Battle for Skull Pass Read online

  Hugin led the scouts silently away in an arc to the right, and then advanced towards the fire glow again. After another fifty paces, they found its source—a broad clearing where the goblins had made their camp. Skaari stared as the dwarfs peered forward from the edge. He had never seen goblins at rest before, only in the heat of battle, stabbing their spears in his face. They looked so unprepared and exposed it was almost pathetic.

  There were hundreds of them, sleeping scattered all over the clearing as if they had been thrown there. There was only one tent, a big, patched structure with an ugly totem raised high on a pole by the entrance—the boss’ tent, no doubt. The rest slept open to the sky, bundled in their black robes and huddled around smouldering fires, their weapons at their sides.

  On the near side of the camp, just a few yards from where the dwarfs were crouched, a crude corral had been erected, and Skaari could see the bulky shapes of cave squigs crowded together inside it, apparently asleep on their feet. On the far side of the clearing was another corral, filled with cows.

  A sudden rage boiled up within Skaari as he recognized the cows as Clan Byrnik’s herd—his herd! He looked around for the troll, and saw it sitting under a tree at the edge of the camp, gnawing absently on a cow carcass. His fists clenched. These were the goblins that had stolen the herd! These were the goblins that had killed Jarl and Korik! These were the goblins that had brought him shame!

  “Stay down, lad,” growled Badurin, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What are you playing at?”

  Skaari sank down again. He hadn’t even realized that he had stood. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I forgot myself.”

  He edged back as the scouts began conferring about how many goblins there were and how they were armed.

  “Five hundred at least,” said Hugin.

  “Six hundred,” countered another scout named Orn. “Most of them spears, a few bows, a few squig riders,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers. “And Grimnir knows how many spider riders in the trees.”

  “Plus the troll,” added Hugin.

  Skaari grinned. “I guess if Borri Graniteskin won’t go to the troll, the troll will come to him.”

  Badurin turned and gave him a hard look. “It’s no laughing matter, beardling. With our defences as they are at the moment, these goblins have more than enough strength to kill every dwarf in Skull Pass. The deaths of the logging party and your fellow cowherds have brought us below two hundred able warriors. It will take more than a boasting slayer to save our hides. We’ll need every advantage we can find.”

  Skaari hung his head. “You’re right, Badurin. I’ll keep my jokes to myself from now on.”

  The old ranger patted him on the shoulder, and then nodded to the rest. “Right,” he said. “We’ve seen it. Let’s get back.”

  The scouts followed him as he slipped silently back into the woods. Skaari made to follow, but then paused to glare once more over the backs of the sleeping squigs at the vile green creatures who had killed his friends and stolen Clan Byrnik’s herd. Soon he would have his vengeance. Soon he would hurt them as they had hurt him. He turned back toward the woods, but then stopped dead as an idea blossomed in his head.

  Badurin had said that the clan would need every advantage if they were to defeat the goblins. Why not take the opportunity to weaken them here and now? He ran the idea over in his head to make sure there were no flaws. No. It was perfect. Even if the goblins ever figured out what had happened, Skaari and the scouts would be miles away.

  He knelt and drew his crossbow off his back, levered the string back and set a bolt in the groove. He raised the crossbow to his eye and sighted toward the squig pen. He picked a big one and aimed at its rump. Killing it would only defeat the purpose.

  He fired. The bolt hit home. The squig leapt in the air and roared, enraged, then turned and attacked the squigs nearest it, clawing and snapping at them. They screamed as well and fought back. The chaos spread rapidly through the pen, increasing as it went. The stupid beasts were tearing each other to pieces.

  Skaari grinned. Perfect! He slipped into the woods, padding swiftly after the scouts as the screams and roars grew louder behind him. At the very least, the goblins would be short a score of squigs, and with luck, the mad monsters might wreck the whole camp. He jogged around a tree and ran straight into Badurin, who had turned back at the noise.

  “What has happened?” Badurin asked.

  Skaari laughed and held up his crossbow. “I shot a squig. They’ve gone mad. Hopefully they’ll kill a few goblins for us.”

  Badurin slapped him across the face with a hard hand as the other scouts cursed. “You young fool,” he rasped. “They’ll know we were here! They’ll be marching as soon as they’re able now, trying to reach the bridge before we’re prepared.”

  “They won’t know,” Skaari protested. “They’ll think it was just the squigs fighting.”

  Badurin sneered. “And when they find your bolt?”

  “They won’t find it,” Skaari said, then paused. “At least… at least I doubt they will. You can’t be sure they will.”

  “We can’t be sure they won’t either,” said Badurin, cold. “Therefore we must assume they will.” He shook his head and turned away to lead the others further into the woods. “I hope you haven’t doomed us, lad.”

  FOUR

  Dagskar ran through the camp as goblins scurried in every direction, shrieking and waving weapons. A squig leapt over his head, a green arm dangling from its mouth. More were bouncing through the camp, attacking each other and any goblin that tried to get near them. Across the camp he could see that the squig corral fence had been smashed down. Bits of it were on fire.

  Kizaz ran up to him, arms flapping and mouth agape. “Boss! Boss! Da squigs have escaped!”

  “Is dat right?” snapped Dagskar, then clipped the little goblin over the ear. “How’d it happen?”

  Kizaz shrugged. “I dunno, boss. Dey’s squigs.”

  Dagskar shoved him aside and ran on. This was a disaster. His army could disintegrate right here if he didn’t stop this rampage.

  Near the ruined corral a squig had a giant spider in its jaws and was shaking it until its legs rattled. Another spider was on the squig’s back, biting it repeatedly, to seemingly little effect, while squig herders and spider riders danced around them, screaming at each other to call off their beasts. Gork and Mork! thought Dagskar, if me and Nazbad’s boys start fighting, it’s all over.

  He sprinted forward, drawing his whip and his stuntie sticker. “Leave off, you lot!” he shouted. “Leave—”

  He skidded to a stop as another squig bounded past him, dragging two squig herders clutching leashes, then ran on again.

  He saw one of his boys raise a chopper to one of Nazbad’s riders. Dagskar lashed out with his whip, curling it around the squig herder’s hand and jerking it back. The goblin slammed to the ground.

  “No!” Dagskar roared. “No killin’!” He pushed the riders and herders apart. “Save it for da stunties!”

  “But boss,” said another squig herder. “Dey say we started it! Dey say we sicced da squigs on dem.”

  “It was da other way around,” said the one Dagskar had yanked to the ground. “Dem spiders tried t’eat our squigs!”

  “Yer off yer heads!” shouted one of the spider riders. “Our spiders wasn’t out of da trees ’til yer squigs dragged ’em out!”

  “Oh yeah?” shouted a squig herder, as his mates pressed toward the riders.

  The riders shouted insults and started forward too.

  “Leave off!” bellowed Dagskar, cracking his whip back and forth over his head. “Leave off or I’ll stripe the whole lot of ya! If y’want to kill somethin’, kill da squigs!”

  “Kill the squigs?” said one of the herders. “But—”

  “Do it!” roared Dagskar and, putting actions to his words, ran forward and sank his stuntie-sticker into the spider-chewing squig’s side, right where its leg met its body. The squig yel
ped and tried to bite him, but it had a mouth full of spider leg and couldn’t. Dagskar ducked and stabbed again, and this time the squig staggered and fell on its side, grunting quizzically.

  The spider on its back, still maddened, leapt at Dagskar, its dripping mandibles extended. Dagskar lashed out with his whip and coiled it around its forelegs, then flung it down and jumped on it. He stabbed it through the head with his sticker, cracking its carapace and popping several eyes.

  It sagged, lifeless, as the spider riders roared in protest, but he jumped up and threatened them with his whip and they backed away.

  A figure behind them, however, pushed forward, pointing a green, warty middle finger at Dagskar. It was Nazbad, and he didn’t look happy. “What is you killin’ spiders for? Is you double-crossin’ me? Bringin’ me out ta nowhere t’kill me and my boys?”

  “I ain’t double crossin’ nobody,” said Dagskar. “I’m restorin’ order. Gotta kill da squigs. It’s da only way ta calm ’em down.”

  “And da spiders?”

  “If dey attacks me, yeah,” said Dagskar. “Now come on, help me kill da rest before we lose any more boys. Then we’ll sort out how dis happened.”

  Nazbad scratched his glowing wart with his other hand, frowning, then nodded. “Right. Let’s get to it.”

  Aurik and his force of thirty dwarfs were busy bolstering the defences of the Skarrenruf Bridge when Skaari and the scouts returned a few hours before dawn. Cannon crews were winching loads of powder and shot up to the gun platforms at the top of the two squat towers that guarded the near end. Engineers were constructing wooden barricades across the width of the bridge for the thunderers to crouch behind as they fired. Dwarf warriors were donning their heavy armour and sharpening their axes.

  Badurin found Aurik in the centre of the bustle, directing the leaders of the cannon crews. “You must use nothing larger than grape shot,” he was saying. “We cannot risk damaging the bridge.” He saw Badurin approaching and turned to him eagerly. “Badurin! Good. Have you found them? Do you know their strength?”

  “Aye, Thanesson,” said Badurin, bowing. “Six hundred night goblins with spears and bows, the troll, some squigs, and an unknown number of spider riders, an hour’s march from here. But I have graver news.”

  Skaari’s shoulders tensed. He knew what was coming.

  “Speak it,” said Aurik.

  “They may know we have found their position.” He turned hard eyes on Skaari. “Young Otgunsson fired his crossbow into their squig pen to sow disorder in their camp. We were not seen, but…”

  “But if they find the bolt,” finished Aurik.

  Badurin nodded. “They will realize we know they are there and make their move immediately so that we will have less time to prepare our defence.”

  Aurik shot a quick glance at Skaari, and then turned back to Badurin. “Hurry on to Skull Pass and inform my father of this. Also ask him to send me another thirty dwarfs. If we can stop them here, there will be no need of a further battle at the settlement.”

  “Aye, Thanesson,” said Badurin, bowing and withdrawing.

  “As for you, cowherd—” said Aurik, his face hard as he turned on Skaari.

  “Thanesson!” cried Skaari, throwing himself on his knees before Aurik. “I know I have made a foolish error, and I will accept any punishment you deem appropriate, but I would beg you, in the name of Grimnir, to allow me to stand at the front here at the bridge, and pay for my mistakes with a useful death, by killing as many goblins as I may before I die.”

  “After such thoughtlessness, do you think you deserve glory?” asked Aurik. “No. You will be just as useful bringing the wounded to the surgeons and assisting them in their work. If you survive the night, you will return to Skull Pass and face my father’s judgment.”

  Skaari hung his head, knowing Aurik was right. He deserved no better. He had betrayed the trust Thane Thunderbrand had put in him when he allowed him to go with the scouts. “Thank you, Thanesson,” he said. “The punishment is fitting. I swear by my ancestors that I will do this with all my will.”

  Dagskar watched his boys and Nazbad’s boys surround the last maddened squig and stick it with about twenty spears. It gurgled like mud going down a hole, then slumped to the ground, bleeding and dead. Dagskar breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around at the carnage that the rampage had caused.

  Almost two score dead and wounded goblins, both his and Nazbad’s, sprawled all around the camp. A handful of giant spiders, their carapaces crushed by the squigs’ huge teeth, lay on their backs, chitinous legs sticking up in the air, and nearly a dozen of the captured cows had been torn apart and half eaten, and the squig pen was on fire.

  Not too bad, all things considered. At least the troll hadn’t got involved, and his boys and Nazbad’s boys weren’t at each other’s throats, and none of them had fled or deserted. Of course, he’d had a plan for the squigs, which he couldn’t follow through on now they were dead—or could he? He turned to the troll and gave it an appraising look.

  He was just beginning to formulate a new scheme when Nazbad waddled up, glaring at him. “Fifteen spider-boys I lost, thanks t’you,” he snarled. “And seven spiders. If y’can’t control yer squigs, y’shouldn’ta oughta brung ’em. You owes me, either blood or spoils.”

  “Don’t come moanin’ t’me,” said Dagskar. “I lost more’n twenty boys, and…” He paused, reminded by Nazbad’s words of his earlier suspicions. “And I still ain’t sure what stirred up dem squigs.” He turned away from the angry shaman and waved him to follow. “Come on. I wanna see somethin’.”

  “An’ I wanna see da colour oyer insides,” said Nazbad.

  “You’ll see ’em once I eat yer head,” snapped Dagskar. “But we’ll settle dat later. Come on.”

  He waved to some of his boys as he led the shaman towards the smouldering squig pen. “Hoy!” he shouted. “Pull all dem dead squigs out here. I wanna see da bodies!”

  “What’cher lookin’ for?” asked Nazbad, curious in spite of himself.

  “Dem squigs was well fed. We gave ’em some of da cows. No reason for ’em t’go crazy like dat. I wanna see if somethin’ got in the pen with ’em.”

  “You ain’t gonna blame dis on my spiders?” asked Nazbad.

  “Not unless dey’s t’blame,” said Dagskar.

  Nazbad opened his mouth to complain, but before he could say anything, one of Dagskar’s boys stood up from dragging a squig out of the pen and ran over to them.

  “Look, boss,” he said, holding up a short thin shaft. “It was stuck in a squig.”

  Dagskar took it and looked at it. It was a stuntie crossbow bolt. The dirty, beardy bastards had found them, and half-wrecked his camp, and worse, they had gotten away.

  He turned to Nazbad, grinning nastily. “It weren’t my squigs to blame. It was your pickets! Dey let stunties in here, and let ’em out again. I thought y’said yer forest boys was da best at scoutin’.”

  “Dey is!” said Nazbad, defensively. “Dey just—”

  “Dey just nearly ruined us is what dey did!” shouted Dagskar, backing the shaman up with his anger and shaking the bolt at him. “Now da stunties knows where we is, and what we’s up to! I bet dey’s blockin’ da bridge as we speak.” He took out his whip and lashed a goblin at random. It howled and scurried away. Dagskar turned back to Nazbad. “We’s gotta get all da boys up and go now, or it’ll be too late, and it’ll be your fault!”

  “Y’can’t blame me!” shouted the shaman. “I ain’t responsible for my boys’ mistakes.”

  Dagskar sneered at him. “Exactly. Dat’s yer problem. Now go get dem riders ready, if y’can. We’s leavin’ for da bridge.”

  Nazbad glowered at him, but couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Finally he snorted, then turned and strode towards the spider riders.

  Dagskar watched him go, scratching his chin. “You ain’t gonna survive da big waaagh, shaman. So sad. So sad.” He shouted at his boys. “Come on, you lot. Pack it up. We
’s gotta go! Now!”

  Two hours before dawn, Godri and Rodrin watched as Godri’s hammerers carried the King’s Wall from the hold. They marched together in a line, each carrying one of the heavy stone posts, the thick iron chain that linked them swinging ponderously between them. The posts were each carved with an ancestor face and were terrifically heavy, as were the chains, and the hammerers were puffing and red in the face by the time they had the wall stretched out in a straight line ten paces in front of the entrance. “And down,” said Godri.

  The hammerers grunted as they lowered the posts in unison. The bases thudded into the dirt and the hammerers sighed with relief.

  Godri nodded approvingly. “Beyond this wall we shall not retreat,” he said. “I swear this by my ancestors and the gods.”

  The captain of the hammerers put his hand over his heart. “We will defend it with our lives, my thane.”

  “That’s all very well,” said Rodrin as he and Godri turned and walked through the settlement. “But I’d still feel safer with the doors on.”

  “Without the hinges and locks there’s little point,” said Godri. “If the goblins reach them they’ll just pull them down.” He turned and looked around at the dwarfs preparing for the coming battle. “With luck and dwarfen grit we’ll stop them before they get this far and doors and locks won’t be an issue.”

  All over the settlement, dwarf-wives and children were carrying sacks of grain from the silos into the hold. Smiths were loading their anvils and tools onto carts and doing the same. They would not leave anything of value behind for the goblins to plunder or destroy. Thunderers were reinforcing the upper storeys of the buildings they would be firing their guns from. Sweating miners were digging trenches and pounding stakes into them before the front lines and piling the dirt into ramparts around the buildings. Engineers were setting charges in outlying structure, ready to blow them up if the goblins occupied them. Cannon crews were laying in balls and powder on the gun platform above the entrance to the hold. Godri smiled. The greenskins would know they’d been in a fight, whatever happened.