Kheledul
Starkath walked in the old fort of Kheledul in a hurry. He walked hurriedly past the guards who nodded at him and through the courtyard reaching the Spire of Kheledul. By the pier stood a middle aged Dwarf smoking his pipe. He stood watching Eastwards, past the water, past the trees. His brown eyes pierced the horizon under his red mohawk and his chest puffed each time that he drew smoke. Every now and then the Dwarf exhaled from his nose making the smoke run down his braided beard. The smoke came out of his nostrils in two lines following the two braids of his beard that reached below his chest before being blown away by the wind. Starkath knelt down, his right knee touching the ground and his wrists resting left over right on his left knee.
“My lord,” he said struggling to get his breath under control.
“Get up, Starkath,” said the Dourhand and turned around. “What news do you bring?”
“A caravan of Longbeards left Thorin’s Gate two days ago.”
The Dourhand narrowed his eyes. “Do you know where they are going?
“They say they are sending supplies to Zigilgund and they are planning to trade with the Lossoth. Four waggons. Two of them ride each and thirty guard it.”
“And what do we care for Longbeard supply caravans for, Starkath?” growled the other Dourhand having lost his patience.
“Supplies and trade are the official reason, my lord,” said Starkath and bowed his head slightly, with meaning.
“What is the true reason then, speak up, Dwarf!” shouted the Dourhand impatiently.
“Well… The real reason is that they are transferring two ancient gems to Zigilgund for safekeeping, as well as an ancient sword of sorts that they intend to hide for some reason. They also have an ancient axe… One of our forefathers’ axe…”
The Dourhand’s eyes gleamed upon hearing about the axe. “Yes, and I need to make it mine. With that axe I, Ganskjald of the Dourhands, will unite our clan under our banner again!” said the Dwarf and crushed his pipe in his hand. The pieces fell on the ground and the ashes were blown away in the water. “I need to send a letter to Angmar at once.We will have them do something for us.”
“What would they do for us?” asked Starkath.
“Destroy the caravan of course” Ganskjald said. “Go eat now, your job has ended for now.”
Starkath made to bow but stopped. “What about the axe?”
“They don’t need to know about the axe. They want the sword. I’ll give them the sword and in turn they will destroy the caravan.” Ganskjald scoffed quietly in his usual arrogant manner. Starkath bowed deeply and walked to the Mess Hall of Kheledul looking forward to a warm meal.
“Hepti!” he roared after turning to his right and a younger Dourhand ran towards him. He stopped five paces away and bowed.
“My lord Ganskjald,” he said in a serious voice. He was dressed in brown armour, his eyes were black as his hair that was worn low and free without any constrictions, his black beard was also worn low and free with a single golden beard below the chin.
“Take the warriors you trust most and go to Forochel. If you find the Longbeard caravan follow them from a distance. Let the Angmarim deal with them and when they leave recover the artefacts the caravan is transporting. When they are yours send them back to me and march to Zigilgund and take it.”
“We’re working with Angmarim now?”
“No, they want something from the Longbeards, as do we. We’ll let them handle it and take what is ours after they take what is theirs.”
“Consider it done, my lord…” said Hepti with a smirk and bowed once more before walking away proudly.
Somewhere in Evendim
“I grabbed the warg by its neck and shoved my hand down its throat. Then I-” the Dwarf captain stopped abruptly when the whole caravan ahead of him stopped. “Hey! Why are we stopping again?” he shouted angrily.
“It’s Hruird, captain, he needs a tree,” a soldier said quietly from a little further away.
“Again?” the captain replied and struggled to keep a respectful smile on his face when the old Dwarf got off the waggon.
“This’ll take only a moment!” cried Hruird as he jumped down from the first waggon and scurried off towards the tree-line by the road. The guards pulled out their crossbows and formed a circle around the four waggons and the old Dwarf disappeared behind the trees and bushes.
“Not long now,” said the older Dwarf from the second waggon to the younger that was riding with him. “That’s Ost Forod, we’ll spend the night there and tomorrow evening we will be out of Evendim.”
“Is Forochel as cold as the Blue Mountains, uncle?” asked the young Dwarf.
“Much colder, Nyri. Unless you’re dressed with thick furs you can’t make the night there.”
The young Dwarf nodded. “That’s why we have so many clothes with us then.”
“Yes, but the night sky is the prettiest in all Middle Earth. You will see when we get there. It’s as pretty as the most beautiful gems found by Dwarves.”
“Nothing’s prettier than Dwarf made things.” said one of the soldiers and the old Dwarf laughed lightly.
“Just give it a day! You will see the colourful night sky”
“Colourful, why colourful?”
“It’s the lines of light made by the green gems when they fell on the ground. They are now in the night-sky of Forochel reminding us that they came from far away.”
“Let’s go! What are you waiting for?” called Hruird from behind a tree while buckling his belt interrupting Nyri’s thoughts.
“Let’s get a move on, we’re almost there.” the captain said and his Dwarves started putting away the crossbows. “Before he decides to mark all these trees…” he whispered to the Dwarf next to him who stifled a chuckle.
“I’m ready!” said Hruird coming out of the thicket. He barely made three steps and he suddenly froze in his tracks.
“What now?” the captain said quietly with a sigh and looked at thee soldier to his right from the corner of his eyes.
“I think I woke up a wolf…” Hruird said matter of factly and slowly turned around bringing his fists to his face and closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable. “Come here you stinky fur, I got you!” he said through clenched teeth and right at that moment a wolf sprang from behind a bush with a growl and snapped its jaw at him. Hruird waited for the impact with bated breath, but all he heard was the wolf whine for a fraction of a heartbeat and then a thump on the ground and then a second thump. He opened his eyes to see the wolf on the ground and a crossbow bolt through its head.
“Why’d you do that?” he cried irritated, “I had him!” doing his best to look tough.
“I couldn’t risk it, master Hruird,” said the Dwarf on the pony some thirty feet away from him and bowed his head respectfully to the old Dwarf.
“So be it!” said Hruird and made his way to the waggon releasing a sigh of relief.
Somewhere in Forochel
In a plain
Dolguzagar looked around at the group of Gauredain that had gathered, the two Angmarim that accompanied him where standing behind him and he spoke in the native tongue of the wild Hillmen of Forochel.
“A band of Dwarves is coming and they must not go past this point. We need to stop them, we need to kill them all!”
The wildmen all roared lifting their weapons and fists in the air. The Angmarim smirked and looked far on the mountains and one would think that he nodded very faintly.
On a hill
Hepti lifted his right fist to signal the Dourhands to stop. Ahead of them lay a valley coming from a narrow passage through the hills that they were on and far down they could see people roaring. Hepti nodded once and turned around to face his Dwarves.
“Stay hidden and let them do what they have to do, when they are done we’ll finish off any survivors and march to Zigilgund,” he said and with a gesture of his hand the Dwarves lay on the snow in order to watch.
A little North of Ja-Reitti
The first four soldiers came out of the tunnel followed by the first waggon, then the next waggon emerged and more soldiers. The captain who was keeping to the left of the third waggon breathed in the fresh air of the plain. And the caravan marched on.
“We’re almost here. We’ll reach Pynti-Peldot in two hours, just in time for dinner,” the captain said urging his men on. Hruird drew a deep breath and smiled. In the waggon behind his Nyri looked up at the sky.
“The sky is different even during the day here.”
“Yes, it’s a whole different sky over a whole different part of the world. This is till your first time out of the mountain, Nyri, you have a lot to learn,” the older Dwarf smiled and urged the ponies on.
The thin palisade of Pynti-Peldot was now in sight and the Dwarves’ spirits rose. Soon they would be resting around fires with good food. The soldiers couldn’t be happier at such sight, they were tired and now, after all day of walking, they were getting cold.
Suddenly half of the soldiers from around the caravan fell on the ground attacked by the snow and were engulfed in it, after a short struggle they stopped moving. It all happened within a few heartbeats and before the captain managed to say something two arrows pierced him and their tips came out of his chest, a third tip came out of the front of his neck through his beard and the Dwarf fell face down on the snow reddening it. The few soldiers that managed to draw their weapons in time were overwhelmed by men dressed in fur, mainly wolf-fur, white and grey, who were hidden in the snow. They came out of the ground like animals and stabbed fiercely all the guards. Some were hidden behind rocks and shot arrows to whomever wasn’t standing close for the ambush. Some of the riders of the waggons tried to fight back, but they were quickly overwhelmed. Nyri was one of those and soon he was tied to a rope and dragged away with the Angmarim when they left. All that was left of the caravan was broken waggons with scattered goods burnt and dead bodies all around.
Hepti and his band reached the place of destruction and searched the broken waggons and the dead bodies.
“We march to Zigilgund!” he shouted. “They will taste Dourhand steel!”
