Orik made his way through the winding corridors of Tronjheim, bowing to the knurlan he passed, who for their part greeted him with energetic reiterations of "Your Majesty."
He found twelve of his military commanders in the courtyard of the hold. The hold sat on a rounded shoulder of Farthen Dûr, over a mile above the floor of the mist-laden valley, and from it one could see for leagues in either direction, or until the ridged mountains obscured the view. Like the other knurlan cities, this one was made entirely of quarried stone-in this case, a reddish granite that lent a sense of warmth to the rooms and corridors within. The hold itself was a thick, solid building that rose five stories to an open bell tower, which was topped by a teardrop of glass that was as large around as two dwarves and was held in place by four granite ribs that joined together to form a pointed capstone.
The teardrop was a larger version of the knurlas' flameless lanterns, and during notable occasions or emergencies, it could be used to illuminate the entire valley with a golden light. The knurlan called it Az Sindriznarrvel, or The Gem of Sindri. Clustered around the flanks of the hold were numerous outbuildings, living quarters for the servants and warriors of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, as well as other structures, such as stables, forges, and a church devoted to Morgothal, the knurlan god of fire and their patron god of smiths. Below the high, smooth walls of the hold were dozens of farms scattered about clearings in the forest, coils of smoke drifting up the stone houses.
Currently Az Sindriznarrvel was lit, filling the valley with soft, golden light, brightening the mist and casting the trees with yellow outlines. But no special occasion was underway, and this suprised Orik more than he expected. He stepped into the hold, his polished coat of mail sparkling in the early-morning light. He wore a helm embellished with gold, silver, and rubies. At his waist hung his ever present ax. A line of dwarves stood around the edges of the hold, their backs agianst the walls, and winded a set of curved horns, the brassy notes echoing off the mountains, signaling Oriks arrival.
A barrel-chested knurlan stepped forward and announced, "Nal Grimstnzborith Orik!"
Orik nodded slightly and addressed each commander by his name. He looked to his commanders with poise, each of them stood without fear, but with determination. Orik liked the way the commanders held themselves, they were fierce warriors.
The same dwarf who announced Orik's arrival spoke agian, in Dwarvish. "I have ordered the army to prepare to fight, even now they sharpen their axes, sling on their shields, and garnish themselves with armor. We will defend Farthen Dûr."
Orik nodded them looked to one of the war coordinators. "What of you, Hûndfast?" The knurlan shifted his shield and squinted his eyes.
"We have marked the enemies location, about nine leagues east of Dalgon, and estimated the amount of time it will be before they reach us. According by their speed of travel I suggest that they will reach us in five hours." The other knurlan mumbled amoungst themselves and one rejected the thought.
"There is no way anything could transverse that amount of length in so little time. Even mine knurlan couldn't accomplish such a feat." This knurlag, Kvîstor, was in charge of the dwarven calvary, and knew first hand the speed in which it would take to arrive at Farthen Dûr from the location that Hûndfast suggested, it would be nearly impossible.
Orik looked to Kvîstor as he spoke and nodded when he finished. "I agree with him. There is no way some living creature could travel that fast in that little amount of time." The dwarf king gave a confused look to the coordinator.
"Then why were we suprised when they destroyed Orthíad and then Dalgon soon after!" Hûndfast snapped, then, in a means to better control his temper, he breathed in and out deeply.
Orik noticed the other knurlan present, tense at Hûndfast's sudden outburst, mainly because he had spoken to the king in such a manor. "Strike it from your mind, he is just doing what is best for Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. If he believes that this enemy travels faster than you would expect, Kvístor, then maybe you should study with him sometime, you might actually learn something."
The commander of the calvary's body condensed. "My apologies Hûndfast, I meant you no dejection." His face was hard, but his eyes betrayed sincerity and sorrow.
"We should meet them before they reach Farthen Dûr! I shall order the army to move out." Said another of the commanders.
Before the commander could leave, much to the looks of the king, Orik spoke up. "Eta, Hwatum il skilfz gerdûmn!" The hold entered a quick state of silence, the room filling with the soft sound of chatter from the buildings below the hold.
Orik stared at each military commander, he wanted them to know he was in charge and that his decision determined the outcome of establishment. Orik raised his hand and said, "Mine knurlan, we are at an advantage here. No one knows the Beors like we do, that means we can use the terrian and tunnels beneath the mountains as a tool to aid us and help our armies get from one point to another without our enemy noticing."
The commanders seemed to forget their past suggestions and appeared more focused on Orik's words. They nodded with agreement and mumbled to themselves.
"Then what do we do, your majesty." Asked Hûndfast, shifting his chestplate.
Orik gave the commanders a determinated look then replied, "We should scout the path our enemy is using to find any advantages we could use." He motioned to the mountains outside the hold. "Maybe we could set up some traps before they reach the valley."
The commanders nodded and followed Orik as he trotted out the main gates of the hold, and turned east, toward the head of the valley. They followed a well-worn trail across the side of a mountain nieghbooring Farthen Dûr, climbing ever higher above the valley floor. Orik shivered and wished he had a cloak to pull closer around himself. The sun had yet to appear over the Beor Mountains, and a damp chill pervaded the valley, even though noon was only a few hours away.
Soon they arrived at a flat expanse of granite that extended around the side of the mountain. Curtains of shifting mist obscured the far end of the stone field. Orik raised a hand, motioning the following knurlan to stop.
Then he strode toward the twisting bank of fog, the mist kissed Orik's face, cool and moist. The vapor became so thick that it obscured the rest of the valley, enveloping him in a featureless gray landscape where even up and down seemed arbitrary. Undaunted, Orik proceeded with a confident gait, however, he walked with an arm out in front of him in case he bumped into anything hidden within the fog.
Squinting, Orik swept his gaze back and forth, but the fog seemed as monotonous as ever. He opened his mouth to tell the commanders to proceed, but then noticed a slight irregularity in the texture of the mist to his right, a faint pattern of light and dark that held shape even while the mist drifted past. He became aware of other areas that were static as well: strange, abstract patches of contrast that formed no recognizable objects.
He began to stop scooting closer when a breath of wind ruffled his hair. Under the encouragement of the newborn breeze, the fog thinned and the disjoined patterns of shade resolved into the boles of large ash clouds that filled the sky. They were far away, but large enough that they had made an impact on the color of the fog.
The distant mountains were covered in flames that had charred the stone black, and burnt down any ancient pine trees that once formed the outline of the mountain range. Plumes of smoke the size of the Beors themselves rose into the air in the shape of tangled tindrils miles wide and tall.
There was so much fire that Orik felt a slight warmth eminating from the distant flames. His heart dropped as he realized that much of the western Beor Mountains were now, charred, lifeless, wastelands. Along the valley floor several leagues away he noticed the dark shadow of an army making its way towards him.
"The fire seems to follow them." Said Kvístor, silently approaching Orik, causing the king to jump with sudden suprise. There was sorrow in his words and fear on his face, the knurlan even felt his heart beat faster than usual.
Orik nodded and turned to watch the remaining knurlan reach the edge of the cliff. When they all stopped moving, Orik acknowledged their expressions. With a rotation of his head he returned his gaze back to the approaching army. "Barûl!" Orik shouted, "Hwatum il skilfz gerdûmn, mûnd Gûntera narho ûdim etal os isû vond! Narho ûdim etal os formvn mendûnost brakn, az menknurlan, hrestvog dûrgrimst!"
The commanders around him shouted fierce war cries and glorified Gûntera and their king Orik. Their shouts were carried along the valley and echoed into nonexistance. Silence followed in which Orik turned and commanded, "Prepare the army, I want archers waiting along the top plateaus that line the valley, order them to wait for those unworthy, inhuman creatures to fully enter the valley. When that happens they are to unleash hell." He then looked to Kvístor and said, "Your calvary is to attack the creatures head on while the ground soldiers travel underneath the valley using the tunnels. They will surface on the other side of the valley and attack from behind."
He looked back to the commander of archery. "I also want strong knurlag with you to push large rocks over the cliff, perhaphs we can bury the majority of their army under a ton of stone." The commanders nodded then left, running back to the hold where they would then make their way to their armies and relay the orders. Orik peered over his shoulder to the marching monsters, a scowl deepening the lines on his forehead.
"Prepare for death, menknurlan."
A\N: Kvetha Fricaya, this was a fun and intense chapter to write. For me it was sort of difficult to relate to Orik and therefore convey him as the knurlan King. So that brings a question; How did I do on describing Orik's character? I really hope you have enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, really fun. But I do want to thank those who sent me PM's and lent me their ideas, I recieved a good number of those.
I had trouble coming up with this and those who helped really made it easier. If there were anythings I forgot, or if anyone wants to provide tips to make my writing more enjoyable, or if you want to let me know that your enjoying my story, leave a review. I want to give a big thank you to those who have followed and favorited this story, you know who you are, it really means alot. And if your wondering what the creatures look like, follow me on Twitter where I plan to release drawings of the characters and such, Skoilr.
And for those who reviewed here is my response:
Phil- Due to the way this chapter played out, Angela won't make an appearence till the next chapter, sorry. And thanks for reviewing.
Luckyponygirl- Thanks alot for the review. I have not read the 'I am Number Four' series yet, but it sounds interesting. I'm glad you acknowledge Murtagh's and Roran's relationship, it is hard to connect to the characters and make them how they are or should be. Thanks for the idea, and if you know me, I get ideas from the simplest things. I may just use your idea in some shape, way, or fashion. Thanks for your tremendous support and I hope your story is going well.
Cale1818- Sorry, but those eggs have already hatched, those were where the riders in the third chapter came from. Thanks for the review and your support, really means alot when I recieve the readers thoughts and ideas. Hope you liked this chapter?