The Brotherhood of Dwarves: Book 01 - The Brotherhood of Dwarves by D.A. Adams Page B

for Red to create the diversion. After a few minutes, he had nearly decided that the old man had failed, but suddenly one of the soldiers pointed to the east and yelled, “Fire!” The platoon ran in that direction, calling to the buildings they passed for more help. Roskin waited till he heard people running from the store, and then the dwarf sprinted to the horse and wagon. He sliced the tether with his dagger and hopped onto the seat, laying his sword beside him. He snapped the reins and turned the horse towards the bridge. To his right, smoke billowed from a row of buildings as the conflagration grew. The soldiers and civilians had formed a fire line from the river to the fire’s edge, and buckets, helmets, tankards, and anything else that could hold water were passing back and forth in a frenzy of motion.
    Roskin got the horse up to a steady trot and reached the bridge without anyone seeing him. With each hoof that clomped on the bridge, he braced for a crossbow bolt or spear to strike him, and by the time he reached the far shore, his jaw ached from clenching his teeth, but he made it safely. He stopped the horse on solid ground and engaged the hand brake, fastening it with a leather strap. The horse whinnied and stomped, wanting to keep moving away from the noise and chaos, but Roskin grabbed his sword, climbed from the wagon, and crept back to the bridge. To him, the shapes near the fire were fuzzy and impossible to discern, but he wanted to wait for Red, so he peered towards the watchtower and far end of the bridge, squinting to improve his view.
    Finally, Red appeared from behind a building and was making his way to the bridge. From the south, several platoons were heading for the fire line, but five soldiers broke rank and began chasing the old man. Red had a substantial lead, and Roskin was sure he could make it to the wagon, but as he stepped onto the bridge, archers from the tower began firing at him. Roskin watched, frozen from fear, as bolts splintered the wood all around Red. The old man ignored the volley and kept running. The foot soldiers had closed the gap to less than a hundred yards, and Roskin called for Red to make for the wagon. Two thirds across the bridge, Red was hit in the upper shoulder by a missile and lost his balance. He stumbled forward a few feet but landed face first on the worn wood. Roskin charged forward to help Red to his feet, and bolts thudded all around him as he neared his fallen ally.
    “Leave me,” Red said, raising his head as Roskin was within a few yards. “Save yourself.”
    “Get up. The soldiers are almost on us,” the dwarf yelled, narrowly dodging a bolt.
    He grabbed the old man’s good shoulder and yanked him to his knees, and Red groaned from the pain but managed to stand. Roskin saw that the soldiers were within twenty yards, but the crossbows had stopped firing.
    “Get to that wagon,” the dwarf said, shoving Red in that direction.
    Red managed to stagger forward, and Roskin turned to face the soldiers. The five fanned out into a line and slowed to a creep, readying their pikes. Roskin brought the sword up in a short guard posture, his left foot slightly in front and his right hand on top of the grip. His heart pounded and his knees felt weak, and he couldn’t remember any of the slices, parries, or draws that Bordorn had taught him.
    “Try to take that one alive,” one soldier said. “He’s worth a sack-full.”
    “He’s just one dwarf,” another said. “Let’s get him.”
    The soldier swung the butt-end of his pike in a downward strike, and the dwarf stepped aside of the blow and countered by snapping the pole in two with a quick stomp when it struck ground. The soldier stumbled forward, and Roskin brought the pommel down on top of the man’s head, knocking him out. At once, the other four charged, also using the butt-ends of their pikes, but Roskin rolled to his right and tripped the soldier on the flank, knocking down two more in the process.