The Tale of Amberley Bloodstar Ch. 03

And yet it was.

I was here of my own volition, and I was dedicated to an outcome, the victory of my dwarven allies. If I hid, and the Thane's troops won, I would live forever knowing that I had slunk away, too afraid to do my part. If our foes won, I would die here, with friends and family never knowing what had become of me. I had simply disappeared.

I jammed my knives into the twisted form a goblin, his agonized screeches searing in my mind as he died. I could hear the roar of the orc warlord above, shouting orders in his hideous tongue. I forced myself to look, ignoring the chill in my blood at the sight of him- huge, covered in slabs of armour I doubted even the heaviest dwarf weapon could penetrate. The giant, broad-bladed sword in his hand could cleave a large horse in twain.

His fanged mouth was larger than my head. My knees shook in terror at the sight of the trolls surrounding him. My allies were faltering, stayed by the warlord's sheer presence, the savage glee in his eyes at the promise of battle.

We were going to die if something didn't happen.

"For Brungor!" I shouted in the Khazalid tongue, hoping I could be heard, my knife in the air. "On to Kirsumir!"

Not far from me, my cry was taken up, and one of the companies surged forward, led by a young dwarf wielding a war pick. Dalgrul shouted in his gruff voice as he slammed his weapon home, driving it through the helmet of an orc before kicking the for away and attacking another. This seemed to lift the spirits of those further down the wavering line, and renewed calls of valour went up.

The mighty orc warlords sensed the sudden change and roared again, surging forward, surrounded by his troll guard. They plowed into the center of the dwarven line, heading straight at Thane Brungor. The dwarves held somehow, their stout armour and sheer resolve, that defiance in the face of death, serving them well. Though some fell, the line was not breaking.

The dwarves fought so fiercely to protect their Thane that for several moments it seemed to me like a giant cauldron over a fire, threatening to boil over. I watched in awe and horror, forgotten off to the sides as the two sides battled, insignificant and of no account.

Time to change that. I would make them pay for not noticing me.

I dashed in, trying to get behind the whirling melee. The warlord had thrown himself and his reserves into the fight, sensing that this moment would determine everything. He lived for slaughter, and the broad courtyard was awash with dwarf blood, certainly. Brungor and his honour guard were smashing into the trolls, the Thane himself trying to square off against the giant orc, easily three times his height, and far broader.

Dalgrul fought like a madman to get to his Thane, only to be swatted aside contemptuously by the orc warlord, who didn't even bother to look when the young dwarf warrior attacked him. His attention was focused solely on Brungor, his ancestral enemy. The hatred between these two peoples, their will to utterly destroy one another, it touched something deep inside me that I recoiled from. I could see it in their eyes. There was no peace, until each and every member of the other race was swept from history, no more than dust.

I slew an orc and got closer, desperate to do something. To give less than everything meant I would die here, likely horribly. The great, ponderous limbs of the huge trolls were all around me, oblivious to me, for which I was thankful, since even an accidental strike would break my feeble body. I saw the orc warlord slam his weapon down at Brungor, but the Thane has raised his stout shield, taking the blow. The shield warped and bent, the Thane grunting in pain as he was forced to his knees. Cries of panic went up as his guard fought desperately to reach him.

I drove my elven blade into the back of the orc warlord's knee, where there was no armour, just stout leather. The enchanted point sheared through and into the meat of his leg. The warlord stumbled from the unexpected assault, and as he went down to one knee, in my madness I scrambled up onto his back. Crying out in terror and folly, I jammed my knives into his eyes, forever quenching those hateful red lights.

The orc roared and howled, surging to his feet and thrashing about wildly, in agony. He swiped and swung, grappling to reach for me, but I was flailing about on his back, hanging on for dear life.

What was I doing?

One more time, I hugged myself to him, the stench overwhelming and threatening to make me faint as I bounced against the backplate of his armour, dark iron that was thicker than my forearm.

I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed out my fear as I reached forward, my blade finding his exposed neck and then slicing through the leathery flesh.

The warlord gurgled and thrashed about, staggering before pitching backward, the thunderous crash of his body echoing across the battlefield. I leapt clear as I felt him fall, tumbling and rolling, not daring to lie still. I scrambled unsteadily to my feet, panting, my eyes wide as I tried to look around me.

What awaited me was almost beyond my comprehension.

The death of the warlord seem to break something in his dark horde, because the goblins, orcs, and trolls had all fallen into a panic, and a rout was beginning. My dwarf allies surged forward again, slaughtering their foes, driving them back and giving no quarter. Chants of victory rang out over the howls and death throes of the vanquished enemy.

Had Kirsumir really been won? Had our fool's quest been achieved against all odds?

My body was shaking, my heart still thundering my chest, and my knees weak. I could barely move, except to turn my head and watch what was happening around me. Even the mighty trolls were hewn and thrown down, their will to fight robbed from them by the death of the warlord. Black, twisted bodies were piling up, the ground now running black with blood instead of red.

The dwarven army pressed forward, leaving carnage in its wake. Not only the bodies of their foes, but many fallen comrades, not all of who were dead. Moans and stirring forms were strewn around the courtyard, trailing all the way back to the ruined gate.

I cried out in panic and dismay as I saw one such stricken victim.

"Dalgrul!" I shouted as I found my strength and rushed up to my friend, who was lying on the wet ground, his chest almost caved in. It must have been the strike from the warlord. He had been thrown so far! He was trembling and coughing, blood on his lips and in his sparse beard. I cradled him in my lap and he finally seemed to noticed me.

"Am-Amberley..." he said in a faint voice. "You fight well... for a dwarf..."

I smiled, and I knew there were crystalline tears on my cheeks. "Let me find a healer, Dalgrul, and you-"

He shook his head and coughed again, spasming at the unrelenting pain. So much blood left his mouth that no one could feel themselves into thinking he was not dying, quickly. He tried to smile, a weary and pained expression.

"No," he breathed, composing himself for what he had to say. "It is my time, and my part has been played. I was here when we won. My ancestors will honour me with a seat at the table."

I smiled, tears still on my face. "It had better be at the head of the table, because that's what I'm writing in my song about you."

He smiled weakly. "I thought if I was to die, I would not want anyone to see my death, but I was wrong. I am glad you are here, Amberley. If I had the honour of choosing who would witness my last moments... it would... it could only be you..."

I closed his remaining eye as he went still, bending over and starting to cry. Not just from the relief I felt in surviving this battle, but also the loss of my friend. Our victory felt hollow, and I let the sense of loss flood over me. No bard shunned their feelings, especially at a moment like this.

Oh, Dalgrul, my friend, I thought to myself as I wept over him, the battlefield forgotten. The songs I shall sing of you...

***

The battle was over, our foes destroyed or being driven from the deep halls of Kirsumir. With the death of the warlord, their will to fight vanished, and they were seemingly fleeing the kingdom. Messengers had already been dispatched to Drozzir-Karak, to let those left behind know of this stunning victory.

We were still in the courtyard, the scene of such carnage and devastation. The dwarven wounded were being taken aside to treatment, while the dead were gently collected and placed aside as well. The heaps of orc and goblin bodies, I didn't want to know what would become of them.

Silence reigned as Thane Brungor walked soberly through the middle of the battlefield, trailed by his honour guard. Other warriors of import, such as old Rumil, walked along with him. Brungor trudged toward the lifeless, hulking form of the orc warlord, lying on his back, black blood still oozing from his ruined eyes and the ragged would in his throat. Even in death, his giant maw was frozen in a rictus of hate and fury.

With great purpose and solemnity, Brungor held up his sword, turning it upside down and placing the tip against the warlord's throat, and a cry went up, cheers in the gravelly dwarven tongue, shouting that Brungor had slain the great enemy.

I couldn't help but frown, since I'd been there at the time, and was reasonably certain who had been responsible for the orc's demise. I'd been frowning at the ground longer than I thought, clearly, since I then felt a kindly hand on my shoulder and looked up to see old Rulim smiling at me.

"Do not dwell on it, Amberley," he said gently. "My people are not without their flaws, pride being one of them. Everyone knows what happened and who saved us today, even if they can't bring themselves to admit it."

"You're more alike to the race of Men that I thought, then," I said, placing my hand over his. "And probably more than any dwarf would admit. Am I wrong to feel slighted somehow?"

He shook his head. "No, my dear, not at all. But how you deal with it is what counts now. We have achieved the impossible, and while that may ultimately be your doing, they will convince themselves that victory was inevitable, that Brungor the mighty would have slain the warlord anyway. They need this moment to feel that accomplishment."

He smiled again. "Just because you saved us here doesn't mean we didn't achieve the impossible."

I sighed and nodded. "So now what? What do I do, and who am I to your people?"

He sat me down on the body of an orc and then settled down next to me. "You have fulfilled your contract brilliantly, of course, and my people will hold their end of the bargain to the letter. You will be thanked for dealing fairly with us. A contract, nothing more."

"But..." he said, holding up a finger and smiling slyly. "You will always be remembered and spoken of most fondly, Amberley, something rare amongst my people. Wherever you go, no matter where your adventures take you, and as long as you don't lord it over us, you will always have the friendship of the dwarves. Everyone will know, and their aid to you will be unquestioning."

I smirked. "You make your people sound like crows."

He considered and then chuckled. "Not an unfair comparison. They are attracted to shiny objects, and they are unwavering in their loyalty to their friends. Maybe that is why they are the only birds we get along with, hm?"

I laughed finally. "This experience has changed me, Rulim. I worry I may never know true fear again after this."

"Do not get ahead of yourself, Amberley," he said, holding up the stout finger again. "What you saw here was indeed dreadful, even for us. But I have no doubt far greater terrors are to be found in this world, if it is your intent to go out and see it. Don't throw your life away because what you saw here marked you and scared you."

I nodded. "I'll miss Dalgrul."

"Yes, he is a loss," Rulim admitted, seeming wistful. "But he died a hero, and you will sing of him, and his place at the table is assured. His trial ended while he was young. We should all be so lucky as dwarves."

Rulim smiled at me now. "Things will be hectic, Amberley, for a while. The Thane might want to occupy and set up his court here at Kirsumir immediately, not only to keep the enemy out, but also as a statement to the other tribes and kingdoms of our people. Do not feel like you have been tossed aside in all this. I beg your patience."

"You have it, Rumil," I said, nodding my understanding. "Just don't lose my thyno-ar crystal in the meantime, okay?"

Rumil laughed as he got up and sauntered off.

My mood was somehow lighter now, and I was thankful for it.

***

The sojourn back through the endless tunnels to Drozzir-Karak was, perhaps, less daunting than the first time, but it took longer, because we had the bodies of the dead with us. My allies sang deep, solemn dirges as we marched, and I listened to them, trying to ascertain their meaning. The dwarves seemingly felt grief in ways most people of my race could not imagine. They were a slowly dwindling people, and they knew it. So every life lost was a terrible blow. My copper amulet was warm with the sounds and emotions I listened to.

It is fair to say my body ached as we emerged out of the tunnels and back into Drozzir-Karak, greeted by a strange mixture of cheers, celebration, and lament. Their stunning triumph was tempered by their loss. Taking Kirsumir had come at a heavy price. No one told me for certain, but I would have guessed that nearly half of the those who set out had been slain, some never to be recovered.

I was mostly shunted aside or forgotten, except by some of my comrades, who treated me respectfully and almost reverently. For this I was grateful, because I still had no sense as to what was supposed to happen with me. Brungor had remained in Kirsumir, so if my expectation had been a royal thank-you for my contributions, that was clearly not happening.

I was invited to the celebrations, toasted for my heroism, and asked to sing my drunken dwarven song repeatedly. People joined in, and my comrades asked me to show everyone that I had learned their battle cries. I did my best to avoid too much dwarven ale. Even I could learn a lesson.

Some days passed, when Rulim showed up at my little stone quarters I had been assigned. He smiled as I opened my door.

"The time has come, Amberley, for you to make your way back to Arristheon," he stated, and I noted he was holding some papers with him and had a sling bag. "The next few months here in Drozzir-Karak will be rather chaotic, and while you would never be purposefully ignored, I fear you might be forgotten in all the activity."

"And it never suits a bard to be less than the center of attention," I quipped, smirking and gesturing for him to enter. He came in and sat down at the small table, gesturing for me to join him. "So are you coming back with me?"

"No, not right now," he answered, putting the pages on the desk. "I have much to attend to both here and in Kirsumir for the Thane. But I am to see to you before I make my way back to him."

He began indicating various places on the documents that had been laid out. "You'll recognize these as your contract. In return for your stated services, our runweavers will make you wondrous enchanted strings out of the thyno-ar crystal. It may take some time, because it is no small feat, but you have earned it, my dear. So very many times over, in my humble opinion."

I smiled my thanks to him.

"Our lawyers have already signed, and I acquired a hurried signature and seal from the Thane himself," the old dwarf continued, indicating various spots on the pages. "I just need you to put your signatures and seals in these places and our transaction is complete."

"Will he remain a Thane?" I asked as I took quill to parchment and began signing my name, followed by using my personal stamp. "Brungor, I mean. If he is now the conqueror of the ancient Black Hills Kingdom, should he not declare himself king?"

"A long and hotly debated topic in our court already, I assure you," Rulim said, watching me sign. "Many in his retinue want him to, of course, and Brungor is indeed a person of great ambition. But many other dwarf lords would see this as astounding hubris, and they might be right. There will be other claims to the throne of Kirsumir, aside from his. Just because he took the kingdom back doesn't necessarily make him the sovereign. He has cousins and such who will no doubt make a claim."

"And all of a sudden, I feel the need to be back in Arristheon," I sighed, putting my seal away and slumping back in my chair, making a show of rubbing my face. "Dwarven war I can handle, your politics I'm not sure I'd be able to endure."

Rulim laughed heartily, nodding at my jest. He'd told me once that he liked humans, and I was his favourite so far. That made me feel good. "However, Amberley, it does not suit me that you should be sent away with a fulfilled contract and a nod. We owe you more. Much more than you will ever be given."

"I'm alive, I have my stories to tell, and I will soon my wonderful strings," I said simply. "A bard should not need more."

"Very modest of you, but we both know what I mean," he said seriously, patting the sling he had with him. "I have put in here gold, gems, and mementos of your time with us. They'll make you wealthy enough, for a few seasons, should you choose to live lavishly. But there is one piece I think you should have in particular."

He opened the pack and removed a simple silver necklace, engraved on one part with the runes of his people. He showed it to me and his eyes were very honest.

"This belonged to Dazgrul," he said quietly. "It is the amulet all of our people wear, before they marry. Once they are trothed, the name of the partner is engraved in. As you can see, there is no other name on Dalgrul's, he died untrothed."

He put the amulet in my hand, closing it around the silver disc gently. "This doesn't mean you're married, my dear, but I think he would want you to have it, since it will be in the possession of someone to whom he meant something."

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I pressed the silver to my lips and kissed it.

***

We were travelling back to Arristheon, myself and a small company of dwarves, laughing and making merry. They treated me like one of their own, which was gratifying, and they were even more than happy to tell me their stories and teach me their language. I might never sound quite right speaking it, but at least I would be able to communicate and any dwarf would know I was a friend. I could accept that.

The city gleamed in the distance and somehow seemed strange to me. After my time deep in the earth, in those ancient tunnels, forges, halls, and palaces, I almost felt the need to learn about the world above me again. Perhaps I could use this strange sensation to tell more stories, better stories, with an even more unique perspective. What a treat for a bard!

The noise and colours of Arristheon washed over me and I laughed gaily, feeling embraced by an old love that I had to discover again. I was brought to a dwarven tavern, my deeds lauded and we feasted gaily.

"Khuzd ugnadul!" we all sang as we celebrated, my ridiculous digging song now translated into their language.

In due course, though, it was time for me to go back to my own people in the city. I needed my space to begin composing my songs and stories.

There were many pleasant diversions along the way, mind.

I found myself a guest of a titled family, all of whom wanted to hear about these mysterious adventures I'd been on with the dwarves. It was a rumour buzzing around the city. I promised to let them hear my songs and tales, even private performances if they were willing to wait.