Battleborne Book 2: Wrack and Ruin

by Dave Willmarth

  “Thank you, Redmane. Well done. How long ago did they leave?”

  “Not ten minutes ago.” The old dwarf replied. “They are mounted on battle boars, and will reach the mine by morning.”

  “Much faster than we’ll get there, I’m afraid.” Gr’tok approached, bowing his head to Max. “The battle may be over long before we get there on foot.”

  Redmane cleared his throat and nodded toward the stables. There stood a large, sturdy dwarven wagon with two boars hitched to the front. “We have made arrangements for your ogre companion to be able to travel more quickly than he would on foot.”

  “My own chariot!” Dylan pumped a fist into the air. Then looked at his still bare feet and wiggled his toes. “I really appreciate it, Redmane. You da man! Uh, dwarf!”

  Max made a few quick decisions. “Alright, my group will ride on the wagon. The rest of you, follow on foot at your best possible speed. Redmane, let’s make arrangements for more wagons for next time. In fact, if you can get more today, send them through behind us and they can catch up to the guys on foot.” The dwarf nodded his head.

  “Arrangements have already been made. Wagons were ordered yesterday, though they were intended for trade, not troop transport. They were scheduled for delivery in three days, but I have sent a request, along with a significant amount of gold, that they be rushed. Hopefully we can send them along in the morning.”

  “Can’t we borrow some of the wagons the orcs brought here?”

  Gr’Tok shook his head and pointed at the wagon. “Most of the others were sold to merchants after we arrived, to recoup the gold the families paid for them. Those remaining were sent back to the Way Station to bring back crops, ore from the mine, and whatever game the hunters have brought in.”

  “Maybe try to borrow some from Darkholm? Offer the owners whatever payment you think is reasonable to compensate them for any lost business, or whatever. If you have to, offer to replace their used wagons with one of the new ones.” Max was already walking toward Dylan’s wagon.

  “We shall do all we can.” Redmane replied coolly. Max thought he might have offended the dwarf, but didn’t have time to worry about it right then.

  “Gr’Tok you guys get there as soon as you can, but don’t wear yourselves out. You’ll need to have the strength to fight when you arrive.” Max waited as the orc Commander nodded.

  “We’ll be there in two days, tops. Faster if the wagons catch up to us. You just hold on until we get there.”

  “Yeah, save some o’ them orc bastards fer us!” the dwarven Commander, whose name Max didn’t know, shouted. He had the grace to look embarrassed when Gr’tok turned toward him. “Erm… present company excepted, o’ course.”

  Max had to grab hold to keep from falling on his butt as Dylan flicked the reins and sent the two boars forward with a lurch. Redmane activated the portal as the ogre turned his team, and a moment later they were inside the portal room at the lowest level of Regin’s outpost.

  The exit door and corridor were more than wide enough for the wagon to pass through. Dwarves, for beings of short stature, always seemed to build greatly oversized structures. Wide hallways, high ceilings with grand arches. Max chuckled slightly, remembering an old joke about why the natives on King Kong’s island built that massive wall to keep him out of their village, then built equally massive doors.

  With Dalia navigating, Dylan drove the team down the long corridor to the exit. Max had worried he’d need to break open the door at the end, but apparently the mounted force ahead of them had taken care of it. The stone door with Max’s image burned into it lay broken and scattered on the ground outside the tunnel. Max and the others dismounted and moved the larger pieces of debris out of the way to keep from breaking a wheel, and two minutes later they were on the move again.

  As they departed, Max could hear the chant of the dwarven companies as they marched alongside the orcs down the corridor far behind.

  A quick check of the map on his interface, and Max guessed they would make it in a day if the boars didn’t get tired and slow down. He’d take them directly across the old battlefield, confident that he and Dalia could heal them through the damage for the short time it would take to cross.

  On his left shoulder, Red appeared as if sitting between the studs of his armor. “So, you’re off to take on a whole army yourselves, are ya?”

  “Yep. I figure to kill them all single-handed.” Max looked sideways at her as he whispered. “These guys are just here to help me loot when it’s over.”

  Red snorted, making a hand gesture that Max assumed was considered rude in leprechaun society. “Just remember, if ya get yourself killed, ya get me killed as well. And I’m too pretty to die.”

  “Duly noted.” Max replied. His feisty little companion was quite lovely, after all. And if he teased her about her looks, her wicked temper might manifest itself. As he considered her tiny form atop his shoulder, a reminder struck him, and he cursed loudly. “Ah, dammit!”

  “What?” Everyone in the wagon, including Red, asked in unison.

  “I was supposed to have dinner with Josephine tomorrow night.”

  “Who’s Josephine?” Dylan asked.

  “Lil tart of a gnome that’s lookin to climb Mount Max.” Red replied with a snort.

  “She’s a gnome that runs an inscriptionist shop. Sold me most of the spells that I know.” Max replied for Dalia’s sake.

  Dylan looked Max up and down, then grinned. “Are gnomes a lot taller in this world than I think they are?”

  “Ha!” Red stood up on Max’s shoulder. “Taller than me, shorter than Dalia.”

  Dylan didn’t say a word, just reached out a fist for Max to bump.

  “No way I’m going to make dinner. And I don’t know how to get word to her in time.”

  “Yup. You’re totally screwed, boss.” Smitty added his two cents. Dalia just looked at the three of them, shaking her head. Though the three Battleborne could see and hear Red, the dwarfess could not. To her the conversation was disjointed and odd.

  All the fights and completed quests since the arena had not quite given him enough to level up to twenty. He was short a little more than a hundred thousand experience points. He was looking forward to reaching level twenty, if for no other reason than Red had told him that other people, non-Battleborne people, would then be able to see her. He could stop worrying about appearing to be a madman talking to an imaginary friend.

  As they passed through the ancient battleground, Max spoke to Dylan. “This might sting a bit. This place is cursed, and will damage you a little every second. Dalia and I can heal everyone through it.” He looked at the dragon bones off in the distance. “That reminds me, I’m going to have to try to bribe Steelbender to make you a dragonscale chest piece.” He eyed the massive ogre whose weight was making even the sturdy dwarven wagon creak a bit. “Might take all of the scales I’ve got left.”

  He shifted his gaze to Dalia, who was already casting heals on everyone but Max. “If we’re not in a hurry on the way back, let’s stop here for a day. You and the others can harvest the extra powerful herbs, and I’ll search for more dragon bits.”

  It didn’t take long for them to pass beyond the boundaries of the cursed land. The party had weathered the damage without issue. The boars leading the wagons had misbehaved a bit, confused and angered by the damage from seemingly nowhere. Dylan managed to keep them under control mainly with brute strength, deep growls, and threats to make them into pork chops.

  Another hour or so further along, they stopped briefly to allow the boars to drink at a stream. They were just getting back underway when two orc scouts on tired-looking mounts came into view. They were moving at a full gallop, and Max waved for them to slow down before their mounts dropped.

  As they drew closer, both orcs dismounted, leaving their ja’kang to stand with drooping heads and sprinted over to the wagon. Both thumped fist to chest in salute before the first orc shouted, “Chimera King! A large force of An’
zalor’s troops is marching northward. Our sergeant sent us to warn you, we believe they are heading for the mine!”

  Max nodded. “Thank you for the warning. They have already attacked the mine, and we’re on our way there. You should have passed a force of mounted dwarves on the way here?”

  “We saw a dust cloud in the distance, sire. But did not pause to investigate. It was moving quickly southward, so we hoped it was allies.”

  “How many orcs did the War Chief send?” Smitty asked.

  “Four hundred.” The second scout answered. “They were marching rapidly and without pause when we last saw them.”

  “Good.” Max nodded his head. “Then they’ll have been tired when they attacked. Let’s hope that the engineers and miners managed to secure some sort of defensive structure before the enemy arrived.” He pulled some of the baker’s pastries from his inventory, as well as a bottle of Firebelly’s Finest. Handing them over to the scouts, he said, “You two wait here. Your mounts need a break, and some food, and I’m betting you do too. There’s a stream just behind us, and a column of reinforcements coming. Wait for them at the stream, and guide them to the mine.”

  The scouts bowed their heads in unison, then saluted. “Thank you, Chimera King.”

  Dylan flicked the reins and once again got the giant boars moving. Max gritted his teeth, anxious to get to the battle and help defend his people, and frustrated by the lack of a Humvee or a transport chopper to get him there.

  Chapter 2

  The orc forces stood just inside the tree line, staring with hatred at the dwarves and traitor orcs manning the fortification. Despite their commander’s rush, the dwarven engineers had managed to construct and install the gate on the outer wall before they arrived. It wasn’t pretty, but it was solid, and functional. On the back side, four massive iron brackets supported three heavy logs that acted as braces to keep the gate closed. The logs extended across the entire back of the gate, and six feet to either side. The brackets themselves were secured to the wall with iron bolts a foot long and as wide as a dwarf’s wrist. It took four strong orcs or dwarves at least half a minute to remove the bracing logs to open the gate.

  Not that the dwarves had any plans to open it anytime soon.

  “Is our surprise ready?” Commander Iz’tag asked his lead scout, who stared up at the sky for a moment.

  “Not yet, but soon. We should begin the attack now, to ensure the diversion is successful.”

  “Agreed. Begin the attack.” Iz’tag nodded, crossing his arms. “Send the first hundred.”

  The scout, who served as the commander’s second on this mission, raised a fist holding a single arrow as he roared “Attack!”

  Up and down the tree line, three hundred and fifty orcs roared a challenge toward the fortification, slamming weapons together or knocking them against shields. One hundred massive green-skinned brutes charged forward across the open kill zone.

  Almost immediately arrows and crossbow bolts began to fly from the ramparts. Orcs with long bows sent long arrows toward their former neighbors and clan mates. Dwarves sent a volley of deadly crossbow bolts through the spaces between logs. Here and there, charging orcs faltered and fell, or staggered from an impact but managed to continue forward.

  The distance from the trees to the wall wasn’t great, and the orcs covered the two-hundred-foot span quickly. Still, the withering fire from the defenders took down more than thirty of them, and wounded another ten.

  Those that reached the wall formed up quickly. Half of them raised shields high above their heads and formed a line along the base of the wall, covering themselves and their comrades who swung massive axes at the wooden palisade with powerful arms.

  Unable to hit their targets from above, a dozen dwarves hopped down from the wall and moved to shoot their crossbows through the narrow gaps in the lower part of the wall, aiming for the faces and the sensitive groins of the orc axe and shield wielders. At such close range, they could hardly miss. They shouted and laughed with each other as the orcs on the other side of the wall screamed in pain and rage. And the moment one of the shield bearers took a hit and lowered his shield, the orc archers atop the wall took advantage of the opening and made them pay.

  Enraged, several of the axe wielders dropped their weapons and produced spears, jamming them through the same gaps the dwarves had just utilized. Most of the dwarves leapt back, or to one side, to avoid the powerful jabs, but two of their number had been focused on reloading and moved too slow. One took a spear through the gut, the blade severing his spine on its way through. The other took a nasty gash in his side, his ironlike ribs deflecting the blade that had managed to penetrate his chainmail.

  The entire wall extended less than three hundred feet from end to end. The hundred orcs who had charged were clustered to the right of the gate, focusing on breaking through the wall. Unable to control themselves, a few more orcs dashed from the tree line, sprinting toward the wall. Archers took down all but one, who leapt high in the air when he reached his brethren. His feet landed atop one of the shields and he thrust with his legs, reaching up with an empty hand to grab the roughly pointed end of a log at the top of the wall. With a roar he used the momentum to pull himself up and over the top, swinging a sword with his free hand.

  Encouraged, the commander shouted, “Second wave!” and a moment later another hundred orcs charged forward. One third of these worked in pairs, carrying a makeshift ladder over their shoulders as they ran.

  Seeing this, a dwarven sergeant atop the wall shouted, “Ladders! Focus fire on the ladder bearers!”

  Those dwarves still atop the wall, along with the orc archers, gladly complied as two dwarves quickly finished off the orc who’d made it over the top. One severed his leg at the knee, the other crushed his thick skull with a war hammer as he fell.

  The archers took down nearly half of the ladder bearers as they crossed the kill zone, leaving eight ladders to reach the wall. The moment the heavy wooden constructs hit the wall, orcs with swords and spears began to scramble upward. Many caught arrows to the face or chest as they climbed, the defenders above firing down at nearly point blank range. Those who were struck fell backward onto their climbing comrades, or to one side atop the shield bearers. For half a minute, it was a massacre. But each time a defender had to draw another arrow or reload a crossbow, the climbers got a little closer to the top. Eventually, the dwarven sergeant called for a change in tactics.

  “Drop yer crossbows! Time to get dirty!”

  All along the section that was being hit, dwarves produced axes and hammers, halberds and even a few daggers. They happily launched themselves at the faces of the orcs as they reached the tops of their ladders. The orc and dwarf defenders farther down the wall continued to fire ranged attacks at the climbers, while those below the rampart still harassed the axe wielders trying to break through.

  The fighting was brutal, and the defenders began to lose more lives, at about a rate of one for every ten invaders killed. The rampart became slick with blood, causing melee fighters to slip here and there. Orcs roared in fury at dwarves who shouted insults and challenges. Screams of the dying on both sides echoed off the cliff face.

  “There’s the smoke signal.” The lead scout pointed toward the sky above the fortification.

  Iz’tag nodded once, and the scout grabbed his bow. A moment later he sent a flaming arrow high into the sky, signaling the fifty orcs they’d sent on a special pre-dawn mission.

  Both orcs leaned forward in anticipation as they waited for the trap to be sprung. It was only a few seconds before a massive boulder the size of a wagon wheel plummeted the three hundred feet from the top of the cliff to smash into the ground just inside the wall. The rock bounced once, slamming into three dwarves and crushing them against the inside of the wall.

  As one, the orcs roared their excitement even as shouts of alarm rose inside the wall. Dwarves’ gazes flew upward in time to see three more heavy rocks fly from atop the cliff.

&n
bsp; The sergeant wasted no time. “We cannot stand against them rocks! Retreat into the mine. Set the fuses!”

  Almost as one, the dwarves took a final shot at the orcs in front of them, then leapt from the walls. Their orc companions did the same, growling in fury at having to abandon the wall so quickly. The healthy helped the wounded as they scrambled toward the mine entrance and the open gate there. More rocks tumbled down, but the watchful defenders were mostly able to avoid them.

  Behind them, orc invaders were topping the ladders unopposed and leaping to follow their foes, cutting a few down from behind. A rear guard of dwarves turned and equipped shields, moving backward steadily as they engaged the orcs, giving the others time to reach the mine. Immediately another volley of crossbow bolts and arrows slammed into the attackers facing the rear guard, knocking many of them down. The dwarves continued their orderly retreat, covered by their brethren, losing two more before they were through the gate.

  A forest of spears and halberds massacred the closest orc invaders directly in front of the gate, pushing them back for long enough to close it. Unlike the palisade and its gate, this one was made of wood and iron. Ten feet wide and twelve tall, the massive door sported two dozen sharp spikes that protruded a foot out from its face. Several orcs who’d been rushing forward as the gate closed were impaled on those spikes, a few of them mortally wounded. Others braced themselves and held back, resisting the pressure of other orcs rushing up behind. They didn’t fare much better, though, as a score of crossbow bolts flew through openings in the gate and mowed them down as well.

  At the same time, several of the orcs in the area between the gate and the outer wall fell to friendly fire. They’d moved in so quickly that the orcs atop the cliff hadn’t halted their rain of death fast enough. Half a dozen large rocks crushed orcs as they landed, or slammed into them on the bounce. One rock landed atop another and shattered, injuring a dozen orcs with the sharp shrapnel.