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  “Grave Robber!” One of the other dwarves shouted.

  “Well, that too, sort of. I passed through a great battlefield on the way here. Picked up a bunch of old weapons and such. I was hoping to sell them as scrap at your castle.” He had an idea, and added, “I also found a weapon that said it was crafted by a dwarven master smith. I was hoping your people could tell me more about it, or maybe even purchase it. If you’ll allow me, I’ll show it to you.”

  The lead dwarf nodded his head curtly, motioning with his crossbow. “Aye, let’s see. But move slowly. No funny business, or we’ll fill ya full o’ extra holes!”

  Max pulled the sword from his inventory and held it out with both hands palms up, like a serving platter. He extended it toward the dwarf.

  “Toss it over!”

  “Um, it’s quite old, I’d rather not…” Max began. The dwarf took two steps forward, pulling the crossbow tight against his shoulder and aiming it directly at Max’s face. “Or… I could just toss it over. That’s fine. Here you go.” He tossed it as gently as he could toward the dwarf, who let go of the crossbow with his left hand and snatched the sword from the air.

  Max watched as the dwarf examined the sword. He saw his eyes widen, then his mouth drop open. The forgotten crossbow was lowered, then dropped to the ground. The other dwarf that had shouted at Max called out.

  “What is it? Be it a cursed item? D’ya need help?”

  It took a moment, but the lead dwarf answered in a thick voice. “No. It ain’t cursed. The stranger be tellin the truth. It be a masterwork. One o’ the swords of legend. I thought it were just a tale told to the wee ones.” He looked up at Max. “This earns ye a trip to see me king.”

  “Great!” Max clapped his hands, causing the dwarves to jerk their weapons up again. “Sorry. I’ll just, uh… pick up my stuff, and we can go?” He turned to reach for his weapons. There was a twang, then a sharp crack! and a crossbow bolt was all of a sudden sticking out of the tree trunk just inches from his hand.

  “We’ll be carryin yer weapons for ye.” The dwarf said. “Ye must be tired after all the huggin’ you n the orc were doin.” He grinned at Max, who chuckled and returned the grin.

  “I swear, I mean you no harm. But sure, you can carry my weapons. As long as I get them back once your king decides he likes me.”

  This earned him a chuckle from a couple of the other dwarves, who moved in to collect his axe and hammer. The lead dwarf stared at him. “The rest, too.”

  Max obligingly pulled the halberd from his inventory, then his crude spear and club, then all of the rusted trash weapons he’d gathered from the battlefield. When he started handing those over, the lead dwarf nodded. “Seems ye telled the truth about them, too.”

  When he’d handed over the last of the weapons, Max raised his hands. “That’s it. Except my belt knife and the dagger in my boot. One of the dwarves bent down and relieved him of his boot dagger, but they left him his belt knife. Max didn’t question it. He did make a request, though. “Listen, you know that quest I mentioned? The one Regin gave me? I need to collect an ear from that orc.” He pointed at the corpse on the bank.

  When the dwarf nodded, he carefully drew his belt knife. After slicing off the ear, he looted the corpse, receiving two silver coins, six copper, and a spiked leather chest guard. When he was done, he looked up at the dwarf. “Thank you.”

  “Follow me.” Was all the lead dwarf said, turning and marching eastward. Max noticed that the scout’s steel boots did not make a sound as he moved through the tall grass. He followed along, making considerably more noise.

  Chapter 8

  The remainder of the trip to the dwarven city was uneventful. After a mile or so of silence, Max managed to get one of the dwarves to answer a few questions.

  “What’s the name of your city?”

  “We be takin ye to Darkholm, largest o’ the dwarven cities on this continent. King Dorin Ironhand be our clan leader. He’ll be the one to decide if ye be friend or foe.”

  “Darkholm? Sounds a little dungeony.”

  “Nay, she be a wondrous city, full o’ life and light. Me clan’s lived under that mountain for three thousand years, all the time expanding her halls and adding to her beauty. Stone carvings that’ll make ye weep. Sweeping arches, crystal stalactites, and winding rivers with gardens and groves fer the wee ones to play in.” The dwarf sighed, a smile on his face.

  “That does sound lovely.” Max smiled at him. He wanted to ask how they grew trees underground, but being under suspicion as a spy, he thought it might be a bad idea. Also, it might be common knowledge on this world, and he didn’t want to expose himself as a new arrival. “What about the orcs? Do they have a city?”

  The dwarf spat. “Yes, and no. They sacked some human and elven settlements during the last war. Now they squat in the ruins o’ the largest human city. It lay at the other end o’ this old road, on the shore o’ the Dragon Sea.”

  “Do they have smaller camps between here and there?” Max did not want to have to invade a city to get his orc ears.

  The dwarf looked at him suspiciously, until Max pulled the severed ear from his inventory. “I need 99 more of these, and preferably the head of a champion or two, to give to Regin. My quest would go much easier if I can find and kill orcs outside of a city.”

  Nodding, the dwarf answered. “Aye. They’ve got scout camps out near the border between their lands and ours. That be why we were trackin’ the scout. The camps move every week or so, and it be our job to keep track o’ where they go. And to wipe one out, if the opportunity arises. Beyond the border, there be small settlements. Mostly warrior encampments, but a few be farmers and crafters and the like.”

  “Any chance I could come back out with you sometime, help you take out one of those camps?” Max smiled at the dwarf, being as friendly as he could.

  “If me king says ye can.” The dwarf nodded his head once. A second later he raised his crossbow, pointed it off to Max’s right, and pulled the trigger. The bolt had already struck by the time Max turned his head to see what the target was. A creature Max had never seen before fell off a low tree branch, screeching in pain and writhing on the ground. The dwarf was reloading, and Max cast Identify.

  Spidorc Male

  Level 4

  Health: 190/220

  Max shuddered. The creature looked exactly like its description. It had the eight-legged body of a spider, with the upper torso of an orc. In all it was about the size of a pony, with white skin. Its orcish face had six eyes, and a set of mandibles straight out of nightmares. The dwarf’s bolt had taken thirty points of damage in a single shot!

  As the other dwarves turned and took aim, a second spidorc leapt at them from a nearby branch. Max felt naked with no weapons, so he tried his new spells. First he cast Confuse on the one that was coming toward him. The spidorc halted, shaking its head, then spun around in a circle as if unsure where it had been headed. Max immediately cast Drain on the monster. A thin thread of green light extended from his chest to the spidorc’s, then began to pulse. Max could actually see bursts of the creature’s life energy passing through the thread to him once every second.

  The dwarf next to him gave a surprised shout, eyeing Max with suspicion. “That be a goblin spell!” he shouted as he fired another bolt, this time into the one Max was targeting.

  “Yep. It’s called Drain. I learned it from a goblin shaman. Long story.” Max staggered a bit as the distraction caused the spell to be disrupted. He quickly cast it again, this time on the first spidorc, which was very nearly dead. Several bolts had punched through its chitin exoskeleton, and green blood was splattered everywhere. Max held his breath when it died, but no notifications of any bonus popped up.

  He turned his attention back to the second spidorc, which had resumed its run toward him after the confusion spell wore off. It already had two crossbow bolts embedded in its torso, and a third one struck even as it moved toward Max. But the dwarves were all reloading now, and it
would reach him before they could finish it. He tried Confuse again, but the spell had no effect. So he backed up several steps as he re-cast Drain, then drew his belt knife and prepared to defend himself.

  The spidorc leapt into the air from about ten feet away, and Max began to move forward and to the side, intending to stab it on its way past him. But it never made it that far. Two of the dwarves appeared as if from thin air, shields held high, and smashed into the falling creature. Max heard the sound of cracking bones, and saw it fall limp to the ground. The dwarves both moved their shields aside and stabbed the spidorc with short swords, taking its health down to a mere sliver. Another tick of Max’s spell, and it was dead. Once again, though, no bonus item or ability for killing the monster with the spell.

  “What the hell were they?” he asked the nearest dwarf.

  Looking at him as if he were stupid, the dwarf kicked the corpse in front of him. “Spidorcs. Could ye not see fer yerself?”

  “Yes, I…” Max paused and took a breath. “I’ve just never heard of a spidorc before.”

  “Ah.” The dwarf nodded, bending to loot the creature, then indicating that Max should do the same. “Ye helped, so take yer share.” As Max bent to loot the spider, then the two of them walked together toward the other one, the dwarf explained. “More than a thousand years ago, the orc chieftain that ruled all the local tribes declared war on the light races. Dwarves, humans, elves, gnomes, and such. He gathered a few o’ the dark races as allies, including the goblins, trolls, and the Spider Queen. When they attacked our cities, the spiders marched next to the orcs by the thousands. And, well, orcs ain’t too picky bout who or what they…” The dwarf coughed, embarrassed.

  Max understood. “I got it. And… damn.” He shook his head. Then, grinning slightly, he patted the dwarf on the shoulder. “Are there any spidwarfs running around out here?”

  The dwarf sputtered for a moment, his face turning red with anger, until he caught the smile on Max’s face. “Ha! Ye got me. Nay, no dwarf’d do such a thing.”

  They looted the other spidorc, the dwarves taking the time to remove their bolts and salvage the ones that they could. The two creatures together had given Max six pieces of spidorc chitin, one pair of mandibles, and sixteen copper coins. Max was about to ask why a giant mutant spider was carrying coins, but again figured the question might expose him as a stranger to this world.

  The dwarves were a bit friendlier toward him as they finished their hike back to the city. Max was surprised when they entered a rocky path between two high cliffs that narrowed until it was barely wide enough for a wagon to pass through, then exited the other side to come face to face with the city’s gates.

  Max looked up, his jaw dropping. Directly in front of him was a massive gate house. It reminded him of the giant palisade in the King Kong movies, and the joke about why they would make such a massive door. The dwarves had built themselves a truly impressive structure. The walls on either side stood fifty feet high, and the gate house at least sixty. Two colossal metal doors stood partially open, each door forty feet tall by twenty feet wide, and beyond the doors was a tunnel that ran thirty feet before reaching a second, smaller pair of doors. Atop the walls and gatehouse, scores of heavily armored dwarves bristling with weapons stared down at Max.

  As they approached the gates, Max saw that each of the doors was three feet thick, a single solid metal piece. He couldn’t imagine anything short of a nuclear blast breaching those doors once they were secured. Stepping past the doors, Max saw the tunnel was riddled with arrow slots and spouts, in the walls and ceiling, that were probably made for dumping hot oil or something similar on any poor bastards that got stuck in this kill box. He whistled in appreciation, and several of his escorts grinned.

  The lead dwarf, who was walking next to him, spoke with pride. “Aye, never has a foe breached our gates. But if they do, few o’ them will make it as far as the inner gates. There be more surprises than ye can see here.”

  The party passed through the inner gates, then across a wide courtyard where companies of dwarven warriors were drilling in formations. One to Max’s right was moving laterally in a perfect ten by ten warrior square, their footsteps in perfect sync. To his left, another company of one hundred were formed into a wedge, shields interlocked along the two front lines, chanting a battle song as they thrust forward in unison, bashing back imaginary foes, then stabbing outward with swords and spears. Max’s inner soldier swelled with envy at their precise timing and movement. And the chant resonated in his soul.

  Side by side, we march all day

  Side by side into the fray

  Blood for blood, we stand as one

  Blood for blood, till the fighting’s done

  Shield on shield, our strength is true

  Blade for blade, we cut right through!

  On each beat of the chant the company took a step forward, shoved outward with their shields, or thrust a weapon. It was truly a wonder to behold. He almost felt sorry for the orcs that had to face that force.

  The dwarves led him through a door that was cut directly into the mountain. Max slowed his pace slightly, gazing at the ornate carvings in the stone. There were battle scenes so detailed Max could almost hear and smell the battle. There were scenes of everyday life, with dwarves farming, mining, smithing. Max chuckled when he noticed that the smithing scenes seemed much larger, and more numerous.

  He followed his escort through several corridors and halls, across a stone bridge that spanned a rift so deep he couldn’t see the bottom even with his darksight, and eventually into a great hall. Again, Max was amazed at what he saw. The ceiling soared far above, six-foot wide columns leading to graceful arches that supported it all. Every square foot of the columns were carved with battle scenes and runes. Max stared at one set of runes, hoping to read them, but the meaning escaped his grasp. Though he felt that he was close to understanding them. The hall was lit with what appeared to be sunlight streaming down through shafts in the ceiling and walls, reflected and dispersed by cleverly placed mirrors.

  The dwarven king was waiting for them, seated upon a throne of steel, the seat covered in a thick stack of white wolf furs. The king himself wore armor that looked much like the set Max was wearing, if slightly more ornate. And instead of standard chain mail for his chest, the king wore mithril. Still, the armor was clearly functional, not ceremonial.

  “Ah, the chimera.” King Ironhand called out as they approached. Max’s escort continued until they were about a dozen feet from their king, then as one they took a knee and bowed their heads. Max clumsily followed their example.

  “Rise! Report!” The king instructed. The lead dwarf spoke for the group.

  “Me king. We spotted an orc scout and followed him, hopin’ he’d lead us to a camp. Instead he found this chimera lollygagging around by a stream. His name be Max, by the way.” The dwarf paused as if remembering where he was in the story. “Anyway, the orc scout tried to kill Max here, and Max handled him right smartly. Rolled him into the stream and drowned him, then dragged him onto the bank and snapped his neck…”

  Max observed the king as the dwarf related the details of their conversations and their journey up to that moment. When he was done, the king turned his gaze to Max. “I was told to expect you, Maximilian Storm, Battleborne. Regin spoke to me in my dreams last night. I thought it just a fancy o’ my own imagining, until I hear’d you were approaching our gates.” He paused looking around the room at the fifty or so dwarves in attendance. “Let it be known that the chimera Maximilian Storm be welcome in Darkholm.” There was a chorus of grunts of acknowledgement as each dwarf nodded their head. Max got a new notification.

  Your reputation with the dwarves of Darkholm has increased to Friendly!

  “Where is this sword ye spoke of?” The king held out his hand. The lead dwarf produced the weapon and stepped forward, handing it over. The king took a minute to examine the weapon, removing it from its scabbard and tilting the blade so it reflected t
he sunlight. With a sigh, he ran his fingers along the blade, touching the runes engraved there.

  “It be true. This be the sword that Master Stoneblood crafted to give to the orc chieftain. Me great grandfather took it as a great insult that the war leader never acknowledged the gift, and our courier never returned. Tell me exactly where and how ye found this, Max?”

  “Of course, your highness.” Max bowed again, mostly out of nervousness. He didn’t know the protocol for speaking to a king. “I was crossing the battlefield, uhm, the battle of Brightwood, it seems. I was on my way here after meeting with Regin. I’d been picking up old swords and shields, thinking to use them to help me learn crafting, or to sell them as scrap. Before I crossed the field, I ran into the remains of a dragon that, again I am guessing here, fell on the road during a battle with the orcs. As I was exiting the field, at the very eastern edge, I found this sword. It was wrapped in oiled cloth, inside a wooden tube, that had scraps of extremely old, mostly rotted leather wrapping. It was near the skull of a large canine beast.”

  Max went silent, and waited while the king pondered his words. When the silence became uncomfortable, Max asked, “Your highness, if I may say something else?”

  “O’ course, Max. Speak yer mind.”

  “I don’t know much about orcs. But I do know soldiers. Warriors. I believe that if the war chief had received that gift, it would not have been found inside the container. Were such a gift given to me, I would immediately strap it on my back, and never let it out of my sight!” he smiled at the king, who chuckled.

  “Aye, that be true. No true warrior would leave such a blade in a box.”

  “So it may be that the courier was somehow killed during the battle, before he had a chance to deliver the gift, or its message. And based on the amount of weaponry and armor I found on that field, either everyone perished, or the survivors left quickly. Possibly with the dragon’s head as a trophy. There is a curse that afflicts anyone who takes any item from that field.”