Rock Hard (Dwarvish Dirty Dozen Book 5) by Aaron D. Schneider & Michael Anderle

Author:Aaron D. Schneider & Michael Anderle [Schneider, Aaron D. & Anderle, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2023-07-24T23:00:00+00:00

“You lot took your time. We thought we were going to have to face those droop-nosed bastards on our own.”

Haeda’s observation, shouted over the grinding roar of Jorsburg’s gates opening, was sharp enough to make Torbjorn flinch. He looked over the dwarfess’ shoulder as she entered Jorsburg and checked a defensive retort.

A sizable mob of goblins was coming out of the woods around Jorsburg, filtering in from their traps and ambushes along the southern and eastern roads. There didn’t seem to be any coming from the north, which comforted him. Mordah’s forme hadn’t disappointed.

Still, the coalescing mass of goblins was troubling.

“Everyone in?” Torbjorn asked as he did a head count. Haeda confirmed they were, and Torbjorn shouted toward the gatehouse. The heavy stone gates began their slow, scraping journey to shut again.

During that time, Torbjorn saw the ranks of the goblins swelling, even though his field of vision shrank.

“Stones and bones.” Torbjorn groaned. “How many grems did they keep in this place?”

“Every human had one or two,” someone replied from behind the commander. Their voice carried over the last rumble of the gates. “And when the undead left, they brought in many more. In days, their numbers tripled.”

Torbjorn turned and saw a dark-complected dwarf with a well-oiled beard and ringleted hair bound back behind a sharp-featured face. The dwarf's eyes glinted like beaten copper coins under his brows, and his hands were held up defensively. His robes were of a sturdy and supple weave, which suggested means, though the style was common in lands much farther south, beyond the steppes.

“It was the height of foolish avarice to think so many could be brought in without consequences,” the newcomer observed. “Especially when a lot of them remembered serving as soldiers of the wights.”

Ash dwarves this far north? Torbjorn wondered. Since when?

The dwarves who had been sent to the far end of the Wyrmspines had not been heard from in a generation.

“You’re a long way from home,” Torbjorn observed, keeping his hand on the sword at his belt. “And not even in the halls of your distant kin.”

The dwarf nodded, hands still up, taking in the dwans’ narrowed eyes and set jaws.

“More’s the pity,” the dwarf agreed. He had a touch of an accent. He then tilted his head over his shoulder. “With my sons and servants, I’ve been holding on just down the street from here. We did what we could to keep ourselves and our friends safe as the goblins rampaged.”

As evidence, the dwarf slowly and deliberately moved aside his robes to show an axe on his belt and a vest of steel lamellar. The smears and streaks of dark blood on the polished metal bore compelling witness.

“That’s why you’re still breathing,” Clahdi observed stiffly, hands tightening on her long-handled axe’s shaft. “What’s that got to do with us?”

The dwarf frowned, but when he spoke, his voice was steady.

“I thought it would be obvious that we wish to stand with you to help take back the city,” he explained, brow furrowing.

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