With a startling abruptness, the mists twisted, writhing in the cavern wind, shredding apart. He could see the Yungskord again, but this time Drakis was looking back to the distant promenade that the Timuran Centurai had folded away from not that long before. He had stood there and seen this place in the distance; now, thanks to the folds, he was standing here and looking back on where they had so recently been and where Braun had propagated so many copies of the gate symbol along that wide promenade. The young warrior took in a breath, for the sudden vista filled him with awe and pride; those quickly set gate symbols had borne fruit.
Drakis stood atop a cliff face looking down onto a battle the likes of which he had never before witnessed. It raged all across the floor of the enormous Yungskord cavern. A tide of Imperial Warriors-three full Impress Legions, he was sure, over sixteen thousand strong-charged from a line of folds all along the promenade and down toward the carefully prepared positions. Imperial catapults, hastily arrayed on the promenade, launched supporting balls of flame over their heads. The dwarves waited for them, dug into a series of trenches crossing the craggy ground between the raging cascades of water that were still flooding into the enormous grotto. Long torrents of magma streamed down from the ceiling of the cavern; their brilliant yellow-orange ribbons fell crashing into the flooded cavern floor and flashing into scalding steam, boiling both the water and the Impress Warriors around it. Still, the slave-army of the elves pressed their attack, led by ranks of enraged manticores, their fangs bared in their feral faces, their roars sounding before them as they charged across the field of battle. Following on their heels were chimeras and an entire Cohort of Proxi-nearly five hundred strong-in support. They were casting sheets of electrical fire over the heads of the charging manticores and into the trenches of the dwarves. Their effectiveness was lessened, however, as the Proxi, too, had to run forward or risk death literally pouring down on them from above. Their flashes of lightning and the magma cascades illuminated ghastly scene as the manticores were suffering under the withering assault of catapult fire raining death across their ranks. The great lion-men never took their eyes off their prey, however, and in a wave leaped over the battlements and into the first line of dwarven trench works.
“Drakis!” ChuKang snarled through the flat muzzle of his face.
Drakis turned at once, unquestioningly obeying his leader’s command. “Captain! I do not yet have the count. .”
“Forget that! There’s no time,” ChuKang said, pointing up along the cliff face. “Get this Octian organized and moving. . now!”
It was the causeway; the same causeway he had seen from the far end of the Yungskord, but now it lay open before them, rising along the side of the cavern, winding between the spires of impossibly large stalagmites straight to the gates of the Thorgreld-and Stoneheart just beyond.
“You heard the voice! TsuRag and GriChag-you’re the leads with swords bright! — Megri, you follow ChuKang and KriChan. Braun, you’re with me. Ethis-you watch our backs. Stay tight. Let’s go!”
ChuKang was already charging up the inclined ledge, and Drakis was finding it hard to catch up. Now in the clear, Drakis could see what remained of their Centurai emerging from the steam. They were far fewer than he had hoped, perhaps not quite forty-less than half their original strength. With the song still sounding in the back of his head, Drakis yelled, and his entire Octian yelled with him as they led in the charge.
They ran up the fitted cobblestones of the causeway as it wound its way upward following the side wall of the cavern. Their path was illuminated by their globe-torches and the increasingly frequent brilliant flashes from the battle on the cavern floor behind them. Every step up the inclined road brought them closer to the Last Gate of Thorgreld-a bastion carved into an enormous stalactite hanging from the cavern ceiling nearly a thousand feet above the cavern floor. Beyond that, in the dim light of the battle raging below them, Drakis could see the Stoneheart-last stronghold of the dwarven kings.
The blessings of the Emperor may yet be with us today, Drakis thought. He could see the Last Gate ahead of them as they charged up the causeway, and the way still looked open. There were no dwarven warriors on the road between them and the gatehouse. Out of over forty thousand warriors, the fates had conspired to place what remained of Centurai Timuran within reach of the greatest prize of the war.
“Hey, hoo-mani,” huffed the goblin as he sprinted alongside Drakis. “What is this treasure we’ve come to liberate?”
“It’s the most important treasure of this entire war, Megri, but you’re going to have a hard time finding it if you don’t know what it is,” Drakis grinned. “Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Yeah, dwarf barter-I forgot.”
“Can someone please tell Megri why we’re here?” Drakis called back, not slackening his pace.
Ethis spoke up at once. “Destroy the last of the dwarven thrones. . capture the Crown of the Ninth Throne. . and return with it and any other bounty we liberate in triumph to Lord Timuran.”
“That’s right,” Drakis called back, his voice starting to get hoarse from long use during the day. “We get to return with great honor and glory added to the House of Lord Timuran.”
“Maybe even a reward, eh?” Ethis chuckled. Drakis had long ago learned to listen carefully to chimera. Looking at them was useless in trying to gauge their intentions since chimera barely had a face, let alone facial expressions.
“Sure, Ethis,” KriChan, the captain’s manticorian second, responded. “Se’Shei Timuran himself will give you a big kiss, pat you on the head, and elevate you to Sixth Estate just so you can join him for breakfast.”
“More likely eat him for breakfast!” Braun laughed. “But you shouldn’t worry, friends, because we’ll never have to worry about another breakfast ever again!”
Drakis eyed Braun as they ran side by side. He had known Braun all his life, but he had never acted so strangely before.
“Thick-bones-thick-head,” Ethis, snorted as he laughed. “You know the saying? Hoo-mani are poor at everything-great at nothing.”
Both the chimerian and the goblin laughed heartily.