The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Don’t!” Edun warned. “He would notice and do far worse to both of us.”

  The thought of leaving his brother in pain brought tears to Sarkas’s eyes. “I will find us a way out of here, I promise.”

  Edun shrugged hopelessly. “A way out to what, Sarkas? We either live in The Citadel or we live out there, in King Atilan’s empire. The rulers of both are mad, only the empire is falling into chaos and riots now. There’s even talk of King Atilan starting a war with the Dragon Riders. Have you ever thought that maybe we’re better off in here?”

  Sarkas considered his body of scars and the lifetime of humiliation and torment. “You only see two options, Edun. But with magic, there’s always another way…”

  29

  Rise of the Orc

  Karakulak marched down the tunnels, inspecting his warriors as they stood shoulder to shoulder in their obsidian armour.

  The orcs were ready.

  With sword, axe, and spear they would reclaim the world. It all started here, under the foundations of The Arid Lands’ capital, Tregaran.

  Glancing down the other tunnels, the king could see his forces amassing in the positions they had been assigned. Using architectural plans of the city, compliments of The Crow, Karakulak knew exactly where to strike.

  Off to the side, stood a lone figure in black robes. A mage of The Black Hand, she was there to coordinate the invasion across the entire desert. Under Ameeraska, Vuruk, his war chief, was preparing just as they were. When the king ordered the invasion, The Black Hand would use their magic to communicate with each other.

  Karakulak found himself clenching his fist as he looked upon the mage. He would never give up his throne, but the king couldn’t deny what The Crow and his magic had granted him in the first place. Every time they used their unnatural power, he could feel the eyes of other orcs on him, judging him for allowing it into their world.

  The world… The orc mulled over that word. For so long it had only meant half of the world. If The Black Hand’s magic gave them the advantage they needed to claim Neverdark then he would take it. When everything was his, he would snap The Crow’s neck and flay him personally.

  The tremor under his feet informed Karakulak that the Big Bastards were approaching. Indeed, rounding the curve in the tunnel, a pair of giant orcs cautiously approached the king with a huge metal barrel between them. They didn’t look too happy about carrying it. Behind them, a dozen more of their tribe arrived, each pair carrying a reinforced barrel between them.

  “Careful! Careful with those!” came Grundi’s voice. The crippled orc sucked in his belly and squeezed between the Big Bastards as he approached his king. “Put them down gently,” he commanded the larger orcs. “The powder reacts to impact alone. Do you idiots know how many orcs we lose mining it?”

  The Big Bastards were visibly sweating now.

  “Grundi…” Karakulak regarded the limping orc. “Is the wrath powder ready?”

  Grundi gestured to the nearest barrel. “Providing these fools don’t drop it and kill us all…”

  Karakulak removed the lid from the barrel and peered inside; the massive orcs either side held their breath. The barrel itself was filled to the brim with red powder, no different in texture to that of a grain of sand. The king knew which of those grains he would rather sit on…

  Grundi ordered the Big Bastards to their positions, spreading them out under the city.

  “You have done well, Grundi,” Karakulak praised. “When Neverdark is ours, you will have your choice of rewards.”

  The crippled orc bowed his head. “I only live to serve you, Sire.”

  Karakulak looked over Grundi’s head to the approaching chieftain. Much like the rest of his tribe, the chieftain of the Berserkers had very little of his pale flesh left to see. In preparation for battle, the Berserkers always painted their bodies black and yellow in the war patterns of their ancestors. They wore no armour, only a loincloth and a belt of chains. They didn’t believe in sneaking up on their enemy…

  The chieftain dropped to one knee with a fist held to his chest. Of all the tribes, the Berserkers had required very little persuasion to accept him as their king. Knowing that Karakulak intended to invade Neverdark, starting the biggest war any orc had ever seen, was all the Berserkers needed to know.

  “My King.” Chieftain Warhg bowed his head.

  “The wrath powder is in place,” Karakulak said, wasting no more time. Having all the tribes mixed up and formed into new ranks was a recipe worthy of the wrath power itself.

  “The Berserkers will draw the first blood in this war,” Chieftain Warhg replied. Behind him, the two rows of painted orcs roared and beat their chests. “My son,” the chieftain gestured to the orc behind him, “Calagah, has the honour of breaking the humans first!”

  Karakulak knew he would forget that name before the day was over. “Your name shall be known by every orc yet to live, Calagah.”

  The king turned away and faced his warriors. “Is it to be war then?” His question was met with resounding cheers and roars. “There isn’t a creature above The Under Realm who knows of our numbers, of our strength! We have been forgotten! Before the sky fire rises, I would have Neverdark tremble under the orc! Let them never forget the power of Gordomo!” The orcs chanted their god’s name. “TO WAR!”

  The Berserkers moved off down the various tunnels in search of their glory. Calagah butted heads with his father before walking over to the barrel of wrath powder in the cross-roads. The rest of the orcs backed off, pushed away by Grundi until they were all at least a hundred yards from the Berserkers, who all had a platform waiting for them, allowing the painted orcs to touch the tunnel ceiling.

  Their prayers to Gordomo could be heard echoing down the long tunnels.

  Over the prayers, Karakulak recognised the familiar voice of his mother behind him. “Gordomo will reward them with a place in his honour guard.”

  The king turned to look down on his mother, the high priestess of Gordomo. Her black hair was scraped back and braided between her sloping horns that curved around and almost pricked her neck. Her dress and jewellery were made from the smaller bones of a variety of Under Realm creatures… and a few orcs. A tall staff, carried ceremoniously by her, was topped with the skull of Karakulak’s father, horns and all.

  She had been the most grateful for her son’s usurpation, complaining afterwards that the chieftain of The Born Horde had been too weak to lead. As a show of her dedication to Karakulak, the high priestess had slit the throat of his brother, her youngest son, and prevented any future rivalry for the throne.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Mother,” Karakulak said, noting the small entourage of priestesses behind her.

  “I do not fear a little bang,” she replied coolly. “I come because Gordomo wills it. He would have you stand out on the battlefield. A beacon of strength and glory for the others!”

  Karakulak kept one eye on Calagah, who was currently being covered in the wrath powder by the Big Bastards. The moment he jumped up, the impact against the ceiling would set the invasion in motion.

  The high priestess moved in front of her son and dipped her hand into a bowl of white liquid, held out by one of her servants. “The symbol of Gordomo Himself will rest upon you this day.” With one hand coated in the white paint, his mother dragged her fingers one way then the next, creating a V of eight digits on his armoured chest.

  “Gordomo goes into battle with me!” He roared over the orcs around them. Their rallying cry resounded through every tunnel, infecting every orc.

  Karakulak nodded at the female mage, who held up a black orb, a diviner they called it. A hundred miles away to the west, Vuruk would begin his slaughter of Ameeraska, and a few hundred miles to the east, the chieftain of the Mountain Fist would lead the attack on Calmardra.

  It was time for Neverdark to fall… and the orc to rise.

  Hadavad stood off to one side, his arms folded as he leaned against one of the pillars in the Tregaran
council chamber. Tauren and the others were deep in discussion about what they could do to help the people of Lirian, as well as what they should do if Malliath arrived at their front door.

  The old mage only took half of it in. His mind was elsewhere: in fact, it was in several elsewheres. The red raven had been vague regarding Gideon’s fate, leaving Hadavad to wonder if his most powerful ally and friend was soon to leave this world.

  Then there was the prophecy.

  Something about it nagged at Hadavad’s mind. Its age perhaps? No, the damage to the scroll over the millennia was undeniable.

  What really got under the mage’s skin, was Alijah finding it in the first place. He had sent Alijah and Vighon to find any dwellings that could be linked to The Echoes, but he had never expected them to find an actual prophecy. Especially one that appeared to be coming true at this very moment in time…

  That was it.

  Hadavad unfolded his arms and looked across the chamber at Alijah. What were the chances that he would not only find a real prophecy, but one that spoke of events happening right now? The mage felt they were being manipulated.

  Still, he needed more time with the prophecy, and preferably access to the Dragorn library on The Lifeless Isles.

  Hadavad’s train of thought dissipated as he felt the quake under his feet. Those in the council chamber looked at each other, silently asking the question that everyone was worried about.

  Hadavad looked down at his feet, feeling the vibration run up his legs. “That’s not Malliath,” he assured.

  “Another earthquake perhaps?” Tauren Salimson suggested.

  Hadavad locked eyes with Alijah, who said, “That’s not an earthquake…”

  An ear-splitting boom cracked the air outside The Council Tower, shaking loose a downpour of dust. Hadavad quickly followed behind Alijah, Vighon, and Galanör as they all dashed for the main doors that led out onto a balcony. More explosions resounded from around the city, soon followed by screams of pain and cries for help.

  The watch towers rang bells across Tregaran, rousing every yellow-cloaked soldier from their slumber. Hadavad made space for Tauren, who joined them in looking out onto a smoking city.

  Columns of black smoke and sand rose high into the night air above the buildings. Another deafening boom exploded to the north, taking a sizeable chunk out of the defensible wall.

  “What is happening?” Tauren asked desperately.

  His question was answered by a cacophony of roars, familiar to Hadavad and the others. A cold feeling of dread dropped into the old mage’s stomach.

  “Orcs…” he said without meaning to.

  Tauren whipped his head around. “Orcs?” A mix of concern and horror possessed the southerner’s face. “We have to evacuate the city, now!” The councillor turned to the guards. “Get the gates open!”

  “Evacuate?” one of the plump councillors repeated incredulously. “Where to?”

  Another councillor added, “We must defend our home!”

  The roars of the invading orcs grew louder as the first spilled onto the streets below. Charging Yellow Cloaks met the beasts as they climbed out of their holes, adding the clash of steel to the chaos.

  “Get the gates open!” Tauren bellowed again, ignoring his peers. “Direct everybody north!”

  “North?” a councillor asked, clearly struggling to come to grips with what was happening.

  “These creatures have come from the south, so we go north!” Tauren threw his cloak and sash onto the floor. “I must reach my family,” he said to Hadavad.

  The mage looked at his companions and nodded. “Then we shall help you, old friend.” He tapped his staff once into the ground and they set off, leaving the rest of the councillors to be escorted by their guards.

  With Tauren in the lead, Hadavad followed with Alijah and Vighon by his side. Galanör took a different route, scaling the nearest building with enviable ease.

  The ground shook as more explosions rocked the earth, forcing the companions to lean against a wall more than once.

  “This way!” Tauren called, taking them farther into the heart of the city.

  It wasn’t long before they found themselves in the thick of it. People were running away from the orcs, crying and screaming for help. No one had any idea where to run as the monsters appeared from every direction, cutting off every escape route. The Yellow Cloaks did their best to block off the roads and stand their ground with shields and spears, but it was clear to see that the orcs outnumbered them.

  “Get everybody to the northern gate!” Tauren yelled over the melee.

  One dead orc after another dropped from some height in front of Hadavad, their pale bodies drenched in blood. Looking up, Galanör was already clearing the gap between buildings and moving onto the next. It appeared these creatures were just as adept at climbing as elves.

  Tauren took a sharp left, but the line of Yellow Cloaks to the right couldn’t hold the orcs at bay. One Tregaran soldier succumbed to the jagged blades that angled over and under his shield, pushing his dead body to the ground. Once a single orc made it through the line, so did another, then the entire line was broken…

  The Yellow Cloaks weren’t nearly in the numbers required to beat such a horde. Blood splattered up the walls as the orcs threw themselves with abandon at the soldiers. Both sides suffered losses, but there was no end to the orcs pouring out of the ground.

  Hadavad held back, his staff itching to be unleashed. The mage flicked his dreadlocks out of his face and strode back to the corner of the street.

  “Hadavad!” Alijah called back.

  The old mage spun his staff around and let loose a destructive spell so bright it illuminated the whole cross-roads before slamming into the chosen orc. The creature was flung across the street until his body was crushed against the wall.

  Another spell exploded from his staff and tore through the mid-section of another orc, separating its top half from its bottom half.

  One of the Yellow Cloaks beside Hadavad was savagely cut down. The murderous orc roared with its bloody sword raised and lashed out at the mage.

  If the expression on the orc’s face was anything to go by, the sound of its steel coming down on the enchanted staff was unlike anything it had heard before. Hadavad offered a cocky smile and twirled his staff, sending the orc’s blade flying away before he finally drove the end of the haft into its face. Another twirl put the dangerous end of the staff in front of the orc again.

  Blood went everywhere.

  The mage was careful, however, to make sure that the force of the spell was heading away from him, blinding the orcs behind it. Hadavad wasted no time wading in with his staff. The night came alive with one brilliant flash after another, every spell sealing the orcs’ fate.

  Beyond the pile of dead orcs and Yellow Cloaks, the black smoke from the holes gave way to yet more of the wretched creatures. They snarled and roared as they charged, their obsidian armour gleaming under the moonlight.

  “Hadavad!” Alijah called again.

  The mage followed Alijah’s wild gaze to the adjacent street, where even more orcs were charging. There were still people trapped and so few Yellow Cloaks in this part of the city. Hadavad instinctively backed away, heading towards Alijah and the others, but the screams of women and children rooted him to the spot.

  “Go! he yelled back at his companions. “Go with Tauren! I will meet you at the northern gate!”

  He could see that Alijah was hesitant, but Vighon grabbed him by the arm and dragged him after Tauren.

  Hadavad turned back to the oncoming wave of monsters. He hadn’t faced numbers such as these since the war… and he had missed it. The old mage had at least eleven new destructive spells he had been eager to try.

  With orcs running at him from two of the four roads, Hadavad planted himself in the middle and lifted his staff, waiting for the perfect moment. When the foul beasts were within arm’s reach, the mage drove his staff into the ground and shouted his spell.


  The magic rippled outwards, cracking the ground, as it washed over the orcs with enough power to take them all off their feet. The walls of the surround buildings were shaken and the air filled with loose dust and sand. The first two lines of orcs lay very still, never to stir again. Those behind, however, were quick to rise and gather their weapons.

  More soldiers were coming but they wouldn’t reach the mage before the battle was renewed. Hadavad braced himself and readied the list of destructive spells in his mind.

  In that moment of calm, Hadavad heard The Crow’s voice echoing in his memory from atop Vengora.

  “I have seen your end, Hadavad, and it is not a good one.”

  The mage stubbornly refused to believe that The Crow had such foresight, choosing, instead, to level his staff. If he was to die here, in the streets of Tregaran, giving its people more time to escape, then it would be a good death.

  The next cluster of orcs, clad in dark armour and shaking their horned heads, leaped at the mage. The entire cluster was intercepted by the sudden appearance of an elven ranger. Twin scimitars danced in intricate patterns, batting aside jagged blades and opening arteries.

  Galanör was a force of nature; something the orcs would attest to in the afterlife. Were he to possess a Vi’tari blade, he would be the greatest swordsman in all the world.

  The elf dashed left and right, taking on the orcs from the northern street, leaving Hadavad to deal with the rest. The mage flicked his staff up and sent a wave of sand into the rushing orcs, blinding them all. The spells fired from his staff created silhouettes inside the cloud, as well as a growing pile of bodies.

  The Yellow Cloaks arrived not long after with their spears driving the orc line back. More people took the opportunity to run from their homes and find a clear route through to the northern gate.

  Galanör emerged from the sea of Yellow Cloaks and pale orcs with blood staining his leathers and blue cloak. His scimitars were red from hilt to tip.

  “Come on!” The elf grabbed Hadavad by the arm and the two set off for Tauren’s house. “What’s happening here, Hadavad?” Galanör asked. “This isn’t just a horde of orcs hiding in a cave. This is an invasion!”