by Joel Babbitt
In the back of Gorgon’s mind had been the slightest of doubts, that perhaps these weren’t the toll-exacting mercenaries he’d heard about. That doubt was now eliminated.
“Yes, yes. We have it on…” he turned and pointed at the middle dog being led by Gormanor who had requested the honor, “on that dog there.” As the rest of the line of warriors and dogs arrived at the final bend they bowed their heads in effort, and to hide any hint of the intentions that shone in their eyes. Some of them had been reluctant to fight other kobolds, but kobolds that fought in the service of orcs were certainly fair game, especially kobolds conducting open extortion on the only known trade route to the north.
As Gorgon reached the top, he saw that the six mercenaries off to either side weren’t moving from their spots, nor were the two to the front coming forward. He breathed in and out slowly, reducing the sound of pounding blood in his ears that threatened to dampen his situational awareness. Looking the mercenary leader in the eyes, he nodded his head.
Gorgon’s assessment of the mercenaries was that they’d obviously seen too much excess and too little training. Their eyes showed cruelty, not confidence. Their postures showed a lack of respect, which meant they wouldn’t act like a team. In the mouths of a few of them he could see blackened teeth, a sure sign of chew weed, a mild intoxicant that sapped the coordination and brain power of those who chewed it. The way most of them leaned on their spears showed that they didn’t take their jobs seriously. In summary, they were weak.
Drawing his hammer with lightning speed, Gorgon strode forward and swung his hammer with both hands. The leader of the mercenaries, who had been wary of caravan drivers who seemed to be in such good physical shape, stepped back almost quick enough; the hammer caught the tip of his snout, sending a spray of blood through the air. The mercenary standing next to him, however, was caught flat footed, and with a sickening crunch the follow-through from Gorgon’s swing smashed his head as surely as it would a melon.
Behind Gorgon the rest of the party drew their weapons and in a matter of moments the other six mercenaries had thrown down their spears and were begging for mercy. Grabbing the spear out of Mahtu’s grasp, Gorgon pushed the stunned mercenary leader to the ground. It was over in a matter of seconds.
“Where are the orcs that hold this bridge?” Gorgon scowled at the mercenary leader.
He was spitting out teeth and blood, a look of wild fear and pain in his eyes. “They no here! They leave guards. Not many. Orc guards down in outpost. Please, yoo no kill us?” he began groveling in the dirt.
Gorgon thought for a couple of seconds. He hadn’t planned on taking over the outpost, but then he wasn’t particularly opposed to the idea.
“You’re going to help us take down the orc guards if we let you live?” Though it was a question, the tone in Gorgon’s voice and the look in his eye made it clear it was a demand.
“Yes, yes. I help yoo. Yoo no kill us now?” Mahtu groveled, the damage to his snout making his northern gen accent even harder to understand.
“Alright,” Gorgon answered him. Turning back toward the rest of his warriors, he called for Arbelk to bring rope to tie them up. All of a sudden off to his right, Gorgon heard the noise of running feet. Grabbing the spear that lay at his feet, he spun around. The mercenary had barely gotten ten steps toward the bridge when Gorgon caught sight of him. Hoisting the spear, he hesitated as he saw a light appear behind him.
With an audible whoosh the bright light of a fiery dart sped past Gorgon striking the fleeing mercenary square between the shoulder blades, breaking his back and throwing him forward. In a matter of moments the young kobold mercenary’s ‘grand adventure’ came to an end as his body slammed into the carved pillar at the near end of the bridge, leaving a trail of burnt blood as it slid slowly down and over the edge into the abyss that the bridge spanned.
Gorgon looked back at Jerrig, who was smiling a hardened smile. Looking around at the remaining mercenaries, Gorgon’s eyes were cold and completely devoid of any mercy. “Let that be a warning to you. The next one that tries to get away will die just as easily.” From the look in their eyes, it was clear they were sufficiently intimidated.
In a matter of a few minutes Arbelk had used the rope from one of the packdogs to tie the six remaining mercenaries together in pairs. Next to Mahtu, the body of the one whose head Gorgon had smashed lay as a gruesome reminder of the stupidity of their choice of occupations. After the six of them were tied up, Gorgon knelt in front of their leader, asking his name and if he wanted the remains of his former mercenary companion.
“Um, no. He git stinky before long. Maybe yoo throh off bridge?”
Gorgon nodded.
“I Mahtu. If yoo want, I be merk for yoo?” Mahtu asked.
Gorgon shook his head. “I have no need of you or your rabble. You’d just get in the way.” Mahtu was saddened by this, but that certainly didn’t bother Gorgon at all.
“Maybe yoo want hear about orc horde?” Mahtu asked.
Gorgon’s eyes narrowed in distrust of the wretched mercenary. “What do you mean orc horde?” he asked.
“You take me to far end of bridge. I show you,” Mahtu offered.
Gorgon accepted the offer and had Arbelk tie Mahtu up separately, leaving his legs free to walk. Taking hold of the length of rope Arbelk left as a leash, Gorgon marched his prisoner toward the bridge, accompanied by Jerrig.
Let this be an example to kobolds who willingly serve our enemies, he thought as he passed the lifeless body of their former companion. Stopping for a moment, he called out to Troka to give the signal for the rest of the company to come up then continued over the bridge to see this ‘orc horde’ that Mahtu was talking about.
The rest of the company took almost until dawn to arrive at the top of the Chop. The burden of so much equipment, plus the extra six suits of armor, had slowed them so much that Gorgon had sent Troka and Arbelk down the mountain to meet the company at the half-way point and help ferry equipment up, a tasking which Arbelk took in his normal easy-going manner, even though he certainly wasn’t thrilled about it. Troka was much more verbal about being chosen for such a duty, but he did it anyway.
Finally, as the first light of the morning sun began to illuminate the sky behind the eastern mountains, lightening the deep darkness that lay like a thick blanket over the vast expanses of the two valleys, the rest of Durik’s Company appeared over the southern lip of the pass, their armor carried over one shoulder and their tongues lolling out to one side, sweat staining their straps and clothes. As each member of the company came up they found an empty piece of ground and, after dropping their armor, rucksacks, and weapons, flopped down in thankful bliss that the climb was finally over.
After a few moments of labored breathing, Durik forced himself back up to his feet. Troka had been telling him about this ‘orc horde’ that was encamped on the far side of the Chop that the mercenaries had told Gorgon was going to march against their gen’s home. He had to get a good look at it before the dawn took away any ability to see it with his heat vision. Staggering to his feet, he was taken aback by the tall stone demons that served as pillars at each end of the bridge. The memory of his visions was brought vividly to life in these pillars, and he almost cried out in dismay at the sight of them.
After a few moments, Kiria, who had arrived at the top slightly before Durik, came up to him. “Are you heading over to see the orc horde that’s supposedly marching on our gen’s home?” she said, not quite believing the size of it either, as described by Troka and Arbelk.
The spell broken, Durik looked over at Kiria and re-gathered his thoughts.
“Um, yes,” he replied simply.
“Is this what you saw in your visions?” she panted as she leaned over, her hands on her knees, nodding her head toward the bridge. She had noticed he was fixated on the statues as she had spoken to him.
Durik simply nodded, wiping the sweat from his snout with the back of one arm. “And in that small square buil
ding over there,” he said pointing to the small stone structure on the far side of the bridge, “Morgra gave me to know that there lies the entrance that leads down to where the Kale Stone waits for us,” Durik said, not realizing that he had let Morgra’s name slip.
“Morgra, you say? Where did you hear that name?” she asked as she tilted her head and looked up at him strangely.
Durik was surprised at the question. He’d not yet told anyone of the vision he’d had of Morgra, and he hadn’t planned on sharing that yet either. But now that the topic had come up, he didn’t feel to hide it from Kiria either.
“It’s a name from one of my visions. Why? Have you heard of her before?”
“Her? I’ve heard of Morgra, but I did not know it was… is a her?” she replied as she straightened up. “My father has a book that contains a poem or somethi… a canticle! That was it. A poem that’s supposed to be set to music, I believe. He has a book that contains the Canticle of Morgra. Could this be the same being?”
Durik shrugged his shoulders. “It is she that has sent these visions to me, that I know. She says that I must get the Kale Stone to someone else later, that I’m not the Oracle of Kale, but rather her paladin.”
Kiria pondered on this new revelation for a few moments before answering. “Well, alright. Is she a god, or is she some other being of great power?” she asked.
Durik shook his head. “I know she’s powerful… and pure.”
“So if you’re her paladin, can you do what paladin’s do?” Kiria asked.
Durik looked at her with a blank look. “What can paladins do?”
Kiria walked over to her satchel and grabbed a small sheaf of papers. Leafing through it, she brought it back to where Durik stood.
“Let’s walk toward the other side of the pass, Kiria.” Durik began walking and Kiria fell in next to him.
“There are stories in some of the Loremaster’s books about paladins, mostly from the time of The Sorcerer. They were righteous warriors who fought in the name of some higher being, receiving powers in return for their loyalty. Their powers were mentioned in several stories…” her voice trailed off as she read through her notes. “Aha, here we are. ‘A paladin has power both to heal and to harm, as well as to resist all evil.’ The healing you performed on Manebrow in the woods shows that you have power to heal.”
“Yes, but what of this power to harm?” Durik asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps time will reveal that,” she answered.
Durik nodded patiently. “And what do your notes say about the power to resist all evil?”
Kiria read for a moment as they finished crossing to the far side of the demonically decorated bridge. Finally, as they reached Gorgon, who sat with a still tied-up Mahtu looking out over the northern valley, Kiria looked up from her notes.
“I don’t know what that means either. But I can only imagine that such strength from a deity would be a powerful gift,” she said, still fixed on Durik.
“Let us hope that, whatever its measure is, it’s sufficient to deal with that,” he said pointing to the large glowing mass of bodies sprawled in various forms and fashions around Birdstone.
Noticing the orc horde dominating the panoramic pre-dawn view for the first time, Kiria gasped as she looked over the thousand orcs with their numerous ogres and kobold allies. “Oh no! What are we going to do? Oh no! It cannot be! May the Creator watch over us all!”
“And may Morgra give me power to save my people,” Durik whispered, concluding her prayer.
Chapter 22 – Finding the Stone
Durik looked over at Mahtu. “And you’re sure there are no more than a handful of orcs left in there, in addition to the other kobold mercenaries,” he whispered as the pair of them squatted behind the large block of stone. Though Mahtu had told them the guards would all be drunk, Durik was taking no chances—except trusting this mercenary to give him accurate information. But considering the circumstances and the opportunity, he had little choice.
Durik could hear the not so faint cheers and shouts of both orcs and kobolds. After moving around a bit, he knew it was clearly coming from the entrance in front of him. From the noises, it seemed that they were either drunk, or brawling, or both.
The slightly warmer air coming from the skillfully carved entrance of the old Dwarven Mining Outpost outlined the entrance well enough, and the natural cave of a javelin throw’s width as well. From their position behind the long, rectangular block of granite spoilage that lay broken on its side opposite the entrance, the pair of kobolds had been watching the pathway that led perpendicular to their own position and the entranceway.
In one direction, Durik’s Company and their five remaining prisoners waited in one of the outer defensive pockets carefully constructed by the dwarves a millennia ago.
In the other direction, Mahtu had told him that the majority of the original mines and their attendant support caves with their slag piles and smelters were down that way. Beyond those lay another series of watch points and defensive pockets, to guard against anything that might try to crawl up from the underdark far below the outpost.
Mahtu nodded his head. “Yes, only few orcs, no much merks. Twelve merks and lider. They drink much orc drink. You no hurt kobolds, yes?”
“If they’re as unalert as you say, then we’ll be in and out without them noticing,” Durik reassured him, and himself. He knew in his heart that if they were caught there would be blood, but it would be worth it if that’s what it took to find the Kale Stone and get its power to whomever Kamuril designated as its oracle, for that would certainly bring unity, and therefore peace, to his beloved Kale Gen. He knew he was on the right track… his heart told him so.
“Is no guard. Ye go?”
“Yes, we will go,” Durik corrected him. With that, the pair of kobold warriors carefully snuck back down the passage they had come from, padding softly over barren rock and hard earth. Not long after they came to the narrow chamber where the rest of the company was holed up. The path itself ran down one side of the chamber, while a wall of almost three kobolds’ height separated the other half of the chamber from the path. A small antechamber with narrow doorways in and out of it was built into the wall on the side closest to the outpost. It was in the small defensive chamber beyond that that the company waited, the loud noises of partying barely reaching them there.
Keryak, who was again posted as guard, stood watching through one of the arrow slits at the base of the defensive wall. Once word was given, the leaders of the small company gathered in the ante-chamber. Durik stood looking them in the eyes. Outside, Mahtu had squatted down to sit on his heels, and Keryak had moved out of the enclosure to ensure he didn’t get away and didn’t overhear.
“Alright, the options as I see it are two,” Durik began. “We can either sneak in and find the stone, or we can sneak in and take the guards by surprise, thereby taking over the outpost.”
“Aye! I’ve no love for orcs, nor the merks they employ,” Gorgon stated forcefully. “I say we take the outpost.”
The rest of the leaders were more reluctant.
Krebbekar spoke next. “I know that Morigar’s mission is to bring back the head of the leader of the Bloodhand Orcs. Since he’s apparently out there on the plains, I don’t see how taking this outpost will help.” He looked back for a moment at Morigar, who was sitting over in the corner chewing on a fingernail. He had deliberately ignored every huddle that Durik had called so far, stating that it didn’t pertain to him. Morigar was an immature fool, and out here, far away from Lord Krall’s watchful eye, Krebbekar was beginning to feel less and less inclined to deal with his foolishness. He would consider Morigar a passenger on this journey, not bothering to invite him to any more leaders’ huddles if he was going to ignore them anyway.
Ardan spoke up. “I think we should sneak in, get the stone, and get out. Fighting orcs, even drunk ones, is a chancy thing. Best to leave them be and not chance injury here. There’ll be plenty of chance for fighti
ng once that orc horde makes it into the southern valley.”
“Aye,” Manebrow nodded. “We’ve no idea what tricks they have up their sleeves. It would be good if we could secure the bridge and make the orcs fight to take it back, which would surely mean we’d have to clear out this outpost” he started, changing the tone. “But since your border guards say they’ve got a pass under the mountains,” he said, looking at Krebbekar, “I’d imagine they won’t use the bridge. It’s quite a climb after all.”
The other leaders agreed, but didn’t know what he was driving at.
“So now that we’ve taken the bridge, if we now took the outpost,” Manebrow continued, “after we deal with this orc horde, our caravans could pass unmolested, without the worry of an orc base below it.”
Durik nodded his head. “Ensuring the trade route stays free would be a good thing. Of course, if there is a route under the mountains, then Demon’s Bridge may become irrelevant.”
“True, but either way, leaving an orc stronghold intact so close to our two gens isn’t wise,” Manebrow countered.
“Either way,” Durik continued, “I want to see what’s in there before we decide whether to drive out its guards or not. For now, a small scouting force will go in as we agreed. We can take the place from there if need be.”
The small huddle of leaders broke, and within moments armor had been stripped off so as to not hamper their stealth, belts adjusted and retightened, and weapons were in hand. The entire mission was to find the Kale Stone, and Krebbekar was Krall Gen, so Durik left him in charge of the stay behind force.
Ardan led the way out of the shelter, followed closely by Keryak.
Ten paces after them Durik, Manebrow, and Kiria followed. Durik normally would have left her behind, she wasn’t trained in stealth after all, but Kiria had insisted. It had been a while since her running off at the First Night’s Resting Place, and he could sense that she wanted another chance to prove herself, and her knowledge of lore may be critical to their success, so he had relented—after Manebrow had tightened a belt she wore. It had been making an annoying clicking sound as the tip of it had banged against the hilt of her long knife.
