Page 305 of Of Empires and Dust

Salme – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Dahlen’s teeth chattered,and his breath plumed upwards. A frost coated the ground, crunching beneath his boots. This winter had not been as harsh as the others he’d known, but the past few days had changed that.

Smoke billowed from chimneys all about Salme, braziers burning in the streets. The chill had swept in overnight.

“We need to get you a coat,” Nimara said, walking at his side, Conal on her left. “Should have done so a long time ago. You humans are fragile things. Always too warm or too cold.”

“Mmm.” Dahlen puffed out his lower lip. “And dwarves are as thick as rocks. We all have our shortcomings… some of us are just short.”

“Watch your tongue,” Nimara said with a wry smile.

Conal remained silent as they walked. The young lad was a quiet one, but he was always listening, always learning, much like Dahlen when he was younger. Erik had always said enough for the both of them. “You all right, Conal?”

The boy nodded, fingers gripped tightly around the Valtaran ordo shield Dahlen had given him, procured from Captain Kiron’s last shipment.

“Getting heavy, is it?”

Conal shook his head, and Dahlen smiled.

“You’re going to have to put it down eventually or you’ll not have the strength to carry it when you need to.” Dahlen inclined his head towards Ulrich, one of the Belduaran Kingsguard, who stood on the ramparts of the palisade wall.

“What’s the report?” Dahlen asked when he’d crested the top of the stairs, looking out at the battered landscape beyond, stumps of felled trees providing a clear line of sight for hundreds of feet.

“Very little, Lord Captain. There was no attack last night.”

“None? Not at all? I assumed I slept through the horns.”

Ulrich shook his head. “First time in weeks.” The man twisted his neck and narrowed his gaze at Dahlen. “What is it, Lord Captain? Is this not good news?”

Dahlen let out a long sigh.

“The Urak attacks have been light of late,” Nimara said to Ulrich as Dahlen stared off at the horizon. “If they did not attack at all last night, that would suggest they have had other priorities.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Camylin, Ulrich. It likely means they have focused their strength on Camylin.”

“And that is a bad thing?”

“It is.”

“Forgive me, Lord Captain, but I’m not understanding.”

“Well,” Dahlen said, folding his arms. “Firstly, there are tens of thousands of souls within Camylin. Souls that are facing their last days, and there is nothing we can do for them. Secondly, if Camylin falls, then the Uraks – along with their forces who took the city – will find a new priority. Us. And with their numbers at Camylin joining their ranks, they will flood over us. Our only chance will be if my brother arrives in time with this army he brings.”

“Dahlen?” Conal stood with his hand resting on the tips of the palisade. “What’s that?”

Dahlen followed Conal’s gaze to a pair of horses that galloped over the low hill in the distance, breaths misting in deep snorts, hooves turning the soil. As the riders drew closer, Dahlen yelled, “Open the gates!”

He sprinted down the stairs to the yard, seeing the large wooden gates still shut.

“Open the fucking gates!” he called out again.

A short man with grey hair and a thick beard stood beside the drawbar, staring at Dahlen.

“Do you speak the Common Tongue?” Dahlen roared, rounding on him. “Open the damn gates.”

“But what if it’s a trap, my lord? What if?—”

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