Bitterness seared through her every word. “Strange talk, coming from an elf who just lost kin and home to orcs,” Ebenezer observed.
“I have no love for orcs,” the woman stated, “but I know what is happening, and I do not place all the blame on the monsters who attacked. What choice do the displaced orcs have when their hunting grounds are taken from them? They must raid towns and farms in order to survive, and so they do.”
“Gotta keep the orcs down,” Ebenezer put in, his face showing puzzlement over this dilemma. “If you just leave ‘em be, they breed like rats.”
The half-elf sighed. “I suppose. But now we are the ones who must move. Those of us who are left.” She rose, briefly touching Bronwyn’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for your kindness, and for hearing me. Talk doesn’t change anything, but all the same, I needed to have my say.”
Ebenezer watched her go, looking clearly uncomfortable with any conversation that put ore-hunting in a bad light.
He shrugged and turned to Bronwyn. “You ever find that toy thingabob you need?”
“No.” Bronwyn raked a hand through the stray wisps of her hair, wishing as she did that she could smooth over this problem as easily as she tamed her fly-away locks. She untied her braid and loosened it, meaning to gather up the loose bits in a fresh plait.
“Here, lemme,” the dwarf said, pushing her hands away. “You got a moon-eyed look, like right about now you couldn’t walk and spit at the same time. Braided me many a horse’s tail, so don’t you be worrying.”
Bronwyn obediently turned her back to the dwarf True to his word, he started to deftly braid her hair for her. “The ‘toy’ is gone,” she said wearily. “The ores cleaned out the village of almost every useful thing, and a few extras. It looks to me as if they stole all the war toys and left the rest.”
‘When times are hard, young ones hurt plenty. Hard to see it,” Ebenezer mused, “but I’m guessing even an ore gets a bit of a grin out of handing their whelp something that’ll help the little one forget an empty belly or a hurting heart.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m in favor of ores, mind you.”
“So noted,” Bronwyn said. “What next?”
“Well, we go get the toy back. A heat-blind dwarf could follow the trail. The ores are holed up in some caves not too far off the mountains.”
“There are only two of us,” she pointed out. “We certainly can’t ask the paladins of Summit Hall for help.”
“I’m with you there,” Ebenezer agreed. “Lemme study on it a mite.”
They fell silent until the dwarf finished his soup. “Seems to me this is a pretty nice place. People hate to leave their home. Might be, they don’t have to. Gotta get rid of that ore tribe for once and final, though.”
A passing elf woman pulled up short when she heard this. She dropped to a crouch beside them and shoved a lock of thick blond hair from her face. “Tell us how.”
The dwarf studied her. “You’ve just done fighting. You ready for more?”
“Tell us how,” she repeated.
* * * * *
The villagers set to work at Ebenezer’s instructions. Skills used as peaceful farmers came into play as they grimly sought to reclaim their homes. Some of them hung snares along the trails, while others dug a deep pit in the center of the village. An early morning hunt had yielded a boar, and this roasted on a spit out in the open air so that the inviting fragrance wafted out into the hills—a statement to any ore scouts that the villagers still might have a few things worth stealing. A handful of villagers stayed behind to prepare for a renewed raid. Cara did not. She had reluctantly agreed to return to Blackstaff Tower and await Bronwyn there. As much as Bronwyn hated to see her go, she could not risk leaving the child behind with so few defenders.
When the village was in readiness, a dozen elves and half-elves who wanted to fight crept along with Ebenezer and Bronwyn through the hills south of the village.
Finally Ebenezer called a halt. “It’s close to twilight,” he said in a soft voice that was just above a whisper. “The raiders will be stirring around now, wanting to get an early start of it. The rest will still be sleeping. You know ore lairs.”
The elves nodded. Bronwyn remembered what she had been told. Most lairs were a series of caves. The warriors slept toward the front, and next would be supplies of food and weapons. Finally, in the deepest and most secure position, would be the young.
Ebenezer pushed aside some boulders and shouldered through the opening of a narrow cave. The elves squeezed in after the dwarf one by one. Bronwyn crawled through the utter darkness on her hands and knees. The tunnel widened as they went—at least that’s what she surmised, for she no longer felt the walls pressing in on either side. Bronwyn heard up ahead a dull thud followed by an orcish grunt. Ebenezer had found and taken out the tunnel guard. As she edged past the body, she was almost glad for her limited vision. She had seen too much death already.
The path slanting up now, winding up to the top of the cavern. They emerged onto a ledge that overlooked the cave devoted to food and weapon storage. Crouching down, they peered over the rock ledge into the den.
As they had anticipated, the warriors were preparing for yet another raid. They were ugly creatures, taller than most men and covered by a thick hide colored the range of swamp-like hues from green to brown to gray. Some were donning leather armor, and all took up weapons scavenged from their victims—an odd and daunting assortment of swords, axes, pitchforks, and fishing spears. They also slung sacks over their shoulders. More looting was clearly on the agenda.
The ores left in waves, a few at a time. Ebenezer’s troops waited until there were but ten of the creatures left. Each of the elves picked his or her target, communicating intent through emphatic hand gestures. Ebenezer pantomimed the count of three, and the elves launched themselves into the air.
Bronwyn winced as they slammed into the ores, catching them off guard and sending the much taller creatures crashing to the stone. Most hit their targets, knives or daggers leading; those who didn’t bounded up, weapon in hand, and dispatched their chosen foe with a few deft strokes.
A clamor arose from the inner chamber, and another wave of ores came running out. Some were bandaged and lame, some were females or toothless elders, but all had blades and the will to use them.
Bronwyn turned and began to slither down the cavern wall to join in the fight. A thrown rock hit her hand, hard enough to startle her into losing her grip. She tumbled down and landed squarely in Ebenezer’s arms.
He hefted her, as if surprised at how light she was, and then set her on her feet. “The village folk can mop up here. We’re going to the back,” he said.
She nodded and followed him, hugging the walls of the cavern and holding her knife out ready.
The back was nearly deserted. Two ore females stood guard, and three hideous, yeliow-skinned children, naked and blatantly male, huddled against the far wall. Ebenezer stooped and seized a handful of small rocks. With deadly accuracy, he hurled first one, then the other, and struck the adult ores squarely between the eyes. The creatures’ red eyes crossed, and they went down.
The youngster set up a fearful wailing. Ebenezer’s face went grim, and he turned to Bronwyn. “Get what you need.”
She glanced around the dimly lit cave. It was more orderly than she would have expected, with sleeping skins piled neatly to one side, and a cracked barrel that served as a receptacle for bones and other leavings. Small shelves had been carved into the stone wall. These held the ores’ treasures. Bronwyn noted many of the stolen toys. Her gaze swept the cave, looking for the one she wanted: a small, detailed model of a siege tower. It was in the center of the shelf, right over the cowering ore young.