“I'll get one of the Dragonslayers,” Mulkath says. “You stay there. Keep listening.”

I nod. The noise is growing louder, a little louder every minute as more and more humans come around the hills. They must have been right on our tail—those that come from behind, anyway. I feel sure that some groups are coming from the front as well, and the sides.

Attack from any angle: what makes the surface so dangerous. No, not any angle—every angle.

Heavy footsteps behind make the world shudder. I open my eyes and hurry to take off my runic ears. I turn around. Mulkath has brought Xomhyrk himself plus two of his senior guildsdwarves to me. I freeze in alarm for a second, then hurry to bow low.

Xomhyrk acknowledges my bow with a curt nod. “You say you hear something,” he says.

“Yes. Human armies.”

"And you hear with those ears of yours?"

"Yes." I hand them to him. He inspects them, frowning at the runes, then hands them back.

“I see. What makes you so sure they are armies? Humans live on many of the hills here. It's probably their voices you hear.”

“I think it odd so many would be awake this late.”

“Some humans are surprisingly active at night.”

“But marching? I've heard marching many times, honored first degree. There's armies headed toward us.”

“You are completely sure?”

“Yes.”

He turns to one of his commanders. “What do you think, Gollor?”

“I've heard about runic ears, though this dwarf doesn't look like a deep one to me.”

“He's not—he's from Thanerzak's realm.”

“Is he? I see, I see.” He looks closely at my armor. “He's been inspired by you, it seems. I don't think he'd risk embarrassing himself in front of you. He's sure we're being followed.”

“Not just followed," I add. "I can hear humans approaching from the front as well, and from the sides.”

“Just as I feared,” says Xomhyrk. “Humans from a dozen of their little cities. And now we know gold can't buy them off.”

“Shall I spread the news?” asks Gollor.

“No. The humans won't attack at night when they can't see where to aim. There's no need to panic. Continue the watches as usual. In the morning we'll form up.” He turns back to me. “Thank you, Zathar.”

“You know my name?”

“Yes. Your reputation precedes you. The traitor, I've heard you called. Tried to make a deal with a dragon, didn't you?”

I bow my head. “Yes.”

“A foolish idea.”

“I was young.”

“Hah! And still are. But skilled, I see, very skilled. A lot try to imitate my armor, you know. You're not imitating though. It's similar, but it's your own. I respect that a great deal.”

“I'm honored.”

“As for whether it'll stand up to dragonfire, well, we've got humans to get through before that. Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

He, Gollor, and the other commander leave. Once more I'm alone with Mulkath. I put my runic ears back on, hear the marching again, a bit louder, but then the wind picks up. The harsh whistling of the air through the shattered ancient pillars becomes unbearable and I take the ears off. Now that I can't hear the marching, I begin to doubt myself. Would the humans really send an army to avenge the death of a single commoner?

Just as I'm returning to my tent, the wind dies for a moment and, with my bare ears, I hear it again, the unmistakable tread of hundreds of heavy boots, as well as the steady clomping of hooves.

The humans are coming for us.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

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“Armor on and form up! Form up!”

Braztak's voice wakes me sharply from my slumber. I force myself up and start to shout at the tenth degrees:

“Armor on! Quickly! The humans are here!”

They're already scrambling up, panicking, fumbling. Pellas is the quickest to equip herself, emerging from her sectioned-off part of the tent before most have half their armor plates on.

“Head outside, Pellas. Braztak will tell you what to do. Now, quickly everyone! Get a bloody move on!”

Eventually they're all out the tent. I look around, to check no one's forgotten any bits of armor, and am relieved to see they haven't. Then I head out myself.

It's dawn, but no golden rays greet me. The sky has suddenly clouded over so that the only hint of sun is a vague yellow glow to the east. This is just enough light to see the humans by.

I bite my lip. There are a great many of them, swarming around our hill, and halfway up the surrounding hills as well. The majority are armed with bows, though those closest have long spears.

There's cavalry too. Their horses look a little different to those that pulled the carriages. They're fatter, rougher looking beasts, with thick legs. They stand on the slopes as if they were born to them.

“This way!” Erak is shouting. “Association of Steel, over here!”

We line up at the top of the easiest slope, senior runeknights ahead and junior ones behind. As fourth degree I end up at one end of the first rank. I look down. Humans are looking up at us. They look confident. I can guess why they feel that way—they outnumber us by several thousand.

I wonder how fast they can loose their arrows. One every few seconds? So tens of thousands of steel points will be pouring on us every minute. Shit. I'm beginning to think we've underestimated the humans, and badly. Crude their steel may be, but sometimes quantity beats quality.

“Hold steady!” Xomhyrk orders. “No one do anything foolish. We stay still until they make a move.”

Him and a large group of Dragonslayers are positioned next to the Association. Fear runs through me. If they target him, we'll be called on to halt their advance. The fear increases as a group of humans on horseback parts the ranks of spearmen directly below us. They begin to make their way up the slope, directly towards Xomhyrk.

A hint of excitement burst from my ruby. It mixes with my fear, lessens it like water diluting wine. Gutspiercer trembles with anticipation.

One of the humans wears a golden crown. So much for Tallreach having no kings then. He's in heavy steel plate, as are most of the others. Red plumes on their helms whip to and fro in the wind, which is gaining in strength. Their horses are armored also.

And I can tell it's fair quality stuff. Fifth degree quality, though unruned, but that is not to say the humans have no magic.

Two of them are unarmored. One is in a rough woolen cloak. His head and face are shaved. The apprentice. Slightly ahead of him is his master: a wizard.

His beard is white and in length a rival to any ancient dwarf's. In his right hand he clutches a staff of gnarled wood which glows with invisible power despite its utter lack of runes. His cloak is arcane also, of darkest gray yet not gray like stone, but gray like the clouds above. Shades shift and blow across it. His tall hat, unaffected by the wind whipping at his hair and beard, is of the same material.

The king and his retinue make it to just before the ridge of the slope. The king nods to his wizard, who says a word to the apprentice. Nervously the boy comes up alongside the king.

“My... My lord wishes to do par... parley,” he stammers in badly accented dwarvish.

Xomhyrk gives the king a respectful bow. “We will hear him out.”

The apprentice translates. The king says a few words in reply. They are loud and clear, cutting through the wind.

“He says you are not to be here,” translates the apprentice. “These are not your lands. You are not to do as you please here.”

“We are simply passing though,” says Xomhyrk.

“These lands are not yours to pass through. You may only pass through underground.”

“The dwarves that rule underground here will not let us.”

“Then you should turn back.”

“We cannot. We have a dragon to slay.”

“That is no concern of ours. Dragons do not bother us.”

“You are wrong. Dragons lay waste to human cities as well as dwarven ones.”

“Not to our cities. We have no fancy crafts for them to steal. Nor do we hoard gold coinage—unless it is foisted upon us by unfair bargain.”

“Our bargains were more than generous.”

“The giving of unwanted gifts cannot be called generosity.”

“The slaying of the black dragon, once accomplished, will be a greater gift than any amount of gold.”

“As I said, we have no need to fear dragons. They fear us. They do not fly in our skies. At least, they do not dare to dip below the clouds.”

I glance at the wizard. He's smiling slightly, but there's a strain about his features too, like he's holding something in that wants to burst out. His hand on the reins twitches every few seconds.

“You put too much trust in your wizards,” says Xomhyrk. “They are no match for a dragon.”

The apprentice smirks. “They are very much a match for dwarves, I think.”

The king lets out a harsh laugh—I think that last remark was the apprentice's own, but his liege lord clearly approves. Distaste for us is written clear on his tanned features.

“We are accomplishing nothing here,” snaps Xomhyrk. “Let us through your lands or we will force our way through them—and there will be no more gold for your people when we wish to take supplies.”

“We will not let you take more than a mile's march further. You will leave by means of a tunnel to the underworld that lies a mile north of here.”

“We are not returning to the underworld.”

“You will return. Either you will march down, or your corpses will be thrown down.”

“You are rude and unreasonable, even for a human.”

“You are rude and stubborn, even for a dwarf.”

With that, the king orders the apprentice back, then he draws his sword and levels it at Xomhyrk. Since he's a little down the slope, the blade, held horizontally flat, points right at Xomhyrk's face, its point hovering a few inches from his nose. Xomhyrk laughs bitterly.

“You are a fool, city-prince. You will lose many men today!”

The king—prince, whatever he is—says something back. It sounds very much like an insult. He sheaths his sword. He and his retinue turn and begin make their way back down the hill. The wizard gives us a glance over his shoulder. He's grinning like a salamander, and his eyes are as wild as one.

“Do we strike or wait?” says Gollor.

“Have the army form a wedge,” Xomhyrk orders. “We strike!”