Formal Escarlish events. As in balls and stuff at the royal palace with King Averett and the whole Escarlish court.
Pip’s chest squeezed as she tried to make her seizing muscles move. This was ridiculous. Here she was about to go into battle, but it was the thought of a royal ball that had her far more panicked.
She just wouldn’t think of it now. She had more important things to worry about.
“Yeah. Uh, thanks.” She climbed from the truck, her boots hitting the ground with the crunch of gravel.
With one last wave to the two of them, Myles sent the truck rolling back up the road they’d come down, heading for the railyard.
“Pippak!” One of the dwarves—a brown-haired dwarf with warrior braids in his beard—pounded toward her. “Maktorekk!”
“Uncle Thortrad?” Pip would have hugged him, but he was all armor and weapons at the moment.
Not only were they going with dwarves, but with Detmuk dwarves.
“I wasn’t sure what to think when I heard they were sending us a civilian to go on this raid.” Uncle Thortrad pounded her on the back hard enough to send her staggering forward. He was strong and well-muscled, even though she was taller by several inches. “Glad to see the two of you. Come on aboard, and we can get rolling.”
Draenelynn, Pip’s cousin and Thortrad’s daughter, leaned out of the cab of the lead truck. “There’s room here by me.”
Pip climbed into the truck and wedged herself into the backseat next to her well-armored cousin. The space grew even more squished as Mak climbed in after her.
Uncle Thortrad clambered into the front passenger seat and glanced over his shoulder at them. “Looks like everyone’s here. It would’ve been nice if the tanks had been unloaded so we could take one along, but we’ll make do.”
“Tanks?” Pip wiggled to try to find a spot where Mak’s elbow didn’t dig into her ribs.
“Large metal vehicles. Kind of like rolling land battleships.” Uncle Thortrad gestured, as if he was struggling to figure out how to describe them.
“Oh, I see. We saw the train arrive after seeing our parents off.” Pip shared a look with Mak. Those tanks must have been secretly in development by the dwarves. Neither of them had seen them on their last visit to Detmuk Mountain.
The Escarlish driver clambered in and turned on the truck’s engine.
“Masks on, everyone.” Uncle Thortrad pulled a gas mask from his belt, struggling to get the mask over his hair and large beard.
Smooshed between her cousin and brother as she was, Pip struggled to reach her gas mask, much less get it on. Draenelynn and Mak also squirmed in their seats, trying to reach their masks, and the three of them were a tangle of elbows for a few minutes until they all got their masks free.
The Escarlish driver pulled his mask on easily, as if he were far more practiced at it. With his short hair and lack of beard, he had an easier time of it than the dwarven warrior.
Pip grimaced as she pulled the canvas over her head. The eye sockets were bulky, falling lower on her face than they should so that she had to keep adjusting the mask to see. When she breathed in, she tasted the scent of charcoal in the back of her throat as the air was filtered through a layer of charcoal and moss enhanced with elven magic.
Both Mak and Draenelynn struggled to get their beards stuffed inside the mask.
Within a few minutes, an order was shouted from driver to driver, and the trucks rumbled forward, away from the safety ofLittle Aldon, headed toward the roiling smoke, haze of gas, and booming artillery guns.
Pip gripped her head-bashing wrench between her knees and tried not to throw up as the truck lurched and jolted. She was really doing this. Going into battle.
Pip marchedat the center of the formation of dwarves as she held a magic shield around them, her heart hammering in time with the tromping of boots on the soft Mongavarian soil.
She was in Mongavaria, the muddy expanse of what had once been a river behind her, the line of fighting before them.
An artillery shell whistled over the battle lines before it smashed into her shield, exploding in a starburst of flames and shrapnel.
She gritted her teeth and held her shield firm.
Beside her, the draft horses they’d requisitioned from an artillery unit once they’d reached the front snorted and tossed their heads. Mak made soothing noises as he reached up to stroke their necks, keeping a tight grip on their lead ropes.
Uncle Thortrad halted the formation and turned back to her, his face no longer hidden by the gas mask. Once they’d been past the section of the front lines hit with the gas attacks, all of them had taken off their gas masks to better see for fighting. “What’s our heading?”
Why was he looking at her, as if she was the one calling the shots? Pip swallowed, glancing from Uncle Thortrad to Mak. Neither of them gave her any indication of what she should do.
