Orcblood Legacy: Skirmishes: Orcs Bernard Bertram (good books to read TXT) 📖

could find with an ale in his hand. As he sat back down, Tormag’s face was twisted into a giddy smile. The dwarf raised his cup and clinked it against Bitrayuul’s in cheer. Together, they lifted the mugs to their mouth and poured the sweet yet bitter liquid down. Like his father, Bitrayuul slammed his empty cup to the hardwood table and let out a loud belch that put Tormag’s to shame. They laughed once more and let their cheeks spread to smiles. Though the drink was thick, its pleasant aid was unneeded to keep their moods light and happy.

As they each stood to start the search for a filled flagon anew, an alarm blasted through the city, startling every sleeping and unconscious dwarf around. Bitrayuul turned to Tormag, “Another celebration?” He realized the falseness of his assumption by the grim expression painted on the dwarf’s face.

“No, lad. It’s not.”

UNITY

“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 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. After waiting for an enormous lift to ascend and take the next score of dwarves deeper into the mountain, Bitrayuul could see dozens of forges burning brightly through a small corridor ahead. Without their smiths to control the flames, the rampant flames could be seen dancing even from his position on the lift, 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 joint defensive measure from when Bothain had led his people to the eastern Tusks and they struggled to survive. The half-orc couldn’t know. But, despite the growing trepidation in his gut, the tight-knit community made him feel safe.

“We’re nearly there, lad.” Tormag said, breaking his son’s distraction and the lift continued its descent to the lowest level. “It most likely be trolls in the southern mines, 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.

Once the platform had reached the ground, the dwarves poured out into the mining hub where every dwarf waited in grim silence. Their gazes were stern, and their stances were tense. They tightened the straps on their armor and gripped their weapons tightly as the groaning of the lift ascending echoed at their backs. Over time, more and more dwarves continued to form behind them, all ready to defend their homeland. Drunk, tired, or naked, it mattered naught, for every warrior was prepared to give their life.

The procession stepped toward the southern network slowly. Bitrayuul was amazed at the lack of commands being needed. Their tactics had changed the moment they had stepped off the lift. 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 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 the steel heads together 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 mining cavern, Bitrayuul gawked at its enormity. 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 couldn’t believe this was only one of three similar networks, each likely dotted with hundreds of tunnels. Remembering that Tormag said the trolls would come through the mines, Bitrayuul scanned every hole, wondering which they would come from. It seemed a pointless task to him, for the trolls could only climb through the narrow holes one at a time. How difficult could it be to methodically cut down each as they crawled out from the tunnel?

Then, his answer and his father’s warnings of the cunningness of trolls became clear. Bitrayuul watched the