Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora (52 page)

The bowmen instantly complied, as did Roakore. “Let ’em come taste me blade!” spat a burly old dwarf next to Roakore. He smiled to himself and gave a triumphant growl as he shot one of the Draggard in the eye. Roakore was confident that the battle would end here, for never in the history of the mountain had an attacking army ever made it past the Chamber of Arrows. Though the Draggard roared with what sounded like triumph, they had failed to notice the thousands of small holes that covered the stairs and side walls.

More than four hundred Draggard were now within the chamber, some climbing the walls to get to the shooters’ balcony, others ascending the stair. The entirety of the staircase was now covered with so many of the foul beasts that not a hint of stone could be seen. They poured onto it with such aggression that many fell over the sides and to their deaths one hundred feet below. Those at the very top of the stair, only ten feet from the dwarves, leapt with reckless abandon across the ten-foot gap towards the balcony. The left flank of archers cut them down in midair, dozens of arrows hitting the beasts with enough force to send them hurtling lifeless back toward the stair.

Another call suddenly came from Roakore’s father. “Bring the chamber to life!” he bellowed, and somewhere in the chamber a dwarf pulled a single lever. Roakore watched with great pleasure as thousands of arrows sprang forth from the holes within the steps of the stairs and side walls. The entire horde of beasts upon the stairs was thrown ten feet into the air, their bodies bristling with arrows, and fell lifeless to the stone below. Those Draggard that had been climbing the wall were torn to pieces by the thousands of arrows. Even those still just entering the chamber did not fare well, for they were cut down where they stood by the great crossfire produced by the barrage of arrows upon the side walls. The chamber was suddenly deathly quiet, a literal tomb.

The dwarf archers erupted into cheers at the sight of the massacre, but their celebration was short-lived. Giving no heed to their personal safety, still more beasts came pouring in from the tunnel. Over their fallen kin they climbed, and advanced upon the stairs once again. The Draggard were not known for their bravery, and the relentless attack unsettled Roakore. He sensed, as did others, that these beasts were being controlled by an unseen force. They would not stop until they were killed, or until they took the mountain. The dwarves cut into the ranks of the advancing group as it ascended the stairs. But their numbers were again overwhelming. They poured forth from the tunnel by the hundreds, up the walls and stairs.

“Draw weapons!” Roakore’s father’s call echoed as many of the beasts made it to the balcony. Roakore took up his axe as a Draggard jumped from the stair to the balcony. With a powerful sideswipe Roakore downed the hissing monster in midair, only to be met by three more leaping demons. The balcony had broken out into an all-out brawl as the dwarves angrily cut down the invaders.

“To the next chamber!” someone called, and the dwarves again began their retreat down the next tunnel. Slowly they backed shoulder to shoulder into the wide tunnel as the horde advanced after them. The dwarves fought valiantly but the Draggard numbers were too great. As they downed one, another stood to replace it.

“Go with yer father and brothers!” said a dwarf named Dwelldon to Roakore. “MI and me brothers’ll buy you some time.” Dwelldon held a massive war-hammer, and his eyes shone with a burning fire. Roakore knew he would not be talked out of his resolve, so he simply nodded. The dwarves retreated quickly down the tunnel as Dwelldon and his four brothers stood shoulder to shoulder blocking the way. Roakore listened with shimmering eyes as they took up the battle song of the gods.

As the dwarves, now numbering less than fifty, entered the next chamber, they were followed by the sounds of Draggard howls and of war-hammers thudding into bodies. This was the Chamber of Spears, another triangular chamber with a staircase leading to a great balcony. Atop the balcony awaited another hundred dwarves, this time brandishing huge spears. Roakore and the remaining dwarves from the Chamber of Arrows ascended the stairs and took up places upon the balcony as the drawbridge was lowered. Roakore found his father and brothers in the entrance to the next tunnel. They were huddled around someone lying on the floor. Roakore went to them and to his dismay found that the one they looked over was his eldest brother, Wrakkwor.

“My son,” Roakore’s father said to the fallen dwarf. “Go now in peace to the Mountain of the Gods. You have earned your place among the kings of old.”

Roakore wiped his eyes as he watched his beloved brother’s last breath leave his beaten body. “Take him to the last chamber!” his father ordered two awaiting dwarves. They took up the body and hurried down the tunnel. Roakore’s father turned to his three remaining sons with burning, tear-filled eyes. “They’ll pay.”

Roakore grabbed his father’s arm as he stormed past toward the balcony. Roakore knew the Draggard had entered the chamber, for dwarf spears had begun to fly.

“Be there word from the four groups that’ve doubled back to the main chamber?” he asked.

Roakore’s father looked ill; his grey eyes burned still, but beneath that fire of hatred lay a hint of despair. “Yes, my son. They found the chamber full. The Draggard army numbers in the thousands. They fill every hall, tunnel, and chamber. We, my son, are all who remain.”

Roakore knew in his heart then that they were doomed. The Draggard numbers were so great that still they filled the main hall and all surrounding tunnels. Although hundreds of tunnels and a vast number of chambers rooted out from the main hall of the dwarf city for miles, only two tunnels led to the surface.

“Has word been sent to Ky’Dren?” Roakore asked his father.

“Aye. When the horn blew, riders were sent out. But they’ll bring news o’ peril too late, I’m ’fraid,” he said gravely.

Roakore said nothing; his father watched him keenly and recognized his fears. In a voice loud enough for all around to hear he yelled, “That is right, my son, they shall die, one and all! Let them come, and let them know the wrath of the dwarves!”

His words were met with an enthusiastic roar all around him as he nodded to his now-eldest son, Roakore, and walked to the balcony. Roakore understood as well as his father that the fight would be lost. He also understood that his father could not in the face of such peril let the bleak truth diminish the dwarves’ spirits. They would all die fighting for their mountain, and they would all be rewarded in death with a place on the Mountain of the Gods.

From where he stood at the tunnel entrance, Roakore could tell that the Draggard army was filing steadily into the Chamber of Spears. Soon his father’s command rang out into the room: “Bring the chamber to life!”

Roakore heard the telltale sound of hundreds of spears being launched from their mounts upon the chamber ceiling, down into the ranks of the beasts. “To the next chamber!” The dwarves, led by Roakore, made their way down the tunnel into the next chamber.

The Chamber of Mazes was not a chamber at all, but rather a series of interconnecting tunnels. Roakore led the group down the short tunnel into a small room that opened into four separate tunnels. He opted for the first tunnel to his right and urged the dwarves on.

The route through the chamber was taught to every dwarf child at an early age. It would take less them than ten minutes to complete it. But anyone who did not know the way could explore the tunnels for days to no avail.

Roakore led the group through the last series of tunnels and fake doors to the real exit. He knocked out a rhythm on the heavy door and was answered with the sounds of many disengaging deadbolts. The door swung open and the dwarves entered the Chamber of Traps, the last defense in the Chambers of Errakner.

The chamber’s ceiling was over one hundred feet high, and the chamber itself spanned over one thousand feet in length and two hundred feet in width. The dwarves were careful to take the previously memorized route to the back wall. One false step in the perilous room could easily cost them their lives. Beyond the entrance to the chamber the room seemed fairly empty, but hidden within were hundreds of traps.

More than one thousand armor-clad male dwarves waited at the end of the chamber, less than one-tenth of the full army within the mountain. Any who were not within the chamber could be assumed dead, having been out on mining expeditions miles away when the invasion started, or killed in the battles that followed. Those within the most distant mines of the mountain would return to the city to find it overrun with Draggard; they would die, but would no doubt take many of the beasts with them.

At the end of the chamber behind the army of dwarves was a single door which led to the Hiding Chamber, where more than ten thousand terrified dwarf women and children and elders waited. Mothers held their young and soothed the crying children’s fears with soft words as the older, braver lads begged to be let to fight. The mountain had not been invaded in over seven hundred years, well beyond the reckoning of even the eldest dwarves, and never had it been invaded by the likes of the Draggard.

The dwarves prepared for battle, sharpening hatchets and axes, checking each other’s armor and readying crossbows. They did not expect the Draggard to get through the maze for hours yet but were determined to be prepared. Roakore found his father and brothers and was met with a great hug from his youngest brother, who had grown a beard only the year before. “Today we avenge our people, brother. They will not get by!”

Roakore responded with a gruff war cry, but he saw his brother’s fear. Not fear for himself or even the women and children, but for their father. For there was no place within the Mountain of the Gods for a king who had lost his mountain. His soul would linger eternally within the many tunnels and halls of the mountain.

“Today we fight side by side, my sons,” the king roared.

He was interrupted in his speech by a shout from one of the door guards. “They have reached the chamber! They have reached the chamber, and they are at the doors!”

A hush came over the group, and in the silence the sounds of many clawed fists banging on wood echoed throughout the chamber.

“They must’ve sniffed us out, the animals,” one of the dwarves growled.

The king walked calmly to the front line with Roakore and his sons and addressed the army. “Archers into position!” he bellowed, and two ranks of one hundred archers took to the balconies on each side of the chamber. The banging and clawing upon the thick chamber door became louder, the king continued.

“Good dwarves, today our deepest fears have been realized. Behind that very door awaits an army o’ thousands. We’re outnumbered, an’ we’ve come here to make our final stand.” He scowled and his powerful voice rose, filling the chamber and drowning out the sounds of the Draggard.

“We fight now fer our mountain. The gods and kings o’ old watch us now, each an’ every one o’ us. What legacy will ye bring with ye to the Mountain o’ the Gods? What’ll ye do to ensure yer place?”

He paused and eyed the battle-hungry crowd, fire burning in their eyes. The pounding upon the door escalated, and it finally gave way to the horde of Draggard. They poured into the room, dozens instantly taking to the walls. The king paid them no mind, however, and went on.

“What we do here today shall echo in song throughout the great golden halls o’ the Mountain o’ the Gods! What we do here now’ll become legend! Let these foul beasts know our wrath, an’ let ’em rue the day they entered our mountain! We’ll fight till our last breath, bloody axe an’ crushin’ hammer. Leave none alive, an’ let the tale o’ this day echo eternally throughout the great halls o’ our gods!”

The king’s speech was met with a thousand war cries, and the great voice of the furious dwarf army stopped the Draggard in their tracks. The king took up the war song of the gods and a thousand voices joined in. Axe and war-hammer handles banged upon the stone floor in unison as the fearless dwarves sang. The very stone beneath them trembled as the great song echoed throughout the chamber.

The archers had begun firing upon the Draggard who had taken to the wall, and those who came straight across the room soon fell into the many traps. A group of fifty led the march across the great chamber, but they were not fifty feet into the room when suddenly the false floor beneath them gave out, sending all falling to their deaths two hundred feet below. Those who followed did so cautiously now, eyeing the floor before them warily and avoiding the pit widely. Then the faces of the Draggard changed: no longer did they show fear nor caution. They charged, careless of any danger, as if the whips of their masters were behind them. They set off many trip wires in their heated advance. Spears came up through the floor, killing a group of forty; another false floor opened, sending one hundred more to their deaths. But still they came, pouring into the room with loud howls and growls, though they were drowned out by the singing and pounding of the dwarves.

One unfortunate Draggard stepped on the wrong stone tile and was utterly broken by a huge, swinging boulder. This put into motion a series of levers as hundreds of other swinging boulders began to move. None could maneuver the boulders, so instead they took to the walls. The dwarves had not designed the room with wall-climbers in mind, however, and they realized the time for battle had come. The power of their collective voices became tenfold as they took their battle stances. Hundreds of Draggard came down from the walls to the stone below, one hundred feet from the dwarf army. The archers shot frantically at the targets, felling many. But soon they took up their axes as the Draggard took to the balconies.

The horde of beasts before the dwarfs charged, spears leading the way. Growls and hisses escaped from mouths full of hideously pointed teeth, and black eyes bore down on the dwarves, seething with rage.

The king had taken his place among his sons, and together they faced their doom with unwavering courage, singing the war song of the gods with all their hearts. The dwarves at the front line sent their hatchets flying into the ranks, taking down dozens of the monsters. The archers had stopped firing, for they were now engaged in mortal combat along the two balconies. Draggard bodies fell steadily from those high perches as the angry dwarves cut them down as they advanced from the walls.