Rising of a Mage: Book 03 - A Mage Risen

by J. M. Fosberg

  A group of orcs was tearing down buildings in the center of the area that was burning. They couldn’t have more than an hour at most. Fredin watched as the orcs made their way toward the center, away from the fire.

  The orcs who had been pushing into the town had run back the way they had come when it started burning. The leaders of the two tribes were either very weak or they had led the attack into the town. If there had been any real leadership the fifteen thousand orcs outside the town would have gone around south to attack the escaping people. Instead they pushed back the way they had come and watched as orcs began to burn alive inside the town.

  The group in the center had opened up a large area. From the size of it there had to be at least a couple hundred orcs there. Whoever was leading that group was uncharacteristically intelligent—a rare quality in orcs. The Dungins had somewhere along the line started teaching their children, with the result that most Dungins were smarter than the average orc, who tended to rely on strength and size to overcome anything. Whoever led those orcs was a thinker; he had realized what was happening and had been able to organize a bunch of fire-frightened orcs. If the smoke did not kill them, Fredin intended to find out who he was. He was dangerous. He decided right there that if that orc lived, Fredin would recruit him or kill him. A thinking orc could be dangerous, but if Fredin could bring him over to the Dungins he could prove useful.

  Fredin had seen all he cared to see. These humans had escaped. Thirty thousand orcs had been reduced to fifteen. Hopefully both of their chiefs would be dead. If they were, he might be able to make it a win for the Dungins.

  Fredin and the hundred orcs who had stayed with him caught up with the rest of the Dungins that night. He had sent his son Verruckt ahead with the rest of the Dungins. When he got to his tent Verruckt was waiting outside with two very large orcs, both as large as his son, who was himself huge for an orc. Vewrruckt was only twenty-three years old and still had a few years of growing to do, but he was already bigger than almost any other orc. The fact that these to were so big told Fredin that they must be new clan chiefs.

  “I am Fredin of the Dungin clan and leader of the horde. Who are you?”

  Both of these orcs were used to being the biggest and were obviously put off by his size. These orcs were over eight feet tall, but Fredin still stood a head taller. His son would be close to his height in another couple of years. Fredin continued to stare down at them, waiting for one of them to speak.

  “I am Traurig of the Bedauerlich clan. The chaos god comes. I bring twenty thousand orc to fight.”

  “I am Schlimm of the Schmerzlich clan. I bring twenty five thousand to fight.”

  “I am the horde leader. I have been accepted by the other chiefs. If either of you want to challenge, do it now.”

  They both lowered their eyes.

  “Then you are part of the horde. Together we bring down the dwarves. There are four more clans out raiding towns. They will be back by morning. The horde is now more than one hundred thousand. We will destroy the dwarves and take their mountain.”

  Fredin was sitting in his tent hours later when he heard shouting and squealing outside. He knew that the clans were back. By the sound of it there was a new clan chief, and he was prepared to blame him for the disaster that happened today. With a smile on his face Fredin took his greatsword in hand and walked outside. His son stood outside the tent with his own greatsword ready. Walking toward the tent was a crowd of orcs—close to a hundred was Fredin’s guess at a glance. A rather large orc was shouting in the front as he walked toward them.

  The orc at least had the sense to name himself when Fredin approached. “I am Torricht. I have claimed both tribes that fought today and they are now one tribe. The Torricht tribe.”

  Fredin’s eyes went past him to the orc just behind him. He wasn’t sure what it was about him. There was something about his eyes. Then he realized. He was figuring out his options. He wasn’t focused on the fight that would surely come but figuring out what he was going to do after. This was the orc who had organized the others in the town, he was sure of it.

  Fredin turned his attention back to the orc standing ten feet in front of him. He was going on about how the Dungins had not fought. Fredin recognized it as a trap. He kept repeating himself in different ways.

  “You challenge Fredin?”

  He knew he hadn’t actually challenged him. He had just been trying to show off, but now he would have to challenge him or he would be challenged.

  Fredin saw the anger mixed with fear in his eyes. He was trying to back out, he just couldn’t figure out how.

  Fredin taunted him. “Everyone look. It is the scared mouse of the woman tribe.”

  Torricht reached both hands over his shoulders. Each returned with a spiked mace in it. “You challenge Torricht?”

  Fredin just smiled. “A snake does not challenge a mouse.”

  To Torricht’s credit he at least understood he was being insulted. He just didn’t understand how—that was clear by the way his face twisted up. Fredin just smiled again. Torricht didn’t have a choice. He had to fight.

  Torricht came at him fast. His right-hand mace came down, trying to crush Fredin’s head. He side-stepped, raising his greatsword for the other mace that was coming in toward his right shoulder. He pushed against the mace and stepped toward Torricht. Torricht tried to swing his right-hand mace at Fredin’s left shoulder, but that was what Fredin had anticipated. When he stepped toward him he had come inside the range of the mace. He let go of his sword with his right hand and grabbed the mace. Torricht tried to pull it away, but Fredin smashed his face with a head-butt. Torricht rolled backwards on the ground, coming back up to his feet quickly. Fredin tossed the mace to his son while Torricht wiped the tears from his eyes. Blood was pouring from his bulbous pig nose and at least a couple of teeth were broken. Torricht charged again. This time he slipped and his mace came down at Fredin’s legs. He swept his sword across, but he was too slow. He had been preparing to block high and wasn’t able to get his sword across in time. One of the spikes dug into his thigh. His sword came across just too late and severed Torricht’s arm above the elbow. Black blood poured out. Fredin picked up the mace and brought it down on the back of Torricht’s head.

  Fredin tossed that mace at the feet of his son as well. “I am Fredin of the Dungin tribe, and leader of the horde. I claim the Torricht tribe as Dungins. Do I have a challenge?”

  The big orc next to the smart one drew two swords and stepped forward. When he opened his mouth to challenge, Fredin didn’t even give him time to say his name; he just put his sword through his mouth and out the back of his skull. There were no other challengers.

  Fredin gave his son orders to integrate the new tribe into the Dungins. Then he told the smart orc to come into his tent. One of the priests came with them. Fredin sat down in a chair while the priest packed the wound in his thigh with poultice. It was deep and painful, but the leg still held his weight. It wouldn’t slow him down.

  Fredin stared at the orc standing just inside the entrance. “I am Fredin of the Dungins. Who are you?”

  “I am Gescheit of the Dungins.”

  Fredin had to smile. Gescheit wasn’t big—he couldn’t be more then seven feet tall—but he was clever. This had to be the one. “You are the one who organized the orcs to clear the area of anything that could burn in the town.”

  Gescheit didn’t answer right away. It was another unnatural sign of intelligence for an orc. “Torricht led that.”

  It would have been enough for any other orc, but Fredin was a Dungin. “You led Torricht to the idea.”

  Fredin saw the corner of Gescheit’s lip start to curl into a smile before he controlled it. With that, Fredin new that Gescheit was his.

  “Brains are uncommon among the orc. You already know this. I want you to be my advisor, and my son’s if he becomes chief sooner than I plan. He is intelligent as well, but it can’t hurt to have another set of ideas.”

 
; “It is good to follow someone who can do more than be big. I gave up on being a clan chief when I stopped growing. I think I might like being a Dungin.”

  That gash in his leg had bought him fifteen thousand more orcs and an advisor. He had never had any counsel before. The only other thinking orc was his son, and Fredin was still teaching him, not asking his advice. Verruckt was already teaching his own son, but he was only six years old, and wasn’t a part of anything yet.

  Chapter Eight

  Chaos Begins

  Anwar slowly set Mariah’s litter on the ground. Everyone dismounted. In front of them were the remains of four houses, the last of them still smoldering on the ground.

  They searched the entire area. From the looks of it there had been around twenty people living in the three houses. There had been around ten or twelve cattle, two-dozen sheep, and some chickens. All of it had been taken. Anwar walked around staring at the tracks in the ground.

  “Are those goblin tracks?” Grundel asked. He thought those looked like the tracks, but this was the first time he had ever been outside of Evermount, and he had never actually seen a goblin. In fact, all he had ever seen were dwarves, humans, and halflings.

  “They are,” Anwar answered, still walking around and inspecting them.

  “There are a lot of tracks. How many do you think there were?” Grundel asked.

  “More than I have ever seen. We used to hunt down goblins all the time outside of Kampar and Ambar, but I have never seen anything like this. There must be thousands. No wonder there is nothing left. They must be at least a day ahead of us. It would have taken that long for these houses to burn down to nothing. We can’t do anything about it anyway. There are too many, and we don’t have time to try to stop them. We have to get Mariah to the forest.”

  No one had any argument. There was no way they could fight a thousand goblins by themselves. As powerful as Anwar was, that was a lot of goblins, and he had enough problems controlling his power already. Solemnly they mounted back up. Anwar levitated Mariah and they continued toward the forest. They were following the path of the goblins, but the monsters wouldn’t be going to the forest, so the paths would split eventually. If they did catch up with the goblins, they would have to avoid them.

  Grindel sat at the end of a long stone table. A dozen dwarves sat around it. His son sat to his right and Jabaal sat to his left as a guest. Scouts had returned, reporting that close to a hundred thousand orcs were marching south toward Evermount. They had to assume this was what Delvidge had meant.

  “It doesn’t matter how many orcs come. One hundred or one million, they cannot climb the mountain, and they are welcome to come up the steps and be slaughtered if they are that stupid. We will never lose a single dwarf.”

  Grindel wished it were that easy. He sat and listened. He saw the looks his son and Jabaal shared. They knew it wasn’t that simple either. Jabaal was smart enough to stay silent. His son was the one who made the initial argument.

  “How long can we sit in our mountain before we begin to starve? How long could we sneak through the passage before the orcs discovered it? We assume that this will be an attack controlled by the stupidity of the orcs. We forget that Delvidge is sending these orcs. He will not simply send the orcs to slaughter. No doubt he will not care that they die, but he has a plan. Believe that these orcs will not just march up those great steps and let us knock them down. There is more happening than we know, and we must prepare for a war.”

  One of the dwarves stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. “This war was brought on us by your wizard friend. Don’t you remember?”

  Now Grindel stood up. Slowly and silently he stared at the accusing dwarf. Slowly and deliberately he spoke. “Before you make your accusations, remember, without that mage Miskrull would have destroyed us all. Remember that this war was started in Shinestone. Remember that you are a dwarf. We will stand against the orcs. We will fight whoever shows up at our doorstep. Now let us quit this koboldish bickering and make plans to defend the mountain against a god.”

  With that, all arguments were ended, and the dwarves and Jabaal began to prepare for the coming battle.

  Schmutzig had led his horde south quickly. The chaos god had appeared the night before last and tortured him. The goblins had made good time, but they had gone too far west. They were three days to the west of the city. They would still make it in time. His goblins were taking off in small raiding parties, attacking the farms. They needed all the food they could get until they got to the city. He would not get lost again.

  When the god of chaos had come two nights ago, he was terrified. The god destroyed him. He watched as his own stomach had bulged until his insides popped out. It was the worst pain he had ever thought possible. He had tried to scream but his throat was raw. His hands and feet had caught fire, and when he finally had thought he was going to die, his eyes exploded in his skull. Then he had been healed. Schmutzig could not imagine more pain. Even though he was healed now, when he thought about it the hint of pain was still there. He could not go through that again. He could not fail. He was pushing his horde faster than they were used to. There were more fights and deaths every night than was normal, but death was better then failure.

  They would be at the city outside the forest of fairies tomorrow. He would have the goblins surround the city and wait till the next day. Then they would attack when the sun was high in the sky. This was what the chaos god instructed, so this was what he would do. He would not fail the chaos god. He would kill himself if he did, just so that he could not be tortured again. Not again.

  Chapter Nine

  Goblins

  It had been two days since they had come upon the first burnt farm. They had seen dozens more since then, still following the path of the goblins. It was obvious the goblins were headed in the same direction they were, but they knew the goblins wouldn’t be going to the fairy forest and that at some point their paths would split. It was nearly midday when they first saw the forest on the horizon.

  Seeing the forest was bittersweet, though. Between them and the forest they saw Freeman, surrounded by goblins. Anwar looked down at the city that was a good mile from the hill they were on. There had to be half a hundred thousand goblins. He had never seen so many. He knew what was coming, but he didn’t want to hear it.

  “Anwar, we can’t just leave them,” Navaeh said.

  Anwar stared down at the situation. He knew it would delay them at least a day. Mariah might not have another day. “We can’t stop. There are too many anyway, and even if we could help it would delay us at least a day. Freeman is going to have to deal with this on their own. The plan was always to avoid the goblins.”

  The words were like vinegar coming out. They sounded hollow, and he hated himself the second he said them. How could he risk her life though? There was no choice that was acceptable.

  “Is that what Mariah would do? Is that what she would want? How do you plan to explain to her that we let thousands of people die so she could live? How do you expect her to live with that?” It was Navaeh who was protesting.

  As much as Anwar didn’t want her to be, he knew she was right. How could he make that decision? How could he decide to put anything before her life? He stared down at the city. Freeman wasn’t as big a city as Ambar. It wasn’t even as big as Kampar. It had obviously grown a couple times, as there were three walls: each time the city had grown they had built a new wall around it. It would make for a better defense. You could kill hundreds, maybe even thousands, of the goblins in between those walls. Each wall would serve as another catching point were the goblins would bunch up, and arrows, pitch, fire, boulders, and anything else could be dropped down on them. Anwar estimated that there were around eighty thousand people in the city. That was just a guess, but he figured he was within ten thousand either direction. Even with that many people, at least half of them would be women and children. Most of the men wouldn’t be trained fighters. The walls would help, but eventually, with t
hat many goblins, the attackers would make it through or over those walls. The city would be lost. All of those people would die. How could he make this decision? He knew what he needed to do. He knew what was right.

  A horn blew, and more echoed its call. From this distance he couldn’t see the hundreds of grappling hooks go over the wall, but he quickly saw the goblins going up them.

  Anwar used his magic to lift Mariah up onto the unused horse. He looked at Rundo. “Strap her in.”

  Navaeh stepped up to him. “Anwar! We can’t just let this happen. How can you abandon all those people? We all love her, but there are thousands of people down there. Another day might not make a difference. We don’t even know if we can save her…”

  That was all he could hear. He turned and his face was inches from hers. He was staring into her eyes. “STOP! I am not leaving them. Rundo, get her strapped in. You and Rundo will take Mariah and the horses. You will keep them all safe. Grundel will come with me. When we finish off the goblins you can come back to the city. Now get mounted and go.” He saw the fear in her eyes. He saw the pain. He knew this wasn’t her fault, but why did he have to do this? It was too much.