Hunter and Warrior of Rhudaur

By Michael Cohrs

Riam, a hunter in his hillman clan, has no idea what is about to happen to him. As he returns from a hunt for food, he encounters trolls, orcs, and a rogue hillman ranger who plots against his people. With the help of the dwarf Toram, whom he saves, Riam avenges his betrayed clan and discovers how the manipulations of clan politics is normal for his people and decides to try a new way. With the help of Toram, he uses the wealth and weapons he acquires along the way to leave the culture of the hillmen and become a dwarf-trained warrior in pursuit of vengeance for his dead father and mother. He joins a quest that seeks to fulfill the ambitions of all the members of an adventuring party, and along with Toram, his dwarven friend, he heads north into perilous danger. Trespassing into the lands of the Witch King and entering into an orcish stronghold to acquire a fabled lost treasure almost costs them their lives. Riam encounters a dragon guarding a treasure, and his method of dealing with it leaves more problems than answers. The group finishes their quest in the north but are left with the problem of returning south. The return trip is as dangerous but just as profitable as they leave the north and return home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645445357

Book preview

Chapter 1

Hunting Alone

When hunting, travel into the wind and softly through the woods to break up your outline from your prey. But always remember if you are hunting, something else may be hunting you.

—Words of Riam

Adrop of sweat hit Riam’s eye and stung briefly. He wiped it away with his hand and continued to look upstream. Riam ap Mabir was tall for a hillman, standing at five foot ten; he weighed just over one hundred and sixty pounds. His brown hair and eyes in his craggy weather-beaten face made him look older than the sixteen years that he was. Riam was experienced in hunting and wood craft, but his skills had not paid off today.

Dressed in leather pants, vest, boots, and gloves, he seemed to blend in with the woods and brownish moss that covered the rocks around him. His hair was braided in three long strands that stuck out at seemingly awkward angles from the leather cap on his head. The short bow that he carried looked strong enough for the job, along with the quiver of arrows across his back, but the stone knife in his leather belt and the empty pack he carried made him look poor indeed.

Riam had been hunting caru along the northern bank of the Sir Sinblas, a major tributary that fed into the larger Mitheithel River to the north. All day he had been hunting and had been unsuccessful. He had not spotted any caru in the past three days. To help his success, Riam had applied caru spoor on his body to hide his smell from his prey so that he could get closer to it. He had spotted the spoor of an extremely large caru and it had been fresh this morning, but Riam had not been able to spot the beast itself in the scattered thickets that grew along the river. In the cool summer afternoon of eastern Rhudaur, the Misty Mountains glowed with a beautiful copper aura that belied the dangers that the region was well-known for. The eastern Ettenmoors where Riam was hunting might be considered as dangerous as the far away Misty Mountains, but Riam was not worried; he was content.

He was content because this was Riam’s idea of the way life should be. Beautiful country for hunting and quiet reflection—could there be anything better in life? Riam breathed in deeply and could smell the fragrance of the blue spruce pine trees in the air. He was chewing on a nut from one of those trees now and enjoying the taste; it refreshed him from the hunger he had endured from the noon’s unproductive hunt. As he watched the water of the Sir Sinblas flowing by, he thought about the things in this life that he understood and how they worked in the complex scheme of things.

His thoughts went back to his early childhood as a member of the Hillmen Red Stag Clan. As a young child, he had always wanted to grow up to become a great hunter like his father, Mabir. Mabir had been a hunter in the Bear Claw Clan to the north. He had been a member in the Great Hunt that had involved the Bear Claw, the Red Stag, and several other clans of the Moic-Fin Tribe during the fall migration of the hillmen to their southern tribal camp grounds. He had teamed up with another hunter from the Red Stag Clan, Riam’s mother, Riananth. Both had been competitive with one another to see who the better hunter was, and they had fallen in love after Riananth had been wounded by vicious cave bears that had been hunting too.

Mabir’s rescuing Riananth became a famous story among the clans in the region between the Sir Sinblas and the Mitheithel, and he later married her and became a hunter in the Red Stag Clan. Riam ap Mabir of the Red Stag felt that this was what he wanted to achieve too. Unfortunately, he was too inexperienced and not ready to be part of the Great Hunt. He had not yet passed the trials of the test. That was why he was hunting caru along the river trails of the Sir Sinblas alone. To be successful by himself would prove his skills as a hunter in the Red Stag clan.

Suddenly, Riam’s attention was heightened when he heard a twig snap somewhere behind his right shoulder. Riam froze and concentrated on the sound and its location from him. Tightening up on his short bow, he slowly reached for an arrow in the quiver strapped to his right shoulder. Quietly, he turned while squatting down.

A huge caru, the one he must have found the spoor from earlier, had stepped out of a thick stand of trees to get water from the flowing river. Riam was downwind of the magnificent beast, and it had not sensed him so close. It sniffed the breeze and tensed as if going back in the thicket and then stepped forward quickly to the river.

Riam held his breath as the caru stretched its neck for a drink; he released the arrow and watched it strike the caru’s neck above the shoulder. Riam already had another arrow nocked as he watched the caru sink slowly to the ground. An excellent shot!

Riam was elated and quickly went to check on his kill. It was not dead yet. As he had been taught by his father Mabir and his mother Riananth’s brother Branth, he drew his dagger and swiftly slit the caru’s throat to ease its suffering. Now the hard part of hunting began, preparing the kill for travel.

He dragged the carcass to the nearest tree and soon had it hoisted by a rope across a strong branch. He had inserted a strong oak rod with curved hooks at the ends between the knee joints of the beast. With his kill hanging at his height, he quickly began to skin the caru and worked hard to pull it off as intact as possible.

Riam marveled at how large the skin was. It would easily make several pairs of boots and a complete set of clothes even for a hillman as big as he was and maybe a set of gloves. A great prize indeed! Riam then used a sharp scrapping stone from the river to separate the fat tissue from the hide. He could cure it later once he got home.

Next, Riam began the long process of dividing up the kill into parts that he then wrapped into cloth and stuffed into his pack. The soft cloth had been prepared with animal fat to keep the meat fresh for transportation across-country. When the meat was wrapped up, Riam inserted the stuffed cloth wraps into a larger carrying pack that had been covered over with fresh ferns and spruce to conceal the scent of fresh meat. This was the most dangerous part about hunting alone. Wolves and even the occasional cave bear might smell the fresh kill and come to investigate. If you were not careful, you might end up being the new kill.

Riam sniffed the air for scent of predators and kept his ears open as well. Every few seconds, he even looked around to make sure he was secure. The sun set late and slowly during the summer months, but the light was now fading and night was drawing close. There were things worse than wolves in the woods. Trolls came out at night, and that was a real problem in this part of the world.

As Riam worked, he realized how much meat there was to cut. He had filled his pack and had only taken the best pieces. Still, there were sizeable pieces hanging off the bones. Riam had just secured the head of the caru to his pack, along with the hide, when he heard a snuffing grunt.

Quick reflex saved him as he jumped straight up onto the branch that his kill was hanging from. He had also managed to pull up his pack and equipment with him when he saw a large bear coming down the trail sniffing and heading for what was left of the carcass.

Riam climbed up higher in the branches and pulled out a small leather flask of fragrant crushed hiam moss that was used to keep one alert in the dark hours. He took a small swig and then sprinkled it about himself and his pack. This helped cover the scent of fresh meat in the pack and blood spatter on himself.

Looking down, Riam saw that the bear was not a forest bear but actually a medium-sized cave bear. His blood quickened as he thought how fortunate he was to have gotten high up in this tree in time. He would have to be sure not to make a sound or attract attention to himself as cave bears were feared for their intelligence and would wait him out till he either starved and died or came down to fight. Few ever survived a fight with a cave bear!

The bear was making a good meal from what was left of the caru and was taking his time. This was a problem. He would now have to stay up in the tree until the bear had finished. More predators might arrive as well, and even trolls knew how to use their eyes and ears even if the bear below was too busy with his meal to notice.

There was another possible problem—stirges. These large flying insects came out at night and loved to swarm on exposed flesh. Riam had used the caru spoor to mask his scent, but it might be drying off even now. The last thing Riam wanted was to bat away stirges while trying to hold onto a tree branch with his heavy pack and equipment getting in the way. As a younger boy, Riam had survived an encounter with stirges and did not want to repeat the experience.

While waiting on the bear to finish, Riam looked into the night sky. The Clan Ghost Seer Moag, an elder female, who had taught Riam forest path mastery and how to use herbs, had also shown him how to see and read the stars above. She had taught him how to locate the many constellations and how to use them for night navigation when the world was too dark to see. Unfortunately, it was a cloudy night, but the moon was up, and at least it provided light enough to see by.

Moag had also taught him patience when dealing with things he could not control and to use unwanted waiting as a way to look about and help him make future decisions. Riam looked around and saw behind him to the north the dark hills that folded and faded into the northern branch of the Misty Mountains. Home was that way, but also known troll lairs lay in that direction, and now was not the time to move there. To the east, the Ettenmoors faded into the closer Misty Mountains, where a Naugrim or dwarf colony that hillmen called Copper Vale was. Also, that way led to the hillman religious town and fortress of Elnost. The sacred sites of the Moic-Fin clans were there, and Riam had been there before but not by himself.

To the south across the Sir Sinblas was terrain much like his clan’s hunting lands, but it belonged to another clan, the Blue Hart. They were relatively friendly, but no hillman would allow a rival to hunt or travel without permission or a good reason (escaping bears was not considered a very good reason). To the west, similar lands could be seen from his tree perch, but other than the winter migration trail to the sacred southern campsite, he did not know that much about the region or its dangers.

As luck would have it, the bear had finally finished its meal and was leaving. Riam waited several more minutes to be sure and then crept out along the branch to recover his rope and curved oak rod. He looped the rope around his shoulder and put the rod upright in his quiver along with his arrows. He had just decided to get out of the tree and head west downstream when he heard (and smelled) trolls.

Gargh, a gravelly deep voice stated. That bear left us nothing but bones and offal. Two medium-sized trolls were coming out of the heights from the north, probably from troll lairs that were between him and home.

Again, all Riam could do was to wrap himself along the branch, blending in with the darker wood of the tree, and hope the scent of meat in his pack would not be noticed.

’Tis a sorry mess this, said the other troll. We bin huntin’ atter that piece o’ prime hillman an’ that runt scaped by us agin! You think that bear got ’im, Gralk?

Riam was worried now. He had thought for the past three days he had been the hunter; now he had just found out that he had been the hunted! This was not good news, and Riam began to think how to get out of this intact and as quickly as possible.

Naw, Derg, the gravelly voice stated. This here is animal pickins. That bear was quick to catch this big-boned thing. With that, both trolls sat down and began picking through the bones the bear had left behind that still had meat on them. The crunching and sucking sounds the trolls made as they gnawed out the marrow sickened Riam, but he kept his cool and waited them out.

Riam knew that trolls turned to stone in daylight, and as long as he stayed still and was not noticed, the trolls would eventually have to move off toward their lair. He was not disappointed. After a fair amount of time, the trolls got up and headed to the west and downstream along the Sir Sinblas.

But they had been hunting him for as long as he had been hunting caru in this area! How lucky had Riam been to have avoided them for so long! He remembered a cave he had passed on his first day hunting; it had been partially covered by rocks to block the entrance from light but not air. Riam mentally kicked himself for not recognizing that was a possible troll lair. He would remember better next time!

There went Riam’s plans for leaving this area. He was not about to wander in the dark and chance a run-in with trolls. Even if they had already eaten, they had been known to take captives for a later snack in their lairs.

Riam was a little slow getting out of the tree. He was stiff from all the waiting, and his pack and equipment were feeling heavy. It was still dark and sunrise was over an hour away, but he was not staying here. Taking another small sip of brewed hiam moss from his flask, he began to head upstream away from the path taken by the trolls. Hiam moss was good at keeping one alert, but it also took a toll and made you sleep long and hard after a few days and Riam was not home yet.

Riam went slowly and carefully and did not encounter any more problems as he put distance between himself and the trolls. By sunrise, he realized that on his side of the river the cliffs were closing in on the Sir Sinblas. Across the river, it was more open and wooded and therefore safer. This was bad as the chance of more troll lairs in the cliffs made staying where he was more dangerous at night.

Looking around, Riam realized that he had no good way of crossing the river. He could swim, but his pack was heavy and that would be a problem. Also, other hillmen hunters would think he was poaching on their lands, and that would be a worse problem than evading trolls. Going downstream only led back to the two trolls he had left, and going upstream would soon become impossible.

Only one way was left, and that was to climb the broken rock and scree that rose to his left. Riam started at once and soon had climbed up several hundred feet above the river. The view was good, but Riam was concerned that some of the smaller caves he had seen climbing up might house unwelcome visitors. This meant that he had to keep going.

After another hour of working his way up the cliffs, he came to a stop. In front of Riam rose a steep cliff that he could not easily climb up. This was not a problem, tying his rope to the caru’s horned head; he threw it up as far as he could. On his first attempt, he was lucky, and the horns caught in the rocks, and he pulled himself vertically upward over the cliff. This process had to be repeated several more times, but by noon, he had climbed out of the river valley onto the wooded shelf above.

The woods here were unfamiliar to Riam. He was in Red Stag hunting lands, but this was new to him. The woods were thick, and game paths ran in confusing directions. Riam knew that his clan’s spring dacaithan, or campgrounds, would not be moved yet for a full moon. That meant that it was somewhere north and west from where he was now. Unfortunately, all the game trails ran to the north or to the east—away from where he wanted to go.

Riam concentrated a moment, and used the path lore spell that Moag had taught him. He concentrated on the first path in front of him to the north, and a vision of a familiar site appeared in his mind. Going this way would lead to the known Mountain Trail that ran along the foothills of the Misty Mountains. This was good news because his clan in time would pass along the Mountain Trail headed south for the Sumer Camp at Elnost.

He looked down another trail and, using the spell, saw that it led east and then south also to the Mountain Trail but farther away from where Riam’s clan was at the moment. Riam wasted no time and immediately headed along the north path closest to home.

Riam was in Red Stag territory and was jogging rather than walking while carrying his pack and equipment. He kept his wits about for possible ambush sites and traps, but nighttime was when danger lurked the most. Daytime was made for traveling quickly to get from safe place to safe place. In this way, Riam had covered fifteen miles by the setting of the sun.

But a safe place he had to find. As the sun began its slow descent, Riam had come to the end of the woods and could see open plains of grass that stretched for miles. Losrandir grazed in several small herds here, and that meant that wolves might be lurking nearby. There was little breeze, and Riam knew he must leave the path and find a safe place to rest.

Moving away from the path to the east, Riam soon saw at the edge of the trees a large patch of ferns and moss with soft vines of the latha plant growing. An excellent place to stop and rest as the ferns would conceal him from site and smell and the moss would serve as a soft bed to rest on. Quickly entering into the clearing, Riam checked for problems but found none. Caru and losrandir often used niches like these for nests during the breeding season, but that had passed and this was empty.

Riam ate some pine nuts and rested his eyes but kept his ears open for sound. As he rested, he felt a vague unease about the vines. Dark rumors of the enchanted Black Vine in the southern forests of the Yfelwyd that caused men to dream and die were well-known and greatly feared by all hillmen. After several minutes, Riam relaxed. He was not dreaming ecstatic thoughts, so he reasoned it was safe. Soon, Riam was asleep.

How much time had passed, Riam was unsure of. What he knew was that he had heard something out of place and he was now alert to the night sounds of the Ettenmoors around him. A faraway wail could be heard; that was what had awakened Riam. Wolves were hunting in the open plains for losrandir. The howls were far away, many miles to the west by the sound, but in the clear air of the night, sound traveled far. Riam went back to sleep.

Before the sun rose over the Misty Mountains, Riam was already awake and back on the game path headed north to the Mountain Trail. By the time the sun had risen over the mountains warming the grasslands, Riam had already traveled many miles and was approaching another thick patch of woodlands. Using his path lore spell to make sure he was still on the right path, which he was, Riam entered into the thick stand of blue spruce using the game trail.

Riam made quick speed along the trail even though he was cautious as he moved through the woods. His rest from last night had refreshed him, and his spirits were rising as he realized that he was nearing home. His story about his hunting the great caru and his adventures would make a great campfire tale, and in turn, this might be the time when Riam would finally come of age and be declared ready for the test.

All hillmen, when they were determined to be ready by their tark, or chieftain, spent the winter in the Ettenmoors alone to survive unaided. In the Red Stag, would-be hunters in the clan were required to kill a wolf or something more powerful during the time of the test. The power of the monster killed gave prestige to the Hunter who had killed it. Riam’s father, Mabir, had killed not one but two cave bears with the help of his mother, Riananth, and his reputation was known far and wide. If his uncle Branth were to die, his father Mabir would be the tark of the Red Stag.

Carried away by thoughts like these, Riam ran through the woods along the game path and made the mistake of not checking the path of the sun. He had forgotten that in the woods, light was deceptive and night arrived in the deep woods earlier than in the open plains. Suddenly, Riam realized that the woods were dark and that his eyes, having grown used to the dimness, had adjusted to the change without him noticing. This did not cause him immediate alarm as Riam began to see familiar landmarks that he had remembered from hunting with his father and brother last year.

Riam did not stop but walked instead of jogging down the path. He now realized where he was. This game path led to the Mountain Trail, but it also led to the Naugrim Copper Vale. This was where hillmen and dwarfs would meet to trade food, leather, and herbs for crafted metal items. Riam believed he was safe enough now. Dwarves were not fond of trolls or wolves and hunted them down.

As Riam walked on, the forest became strangely silent. It was if the trees in the woods and the night creatures within were holding their breath. This caused Riam to tense up. He slipped his bow off his shoulder and drew an arrow from his quiver. He continued walking but with stealth as if hunting for an enemy.

The trees were not as thick now. There were small clearings, and in these clearings were stumps of trees that had been felled by dwarf axes for forge fires in their mountain stronghold. Night had come again to the Ettenmoors, and the night sky was clouded over and the light of the moon shown dim. Riam was not so sure this was a safe place anymore, but he was in his clan’s hunting lands and they had safe passage agreements with the Naugrim that lived here.

As Riam came out of the woods into Copper Vale, he expected to see the Mountain Trail ahead. The Vale was large and well-watered with good grazing grass. Dwarves herded sheep and goats here as well as ponies. Their gates were farther into the mountains, but dwarf stone homes were close by along the Mountain Trail for trade with passing hillmen.

This was what Riam expected to see when he left the woods’ edge, and see it he did. But it was the clang of weapons and the site of dwarves fighting many smelly and slightly larger, ungainly creatures with more hair than clothes that surprised him the most.

Orcs, he thought. He had never seen one before, but the stories his father told left little doubt about what they were. Unlike trolls who were large and stupid, these creatures were vicious and intelligent. One was calling out orders while shooting arrows at the small group of dwarves fighting for their lives. Two were using spears, attempting to strike from the flank, while two more with long curved swords attacked from the front.

The three dwarfs still standing—another was down with an arrow in his side—were defending from the sword wielding orcs and were about to be surprised by the ones with the spears. They had bright-colored shirts but no armor. They were using forge hammers and tree axes that they swung on their attackers, but it appeared the odds were against them.

Normally, this would not involve hillmen. Riam should have simply hidden and watched it all unfold. But these naugrim had a pact with the Red Stag, and Riam even thought he recognized the leader of the dwarves under attack, a metal smith who made prized bronze arrow heads in exchange for food and leather. For some strange reason, the orc raid infuriated Riam, and what he did next surprised even him.

Jumping out of the woods into the vale, Riam set down his pack and took aim at one of the spear-carrying orcs and shot at his back. He missed, but the arrow went on to graze the sword arm of one of the attacking sword-wielding orcs, and it made him miss his swing on the dwarf in front of him. Quickly, as if he was hunting caru, Riam had nocked another arrow and again shot at the back of the spear-carrying orc. The arrow was well placed this time, and the orc collapsed with Riam’s arrow through his neck.

The orcs looked around, their crazed assault on the dwarves temporarily halted. The dwarves rallied, and the one that Riam recognized smashed his hammer into the orc’s face that Riam’s first shot had grazed. The orc reeled back stunned, and the other dwarves also dealt out blows on the two orcs still standing.

Before the lead orc could shoot an arrow at Riam or give any orders, Riam spun low on his heel and fired another arrow that struck the orc’s chest but failed to kill him. Maybe the chain shirt on the leader protected him better than the leather hides on the caru or losrandir of the woods that the other orcs used. Riam had a sudden sinking of heart, thinking that his stone arrow heads were not going to work on this orcs armor.

With a most savage snarl, the lead orc bellowed orders, and the two standing orcs ran back to the woods. The leader fired an arrow at Riam, but because he was squatting low to the ground, the shot went over Riam’s head.

Riam shot again and this time hit his target in the arm. The orc dropped his bow and, instead of running away, charged Riam while drawing out a long curved blade. Riam had fought other hillmen with his hands but never with weapons, and this was his first time in a battle to the death.

With no time to think, he also dropped his bow and pulled his stone-edged dagger and ran at the orc straight on. As the orc swung his blade at Riam, Riam ducked and rolled to the orc’s right, under the sweep of the blade. Before the orc could turn, Riam jumped on his back and used his dagger to slit the orc’s throat. Both the orc and Riam fell to the ground, and Riam was dazed for a bit.

When Riam had recovered, it was over. The other two orcs had been killed, and the dwarves were returning from the chase, speaking with excited voices directed at him. Riam had no idea what they were saying until the lead dwarf, the smith, spoke in the common tongue of Blarm, the trade talk between dwarves and hillmen.

Great shot and even greater timing! the smith was saying, and all by yerself too! The dwarf was winded from the fight and breathing hard. He was dressed in a leather apron and had a bright-blue shirt and leather pants and wide leather boots. His hammer still dripped blood, and the other dwarves were similarly clad and armed.

The smith then stopped and collected himself together, bowed formally, and said, Toram Redbeard at yer service, and these two are Bori and Torg, cousins of mine. We are in yer debt. The other two dwarves also bowed low and did not speak but were grinning at him.

Riam, remembering his manners, replied, I am Riam ap Mabir of the Red Stag Clan, and I am at your service as well. Then with a bit of mischievousness, he added, It seems I have performed a service or two already! He said this with a smile, and the smith translated to the others who laughed appreciatively.

That ye have, friend! Toram replied while thrusting his hand out to Riam. Riam, unsure what to do, responded with his hand out, and the dwarf shook it heartily. That ye have, and now we must thank ye and give ye something to eat. But first we need to clean up this filthy mess and take care of our wounded here!

With that, Bori and Torg began to collect the dead bodies and strip them of weapons and other gear. The dwarvish smith Toram led Riam while the two of them carried the wounded dwarf between them to a fork along the Mountain Trail by the stone homes. Toram began calling out in his language loud and long.

After he called out a second time, doors began to open and other bearded dwarf faces peered out, asking questions of Toram. He answered them quickly and gave orders that sent a couple of younger dwarf lads running off down a well-beaten path that led to a torch lit metal gate that blocked a passage into a cliff of the outer Misty Mountains.

No hillman had ever stepped past those gates into the dwarf hold. Hillmen only traded at the shops and smithy of the outer stone houses, and as far as Riam was concerned, there were only male dwarves here as all the people in the village had beards. Hillmen tales about ghosts and strange beasts that lived behind the gates of the dwarves were all that Riam knew. Dwarves were a strange folk to the hillmen, but trade with them benefitted both.

Riam had no idea why any dwarf would run to the gates, but soon he found out. Horn calls soon sounded as the youths approached and shouted out to the mountains. Next, the gate opened with a loud metallic creaking, and war shouts could be heard. Next, a heavily armed group of dwarf warriors with spears, axes, and shields marched out in formation, moving with great speed and purpose.

As they approached Riam and Toram, Toram gave orders to the warriors and they immediately split into three groups and began heading into the woods and along the Mountain Trail to the north. The mountain cliff gate closed, and soon many dwarves that had stayed inside the stone houses now came out and began asking questions. Bori and Torg, who had finished their work, now began answering the villagers, and the wounded dwarf was taken away to be treated by dwarves that Riam believed were healers. Toram led Riam inside one of the stone houses.

Well, that’s taken care of for now, Toram said to Riam. Let’s get ye something to eat and drink! With that, Toram entered the house and sat down on a wooden bench and spoke to another dwarf. Riam was still a little dazed by all this but entered into the tavern and sat down next to Toram. Soon the dwarf that Toram had spoken to brought out plates of roasted lamb and mugs of dark-brown ale. Toram tore into his food with relish, and Riam did the same.

Bori and Torg now came in, and Torg set down some of the orcs’ gear by a bench, and more plates of food and mugs of ale were brought out for them. All that could be heard was the slurping of ale and smacking of lips over the good meal. The dwarf serving them brought in spiced fried potatoes, bread, sliced cheese, and apples, and the feast went on.

The spiced meat and ale were very good. Many minutes passed, and neither Toram nor Riam spoke a word. Bori and Torg were also silently eating, but Riam caught them looking at him from time to time as if wanting to ask questions. Riam wanted to ask questions too but thought it impolite to speak first in the dwelling of his host. The dwarf serving them said nothing and refilled their mugs and plates as needed. After many refills of his mug, Toram finally gave a long belch of satisfaction and dipping a piece of bread into some leftover gravy on his plate and began the conversation.

So young Riam ap Mabir, Hillman of the Red Stag Clan, why are ye here? Why did ye show up in the nick of time? Not that I’m complaining, mind ye, he added hastily.

I was returning home from a hunt and heard the fighting, Riam replied. I do not know why I did what I did, but it seemed the thing to do. Puzzled by all this, Riam asked, What was the fighting all about, and why are orcs here at all?

Both Bori and Torg looked at their leader. Toram looked at them and then took out an ornately carved pipe and filled it with tobacco from a leather pouch. Riam had seen other men smoke before, but no hillman had a pipe like the one Toram was now puffing on. Toram blew a smoke ring before answering slowly.

Orcs in this part of the world are from Mount Gundabad in the far North. These vermin are a sorry lot called the Skuthrugrai. Their mark is on the shield of one ye slew, see their sign? He kicked a shield from the bundle Torg had carried in.

Riam saw the crude chalk painting of a white mountain with a red eye on the shield. All Riam could think to say was, Why are they so far south from their home?

Ah, that’s a good question, young hillman, Toram replied. North of the Ettenmoors, across from the western spur of the Misty Mountains, lies the domain of him they call the Witch King. Ever hear of that cold-hearted evil?

Riam had; it shivered his heart to hear the name. Stories amongst the hillmen said the Witch King was not a real man but an evil spirit wizard who possessed the souls of his victims and turned them to evil undead under his command. That his realm in the frozen north was full of foul monsters and sorcery and that only the spirit of the mountains to the north held back his fierce evil from Rhudaur.

Seeing the horror on Riam’s face, Toram added, Ye have then. This Witch King uses renegade orcs like these in his armies, and this tribe has pushed south through the Mountain Passes into the Mountain Trail. They be looking for loot and like to raid other peoples for slaves in their mines back north.

Toram refilled his pipe before speaking again. This group came down and hit us outside the village today. Orcs don’t like sunlight, which means they have been here for some time and waited a day or two before hitting us. They got two of our folk, Nali and Gorm, and ye came at the proper time or they would have bagged Torg, Bori, and me.

Both Torg and Bori nodded at Riam and spoke in a language Riam did not know. He assumed it was their native language, and Toram, seeing his puzzled look, translated for him in Blarm, saying, They thank ye, and ’tis the custom—they have brought in your share of the loot after the fight. He nodded at the bundle Torg had brought in, and Riam picked it up; it was heavy.

Riam opened the bundle of items and picked each one up. He studied each and set them down to pick up another. A heavy metal chain shirt, an ornate metal curved dagger, heavy metal curved sword, and a sharp metal spear head. They belong to ye young hillman, trophies from your combat. Don’t ye want them? Toram inquired.

This dagger I could use, Riam replied. What metal is this made from? Not copper, I think. For some reason, it does not look like something made by those creatures we fought.

’Tis a good eye ye have, Toram nodded approvingly. It is a dwarf blade taken by these foul creatures from an earlier raid no doubt. The metal is not copper or bronze but dwarf steel. This blade will serve ye better than that stone one ye got and not break like the one in yer belt.

Riam checked his blade and saw it was split across the top. He would have to either spend a lot of time chipping and sharpening a new stone blade or he could use this one. Thinking quickly, he replied, "I’ll keep and use this one then—thank you for telling me—but