“Well, let us see what this machine is up to,” said the king, rising from his knees. “Come Randor, let me see this Crystal of yours. I wish to look upon the buildings of my fair city again … if anything is left of them.”
“Go on in,” said Randor, “but prepare yourself, master dwarf. What my Seeing Crystal shows you, you might not enjoy.”
The dwarves and Randor headed into the cottage, and Randor took them over to the table and set up the Seeing Crystal so that they could have a look. As soon as Randor activated the Seeing Crystal, which showed one of the many viewpoints of Karak-Drang that the Factory Core could see, King Odok-Kram stumbled back with surprise, almost falling over.
“By the gods!” he exclaimed. “It’s … it’s Karak-Drang! I can see it as clearly as if I was right there myself! Truly, this Seeing Crystal is a wondrous thing.”
The expression on his face quickly fell through, after he stepped back up to the table. Now that he had gotten past the shock of seeing Karak-Drang so clearly from afar, he was hit with a crippling blow of sadness as he realized the state his formerly beautiful city was in. Buildings were on fire and thick clouds of black smoke billowed everywhere as skirmishes raged throughout the streets between demon warriors and various mechanical troops and zombie demons. King Odok-Kram was particularly devastated to find that the entire barracks building had been demolished, and the city gates smashed in. It seemed that the demons were in the process of destroying more buildings too, and generally wrecking whatever they could get their hands on.
“Is this … is this how your machine is supposed to be protecting my city?” he gasped, taken aback with shock. “Its mechanical warriors are being beaten back by the vicious demons! They are burning my city, they are tearing it apart! They will leave nothing but rubble. Nothing but smoldering remains and ashes!”
“I assure you, my lord,” said Bomfrey, “that without the Factory Core’s efforts, our fair city would already be nothing but a pile of smoking bricks by now. It is only thanks to its tireless fighting and brilliant strategizing that much of the capital is still standing. You must appreciate, my lord, that the Core is battling against overwhelming odds, and that it never rests. Even now it is working on developing new weapons and innovative ways to tip the scales in our favor. And it will not give up, my lord, not until they tear it apart and leave nothing of it but the stones and metals of which it is composed. But the demons will not get that far, my lord. I know that this looks bad, however—”
“Looks bad!” yelled the king, slamming his fist into the table. “It looks worse than ‘bad’! My city is burning to the ground, being taken apart stone by stone by these foul fiends!”
“Master dwarf,” said Randor gently, “I know that it is a shock to see your beloved home in such a state, but I must say, from an outsider’s perspective … this Factory Core, this brilliant machine, it has done a job that no army on this planet could have accomplished. I fought the Dark Lord and his armies of monsters, and I know how powerful the forces of evil can be. Believe me, I know this well. And the Demon Horde, master dwarf, is just as potent and as terrifying a force as any legion of orcs or goblins that the Dark Lord has fielded before. Perhaps even more powerful than any army he has gathered before. I know what the armies of Dwarves, Elves and Men are capable of … and none of them would have been able to do what this machine has achieved.”
King Odok-Kram nodded slowly, and shook his head. “I know, wizard, I know,” he murmured, a great sadness coming over him. “You are right, the Factory Core has done a sterling job of fighting the Demon Horde so far. It is just difficult for me to see my country, the place that is dearest to my heart, being overrun and destroyed like this by these foul creatures. It … it breaks my heart.”
“And ours too, my lord,” said Bomfrey. “Akzad and myself, we love Karak-Drang as dearly as you do, and it pains us to see it in such a state of desolation. And that is why we designed the Factory Core. To defend our beloved city in case anything like this ever happened. And now that it has … well, as Randor has said, the Core is doing a better job than any existing army could.”
Bomfrey and Akzad, of course, did not mention the fact that they had given the Core a license to cannibalize any structure it deemed fit; King Odok-Kram was upset enough as it was about the demolition of Karak-Drang at the hands of the demons, and if he learned that the Factory Core was also to blame—even if it was for the noble purpose of defending the realm—he would likely have become even more irate.
“Curse these devils!” snarled the king. “They know nothing but destruction and death. Curse them all, and curse the Dark Lord and the Infernal Realm too!”
“I know it is painful to watch, master dwarf,” said Randor, “but do not despair too much. I have spent much time observing this machine, and I believe that it does have a real chance of saving your lands from total annihilation … and if not that, then at least preventing the demons from breaking through to the Above World.”
King Odok-Kram sighed and shook his head. “I know, I know,” he said. “The Factory Core is doing everything it can to hold those evil creatures at bay. I know I made the right decision in authorizing its use.”
“There are some, my lord, who question that decision,” said Bomfrey. “Indeed, I believe they question more than that. They question … your ability to rule.”
The king looked up at Bomfrey, surprise etched on his forehead. “What are you talking about, Bomfrey?” he said. “If I didn’t know you better, I would say that you are suggesting you’ve overheard whisperings of … well, of treason!”
“I will not go so far as to accuse anyone of treason, my lord,” said Bomfrey, “but I will caution you to be vigilant. Myself and Akzad, we have witnessed something quite interesting.”
King Odok-Kram narrowed his eyes. “Really? And what was it that you saw, pray tell?”
“We saw General Khazum getting drunk in a Merador tavern with none other than Ser Greenfield and his fellow knights. Khazum’s tongue was loose, and he made no secret about his disdain for the Factory Core. But what was more, my lord, Ser Greenfield was acting as if he was very interested in our formidable machine. His interest went far beyond curiosity, my lord. In fact, I would say that he may have had ulterior motives in taking Khazum out drinking.”
Randor nodded. “I can confirm this, master dwarf,” he said to the king. “I too saw this. And I must warn you, Ser Greenfield is not a man to be trusted. He is close to King Pavanir, who is a greedy and overly ambitious ruler who has long sought to sow the seeds of war among the other cities of Men. What has held back his ruthless ambition thus far is the fact that Merador cannot field an army large or strong enough to successfully conquer the other territories. However, if he acquired a weapon such as the Factory Core … things might well change.”
King Odok-Kram grimaced. “The Demon Horde pushes ever on, threatening to break through to the Above World and wreak death and devastation on all living things … and all these fools can think about is their own greed. How much gold did I pay that viper King Pavanir in order to house my people in the crypts beneath his city? And now he looks to take even more from us! Well, I will not have it. I will not allow that snake to steal the Factory Core from us and use it for his own selfish purposes.”
“I do not think we have to worry too much about that for the moment, my lord,” said Akzad. “Even if General Khazum tells Ser Greenfield every single thing he knows about our invention, it is still but a scratch on the surface of knowledge about the Core. I believe there is no real danger of Ser Greenfield and his knights actually being able to capture the weapon.
“Even if they could reach it, they would have to get inside, and then go through the maze of corridors within to get to the control room. And even in that room, they would have to possess intricate knowledge of dwarven runes, not to mention detailed information about the inner workings of the Core, in order to pose any sort of significant threat. And, above all, we must r
emember that the Core is not some mindless engine that can be driven and directed by any pilot who takes its commands. It has a mind and a will of its own … and it is loyal to us, its creators. It will not simply allow some evil-minded man to waltz in and take over.”
“Even so, we ought to remain vigilant,” cautioned Bomfrey. “Khazum and Greenfield may not know much about all this, but we must not make the mistake of underestimating our enemies.”
“You are right, Bomfrey,” said King Odok-Kram, “and I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. Gah! It angers me that not only should I have to worry about the very survival of my city, but that I must now also have to worry about betrayal from within the ranks of my most trusted inner circle, and the greed of Men, which seems to know no bounds.”
“It is a tragic thing, my lord,” said Bomfrey, “but one that we must always be on our guard about.”
“I know this well, as a ruler,” said the king. “It is something my father taught me from an early age: ‘Be very, very careful who you trust,’ he used to say to me. ‘A king cannot trust people the way a normal man does,’ he said … and now I see the truth in those words.”
“I know that this is not strictly my affair,” interjected Randor, “but I want to assure you that if you need my help in any way, master dwarves, to counter the threat that these traitors pose to you, I will do what I can to stop them.”
King Odok-Kram smiled gratefully at the wizard. “I thank you for your offer, Randor,” he said. “And who knows, it may be one that I need to take you up on. But I will remain extra vigilant from now on, and guard my words when I am around General Khazum. Anyway, I have seen enough tonight; I cannot bear to look at my destroyed city any more. I must leave and try to get some rest … if I can, in these dark and worrying times.”
CHAPTER 36
The prison cells in the dungeons of Merador were damp and dark, and never saw the light of day. The only sounds down here in the depths were the scrabbling of rats, the dripping of water, the mutterings and mournful wailings of prisoners, and the occasional screams of a man being tortured.
Trapper Holt leaned back against the dank, slimy wall of his tiny cell and shivered. One of the city’s most prolific thieves, he had finally been caught, and sentenced to death. Unlike the nobility, who were beheaded if they committed a crime, forty-year-old Trapper was regarded as a common criminal, and as such he would hang. Hanging was sometimes mercifully quick, if one’s neck broke when the trapdoor opened … but oftentimes the drop failed to kill a man instantly, and he would end up being choked to death by the noose, a painful process that sometimes took minutes, while his face turned purple and his tongue almost popped out of his mouth. The best Trapper could hope for was that the rope broke his neck swiftly. He was a master of lockpicking and escape, and had broken free from many a prison before, but this time the City Watch had made sure that the cell they threw him in was one that it was impossible to get out of.
When he heard steps coming down the hall, he assumed it was for some other prisoner; his execution was only scheduled for the next day. Thus he was surprised when he found those footsteps coming to a halt outside his own cell, and when he heard a key turning in the lock. He closed his eyes against the orange glare of the flaming torch as two men walked in.
“You’ve got a visitor, scum,” grunted the guard.
“So,” said an unfamiliar voice before Trapper could respond, “this is the famous, or infamous I should say, Trapper Holt, greatest and sneakiest thief in all of Merador. You are he, yes?”
There was no point in denying it. Trapper had already been sentenced and convicted, and any pretense of innocence would be useless at this point.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Trapper rasped in his gravelly voice.
“A lockpicker like no other, able to squeeze into places even a rat would have difficulty entering, and able to climb walls and jump from rooftop to rooftop with agility greater than any cat’s, yes?”
Trapper smirked. “I was the best bloody thief in this whole city, yeah. And now I’m going to pay for that honor with my life. What’s it to you, anyway? Who the hell are you?”
Trapper’s dark-accustomed eyes had now become adjusted to the light, and he was perplexed to see standing before him a knight in gleaming, expensive armor. What business did a knight have coming down here to the prison cells to have a chat with a convicted thief on Death Row?
“I, Trapper, am the key to your future,” said the knight.
“Future?” scoffed Trapper with a dark, raspy laugh that was dripping with sarcasm. “My ‘future’ ends tomorrow with the hangman’s noose! Go on, take your fancy armor and your expensive sword and get the hell out of here. Let me enjoy my last day alive in peace. You can come to my execution tomorrow and laugh as I shudder and jerk on the end of the hangman’s rope along with everyone else in this city.”
“It doesn’t have to, Trapper,” said the knight mysteriously. “There is … another way for you. It would involve your skills as a master thief, and a willingness to creep, undetected, into a warzone. It would be a mission of great risk and peril, but the rewards for you, if you were able to pull it off, would be immense. Not to mention the fact that, you know, you would get to live, instead of meeting your end on the gallows tomorrow.”
For the first time in a long time, Trapper felt a very specific sensation: hope.
“I … bloody well yes!” he exclaimed, sitting up straight. “Of course I’ll bloody do it! I don’t care what kind of warzone it is, I’ll sneak in there like the quietest cat, and steal whatever you need me to!”
“Excellent,” said Ser Greenfield, his smile looking sinister in the orange glow of the burning torch. “Guard, unshackle the prisoner. He’s a free man now, pardoned for his crimes by royal decree of King Pavanir. Come Trapper, you and I have many things to discuss.”
CHAPTER 37
“Burn it down,” growled Grakk’n. “All of these, raze them to the ground!”
“Yes, commander!” exclaimed the unit of demon warriors. They set about torching the buildings, and Grakk’n watched with a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
It was the end of the day—a long, hard day of fighting. He had lost a great many troops, but he had succeeded in his goal: he and his demons now had possession of a third of Karak-Drang. The battle had been furious, and the resistance fierce. The Factory Core had sent out wave after wave of mechanical spiders, geckoes and zombies, and these units had fought hard against his warriors. But ultimately, the demons’ reluctance to yield a single inch paid off.
Also, since Grakk’n had earlier changed tactics, and had taken to removing all of the dead or disabled forces from the battlefield, the Factory Core’s resistance had been weakening. Even though it had taken control of all of the city’s workshops and factories, the Core couldn’t produce any sort of troops at a fast enough rate to cover its losses. Consequently, the units of the Factory Core were beginning to dwindle in number, while it seemed that however many demon warriors were killed, there were always more to replace them.
And this was not all, of course. Grakk’n had asked the Dark Lord for reinforcements of a very special kind—not simply more mindless warriors, or even wraiths. No, Grakk’n had wanted something quite specific to counter the threat the Factory Core’s increasingly powerful and complex weaponry posed. The Dark Lord had agreed to send this backup, and they were due to arrive from the Infernal Realm the following morning.
The demon warriors were organic beings, and as tough as they were, they got tired and needed rest. Grakk’n would have liked to press on with his attack throughout the night, but realized that his grunts needed to recover from the long, hard day of fighting if they were to continue their violent conquest.
He stood atop the tower—one of the City Watch towers near the gates, that offered a commanding view over the whole capital—and saw the fires his subordinates had been setting burning everywhere. The sounds of fighting from di
stant streets and alleys echoed over the city; the screams and howls of demons, the clang of steel against steel, and the crunching explosions of burning edifices collapsing.
“Another few days,” he muttered to himself, fingering the hilt of his sword, “and this whole city will be ours. And then, when that cursed dwarven machine has nowhere left to run to, it too will be burned to ashes.”
Just then, he heard footsteps scampering up the stairs of the tower. He let out a low, rumbling growl as a demon warrior approached. The warrior was carrying a huge longbow, and a large quiver of arrows.
“The weapon you asked the Dark Lord for, master,” said the demon as it presented Grakk’n with the bow.
Grakk’n snatched the items from his hands and shoved him away.
“Get out of here before I test this on you,” he snarled.
The warrior nodded and scampered away, not wanting to experience first-hand what the large, powerful bow could do to its target. Grakk’n, meanwhile, slowly examined the weapon, turning it over in his hands. He gripped it and gave the taut string a few test pulls. It was suitably strong, and would launch an arrow over a considerable distance. As for the arrows themselves, they came with a sweet little surprise: the black steel arrowheads had been enchanted by the Dark Lord himself with strong fire magic. Whatever target these arrowheads slammed into would explode in a huge fireball.
“There’s only one way to make sure this thing works properly,” growled Grakk’n to himself.
He nocked an arrow to the bowstring, raised the bow and pulled the string back. Atop this tower, fifty feet up in the air, with a view over the whole area, he was standing in an ideal position for a bit of sniping.
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