"I was there... during the defense of Tol Barad during the Second War.
I served under Captain Fiston, may the Holy Light rest his soul.
But after the Dragons appeared, our glorious ship was one of the first to go down.
And I had to swim to shore,
Amidst the munching feast of happy sharks,
The death cries of friends and comrades,
The groans of dying vessels, the crack of breaking decks, and the roar of fire...
...
I stood with everyone else; we all stood there.
Sailors and soldiers, yesterday's peasants and servants,
Each of us stood shoulder to shoulder, repelling the horrific scourge,
While fire fell upon us from the heavens..."
The participation of Dragons on the enemy's side hit morale hard, especially their spectacular appearance in the bay, which sent the entire Kul Tiras fleet to the bottom...
Of more than fifty ships, barely a dozen remained afloat!
Words cannot describe the horror that took place in Tol Barad. People were losing their minds, falling into hysterics and seeking support in anything that could help. The war with The Horde was already a difficult matter. The Orcs were stronger, hardier, more numerous, and many times more ferocious than even the most hardened Human or Dwarf Warrior, but the fiery lizards had completely tipped the scales in their favor.
The vile Brutes dived at us from the skies, drenching the walls and defensive lines in fire, burning everything to ashes. Their mighty wings allowed them to develop insane speed and maneuverability, making hitting the masters of the sky an impossible task.
Tough scales easily deflected arrows and shots from small wall ballistae; only the smallest individuals could feel the impact of a stone cannonball or a massive wooden bolt. Their adult kin only bared their teeth in response, as if mocking our attempts.
The fall of the Beer Lord only worsened the situation, for now total air superiority belonged to the Orcs, and when the Goblins fully joined the war, the silhouettes of their airships began to flicker over the fortress, flying on some special Goblin magic, miracles, and sheer luck.
Made of junk and scraps, these airships nevertheless performed their assigned tasks... though considering The Horde had Dragons, the presence of Goblin aerial forces didn't change much.
Tol Barad was completely surrounded, pelted day and night with projectiles and assaults, reducing the number of defenders to an impermissible minimum.
When I came to after our crash, there were only a few days left before the fortress fell, and thanks to the active participation of the Dragons, that time could easily be cut down to a couple of hours.
No matter how hard the defenders tried, they couldn't extinguish the fires, and as soon as they appeared on the walls, a lizard would drop from the sky, blazing in all directions with its horrific maw.
Even now, we were hiding in the inner halls that could still withstand the strikes of the Red lizards, for whom everyone had long ceased to feel any reverence, though they rarely cursed them aloud, mostly whispering in indignation at the evil will of fate that had united such dissimilar creatures against us.
"We need to leave the island," Sarandiel said, sitting down beside me and removing the bandage from my head with a sharp movement, replacing it with a new one that smelled of pungent herbs. The Elf's attentive gaze ran over me from head to toe, and only after ensuring I was on the mend did she breathe a sigh of relief. "The Orcs will storm soon, and we won't be able to hold the castle."
"And where would we go? Even just reaching the shore is an impossible task, and with this many people—it's suicidal, damn it," I said, clutching my head and closing my eyes, trying to distance myself from the surging pain. "And then we'd still have to sail to the mainland; I doubt there are any boats left capable of holding everyone."
Scanning the room, I winced from dizziness. Around us, colors flickered, among which black, red, and white predominated, and the latter was becoming less with every second. Medical supplies were running low, but the number of Wounded was not decreasing.
"We'll go in a couple of hours, at first twilight; we'll swim for it. If anything happens, we'll keep you afloat..."
Already realizing exactly what the Elf was suggesting, I felt all the pain and fatigue from the fall vanish, replaced by overflowing rage. Jumping to my feet, I threw the bandage aside, eyes rolling wildly as I recalled every curse that would fit the occasion.
"Run?! Cowardly hide, condemning everyone else to death? That's your solution?!" Instead of a shout, a whisper escaped my throat—a horrific, hissing sound more suited to a snake, and it was the maximum of my restraint. "How many people do you think will die..."
"Stop playing the hero," Sara said, standing opposite me with furrowed brows and a sad gaze tinged with notes of dissatisfaction as she surveyed the surroundings, hinting at our dire situation. The Elf herself looked no better than me—just as battered, with many new small wounds along her entire body. "They have no thirst for victory, no weapon against the new enemy."
Spreading her arms, the girl spoke more quietly, as the nearest neighbors had already begun to glance our way.
"And is it any wonder?!" In Sarandiel's eyes, I saw emotions I understood. She was broken, discouraged, and holding on only by her own will. "Dragons have always been the guardians of Azeroth, and if they have joined The Horde, that must mean something!"
Unable to hold back, the Elf finally broke into a shout, and now almost the entire hospital was looking in our direction.
"There is always a way out!" Clenching my fist, I didn't take my eyes off the Pointy-Ears. My nerves were at their limit, and it was becoming harder to restrain myself. "That's why Khaz endowed us with brains, which you apparently lost while running among the trees and mating with squirrels..."
"Stubborn fool!" Hissing the words through her teeth, the Elf stepped closer, looming over me... but due to her fragile build, it looked more amusing than intimidating. "How do you not understand! Your life is far more important than all these people! It wasn't so the heir of Arator could ask us to look after you!"
"BAH! So the Menu shirumund girl is my nanny now," I snapped, my anger making me speak before I could think. "Maybe you'll start wiping my backside next..."
"If that's what's required to save your life!" Without a second's hesitation, the girl fired back her answer, and her sister standing nearby supported her with a nod. "Your inventions can change a lot; you've already helped Stromgarde and you'll do even more for the entire Systems Alliance. Let them repay you for your kindness now."
Clenching my fists until it hurt, I looked at the Elves in turn, but met only the stubborn gazes of two long-lived and practical beings driven not by emotion, but by cold and sound calculation.
Looking around for help, I encountered Humans turning away, pretending they hadn't heard our conversation. Soldiers, Militia, sailors... covered in bandages from head to toe, many of them bitterly hid their eyes, covering themselves with blankets or pillows, showing me their backs as if silently agreeing with the words of my Pointy-Ears companions. But some...
Here and there, I saw pitiful eyes filled with tears and silent pleading. Men and women, unashamed of their feelings, looked at me imploringly, simply hoping I wouldn't leave them by running away. Simple soldiers who had come to defend their home, thinking only of how to cover a comrade and prevent the ruin of their Motherland.
That very thought started a real fire in my heart.
"Run?! Leave in the very heat of battle?! Cowardly turn my back?! What do you think I am, an Elf or a Human? No, dear, Dwarves never leave their own behind," memories of Grim Batol flashed through my mind, but I calmed myself with the thought that then my kin had volunteered. They understood what they were getting into and were ready to accept their fate, unlike the poor souls surrounding us. "Not while I am a dweller of the great mountains! I swear by my beard, I will not leave this fortress in its hour of need!"
"Who cares about your beard anyway, Balda!" Waving her hand, the Pointy-Ears helped me make my decision. Had we been in safety, alone, or among kin, I might have let it slide, but now, fueled by emotion, the decision only solidified in my head after her words. "Everyone here is already doomed; they will die! And..."
"Then I will die with them!"
My roar stopped the argument, knocking the wind out of Sarandiel. The girl froze mid-sentence, her momentum gone, releasing the air she'd gathered for a new lecture. Her hair tossed angrily, and her eyes shot promises of malicious punishments and curses.
*She's probably going through my whole family tree in her mind... and not just mine.*
The cowed fighters of the garrison said nothing, only continuing to listen to the conversation.
"If you want to run so badly, go!"
Waving my hand as if shooing a bothersome fly, I began to briskly pull off my bandages while simultaneously pulling on my clothes.
"Where are you going, Rodgirn?"
"To where my brains will be of more use than here," I said. Finding one of the crew members of the Beer Lord on the couches, I walked up to the cowering lad, gripping his shoulder in a firm hold. "Find all my assistants, as many as you can. We have work to do."
Giving the poor fellow's hair a final ruffle, I stomped upstairs under the dozens of inspired gazes of desperate people. I needed to find a forge urgently and preferably stop by the kitchen, for in my wise head, not only could a beard grow, but good thoughts appeared as well.
Treading through the corridors, occasionally breaking into a run, I bypassed clusters of people whose faces had "resignation" written in large letters. Many had thrown down their weapons and, hugging their knees, were weeping, remembering loved ones, or praying to the Holy Light. Hundreds of variations—and each was suited to our situation.
From the street, the sounds of stones hitting the walls, the roar of Dragons, and the war drums of the Orcs could be heard—a non-stop cacophony that made even seasoned veterans flinch.
Inside the castle, there was a spare Workshop, in case the outer walls fell and the inner courtyard was captured by enemies. Usually, it wasn't used so as not to bother those living inside the fortress, but now it was actively in use, and it was the sound of a hammer strike I followed, gradually approaching my goal.
Several options were already spinning in my head that would help us get rid of those cursed flying Fire-spitters.
*And I even named my personal weapon after those Brutes.*
I wanted to spit on the ground, but whatever manners Dwarves were known for, I didn't let myself go, especially considering there were more and more people around.
The few who hadn't yet despaired were now actively taking the last items from the armory and dragging them to the Workshop so the pair of surviving masters could fit them with Armor and Arms enough for one last fight.
Bristling their mustaches, scorched, weary from the long battle and the danger hanging over their heads, they still wanted to give battle on their own terms rather than surrender to the mercy of Orcs and Trolls.
That's what I liked about the Lordaeronians. Unlike their neighbors, they perfectly understood that negotiating with these Brutes was more trouble than it was worth. At best, you'd become a slave until you collapsed from exhaustion, and at worst...
I immediately recalled the weapon elements and decorations on the fighters of the Amani tribe. Small, yellowish bones... gnawed... exactly like Human ones.
And that was the simplest example. Rumor had it that the Orcs, like their scrawnier colleagues, practice dark magic, generously gifting sacrifices to their gods, patrons—or whoever those Menu shirumund lick the boots of.
Their vile culture brings death and destruction in everything, and considering that upon appearing in our world they immediately ravaged and destroyed an entire kingdom, I had no doubt they could devise an even worse fate for captives.
Flinging open the doors to the forge, I ignored the objections and reproaches about the queue and went straight to the smiths, pushing aside onlookers and rolling up my sleeves.
A simple Workshop, more suited to beginning apprentices or at best journeymen. But it would do for me! In other times, such a forge would have been a real gift, so I'd manage. I always managed.
*They've picked the wrong guy; a true master can make do with this crap.*
"Marshal Master Rodgirn? Has something happened?"
The oldest of the three workers was the first to approach me, noticing a stranger in his new domain. Dressed in a simple apron, with a bruise across half his face, the balding and graying man was tiredly wiping his face with a rag, clearly struggling with the local stuffiness of the enclosed room.
"Yes, leave the Armor and the rest to the boys; you and I have work to do."
Briefly inspecting the simple vices, anvil, and other tools, I suppressed a dissatisfied sigh. Now, of course, I couldn't be picky, but for what I had in mind, I could have used my own small machines.
Ignoring the indignation and questions from the owner of the forge, I went back out to the crowd of soldiers grumbling about my behavior. Although the Stromgardians knew me well enough, so there was the least amount of grumbling from them, the Kul Tiras sailors and Lordaeronians didn't hesitate to cover me in curses and loudly ask why the hell a Dwarf was let in ahead of them.
"Right, Sarge," I said, picking out the senior man among the crowd and calling the grim man over, "haul all my charges from the warehouses, the ones meant for the airship. All the barrels, all the spare parts... everything, basically. Also, send a couple of the fastest ones to bring the fuel supplies and Fire-spitters here. I also need..."
Listing the long inventory, I didn't even notice the crowd around me growing. The surrounding throng listened silently to the entire list of orders, while a heavily sweating but maniacally smiling Sarge, who had somehow found paper and a pencil, scribbled after me, making notes and marks.
"Put everything right here, just not in one pile so I can walk between them," seeing the silent question on his face, I waved my hand fiercely toward the corridor, "put it along the whole wall if you have to, just so it's in quick reach! Now get to it, we still have some Dragons to hunt!"
Someone responded to my smile with skepticism, disbelieving whispers, and a simple shake of the head, but I saw... I saw hope ignite in everyone's eyes.
"And I also need a couple of brave souls," I hummed into my beard, eyeing everyone present—those who weren't going to surrender and wanted to give The Horde a fight, meaning there was no shortage of brave men here, "who can get to my airship and remove several mechanisms from it."
***
"Are you sure this will work, Marshal Master Rodgirn?"
Trembling with fear and glancing at the sky with horror, my dear Tim, who had survived the crash and already come to his senses, stood nearby.
His mighty figure was so at odds with his behavior that I occasionally caught myself letting out chuckles, teasing this overgrown lad.
"Of course, damn it! It turned out to be a Dal Makaz!"
Slapping the heavy metal box the boy was carrying on his back, I caused a dull clang, and we both reflexively crouched down, fearing and sincerely believing a Dragon's snout would peer curiously around the corner.
Waiting a few seconds but hearing nothing, I gave the command to move forward to the intended position, from where we would make our first contribution to the struggle for dominion over the skies.
"I'm kind of scared," Tim said, swallowing thick saliva, his head constantly darting from side to side, fearfully glancing upward. "This isn't like burning Trolls; a Dragon will set whoever he wants on fire."
"Listen to you talk, rookie," I muttered, tugging at my beard from nerves and excitement. Internally, I agreed with Tim, but I couldn't show it to the others. "You used to be so feisty; your balls clanged so loud they probably heard it in Ironforge!"
"It wasn't so scary there," my most loyal assistant said, smiling at my words and sniffing simply, looking around. "Quite the opposite, we were the ones causing the fear..."
"Enough, why are you chasing toads like a Dragon?"
"I'm just... what?"
Staring blankly in my direction, Tim even forgot his fears for a second. His intellectually challenged face stared at me for a long time, trying to process what I'd said. An ancient Dwarven proverb often stumped me too... yes, by the ancestors, it even stumped my old man!
"Do Dragons hunt toads?"
"No, you idiot," I said, creeping further, barely holding back laughter and a groan of disappointment. "Why would they even chase toads?"
"But you said yourself..."
"It's a proverb, by Khaz, have you never heard a proverb before?"
"I have, of course, but this one is very strange." Straining his unfortunate brains, Tim wrinkled his forehead, staring blankly at the nearest wall. "Why would Dragons chase toads anyway? They're small and you get warts from them..."
"Right, enough nonsense; I'm getting stupider just from your questions."
"You shouldn't say that, Marshal Master Rodgirn," Tim said, offended by my words. He crept further in silence, though not for long. "I am your first assistant, after all."
"Which says a lot about me to others."
"Exactly."
*Khaz, give me strength.*
Whispering a blessing to the guardian of all mountains and underground depths, I beckoned the boy after me, turning into the furthest and highest tower, which offered a decent view.
Ahead of us lay only the stairs, and if it weren't for Tim being on hand, I have no idea how I would have lugged my new creation up there.
The modified Fire-spitter itself weighed quite a bit, and with the ammunition hidden in the box, only a few of the Humans I knew could lift it at all. Despite my grumbling, Tim was a magnificent assistant—strong, loyal, and capable of following clearly set commands. Yes, he was a bit slow, but he had many more positive qualities, and he knew how to drink beer, which is a very important fact.
Squeezing together onto the lookout platform, we peered through small slits with trepidation, hoping the flying Brutes hadn't noticed us ahead of time. Everything would go sideways if we were discovered, and there weren't that many shots to waste them for nothing.
"Do you see them?" I didn't even recognize my own voice. Whether from fear or anticipation, I was wheezing-whispering under my breath, barely audible even in the silence surrounding us.
"No."
"Then let's begin."
Untying the rope from my belt, I pulled it with all my might, signaling our accomplices in this difficult endeavor. To my misfortune, the senior officer corps was either dead or in no state to make any decisions, and the only staff lieutenant responsible for rear issues had completely shifted the responsibility onto me, giving me command and frequently coming for advice.
Somewhere below, doors creaked, time slowed down, and every second felt like an eternity as we froze in anticipation of the fortress gates clicking open.
"Get ready to reload."
Leaning the barrel of my new creation, I aimed at the inner courtyard, trying not to poke the weapon out too much so the sharp-eyed Brutes couldn't escape.
CRACK! The doors flung open, and two dozen men ran out, stripped practically naked; only their sturdy officer boots stood out in their ridiculous attire.
Our volunteers scattered, trying to reach the fortress guardhouses leading into the wall towers, but before they could run even a couple of meters, a roar was heard from the sky and a Red shadow darted toward the ground, already preparing to unleash Dragon fire upon its victims.
"Come on, come on, come on!"
Tracking the lizard with the barrel, I muttered something under my breath, puffing into my mustache with nostrils wide open. I had to catch the moment. Having grown completely bold, knowing we had nothing to answer with, the foul lizards would hover briefly in the air before unleashing their fire. Then the flame was more concentrated and larger, which surely hit our soldiers.
And when the Dragon stopped for a brief moment before the strike, I fired.
With a deafening crack, the Dragon-slayer torpedo left the womb of the former Fire-spitter, flying into the distance. With a foul smell, hissing and sparking in all directions, it wobbled in flight, spiraling and threatening to veer off, but it still found its mark in the chest of the self-satisfied master of the sky.
The large Brute didn't even bother to dodge, proudly taking the projectile on its scales. The Dragon was quite large. Not the giant that had brought down the Beer Lord, but still, it was a mighty monster capable of turning the tide of any battle, but against the miracle technology of the Dwarves, even it could not stand.
The explosion shook the inner courtyard, and Tim, I, and I'm sure the brave volunteers as well, all froze in surprise, not expecting such an effect.
"I think I overdid it..."
"Yeah..."
Not believing my own eyes, invoking Khaz, mother, father, and all the great ancestors, I stared as if enchanted at the mangled Dragon chest that emerged through the smoke. Massive drops of scarlet blood fell to the ground as the raging beast thrashed in desperate attempts to stay in the air.
The once-shining scales grew dull and fell off in many places. The arrogant face now expressed despair, and the mighty wings that could cause hurricane winds now resembled the tattered sails of a sunken vessel, rotted by time and moisture.
The shrapnel had done its job, and the weapon had fulfilled its main task, though the wound on the chest turned out to be even more dangerous and larger than I could have imagined.
The master of the sky fell. Like a heap of meat and bones, it crashed into the inner courtyard, causing a thunderous crash and the deafening silence that followed.
The garrison soldiers, not losing their heads, immediately opened fire with everything they had managed to save, hide, or recreate through our modest efforts, pelting the Dragon with stones, bolts, and ropes, distracting the monster from our pair of shooters.
"It worked, Marshal Master Rodgirn! It worked!"
"Quiet, you! The Drakk is still alive, and its friends won't leave this unpunished!"
Looking into the sky with a bad feeling, I began to hastily load the Dragon-slayer, preparing for a new round. As if hearing my words, other shadows began to dive from the sky, rushing to the aid of their kin. Prodded by Orcs on smaller lizards, they folded their wings and dived down, intending to cover their relative with their bodies and maws, but I had other thoughts on the matter.
"I will spill plenty of your cursed blood, Drakkdul Khagun!"
***
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan