Chương 15: Are you sure you want to do that?

A doomed feeling dogged Burbak Breakbow's steps. As the day burned down, he paused often and cast his eyes across the strange desert. Only the Elves shared his concern. The other Dwarves were too busy with their misery. In the white wastes of Kayabad, the days blazed and the nights were bitterly cold. Stinging wind bit at their backs and a weird dirge dogged their steps. Burbak hesitated to put his worry to words, as if to name it was to create it.

Even in this vacant wasteland, the brigade should have seen someone by now. The sky itself was barren: no birds, nor clouds. When the wind died, the strange hum in the distance faded away. The whole column would pause, for it felt like time itself had stopped. Bah! Burbak clutched his well-used axe and hoped the foe would show itself soon. He hated waiting. They'd spent days climbing the howling passes of the High Aiurdur to reach the bleak expanse of the Kayabad. A blanket of fine, white sand covered everything.

The wasteland appeared snowbound in all seasons. Their eyes ached at the glare and their noses bled from the bone-dry air. This was a storied place; many great battles had raged across this bleak waste. Their boots sank deep into the pale dust. The soldiers were too aware of the ancient armies buried under their feet. This was cursed ground. At least, it was impossible to get lost. Their goal dominated the horizon: a towering slab of rock called the Broken Anvil.

The great crack that divided the mesa was the only passage from the south down to the black hills of Sparfydl. Wintermore Fortress guarded the gap. It was perhaps the most important Imperial stronghold save mighty Anvillan itself. The main fortress was of mortal make, Dwarven stonework from the Kingless Age. The two white-winged walls that flew from either side to span the rift were something else entirely.

Taller than the tallest trees and regular as honeycomb, six-sided pillars of white columnar basalt rose from the sand in staggered rows. They were packed so close a lizard could scarcely slither between them. When the wind blew through the columns, all of Kayabad groaned with a funerary dirge. Where were the watchers on the wall? Even a stone-skulled berserker knew Wintermore was vital. Anvillan had grown too large to sustain herself. The Empire was reliant on Sparfydl's bounty.

Without the endless train of grain barges on the Viridian River, the Imperial Capital would starve in a season. So where were the defenders? No outriders came to challenge the Heartbroken Brigade and no scouts spied them out. Burbak was certain something was wrong. He looked to the Elves; their sharp ears twitched at the off-key breeze. Cinnabinathi met his eyes. She felt it too. As the march dragged on, even the men began to mutter amongst themselves. The last stretch was a grueling climb up a jagged slope.

At last, the stronghold came into view. The worried whispers turned to groans of black dismay. Burbak's pulse thundered in his ears. Wintermore Fortress was shattered. Some awesome force had torn apart the stout walls of Dwarven stone and shattered the ashlar of the great gatehouse. The watchtowers were toppled, the outbuildings were flattened, and the roof of the keep was staved in. Even the ground was disturbed. Great ripples of broken earth radiated out from the center of the devastation.

Only the Imperial Chapel was left standing. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Burbak looked to the other leaders. They were ashen-faced, save the Master Halberdier.

"A sign! The Soulforge is unbroken! The Emperor is Everlasting!" Gunnag Doreson invoked. He pointed to the distant chapel with its distinctive hammerhead roof. His lieutenants took a knee and made the sign of the hammer across their breastplates. Gunnag set off downhill towards the shrine, eager to witness the miracle. Close at Burbak's side, far-sighted Cinnabinathi shook her head. He needed no words to know her thoughts. All was lost.

"Should we warn him?" she whispered. Burbak considered it and shook his head.

"No. The fool is blinded by paper faith in that feckless Emperor. It's no armor at all."

"He may break," Cinnabinathi warned.

"Better here than in battle," Hilg opined.

"We ought to leave those wishful weaklings."

"Someone's got to soak casualties. Men can be replaced," Cinnabinathi reminded the Dwarves. Hilg nodded the point. They were all worried about the Imperials. Cinnabinathi's Hawkmoons were elite, Hilg's Shieldbearers were as tough as the bulwarks they bore. As for Burbak's squad, there was no question at all. The Berserkers were utterly insane. They would fight until their veins ran dry. Humans could not be trusted. Even now, Gunnag rushed ahead heedless of the danger.

With the help of his apprentice Bobbert, Prescote the Sage finally gained summit and rejoined them. He squinted at the ruins, shook his head, and drew a golden spyglass from his marvelous robe.

"Idiot," he snorted, watching the dust rise from Gunnag's strides. He twisted the lens to focus on the fortress. As he surveyed the damage, the sage's mouth moved in mute protest.

"What did this?" Young Bobbert gawked at the ravaged keep. Prescote cuffed the back of his head, hard enough to make the boy's jaw clack shut.

"Mind yourself, dunce," Prescote warned. He nodded to the Dwarven leaders in apology.

"No need to dance around it. It's a drake," Burbak spat. Hilg flinched. To Dwarves, the word was an unspeakable slur, a bitter reminder of their undoing.

"It could easily be a giant, or some other great beast. There's no scorching on the stones," Hilg observed.

"Now who's wishful?" Burbak jabbed. Ahead, a scream rang from the chapel. *"Are you suuure you want to do that?" Sandy asked. Robin paused. He kept his hand on Burbak as he looked over the board, a habit from chess. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Sandy Amsler was a sophomore. He wore round glasses and cut his hair in a mop top, in a vain hope that girls might think he looked like a young John Lennon.

Was Robin really missing something, or was it a bluff to try and get him to make a mistake? It was the first time the Heartbroken Brigade had faced the Windsworn Rune Reavers. Robin wasn't sure how to read Sandy, yet. With a frown, Robin picked up DIARIO de MARTILLO. Inside the black and white composition book, Robin had sketched maps of each battle. As they played, he took notes and logged every move.

At home, he would pore over each turn, reviewing the positions and thinking of what he could have done differently.

"Oh my god, are you checking your notes?" Sandy asked.

"Yeah, of course," Robin replied. Before the game began, Robin had written down all the special rules for their scenario. Sandy had 2500 total points, but he could only bring in 500 points per turn. Robin only owned 1500 points of troops, so his army was limited to that. To compensate, he got to field his entire army at once and he had objectives on the board.

He'd written down each and underlined them: TAKE AND HOLD THE CHAPEL - 1 VP PER TURN PERFORM THE RITE OF PURIFICATION - 3 VP REACH THE RUINED KEEP AND ESCAPE BEFORE YOU'RE OVERWHELMED - 2 VP"Guys, let's keep moving. We want to get a second round of games in later," Duncan prodded them. Before Robin and Sandy could respond, Chuck and Bill Wilson began to argue loudly about spell effect precedence. Duncan hurried over to intervene. This freed Sandy to ignore his admonition completely.

"It's a game, not class," Sandy teased.

"I like making maps and recording stuff," Robin bristled. He was ready to get into it if Sandy started making fun of him.

"Interesting. Can I see?" Sandy asked. Robin's first instinct was to refuse. Back in Amarillo, his friend José had found a half-completed comic book that Robin was drawing. It was a first attempt, hidden in the drawer of his desk and not meant for anyone else to see. José clowned him about it in front of everyone. He called Robin 'Picasso' for days until Robin finally snapped and socked him in the gut. They brawled while all their friends howled around them and neither got off easy.

Both of José's eyes were blacked and Robin's two front teeth were loose for a week. Robin and José made up after a while, but Robin was guarded after that, and much more careful about hiding his stuff. Still, he was tempted to share. Robin had put a lot of time into his DIARIO and kind of wanted to show it to someone. Sandy was a good artist, he might have some tips.

"I can't show you this battle, it's got some of my plans in it. But here's my last one." Robin flipped back to the skirmish with Sammy Wilson. Sandy looked over the map. Numbered arrows showed the troop movements, charge orders and retreats. On the right side of the page there was a column of letters and numbers: BZ(ow)>>DK - A3-C3 - 1-5! and so forth, for each turn.

"What are these?"

"I divide the battlefield into an eight by eight grid. Columns are letters, rows are numbers. BZ is Berserkers, the carrots mean charge, DK is Death Knights and 1-5 is casualties."

"Your Berserkers took out five Death Knights?!"

"Yeah, I think Sammy was getting bored by then. I warned him the Berserkers were in Ready to Retaliate, but he said let it rip."

"Ha! R. I. P. indeed. Did you have Dismount! on them?"

"Yeah it's really good. Totally wrecked JC's Chaos Knights with it, too."

"I remember. Cavalry are so vulnerable this edition, you really have to safeguard them. This is so cool, using a code to record the moves."

"It's just chess notation adapted for LOR. My grandma's been teaching me. She's really good."

"Is she like a Grandmaster? A Grandma master?" Sandy laughed.

"Haha, no I don't think so, but she's really good. We play a lot and I haven't beat her yet. She has me write down each move as we play, just like this. I can kind of visualize the game by remembering the letters. She says when I get good enough, I can play a whole game without the board."

"That's so cool! And you're like writing a whole story of what's going on here."

"I'm just goofing around," Robin waved it away, but Sandy kept flipping through pages.

"Look at this! You've got drama between your squad leaders, a quest for revenge, wait! Is this a forbidden romance subplot?" Sandy grinned wide. Robin almost grabbed the DIARIO back.

"Are you two going to play or just yammer?" Vlad snapped. At the next table, Clan Bla'Claw squared off against Duncan's Imperial Wizards. Newly freed, Duncan's Gorthar celebrated by landing two crits in a row on the Booga Chieftain. One more crit, and the Imperial army would earn a huge morale bonus.

"Don't rush me, fatso. Some of us like to think before we move."

"Is that the secret to your success?" Vlad nodded at the leaderboard. Sandy's Reavers were still in last place.

"Focus on your own opponent, both of you," Duncan chided. Sammy clammed up. When the older boys focused back on their game he stuck his fingers behind his ears so they stuck out like Duncan's. It was mean, but Robin had to laugh. Sammy handed back the diario.

"This is really cool. You should turn it into a comic book or a short story or something."

"Yeah, I'm not that good at drawing. I can mostly do simple stuff."

"It just takes practice. You gotta see my sketchbooks at home sometime, there's some wicked stuff. Maybe you can help me out with chess. I keep getting whipped by my little sister."

"What were you saying about that move?" Robin asked, wary of Duncan. He didn't want to get scolded again.

"Yeah so, I've played this scenario before. It seems like a good idea to move into the chapel early and get the VP right away. But then your opponent's deploy zone gets closer and he can swamp whoever's at the chapel. Those VPs don't matter if you get routed."

"Don't metagame!" Vlad hissed.

"That's terrible advice. Four VPs is a huge deal. The scenario changed this edition too—."

"AHEM!" Duncan barked. He pointed to the sign that hung next to the leaderboard. NO QUARTERBACKING. Robin was caught between the conflicting advice. He didn't want to seem like he was picking Vlad over Sandy, but at the same time, there was every chance Sandy was either wrong or trying to mess with him. It was a ranked game after all. Thinking of all the birds he'd have to paint to replace Prescote made his hands ache.

"I already wrote the move down," Robin said.

"I'll just run with it."

"Hoo-boy, ok. Don't say I didn't warn ya," Sandy said. He seemed like he meant it. Robin looked at Vlad, but his face was just a perpetual frown. If he meant to trick Robin, it was impossible to tell.

"Hold on—was the chapel triggered?" Duncan turned back to their table.

"I didn't activate it yet," Robin said.

"How many units are within 12 inches of it?"

"Uhm, all of them."

"Roll this," Duncan handed Robin a twenty sided die. The whole War Room stopped playing to watch. Robin rolled a one. Snickers and groans rolled in from all over.

"Hang on, I need to get a model out of the case," Duncan left with a wicked grin.

"Rut-roh," Sandy sang.