Kathir's Redemption (Book 6)

by Kristian Alva

  “Shut up, you wretched fool!” hissed Bolrakei. “You don’t know anything! Mount Velik is my home! My people will return to these caverns someday! I swear it!”

  Druknor didn’t respond, but everyone knew he had spoken the truth. The caverns were in terrible shape. They all had worried looks on their faces.

  “Come on,” said Tallin, “let’s keep moving.”

  Soon they reached a familiar-looking set of grand doors, which they found guarded by two huge orcs in full armor. Their armor was constructed of metal and bone and was tied to their bodies with thick leather straps.

  “This is the main hall. We need to get inside,” Tallin said. “Nar is probably in there, holding court.”

  The elves smiled wickedly at each other and stepped forward. “We’ll take care of these two.”

  Fëanor and Amandila snuck forward under the cover of their spells. They slid two daggers into the orcs simultaneously, so quickly that their movements were a blur. The orcs coughed blood and slid down against the wall without making a sound. Tallin stepped forward to help drag the dead guards into the shadows. By the time they were finished, he turned to see that two perfectly crafted illusions guarded the doors now, giving the impression that everything was the same as before. One even scratched its nose and coughed. Komu’s assistants stood nearby, controlling the two fakes. “We’ll stay outside and maintain the spell—hurry!”

  “The illusions are perfect—except the other orcs might notice that they don’t smell,” Tallin pointed out. “We’d better hurry.”

  The others nodded and entered the great hall under the elves’ strongest concealment. The group slipped into the great hall silently and froze, unable to do anything but stare at what lay before them.

  17. King Nar Speaks

  The great hall was ruined. Every scrap of ornamentation had been torn from the walls. Priceless tapestries had been ripped, leaving only threads hanging from their hooks. Carved tables had been broken up for firewood. The walls were blackened with soot. What had once been a cherished meeting place for the dwarves had become a filthy ironworks for the orcs. Metal forges burned hot along one wall, and endless racks of crude weapons hung along another.

  Skemtun gasped, and Bolrakei started sobbing quietly. “They’re melting down all our weaponry and armor—those pieces were priceless!”

  Tallin frowned. His eyes stung from the acrid smoke of the fires, and the whole space was uncomfortably hot.

  Groups of orcs were grinding, sharpening, and hammering the weapons into shape. Other orcs stood at the far end of the hall, testing the finished weapons. In the open space in the middle, more orcs were carving away at tree trunks, wrapping them in iron bands and covering the ends with iron. They were making battering rams. Two orcs working on the floor were shaping wood so that it could be for a ballista.

  “They’re getting ready for another siege,” Tallin whispered.

  “So soon?” asked Skemtun incredulously. “How? They couldn’t possibly have enough soldiers to mount another offensive so quickly. We killed thousands during the siege!”

  “Tallin is right,” said Fëanor, frowning deeply. “Nar may be too ambitious for his own good. For orcs, this level of organization and preparation is unbelievable. Nar must be getting ready for another assault. He must be stopped.”

  They stood and stared in horror and awe.

  “Look at this place. It’s a disaster! They’ve taken all the statutes out of the hall,” Skemtun said. “Those statues were priceless—they were thousands of years old. Where did the orcs put them?”

  “They probably melted them down for scrap—to make more weapons,” said Tallin.

  “What?” Skemtun’s jaw dropped, but then he paused. He knew it was probably true.

  “This is hard to watch,” Mugla said. “They’re destroyin’ our history.”

  Bolrakei shook a rigid finger in Mugla’s face. “What do you care?” she said angrily, “You and the Vardmiters left us to fend for ourselves! You’re probably happy about all this, you traitorous witch!”

  Mugla’s nostrils flared with anger, and she opened her mouth to respond, but she stopped when the noise in the hall ceased. King Nar had entered.

  He came in through the door that used to lead to the dwarf kitchens, accompanied by twelve large, brutal-looking orcs. All were armed with a collection of huge knives, and their chain armor had iron spikes sticking out of the shoulders. One of them spotted another orc with his back to the king and shoved him so hard that he flew into the wall.

  “That’s King Nar’s royal guard,” whispered Fëanor. “Each of the royal guard has a symbol on their armor that identifies them. Those twelve greenskins are his protectors as well as his closest advisors. When the king finally dies or is replaced, his royal guard will follow him onto the funeral pyre so that they can serve him in the next life.”

  King Nar stood in the middle of the group. He was barrel-chested, and his body was corded with muscle. His plate armor was blackened with soot and grease and was adorned with skulls taken from his defeated enemies. The skulls hanging from his fur cape and chest plate were a grisly reminder of the destruction he had wrought. Around his thick waist hung a sheathed broadsword. A coiled whip hung from his left shoulder, and a huge dagger hung from a strap around his chest.

  The darkness made it impossible to read Nar’s face, most of which was covered with black paint. He strode into the room with confidence and poise. When he reached the center of the room, he stepped up onto a stump of wood and roared.

  All the orcs stopped their work, and the hall fell completely silent. King Nar began to speak in the guttural tongue of the orcs.

  “What is he saying?” Skemtun asked, “Can any of you understand his language?”

  Fëanor nodded. “I’ll translate. He’s saying, ‘My people! Listen and obey with your heart, and pledge yourselves to me. I am your king, and my wrath is terrible.’”

  Tallin stared at the elf. Fëanor’s eyes were glazed over, as if he were in a trance.

  “I am pleased with the growth of our army,” he continued. “We took this mountain, and we shall take everything else that we want.”

  The orcs responded with cheers.

  Nar looked like a great general before a battle.

  “The humans think that they are safe in their cities,” King Nar shouted. “They believe their walls will protect them. They think that we shall not strike them, because they have a few dragon riders to protect them. Yet the dwarves had walls, and were they safe? No! We crushed them like ants!”

  There was a rumble of excited chatter around the room.

  He raised his fist into the air suddenly. “We crushed the dwarves, and we shall do the same to the humans!”

  The orcs roared.

  “We are only days from success,” Nar went on. “Even now, more of our brothers are arriving from Mount Heldeofol. We are stronger now than we’ve ever been before! Soon, our armies will sweep down on Morholt. We shall crush all those who stand against us. Morholt shall fall before our armies. We will crush the humans—squash them like mice! No one can stop us! Soon, the whole continent will be ours!”

  Each time Nar spoke, the crowd roared their approval. They bellowed, they shouted, they shook their fists.

  Tallin looked at the others. “We should go. We’ve heard everything we need to. It’s time to get out of here.”

  They slipped back out of the hall, retracing their steps through the tunnels. They were all quiet as they retreated along corridors and through caverns, looking for the way back out. They made it out of the main area and headed back toward the tunnel that led to the exit. It was only when they were almost at the chamber full of magma that they heard clicking sounds behind them.

  “Orcs,” Kathir said.

  “Worse. Drask,” said Tallin. “They caught our scent…” he shook his head. “We’ve been
stupid. The concealment spells masked our scent only while we were using them. We’ve left traces behind us inside the mountain. They’re tracking us. Our scent trails will lead the drask right to us.”

  They hurried for the exit. Bolrakei, who had been hanging back for most of the way, was suddenly jogging at the front of the group. Amandila and Fëanor started to cast their concealment spell again, but Tallin stopped them with a gesture.

  “Don’t bother—it’s too late for that. Our scent is already all over this area. Save your strength instead—we need to be ready to fight.”

  They rushed back toward the magma and were pleased to find that their stone bridge was still there; it was narrower than before, but it still spanned the width of the flow. It was only wide enough for them to cross one at a time. Bolrakei rushed across it without even waiting to test its strength.

  “I guess it’s still safe to cross,” said Tallin, testing the bridge with his foot. “Hurry!”

  Komu went next, followed by his assistants. Councilor Delthen and Druknor also hurried across. Tallin drew his sword, watching as Druknor and his dogs picked their way over the bridge. The elves went next. The clicking got louder.

  “Get ready,” Sela said, raising her hands. “They’re almost upon us.”

  “Skemtun,” Tallin said. “You go next. I’ll stay behind with Sela so that the rest of you can cross. Get to the safety of the spellcasters’ quarters. The orcs won’t be able to enter those chambers as long as they’re warded.”

  “I’ll stay and fight too,” said Kathir.

  Skemtun opened his mouth to argue, but Kathir silenced him by pushing him onto the bridge. Skemtun ran across. Then the orcs arrived. There were ten of them. A pair of drask hissed and snarled beside them.

  An orc threw himself at Kathir, and the mercenary parried the attack, digging in his heels to keep away from the edge of the magma pool. Tallin also traded strikes with another orc while Mugla made her way across the bridge.

  “Go, Elias!” shouted Tallin as he shot a blue firebolt at one drask.

  Elias blasted one of the orcs with a fireball, and then jumped across the bridge while Tallin covered him. Kathir spun and cut down the orc he was fighting before engaging another orc while Druknor pulled back.

  Sela flung one of the drask across the cavern with magic, slamming it against the far wall. The other snapped at her, but she jumped back onto the bridge, and Tallin distracted the beast with a stroke of his sword. Kathir killed another orc but barely missed getting bitten by the drask.

  “Don’t let the drask touch you!” yelled Sela. “Their bite is deadly!”

  Kathir nodded and went back to fighting. Sela crossed the bridge. Now only Kathir and Tallin were fighting on the other side of the bridge.

  “Go,” Kathir said. “Go. You’re a dragon rider—they can’t afford to lose you.”

  Tallin stared at him for a moment before running across the now failing bridge. An orc ran up on Kathir’s left, but a fire bolt from Mugla hit it in the chest. More magic flared around Kathir, and several more orcs died. He thrust his sword through the heart of another one of the attackers. Then the drask was on him.

  “Don’t let it bite you!” Tallin yelled from the other side.

  Kathir jammed his sword into the advancing creature’s mouth, forcing it back while he scrambled for his dagger with his other hand. He stabbed, but the blade skittered off the drask’s scales. Kathir’s armor barely stopped the lizard’s claws.

  “Kathir, run!” shouted Skemtun.

  Kathir sprinted for the bridge and felt it give under his feet as he ran. He glanced back and saw that the injured drask was struggling back up to its feet.

  Kathir jumped off the bridge onto solid ground just as the drask rose up from the cavern floor. It stepped forward onto the bridge tentatively.

  “Quick!” Tallin yelled. “Collapse the bridge! Bjarg-rammlingr!”

  All the mageborns dissolved the bridge, and the drask screamed as it was swallowed by the molten rock below. The magma flared as it consumed the beast, its final screams echoing through cavern. All of the orcs were dead, and their bodies were scattered around the room on the other side of the pool.

  “We can’t stay here,” Sela said. “More orcs will follow. The magma won’t stop them—they’ll find a way to cross it.”

  “We have to stop Nar—before he gathers his forces to attack Morholt,” replied Tallin

  Mugla went around the group to treat any wounds they’d received during the fight. All the injuries were minor. They’d all been very lucky.

  Remarkably lucky, Tallin decided, remembering the fetid smell of the drask’s breath. “Let’s go,” he said with urgency. “Our plans have changed. After what the orcs have done, there won’t be sufficient water pressure for us to flood the caverns. We have to think of something else. We must strike—and we need to do it tonight.”

  They went back out through the tunnels, following the route that they’d taken coming in. By the time the group made its way back out into the spellcasters’ chambers, hours had passed, and the smell from the dead spellcaster was much worse than before.

  “We should take him outside and bury him,” said Mugla.

  “It’s too dangerous,” said Bolrakei. “Just roll him up in a blanket and set him aside.”

  “Mugla’s right,” said Tallin. “The man deserves a proper burial, but we’ll have to wait. We can’t leave the chamber now.”

  “The orcs know that we’re inside the mountain. We’ve lost the element of surprise. What are we going to do?” asked Skemtun. “How are we going to stop the greenskins? Their numbers don’t seem to have diminished at all. If anything, there are even more of them than before!”

  They were quiet for a long time. Everyone stood in a circle, but no one seemed willing to begin the difficult conversation that they all knew they needed to have.

  “Morholt can’t stand against the orcs,” Sela said finally. “Rali is still building his armies, and the orc’s numbers are too great. The city will fall.”

  “We can’t afford to take that chance,” said Tallin. “The orcs must be stopped here—at all costs.”

  Bolrakei snorted. “Why is Morholt so important? Once the orcs are on the march again, my people could take back Mount Velik. Let Morholt defend itself—it has its own army.”

  “Are you insane? My son is the king, and I won’t risk his life on a gamble,” Sela snapped. “The orcs must be stopped before they start their march towards the capital city.”

  “Sela’s right,” said Elias quietly. “And it’s not just the city at risk—it’s the thousands of people along the way. All the villages in the greenskins’ path will be razed to the ground. We can’t allow them to go any further with their plans.”

  “I agree the orcs must be stopped now. If the orcs take Morholt, then they will have control of the eastern seaboard. Highport would fall and so would everything south of the Frigid Waste. Eventually, even Miklagard and Parthos would be in danger. We cannot allow the greenskins to spread.”

  “Speaking as the governor of Sut-Burr,” Druknor said. “I also agree that the orcs must be stopped at all costs.”

  “Our queen also agrees,” Fëanor said. “The greenskins must be eliminated.”

  “I think we all understand the gravity of the situation,” Tallin said. “The question now is what we should do about it.”

  “From what Nar said, we only have about a week before the orcs start their march toward Morholt. Even with advanced warning, there still wouldn’t be enough time to get supplies and forces ready for such a massive assault.”

  “So what do we do? We have to stop them before they begin their march.”

  Skemtun held his axe across his knees, looking down at the reflection of his face on its blade. “We can’t meet them in open battle. And we can’t flood the caverns with water. What oth
er options do we have to drive them out?”

  “We’ve got to ensure that they don’t leave this mountain,” said Mugla.

  “We could collapse all the entrances to Mount Velik and trap them inside,” Fëanor said with a spark of cruelty in his eyes. “Their food would run out eventually. We could let them starve.”

  Skemtun snorted. “It’s a mountain, not some crofter’s hut with only one entrance. There’s lots of ways to build exits and entrances in this mountain—especially if you’re desperate. Besides, there’s no way to seal all the orcs inside. Half of them are milling about outside, working on their death machines. It wouldn’t work.”

  “Skemtun is right,” Elias said. “The orcs aren’t cattle—they would figure out a way to escape eventually. Sealing the mountain would slow them down, but it wouldn’t stop them.”

  “So we’re saying that there’s no way to stop them?” Amandila asked, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “The orcs are going to just pour out of Mount Velik like a plague of locusts!”

  “Worried that your snobbish queen will be a bit displeased?” Druknor asked. “Some of us stand to lose more than you, elf. We don’t have a mystical land that we can all escape to!”

  “Everyone, stop arguing.” Tallin took a deep breath. “I think I have a solution,” he said. “But some of you aren’t going to like it.”

  Tallin’s expression was dark. “Well, let’s hear it,” Sela said. “What’s your plan?”

  “We activate the volcano. It will fill the caverns with magma and smoke. All the orcs will be forced out. It will also destroy their hoard of weaponry.”

  A surprised murmur rose from around the room. The elves smiled and clapped their hands. Bolrakei’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  Sela looked thoughtful. “It’s so crazy that it just might work.”

  Bolrakei screamed and ran into the middle of the room. “No! It will destroy our home! The clans won’t be able to return.”

  “It might be the only way…” Tallin said, but Bolrakei cut him off.

  “Are you insane?” She was now shrieking with shock. “Destroying our home is not the only way! It is a stupid way! Just because you’re a halfling, you think that it is acceptable to destroy the only home of the dwarves?”