Stormlands ( Book 2 of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Twelve: What the Morning May Bring

Beymor paced back and forth in his home, trying to tug on a beard that was nothing more than stubble. He had hated it—sending word to Sahn-Raidar to ask for aid—but now it was done. And, of course, Graiden had responded immediately. So here he was. Pacing, and waiting, and thinking.

Killing the orc chieftain had only brought them a tiny reprieve. He had hoped that killing their leader would have told the orcs to leave Aughk'tor well enough alone. But it seemed his hopes had been dashed.

He cursed, spitting as he did so. He never wanted to lead. Never wanted to be this. It had never been his place. All he wanted was to keep his friends—no, now they were his clan—alive and fighting. And fight they did. The orcs had not ceased their attacks in the last tenday. Not one night of peace.

And no longer were they small groups of a dozen. There had been fifty, last night. The wounded were piling up. The orcs had used a new tactic. Some kind of creature had tunneled under the walls, and orcs had swarmed them from the sides, and only retreated after they had done considerable damage.

Thorbalt was still in the infirmary, fighting for his life.

Beymor had yet to see any more giants or any siege weaponry though that seemed redundant as they could just tunnel underneath the walls or use magic to split them like a ripe tomato, in far less time. His wall was becoming less and less of an advantage as the days passed, and that sparked a deep fear. He wanted to kill them before they got a chance to spill blood at his gates, but he would never have enough men for that. He barely had enough to hold his own. Now the watches were split between the walls, and another group guarded the inhabitants of the city near its center.

So he had forsaken his pride, and called upon his allies. Sahn-Raidar had answered without hesitation. So short lived were his original ideals that he was too angry to feel the exhaustion that had seeped into him. But with Sahn-Raidar they would have enough men to go out, and push back. That has to be the next step, doesn't it?

Without Sahn-Raidar here he could only pace with an angry sort of hope in his heart. A hope that maybe one day life could be peaceful, prosperous, something to be proud of. He hoped that one day the nightmare of killing, and fighting, and scraping by could be long behind him.

He would not lose another home to orcs. Or to anyone, for that matter. History would not repeat itself under his watch. He had lost enough, already, and he was done with the cruel games life so enjoyed playing.

But here he had to be careful, because hundreds of lives were in his hands now.

His pacing was interrupted by a heavy knock at his door frame. The door had been kicked down earlier in the tenday, and he had not cared to put it back up. "What?" he called, tempering the anger in his voice.

"They're on the hills, attacking again," Veit said, anting from what must have been quite a run.

"Again?" Beymor barked, his eyes widening.

"Aye."

"Get ta the gates, and make sure we have a strong guard watching the walls. Make sure everyone on the wall has got a bow, and get em all inside!"

Veit nodded, and ran back into the night, his footsteps heavy on the stone. Beymor grabbed his axe, and followed after him.

As he jogged down the street, he saw a pair of young dwarves. One male, and one female, both still bandaged from some previous fight as they headed towards the wall.

"What are ya doing?" he asked, pausing to glare at them.

"We'll be on the wall. Fighting alongside you," the woman said with a small smile pulling at her lips.