by Jordan Cramm
Fenka turned back toward their column of followers, asking for two hand-axes, a breastplate, and whatever else others thought might help. Those items were collected, and when it was done, Lord Eklar looked the part much more than he had moments before. Now, he had two axes hanging in his belt, and he hid his own weapons from sight, sheathing them against his back on his belt and letting his cloak cover them. As for the axes, he wore them on the front of his person now, letting them hang from his belt in plain sight. He had even been handed a large canteen flagon which sloshed with fluid inside. As he uncorked it, he smelled what he guessed was Dwarven ale. He grinned, realizing that when they left the Catacombs of Gral, some of the Dwarves had undoubtedly grabbed drinks for the road.
“There,” Gorak commented, “like a proper foggin Dwarf at last.”
Lord Eklar nodded.
“Now I need to get above ground again. Can you take me to the nearest exit?” he asked.
“Of course,” Gorak answered, “but are you sure you want to go it alone?”
“Some of my best work is done by my hands alone, yes.”
“Well,” Gorak grunted, “I suppose we could do it your way then. But if they find you out, they will kill you on site. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” Lord Eklar retorted, “but worry not. If they kill me you can still take your chances going with Wolflen to Polithica afterwards...assuming they aren't all dead too.”
“We will reinforce their party topside, riding for the doors we used to get underground to begin with. Once there we will ride for the Spires and hope they are still there and alive and well,” Fenka added, “but if they are not there, we will ride for Elender and hope ships still wait there to take us off this continent. If you are able to get close to Gral and take revenge, it would be wise to leave as swiftly as you are able afterwards.”
“Well I wasn't planning on offering them tea to celebrate,” Lord Eklar returned with a sly grin.
Gorak nodded and commented, saying they should get moving if they were going to put their plan into effect, and so his company of Dwarves mounted their cave rams once more, as did Lord Eklar. This time however, Lord Eklar in particular found the process slightly more difficult. For while he had new strength being in Dwarven form, he was shorter now, and had to actually pull himself to the cave ram's back using the saddle horn. It was something that amused and agitated him at the same time.
“So how long will that illusion last?” Fenka asked.
“I took enough for two day's time. Hopefully it is enough, but if not I have more.”
“Foggin interesting what you topsiders come up with.”
“Yeah well don't dismiss Dwarven engineering either. If that army reaches the Izenian and Elven force, I fear it will be enough to stop the Elves and Izenians from going further on this continent, assuming they intend to.”
“That's the foggin truth of it,” Gorak answered, “Dwarven rapid-fire crossbows use mithril bolts and could pierce any armor they are wearing. And that army has many archers with such crossbows...enough to make a mess of things.”
“Let's hope then that the Elves of Orenty have reached them at least. If the Izenians of Akartha stand alone when the Dwarves of Gral and Brosha arrive, it will be a blood bath.”
~
The next part of their plan was set into motion. Gorak and Fenka had led Lord Eklar to an exit door that led topside. Again they had asked him if he was sure he wanted to go it alone. He told them he would do so, and that it would be safer for them to rejoin Wolflen's party, and he urged them to move on with haste. So after parting ways, Lord Eklar was topside once more. He had kept the cave ram mount he was using, knowing he might need it. Then he began tracking through the woodland hills, moving to an area that he knew the Dwarves would likely be passing through.
He left the forestry, tracing his path alongside a small river, recalling the maps he had laid eyes on previously in Wolflen's command tent. Lord Eklar knew that the Dwarves would likely follow the river, and he was confident that he was ahead of them. Of course that meant waiting, and that was something Lord Eklar was not always fond of, but it gave him time to think at least. It also gave him time though to notice his hunger pangs and diminished energy. It was a damn inconvenience he thought.
He knew well that it could be chimes yet before he saw signs of the advancing Dwarven army, and more likely he would hear them coming first anyway. Still, his current supplies were limited, and twilight was falling. He knew it would soon turn slightly colder as night approached, and his hunger pangs weren't willing to be vanquished without reason.
His thoughts turned instantly as he heard a few voices in the distance. Whoever it was, they weren't alerted to his presence yet, but he knew it wouldn't likely take them long. He also knew his cave ram was something that could be easily tracked and heard even at great distances. He wanted to send it away, but knew he might need it later to blend in with the Dwarves. Still, it would likely be worth the risk he thought, and so he set it loose. Instinctively it began running back in the direction it had come from, and Lord Eklar was relieved for that at least as he began moving in parallel to the river.
He moved as quietly as he could through the spattered outcropping of trees until he saw the source of the voices he previously heard.
Lord Eklar counted six Orcs total, each were armed, and each so far oblivious to his presence. As he studied them a moment, he crouched low to the ground, squatting and watching quietly. They had got a fire going, something Lord Eklar knew might just get him in trouble as the smoke could be seen for miles. They were seemingly readying for a meal; a boar it seemed that they had skewered over the fire. Lord Eklar grinned, realizing that he might make use of the situation such as it was. After all, the fire was already burning, and the meat already cooking.
What came next happened fast. Even in Dwarf form, Lord Eklar was a deadly killer. He made sure not to use his daggers or even his kunai however. For this attack he fought only with the two hand axes he had been given underground. The Orcs had only rudimentary armor anyway, and were slain quickly. Lord Eklar hadn't even suffered a single scratch in the process, but instead overcame them with ease.
As he overlooked the dead bodies, he scanned the area to make sure there were no more Orcs that might try and attack him. When he was satisfied that the dead six had been alone, he turned his attention to the large boar that was roasting, and he put his axes back in his belt before wiping them clean on the dead Orc bodies.
The fire crackled and popped, and he could smell the meat roasting well. At least he wouldn't be hungry through the night if he had to wait that long. He really had no way of knowing how long it would be before he saw or heard signs of the approaching Dwarven army. He only knew he was ahead of them, but could not accurately gauge by how much. He wondered if losing the cave ram had been a mistake, and he hoped it wouldn't be. Still, as he thought about it, ripping some seared meat from the boar over the fire, he knew he could at least now make an excuse as to why he had no mount. If he had to, he would lie about it. He would spin the story however he wanted and outsmart the Dwarves. He was confident he could do that at least.
The meat was unsalted and unseasoned. It was definitely a far cry from eating fish, fruits and drinking wine to the sound of the ocean surf on the Darkened Isles on his private palace top, but still, he knew his current situation and surroundings were necessary. Inwardly he grinned as he began to feel more comfortable about the plan he had for infiltrating the Dwarven force. With a little bit of guile, and a small amount of luck, he knew he would get his revenge.
Especially against Gral. That bastard. Leave me and company to be executed will you? Well two can play at that game you walking pile of Dwarven grum. No one makes such attempt on my life and gets forgotten. Too bad you won't have long to live with your regret once you learn that truth.
Lord Eklar didn't move from his spot when he heard the hissing sound of a deadly poisonous snake drawing near. He barely even turned, but knew
it was large. Though nearly lost in his own thoughts, he had heard it coming. It was large enough that it could have swallowed his foot whole, and eventually worked on the rest of him. Not tonight though. Not this Dwarf. For I am Lord Eklar, and this fire and meal now belongs to me.
He flung an axe quickly which went sailing at the snake and splitting it's head in two as it reared up to attack him. Lord Eklar didn't even turn his head when it happened, but simply kept chewing the piece of meat he had in hand. The Orcs had previously put a fell log around their fire to be used as a bench. Lord Eklar now occupied it though, watching the sun go down as he finished his meal. To wash it down, he opened the flagon of Dwarven ale he had been given and took a swig. He didn't fancy the taste at all, but at least it kept his throat from getting dry. Afterwards, he intentionally spilled some over his new breastplate, so that he might reek of the ale; something he knew was a common thing among Dwarves.
Now all he had to do was wait. When the Dwarven army came by he would join it and get close to Gral. Then, he would make his move.
Chapter 25: The Frosty Dragon
Val Izen was the frozen capital of the Izenian empire, sitting on the continent of Izendune itself. The city was quite large, and it was butted directly up against large mountains, which were some of them hallowed out for the citizenry to live within. Inside such mountains, the snow, ice, and cold were a non-issue. As for the city face outside the mountains, it dealt with such weather and hardships on a constant basis.
King Maskus wore his armor, covered in heavy black furs, gloves, and fur-lined boots that were made for ice and snow. They had good treading, though at the moment it didn't matter much within the city. Free Mages were as abundant in Val Izen as they were in other major cities around the world of Fengysha, and they did their best to keep at least city streets clean of ice and snow using their magic.
This day, King Maskus wore a simple crown atop his dark, long and thick black hair. He wore no helmet now, but really had no need as he dismounted his winter destrier and set foot on a city street for a moment. He could hardly be missed, even when at such times, he mingled with his people. Still, most people merely bowed their head slightly when he passed, and he would return the acknowledgement in his own way. He was currently on an errand of discovery, wanting to measure the morale of the people as the city had begun its preparations for war.
He currently had no escort apart from a dozen guards whom he had told to hang back. He paused a moment in the street, listening to the sounds of people passing through, and watching the surroundings as he often did. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and he could see his breath beyond his face, though for him the cold was refreshing. Besides, he was Izenian. He was accustomed to the cold and the snow alike. And wearing his furs over his armor, he felt no chill at all. Over his back he had a broadsword hanging from a baldric strap. It was a two-handed sword, and he wielded it with great strength when it was required.
Now though, he had other plans. He hadn't left the palace area for a fight, but rather to take stock of how his city was reacting to the war preparations in general. As he crossed the street, he grinned, looking up at the snow-covered stones of the building ahead of him. It was the Frosty Dragon, a tavern of some renown within the city; a place where he knew he could get honest opinions about the circumstances their city faced.
The Frosty Dragon had large gray, stone slabs upon it's face. It's whole structure was built with such. The roof was built in the shape of a triangle, so that snow, ice and even water might run off the top in order to keep the weight down to tolerable limits upon the roof. On the sides of the building in the alleys, King Maskus knew there were likely very large drifts of snow that were piled in unique formations, unless some workers had been put to the task of cleaning the alleyways regularly. Really, it didn't matter to him at the moment. He knew clear alleys often served for Izenians to gather and keep warm out of the wind, but it could also harbor some of the more unsavory characters, and his own interests at the moment would not involve such folk.
As he neared the large wooden doors, he pushed strongly on the nearest, and with a creak it opened, sending a rush of cold air and flurries of snow into the tavern. No one within seemed to pay much notice however, and that was to his liking on his current errand.
He walked in, closing the door and the distance between it and the main bar in short time. He stepped around a few patrons as he went, and his boots began drying off in the warm atmosphere of the bar. Of course, such would not be a good thing for wood floors, so the floor, like many others within the city, was made of stone.
Fire braziers burned throughout the whole tavern, and were of various sizes and shapes. One main fire pit sat in the center of the tavern upon the floor and was really more like a bonfire than a brazier. It burned a large fire constantly, warming and lighting the entire place. Above it and four levels up, a large metal ring hung over it, adorned with various animal horns and tusks, as well as a few bones for added decoration.
King Maskus found a nearby barstool and took a seat as he scanned the room. He could hear the chatter of patrons throughout the place, but few were very outspoken at the moment. Of course, it was not yet nightfall, and he knew the place would likely liven up by then. Still, King Maskus found it refreshing to be among them. They were his people after all, and so as he found his seat at the bar, the bartender approached in all humility.
“Sire,” the bartender said “what brings you to this part of the city? Can I get you anything?”
“Izenian Rum please,” the King smiled, “and perhaps some information.”
The bartender nodded and set a clean mug and a bottle of Izenian Rum on the bar counter before the King. He was slightly nervous as he poured the first drink, but wouldn't dare refuse to do so either.
“Sire what information can I provide?”
“Well,” King Maskus replied, “I am out and about looking for honesty this day. As I am sure you are aware, our city and our people as a whole are readying for war. So, I am curious, how are our people taking this?”
Suddenly from out of nowhere, another warrior in the tavern answered the question for him, and in a loud manner, coupled with a mug raised in the air for a toast. The man's voice was deep and strong, and caught the King's attention immediately.
“We are with you sire,” the voice exclaimed, “long live the King!”
King Maskus turned with a grin, holding his own mug in hand and taking a gulp after the man offered his own in salute in mid-air.
“I thank you sir,” King Maskus answered, “and how do others feel about preparing for war? Are there any who would echo your sentiments?”
“Hoo Yah Sire!” The cheers began loudly.
More and more people began standing and saluting with their own mugs as they learned that their King was in the tavern. At last, every man and woman were on their feet offering their own salutes. King Maskus grinned.
“Well,” King Maskus said, “I am glad to find such enthusiasm here. And, as I am here anyway, I wonder if anyone here might like to wrestle me in a test of strength.”
The crowd quieted and looked at each other as King Maskus put an arm up at an angle at the bar. It was clear he sought an arm wrestling challenge. After a few moments, a man stepped forward, set his mug on the bar, and then sat beside the King to accept his challenge.
Hands were locked, and the match began. At first they both seemed to struggle, but slowly, the King began to win. He asked the man if he was losing on purpose because he wrestled the King, but the man said he was honestly trying. After a moment, the King won, and then followed up the match with a gulp of Izenian Rum. Then he stared at the man a moment.
“You honestly tried to beat me then?” King Maskus asked, “Even though I am King?”
“Of course sire. You may be our King, but I am still Izenian. It's not in my blood to surrender.”
“Good. We are going to need men with such attitude in coming days. Now tell me, are our people truly hungr
y for war?”
“Yes sire. We are. Some of the women are against it of course.”
“And why should they be against it?” King Maskus asked.
“Because sire,” the man responded, “the kind of war we ready for now is the kind that tends to stop warriors from coming home after.”
“Ah,” King Maskus nodded, “and what do you think about their position on that?”
“Sire I think the afterlife awaits us all. We will scream our death song in the face of danger if we must. As for our women, they will simply have to find us on the other side if we do not return home.”
King Maskus set a hand on the man's shoulder and nodded. Then he turned back to the bartender and ordered two more rounds for the whole tavern, and the gesture was met with thunderous cheering when he made the announcement.
After that, the King sat and drank with the patrons for a while longer. He knew it was good to bond with them, and that while he might never see those particular faces again in battle, it would at least serve to boost his popularity and the morale of those there. For they would tell their friends later about how their King had come to the Frosty Dragon and bought drinks for them personally, even arm wrestling one of the patrons.
When he left the Frosty Dragon, King Maskus stepped outside and smiled. It was good to see that his people were in good spirits at least. He knew of course that those preparing weren't yet marching anywhere, and certainly opinions could change after that. But for the moment, things were well enough. And so, King Maskus mounted his destrier once more, and he along with it and it's black form, began bolting back toward the palace.
Chapter 26: Return to Akartha
Morning came and Wolflen was taking breakfast inside of his tent with Katrina. Ayvock still slept on the cot in the main room, and they knew he had another day left before waking. The morning meal was much more somber than it had sometimes been though. For one thing, everyone in camp was still tired, or recovering from wounds themselves. Besides that, there was the heavy death toll that still weighed upon them all. It was hard to be celebratory though Wolflen knew that he and his companions from Akartha had in fact done the impossible together. It would be something that none of them would ever forget, and yet he knew there was much more coming their way in days to come.
