The Fall of Dorkhun Read Online Free PDF

Hard Hope, and the Marshwoggs, but these two foot soldiers, who had been assigned to guard the least vulnerable part of the ogre formation, wouldn’t understand the significance of her story, so she steadied her gaze on the one she had discerned was of higher rank and spoke with all the authority she could summon:
    “I bring news of Evil Blade.”
    The two looked at each other, their shock obvious. Vishghu waited for them to speak, holding herself erect and projecting confidence as she had seen Crushaw do when he gave unpopular orders. Finally, the one of higher rank stepped aside.
    “Ride ahead about half a mile,” he said. “You’ll find a small camp. One of them can take you to the matriarchs.”
    “You have my thanks,” she returned, digging her heels into the buffalo’s sides to spur it forward.
    As she rode away, the guards broke into a rushed conversation, debating what news she could have. The stone road turned steep, but the Kiredurks were master craftsmen, for the quality of the path didn’t change. As she climbed towards the camp, she glanced to her right and saw the northern plains stretching to the east. In early summer, the fields were still mostly green with swatches of yellow. The Mother of Ice wound through the open field, its course bordered by a thin line of trees on either bank. She was hardly more than 2,000 feet up the mountain, but the view was already spectacular.
    She refocused on the trail and guided the buffalo forward. Not far ahead, she could make out voices in the camp, and soon after, she rounded a bend that leveled out into a clearing. Ogres sat in several groups of three and four, talking in low tones. From their faces and body language, Vishghu could tell that they had spent time at the front. As she neared, they eyed her warily, and she returned eye contact without smiling or showing emotion. Instead, she held herself as if she belonged there, too. She rode directly to the closest cluster and spoke:
    “I need an escort to the Matriarchs.”
    “We’re not pages,” one said, standing and stepping to within arm’s reach. Her companions also rose, and the other groups stared at the commotion.
    “I’ve ridden for two weeks to deliver important news. I just need someone to lead me to them.”
    “What sort of news?”
    “That’s a matter for them,” Vishghu said, holding the other’s gaze. “I’m from the clan Ghlounsourhan. It’s very important.”
    “Tell me, if your clan matriarch is part of this war, why is such a healthy, young warrior like yourself just now coming to the fight?”
    “I was away from my village, serving my matriarch’s orders. I just learned of the war two weeks ago. I rode as hard as I could to get here.”
    The other stared at Vishghu for several seconds, contemplating the story. Vishghu kept her ground and maintained eye contact. The others gripped their weapons, and several more stood and moved closer. Still, Vishghu showed no fear. Finally, the leader motioned for the group to relax.
    “I like you, young one. You’ve served your matriarch well. I’ll lead you there myself.”
    With that, she turned and started up the next rise on foot. As a sign of respect, Vishghu dismounted and, leading her buffalo by its bridle, followed. She caught up to her guide and settled into the same stride. After riding for nearly two weeks, her legs and back were stiff, and for the first few hundred yards, she limped noticeably. The steepness of the climb took her breath, and her thighs burned, but she managed to keep up.
    “For someone not at the front, those are some serious scars,” the guide said as the slope lessened.
    Vishghu flashed back to the Battle for Hard Hope, the moment when the last wave of orcs had overrun her position. She had believed herself already dead as they stabbed and beat her, but somehow, Crushaw had sensed her waning strength and had moved to her flank to assist. Before the orcs could deliver a fatal blow, he had single-handedly