"You can't just keep making us walk," Castleia huffed.

The Dwarf cackled. His stubby legs protruded on either side of the girl's horse, swinging lightly as the beast plodded along. In one hand he rested a stubby hammer over his shoulder. In the other, two long leather chords trailed from his hands to Canth's and Castleia's wrists.

The two humans walked on either side of his throne-like position on the horse, wrists tied behind them.

That might not even be the worst of it, Canth mentally muttered in a mixture of curiosity and frustration. He raised his eyes from the dusty trail that wound through the brambled forest to the hulking beasts that marched in front of them. \

The creatures were more certainly humanoid, but unlike any humans he had seen. They stood perhaps seven feet tall, though stooped under a frame contorted with muscle. Their bodies were almost entirely hairless with dark, gashed skin. One was missing a hand. The stump ended in a knotted chunk of bone and muscle that twitched every now and again in the cool mountain air.

Heavy chain links connect the one-handed beast's feet. Another set bound its companion's wrists.

As Canth watched, the beast turned its gaze and he froze mid-step. The eyes were blank white spheres, cloudy but penetratingly firm like impure glass. Seeing the boy freeze, the beast made a dark face that may have been a grin.

"Oi, lad, what keeps your legs?" the Dwarf hollered from Castleia's horse.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe he's hungry," Castleia spat. "Or are mountain folk accustom to living off of dust?"

"Aye, and I've lived off of much less. You will too, I wager." The short man jostled in the saddle, withdrawing some contraption from his pocket. Something metal clicked and he peered at it closely before returning it. "For at least another several hours, that is."

"You still haven't said exactly where we are going. Or who you are," Canth added. He attempted to make the comments resentful but his curiosity betrayed him.

"Would the lad like to know? Then 'ee should have asked. Not that I am like to tell you." The small man thew his head back and chuckled again. The fluff of his beard streamed into the air, accompanied by hundreds of little braids that clattered around his armor.

Canth waited until the horse had walked near him.

The countenance of the Dwarf changed immediately. His hammer fell from his shoulder to level at the boy's face. "Stay back now. I've killed hundreds in my days. 'Don't have many reservations adding a child to the list."

Approaching as innocently as he could, Canth whispered. "What are those things?" He jerked his head toward the beasts leading the way. "Where did you get them?"

"Eh?" The Dwarf jerked his head. "Haven't you ever seen an ork, boy? Not that you're any worse off for it. They're mighty filthy things, not much to look at. Really only worth the meat in their backs."

Canth started walking again to keep pace with the horse. He looked up questioningly.

"Do you mean to tell me," the Dwarf continued, saddling his hammer to replace it with an accusing finger, "that you have never heard of King Highgrave Wrathborn? Or the Battles of Tegonogorath?"

Canth held his gaze, eyebrow raised.

The Dwarf blinked. "At least you've heard of Fanderell and Gerdyn?"

Canth retained a blank face.

"Nine halls," he choked. "Allow me to enlighten you." The short fellow rolled his shoulders back and sat straight atop the horse. A hand brushed the braids in his beard.

"There was a time before the first miners and planters, back when the only trees had been planted by the gods and the only caves carved by water. In this time there came to be two fierce friends.

"The first was a tall, regal lord of a great repute and strength. It is said he was the finest minstrel in any kingdom. The echoes of stone even failed to repeat the beauty in his voice. Not only was he brave, though, oh no. He was given a fine sword by a dear friend that he used to slay every beast ever to threatened his kin. He defied the cold of winter and the heat of summer. He was made king of the lands and lavished in every gift ever made by the hands of craftsmen. His name was Fanderell.

"Now," the Dwarf cleared his throat," Fanderell may have received the glory and gifts, but he had a friend who had no shortage of courage. His friend was a wee man of no great appearance, save a lavish beard adorned with the finest gold and gems the earth could provide. He could read history from the taste of the dirt and sense demons of storm in the wind. Moreover, he was the greatest craftsman ever to touch iron or gold. Every gift Fanderell ever received was given to him to re-forge into something more powerful and beautiful. His name was Gerdyn."

"Wait, hold on, is this Gerdyn the Grave?"

"HA, you have heard of him!" the Dwarf shouted triumphantly. "Though he was not known as Gerdyn the Grave until sometime later. Come now, though, it's a fright rude to interrupt a storyteller while he's telling his story.

"You see, Fanderell and Gerdyn got along splendidly. Not so the people around them. In time, some resented Fanderell for his humility and glory. Others disliked Gerdyn for his appearance or coveted the gifts he made. So listen here, the two friends decided that they would leave their lands and set off together. After all, with the best voice, the bravest heard, the keenest mind, and the most talent smith between the two of them, what could go wrong?"

His face darkened. "A glooming bit, that's what. You see, Fanderell and Gerdyn came upon a beautiful vale nestled in the shadow of the greatest mountain range their eyes ever alightened in."

"But they died of starvation," Castleia spat.

The Dwarf yanked one of the chains in his fist and the girl tumbled backward by her wrists. A cloud of dirt rose from the path, displaced by her flailing limbs and the stream of obscenities choked out between her coughs.

Cackling once again, the Dwarf thumped his leg with his free hand. "I warned you once, lass. Now..." His finger drummed the edge of his limps thoughtfully. Suddenly his eyes widened. "That's right, the vale! So they found this vale and thought to themselves, 'seems a mighty fine place. Why shouldn't we stay here and settle for a time?' So they did just that.

"But see they did not know that across the shadow of the mountain lay a clan of festering brutes." Braids tossed as he nodded toward the orks. "Sickening beasts. Mindless killers. In the night the orks heard Fanderell's voice singing a song of the vale and plucking an instrument Gerdyn had fashioned for him. They're minds are so contrived, so corrupt, the beauty sickened them and they sallied out in the night."

As he talked, Canth's gaze drifted to the beasts ahead of them. One tilted its head to look back at him, baring its teeth as the Dwarf spoke. Its lips curled around jagged, miscolored teeth.

"The orks found an embered fire and Gerdyn asleep with Fanderell on first watch. Filled with heathen vengeance, they slit his throat and poured out his blood over the embers, but not before Gerdyn woke." The Dwarf brandished his hammer in a flourish. "Gerdyn took up his fallen friends blade and slew every one of the beasts in a storm of fury.

"When the battle was over, Gerdyn searched for a place to bury Fanderell but found no place where the rocks would permit him to dig. So, after his hands were scraped and bleeding, he instead took Fanderell into a rocky cave and laid him rest. There, he swore on the ork blood of his sword and his own blood on his hands that he would protect Fanderell's remains until the day he died. And, that his kin, and his kin's kin, and theirs in turn would never cease to war against the ork until they were no more.

"Gerdyn lived in those mountains for the remainder of his nine hundred and forty-nine years. He expanded the cave to a hall, the hall into a gallery, and the gallery into a mansion. It is called the Hall of Kings now and still seated by his direct kinsman, the High King Ghilder. Mine people carried from him and still uphold his vow, to restrain and destroy the ork and to protect the bounties of the mountains."

Canth eyes broke the look of the ork to turn back to the Dwarf. "You're a fine storyteller, my sir. I am a recounter of stories, a scribe in my city. Should I return I will put this story to scroll."

"See that you do! It is far too uncommon for mine folk to make it into the tales of Men."

"True, I can count on one hand the references to your kin in our histories. But it is habit among us to write the author's name with the story. And, if it pleases you, having a story written by a human about Dwarves is far less credible then a story by a Dwarf about Dwarves."

The seated warrior wagged a finger at the boy, smiling. "Don't think you can outwit me, lad. But you aren't wrong. Remember the name Threror son of Threrar, and add it to your scroll, should the king permit your return."

Canth bowed his head, "You have my thanks."

Threror cackled. "Keep them. You haven't seen our destination yet." 

Sup y'all! If you are reading this, thank you SO much for bearing with me. I am still writing, just in little chunks. Please let me know your thoughts with votes, comments, or messages, and spread the word if you think others might enjoy what you're reading. I'll keep writing, you guys enjoy reading!