The Journey, Book 3: Chapter 25 Previous Chapter.
Chapter 26: Hunt
Althor lurched forward, his war axe swinging in a brutal arc. The blade struck an Undgroll squarely in the chest, piercing its crude armour and driving deep. The creature staggered backwards before dropping to its knees, its eyes wide, its breathing laboured.
Henrietta was already moving.
She darted forward, her dagger flashing across the creature's neck before it could recover. Althor turned towards another advancing Undgroll as Henrietta dropped to her knees, sliding across the blood-slick floor. Her shortsword swept low, catching the creature's legs and bringing it crashing down. A heartbeat later, Althor's axe came down, finishing the beast with a savage blow.
Neither needed to speak. Neither needed to signal.
They moved together with an effortless understanding, each anticipating the other's movements. Years of fighting side by side had forged a partnership as formidable on the battlefield as it was beyond it. The King and Queen of Buradoth were a formidable union, and the Undgrolls were discovering that to their cost.
The royal guards followed their sovereigns into the fray, steel clashing against crude weapons as the corridors descended into chaos.
Behind them, civilian dwarves scrambled for cover. Some dragged their wounded kin towards the safety of their residences and the kitchens, while others desperately pulled the bodies of their fallen relatives out of the fighting. The screams of the injured mingled with the snarling of the Undgrolls and the thunderous shouts of the royal guard.
An Undgroll broke away from the fighting, reaching towards a dwarfling desperately trying to escape.
A royal guard spotted it.
He charged forward, putting himself between the creature and the child, raising his sword and shield just as the Undgroll brought its rough-hewn scimitar crashing down.
The impact rang through the corridor.
The guard staggered beneath the force of the blow. A crack spread across his shield, running from its upper edge towards the centre.
He gritted his teeth and thrust his sword forward, catching the creature across its ribs. The blade opened a shallow wound, drawing a furious howl from the beast.
The Undgroll retaliated immediately.
Its scimitar came down again, this time with enough force to split the already damaged shield in two. The broken pieces fell away from the guard's arm.
"Shit!" he muttered.
There was no time to retreat.
He stepped forward, driving his sword into the creature's abdomen. The Undgroll lurched backwards, howling in pain, its weapon momentarily faltering.
But the creature wasn't finished.
With what little strength remained, it raised its scimitar one final time and brought it crashing down towards the guard's neck.
The two movements happened almost simultaneously.
The Undgroll collapsed heavily onto the cavern floor.
The dwarf fell with it.
For a moment, the fighting around them continued unabated, the royal guard too occupied with the advancing creatures to notice the fallen pair.
Behind them, the dwarfling remained frozen, staring at the two bodies lying on the stone floor.
Then Mirabella grabbed the child by its waist and pulled them towards the safety of the passage.
Mirabella clutched the dwarfling tightly against her chest, desperately trying to reach the kitchen entrance across the corridor. The fighting had spilled into every corner, and the hallway was becoming increasingly difficult to navigate.
She could see several familiar faces inside the kitchen. Friends were waving frantically, shouting for her to hurry.
"Mirabella! Quickly! Get inside!"
She pushed forward, keeping the child's head tucked against her shoulder.
A sudden movement to her left caught her attention.
She ducked instinctively.
The chief Undgroll had hurled the body of a royal guard across the corridor. It sailed over her head, crashing against the stone wall behind her.
Mirabella stumbled, nearly losing her footing. The dwarfling began screaming, burying its face against her shoulder.
"Hold on!" she cried.
She tried to regain her balance, but her foot caught against the leg of a fallen Undgroll. She pitched forward, twisting to protect the child as she hit the floor.
Then something seized her ankle.
The creature wasn't dead.
Its enormous hand clamped around her leg, dragging her backwards. Mirabella screamed, desperately trying to pull free while keeping the child out of harm's way.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across her.
Althor.
The Dwarf King appeared through the smoke and chaos, his face splattered with dark blood, fresh wounds marking his arms and chest. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes remained fixed on the immediate danger.
He glanced at Mirabella.
His axe came down.
The blade buried itself in the Undgroll's face, silencing the creature and loosening its grip.
"Go!" Althor whispered.
He didn't wait for an answer. Pivoting sharply around Mirabella, he brought his axe up to deflect an incoming attack from another Undgroll. Steel struck steel with a deafening clang.
Mirabella's breath shuddered as she pulled her leg free. She scrambled upright, tightened her hold on the child and ran.
"Keep going!" Althor shouted over his shoulder.
She didn't look back.
The kitchen entrance was only a few strides away now. Several dwarves reached out…
Across the corridor, Henrietta was having difficulties of her own.
Two Undgrolls were pressing her hard, their crude weapons swinging relentlessly. Four royal guards had formed around their queen, attempting to keep the creatures occupied while giving her room to manoeuvre.
A cut across Henrietta's face had left blood running down her cheek. Her silk nightdress was torn, and her dagger was missing, but she still held her shortsword firmly.
She ducked beneath one sweeping strike, thrusting her blade towards the creature's side before retreating behind a guard's shield.
"Your Majesty! Behind you!"
Henrietta spun just in time to parry the second Undgroll's attack. The impact jarred her arm.
"Then perhaps you might do something about it!" she snapped.
The guard stepped forward, driving his sword towards the creature and forcing it backwards.
Althor saw his opportunity.
Through the confusion, he spotted the chief Undgroll standing further down the corridor, barking orders at the remaining creatures.
The dwarf king's expression hardened.
There you are.
He lowered his shoulders and charged.
Rather than retreat, the monstrous creature reached down and seized a fallen dwarven axe. With a guttural growl, it hurled the weapon down the corridor.
The axe spun through the air.
There was a sickening squelch as it struck someone in the back.
"NO!" someone shouted.
Althor lunged forward, swinging his own axe towards the chief. The Undgroll twisted aside at the last moment, the blade passing dangerously close but failing to find its mark.
The king's momentum carried him forward.
The chief snarled, revealing rows of crooked teeth.
For a moment, the two stood facing one another, separated by only a few paces.
Then the chief turned.
It barked something in its guttural language, and the remaining Undgrolls immediately began withdrawing.
"Don't let them escape!" one of the guards shouted.
Althor raised his axe, but Henrietta called out.
"Althor! Wait!"
The king glanced towards her.
The chief was already disappearing into the shadowed passageways leading back into the abandoned sections of the mountain. The last four Undgrolls followed, covering its retreat.
Althor took another step forward, but Henrietta approached, one hand pressed against the bleeding wound on her face.
"Leave them," she said breathlessly. "Not without knowing where they're going."
The king stood motionless, his chest rising and falling.
His axe dripped with dark blood.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Althor turned towards his queen.
"Are you hurt?"
Henrietta looked at the blood on her fingers.
"Nothing that will kill me."
He gave her a stern look.
"That wasn't what I asked."
She managed a tired, humourless smile.
"I'll survive, husband."
Althor nodded before looking around the corridor.
The fighting had stopped.
The surviving dwarves were emerging cautiously from their hiding places. Some were calling for their relatives, others were kneeling beside the fallen.
Althor counted his remaining guards.
Twelve.
Twelve royal guards stood with him and Henrietta.
The others lay scattered throughout the corridor, among the bodies of the Undgrolls.
The king looked towards the passage where the creatures had disappeared.
"Sound the alarm," he ordered. "Seal every entrance to the abandoned sections. Nobody goes down those corridors without my permission."
One of the guards nodded and hurried away.
Henrietta wiped the blood from her cheek.
"Althor..."
He turned.
"They weren't simply attacking us. They were searching for something."
The king's expression darkened.
"I know."
He looked once more into the darkness.
"And whatever it is, their master wants it badly enough to send them into my mountain."
He tightened his grip around the handle of his axe.
"Well, they'll find that Buradoth doesn't surrender its treasures easily."
The silence that followed the retreat of the Undgrolls was broken by a feeble voice.
"Your Majesties..."
Nobody moved.
The dwarves turned towards the sound, searching the corridor for whoever had spoken.
A little louder this time.
"Your Majesties..."
Althor slowly turned around. Henrietta followed his gaze towards the kitchen doorway.
There, partially obscured by the shadows, lay a motionless body. An axe protruded from its back.
Althor stopped breathing for a moment.
His eyes widened as recognition settled over him. The colour seemed to drain from his face.
Henrietta looked towards her husband.
"Althor? Who is it?"
The king's lips parted, but the words barely came out. His voice was dry and raspy, almost lost beneath the sudden silence.
"Mirabella..."
Tears began rolling down his blood-splattered face.
Henrietta turned sharply and ran towards the fallen dwarf.
"No! It can't be!"
She dropped to her knees beside Mirabella, reaching for her shoulder, desperately hoping for some sign of movement. Around them, the other dwarves stood frozen. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared.
Althor remained where he was for a moment longer.
Then something changed.
The grief in his expression gave way to something considerably darker. His jaw tightened, his shoulders squared, and his fingers closed firmly around the haft of his war axe.
He turned towards his remaining royal guards.
"GUARDS!"
The twelve dwarves immediately straightened.
"FORMATION!"
Boots scraped against stone as they moved into position, gathering around their king. Their faces were grim, their weapons raised.
Althor looked towards Henrietta, who remained kneeling beside Mirabella.
"Attend to the injured... and the lost."
Henrietta slowly looked up at him.
"I'm going to finish this."
For a moment, she looked as though she was going to protest. Her eyes moved from her husband to Mirabella's lifeless body, then back again.
She knew that expression. She had seen it before, although rarely directed with such intensity.
"Althor..." she began.
But the words never came.
Instead, she reluctantly nodded.
The king turned towards the darkened passageway where the remaining Undgrolls had disappeared.
His twelve guards fell in behind him.
Without another word, Althor marched into the darkness.
Behind him, Henrietta lowered her head beside Mirabella, while the sounds of the wounded and grieving slowly returned to the cavern.
While Althor disappeared into the darkness with his remaining royal guards, Henrietta forced herself to concentrate on the living.
"Get those stretchers over here! Carefully, mind you. I don't want anyone making their injuries worse!"
She moved quickly between the wounded, issuing instructions, helping where she could and making sure those still capable of standing were put to work. Several dwarves had taken shelter in the kitchen, and she enlisted their help in gathering bandages, water and whatever supplies they could find.
"There's another one over here!"
"Then bring them through! Quickly!"
Despite the blood running down her face and the exhaustion weighing on her, Henrietta refused to stop.
The dead were another matter.
Her fallen kin were carefully moved away from the Undgroll corpses and laid together in a separate area. It was an old dwarven custom, one that Henrietta took very seriously. Their dead deserved dignity, and their souls must not be left amongst the foul creatures that had invaded their home.
She paused beside Mirabella, briefly resting a hand against her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, my friend," she whispered.
Then she returned to the wounded.
Althor and his twelve guards proceeded cautiously through the abandoned passages.
The fighting had left its marks. Dark blood smeared the stone walls, while heavy drag marks disturbed the thick layers of dust covering the floor. Occasionally, they found discarded weapons or fragments of crude armour.
The king studied the surroundings as they advanced.
"Mine great-grandfather had this section of the mountain abandoned when no more gems could be found..." he muttered. "Several hundred years ago."
One of the guards glanced at the ancient stonework.
"Seems a shame, Your Majesty."
"Perhaps. But there are reasons why certain places are better left forgotten."
They continued.
As they passed the doorway of an abandoned kitchen, something caught Althor's attention. He raised his fist.
The guards immediately stopped.
Althor crouched and examined the dusty floor. Something small and thin lay amongst the debris. He carefully picked it up between his fingers.
It caught the faint light from their torches, reflecting an unusual orange-purple glint.
One of the guards leaned forward, his eyes widening.
"Is that..."
Althor raised a finger to his lips.
The dwarf fell silent.
The king examined the fragment again before whispering.
"The remnants of a dragon eggshell... Amira's, to be more precise."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances.
"How did it get down here?" one whispered.
Althor shook his head.
"Not now."
He slipped the fragment carefully into a small pouch at his belt, stood and made a subtle hand signal.
The guards resumed their advance.
Whatever had happened here, the discovery raised more questions than answers.
A little further ahead, the passage narrowed considerably. The ceiling descended, forcing the taller guards to lower their heads as they followed the uneven stonework.
Then they heard something.
A grunt.
Followed by a guttural growl.
Althor stopped and listened.
There was another sound, something heavy striking stone, followed by an angry roar.
He raised his hand again, signalling the guards to spread out as much as the narrow passage allowed.
They moved forward carefully.
The tunnel eventually opened into a substantial cavern. Shallow water covered much of its floor, barely reaching their ankles, while a small rocky island occupied the centre.
The king peered around the entrance.
There they were.
The remaining Undgrolls.
One lay motionless near the edge of the island, apparently having succumbed to its injuries during the retreat. Its crude armour was damaged, and dark blood had collected around its body.
In the centre, the chief was fighting with another Undgroll.
The two creatures circled one another, snarling and snapping, their movements increasingly aggressive. The chief appeared furious, driving its opponent backwards with powerful swings.
Two other Undgrolls stood nearby, watching the confrontation without intervening.
Althor narrowed his eyes.
He counted them.
Four standing. One dead.
His twelve guards waited silently behind him.
The king looked again at the chief.
It was the same creature that had thrown the axe down the corridor. The same creature responsible for Mirabella's death.
His grip tightened around his weapon.
One of the guards leaned towards him.
"Your Majesty, shall we attack?"
Althor didn't immediately answer.
He studied the cavern, the rocky island and the shallow water between them.
Then he quietly raised his axe.
"Spread out," he whispered. "I want every exit covered."
The guards began moving into position.
Althor's eyes never left the chief.
"This time," he murmured, "there will be nowhere for it to run."
The dwarves waited in silence, watching from the shadows as the confrontation on the rocky island intensified.
The chief and its challenger circled one another, growling and snarling. Their crude weapons clashed repeatedly, sending splashes of water across the island. Whatever had started their rivalry had clearly been festering for some time. Neither creature showed any intention of backing down.
The chief struck first, swinging its scimitar in a wide arc. Its opponent ducked, lunging forward and forcing the chief backwards. The two collided, grappling and struggling for control of their weapons.
The fight became increasingly savage.
The challenger eventually gained the upper hand by digging his claws into the chief's stomach, ripping through it, the chief buckled over and dropped to the ground howling in pain. Before the defeated creature could recover, its opponent drove the crude iron scimitar through his neck in a final, brutal blow.
The chief lay motionless.
For several moments, the victor stood over the body, breathing heavily. It looked towards the two remaining Undgrolls, then towards the cavern entrance.
It had taken the chief's place.
Althor watched without moving.
Then he raised his axe.
"NOW!"
The king charged forward, his twelve guards following close behind.
The Undgrolls barely had time to react.
The dwarves surged through the shallow water, their boots sending sprays in every direction. Steel met crude iron as the creatures scrambled to defend themselves. One Undgroll was immediately driven backwards by two guards, while another found itself surrounded.
The newly crowned chief roared and swung its weapon towards the approaching dwarves.
But the royal guard had already closed the distance.
The cavern erupted into fighting.
Despite their numerical advantage, the dwarves were discovering that these creatures were far more difficult to overcome than they had anticipated. The Undgrolls fought with an almost reckless determination, refusing to surrender ground even when badly outnumbered.
Althor moved between them, his war axes swinging as he forced one creature away from a pair of guards.
"KEEP THEM OFF BALANCE!" he shouted.
A guard drove his sword forward, catching an Undgroll across its side. Another stepped in to assist, but the creature turned violently, knocking the dwarf backwards into the shallow water.
The fighting dragged on.
It should have been over by now.
Four dwarves for every Undgroll, yet the creatures continued to resist, their strength and ferocity making every advance costly.
Althor turned towards another attacker.
He raised his axe, but his foot slipped on the wet stone.
The king crashed onto his back.
Before he could recover, the Undgroll brought its rough-hewn scimitar down towards him.
Althor twisted instinctively, rolling across the cavern floor.
He narrowly avoided the full force of the strike, but the blade caught his side as it passed.
Pain exploded through his body.
His breath escaped in a sharp gasp, and his hand instinctively moved towards the wound.
For a moment, the cavern seemed to tilt.
The sounds of fighting became distant and muffled. He could hear the guards shouting, the clash of weapons and the splashing of water, but none of it seemed quite real.
He tried to push himself upright.
His arm gave way.
The king fell back against the cold stone, his vision darkening.
Somewhere nearby, somebody shouted his name.
Then everything disappeared.
"Your Majesty?"
A distant voice.
"Your Majesty, wake up… Oh, please wake up..."
He heard the voice again, much closer this time.
"Please, Your Majesty. Come on..."
Chapter 26: Hunt
Althor lurched forward, his war axe swinging in a brutal arc. The blade struck an Undgroll squarely in the chest, piercing its crude armour and driving deep. The creature staggered backwards before dropping to its knees, its eyes wide, its breathing laboured.
Henrietta was already moving.
She darted forward, her dagger flashing across the creature's neck before it could recover. Althor turned towards another advancing Undgroll as Henrietta dropped to her knees, sliding across the blood-slick floor. Her shortsword swept low, catching the creature's legs and bringing it crashing down. A heartbeat later, Althor's axe came down, finishing the beast with a savage blow.
Neither needed to speak. Neither needed to signal.
They moved together with an effortless understanding, each anticipating the other's movements. Years of fighting side by side had forged a partnership as formidable on the battlefield as it was beyond it. The King and Queen of Buradoth were a formidable union, and the Undgrolls were discovering that to their cost.
The royal guards followed their sovereigns into the fray, steel clashing against crude weapons as the corridors descended into chaos.
Behind them, civilian dwarves scrambled for cover. Some dragged their wounded kin towards the safety of their residences and the kitchens, while others desperately pulled the bodies of their fallen relatives out of the fighting. The screams of the injured mingled with the snarling of the Undgrolls and the thunderous shouts of the royal guard.
An Undgroll broke away from the fighting, reaching towards a dwarfling desperately trying to escape.
A royal guard spotted it.
He charged forward, putting himself between the creature and the child, raising his sword and shield just as the Undgroll brought its rough-hewn scimitar crashing down.
The impact rang through the corridor.
The guard staggered beneath the force of the blow. A crack spread across his shield, running from its upper edge towards the centre.
He gritted his teeth and thrust his sword forward, catching the creature across its ribs. The blade opened a shallow wound, drawing a furious howl from the beast.
The Undgroll retaliated immediately.
Its scimitar came down again, this time with enough force to split the already damaged shield in two. The broken pieces fell away from the guard's arm.
"Shit!" he muttered.
There was no time to retreat.
He stepped forward, driving his sword into the creature's abdomen. The Undgroll lurched backwards, howling in pain, its weapon momentarily faltering.
But the creature wasn't finished.
With what little strength remained, it raised its scimitar one final time and brought it crashing down towards the guard's neck.
The two movements happened almost simultaneously.
The Undgroll collapsed heavily onto the cavern floor.
The dwarf fell with it.
For a moment, the fighting around them continued unabated, the royal guard too occupied with the advancing creatures to notice the fallen pair.
Behind them, the dwarfling remained frozen, staring at the two bodies lying on the stone floor.
Then Mirabella grabbed the child by its waist and pulled them towards the safety of the passage.
Mirabella clutched the dwarfling tightly against her chest, desperately trying to reach the kitchen entrance across the corridor. The fighting had spilled into every corner, and the hallway was becoming increasingly difficult to navigate.
She could see several familiar faces inside the kitchen. Friends were waving frantically, shouting for her to hurry.
"Mirabella! Quickly! Get inside!"
She pushed forward, keeping the child's head tucked against her shoulder.
A sudden movement to her left caught her attention.
She ducked instinctively.
The chief Undgroll had hurled the body of a royal guard across the corridor. It sailed over her head, crashing against the stone wall behind her.
Mirabella stumbled, nearly losing her footing. The dwarfling began screaming, burying its face against her shoulder.
"Hold on!" she cried.
She tried to regain her balance, but her foot caught against the leg of a fallen Undgroll. She pitched forward, twisting to protect the child as she hit the floor.
Then something seized her ankle.
The creature wasn't dead.
Its enormous hand clamped around her leg, dragging her backwards. Mirabella screamed, desperately trying to pull free while keeping the child out of harm's way.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across her.
Althor.
The Dwarf King appeared through the smoke and chaos, his face splattered with dark blood, fresh wounds marking his arms and chest. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes remained fixed on the immediate danger.
He glanced at Mirabella.
His axe came down.
The blade buried itself in the Undgroll's face, silencing the creature and loosening its grip.
"Go!" Althor whispered.
He didn't wait for an answer. Pivoting sharply around Mirabella, he brought his axe up to deflect an incoming attack from another Undgroll. Steel struck steel with a deafening clang.
Mirabella's breath shuddered as she pulled her leg free. She scrambled upright, tightened her hold on the child and ran.
"Keep going!" Althor shouted over his shoulder.
She didn't look back.
The kitchen entrance was only a few strides away now. Several dwarves reached out…
Across the corridor, Henrietta was having difficulties of her own.
Two Undgrolls were pressing her hard, their crude weapons swinging relentlessly. Four royal guards had formed around their queen, attempting to keep the creatures occupied while giving her room to manoeuvre.
A cut across Henrietta's face had left blood running down her cheek. Her silk nightdress was torn, and her dagger was missing, but she still held her shortsword firmly.
She ducked beneath one sweeping strike, thrusting her blade towards the creature's side before retreating behind a guard's shield.
"Your Majesty! Behind you!"
Henrietta spun just in time to parry the second Undgroll's attack. The impact jarred her arm.
"Then perhaps you might do something about it!" she snapped.
The guard stepped forward, driving his sword towards the creature and forcing it backwards.
Althor saw his opportunity.
Through the confusion, he spotted the chief Undgroll standing further down the corridor, barking orders at the remaining creatures.
The dwarf king's expression hardened.
There you are.
He lowered his shoulders and charged.
Rather than retreat, the monstrous creature reached down and seized a fallen dwarven axe. With a guttural growl, it hurled the weapon down the corridor.
The axe spun through the air.
There was a sickening squelch as it struck someone in the back.
"NO!" someone shouted.
Althor lunged forward, swinging his own axe towards the chief. The Undgroll twisted aside at the last moment, the blade passing dangerously close but failing to find its mark.
The king's momentum carried him forward.
The chief snarled, revealing rows of crooked teeth.
For a moment, the two stood facing one another, separated by only a few paces.
Then the chief turned.
It barked something in its guttural language, and the remaining Undgrolls immediately began withdrawing.
"Don't let them escape!" one of the guards shouted.
Althor raised his axe, but Henrietta called out.
"Althor! Wait!"
The king glanced towards her.
The chief was already disappearing into the shadowed passageways leading back into the abandoned sections of the mountain. The last four Undgrolls followed, covering its retreat.
Althor took another step forward, but Henrietta approached, one hand pressed against the bleeding wound on her face.
"Leave them," she said breathlessly. "Not without knowing where they're going."
The king stood motionless, his chest rising and falling.
His axe dripped with dark blood.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Althor turned towards his queen.
"Are you hurt?"
Henrietta looked at the blood on her fingers.
"Nothing that will kill me."
He gave her a stern look.
"That wasn't what I asked."
She managed a tired, humourless smile.
"I'll survive, husband."
Althor nodded before looking around the corridor.
The fighting had stopped.
The surviving dwarves were emerging cautiously from their hiding places. Some were calling for their relatives, others were kneeling beside the fallen.
Althor counted his remaining guards.
Twelve.
Twelve royal guards stood with him and Henrietta.
The others lay scattered throughout the corridor, among the bodies of the Undgrolls.
The king looked towards the passage where the creatures had disappeared.
"Sound the alarm," he ordered. "Seal every entrance to the abandoned sections. Nobody goes down those corridors without my permission."
One of the guards nodded and hurried away.
Henrietta wiped the blood from her cheek.
"Althor..."
He turned.
"They weren't simply attacking us. They were searching for something."
The king's expression darkened.
"I know."
He looked once more into the darkness.
"And whatever it is, their master wants it badly enough to send them into my mountain."
He tightened his grip around the handle of his axe.
"Well, they'll find that Buradoth doesn't surrender its treasures easily."
The silence that followed the retreat of the Undgrolls was broken by a feeble voice.
"Your Majesties..."
Nobody moved.
The dwarves turned towards the sound, searching the corridor for whoever had spoken.
A little louder this time.
"Your Majesties..."
Althor slowly turned around. Henrietta followed his gaze towards the kitchen doorway.
There, partially obscured by the shadows, lay a motionless body. An axe protruded from its back.
Althor stopped breathing for a moment.
His eyes widened as recognition settled over him. The colour seemed to drain from his face.
Henrietta looked towards her husband.
"Althor? Who is it?"
The king's lips parted, but the words barely came out. His voice was dry and raspy, almost lost beneath the sudden silence.
"Mirabella..."
Tears began rolling down his blood-splattered face.
Henrietta turned sharply and ran towards the fallen dwarf.
"No! It can't be!"
She dropped to her knees beside Mirabella, reaching for her shoulder, desperately hoping for some sign of movement. Around them, the other dwarves stood frozen. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared.
Althor remained where he was for a moment longer.
Then something changed.
The grief in his expression gave way to something considerably darker. His jaw tightened, his shoulders squared, and his fingers closed firmly around the haft of his war axe.
He turned towards his remaining royal guards.
"GUARDS!"
The twelve dwarves immediately straightened.
"FORMATION!"
Boots scraped against stone as they moved into position, gathering around their king. Their faces were grim, their weapons raised.
Althor looked towards Henrietta, who remained kneeling beside Mirabella.
"Attend to the injured... and the lost."
Henrietta slowly looked up at him.
"I'm going to finish this."
For a moment, she looked as though she was going to protest. Her eyes moved from her husband to Mirabella's lifeless body, then back again.
She knew that expression. She had seen it before, although rarely directed with such intensity.
"Althor..." she began.
But the words never came.
Instead, she reluctantly nodded.
The king turned towards the darkened passageway where the remaining Undgrolls had disappeared.
His twelve guards fell in behind him.
Without another word, Althor marched into the darkness.
Behind him, Henrietta lowered her head beside Mirabella, while the sounds of the wounded and grieving slowly returned to the cavern.
While Althor disappeared into the darkness with his remaining royal guards, Henrietta forced herself to concentrate on the living.
"Get those stretchers over here! Carefully, mind you. I don't want anyone making their injuries worse!"
She moved quickly between the wounded, issuing instructions, helping where she could and making sure those still capable of standing were put to work. Several dwarves had taken shelter in the kitchen, and she enlisted their help in gathering bandages, water and whatever supplies they could find.
"There's another one over here!"
"Then bring them through! Quickly!"
Despite the blood running down her face and the exhaustion weighing on her, Henrietta refused to stop.
The dead were another matter.
Her fallen kin were carefully moved away from the Undgroll corpses and laid together in a separate area. It was an old dwarven custom, one that Henrietta took very seriously. Their dead deserved dignity, and their souls must not be left amongst the foul creatures that had invaded their home.
She paused beside Mirabella, briefly resting a hand against her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, my friend," she whispered.
Then she returned to the wounded.
Althor and his twelve guards proceeded cautiously through the abandoned passages.
The fighting had left its marks. Dark blood smeared the stone walls, while heavy drag marks disturbed the thick layers of dust covering the floor. Occasionally, they found discarded weapons or fragments of crude armour.
The king studied the surroundings as they advanced.
"Mine great-grandfather had this section of the mountain abandoned when no more gems could be found..." he muttered. "Several hundred years ago."
One of the guards glanced at the ancient stonework.
"Seems a shame, Your Majesty."
"Perhaps. But there are reasons why certain places are better left forgotten."
They continued.
As they passed the doorway of an abandoned kitchen, something caught Althor's attention. He raised his fist.
The guards immediately stopped.
Althor crouched and examined the dusty floor. Something small and thin lay amongst the debris. He carefully picked it up between his fingers.
It caught the faint light from their torches, reflecting an unusual orange-purple glint.
One of the guards leaned forward, his eyes widening.
"Is that..."
Althor raised a finger to his lips.
The dwarf fell silent.
The king examined the fragment again before whispering.
"The remnants of a dragon eggshell... Amira's, to be more precise."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances.
"How did it get down here?" one whispered.
Althor shook his head.
"Not now."
He slipped the fragment carefully into a small pouch at his belt, stood and made a subtle hand signal.
The guards resumed their advance.
Whatever had happened here, the discovery raised more questions than answers.
A little further ahead, the passage narrowed considerably. The ceiling descended, forcing the taller guards to lower their heads as they followed the uneven stonework.
Then they heard something.
A grunt.
Followed by a guttural growl.
Althor stopped and listened.
There was another sound, something heavy striking stone, followed by an angry roar.
He raised his hand again, signalling the guards to spread out as much as the narrow passage allowed.
They moved forward carefully.
The tunnel eventually opened into a substantial cavern. Shallow water covered much of its floor, barely reaching their ankles, while a small rocky island occupied the centre.
The king peered around the entrance.
There they were.
The remaining Undgrolls.
One lay motionless near the edge of the island, apparently having succumbed to its injuries during the retreat. Its crude armour was damaged, and dark blood had collected around its body.
In the centre, the chief was fighting with another Undgroll.
The two creatures circled one another, snarling and snapping, their movements increasingly aggressive. The chief appeared furious, driving its opponent backwards with powerful swings.
Two other Undgrolls stood nearby, watching the confrontation without intervening.
Althor narrowed his eyes.
He counted them.
Four standing. One dead.
His twelve guards waited silently behind him.
The king looked again at the chief.
It was the same creature that had thrown the axe down the corridor. The same creature responsible for Mirabella's death.
His grip tightened around his weapon.
One of the guards leaned towards him.
"Your Majesty, shall we attack?"
Althor didn't immediately answer.
He studied the cavern, the rocky island and the shallow water between them.
Then he quietly raised his axe.
"Spread out," he whispered. "I want every exit covered."
The guards began moving into position.
Althor's eyes never left the chief.
"This time," he murmured, "there will be nowhere for it to run."
The dwarves waited in silence, watching from the shadows as the confrontation on the rocky island intensified.
The chief and its challenger circled one another, growling and snarling. Their crude weapons clashed repeatedly, sending splashes of water across the island. Whatever had started their rivalry had clearly been festering for some time. Neither creature showed any intention of backing down.
The chief struck first, swinging its scimitar in a wide arc. Its opponent ducked, lunging forward and forcing the chief backwards. The two collided, grappling and struggling for control of their weapons.
The fight became increasingly savage.
The challenger eventually gained the upper hand by digging his claws into the chief's stomach, ripping through it, the chief buckled over and dropped to the ground howling in pain. Before the defeated creature could recover, its opponent drove the crude iron scimitar through his neck in a final, brutal blow.
The chief lay motionless.
For several moments, the victor stood over the body, breathing heavily. It looked towards the two remaining Undgrolls, then towards the cavern entrance.
It had taken the chief's place.
Althor watched without moving.
Then he raised his axe.
"NOW!"
The king charged forward, his twelve guards following close behind.
The Undgrolls barely had time to react.
The dwarves surged through the shallow water, their boots sending sprays in every direction. Steel met crude iron as the creatures scrambled to defend themselves. One Undgroll was immediately driven backwards by two guards, while another found itself surrounded.
The newly crowned chief roared and swung its weapon towards the approaching dwarves.
But the royal guard had already closed the distance.
The cavern erupted into fighting.
Despite their numerical advantage, the dwarves were discovering that these creatures were far more difficult to overcome than they had anticipated. The Undgrolls fought with an almost reckless determination, refusing to surrender ground even when badly outnumbered.
Althor moved between them, his war axes swinging as he forced one creature away from a pair of guards.
"KEEP THEM OFF BALANCE!" he shouted.
A guard drove his sword forward, catching an Undgroll across its side. Another stepped in to assist, but the creature turned violently, knocking the dwarf backwards into the shallow water.
The fighting dragged on.
It should have been over by now.
Four dwarves for every Undgroll, yet the creatures continued to resist, their strength and ferocity making every advance costly.
Althor turned towards another attacker.
He raised his axe, but his foot slipped on the wet stone.
The king crashed onto his back.
Before he could recover, the Undgroll brought its rough-hewn scimitar down towards him.
Althor twisted instinctively, rolling across the cavern floor.
He narrowly avoided the full force of the strike, but the blade caught his side as it passed.
Pain exploded through his body.
His breath escaped in a sharp gasp, and his hand instinctively moved towards the wound.
For a moment, the cavern seemed to tilt.
The sounds of fighting became distant and muffled. He could hear the guards shouting, the clash of weapons and the splashing of water, but none of it seemed quite real.
He tried to push himself upright.
His arm gave way.
The king fell back against the cold stone, his vision darkening.
Somewhere nearby, somebody shouted his name.
Then everything disappeared.
"Your Majesty?"
A distant voice.
"Your Majesty, wake up… Oh, please wake up..."
He heard the voice again, much closer this time.
"Please, Your Majesty. Come on..."