Ror rose and leapt over the side of his bath, splashing waves of hot water onto the floor. He stood over the lava stones in the corner to dry, then quickly dressed. There were a few lingering streaks of red in his hair. I still don’t look a bit like dad, he thought as he gave a passing glance at his mirror.

Buri met him halfway to the holding cells. He'd retied his braid and straightened his mowhawk. Ror caught a whiff of whatever tar or glue he used to heep his hair in place. It was pungent, unlike the pine sap potion some of Ridzak's mercenaries used. They strode silently side by side, not saying a word the whole way to the holding cells. I’m growing tired of visiting this place. Ror nodded to the gaolers as they opened the door. Buri sneered at the shorter of the two.

The smallest, darkest, coldest cell was their destination. The gaoler hurried out of their way once he'd opened the door, doubtless sensing the anger fuming out of both of them. Bok lay on his bedroll and looked silently upward.

"How do you want to die?" Ror asked.

"Defending my people," Bok said.

"Good. I'll get you armor and a spear."

"Not from the goblins. From the tyrant who condemns a dishonest merchant as he would a raper or a murderer."

"If you were worth his time, I'd go fetch my father this instant."

Bok sat up and looked at Ror. "You spoke so gently to the girl in the pantry, and the girl in the armsman's square. Were I a fair young maid, would you treat me with common decency? Or is compelling speech simply your mask? Most mummers mask their faces, Dread Highness. Not their hearts." He laid back down.

Ror ground his teeth. This was a young man in his prime, fighting fit and bold, and he was sapping Thrond of its strength in its time of need, rather than adding to it. "Let's examine your words, for a moment. You say you care for Thrond. Why then, pray tell, were you convincing our soldiers to abandon Forvangur while one of our strongest enemies masses troops outside our gate?"

"Those weren't soldiers I led from Forvangur. Those were boys, children. Pressed into service by ancient cravens who've long outlived their usefulness."

Buri laughed hard. "Educate yourself before you try to insult your betters."

Bok turned his head toward Buri. "My betters? How could you, of all people speak of them so?"

Buri strode across the room and stood so close to Bok his boot almost kissed the man's jaw. When he spoke, his voice was cold with contempt. "While you've been laying here winging over your failed revolt, my uncle led a sortie into the dimroads with less than a company of men. He came upon a host of over twenty thousand goblins heading towards Ormazum. Those goblins came up the Lonely Ohr. Valung used the unrest over Koll's release to divide the kingdom against itself so he could let our enemies worm their way up from the Underlands. Now we face attacks from two fronts, and we have less than half our forces to defend them with. You say you wish to defend your people, but you've betrayed them. You're a pawn, Bok; a mindless tool, and your lack of wits has put thousands of lives at risk. When this is done, I'll see you disgraced in the Grand Bazaar, and if Koll survives the battle, you'll live just long enough to see what the true champion of the doomed looks like."

Bok's eyes widened in the dark room. "Ladhu's fighting?"

Ror's eyes widened as well. Not if I have any say. He kept silent and watched Bok closely.

"He wouldn't be dissuaded," said Buri. "Not by his wife, child, or even me. I lived through it, Bok. I'm of the doomed. Do you see me whimpering over injustice? Who are you to cry out for us when you've not tasted our suffrage?"

"Who don't you cry out then? Why doesn't Ladhu?"

"Because we aren't snozzle sniffing lickspittles who..."

"Buri," Ror grasped his friend's shoulder and pulled him back. The big dwarf was leaning over Bok with his fists clenched. Buri growled and left the cell. Ror sat down cross legged on the floor next to Bok. "Don't you see? Buri and Koll are the actual doomed men you claim to defend, and I'm the man who brought Koll back and swore to put an end to the whole sordid system. And all of us are disgusted with you. I understand any man, woman or child who laments the imbalance of our punishment, because I lament it myself. But you, you're not angry over people suffering unfairly. You're too frightened to take up arms against an enemy who could kill you, so you take up arms against an enemy who could only martyr you, if they even bothered to notice you in the first place." Ror stood. "At the far end of this hall is the fiercest fighter I know. If the goblins make it here, stay close to him."

"I kill ‘im meself!" Ridzak shouted.

Ror laughed. He often forgot how absurdly keen goblin hearing was. He rose and walked to the door.

"I'll fight," said Bok.

Ror turned to him. Bok rose and dusted himself off, then stepped into the light peeking in from the hallway. "Do you know how?" Ror asked.

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Bok shrugged. "I trained with my sisters as a child. I'd know better, had I heeded the Army Chief's call. But I know which end to stick them with."

"He's a goner!" Ridzak shouted again.

"Who is that?" Bok asked, "I've been hearing all manner of strange noises coming from his cell."

"I don't doubt it. He's the Goblin King's brother, and my friend." Bok raised an eyebrow. Ror smiled. "You spend time with those of your walk, and I spend time with those of mine. He was exiled as a child for causing some sort of trouble that he's too embarrassed to tell me of, and he's made his way through the world on his own ever since."

"I burned all me brother's small clothes!" Ridzak shouted. "He's had it out for me down to this day!".

Bok looked towards the far cells and nodded. "I've never even been past the Titan's Arm, nor done an honest day’s work my whole life. I did truly want to help the doomed, but you're right, I am afraid to fight the real battle."

"Pansy!" cried Ridzak.

Bok kept speaking. "I hoped that by taking a stand for the doomed, I'd be making something of myself. I’ve lived off the wealth of my family all my days, and I want nothing more than to prove my worth."

"Help defend Ormazum," said Ror, "and live or die, your worth will never be questioned."

"Can I defend Ormazum too? I still have that knife you gave me!"

"I'll give you my hammer if you don't stuff a rag in it!" Ror bellowed. Ridzak was quiet.

An hour later Malgond was in Ror's hand, slung over his shoulder as he led the Gatebreakers to the eastern gate. Buri was with him, having accepted an official post among Ror's legion as a lieutenant. They rounded a sharp corner and came to the plaza in front of the eastern gate. Soldiers were gathering in the tens of thousands. The bulk of Thrond's trained forces were to make their stand here, while the Red Spears and other sappers blocked off tunnels and funneled the goblin vanguard their way.

The plaza was a vast chamber some four hundred feet wide and eight hundred feet long, with a ceiling so lofty that even the Builder's Guild could only guess its height. Ruby statues of bears ran in two rows down the center of the plaza, and around the sixty foot tall gate was an immense engraving of the Fell. Over a hundred feet it rose; the silhouette of a great pyramid inlaid with silver, with a thousand smaller silver pyramids filling the space inside. The gate was engraved in like manner so that the emblem was unbroken, save when the gate opened. Crystals the size of boulders were set in massive sconces by the score, and their light flowed through the silver lines of the Fell like a torrent of diamond flames.

Ror raised his fist and his men halted. Rows of axmen were lining up against the nearest wall. One of them wore armor that rivaled his own in aristry, and it glowed with star fire in the crystal light. Ror made his way to the soldier and opened the man's visor. It was Koll. "I can spot your wife's smithwork from a league away."

Koll smiled. "I'll tell her you said so, Dread Highness."

Ror nodded. "Off you go then."

"Dread Highness... I..."

Ror's heart ached. Koll's face was stricken. Ror knew the pain, as he was beginning to feel an inkling of it himself. In the back of his mind was a nagging fear that he might never see Cara again. He'd seen that look on his uncle's face as well. It was Idana who showed courage. "You'll get a kiss from me for every goblin you slay," she told him. They wanted badly to stay by their women, to keep them safe, and to stay alive so they could carry on loving them. But they had to fight. They were dwarves of Thrond, sons of Obrus, blooded warriors who had the means to protect hearth and home. Ror slapped Koll on the shoulder and turned to go back to his men.

"Dread Highness," Koll said. Ror turned. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you've done."

"You want to thank me, Ladhu? Then survive, no matter what it takes. That armor should help. Remind me to thank Urum after the battle.".

His men took position near the Sunderers while he met by the gate with the other captains. Gund and his father were there as well. There was no sign of his uncle. "Where's Balvor?" he asked.

"Guarding the citadel," his father said.

Ror raised both eyebrows. "If the goblins don't kill him, Vor will. I can see it now, Dad. Uncle Balvor pacing up and down every hall, checking on Idanna every three seconds, asking Vor..."

"Vor's guarding Ormazum," his father interrupted, "We don't have the men to hold the city adequately, so I left Balvor in the citadel with sixty of the city guard. The Owls are supplementing Vor and our freshest conscripts."

Ror nodded. "How many of the afflicted are able to fight?"

Both Gund and his father sighed. "Not enough," Gund said. "Halfur's cure saved some of them, but most were too far gone. They died of wounds already inflicted to their bowels."

Ror drew a measured breath and grit his teeth. "They'll be avenged."

"Yes they will," his father's voice was cold.

Ror felt anger welling up within him. Anger for the dead soldiers, murdered shamefully by cravens. Anger towards Valung, and himself for not killing the man when he stood in Nastrond with Ganly, Vor the Cold, Bloody Rykka and Buri Yormun by his side. Anger that Koll was pressed to take up arms, when only just returned to his wife and daughter. Anger that the Owl Guard were forced to fight in a pitched battle, when they were highly specialized guerilla fighters, and they were separated from their captain. The anger brewed to a boil, then turned from red rage to cold black hate. He took Malgond with both hands and strode like a hungry bear to the gate. It cracked like thunder as the dividing line split upward from the floor. The doors parted, growling loud into the dimroad beyond, and the claws of Obrus poured through.