“If we catch you here again, we’ll not be so generous!” a Follower called to the Gnomes in scorn, and then turned to his companions and laughed aloud.
They turned round and departed the cavern back toward citadel Grundagg, laughter echoing throughout the passage.
A pair of yellow eyes peered down at The Follower as they went back the way they came. But two stayed at the caverns opening, and stood guard over the ore by the direction of Juanna. She gave order that she would send for them as soon as she had reported their discovery of the Gnomes to their lord and lady.
The hidden enemy viewed all of this from its perch in the caverns ceiling, clinging to stalactites overhead. The Horg turned away, for it was indeed a Horg scout of some clan hidden somewhere in the tunnels, and used its strength and claws to climb from one stalactite to the next as they hung from the caverns ceiling.
Mazoroth, the chieftain of the Horg clan of Mazar, sat upon a boulder as he sharpened his broad axe. He awaited the return of his scout who had been sent out an hour earlier to keep watch over a passage patrolled by The Follower, where, they too, had discovered the ore they were interested in.
The Horg scout returned to the cavern hidden high up out of sight of a passage that past below. The cave was only reachable by way of climbing from stalactite to stalactite as the Horg scout did, and so it reached the opening and past within, being accepted by the guard who stood at watch beside the mouth of the hidden cave.
The scout came up behind Mazoroth as he sharpened the blade of his heavy axe. “Mazoroth,” the scout said, bowing to the back of its chieftain, “I’ve come to report my watch.”
“Then report,” Mazoroth grumbled without turning to face the Horg.
The scout retold all that took place in the tunnel between The Follower patrol and the unlucky barefoot Gnomes, retreating back to Gerrabaar.
Mazoroth chuckled at the image in his mind of the Gnomes hurrying away back to Gerrabaar, to appear before their fellow Gnomes with nothing but their skin on their feet, and their frightened and embarrassed faces. He looked up and around the large cavern he had chosen for the clan to lay in wait for the perfect moment to steal the ore from The Follower and Gnomes, the two races the Horg’s hated the most.
Nearly a hundred Horg’s sat or stood scattered around the cavern, waiting for their chieftain’s orders. They all carried weapons, such as axes, broad swords, hammers, and other large tools of destruction.
“You hear that?” Mazoroth asked his troops with a broad grin curling under his large tusks. “It seems The Followers and the Gnomes have a fascination with our ore. Perhaps we could join in on their little game.” He winked at his troupe as he brandished his heavy axe.
The Horg’s exchanged grins to one another, than lifted their weapons in ready positions for combat. One by one they began their chant in agreement and want to begin, growling, “Hunt! Hunt! Hunt!” and slowly they raised their voices into roars.
Mazoroth rose from his seat on the boulder, raising a clawed hand to silence them. Then, after all was silent, he spoke low. “Then let’s scratch ourselves some ore.”
They left the cavern by the same route the scout had entered through, some climbed from the stalactites while others climbed down a rope ladder onto a narrow path. They went to the cavern of ore, where two of The Follower stood guard by word of their captain.
*****
When reaching citadel Grundagg, her home, Juanna sent a soldier to report to their Lord and Lady of their findings in the tunnels. She grinned as she told the experience to the guard, and he, too, smiled his amusement. Remembering her promise to two of The Followers she’d left in the cavern where they met the Gnomes, Juanna departed the city walls on a familiar trail she took on her patrols. She called two of her patrol companions to follow. One of them, a female ranger, known to many as Yaldaa, carried a crossbow. The other was a strong male named Fustua, wearing a sword across his back and a shield over his arm.
These were counted among the best of Joanna’s patrol.
The three Followers went down the narrow passage and followed it for some time, passing round winding rocks. Various other passages wound off on either side, but the company stayed to the main path, knowing it to lead them the correct way.
When she was sure they were nearly to their destination, Juanna heard a sound like crumbling rock and a shout of alarm followed shortly by a monstrous roar. Her duel blades were in her hands in an instant, and Fustua unsheathed his blade and tightened his hold on his steal shield while Yaldaa shouldered her crossbow, loading a dart into the weapon, and aimed into the cavern which was beginning to be overrun by very familiar monsters.
The Horg clan of Mazar, led by Mazoroth, charged the cavern, swinging their hammers round in clumsy but well thrown attempts to crush the heads of the two Followers guarding the place. When Juanna and her two companions charged in from behind their threatened comrades, the Horg’s hesitated, thinking the entire patrol was charging. However, when seeing only three newcomers, they regained their courage and charged foreword with raised weapons.
Fustua rushed in first and deflected a hammer coming down heavily for his head with his shield, then drove his blade into its chest with all his strength. The Horg went limp and collapsed to the ground at his feet. The warrior did not hesitate to block another swing, and again he drove his sword into his enemy with as much strength as his body would allow.
The two fearful Followers, ordered to guard the cavern, overcame their sudden fear for their lives and replaced it with their blades as their captain came to their aid.
Juanna sent one blade in after the other in her smooth and precise attacks on the Horg’s with her duel scimitars. She soon disarmed a monster and slashed it three times across the chest before it finally fell to the ground. Her next attackers came from both sides, and she fought off the two attacking Horg’s with either blades working evenly to block their thrusting hammers and axes. One Horg found its thigh cut cleanly by a smooth slice from her right blade, and then fell with the sword through its throat. The other was soon after taken down, with both blades protruding from its chest.
Darts were fired into the cavern, and Horg’s fell at their poisoned tips. Yaldaa glanced upwards at the ceiling when hearing the scraping of claws against stone, and saw Horg’s climbing in from the stalactites above. She turned her weapon upon them and continued her assault, dropping them from the ceiling with darts in their faces.
One of The Followers was slammed up against the stonework of the caverns wall by the force of a Horg behind its large, barbed hammer. The Follower cried out, catching the attention of his captain, Juanna, who quickly finished off the Horg she battled before turning his way. Her blade cut through the attacking Horg’s throat from behind as it raised its hammer to end the life of the mortally wounded Follower bleeding before it. She dropped to her comrades’ side and looked into his weakening eyes.
“The ceiling,” the wounded Follower groaned, looking up.
Juanna glanced upwards and saw the Horg’s coming down upon them. Her ranger was busily shooting them down, but she knew that wouldn’t hold them for long. Yaldaa would run out of darts before they would be finished.
A Horg stalked behind Juanna as she was distracted, but the monster was slashed across the neck by Fustua. Fustua had seen the Horg’s coming from above as well, and he looked about the cavern for any source that he might bend to his advantage. He charged toward the wall, which slanted upwards at an angle, and slashed the face of a Horg that climbed down toward him. Then pivoting to the right, he leapt toward a stalactite over the entrance through which the Horg’s entered, and slammed shield first into it.
The rock formation broke free and fell upon the Horg’s charging in, and blocked the door from any others. The Follower did his best to break his fall with a roll, but landed among the debris of the shattered rock and stumbled in pain to get to his feet.
Juanna braced her wounded companion on one shoulder, and headed for the only entranc
e left open. She stopped at the tunnels mouth to call to her companions.
“Fall back!” she cried. “We’re outnumbered!”
Yaldaa shot several more darts, and then turned to the tunnel and passed through as her captain commanded. The other Followers turned from the Horg coming upon him with a large axe, and he too left the cavern without hesitation.
“Fustua, come!” Juanna shouted to the remaining Follower, standing across the cavern as he faced off the oncoming Horg’s.
“They’ll pursue!” he replied, brandishing his sword before the descending Horg’s. He quickly cut down one that came near him.
“I’m ordering you!” Juanna shouted at him.
Fustua hesitated before the Horg’s, but turned away at a sprint toward Juanna. He briefly ran up the wall to slice a monster descending near the ground, and it fell from the wall onto the cavern floor.
From the ceiling there dropped a larger, beefier Horg. Mazoroth rose from his landing position in the center of the cavern, lifting his heavy axe and swinging it viciously with a growl. His two yellow eyes glared at the remaining Followers with hatred.
Fustua stopped as he saw the Horg chieftain standing before them. The warrior lifted his sword and shield in a readied attack position.
“No, Fustua!” Juanna growled, seeing his movement and knowing his intention.
The other Horg’s reached the floor of the cavern and stood round their chieftain, grinning and brandishing their large weapons.
“Come, Followers!” Mazoroth roared, “Let me see your courage!”
“Run!” Juanna said in Fustua’s ear, “Our comrade is dying!” and she gestured with a blade at The Follower leaning on her arm.
Fustua turned away and went down the passage after the others. Juanna shot an angry glare at Mazoroth before following. However, as she went down the tunnel she heard the mocking laughter and voice of the Horg chieftain, exclaiming, “Another of their caverns has been reclaimed as Mazar!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Group Training
Neth’tek kept at his steady training in magic and melee. His lessons still continued with his elder brother, and his knowledge expanded every day he lifted a blade or cast a spell. He was nearing his sixteenth year, and already there seemed peace between Vulzdagg and every other neighboring Branch of the Urden’Dagg tree.
No more was spoken of Zurdagg. Vulzdagg was at last at peace with itself it seemed. But still, Neth’tek felt the growing tension in his own family; tension that was building on outside matters that occurred unnoticed and unwanted. They received news of the Horg attack on a passage patrolled by the Grundagg Branch, and that was enough to set some on the edge of their thrones of stalagmite and iron rock.
Dril’ead kept reminding Neth’tek of the responsibilities he would soon receive when he reached his sixteenth year. “And those responsibilities are not ones one would call easy,” Dril’ead told his apprentice. “You will be given hard duties to execute, and everyone will be expecting the best out of you. So give them your best.”
“Who will be expecting my best?” Neth’tek asked.
“They will,” Dril replied, and then continued to make it more clearly for him to understand. “Everyone who is watching, and not always do we know who is watching and when. That is why we must always be our best – even if no one is watching.” He paused, and then said silently as if someone was listening and he didn’t want them to hear, “It is always watching out for the best.”
The best, Neth’tek said silently. What becomes of the best of us?
He knew well what it was when Dril’ead mentioned it. Everyone knew what anyone meant when speaking that way. It was quite plain in its meaning, always referencing to the Urden’Dagg. The one thing everyone feared and the one thing everyone took pride in serving.
*****
It was while Neth’tek was in the middle of casting a spell on a practice body, to envelope it in flame, when a mage who he had never seen before stepped into the barracks. The mage was young, and Neth’tek began to question his observance of him even being a mage, but rather a wizard-in-training. He wore the brown and green robes of a Vulzdagg mage, and wand stuck under a leather belt round his waist.
“Greetings, Neth’tek Vulzdagg,” The Follower said, tipping his forehead to him respectfully. He pulled his cowl back to reveal his face and bright hair.
“Who might you be?” Neth’tek asked, not too pleased to have his concentration broken.
“I am Skandil,” The Follower replied with a smile.
Neth’tek nodded his acknowledgment to the young warrior, and then turning back to the practice body he prepared to revise his spell, this time hoping to not be interrupted.
“I see you are casting spells,” Skandil said in fascination as he approached Neth’tek’s side.
“I am,” Neth’tek replied with a sigh of distress. Neth’tek closed his eyes, trying to ignore the young wizard. He began emptying his mind of any distractions when Skandil spoke again.
“My father was a mage,” Skandil said reflectively.
Neth’tek opened his eyes and glanced at Skandil, giving up his mantel fight. “Was?” he said.
Skandil looked up at him with weary eyes that Neth’tek noticed for the first time. “Yes,” said Skandil. “I was only three or so when he was brought back dead, cut down by monsters somewhere in the passages while on a patrol. He was captain of that patrol, and I heard he was a great one too.” He paused, looking away. “I hope to become a great leader as he.”
Neth’tek looked back to the practice body without anything further to say, unsure how to respond to such things as tragic experiences, and hoping to be through with the awkwardness. He closed his eyes and once again began his spell. This time Skandil did not interrupt, so Neth’tek was able to go through the incantation without any distractions.
There were brief flickering of flames dotted about the practice body, and then the head of the body was suddenly enveloped in the fire. Neth’tek breathed out in relief and let his shoulders droop into a lazy posture.
Skandil jumped in surprise when the head was enflamed, and Neth’tek stifled a grin. “Well then,” Neth’tek said, turning away toward the door, “I’ll be going.”
“Perhaps I’ll see you in the combat quarters when Group Training begins!” Skandil called to Neth’tek as he left.
“Perhaps,” Neth’tek replied over his shoulder. In his mind, though, Neth’tek wondered what Skandil meant by Group Training. This was a question he would have to ask Dril’ead.
However, the answer to group training came to him before he had time to meet and inquire of his brother. It was while he was reading out of a book on melee stratagem that a guard came searching for him, calling out his name until he at last found the student studying in the citadel library.
“Neth’tek, your brother has summoned you!” the guard scolded.
Neth’tek stood hastily and closed the book. “I didn’t know.”
“I would expect not,” the soldier said. He took Neth’tek by the arm and steered him out of the room and into the passage outside. They went on for about a minute or two until they came into a wide room.
Now, they were in the top level of the citadel, where most of the training took place. Neth’tek took note of the other young Followers gathered in the center of the chamber they had entered, and along the walls were racks of weapons of different shapes and sizes; straight blades, shields, duel blades, or just basic beginner wands. Dril'ead stood in the center of these children with his scimitars in hand. He was speaking to them, most likely lecturing them as he always would with Neth'tek.
"What is this?" Neth'tek asked the soldier who led him toward the group.
"Group Training," the soldier replied. "This is just the introduction to what you and these other children will be learning in Group Training."
Dril'ead stopped his speech when he saw Neth'tek approaching, and the other students looked in his direction. The soldier who led him stopped
and turned back toward the door where he and Neth’tek had come in through. When Neth'tek stood beside another student whom he had never seen before, Dril'ead clapped his blades together to get their attention off Neth'tek's entry.
"Now that everyone is here!" Dril'ead began, "I shall start off by telling you how things will be working in Group Training. And yes, it is exactly how it sounds. We shall be training in groups, and our training shall be based off basic attacks and defense maneuvers. Those of you whose station is in the arts of magic shall be coming to this same place earlier in the waking hours. For three hours you shall be taught by the mages of Vulzdagg, starting with the basics.
"As for the melee fighters, you will come up here during the later hours of the day and shall be going over basic maneuvers, as the mages, but only on the subject of melee fighting. I shall be your main instructor, except during the mage training. When not training, I would recommend that all practice in the barracks or study in the library. Practicing with your fellow fighters is highly recommended as well."
Dril looked around the room at each of the faces of the children. When none made any move, but shifted positions in weariness, he let his gaze settle on Neth'tek, who instantly dropped his eyes to the floor.
"Are there any questions?" Dril'ead said, looking to each of the children again. "If not, then we shall get right to the main part. Go ahead and grab your weapon of choice from the racks you see along the walls…" he went about the room giving direction, or suggestions to some who had trouble choosing a weapon. "If you’re more of a distance person, I'd go with the crossbow. But if you prefer getting close up and personal, then the duel blades are yours to choose. If you wish for protection while fighting, the shield and a basic spear or sword would do fine…"
Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle Page 14
