Ror heard his uncle’s voice booming over the din. He swung Malgond in wide arcs, clearing a path in the swarm of enemies surrounding him. They’d stopped paying attention to them after the wraiths started to appear in force. The goblins ran like mad to hide inside houses and meeting chambers, and the trolls kept to the middle of the hallways and stayed clear of the ohr-tempuses. The wraiths were surrounding the stages and pressing themselves to the walls. They screeched and howled, and seemed to be growing more luminous.

Balvor fought his way through the throng, killing a dozen goblins and trolls as he waded to Ror and Buri.

“Where’s Idana and Klar?” Ror asked urgently.

“Idana’s safe,” said his uncle, “your mother saw to that. I don’t know where your sister is.”

“And mother, and father?”

Balvor shook his head. “You should go to the cells and free your friend.”

Ridzak! Ror nodded and looked to Buri. Buri returned the nod and pointed towards the porter’s hall. There they found a winch lift that took them to the floor the holding cells were on. The cells were empty save for the bodies of the gaolers and a smattering of goblins. The door to Ridzak’s cell had been torn off its hinges and flung to the ground. The walls and floor were coated in dried blue blood, and there was a large goblin sprawled on the bed with Ror’s knife planted in its skull.

They caught up with Balvor shortly after. He too was taking winch lifts and stairways, avoiding the wraiths at all costs.

“What are those things?” Ror asked, not expecting an answer.

“Horrors from Noth, maybe,” Buri suggested in a strikingly calm voice.

“Titan’s balls!” said Balvor. “You might be right, Buri. The gnolls have come across the smouldering sea and brought their minions with them.”

“The gnolls tame centaurs,” Ror said, frustrated with his uncle’s wild assumption. “I think they came from wherever those trolls came from. It’s been half an age since we’ve had dealings with lands outside Konistra. Who knows what’s happened across the sea over the years.”

“Those trolls, as you call them,” Balvor said, “they look like the spawn of goblins and dwarves. But such a thing cannot be.”

There was no need for further speculation on the matter, so Ror was silent for the rest of their descent. It seemed to take them hours, but there were still hundreds of fleeing citizens in Ormazum. Ror looked for Klar, or Gund, or Ganly or anyone. He saw a cluster of armored men in loose formation franticly battling a group of drow. Ror charged the drow in anger, swinging Malgond low and shattering a row of knees. One of the drow thrust their spear at him and it almost went through his visor. He swatted the spear away with Malgond’s haft and closed with his foe, making short and quick thrusts with Malgond’s heavy head. He guessed this drow to be a woman, as she was taller and stronger than the others. She stood still for a moment while three of the others attacked Ror and he saw enough of her figure to tell she was indeed a female. He attacked even more fiercely, wanting to eliminate their commander, or perhaps take her captive. She was too quick and stilled, though, and whenever Ror was about to land a killing blow her minions would surround her. Does she know who I am? It wasn’t impossible. They clearly had some sort of help from within. Valung wouldn’t know what Ror’s armor looked like, but he could have agents outside the Underlands.

“Dread Highness,” shouted one of the nearby soldiers. Ror knew the voice to be Bok’s, and if the drow didn’t know already who he was, they did now. The woman shouted commands and the men made a wall between her and Ror while she withdrew into a crowd of goblins.

Ror stepped back and let Bok and his fellows fight off the remaining drow. These weren’t the same ones from the citadel, nor was that the woman who summoned the wraiths. That woman wore unmistakably fine armor, and had a voice like none he’d ever heard. The men up there were better trained as well. These fought sloppily, likely front line fodder. Bok and his men weren’t much better, but they wore the drow down with their greater strength.

“Well fought,” Ror told them when the drow were finished.

“Dread Highness,” said Bok, “I’ll never forgive myself…”

Ror stopped him with a hand. “You’re not to blame for our defeat. Come along, let’s form up by the doors so our people can make it across the bridge.”

Buri had already done so. More drow soldiers had arrived, not the same kind of linemen as before, but far mor disciplined and skilled. They were coordinated crossbow volleys with spear thrusts, then breaking formation to let the constant flow of goblins through. Ganly was there, to Ror’s relief. He would hate to lose such a good soldier, and worthy companion as well. Ror stayed close to Bok and his band. They seemed bolstered by his company, and it raised his spirits as well to see them fighting so hard. He had wondered if Bok would not simply slip away once released, but there he was, giving it his all. If he survives this, I’m going to make something of him.

“I saw Klar!” Buri shouted when the fight brought him close. Ror nodded. He felt liberated of a great tension hearing that news. Malgond sang through the air now, whirling about freely through the line of enemies that kept breaking on them.

“They’re through!” he heard Gund shouting from the other end of the line. They began their retreat, one row holding the line while the other withdrew. They continued their ordered withdrawal all the way to Malgond, standing two abreast on the bridge and fighting as they stepped slowly backwards. The trolls proved an even tougher enemy on the bridge than already had before. They would drop off the sides of the bridge and swing along the edge with their long and powerful arms, then clutch at the dwarves' sabatons and try to pull them down. All the while the goblins dove at them, swinging their weapons wildly and not caring how many of them fell into the endless maw of the mountain beneath. The drow were ever present, sidestepping the heedless goblins and thrusting with their long spears.

Ror found himself side by side with Gund, several rows in. “Where’s your mum and dad?” Gund asked.

“They took them,” Ror said. Were he not clad in mannarim armor, he would have thought he’d been run through by a drow spear, such was the pain he felt when saying those words.

“They won’t have them long,” Gund said. He meant it. The White Bull showed his horns on the bridge. He swept his halberd across its span, never killing less than four per swing, whether drow or goblin or troll. Ror marvelled at the old man’s strength. He was over two hundred years old and hale and hardy as Ror or Buri.

Pair by pair they stepped backwards through Malgond. Ror’s hammer lived up to its namesake as he and Gund covered the retreat of the last of their troops. His uncle was the last to come through. The dwarf by his side had been pulled down by a troll, and Balvor held the enemy off alone. Ror found himself wishing he’d had a chance to see his father in action, or his uncle Lobuhl. Balvor was the least of Thaddum’s sons, and he was worth ten of any foe when at his worst.

The enemy halted at the edge of the bridge, taunting the dwarves to come back and finish the fight. Ror brought Malgond down on one of the drow so hard he cracked the stone floor with the man’s helm. For a time he, Gund, his uncle and Buri held the gate, while he heard Ganly forming the Sunderers up behind him, and Wulden calling for the Watchers on the Walls to escort the citizens into the walls and into the foothills. Ror’s chest swelled with pride at how well his people were handling the shock of their defeat, and he felt proud to fight besides such legends as Gund and his uncle. For a moment he forgot the wraiths, and the agony his father was in when the monster turned to boiling steam and almost cooked him inside his armor. Then one of them showed itself above the foes on the bridge.

It raised its glowing arms and beams of light shot from its fingers. Several more appeared behind and circled upwards like carrion birds. They turned to clouds of thick and black fog, then snuffed out the flames in the braziers. The wraith at the gate then shone like a star, a sallow but vivid light, and the entire chasm was illuminated. Blue and yellow light rose from below and the mountain gurgled as the deep air was ignited by some unseen force.

That’s when she came. The goblins pressed forward suddenly, either emboldened by the wraith or frightened by the drow warrioress. They threw themselves onto the dwarves in such numbers that all of them were knocked off their feet, no easy thing to accomplish. Ror fought on his back, smashing his hammer’s haft into throats and savagely headbutting with his horned helm. Buri appeared above him. He’d lost his spear and was holding a shield in each hand, bludgeoning the goblins and clearing a space for Ror to rise. WHen he stood he was pressed back by the wall of goblins and trolls. It was all he could do to stay on his feet. Soon he saw open doors in the walls, and the enemy halted and began to withdraw back to the gate. Some of the Watchers joined the fight, and here and there he saw the remnants of the Stone Guard, Owls, Black Helms and Sunderers.

Gund had shifted from fighting to ushering the last of their citizens into the walls. Ror looked about for Klar and saw Buri holding her in his arms. He heard the warioress’s voice then, and looked back to her brandishing her spear beneath the glowing wraith. His uncle was caught between them and the front line of the enemy. Several of the better drow soldiers closed with him. He killed two, then she attacked. In a flash his uncle was laying on the ground. Two drow apiece were holding down his legs and arms, and their leader leapt onto him and put her spear through his visor. When Ror regained consciousness he was being carried off the ground into the wall. Blood coated his armor, and his eyes burned from freshly fallen tears. He'd gone wild with anger, killing more drow and goblin grunts than could be counted, and now his wits were returned and his friends were saving him from himself.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The rest of the night seemed to pass in a nebulous haze. He heard people speaking in muted voices of Magni’s destruction, and that the Titan’s Torch looked as if it were ready to plummet from the sky before a strange shadow spread between the clouds like a net. It may have been a dream for all he knew. He wished it were.

Gund and Klar were leading the people northward through the foothills. The night wore on and eventually Yalla rose cold and faint above the horizon, then dawn broke over the Ladder to the Moon. Ror had often gazed fondly at the beauty of a breaking dawn, marveling at the slow, gentle crawl of the sun's flames across the sky. This dawn was dull and heavy, and the clouds were purple veined with black, like bruised flesh over a broken bone.

He searched the sky for the Torch, hoping in the sudden realization of his grief that it had indeed shot down to smite their foes, but instead he found it hanging in the starless space between Obrus and the Tall Hill. His thoughts went suddenly to Cara, and then to Halfur and Yemi, and then back to his parents and the horror he felt when the wraith burned his father. Gund’s gravelly voice broke through his wandering thoughts.

“Ror, we need you.”

Ror was suddenly gripped with shame. He was the Crown Prince, announced or not. With Balvor dead and his parents captive, the care of the people was his, and here he’d been wandering in a depressed haze, mewling pitifully to himself over his loss. He drew in a deep breath and nodded vigorously. “We’ll find a place to regroup. Were we pursued?”. Before Gund could answer he heard the cries of goblins echoing in the rocks nearby. Klar was there, looking at him with a worried stare. Her eyes were shot with blood and ringed with shadow, her while body was trembling. Ror thought of how she’d only recently begun to wear her own gowns instead of her dead mother’s, and how worried she must be over their father. Ror took her in his arms and held her tight. “I’m here, Klar. I’m here.”. He could hear her choking down her sobs. He let her go and found a high spur of rock to stand on. Buri, Gund and Ganly followed him, along with Bloody Rykka and one of her nephews.

“Have you passed your aunt’s count yet?” he asked the young man. They both looked to each other before he answered. Rykka’s face was stricken with pain. “No, Dread Highness," the young man answered, "and I'm the only one who may. My brothers all fell.”

The tears leapt out of Ror’s eyes before he could stop them. He was glad for his helm. They can’t see me weep. No more than they can see me bleed. I have to be their strength now. “They’ll be avenged. I swear it.”

“Yes they will, Dread Ror.” Rykka managed a smile.

When they got the lay of the land, they decided on a door in the northern stretch of the mountain range that led downward into a main dimroad highway. “Vallengald,” said Ganly, nodding his approval, “I’ve been there. It’s a good place to gather. We can make a large camp and take stock. See how many men we have left. It may even prove a good place to launch our counter invasion from.”

Ror didn’t like the look in Gund’s eyes. “Chieftain?” he said.

Gund rubbed his fingers against his temples. “I've already taken stock. I’ve had the Owls count our number from the high ground as we marched. We have less than ten thousand armed men.”

“Farin and Nava have been speaking to the people for me,” said Klar. “There’s no count yet, but many of our citizens are missing.”

“Idana?” Ror asked. Klar shook her head. Ror was again glad for his helm. He liked Idana, and now it felt like her survival would somehow keep his uncle alive in a small way.

“Ror,” said a tired voice from below. It was Urum.

“Chieftain! Come. I need to hear from all my father’s counsellors.”

“You may rue what I have to offer you. We’ve been beaten, soundly, and will bleed out on the road unless we find a place where we can heal. I know you, Dread Highness. You want to go to Thrond and take it back, right now. We can’t, not now, and not for a long time, I fear. We either need to find a spacious hole in the foothills to settle, and begin our lives anew, or, if you’re determined to reclaim our home, find our own kin to stay with for a time.”

“Cloud Hammer,” said Gund, “I was about to advise the same thing. It’s our best chance Ror. We must take back Thrond, of that there’s no debate. But we first need to tend to our people, and have time to regain our strength. Your father would command this of you, if he could.”

“He did.” Ror remembered his father’s words in the Great Hall. ‘The children,’ he said. Ror looked out over the people gathered in the foothills and wondered how many children had lost their parents and uncles. He’d seen their foes in Ormazum amongst the people as they fled, but at the time he was in a constant flux of fear, shock, and the joy of battle, and had not paid close attention the plight of his people. How many unarmed and unarmored citizens were butchered as they ran to the gate? How frightened and confused they must have been, people who had no reason to ever expect to see a single foe in their lifetimes, to see the Grand Bazaar crawling with black robed drow and strange warriors from some distant land. And then to see the wraiths...

“To Cloud Hammer,” he said. “We’ll rest here. Promote one of the Owls to temporary Captain and have them route the goblins. They don’t sound numerous and are likely only following to make sure we don’t return, but I want them gone all the same. Ganly, gather all armed men and set a perimeter around the people, then send scouting parties to search the mountains for stragglers. And there may be more of our people fleeing in other directions. Not everyone would have escaped through Malgond.” He looked to Urum. “What of the men in the deep mines and the mass forges?”

Ror remembered seeing Urum weep once before, when Valung was sent down the Lonely Ohr. Urum had always considered Valung to be one of the best dwarves in Thrond, and was deeply shaken by his treachery. Ror was seeing him weep now for the second time in almost fifty years. “I underestimated our foe,” he said amidst pained tears, “and made no plans for those men. If the goblins came up the Lonely Ohr, then all in the mines and forges are lost.”

All grew quiet, and for a moment they stood there in abject silence. “Ganly,” Ror said eventually, “find a Bear Rider, two if you can, once your other duties are done, and send them to High Alden. Halfur needs to know what happened. Perhaps Salimod might offer some aid.”

Ganly nodded and left. The rest of them followed after another quiet pause. Gund and Klar flanked Urum. Gund patted him on the back as they walked, and Klar was holding his arm with both of hers. A sudden fear gripped Ror, and he began to look franticly through the crowd of people as they walked through the crowd.

“What’s wrong?” Klar asked.

“Did Koll live?” he asked. She nodded, and he breathed a heavy sigh. We’ll come back from this. No matter the cost, we’ll come back from this.

He tasked Klar with making sure all children had adults to look after them, and himself with finding able young men to build makeshift tents and a wall of stone to mask their presence. The people could handle these things on their own, to be sure, but for their prince to make arrangements for their shelter and safety was a show of love, something they were in urgent need of.

What space they could find underground they used, and by afternoon a well hidden refuge had been established. When the people had settled into their camps and the goblins had been found and driven off, Ror found a lonely perch on the slopes of a tall mountain and sat by himself. There he let his grief take hold, so that he could vent his sadness and anger and be free to give his people the sound leadership they were going to need. The sky was dark again when he was done. He made his mind to walk among the people before getting sleep. He would go to them and ask about their loved ones, promise the missing would be searched for, and hold their weeping children. Often he’d seen his uncle Balvor show such tender concern for their subjects. It not only strengthened their loyalty to the crown, but also their own hearts. His people needed to be strong now, and they needed to be united.

Before descending the mountain to carry out his plan, Ror looked at the towering height of his home. The Brow was still smoking, though from what he could see the wreckage of Magni had been mostly cleared. He looked down to where he knew the windows of the citadel’s outer mansions were, the windows their real enemy had entered through, and thought of his mother and father, then he thought of the wraiths and the drow woman who summoned them. I’m coming back for you. All of you. He hoisted Malgond off the ground and over his shoulder, then began his descent.

He was impossibly tired, and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. But his people looked at him with gaping eyes everywhere he went. They're on the brink of despair. This is no way for the people of Thrond to spend a night, even a night such as this. He thought back to his early years, when his father sent him to the deepest mines to learn work, and on the longest patrols to learn war. There was a song that the old dwarves taught him, a song that gave the boys vigor and taught them what it meant to be sons of Obrus. Hold the Chain, it was called, the workmen's song. It was an old song, first sung by Narvi the Blooded as the gnolls were driven from their lands. He raised his voice and sang deep and loud. When he finished the first verse, those who knew the song stomped their feet and pounded their chests to the rhythm of the song. Others listened and sang along once they learned the words, and soon the whole crowd was joined in a rousing chorus.

Hold it tight, don't let it go now, all of us are sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, keep it close, don't let the chain fall to the floor

If you're going on a journey, don't know where it wants to take you, tow the line along behind so we'll know not to close the door

Mountains burst and forests burn, but nothing stops the river running, flowing steady in our hearts to carry us through every stormy night...

... hold on, it's strong but so are you so see this through, we are the proud and mighty, hard as the stone under our feet

Look down, see the fires burning, deeper than that we are searching, one and all above, below, within, without we hear the call

Keep the weakest close behind you, keep the strongest close beside you, as long as one of us stands then none of us will ever fall

Hold it tight, don't let it go now, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, as many hands as we can muster, hold it tight and we'll survive the storm...

... hold on, it's strong and so are you so see this through, we are the proud and mighty, hard as the steel the chain's made from...