“They will not break our defenses!” Roakore roared. “Let them come and let them bleed!” His fellow dwarves returned the call with a loud war cry that echoed down the now-silent tunnel.
At least twenty minutes had passed. Roakore assumed that the Draggard were beaten and fleeing the Mountain, or worse, they were regrouping. The latter was proved true when suddenly a great wave of Draggard poured into the Chamber of Arrows. This group of over one hundred veered away from the stairs instantly and began climbing the walls. The dwarves began their assault at once, sending a huge volley into their ranks. As the dwarves tried to pick off the wall-climbers, another hundred charged straight in and headed for the stairs. Roakore’s father’s voice rang out into the large chamber. “All to the left o’ me, shoot for the climbers; those to the right o’ me, hit the walkers!”
The bowmen instantly complied, as did Roakore. “Let ’em come taste me blade!” spat a burly old dwarf next to Roakore. He smiled to himself and gave a triumphant growl as he shot one of the Draggard in the eye. Roakore was confident that the battle would end here, for never in the history of the mountain had an attacking army ever made it past the Chamber of Arrows. Though the Draggard roared with what sounded like triumph, they had failed to notice the thousands of small holes that covered the stairs and side walls.
More than four hundred Draggard were now within the chamber, some climbing the walls to get to the shooters’ balcony, others ascending the stair. The entirety of the staircase was now covered with so many of the foul beasts that not a hint of stone could be seen. They poured onto it with such aggression that many fell over the sides and to their deaths one hundred feet below. Those at the very top of the stair, only ten feet from the dwarves, leapt with reckless abandon across the ten-foot gap towards the balcony. The left flank of archers cut them down in midair, dozens of arrows hitting the beasts with enough force to send them hurtling lifeless back toward the stair.
Another call suddenly came from Roakore’s father. “Bring the chamber to life!” he bellowed, and somewhere in the chamber a dwarf pulled a single lever. Roakore watched with great pleasure as thousands of arrows sprang forth from the holes within the steps of the stairs and side walls. The entire horde of beasts upon the stairs was thrown ten feet into the air, their bodies bristling with arrows, and fell lifeless to the stone below. Those Draggard that had been climbing the wall were torn to pieces by the thousands of arrows. Even those still just entering the chamber did not fare well, for they were cut down where they stood by the great crossfire produced by the barrage of arrows upon the side walls. The chamber was suddenly deathly quiet, a literal tomb.
The dwarf archers erupted into cheers at the sight of the massacre, but their celebration was short-lived. Giving no heed to their personal safety, still more beasts came pouring in from the tunnel. Over their fallen kin they climbed, and advanced upon the stairs once again. The Draggard were not known for their bravery, and the relentless attack unsettled Roakore. He sensed, as did others, that these beasts were being controlled by an unseen force. They would not stop until they were killed, or until they took the mountain. The dwarves cut into the ranks of the advancing group as it ascended the stairs. But their numbers were again overwhelming. They poured forth from the tunnel by the hundreds, up the walls and stairs.
“Draw weapons!” Roakore’s father’s call echoed as many of the beasts made it to the balcony. Roakore took up his axe as a Draggard jumped from the stair to the balcony. With a powerful sideswipe Roakore downed the hissing monster in midair, only to be met by three more leaping demons. The balcony had broken out into an all-out brawl as the dwarves angrily cut down the invaders.
“To the next chamber!” someone called, and the dwarves again began their retreat down the next tunnel. Slowly they backed shoulder to shoulder into the wide tunnel as the horde advanced after them. The dwarves fought valiantly but the Draggard numbers were too great. As they downed one, another stood to replace it.
“Go with yer father and brothers!” said a dwarf named Dwelldon to Roakore. “MI and me brothers’ll buy you some time.” Dwelldon held a massive war-hammer, and his eyes shone with a burning fire. Roakore knew he would not be talked out of his resolve, so he simply nodded. The dwarves retreated quickly down the tunnel as Dwelldon and his four brothers stood shoulder to shoulder blocking the way. Roakore listened with shimmering eyes as they took up the battle song of the gods.
As the dwarves, now numbering less than fifty, entered the next chamber, they were followed by the sounds of Draggard howls and of war-hammers thudding into bodies. This was the Chamber of Spears, another triangular chamber with a staircase leading to a great balcony. Atop the balcony awaited another hundred dwarves, this time brandishing huge spears. Roakore and the remaining dwarves from the Chamber of Arrows ascended the stairs and took up places upon the balcony as the drawbridge was lowered. Roakore found his father and brothers in the entrance to the next tunnel. They were huddled around someone lying on the floor. Roakore went to them and to his dismay found that the one they looked over was his eldest brother, Wrakkwor.
“My son,” Roakore’s father said to the fallen dwarf. “Go now in peace to the Mountain of the Gods. You have earned your place among the kings of old.”
Roakore wiped his eyes as he watched his beloved brother’s last breath leave his beaten body. “Take him to the last chamber!” his father ordered two awaiting dwarves. They took up the body and hurried down the tunnel. Roakore’s father turned to his three remaining sons with burning, tear-filled eyes. “They’ll pay.”
Roakore grabbed his father’s arm as he stormed past toward the balcony. Roakore knew the Draggard had entered the chamber, for dwarf spears had begun to fly.
“Be there word from the four groups that’ve doubled back to the main chamber?” he asked.
Roakore’s father looked ill; his grey eyes burned still, but beneath that fire of hatred lay a hint of despair. “Yes, my son. They found the chamber full. The Draggard army numbers in the thousands. They fill every hall, tunnel, and chamber. We, my son, are all who remain.”
Roakore knew in his heart then that they were doomed. The Draggard numbers were so great that still they filled the main hall and all surrounding tunnels. Although hundreds of tunnels and a vast number of chambers rooted out from the main hall of the dwarf city for miles, only two tunnels led to the surface.
“Has word been sent to Ky’Dren?” Roakore asked his father.
“Aye. When the horn blew, riders were sent out. But they’ll bring news o’ peril too late, I’m ’fraid,” he said gravely.
Roakore said nothing; his father watched him keenly and recognized his fears. In a voice loud enough for all around to hear he yelled, “That is right, my son, they shall die, one and all! Let them come, and let them know the wrath of the dwarves!”
His words were met with an enthusiastic roar all around him as he nodded to his now-eldest son, Roakore, and walked to the balcony. Roakore understood as well as his father that the fight would be lost. He also understood that his father could not in the face of such peril let the bleak truth diminish the dwarves’ spirits. They would all die fighting for their mountain, and they would all be rewarded in death with a place on the Mountain of the Gods.