"But not for a giant-sized catapult," said Gerti.
"There are tunnels beneath the ridge," Urlgen explained. "The dwarves have taken them and secured them. It will be difficult to—"
"As difficult as arguing your cause when your father declares that you have failed?"
That straightened Urlgen, and straightened his thinking as well.
"Take the ridge, and I will give you the warriors to secure it and to strike out against the dwarves, for the glory of us both," Gerti promised.
"No easy task."
Gerti led Urlgen's gaze back up the slope, to the piles and piles of orc bodies rotting in the morning sun, letting the implication speak for itself.
* * *
"Bash! They're fightin' again, and we're stuck here watching!" the old dwarf Shingles McRuff grumbled to Torgar Hammerstriker.
Torgar moved to the opening in the ridge's eastern wall, overlooking the mountain slope that had served as battlefield for so many days. Sure enough, the charge was on again in full, with orcs and goblins running up the steep ascent, howling and hooting with every stride. A look back to the south told the dwarf that his kin were ready to meet that charge, their formations already composing, Catti-brie's devastating bow already sending lines of sizzling arrows streaming out at the oncoming horde. Every now and then, there came a small explosion among the front ranks of the charging orcs, and Torgar smiled, knowing that Ivan Bouldershoulder had put that clever hand crossbow of his to work.
Even though he held all confidence that Banak and the others would stave off the assault, Torgar was soon chewing his lower lip with frustration that he and half the dwarves of Mirabar could not stand beside them.
"They were needing us here," Shingles reminded Torgar, and he dropped his hand hard onto Torgar's strong shoulder. "We're serving King Bruenor well."
"In holding tunnels that ain't getting attacked," Torgar muttered.
The words had hardly left his mouth when shouts echoed back at him and Shingles from the deeper tunnels to the north.
"Orcs!" came the cry. "Orcs in the tunnels!"
Shingles and Torgar turned wide-eyed expressions at each other, both fast shifting into snarling battle rage.
"Orcs," they muttered together.
"Orcs!" Shingles echoed loudly, for the benefit of all those dwarves nearby, particularly those back toward the southern entrance. "Get yer axes up, boys. We got orcs to kill!"
With energy, enthusiasm, and even glee, the dwarves of Mirabar set off to predetermined positions to support those farther to the north, where, they learned almost immediately from ringing steel and cries of rage and pain, the battle had already been joined.
Torgar barked out orders with every stride, reminders that he knew he really didn't have to offer to his disciplined warriors. The Mirabarran dwarves understood their places, for in the days they had been in the tunnels, they had come to know every turn in every corridor and every chamber where defenses could be, and had been, set. Still, Torgar barked reminders, and he told them to fight for the glory of Bruenor Battlehammer and Mithral Hall, their new king, their new home.
Torgar had set the defenses purposefully, designing them with every intent that he and Shingles would not be left out of the fighting. The pair rushed down one descending corridor and came out onto a ledge overlooking an oval-shaped chamber, and below they found their first orcs, engaged with a force of more than a dozen Mirabarran dwarves.
Hardly slowing, Torgar leaped from the ledge, crashing in hard among the orc ranks, bringing a pair down beside him. He was up on his feet in an instant, his axe sweeping back and forth—but in control. Shingles was airborne by that time, along with several others who had followed the pair to that room.
Those dwarves up front pressed on more forcefully with the arrival of the reinforcements, hacking their way through orcs as they tried to link up with Torgar and the others. Almost immediately, the battle turned in favor of the dwarves. Orcs fell and orcs tried to flee, but they were held up by their stubborn kin trying to filter out of the tunnel and join in the fray.
"Kill enough and they'll run off!" Torgar roared, and of course, that was indeed the expectation when fighting orcs.
Many minutes later and with the floor covered in orc blood, the dwarves had reached the tunnel entrance, driving back the invaders. With Torgar centering them, the dwarves formed an arc around the narrow opening, so that many weapons could be brought to bear against any orc that stepped through. Surprisingly, though, the orcs still came through, one after another, taking hits and climbing over the fast-piling bodies of their fallen kin. On and on they came, and five orcs fell for every dwarf that was forced back with wounds.
"Damn stubborn lot!" Shingles cried at Torgar's side.
He accentuated his shout with a smash of his hammer that laid yet another brute low.
"Too stubborn," Torgar replied—quietly, though, and under his breath.
He didn't want the others to take note of his alarm. Torgar could hardly believe that orcs were still squeezing out of that tunnel. Every other one never even got a single step back into the room before being chopped down, but still they came.
Cries echoing from the tunnels near to them told Torgar that it was not a unique occurrence in that particular battle, that his boys were being hard-pressed at every turn.
More minutes passed, and more orcs crowded into the room, and more orcs died on the floor.
Torgar glanced back at the ledge, where an appointed dwarf was waiting.
"Position two!" he cried to the young scout and the dwarf ran off, shouting the call.
"Ye heard him!" Shingles cried to the others in the room. "Tighten it up!"
As he finished, Shingles spun around a large rock that had been set in place at the side of the tunnel entrance, bracing his back against the unsteady stone.
"On yer call!" Shingles cried.
Torgar pressed his attack on the nearest orc, shifting as he swung so that he could directly confront the next creature as it tried to come out of the tunnel. Behind him, his boys went into a frenzy, finishing those in the room.
As soon as he thought the door temporarily secured, Torgar shouted, "Now!"
A great heave by Shingles sent the rock falling across the door, and Torgar had to scamper back to avoid getting clipped.
"Go! Go! Go!" Shingles cried.
The dwarves gathered up their wounded and dead and retreated fast to the opposite end of the room and out to the south.
Before they could get through that other door, though, the orcs had already breached the makeshift barricade and a pair of spears arced out, one scoring a hit on poor Shingles.
"Ah, me bum!" he cried, grabbing at the shaft that was protruding from his right buttock.
Though he already had one unconscious dwarf over his other shoulder, Torgar hooked his dearest friend under the arm and pulled him along, out of the room and down the southern tunnel, where a series of stone drops had been set in place to slow any pursuit in just such a situation. All across the tunnel complex beneath the western ridge, the dwarves were forced into organized retreats, but they had been in the tunnels for several days and that was more than any dwarves ever needed to prepare a proper defense.
Torgar was back in battle soon enough, and even a limping Shingles returned to his side, hammer swinging with abandon. They and a handful of other dwarves had made a stand in a stalagmite-filled room that sloped up to the south behind them. Figuring to make the orcs pay for every foot of ground across the wide chamber, the dwarves battled furiously, and again, the orc blood began to flow and the orc bodies began to pile.
But still the stubborn creatures came on.
"Damn stupid lot!" Shingles cried out yet again.
Torgar didn't bother replying to the obvious or to the hidden message of his friend. They were beginning to catch on that the orcs meant to take the tunnels, whatever the cost. That troublesome thought only gained even more credence a few moments later when another group of dwarves unexpectedly crashed into the room from a western corridor.