The noises sounded in the street. I had slept armed these days. I stank. We all avoided going to the springs except to get drinking water. The guards roamed the cities in frenzy. The great dwarven families had fallen. The sons of all of them had come to pledge allegiance to me, to reaffirm me as a sole ruler. I told them I wanted them as advisors. No one accepted—only those who were under my command remained here. All except my father's right-hand man, who rested in the cemetery. No one knew the reason for his death—his dismembered body was found beside his armory. The rest obeyed my instructions. But just now, when I have more power, I cannot use it to support Caliza—not with an assassin who could be from the Chaos troops.
I went out to find an uproar. Many were celebrating. It was normal that my staff did not come for me. We worked twenty hours yesterday. I need to establish a better system to prevent massive inequality like what was lived—like what I saw (and before allowed). But if I remain in command, I will eradicate this as far as I can—if I survive, if my people live. Now I expected to find my city prepared for battle, but I was the only one with weapons. Soon I saw the reason. The "lava paths" that were the reason for their march were arriving—barely a red, hot thread. These were used to provide heat to forges that could not afford wood or coal. How many decades or centuries since they were used? But now their immense heat could... would keep the hordes at bay, providing the respite we need. That means they succeeded; they are getting the incandescent matter through. For now, it is burning slag, but soon molten rock will be an excellent wall. I imagine my friends traveling through the tunnels, preventing the Chaos agents from flooding or blocking the arrival, fighting alongside the red line of hope... It's not possible! I had not considered that!
Everyone else was cheering, bringing out their scarce food reserves. Most worked very hard to build the walls and battlements that would protect the areas where the lava did not reach. But they had not noticed a flaw—one that no one saw. I ran with my heart in my fist to my house, to the top floor, to the rope where the bell was. I rang it, called them to arms. While chaos erupted, I took advantage to take out my father's horn, which was supposed to indicate who the leader was, but in the past, it said whom they must protect first. I went out and began to sound it. The people who armed themselves came after me, all frightened, asking what provoked the call. They were about to be safe. What was the problem?
In front of the tunnel from which our heroes would arrive, I had the whole city—builders, mercenaries, citizens who only had a knife or hook from their work. There, I told them, I warned them that while salvation came in the lava paths, it would also bring the enemies who had not yet died. I saw the shiver that spread among those who had had to face them. In the rest, it was only fear of the unknown. Since my generals were looking for the assassin, I had nothing left but to improvise. I gave instructions to everyone—just in time, because the tunnel began to smell bad—of burnt flesh, skin, leather, scales, hair, and feathers burning, melting fat. I took the lead of the line with my shield, the family crest—heavy, with an iron tip in the center. Behind me, someone I thought was my baker and a woman I was sure carried sandbags to survive. The wave arrived. There were not many, but the smell, the madness in their gazes, their desperation—I hoped we could contain them.
The bulk of the shield-bearers divided the enemies. What smelled was the product of their number. When Chapatrueno guarded us, there were more, but here they filled the tunnel completely. The wretches who stayed on the sides of the tunnel were those who, catching fire, ran trying to get to the front. They did not seek to kill for pleasure anymore—now we were an impediment between them and escape from the flames. The black tide split onto the two lava channels and onto us. We positioned ourselves to guide them, to make them burn, to push them into the lava—that was what I did. The others prevented them from jumping on top of me, held me up. My legs trembled; all I could ask was that it end. Everyone's faces were red from the heat, from the fight. No one gave in—our people's pride would not allow it. Little by little, I saw them diminishing. We made it!
Ow! Something burned. I looked down and was afraid. We had thrown many into that one-meter-wide, one-and-a-half-meter-deep trench—so many that the lava could not disintegrate them quickly and began to overflow. I imagined those behind me—at least the boots I wore could protect me a little, but they were defenseless. I asked them to flee—cheap leather boots would not protect much. I did not want to see their legs catch fire, but they did not listen to me, or pretended not to. The last were passing, but the puddle was a few centimeters from us. I cannot let them die! I began to run in that puddle, grateful for the first time in five years for my father's greed. The boots were burning, but I could walk in the lava—I did not know for how long—it did not matter. With the shield's tip, I pulled a half-consumed body out, threw it aside, and set about unclogging that lava channel when a growl made me turn my gaze.
It was enormous—a specimen twice the size of an elf, muscles contained by scales, teeth black from soot—or perhaps that was their nature. I prepared to face it, my feet burning, blistered, raw, but I still had them. I pushed, and each step was agony. I wounded it in the leg, but the pain prevented me from having more strength. Just as its claw was about to throw me into the lava, a maul struck its head, distracting it. It was a terrible throw—more a distraction than an attack. There was only one dwarf of those who left who could throw so poorly. I shouted to my friend Caliza! He arrived, very battered, with multiple bandages covered in blood. Between the two of us, we threw it to its death. The screams echoed, but it was very large; we had to get it out or it would overflow again. Yet I could not move—I was not tired; I would be later. It was not pain; I had that in every centimeter of my body. He looked the same. When I heard some of my companions scream, I imagined the lava drying up, the enemies trying to break ranks. No, I must move!
A hand clad in gloves reached into the lava and pulled the body out. Without apparent effort, it pulled that lizard out and threw it at its own kind. That resumed the flow and forced the enemies toward the gate we built. There, we opened it and let them flee. The lava path would take them away from areas with food, lead them outside, away from all the villages. When I turned to look at him, Caliza was smiling. He had lost a couple of teeth in his fight. A commotion confused me—at the start of the other line, they could not remove the bodies in time, and some of the enemies had already broken ranks. I tried to go help, but I could not—my body was at its limit... Heavens, the one with the hands in the lava! I tried to locate him, but he had already gone to assist that side of the line. As they fought over there, I saw my friend—changed as only death and its proximity can do. I told him he was still a terrible fighter, but he did not listen to me; he had knocked me to the ground and, with pliers, made some space for the water the woman brought to enter. It hurt me—burned to the point I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I saw everyone in battle. I even saw the elf—that powerful being who harbored infinite hatred for our savior. But she helped us—that gave her the right to face him. I did not want to see my feet; they were heavy logs that at the slightest movement exploded in pain. They had given me an axe, and I was lying outside one of the houses. There was Caliza, trying to defend me. I wished I could abdicate, could make him ruler, me his advisor. He had a will to help despite never having been a warrior. But I could not—not while dwarves lived in the past.
A shout surprised me. A creature had climbed onto the roof and now fell before me. With effort, I gripped the axe, but it was not necessary—my friend intercepted it and fought fiercely with it. Just as I tried to get up to help him, another creature came to finish the job. It was fast, small—like a wild boar—but its teeth were sharp, its eyes red, fixed on me. God! How I wished I had been of more help! Suddenly, a shadow emerged from the wall I was leaning on, jumped over the animal, and as if it were nothing, cut its neck. Its head fell a few centimeters from my right foot. I did not know who it was—tall, thin, dressed in something I preferred to ignore. Yet he saved my life. This place was certainly full of surprises.
The Battle of Liberation, as it was later called, lasted another two hours. There, a hundred dwarves gave their lives, but we managed to protect all the minor cities. The enemies still watched us on the other side of the fire stream, but they could do nothing—they were weak to heat, and every time they approached, their bodies burned even without touching it.
The elf woman informed me—she did so in private, as she explained her next steps. I could refuse her nothing. She was not a dwarf. She helped so much that no money would suffice. I asked what she wanted; she told me. I equipped her with food and rolls of coarse cloth, but that was what she asked for. She left a day ago. The dwarf who pulled the beast out went with her—apparently, he had belonged to the Great Mage King's guard. He seemed stronger than anyone remembered. He asked permission to accompany the elf—a debt to his mentor, he said. I wanted him to stay as captain of the guard; the previous one recommended him profusely. But he said he was no longer a guard, that he served the dwarven nation but only that. I let him leave with some food and water; he accepted nothing additional.
The city still seemed dangerous. I was sure, after what the elf explained and I confirmed with my new bodyguard, that there were fears, resentments, greed, and problems that might be more than anyone should ask. But now I had to work. Caliza was still traveling through the villages, seeking to help. So even if I had to stay here, I would not fear. I would continue seeking the well-being of the dwarves. I lost much strength with the elf's departure, but at least she would be in the caverns a couple more weeks. She said she was preparing an elite force—one of them would stay to protect me from those who might abuse power. I should rest assured that he could enter anywhere and eliminate any threat to my people. That was a sword hanging over my head. It meant that if I did anything against my people's well-being... I would die. But that constant danger, I hoped, would allow me to lead the dwarves of the Dark Mountain forward... I hoped she never met the savior. Those two were so powerful that I feared the result.