“No, he won’t.” Max growled. “This is my mistake, and it rests on me. I will not allow Darkholm to answer. But An’zalor has just signed his own death warrant. We, you and I, will bide our time. We will secure these people, secure our kingdom, make the city strong enough to withstand any attacks from him. Then, when he does not expect it, we will take his head.”
Gr’tok nodded, reaching out a hand. When Max shook it, a red glow swirled around the two of them, and another notification appeared briefly before Max blinked it away. “Vengeance will be ours.” Gr’tok growled.
“Speaking of heads.” Max drew his sword and removed An’rigar’s head, storing it in his inventory.
The wagon train moved forward roughly half a mile, leaving the looted bodies on the trail behind them. When they came to a stop, several of the civilians led most of the ja’kang mounts back to feast on their dead enemies. Others had rounded up nearly thirty of the enemy’s mounts, and allowed them to eat as well. Three of the mounts had been killed, and were quickly butchered, their meat becoming supper for the wagon train.
Smitty returned around dusk with the other hunters. They’d found a total of six more of An’zalor’s orcs trying to flee, and cut them down. Along with the dead by the trail, that brought the total to fifty, plus An’rigar. A nice round number, which likely meant they’d found them all. On the way back the hunters had taken down several deer with wickedly sharp antlers and teeth. Those too were quickly skinned, butchered, and added to the evening meal.
They held a funeral for their fallen, building pyres rather than digging graves. Gr’tok praised his people’s brave defense of their caravan, and recalled the joy that his little girl had brought him. He cursed the war leader soundly, vowing in front of all their people to take his head. Eventually, he called Max to the front. “Sire, if you would like to say a few words?”
Max moved to stand next to the grieving father. He put a hand on Gr’tok’s shoulder, and turned to the crowd. “I have always been a soldier, not a king. Put me in a fight, point me at an enemy, and I will kill them for you, or die trying.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder at the five funeral pyres waiting to be lit. “You all fought bravely today, showed more heart than any king could expect, and I’m proud of you as both a soldier, and a king. It was my failing that brought this attack upon us. My inexperience as a king that cost us the lives of the fallen behind me. I can not bring them back, or find the words to let you know how truly sorry I am. I can only promise that I will try to do better. To ensure that my actions cause no more senseless losses.” He patted Gr’tok’s back, then stepped away.
Gr’tok turned and cast Spark at the base of the pyres, the interconnected piles of wood quickly igniting into a bright blaze. The orcs roared as one, raising fists and weapons in a final salute to their fallen, then watched in silence as the bodies turned to ash.
That evening they held a wake for the fallen, feasting and drinking, telling tales of the dead. Eventually, Gr’tok stood inside the inner ring of wagons, pacing around the central fire as he told a story of his daughter’s first ride atop a ja’kang. At just four years old, he’d placed her on the mount in front of him and gently trotted around a field near their home. After ten minutes, she’d insisted on taking the reins. Using her tiny feet, she’d spurred the mount to a trot just as she’d seen him do. A short time later, she insisted he dismount and let her do it herself. The crowd chuckled as he described the determined look on the precocious child’s face, tears streaming down his own cheeks. Then they howled with laughter when he said she’d pulled back on the reins too quickly, causing the mount to stop suddenly and throw her off into the mud.
Max remained off to the side, out of the way, Red hovering silently at his shoulder. He reflected for a while on his memories of Thelonia and Battleaxe, smiling at some of the good moments. When he recalled startling the old scout by teleporting the dead spidorc right next to him, he actually chuckled softly to himself. After a while he discretely retired to his tent and spent some time looking at his notifications.
Most were standard loot notifications from after the battle. Bits of orc armor, weapons, some coins. Then he spotted one that surprised him! His Drain spell’s one percent chance for a bonus had finally paid off!
Rare Ability Awarded: Mind’s Eye!
Use of the Drain spell to end the life of an enemy has earned you the rare Mind’s Eye ability. This skill allows you to penetrate the mind of your target and observe the images there, be they memories, dreams, or simply seeing through their eyes as they observe the world around them. While not quite making you a mind reader, it might come in handy in a high stakes poker game.
Continued use of this skill may increase its level and functionality.
Red spoke up as he finished reading. “Don’t even think about trying that on me! I’ll know, and I’ll find a way to make you pay.” Max hadn’t even considered that, but now that she’d mentioned it, he was sorely tempted.
“I mean it Max. Stay out of my head. I may be soul bonded to you, but some things are mine, and mine alone!”
Now Max felt bad for considering it, and his face fell. “I’m sorry, Red. I promise not to intrude, unless you give me permission first.”
She snorted. “Like that would ever happen. Get some sleep, oh mighty king.”
Max laid down on his bedroll, but it was a long time before sleep found him.
*****
The following day the caravan reached the waystation in the early afternoon. While Smitty and Dalia supervised the recovery of their buried loot, and Lo’tang set up camp, Max and Gr’tok rode with the miners’ wagons the short distance to the mine.
They parked the wagons, and the miners spread out to explore the area. The only structures, other than the mine itself, were the foreman’s shack and the corral. Apparently the miners that Max and company killed had been sleeping in the first of the side chambers inside the mine itself. The moment Max entered the mine, a familiar notification popped up, only slightly modified.
You have captured a mine!
By killing all the miners and the foreman, you have earned the right to claim the Northern Silver and Gold Mine on behalf of Stormhaven. Would you like to claim ownership of this mine? Yes/No.
Laughing out loud, Max mentally clicked [Yes] while picturing the look on An’zalor’s face when he got the notification. The silver mine he’d given up to Max so easily was now also a gold mine. His pleasure was quickly dulled by the realization that this was yet another reason for the war leader to come after him, and his people.
The foreman, an orc named Ko’rang, had accompanied Max and Gr’tok inside. When Max asked about sleeping accommodations, he replied, “This will suffice until we can build a log shelter outside. There is plenty of lumber nearby, so it should not be a problem.”
The foreman led the way deeper into the mine, shining a lantern with a reflector at the walls and ceiling as they went. He grunted a few times, pointing out a slightly loose brace here, a small warp in the tracks there. When they reached the end of the shaft, he laughed aloud at the partially harvested gold vein. “I was told this was a silver mine.” He set the lantern down, raised his pick and struck the wall just to the right of the seam. Three more strikes, and a chunk of gold ore the size of a softball dropped to the floor. Holding it closer to the light, he shook his head. “If the war leader finds out about this, he will try to seize this mine.”
Gr’tok shrugged. “He will try to seize it regardless. Along with all the land he awarded our king.” He looked to Max, who nodded his agreement.
“We will leave twenty guards here. They can help you and your miners build proper shelters, a stockade, and dig a well inside if needed. Another twenty will be on patrols of the area, keeping watch for any attack force moving up from the city. The moment a problem arises, they will send messengers to Stormhaven, and we will come as quickly as possible.”
When the foreman didn’t look happy, Max added, “I will request that D
arkholm and the other clans send additional troops, as well as miners and engineers. I’ll give them a percentage of the mine’s yield in return for their help. You and your men here will receive your share as well. To begin with, gather as much of this gold as you can today, and I’ll take it with me to help set up the others in the city. While you do that, I’ll send Smitty over here with a dozen or so orcs to help your men cut some lumber to get you started. Beginning tomorrow your priority is to secure yourselves and this place. I suggest you begin with a thick gate at the entrance to the shaft. Something you can hide behind and defend if necessary. The mining can wait.”
The foreman agreed, and they all went to work. Max and Gr’tok rode back to the waystation and soon had a contingent of orcs following Smitty back to the mine.
Max was behind the house chopping some wood to ease his frustrations a bit, when an orc warrior with a female and three teenage boys approached him. Bobbing his head when Max set the axe down, he spoke. “Your pardon, Chimera King. I was wondering if you plan to keep this waystation operating?”
Max nodded. “I do. We need a place for the patrols to operate from, and the crops here could help feed the miners, scouts, and some of our people in the city.” He noted the hopeful looks on the orcs faces. “Are you perhaps volunteering?”
The female chuckled as the males all nodded, and the warrior answered. “We are. My name is Mu’dol and I was one of your guards in the arena. But I grew up on a farm outside the city, one that my family has run for six generations. My boys here grew up on that same farm.” He looked around at the surrounding fields. “We can work this land. Even expand the fields some, given the tools and seed.” He looked slightly uncomfortable, opening his mouth then closing it before saying what he’d intended next.
Max finished for him. “And some protection.” He smiled when the guard nodded.
“I can fight, as can we all. But with the war leader trying to kill you…”
“I’m assigning twenty guards to the mine, and another twenty to make patrols. We’ll make sure that at least one of the patrols is here with you at all times. For right now, that is the best I can offer, but we plan to send reinforcements from Darkholm soon. Maybe some kobolds as well? I don’t know yet.” Max thought it over for a while. “If you and your family are willing to stay, I will pay you each fifty gold for the first year to operate the waystation, feed the mounts and scouts. And I will pay you market price for the crops you produce, as long as you sell them exclusively to me. We’ll need everything you can grow.” He looked at the wooden structures around them. None of them were fit for making a stand against a larger force. A single torch or flaming arrow could burn the place down.
“I want to make one thing very clear. Nothing here is worth your lives. You will have mounts here for each of you at all times, and if you are attacked by a large force, you retreat. Let them burn this place. Either get to the mine and shelter behind the wall they’ll be building there, or run north to Darkholm and Stormhaven. Your lives are the most important thing to me, understand? Everything else can be replaced.”
The guard and his family all nodded, his wife smiling at Max. “We accept, Chimera King. We will see what tools and equipment are already here.”
“I confess I do not know if Gr’tok purchased any seed to bring with us. Please check with him. If he brought some, take what you need for this place. And I wish you the best of luck.” He held up a hand as the family departed to begin inventory.
*****
The following day they remained at the waystation. Every orc in the caravan contributed to preparing both the farm and the mine for defense. Lumber was cut and hauled to the mine while a well was dug right near the entrance. Orcs were strong, and had great stamina. By the end of the day, the mine shaft had a thick log gate, and a stockade wall about fifty feet out from the entrance.
The orcs at the farm had added a small log structure that was mostly underground, officially a smokehouse for meat to feed the patrols. But in a pinch it would make a solid defensive position. They also began digging a low tunnel out the back of the structure that would eventually lead to an exit behind the nearest tree line, and serve as an escape route. The idea was that the farmers and any scouts there at the time of an attack would be able to retreat into the smokehouse, where some supplies would be waiting. Then they could either wait for the enemy to set fire to the structure, or do it themselves, and retreat through the tunnel while it burned. It would be an hour at least before the fire burned out and their escape was discovered.
That evening they held another feast to say goodbye to those being left behind. The miners came to join them at the farm, and the hunters brought in more than enough meat for everyone. As a surprise, Max nearly emptied his storage of tasty bakery treats, much to the delight of the orc children. He thanked everyone for their hard work, and wished the miners, guards, scouts, and farmers the best of luck.
In his gut he felt sick, even as he spoke words of encouragement to the orcs. There was no doubt in his mind that An’zalor would come for them. And the protection he was able to offer wasn’t enough. Worse, he knew that they knew it, and were staying anyway. Risking their lives for a chance at a better life. Max made a silent vow to do all he could to convince Ironhand to help, despite the risk of renewed hostilities between him and the war leader. Then he made a more vehement promise to himself, under his breath.
“I’m going to kill An’zalor slowly. Make him pay for all of it.”
The caravan set off at dawn the next morning. They pushed hard, in a hurry to get to Darkholm and get some reinforcements sent back south. Max led the wagons around the south side of the Brightwood cursed zone, then back onto the ancient road when they were clear. Dalia and two orcs who were also alchemists paused to harvest as many of the potent plants near the battleground as they could, saying they’d catch up.
They didn’t make it to Darkholm by dark, so they camped by a stream, very near the spot where Max first met Battleaxe and his scouts after defeating the orc scout. Max spent some time remembering that day, and his lost friend. The pain of the loss helped him reach a decision. He got up and sought out his commander.
“Gr’tok, I’m leaving you. It should be another few days before the war leader realizes his brother is dead and mobilizes a force to bring this way. You should have plenty of time to take the wagons through Darkholm to Stormhaven. I’m riding ahead to let Ironhand know you’re coming, and to make arrangements for reinforcements.”
When he went to get Pokey, he found Dalia just arriving with the alchemists. “Want to come with me to Darkholm?” Dalia jumped back up on her mount without a word. From behind him, Smitty called out.
“Don’t forget about me, boss. Where you go, I go.”
So the three of them rode as quickly as they could back up the trail to Darkholm. Max’s spine itched, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running out of time.
Chapter 26
The ride to Darkholm didn’t take long, Pokey and the other mounts happy to be running freely rather than trotting along at the pace of the oxen. The dwarven sentries outside the city, recognizing Dalia and Max, were hesitant about Smitty. But they waved the party through.
When they entered the city gates, the party dismounted and passed their rides to some nervous-looking dwarf stable boys. Worried that one of them might get hurt, Smitty volunteered to stay and help them take care of the mounts. The boys were only slightly more comfortable around an orc, but were glad for his help once Dalia reassured them.
Dalia and Max made their way to the great hall, where a runner had been sent ahead of them to let the king know they’d arrived. Ironhand sat on his throne when the pair entered, several of his counselors already in attendance.
“Max! Dalia! Welcome back.” Ironhand rose from his seat and moved toward a long table, motioning for them to join him as he sat. Max, with a sigh at being back in the land of short furniture, took a seat on one of the low benches and stretched his legs out
under the table.
“I received the notice from the gods that An’zalor agreed to our offer o’ peace!” Ironhand slapped the table, smiling excitedly at Max. Ye did good!” A notification immediately popped up on Max’s interface.
Quest Complete: Peacemaker!
You successfully delivered the legendary gift to An’zalor, the orc war leader.
Reward: 50,000xp. Favor from King Ironhand. Speak to the king to request your favor.
Bonus Quest Complete!
You convinced An’zalor (sort of) to accept Darkholm’s offer of peace between their nations. Speak to the king regarding your reward. If you think you deserve one.
Max sighed inwardly at the snarky reminder of his mistake. He spent the next ten minutes explaining to Ironhand and his advisors, who had joined them at the table, exactly what happened. The dwarves were enraged by the war leader’s treatment of their envoy, and the death of Battleaxe. They were sympathetic over Max’s failure to include Stormhaven in the peace accords, all except for Stonebinder, who snorted and looked down his nose at Max. When they heard about the attack by An’rigar and his troops, and the scheming by An’zalor to break the peace, they were furious.
The elders started clamoring for all-out war against the orcs. Ironhand looked grim, his gaze falling on Max as chaos reigned around them. Max shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but the elders continued to shout, pound on the table, and stomp around.
Ironhand held up a single hand, and the hall went quiet. “Max? Ye wish to speak?”
“Thank you, your highness. I want to first thank you, all of you, for your willingness to support us in the upcoming struggle against An’zalor. But I’m afraid I can’t allow it.”
There was a stunned silence, then another uproar, this time the counselors yelling at Max, calling him a fool, and worse. Again, Ironhand silenced them. “Explain yourself, Max.”
Battleborne Page 41
