The knights all raised their mugs and bellowed out three hurrahs. They disliked the idea of the Factory Core as much as Khazum and Balion did. Ser Greenfield pretended to share in their disdain for the Core, but, as he had told King Pavanir, he was in awe of the weapon, and wanted to get it for Merador’s own use. And now that he had cemented a “friendship” with a prominent dwarven leader, he was that much closer to achieving this goal.
“Is there any way to even control that monstrosity?” Ser Greenfield asked General Khazum, acting as if he was disgusted. “How do you know it will even remain loyal to its creators and not betray them?”
Khazum growled and spit angrily onto the sawdust-covered floor of the tavern. “Bah!” he shouted. “Those idiots claim that they have a measure of control over it by what runes they—”
“Runes?” interrupted Ser Greenfield, perhaps a little too quickly. He remembered seeing a lot of gold-filled runes on the inside of the Factory Core when Bomfrey had taken him on a little tour of it. “How are they activated?”
“The fools pour molten gold into those they wish to turn on,” slurred General Khazum. “That’s how they activate the runes.”
“I see,” mused Ser Greenfield, taking another swig of his “ale”. “And by doing this, they can make or prevent the Factory Core from doing certain things?”
“That’s what the cursed idiots told us,” grumbled Khazum. “But I don’t believe ‘em, I think they’re a bunch of dirty liars … liars, all of ‘em!”
Ser Greenfield made a mental note of this; he would need to seek out someone who had extensive knowledge of dwarven runes.
“And the Factory Core, it’s capable of using organic beings as weapons too, isn’t it?” asked Ser Greenfield. “Not just metal, wood, and other non-living materials, right? I believe that’s what that deceitful Bomfrey told me, anyway.”
“Y-, yes,” slurred General Khazum, sliding deeper into inebriation. “That’s true necromancy, is what it is … evil, disgusting! King Odok-Kram didn’t allow those lying dirt-bags to do that though. He said that he had to draw the line somewhere, and he wouldn’t a-, allow them to give the Core permission to d-, do that.”
“Interesting, yes, very interesting,” said Ser Greenfield. “But yes, it’s necromancy without a doubt, and is truly revolting. Those inventors should be burned at the stake for even thinking such a thing.”
A murmur of agreement rumbled across the table; none of the knights were fond of necromancy, and neither were the dwarven warriors. Ser Greenfield, however, made yet another mental note about this. He pretended to be opposed to the dark arts, but had, for a long time, secretly believed that raising the dead could be a very useful tool, as long as complete control was maintained of the resurrected corpses. Of course, to voice such an opinion publicly was tantamount to heresy, but he was not alone in this view. Indeed, King Pavanir shared this opinion, and had secretly been in contact with a number of necromancers, consulting them about various possible military applications for their special talents. Ser Greenfield was quite intrigued to hear that the Factory Core had the potential to engage in necromancy, and to create undead warriors from the corpses of those it killed. This was something King Pavanir would be very interested in hearing about.
So as not to seem too suspiciously interested in the capabilities of the Factory Core, Ser Greenfield changed the direction of the conversation, focusing on different topics, and pretending to laugh and stammer with drunkenness.
Outside the pub, hiding in the shadows by the windows and listening to everything he and Khazum had talked about over the last couple of minutes, were three unlikely figures: two dwarves and a wizard.
“This does not bode well for us,” whispered Bomfrey to Akzad. “This does not bode well for us at all.”
“No,” said Akzad. “But at least we now know that Ser Greenfield has ulterior motives, and is not the man he is pretending to be.”
“Greenfield is very close to Pavanir,” said Randor. “And as such, he, like the king, is a man of great greed and ambition. Do not trust what he says, master dwarves. He has his own selfish interests at heart, and these interests may not be best for either Dwarves or Men.”
“At least now we know that he cannot be trusted,” said Bomfrey. “We are thankful for all your help tonight. It has certainly been an enlightening evening, in many ways.”
“And I too am grateful that you came to me, master dwarf,” said Randor with a smile. “But come, let’s get you back to the crypts before anyone notices your absence. I’m sure you’ve heard all you need to hear from your warrior ‘comrades’ in there.”
“Indeed we have,” muttered Bomfrey. “Indeed good wizard, we have. Come, let’s go.”
CHAPTER 28
Night in the Below World was always pitch black; the rock sky above ensured this. On clear nights when the moon was full in the Above World, isolated shafts of moonlight would pierce the blackness via the many chimneys and smokestacks that the dwarves had cut through the Smoky Mountains, but tonight was a cloudy night, and no moonlight or starlight filtered down to the Below World.
The darkness, however, had been beaten back from Karak-Drang. All through the night the fires of hundreds of forges, and the fires of the crematoria, had burned as the Factory Core had made new weapons in preparation for the coming assault. The demons’ second attack on Karak-Drang.
Finally, the inky darkness began to thin out, and in the Above World, the dark cloudless night gave way to a grey dawn. The feeble light drizzled down into the Below World, and the sight revealed by the dawn was one which would have struck terror into even the most stout-hearted warrior: despite the heavy losses suffered by the demon army the day before, the Demon Horde was still strong, and legions of tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of demons blanketed the plains outside Karak-Drang. Only the Factory Core stood between them and the complete annihilation of the dwarves’ greatest city.
The Core felt no fear as it surveyed this scene. It felt only contempt for its enemies, and a cool, calculated wrath at the fact that they wished to destroy everything the dwarves had created.
It was true, the Core had been given permission to cannibalize elements of Karak-Drang, but it did not ruin the handiwork of the dwarves out of any sense of malice or vicious glee, as the demons did. No, it only did this because it needed to, to protect the city from the savagery and wanton destruction of the Demon Horde. Also, it kept what it cannibalized to as bare a minimum as it could – only repurposing what was absolutely necessary.
And now that it had made all these preparations, it was ready. Through the eyes of the mechanical geckoes and spiders sitting on top of the walls of Karak-Drang—all of whom had been outfitted with fresh ammunition during the night—the Factory Core looked out over the demon army which was starting its advance.
The commander was there at its head—the demon in shining black dragon bone armor—and the cave trolls were there too, pushing the dragon’s head battering ram toward the city gates as demon drummers began to pound out a doom rhythm on their drums, the skins of which were made from skin flayed from captured dwarves.
The Factory Core noticed that the chains and collars around the cave trolls’ necks had now been wrapped with thick leather. No longer could it freeze and thus shatter the chains with its ice-enhanced arrows. That did not matter, though; the Core had plenty more tricks up its sleeve when it came to dealing with the invaders. Unfortunately, the beam guns it had been working on were not one of them. These potent weapons had taken far longer to build than the Core had anticipated, and a large enough beam gun to smash demons from a great distance, and to burn through multiple targets at a time, was not ready yet. The Core’s many mechanical arms were still working at a furious pace, and the first of the large beam guns was almost ready; however, it wasn’t there yet. The intensely concentrated beams of heat wouldn’t be used in this part of the battle. But they would be used soon, the Core was sure of it.
Be
hind the cave trolls and their massive battering ram were many companies of demon warriors, marching in surprisingly good order. The Core noticed that some of the slave-driving demons, with their fire whips, had been assigned to units of demon warriors to keep them in order. It suspected that this was the work of the huge commander in dragon bone armor. He had no doubt realized by now that at least some discipline among his troops would be necessary if he wanted to take this city.
What he had not counted on, thought the Factory Core as it watched the endless army marching closer and closer to the city walls, was the fact that the sniping capabilities of its mechanical units was excellent. The demons’ newfound order and discipline would not last long, the Core decided. Even though its beam guns weren’t quite ready, it still had plenty of other tools at its disposal.
As soon as the attackers got within sniping range of the geckoes’ crossbows and the spiders’ muskets, the Core started to target its first victims: the whip-carrying demon slave drivers who were trying to maintain order among the ranks of savage warriors.
With contemptuous accuracy, the Core started to pick the slave drivers off one by one. Its ice-enhanced crossbow bolts shattered their bodies in an instant into icy stone shards, and its silver-coated musket balls blasted holes through the slave drivers’ skulls, splattering their brains all over the demon troops.
The demon commander saw this happening and roared out with frustration and fury, but he was powerless to do anything about it. And, once the slave drivers were all dead, the demon warriors reverted to their undisciplined, chaotic state, breaking rank and charging madly at the city walls.
As they did this, the Core’s spiders and geckoes began raining down a withering hail of bolts and musket balls on them, tearing holes in the packed ranks and dropping the demons like flies.
Still though, the Demon Horde pressed on. Their savage warriors remained as fearless as ever in the face of danger and slaughter; they did not fear death, nor were they afraid of being wounded. All they cared about was killing and pillaging.
The Core watched as the demons continued to progress. Its sniper shots were inflicting a great deal of damage—every shot they fired was guaranteed to kill a demon, because the aim of the units was flawless, as it was controlled by the super-mind of the Factory Core, which had calibrated the crossbow and musket sights perfectly—but the speed of the advance did not slow down. And even though Grakk’n was enraged by the Core’s sniping of his slave driver demons, he was neither discouraged nor disheartened.
“Battering ram, forward!” he roared, and the slave driver demons accompanying the cave trolls cracked their fire whips across their gargantuan backs.
This time the Factory Core didn’t bother to try to stop or hinder the cave trolls. Behind the city gates was a nearly impenetrable wall of rubble, and it knew that even when the battering ram did smash the gates to splinters, it would still take the brutes hours to clear the debris. Let them come, it thought, more targets for the snipers.
The cave trolls and their heavy cargo reached the gates of Karak-Drang unopposed. Grakk’n roared out the order for them to start swinging the ram, which they did, grunting and groaning with effort, and snarling with anger as the slave drivers lashed fire whips across their large, scarred backs.
The massive dragon head crunched into the city gates with phenomenal force, sending a shock wave rippling not only through the gates, but through the entirety of the front section of the city walls.
The Factory Core was not worried though; it had time, and it was using that time very productively. Demons continued to fall, or be shattered into icy shards, by its hail of deadly projectiles.
However, as it was busy sniping at a number of demon targets, the Core noticed something—a number of things, actually—being passed from the very back of the demon army, and through its ranks toward the front: ladders.
It appeared that the Demon Horde had also been busy during the night. The ladders were crudely built, but they would do the job. While demons could scurry up vertical walls using their claws, going up a ladder meant that they could climb much faster, and many more of them could take a route, one after the other.
And there were not just a few dozen ladders. It seemed, the Factory Core noted grimly, that there were hundreds of them.
The battle was about to get a lot more intense.
CHAPTER 29
“Break those gates, smash them to splinters!” roared Grakk’n. “And bring the ladders forward, get them into position!”
The Factory Core watched as the assailants brought their ladders closer and closer to the very front of the ranks. This was not looking good; it had not anticipated this move, and now it realized that the demons’ offensive would progress far more quickly than it had assumed it would.
Still, the Core knew that it did have an opportunity to fend off the attacks at least temporarily. As the demons carried their ladders to the front, the Core rearranged the positioning of its units on the walls, putting them together in tight-knit groups. It was doing this for two reasons: firstly, the Core wanted to concentrate their firepower, targeting whichever demons were going to be carrying the ladders up to the walls of the city.
Secondly, when the demons eventually did get the ladders onto the walls—and it knew they would; they had the numbers to press on, regardless of how many the Core sniped—and started to ascend en-masse, the packed groups of geckoes and spiders would be able to fight off the attackers as soon as they got off the walls, making it much more difficult for large numbers of demons to get into the city at any decent speed.
Grakk’n watched from below as the cave trolls smashed the battering ram into the gates yet again. This time, the dragon head punched through. But when the cave trolls pulled the ram back for another swing, a bunch of rocks and rubble came out of the hole the ram had just created.
“Hold!” he yelled.
He raced forward to inspect the opening, and saw that there was a massive pile of rocks stacked up behind it.
“Curse the dwarves and their blasted machine!” he roared.
Boiling with frustration, he grabbed the nearest demon slave driver and flung the surprised demon to the ground. Then he whipped his dragon bone sword out of its scabbard, and cut the slave driver’s head off. Screaming with wordless rage, he hacked and slashed with vicious force at the slave driver’s body until it was nothing but a pile of meat, cut-up organs and blood. He could almost feel the Factory Core’s laughter reverberating through the smoky air.
He gripped another slave driver demon by the throat.
“Get your stupid cave trolls to clear a path through these rocks as fast as you bloody well can, or you’ll end up like him!” snarled Grakk’n, pointing with his blood-dripping sword at the mess of guts on the floor as he shoved the slave driver away. “Do it, move!”
The slave driver demons got busy with their new task. They got the cave trolls to pull back the battering ram to make space, and then the huge creatures, grumbling and snarling at the whips’ bite, were made to rip a bigger hole in the gates, and start clearing out the rubble.
Meanwhile, Grakk’n turned his attention to the ladders. He knew that many more of his warriors would die during the assault, but all he cared about at this point was getting the damn ladders into place in as synchronized a fashion as he could. Getting them all up on the walls simultaneously was of great importance to him; he knew that the better he could coordinate the maneuver, the more troops he could get up onto the walls at once. And that would make things much more difficult for the Factory Core.
“Prepare to take the ladders forward!” roared Grakk’n. “And any demons who set up your ladders too early or too late, I’ll rip your guts out with my bare hands, and that’s a promise!”
Grakk’n’s threat was met with a roar of approval. The demon warriors may not have been truly disciplined troops just yet, but they were certainly improving. Now, under Grakk’n’s warning, they were doing their bes
t to stay in line, and advance steadily and in unison with the huge siege tools.
It was difficult, though, and not just because of their inherent lack of self-restraint. Each time a ladder was brought to the front of the ranks and put into position, the Factory Core would concentrate its sniper fire on the demons holding the thing in place. The geckoes and spiders would take out every demon with a hand on the ladder simultaneously, resulting in many ladders falling to the ground, and crushing demons under them.
Despite the Core’s prowess when it came to sniping, however, there were simply too many demons in the army. As soon as some fell, more darted in to grab and stabilize the falling frames. Soon, even with the Factory Core’s relentless rate of fire and accurate sniping, the ladders were in position—and Grakk’n now had an idea of how to get the ladders up to the walls without the Core being able to wreck his plans.
“Demons next to the ladder-bearers!” he roared. “Pick up the bodies of your fallen comrades! Use them to form a shield wall of flesh around the ladder-bearers! All of you, do this!”
There was no shortage of bodies on the ground, and the demon warriors obeyed Grakk’n’s orders right away. Each of them grabbed a dead demon from the ground and pulled the corpse in close around the ladder-carriers. By doing this, the demons were able to form a totally enclosed shield wall around the ladders, and now the spiders and geckoes couldn’t snipe the demons who were holding the ladders; their musket balls and crossbow bolts were simply slamming into a barrier of dead flesh now, and the demons hiding inside this improvised fence were safe.
“All ladders, advance!” roared Grakk’n, grinning with triumph.
All of the bearers moved, simultaneously bringing the ladders closer and closer, until finally they were all within a few paces of Karak-Drang’s walls. Now, the demon army, which was well over a mile wide, essentially had a wall of ladders a mile long with which it could assault the walls of the city. Grakk’n looked upon this sight and was pleased. Now it was time to take his revenge on the dwarven machine which had humiliated him.
Factory Core Page 14
