by Leo deSouza
“That sounds fair, still suspicious as we don’t know these ones…” Tarugo said.
“We must trust them. Ye know my brother, he will keep us all captive under the Vulcan, he does not know what he does, pride and rawness blinds him!” The princess said.
“Well I could agree with that… Anyway… If ye say ye are leaving, and I heard ye talking about the trapdoor, then I can only guess this is your escape path.” Tarugo continued.
Torra nodded. “Yes, we are going to…”
Someone knocking on the door interrupted her. “Open the door! Why is it locked?” A voice sounded from outside.
Now the princess and the others looked at Tarugo. This one smiled to them and moved his head towards the trapdoor, then came to the door walking slowly, he unlocked it and gave space, two guards came in.
“What is happening? Why was the door locked?” One guard asked looking around as if expecting to see something suspicious, but there was no one more besides Tarugo there.
“The door was locked for the sake of safety. Don’t ye know we are under curfew?” Tarugo asked.
“That has nothing to do with locking doors!” The guard replied as he stepped ahead into the room. “We thought we saw someone entering here just a moment before.”
“Well my noble guard, as ye can see, the only ones here inside are us.” Tarugo spoke.
Now both the guards were inspecting the place.
“Prince Gorduro told us to keep an eye on ye, smith. He does not like your ways.” The first guard spoke.
“Our prince is wise, if he says he does not like me, then good thing I must not be. A wise leader watches everyone! Did I already tell what he told me about ye?” Tarugo asked.
Now the guard looked at him, surprised and suspicious. “Prince Gorduro said something about me?” He asked.
“Oh yes he said.” Tarugo continued. “And let me reveal ye, my friend, that he keeps ye and your comrades on the highest prestige.”
The guard smiled, visibly proud. “That is something logical… We execute an excellent work of safety in this stronghold!” He said.
“Of course you do. By the away, did ye check the other galleries? I heard the prince saying something about having it as a priority.” Tarugo said.
“He said? Well, then we must follow all his will.” The guard replied. “Don’t go around walking though the stronghold at night, the curfew is a law for everyone, including ye.”
“I will keep that in mind.” Tarugo replied.
The guards left the room, he closed the door, came to the trapdoor on the ground and opened it, there were Torra and the others.
“Thank ye, Tarugo!” The princess said. “I’m not going to forget about this, and when I come back to save my father, I will for sure find a way to reward ye.”
“Just not telling anyone I’m involved in this is enough. I don’t know where ye are going, but if ye really want to leave, then go now, I know these guards, they are like any other Steel Fist, ye can fool him appealing to his pride, but soon distrust will take his mind again, and I have a guess they will come back soon to re-check all this place. Go now, whatever ye plan to do, Torra, I know ye since ye was a brat, and whatever ye have in mind, I think it is the better for us all, at least better than the plans of your proud brother.” Tarugo said.
“Thanks, my friend! I hope to see ye soon!” She said.
“What a strange path to escape anyway…” Tarugo said as he closed the trapdoor.
H urried leavings.
Montaron was still inside the stronghold, crawling inside the ventilation ducts, totally black, covered by ashes, trying to find a way out, but all exits were blocked by metal bars, so he continued, not knowing where he was going. While passing by another exit, he noticed the bars were loose, so the dwarf forced them, and with some effort one of the bars dropped, this exit was not in the ceiling but at half the wall height, Montaron sidled through the exit and fell inside a room, but what he saw there inside shocked him as he came to realize where he’d got into. A pompous room, it was dark and only illuminated by a few torches, the place was adorned with gold and many paintings, a royal bed was covered by curtains, Montaron was inside King’s Drago bedroom. The dwarf approached the bed, he pulled the curtain and saw there, lying, the convalescent king, so pale and thin was he that Montaron first thought he was dead, but then he saw his chest moving as he breathed. When the rogue turned to leave, the King spoke: “Who is there?”
Montaron just stood silent.
“Who is it? Gorduro? Is that ye, my son?” The King insisted.
Montaron did not know what to say and before he could leave, the King held his arm with a quick movement. “Stay here, friend…” Drago said. “If only the heat from the Vulcan could warm me now… All I feel is cold… Could ye please give me some water?”
Montaron was half behind the curtain, and as the room was too dark, the King could not identify him. He turned and took from above a bedside table a bottle with water, filled a cup and brought it to the King’s mouth.
Drago drunk it, sobbing. “Thank ye, my friend…” He said.
Now Montaron put back the bottle on the bedside table, it was then he saw there a strange object, a skull adorned with gems.
“Could ye…” Continued the King. “Could ye tell me, friend… Ye are one of the healers… Tell me, did ye hear anything about the army? Is Gorduro preparing it?”
“Yes, he is.” Montaron said.
“Oh… I knew it… I knew I could trust my son… He is young, but he learns fast… There will come the time when he will replace me, and alongside Torra, they will rule the strongest of the four houses. He is the heart, she is the mind….”
“Yes, they are.” Montaron replied.
“Now tell me my good friend… These have been lonely days… Tell me, what is your name, and how is your life going? Do ye need something? I could provide anything a good friend is needing.” The King spoke.
“I’m Montaron, I’m fine.”
The King chuckled, then coughed. “Detachment… A rare value to find these days… Everyone is eager to find richness and wealth… But I will tell ye what… Now that I’m here… Now that death rubs me… I came to understand that… That….”
Montaron put his ear close to the King’s mouth.
Drago continued: “…I came to understand that… The more ye have the more ye need! There is always someone to ask ye things, and wealth is never enough! This is the problem in this world! What do ye think about richness and greed? My friend.” He asked and then coughed.
Montaron was not prepared to answer such a question. “It weighs.” He said, not thinking much about it.
The king chuckled again. “It is true… It weighs… That must be the reason of my sickness… Too much weight carried along all my life…” He spoke.
Now the sound of a key unlocking the main door was heard, Montaron quickly took the skull from the bedside table and ran without noise. Someone came through the door, but the rogue was fast enough and went inside the duct again.
“Father.” Sounded a voice, it was Gorduro who came inside the room.
“My son… Is that ye?” Drago replied.
“Yes father, it is me.” Gorduro said.
“Good… Good that ye came to meet your father… Each time ye come here, could be the last time we meet.” The king spoke.
“Don’t say that, father!” Gorduro exclaimed as he knelt at the foot of the bed holding the hand of the King, his eyes trembling as tears dropped.
“Don’t suffer, my son… Be strong, our folk need ye now and…” Drago was saying.
“What? What father?”
“Somehow I feel better now.”
“What do ye mean? All of a sudden?”
“Yes!” Drago exclaimed.
“Father, what happened?”
“I don’t know… I can feel the warm coming back to my bones… Hey, where is the healer that was here right now?”
“There was no one here insi
de when I came!”
“Of course there was, I’m not having hallucinations!” Drago said in such a strong voice that it surprised Gorduro.
“Your voice, father! Ye are recovering your might!”
“Where is he? He was here right now!”
Gorduro raised from the ground and looked around, then spotted the loose bar on the duct entrance.
“Guaaaaaards!” He shouted.
Meanwhile Thuor was on a platform outside of the main Stronghold structure alongside with four elite warriors sent by Gorduro, yet still under the Vulcan. There was a railroad leading to a tunnel inside the mountain, and on it a strange armored wagon, covered by thick metal plates with many spikes. In this place a lava stream ran by the railroad side, and flames burned on its surface, it was a crude cave. One of the warriors opened the wagon door and they entered, sitting then on benches inside, Thuor came after them. Two of them came to a lever and began to move it, the wagon rolled slowly but gaining speed, its door was closed and its interior became dark, except for the light coming from small windows on its sides. The captain noticed how sharp and well crafted were the weapons of these elite fighters, and all them seemed quite focused on the task they were about to accomplish. The wagon increased speed and now ran over the rail passing quickly through the tunnel. Looking outside through the small windows, Thuor could see the ambience changing, sometimes the tunnel was totally enclosed and dark, and sometimes the path opened in a cave gap, revealing lava rivers and flames.
The travel lasted a while and at its end the dwarf warriors pulled a lever to make the wagon brake. The door was open and everyone inside the wagon went out into a brutally hot ambience, much fire and lava was around.
“How can any creature live in a place like this?” Thuor asked.
But none of the dwarf warriors replied, instead, they hurried into the cave, passing over a river of lava, jumping on rocks; the captain came after them doing his best, but finding it extremely risky to walk over death like that. Now on solid ground again, the group ran through a tunnel, Thuor was sweating under his clothes, the warriors advanced fast as they seemed to be very used to such an ambience. Then they came to reach a large deep cave, looking down the group sighted some figures moving there, among flames.
Thuor said quietly: “There are the blood orcs… Just a few… Four I can count. We could circle and bypass…”
“We don’t pass by, RockFoot. Either we send an entire army to obliterate the enemy, or just a few of us are enough to deal with a group like that.” Interrupted one of the Steel Fist warriors.
Now dividing in two groups, and without Thuor’s participation, the warriors circled the cave, going downslope and hiding behind rock bulges. The captain stood in his position, watching all, he saw the moment when from behind their covers, the warriors drew strange weapons, the same short blunderbuss Torra had. The dwarfs pointed the weapons against the orcs in the middle of the cave, the creatures were just arranging some stuff, unwarned, then the sound of gunfire was heard, smoke came from the warriors’ weapons, the orcs fell dead. The Steel Fists seemed to ignore Thuor’s presence, they just went ahead, leaving the dead orcs behind. Now they left the cave gap and entered another ambience, a big crack in the ceiling gave views to the sky and snow was coming from it to fall on a lava pool inside the cave, steam filled the air as the ice crystals evaporated on the hot surface. Near the border of the pool, a strange statue, precariously carved, featuring a tall man in royal clothes.
“Where did this thing come from?” Thuor asked. “It can’t be made by the orcs.”
“Ancient eastern men’s King.” Said one of the Burning Blade dwarfs.
“Why would the orcs have a statue of an eastern king? And how did they make it? They are not skilled enough.” Thuor continued.
“So it seems they are learning some tricks with someone.” The warrior said.
Thuor still looked at the statue for a moment, thinking about it and wondering if it could have any relation with the Warlock. The warriors spread around, now holding their swords and shields, Thuor kept some distance, holding his own weapon, it was him who saw an orc riding a giant lizard about to jump on the back of one of the Steel Fists, coming from above an elevated part of the cave.
“Behind ye!” The captain shouted.
But was too late, the lizard jumped on the warrior, falling over him, then bit his neck, killing the dwarf. The other ones attacked, circling the foe in a strange formation that Thuor never saw before, quickly alternating their positions, making the lizard unable to focus while quickly coming closer to him, and when they did, the orc rider drew his own rustic sword and there began a fierce fight. The captain decided to not intervene as he noticed the Steel Fist ones were acting in a way only they knew, joining the fight could end up in confusion.
The lizard whipped with his tail and bit with his mouth while his rider twisted his sword; the dwarfs struck precisely, opening wounds on the mount’s legs, making the creature scream. The orc hit his sword against their armors but was ineffective, soon the lizard was fallen over his broken legs and his rider had to dismount and fight. But when that happened, the group of warriors distanced, leaving only one of them to fight the orc while the others just watched, resting their hands on their belts, like witnessing a spectacle. The one who stayed got into fighting stance, as did the orc, both looked at each other angrily, all of a sudden the orc jumped back, trying to escape, but was blocked by one of the warriors who was watching, he kicked the orc back to the fight.
Now finally the struggle began between the two foes, blades hitting, scolds by the orc, and the Steel Fist warrior moving so firmly that he seemed like a machine to Thuor. The captain knew about the might of the Steel Fist warriors, but never came to witness an elite one fighting before now. Although the orc revealed itself a tough enemy, in the end he fell on his knees, wounded and defeated, a last blow of the sword from the dwarf’s arm cut off his head, finishing the fight. The warrior rested on the handle of his sword, breathless, the others greeted him, raising their fists.
Now Thuor was crouched near the dead dwarf, the one killed by the lizard. “I tried to warn him, but was too late.” He spoke.
“Death never comes early, nor late, death is only death, and it comes when it must.” Said one of the warriors approaching. He arranged the dead one, resting his sword on his chest and crossing his arms over it, Thuor distanced himself as he noticed all the others come close, there one of them intoned some verses:
“Born by the rock
Forged like steel
Warrior of the fire
Keeping the vigil
Fallen in battle
Burned by the flames
Never to kneel.”
Now they raised the dead dwarf from the ground and took him towards the lava pool, there they rested his body, giving it to be burnt in a ritual that Thuor had never come to know had existed, it still seemed quite impressive for him.
“None of us Burning Blade are meant to get on knees before dying, whoever is the enemy we are facing.” Said one warrior to Thuor.
“Is that the way all ye Steel Fist are cremated?” The captain asked.
“Yes, Thuor RockFoot, all our ashes goes with the fire streams.” The dwarf replied.
One more time the group moved, now leaving this part of the cave, they went down a sloping tight corridor where a rustic staircase was carved into the rock to then enter their final destination. Right ahead they could see another cave, with a flattened ground, filled with many furnaces and war hardware, all around the place there were anvils, unfinished weapons of many types, rustic shields and helmets, the entire place was like a war room.
“So this is the place where the orc army came from!” Thuor said to himself.
One more time the Burning Blade warriors spread, sneaking around as if looking for something. But they did not stay there for long, soon they found an entrance to a side room, and there they finally found what they came looking for. The group was now in a
small gallery, flames burned on side streams of lava, at its end there was a throne, and sat on it a big muscular orc, twice taller than the ones they met before, and at least twice larger.
“It’s the leader...” Thuor whispered.
“Not for long.” A Steel Fist warrior replied.
The big orc rose from his rustic rock throne, then took a large machete that was close and walked towards the dwarfs. One more time the Burning Blade dwarfs got into fighting stance, circling the big orc, but this time Thuor joined them.
“Remember we need him alive.” One of the warriors said.
The first blow came from the orc, he struck one of the warriors so hard that the dwarf was thrown far, the other ones attacked him, but the orc revealed himself smart and fast, despite his weight and the size of his weapon. He could strike with his machete, kick with his strong legs and distribute elbows around; two dwarfs besides Thuor were not being able to come close enough to hit. More hits came, the dwarfs’ armors shook, shields flew away, and no warrior dared to hold the weight of the orc weapon, always dodging. Then Thuor himself attacked the orc’s arm, fast enough the foe moved it, avoiding the hit, but that was enough for another dwarf to find a way to hit the enemy’s leg, the orc growled and retaliated with a strong blow that hit one warrior’s arm, breaking it, this one retreated. The dwarf thrown away came back to fight, now there were two of them fighting, besides the captain. The big orc was lame, but still not showing any reluctance.
The battle continued for a while, and both sides began to tire, the dwarfs breathed deep, the orc growled in defiance, and finally after more wounds and some blood on the ground, Thuor himself managed to hit the foe with a blow that defeated him, making the orc fall, it was then that the dwarfs rested, looking at the defeated enemy on the ground.
“Now…” Spoke one of the Burning Blade warriors, breathless. “Time to inquire him.”
Thuor stepped on the orc’s hand, this one loosed the handle of the machete, the weapon was kicked far away. Now the captain crouched near the ugly orc face, he was spitting blood among his tusks.
