Dwarves (Thorvak)

The temporary camp we’ve established on the edge of the clearing is modest but sufficient to offer us a vantage point over the draconic crater. The flames of a discreet fire dance, casting long shadows on the weary but vigilant faces of my squad. The fire isn’t for warmth—it’s for roasting a few sausages. We debated, weighed our options, but the decision was unanimous: the dragon must be protected, at least until we understand what it faced. Even Bran, usually quick to action, reluctantly agreed.

Sitting on a fragmented boulder, its cracks formed by the roots of a nearby tree, I run my fingers over the runes of my hammer, turning over an idea that’s been gnawing at me. Communicating with such an ancient and imposing creature would be bold, perhaps even reckless. But curiosity and instinct compel me to consider the option. Elda, my wife, seated beside me, seems to read my thoughts. She murmurs softly:

"Do you think this creature could speak to you? Could even understand you?"

Before I can respond, Torlin appears with two other scouts, her expression grave and her steps urgent but light. She stops before me, her eyes briefly scanning the rest of the group before addressing me directly.

"Chief, we found tracks."

I straighten immediately, my attention fully on her. "Tracks? Of what?"

She hesitates for only a moment before answering, her tone grim: "Humans."

A shiver runs through the squad. Drimli, who was adjusting a bolt on his crossbow to ensure the spring mechanism works properly,freezes, looking up at us. Those still seated by the fire grip their weapons tightly at the mere mention of humans.

"Where?" I ask, my tone sharper than I intended.

Torlin points westward. "At the forest’s edge, beyond the crater. Several tracks, fresh. They were there recently—yesterday, maybe less. Boot marks, no doubt. And not amateurs—they’re moving carefully."

"How many? Did they see us?" My foot almost catches on a root, but I steady myself, rage beginning to simmer beneath my composure.

Torlin shakes her head. "Hard to tell. A group, not an army. Five, maybe ten. They didn’t venture this far, but they’re observing."

Bran rises abruptly, indignation lighting his face. "Humans? Here? They have no respect. They’re here for the dragon, surely."

I raise a hand to calm him. "Easy, Bran. If they’re humans, we need to understand their intentions before acting."

Elda steps closer, placing a hand on my arm. "And if they’re here for the dragon? What if they seek to harm it—or claim it as their own?"

My teeth clench. It’s a possibility I can’t ignore. The beast is weakened, and a group of humans might easily see it as an opportunity—a trophy to capture or a threat to eliminate. And if that’s the case, I’ve sworn to protect this sacred beast. I will not go back on my word.

"Torlin, you’re sure they haven’t seen us?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes, I think so. They haven’t come this far. They’re scouting the area. But that could change at any moment."

I scan my squad, searching their faces for silent confirmation of what I’m about to say. Everyone is already prepared to abandon the sausages they were cooking. I’m tempted myself; damn humans can’t even let us eat in peace.

"We need more information," I say at last. "Torlin, take some scouts with you. Follow their tracks but remain unseen. Observe them, learn their intentions. Take no unnecessary risks. If they appear hostile, return immediately."

She nods, already ready to leave. But before she turns, I add, "We’ll prepare here in case things go south. Signal us if you find trouble."

She fixes me with a determined gaze, then melts into the shadows with her companions. Silence settles over the camp, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Maybe we’ll still get to eat those damned sausages after all. My eyes drift to the dragon in the distance, still motionless, its breathing steady but weak.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

Elda approaches again, her voice low but firm. "Thorvak, if these humans become a threat, what will we do?"

I fix my gaze on the crater, then the sky. My expression hardens, burning with the fire of our ancestors—the flame of our people who have watched the centuries pass from beneath the mountains. These humans... they have already wrought so much chaos upon this region, whether they realize it or not. Their arrival, their greed, their endless wars—all have scarred the surface with wounds the earth itself struggles to heal. And now, they dare to set foot on these sacred lands, where the guardian rests.

Admittedly, a few hours ago, I thought about killing the dragon—or at least harvesting its body for relics. My perspective has shifted, though I know the other dwarves in the great halls will rage when I return empty-handed. Or, at least, without a single piece of the dragon, because, with the way things are going, I might just return with some human artifacts instead.

I grip the handle of my runic hammer, the blood-carved engravings faintly pulsing, as if responding to my anger. These humans, though taller than us, lack our inner strength, our mastery of the runes. They have neither our endurance nor our resolve, nor the sacred connection we share with the forest. They rely on numbers, on raw iron, but here, this is our land. Not theirs.

I turn to Elda, who stands straight and unwavering. She knows me better than anyone and already sees what I’m feeling. A faint smile of shared defiance plays on her lips.

"They won’t go any further, Thorvak," she says calmly, her voice like an anvil striking. "If these humans threaten the dragon or this forest, they’ll learn what it means to challenge the children of the fissure"

Time stretches as each of my companions busies themselves in silence, lost in their own thoughts. We prepare as best we can, uncertain of what lies ahead. One of my cousins, a sausage still in his mouth, sharpens his axe with near-ritualistic fervor, his slow, deliberate movements contrasting with the impatience burning in his eyes. Elda, seated near the dying fire, traces purely ritualistic runes while murmuring ancient words I dare not interrupt. Even Drimli, usually so talkative, quietly assists several others in oiling their mechanisms.

The quiet hum of runes vibrates faintly under the fingers of my comrades. Mine are blood runes, a rare power shared by Elda—fitting, as she’s a distant cousin, and also my wife. Then again, in our cramped tunnels, most of us are cousins to some degree.

Torlin returns, emerging from the shadows like an arrow. Her face is pale, her features drawn taut as an overstrung bow. I’ve never seen her like this—not even in the darkest tunnels we’ve explored. She takes a deep breath before speaking, though her voice trembles slightly.

"Chief," she begins, her tone heavy and urgent. "There are about two hundred of them. Maybe more. They’re advancing in formation... and they’re heading straight for the dragon."

A deathly silence falls over the camp. The murmurs die, and even the fire seems to waver in the weight of this revelation. Two hundred. This isn’t a simple troop. It’s an invasion force. A serious threat. Damn it, if only the other half of the guild with Hildas could have joined us. Of all things the tunnel had to collapse, trapping them in another citadel. This is bad. We are in deep shit.

Bran is the first to break the silence, slamming his fist onto a nearby stone. "Two hundred?! These damned humans want to claim the dragon, don’t they? They think they can walk onto OUR land as they please?"

Drimli calmly places his hand on his crossbow, but his gaze is just as grim. "That’s an army. And if it’s an army, they aren’t just here to look, boss."

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. I need to act with both strategy and caution to honor my commitments while avoiding a reckless massacre. Two hundred... it’s an overwhelming force. We are only forty-six, even with our runes and expertise. A direct battle would be doable, but what if they have mages ? That would be another story — and of course they do have some — they wouldn't venture here without them... But retreating and letting these humans take what they want? That’s not an option. Not here. Not today.

I lift my eyes to my group. "Listen to me. We cannot face a force of this size head-on. Not alone.(I think about Hildas group now) But we will not back down. These lands are ours, and this dragon, whether they understand it or not, is part of this balance. We must act with cunning, as our ancestors did in the deepest tunnels."

I turn to Torlin. "Did you see their formation? Do they have scouts ahead, or are they all grouped together?"

She nods. "They advance in columns, but they have scouts. About ten up front, the rest thirty meters behind. They’re moving slowly, like they’re searching for something."

A plan begins to form in my mind, fraught with risk but necessary. A surprise attack on their scouts could slow them down, sow confusion. But we must also protect the dragon, ensuring they don’t approach.

I rise, addressing the squad with determination. "We have two choices: strike like the furious dwarves we are, turning this forest into a blood-soaked battleground, or use our wits to make them believe they’ve already lost before lifting a blade."

Drimli smirks. "A good story, that. The long-legs love their stories. Make them tremble, Thorvak."

I nod, my voice firm. "But hear this. If our bluff fails, if these humans are foolish enough to challenge us despite everything, we will fall upon them like the wrath of the mountains. We will strike swiftly, fiercely, and without mercy. We do not retreat."

A murmur of approval ripples through the group. Each returns to their preparations, sharpening weapons or finishing their meals. I hope this won’t be their last.