Battle 2: Caught Red Handed

Smoke rose slowly from the western tower, twisting into spirals which danced in the air before dispersing. Thanes Redson Sharpaxe and Keska Greybeard stood atop the eastern tower, surveying the battlefield. The fight had been extremely short and brutal. The scouts had laid down a curtain of crossbow bolts, sweeping the eastern tower emplacements clear of sentries. Chasing down the hill behind them had come the slayers - eager for battle. Caught completely by surprise, the eastern tower hadn't had time to barricade themselves in before being overwhelmed in a sea of orange hair as the slayers stormed the tower. The western tower had put up a little more of a fight, locking their door and firing back with their primitive handguns. It hadn't lasted long though - Ferdi Rustmane and his miners ran through the inaccurate gunfire and placed blasting charges around the door. The explosion had blown the door off its hinges and demolished part of the wall, allowing the slayers access to the tower where they repeated the chaos of the first.

Now the humans had been wiped out, both towers were in the hands of the dwarves and Runesmith Smoothstone had wasted no time taking the miners down into the tunnels to find the lost forge of his ancestors. Sharpaxe leaned on the battlements and chewed on his pipe, glaring at the smoke coming from the other tower.

"We did the right thing, my lord." Thane Greybeard was looking over the hillside which housed the concealed entrance to the Stonebeard settlement and its precious forge. Sharpaxe grunted. Greybeard took that as affirmation and continued. "The humans out here would not have given up the forge. They would have demanded its riches, insulting us in the process. Then we would have been forced to do battle anyway." Greybeard looked round at his commander. "It saved time this way."

"And what about the reports of an escaping soldier? If he carries word of this day back to the Empire there will be consequences."

"It is many miles to the nearest human town, my lord. Even if he manages to survive the journey who will believe him? And even if they send someone to take a look, we will be long gone before any human troops can come and investigate. The Empire will not discover us."

The sound of metal-clad feet on the stone stairs cut short Sharpaxe's reply. From the stairs came Balrak Deepthrone, commander of the Ironbreaker unit. In his hand he clutched several sheets of paper. "My lords, I apologise for intruding." Sharpaxe waved Balrak up - he liked the younger dwarf - he was intelligent, decent and honourable and had been as unimpressed by this skirmish as Sharpaxe himself.

"I have been going through the papers left by the force commander. It seems a sizeable Empire army is on its way here."

Sharpaxe felt his blood chill. "For what reason?"

"It doesn't say, my lord. These are just orders to the garrison commander to extend every hospitality. It seems they are to stay for a while."

Greybeard took the orders document and quickly scanned it. "This doesn't make sense. There isn't anything out here and certainly not enough room for an army to settle down. What are they after?"

"I don't know, my lord. But the dispatches indicate they are due here today."

Sharpaxe rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "Damn. And with that soldier's report we are not going to be able to negotiate." He looked out, along the road to the south as if expecting to see the bright plumes of the Empire's banners appearing. "Gather the troops, begin deploying the artillery and bring Runesmith Smoothstone up from below. We will meet them here and see if our ancestors approve of us defending their lands."

Battle 2: The Ancient Forge

Miles to the east, Thane Redson Sharpaxe and Runesmith Krik Smoothstone were standing on a rise, having an argument. Below them sat Greyfort - an overly grand name for a small human outpost, barely more than a couple of granite towers nestled amongst the foothills. It housed a small garrison of Empire troops - evidenced by the small patrols they could see wandering around the paths leading to and from the fort.

"This changes nothing, Thane. We have our duty!" Runesmith Smoothstone stood immobile, arms folded, whilst Thane Sharpaxe paced back and forth. "You do intend to do your duty to your Hold and King?" Sharpaxe shot him a lethal glare, but remained silent. Smoothstone continued. "You know full well that the remains of a Stonebeard settlement sits under those hills."

"I know that. And I know that on top was supposed to be an Orc encampment!" Thane Sharpaxe stopped pacing and rounded on the Runesmith. "The humans are our allies! We don't just attack our allies! This changes things!"

"This changes nothing. The humans have laid claim to what is not theirs. We are here to take our property back - regardless of the thief." Smoothstone turned to regard the twin towers. "Anyway, I don't know what you are worried about. There cannot be more than two dozen men down there."

"The numbers do not bother me as well you know. I remember the oaths we have sworn to battle alongside the humans, not against them." Sharpaxe stepped in front of Smoothstone, blocking his view of the fort. "Or do THOSE oaths mean nothing to you?"

The Runesmith stared at the Thane until, eventually, Sharpaxe was forced to look away. "Do not push me, Thane. I know full well that the humans are our allies. This is a matter of priorities."

Sharpaxe looked back at that. "What do you mean?"

"The Stonebeard settlement contained the forge of Norik Smoothstone - a very knowledgeable Runelord who lived in these parts centuries ago. We believe there is much rare, perhaps lost, knowledge hidden there."

Thane Sharpaxe considered this new information. He knew that a treasure trove of runic knowledge would take precedence over this small human outpost. He also knew that although technically along to advise and oversea, Krik Smoothstone was older and more powerful than he was. A talented and proven Runesmith, he surely was not far from taking the mantle of Runelord himself - finding a cache of ancient knowledge could well be the last step he needed to make. Smoothstone was quite capable of sending Sharpaxe back with a retinue to collect the reinforcements and then ordering the assault himself and Sharpaxe's absence.

Drifting upwards from below, the sounds of shouting and metal hitting metal snapped Sharpaxe back to reality. Looking down, he saw a group of armoured men dragging a pair of dwarven scouts towards the towers. One was moving as if concussed. The other was clearly dead - his head bent at a strange angle and his left arm missing. As he watched, the bushes came alive as the rest of the scout units rose as one and pelted the men with crossbow bolts. As the soldiers fell and the dwarves recovered their comrades, a shout came from the walls of the tower.

"It seems" said the Runesmith, squinting at the scene down below "that your decision has been made for you."

Battle 1: Return to the Camp

As the elves melted back into the forest, Hrunhurer pulled the arrows from his body and crawled slowly back towards the dwarven camp. He dragged with him his family standard, unwilling to leave it behind. He moved slowly, trying to avoid giving himself away to the any elves remaining in the area and eventually came across the site where Thane Danro had been cut down. His body remained - definitely dead. Surprisingly, so did his runic axe. Hrunhurer took this with him - if any of Clan Blackrock had survived the slaughter they would want this returned to them. Of Danro's oath stone he saw no sign. Hrunhurer cursed the elves - they must have stolen the precious item to take back as a trophy.

Slowly; painfully; Hrunhurer dragged himself out of the sacred glade. The elves either remained unaware of his presence or were content to let him live - their bloodlust sated for the day. It took most of the night, but eventually he staggered into the sombre dwarven encampment just beyond the forest boundary. By the small fire he found Thane Alric Blackrock staring into his mug of ale, the other survivors scattered around him mostly asleep.

"Hrunhurer reporting sir."

Alric looked up and Hrunhurer was horrified to see how much he had aged in the previous day. Somehow, seeing the look of defeat in his Thane's eyes was a harder blow than all injuries and death of the day. After a moment, Alric spoke. "You are one of the few fortunate ones. Very few of our brothers have returned from that cursed glade. Tell me - what news?"

Hrunhurer hesitated. He knew his report would do nothing to comfort the shell shocked dwarf but could think of no way to tell it differently. But he had been ordered to report and he always did his duty. "My lord, my unit is lost. Cut down by arrows as we attempted to engage the enemy. I am the last survivor." Hrunhurer's voice choked for a moment as he remembered his brother taking an arrow. "We failed to engage the enemy's missile troops. I am sorry."

"A great many failed today Hrunhurer, you are hardly alone. And my scouts tell me you were responsible for one of the few victories. You defeated that Treesinger in single combat."

Hrunhurer bowed. "Yes, my lord. She killed my brother." The words were out before he realised what he had said. The look of pain on Alric's face shot made guilt shoot through Hrunhurer's heart. "I'm sorry my lord..." his voice trailed away.

Alric turned and gazed into the fire. He was silent for a long moment before he seemed to steel himself. Still looking into the fire, and sounding like the words were being dragged from him, he asked "And is there news of Danro, my brother?"

"I am sorry my lord." Hrunhurer brought out Danro's runic weapon and handed it to Alric who turned it over and over in his gnarled hands. Speaking softly, the Thane murmured a dwarven prayer for the departed before squeezing his eyes tight shut. Another long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Finally, Alric looked back up at Hrunhurer and was about to speak when a shout came from one of the sentries.

"Movement at the forest's edge! We can see movement!"

Alric swore and dragged himself to his feet. "Seems they aren't content with driving us from the forest. They want to finish the job." Taking his brother's axe he headed for the sentries. Hrunhurer followed. They found the sentries training their crossbows on a nearby copse. "Report." Alric ordered.

"Sir, the elves were in those trees. They didn't make any threatening moves sir. And, um... we are surprised we saw them."

"Unless they wanted to be seen." Alric stroked his beard as he watched the elves moving around. "I'm going to look. Cover me."

As Alric marched determinedly towards the copse, Hrunhurer hurried to catch up. "My lord ... is this wise?"

"The elves didn't come here to attack. They would never have allowed themselves to be seen if they had. Which means they have come to talk, or left something for us to find. Which it is, we shall soon see." The pair reached the copse. Moving slowly and carefully, they pushed through the undergrowth. It seemed the copse was circular with a clear middle and, to Hrunhurer's shock, in the middle were a dozen giant baskets woven from some kind of plant life all covered by white sheets. Cautiously the pair approached the nearest one and lifted the covering. After a long moment, Alric spoke. "It appears they are returning our dead."

The following morning was a mournful affair. The elves had indeed returned the dead dwarves - simultaneously cleansing their sacred glade of the intruders and ensuring the dwarves would not return looking to recover the bodies. The few remaining dwarves silently worked together to dig a huge grave before Alric spoke the last rites. Then there was a long silence as every dwarf thought about what had happened and came to terms with their loss. Finally, Alric turned to face the remains of his Throng. He still looked downcast but his voice was strong and clear. "What has happened here was a disaster. Many lives were lost and we accomplished nothing. However, we are still charged by High King Stonebeard to recover the Hammer of Rotek. We will march around this forest, taking the extra time until we are closer to the place where the Hammer fell. The route will be long, but we will pass through some friendly villages where we can gather more troops. However, we will need to replenish our leadership. Come forward please Hrunhurer."

Hrunhurer blinked in surprise. He hadn't been expecting this. Slowly, he limped forwards and stood before Thane Alric.

"Kneel please." Hrunhurer knelt. "Hrunhurer of Clan Heavypick, on our darkest day you brought down a leader of our enemies and survived against all the odds. You brought yourself back to us though wounded and recovered my brother's axe. You have proven your will and ability to stand at the forefront of your people."

Alric drew Danro's rune axe and touched Hrunhurer on each of his shoulders.

"Arise, Thane Hrunhurer of Clan Heavypick."

Prologue: Sitting in the Dark

Hajar Stonebeard, High King of Karak Al Kaika, sat on his throne and brooded. His kin had been Wronged. Not wronged in a way that a human would understand - Wronged. In a way only a Dwarf could be. Wronged. With a capital W. In the flickering light of his lamp he leafed slowly through the Karak Al Kaika Book of Grudges, letting the anger if his ancestors wash over him as he contemplated the Wrongness of it all.

Hajar had been made king when his father had passed away a scant thirty years ago. Since then he had urged those under his rule to work harder. He had introduced new techniques invented by his Engineers which, far from bringing on the doom foretold by many of his more conservative advisors, had increased productivity many times over. The Hold rang to the sounds of hammer on metal their coffers overflowed with gold as Karak Al Kaika enjoyed a period of plenty and prosperity. Still, Hajar was not happy. His people might be increasing in wealth but their honour was still stained. From every page of the Book of Grudges the voices of his ancestors cried out to him, telling him that money alone was not enough. Money simply gave him a chance his father had never had - the chance to right some of the Wrongs. It was time, he decided. Time for the Dwarves to turn their hands to making weapons of war. Time to sharpen their axes and polish their chainmail. Time for his people to be avenged. Time for the Dwarves to march to war.