Skirmish (Bitrayuul): Unity

Skirmish (Bitrayuul): Unity

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

“C’mon, lad, we gotta move!”

Bitrayuul tried to return to his father’s side, but the immediate surge of dwarves all around pushed and shoved him back. Finally, after suffering a dozen bruises as the armored warriors trampled past, the half-orc managed to catch up to Tormag.

“Ye got yer gauntlets and yer bow, right?” the dwarf asked as they were running. When he watched Bitrayuul’s head turn back to the table they had been sitting, it was obvious the half-orc’s large bow had been left behind. “Leave it, son. No time. Put yer gauntlets on as ye run—don’t stab yerself.”

Doing as instructed, Bitrayuul silently slid the leather gauntlets over his hands, careful not to pierce himself with the sharpened bones tied over his knuckles. A dozen questions ran through his mind, but he jogged on in silence behind the horde of dwarves. Many were still drunk and some even stripped of gear or clothing. And yet, they rushed onward to what Bitrayuul could only assume was danger.

They passed through the city as a steamrolling tide. The wide streets of Tarabar allowed them to pass unhindered and flow through the city to their destination. This was not how Bitrayuul had wished to see the marvels held within Tarabar. He glanced at the dozens of forges burning brightly as they blazed rampantly without the smithy to control the flames. For all had joined in defense of the city.

Bitrayuul wondered at such a practice. It seemed odd that nearly every male civilian—and a few females, from what he could tell—had immediately halted their lives to take to the fight. Perhaps they had grown accustomed to such a joined defensive measure from when Bothain had led his people to the eastern Tusks and they struggled to survive. The half-orc could not know. But the tight-knit community made him feel safe.

“We’re nearly there, lad.” Tormag said, breaking his son’s distraction. “It most likely be trolls in the mines. We’re headed t’ the southern network, which be where they break through most.”

The half-orc nodded, but in truth he had no idea what any of that meant. He had never encountered a troll before. Often Tormag had spoken of them due to their ancient rivalry over the mountains, but always with the cautious tale of their wickedness and cunning. Bitrayuul still had so many questions. Unfortunately, it seemed he would be learning by practice today.

As they pushed through a large steel gate, every dwarf waited in grim silence. Their gazes were stern and their brows furrowed. Grumbles and mutterings of trolls ruining Bothain’s day could be heard, only increasing their growing anger. They tightened the straps on their armor and gripped their weapons tightly as the door spread wide enough for the army to pass through. Even now, more and more dwarves continued to form behind them. Thousands were collected, all ready to defend their homeland and shatter some skulls. Drunk, tired, or naked, it mattered naught, for every warrior was prepared to give their life.

The procession stepped forward slowly. No longer did they rush on with abandon. Bitrayuul was amazed at the lack of commands being needed. Their tactics had changed the moment they stepped through the door. From an immediate assembly to a marching formation, they stomped forward, banging their fists or weapons against shields and armor alike. Uniform thumping filled the expansive cavern, letting their enemy know their antics would soon come to an end.

Bitrayuul took it all in. He marveled at such discipline. Such pride and bravery as they moved as one. Even Tormag had taken out his hammers and was clapping them against his shoulders to join in the simultaneous thumping. The half-orc looked down and realized that even his fist was clapping against his chest in unison. A smile unknowingly formed on his face as he felt a part of something greater than himself. None of the dwarves looked at him as if he was an outsider. All stared ahead at those who dared to intrude on their home.

Upon entering the cavern, Bitrayuul gawked at its enormity. It was obvious this was some sort of hub where all southern mines joined together. Along the wall, Bitrayuul could see nearly a hundred dwarf-sized holes—with a few larger ones on the ground level. Each had a thick rope or ladder leading to it, allowing for miners to go in and out as needed. Iron carts were filled with glittering stones and ores alike on one side of the room, waiting for extraction. He remembered that Tormag said the trolls would come through the mines. His eyes scanned each and every hole, wondering which they would come from. It seemed a pointless task to him, for the trolls could only climb through one at a time due to the small height. What was stopping the dwarves from simply plugging the tunnel?

Then, his answer became clear. His father had warned against the cunningness of trolls. Bitrayuul watched the first troll pull itself from the small tunnel, high in the air. Then another from a separate tunnel on the far end of the cavern. Then another. Within moments, nearly every tunnel was spilling a steady stream of trolls. The precession of dwarves halted their advance, but continued their uniform pounding while the rear of the army continued to fill the cavern.

Bitrayuul watched in horror as the monstrous beasts jumped from the tunnels and onto the ground, sometimes shattering bones as they landed. His eyes grew wider still as those same fractured trolls rose to their feet and regenerated their broken limbs as if it had never occurred. Nearly a thousand trolls had spilled into the cavern already with no sign of relent.

Tormag turned to Bitrayuul and offered his final piece of advice. “Whatever ye do, lad, don’t follow them t’ the tunnels.”

Before the half-orc could respond, every dwarf shouted at once and rushed forward.