to Vraccas’s
     smithy. At least it would be warm.

I
    300 Miles North of Mt Blacksaddle,
    Kingdom of Gauragar,
    Girdlegard,
    Winter, 6234th/6235th Solar Cycle
    A rivulet of sweat left his greasy hair, slid down his forehead, and slithered over his soot and lard-slathered skin, zigzagging
     past clumps of solid dirt. It ran down the bridge of his green nose, dribbled onto his upper lip, and was licked up greedily
     by his thick black tongue. His vile mouth stayed open as he panted for breath, exposing the full length of his tattooed tusks,
     a sign of high rank. His vast jaws twitched.
    “Runshak!” he thundered, gesturing for his henchman to join him.
    The troop leader, putting on a burst of speed to overtake the column of marching orcs, left the path to reach the mound where
     his chieftain was waiting.
    The long march north had started at the Blacksaddle, where the orcs had been defeated by an alliance of dwarves, elves, and
     men. They were heading for their new homeland in the Gray Range: Eight hundred and fifty torturous miles still separated them
     from the Stone Gateway at the border with the Outer Lands.
    For now they were intent on destroying their cousins, who were somewhere on the road ahead.
    Runshak marched up the slope and came to a halt in front of his chieftain, the great Prince Ushnotz, one-time commander of
     a third of Toboribor, the southern orcish kingdom. “Are we catching them?”
    “Look,” boomed Ushnotz, pointing to a flat expanse of grassland amid the rolling hills. The field, a mile and a half across,
     was scarred with thin black lines—narrow channels cut by melt water that ran toward the eastern corner, seeping gradually
     into the soil. Although the field was grassing over, the trees and bushes were still bare, offering little protection from
     the wind—or shelter from enemies.
    Hordes of tiny black figures had taken up residence on the usually peaceful land.
    Runshak estimated their numbers at more than two thousand. They had set up camp and were going about their business as if
     they had nothing to fear. Dead wood and branches had been stacked in large pyres from which smoke was rising in thick black
     columns, clearly visible in the cloudless sky.
    Ushnotz raised a hand to his massive forehead, shielding his eyes as he focused on the activity below. Most of the milling
     figures were orcs; the others, shorter and less powerful, bögnilim. What they lacked in stature, they made up for in speed,
     but bögnilim were cowardly creatures that had to be whipped into shape. “Northern orcs and bögnilim,” he grunted scornfully.
     “An alliance of fools.” The northern orcs, summoned by Nôd’onn to secure the human kingdoms, had demonstrated a fatal lack
     of discipline at the Blacksaddle, scrapping like wolves, while Ushnotz’s troopers, no less ferocious or powerful, obeyed his
     orders like well-trained dogs. The orcish chieftain despised the northerners, but bögnilim were worse. “Prepare to attack.
     We’ll strike when they’ve filled their fat bellies and they’re snoring by the fire.”
    Runshak nodded and charged down the slope, barking orders at the pack leaders, who relayed them in similarly boorish fashion.
     With a clunking of armor and jangling of chain mail the mighty army of five thousand orcs rearranged itself into smaller units.
     The archers made their