“Master, I urge you to reconsider. I can fight; I can help you.” Atoll begged, standing next to the dwarf who was leading the newly formed party. The foreman wore heavy armour, shield and sword hanging on his back.

  “No. And that is final. The journey is dangerous, and I will not have to explain to Analiz how and why her husband got himself killed.” Theodus refused, his voice stern but sounding almost fatherly. He sighed, putting his hand on Atoll’s shoulder. “I’ve taught ye all I could in the time I was here. This town needs a blacksmith. My store and all my tools, they are yours.”

  Solon and Sheela stood next to a wagon some ways away, watching the defeated Atoll walk downhill, back towards town. The parting wasn’t something the dwarf took lightly, a tinge of sadness flashing across his rugged face for a brief moment before he joined the others.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Will he be alright?” Sheela asked, climbing up inside the wagon.

  “He will. When it comes to human blacksmiths, Atoll might be unparalleled.” The wagon slowly started to move along the dirt road, which was stiffened by the early morning frost. There were more dwarves now, making the total number of party members twelve, Solon and Sheela included. All wore heavy armour, a mix of black metal and leather, armed with shields, swords, axes and guns.

  “Guns?” The Warhound couldn’t help but be surprised when he saw the musket-like weapons slung over the shoulders of the dwarven warriors.

  “I didn’t know this world also had guns.”

  Theodus gave him a curious look before grabbing the rifle off his shoulder and tossing it to the man. Solon inspected the weapon, taking in the smell of gunpowder. What he held in his hands was a musket, there was no doubt about it. It was slightly shorter than historical muskets from his world, and the barrel was wider, but the overall design was spot on.

  “That’s a Troll Vanquisher.” Theodus grabbed the rifle back from the mercenary and slung it back over his shoulder.

  “Really? First time I see a gun like that on this side of the gate.”

  “Well, us dwarves have terrible attunement to magic. What we do best is enchantments and runecraft. Can’t cast spells for shite. But our artistry will never see competition from other races; that is a fact written in stone.” The Grand Regent cackled, others dwarves joining in on the laughter.

  “Those pointy-eared leaf guzzlers could never craft weapons, armour or machinery like ours. Give them another thousand years, they’d still be hugging trees and grazing.”

  “Why would they, when they have magic?” The witch said, putting a stop to the good mood of the dwarven warriors.

  “Aye. So we had to level the playing field some.”

  “You use that on elves and mages?” Solon asked, surprised by what the dwarf was implying.

  “Nay! It’s called a Troll Vanquisher, not an Elf or Mage Vanquisher.” Theodus shouted at the man, offended he would even suggest using a pest control tool as a murder weapon.

  “Dwarves keep to their own. What foes we do have are mindless beasts and pests. Goblins, trolls, orcs, Gungams, things one usually finds deep in crevasses of the earth.”

  “You claim dwarves have few enemies, yet you aided an invading force by letting them enter this world through the portal in your city.” Sheela smiled, her eyes narrowing as she picked apart Theodus’s argument. She found it amusing to have someone else to talk to, or better say bully, who wasn’t her Warhound companion.

  “Blast you, woman. Yes, we’ve allowed them passage. They had none but us to fight in the mountains, so we didn’t worry.” He turned to Solon, pointing the axe at him.

  “Had we known yer kind would cause so much shite for Vatur elves. Well, we would’ve invited you over sooner!”

  Again, the dwarves erupted in laughter. Sheela scoffed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Solon. The soldier chuckled, clearly enjoying the company and humour of their new party members, the dwarves reminding him much of his own comrades.

  “How long till we reach your city?”

  “A while. We still have to go through the woods and then up the mountainside.” Cedrek shouted from the front of the wagon.

  Dwarves, ever the durable species, all walked beside the horse-drawn wagon. Sheela wondered if they planned to walk all the way to their city while she and Solon rode in the wagon.

  “Theodus, how many of Solon’s kind entered through the portal before things went south?”

  “There should’ve been twenty of them. Five passed through before the explosion.” Replied the dwarf. Solon nodded to himself, knowing it was the standard number of soldiers per Spider squad. In his head, an idea as to what went wrong had already formed, but he kept it to himself until seeing the explosion site for himself.

  They travelled until the sun had begun to set. Thick branches intertwined, blocking what little light had remained before night fell from touching the forest floor. Cedrek pulled the reigns, stopping the wagon and hopping from the seat.

  “We shall make camp here. No point wandering the woods at night.”

  “Are you cold, Sheela?” Solon asked, offering his good hand as support to the witch so she could exit the wagon with ease.

  “No.” She took his hand, climbing out.

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  “Treasure this moment, mortal, for I do not give compliments lightly. You’ve picked good clothes.”

  Watching the dwarves assemble camp, Sheela frowned, expecting tents or at least some tarps to be hung. But all the rough and rugged warriors needed was a strong campfire to warm their feet and hands. The rest of their bodies were already warmed by strong alcohol they drank throughout the day.

  “Grab some wood. The sooner we get the fire going, the sooner we can relax.” Gerrath said, digging a small hole and lining its rim with stones.

  While the warriors and Solon gathered wood, Sheela walked in a circle around the edge of their makeshift camp. The soldier sighed, thinking how the witch would do anything just not to dirty her hands. Seems even gathering wood was a task too beneath her majesty.

  A fire was lit, casting light on twisted trees. Solon sat on the ground, feet towards the fire, his back leaning against a tree, crossing his arms. Sheela tossed one of the tarps from the wagon next to him and another over him. He gave her a confused look.

  “What’s this for?”

  “A tarp. No point trying to impress our new friends and getting sick in the process. Nights aren’t as warm anymore.” The witch sat down on her tarp, back leaning against Solon’s right arm, wrapping herself in her large woolly cloak and tucking her legs closer to herself.

  “Don’t look at me like that, I am merely trying to scrape whatever warmth your body exudes. Besides, you are softer a bed than a tree or the wagon floor.”

  “I see. So I’ve been promoted to a bed now?”

  “Goodnight. Solon.”

  ***

  Sand shifted under the weight of something heavy, something unseen. Sheela’s eyes flew open as she looked around, trying to peer through the darkness thar consumed the forest. The fire was nothing more than embers now, providing no light to aid her.

  “Solon, the-“ He stopped her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, not seeing anything other than the soft sparkle of his artificial eye. Has he been awake the entire time? Did he sleep at all or keep watch throughout the night?

  “I know.”

  “Master!” Croaked a familiar voice from the darkness. The dwarves stirred in their sleep, waking up one by one, Theodus being the first to rise from the ground.

  “Who goes?” He bellowed.

  “Master. I beg you, take me with you.” Repeated the voice, now sounding warmer, pleading, human.

  Cedrek smashed two rocks together, quickly lighting a torch and passing it to the Grand Regent. Theodus raised it above his head, slowly walking towards the silhouette standing between the trees, now illuminated by the flicker of the fire. As he walked, Gerrath moved behind him, doing the same as Cedrek did to relight the campfire that had gone out. The horses huffed and struck the ground with their front hooves, not letting the mysterious person out of their sight. Their fear was evident; several of the dwarves rushed to try and calm them down before they took off running and either broke or dragged the wagon with them.

  “Atoll?” Theodus asked, making out the face of his apprentice in the half-dark.

  “Ye fool, tell me you’ve not followed us all the way here.”

  With creaking akin to wood straining against soil and wind Atoll moved, taking a step towards the dwarven leader.

  “I can fight, master. I can help.”

  “Solon, that’s not.” But the man was already up on his feet, exhaling deeply.

  “I know, Sheela.”

  “Reconsider, Master. I urge you.” Atoll continued, the roots and branches coiling behind him, hidden in the night.

  “Theodus! Get back from that thing!” Cedrek yelled, grabbing his axe and rushing to his comrade as Atoll raised a mangled arm, roots rising from the stiffened soil, coiling around Theodus.

  The foreman’s expressionless face contorted, mouth opening far too wide, rows upon rows of blackened, thorn-like teeth lining his throat. A shot rang out through the night, sending nocturnal birds fleeing up into the sky. Sheela jumped when she heard the sound, covering her ears with her hands in hopes of stopping the ringing. Black blood oozed from Atoll’s forehead, thick like tree sap. It croaked, the creature that held the man’s form, before collapsing to the ground, contorting and twisting back to its true shape. Theodus fell on his ass, turning around immediately as the coiling roots released their grip.

  Solon stood, left arm outstretched, fist clenched. His wrist smoked for a brief moment before the arm clanged, ejecting the shell from his shoulder.

  “.338. Whatever that fucker is, he ain’t getting back up.”

  Theodus kicked the corpse, now a mass of branches and roots.

  “Bramble Fiend. Shifty bastards.” The dwarf thanked his lucky stars that he had chosen not to hold on to the bullet as a souvenir back at the inn.

  “I assume we will not be returning to sleep after this.” Everyone turned to look at Solon, not appreciating the joke.

  “Right you are,” Cedrek replied, looking up at the branches, trying to see the sky through them. The absence of stars told him dawn would soon be upon them.

  “We may as well check if the horses did not get a heart attack from the shot and then hit the road.”

  “How did you know to shoot? What if it was truly Atoll?” Gerrath approached the mercenary, pointing an axe behind himself to where the Bramble Fiend lay dead.

  The soldier pointed to his artificial eye, which was still shining a faint, red glow.

  “Thermal. That thing had no body heat of any kind.”

  “Fascinating.” Mumbled the dwarf, leaning closer to get a better look at the man’s eye.

  “I thought it mere decoration the first time we met you. Seems its technology, like your arm, which I didn’t know doubled as a gun.”

  “That is its main purpose. The pneumatic impact system is just a last resort should I run out of ammo.” Solon explained while Sheela rose to her feet behind him, ears still ringing faintly.

  As the dwarves stomped out the fire and checked on the horses, Solon turned to Sheela.

  “How’d you notice that thing? Good hearing or can you see in the dark too?”

  She said nothing, raising her left hand. Sand began rising from the ground around them, swirling and melting back into her flesh. “I am not as powerless as you would like to believe. While you gathered wood, I encircled our campsite with a ring of sand. Should anything step on it, like that creature did, I would feel it.”

  “Nifty trick, Sheela.” The Warhound smiled, patting her on the shoulder with his good hand before helping her back into the wagon.