Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1)

by Blake Bisciotti

  Shortly after, the twenty dwarves from the right tunnel entered the melee. Their approach was slightly more methodical. The first ten dwarven soldiers charged with their shields and drove the unsuspecting and much larger orcs back with the strength of their short muscular legs, knocking many off their feet. Then, in unison on command, they lowered their shields and swung their heavy weapons, slaying the orcs in front of them. The bearded warriors proceeded to drop back and the nine dwarves behind them stepped forward (one purposely remained behind) hacking with abandon. Once their brutal attacks finished, they turned their bodies and provided their own bludgeoning shield charge.

  The lone warrior that remained back crept towards the enemy with an expression as solid as the boulders of the mountains themselves. He held no shield or sword but instead wielded two double-sided black axes, one in each hand. This dwarf popped in and out of his comrades with deadly strikes, swinging with the left then the right, then back with both. His strikes were powerful but precise finding an exposed neck or severing a leg or hip. Hurlon, one of the finest warriors in all of Orzalar, had arrived to the battle and he was making a difference instantly. His axes were like black death to those who met them.

  As the attack lost organization and became more chaotic, Hurlon began to engage one on one with much larger orcs. He was slightly smaller than most dwarves but far more agile. One axe would slice through an orcs knee and then, as the creature fell on his wounded leg, the other axe would tear through its throat. Next he’d show his power with a double vertical chop down, both axes penetrating into an orcs chest, armor or no armor. One by one he chopped down his foes.

  The immediate damage to the orcish attack was great and served as a boost of morale for the tiring dwarves who began the battle in the main antechamber. Ibelgof dropped behind towards the ballista platforms. As his soldiers were screaming and rallying around him, the captain climbed the small ladder up to the platform and looked over the scene. First he watched with pride as his kin were taking down orc after orc. Bodies and blood were everywhere.

  Then, as Ibelgof Opfs raised his eyes towards the back of the chamber, his heart dropped. The depth of the orcish force was great, stretching back just beyond the two statues in the middle of the room, many of them armed and armored well. There were hundreds and hundreds of the creatures. The dwarves had underestimated the numbers of the enemy force. Then, more to the horror of the captain, entering from the far tunnel from which the enemy army had emerged, came a terrible surprise: Four massive creatures, nearly eleven feet high, were clad in studded leather armor and carried great clubs or axes. Ogres! Considering the size of the attacking force and the arrival of the powerful ogres, Captain Opfs knew at that instant that there would be no victory for his soldiers that day.

  A spear sailed by the dwarven captain’s head and crashed into the wall behind him. The captain had to refocus. He scanned the battle again left to right.

  “V formation!” Opfs screamed three times, the first two having little effect. On the third time, his troops began to shift, dropping back in the center towards the tunnel entrance to form a large “V” shaped wedge of dwarves with orcs pressing to the middle. The dwarven commander hopped down from the ballista platform and pushed through to the back of the “V”. He pulled back the soldiers at the base point of the “V” with great force so that they were back at the entrance of the tunnel behind them. He had a plan and it had to be executed perfectly.

  Once the soldiers were in the position he wanted he exclaimed “Hold your positions and fight these dogs me boys!” A cheer immediately followed from the dwarven soldiers, but the orcs continued to come on strongly. They towered over the stout dwarves, but the mountain warriors were brawn and sturdy. Just to his right Opfs saw Bogo on the front line of the “V”, using his war hammer to smash orcs that were wedged in the middle. He would crush a knee with a mighty swing and then concave a chest with another. The captain had little doubt that that fearless Bogo intended to enter the center of the orcish horde with little concern for his own well-being…for his own life.

  “Bogo!” Opfs beckoned the armored dwarf. “Bogo!” He called again over the clashing steal.

  Bogo then turned, but only after using his hammer to smash the face of an orc that pressed the front line. “Yes me captain?” He yelled back, swinging his weapon again.

  “Come, I need ya’ here,” Opfs began to explain but before he finished his statement the back of the helmet of the dwarf in front of him smashed him hard in the face. His nose broke under the pressure and blood exploded forth. A large muscular orc had charged through and drove back two dwarves that were in the front line of the “V” formation, one of which inadvertently caused the damage to Captain Ops. The pain only enraged the dwarven leader. He heard Bogo scream “Captain!” at the sight of his bleeding commander.

  Before Bogo could arrive, the fiery captain threw aside the dwarf in front of him in order to confront the mammoth orc. The creature growled with pleasure, as he knew he had hurt the dwarven leader. What he really should have done was retreat because Ibelgof Opfs was not badly hurt, but maddened with rage.

  The dwarven captain looked up at his six and a half foot tall adversary. Opfs raised his axe over his head and roared as if to chop with all his might into the creature’s midsection but, as the orc reacted to parry the blow, the seasoned captain quickly dropped to both knees and swung down and across. Dwarves often turned their smaller size into an advantage verse larger foes. The unfortunate monster was caught by surprise and could only scream in agony as his leg was severed completely halfway down the shin. The creature did manage to continue to swing down though with its one-sided axe, but the blow was deflected by the fine red steel armor in which Opfs was clad.

  As the suffering orc tried to regain its balance, Bogo arrived and caved the side of its head in with his mighty war hammer. The captain returned to his feet, his own blood soaking his beard.

  “I was gonna’ finish that dog!” Captain Opfs screamed at Bogo but then quickly returned to his agenda, “Bogo I’m needin’ ya’ to man the point o delta formation, can ya’ handle that?”

  “Delta? We just took to this formation?” but Bogo didn’t wait a second to react once he saw the expression on his captain’s face. He just turned and headed to the back of the “V” pushing through his colleagues to the enemy line. Battle raged on in front of him. He would go from his position as the base dwarf of the “V” to front man of the triangular formation known as “Delta”. The dwarves to his left and right would pull back, leaving Bogo upfront like the tip of an arrowhead, an arrowhead made of ferocious dwarven warriors. All those behind him would fall back into the tunnels from which they arrived…in retreat.

  “Delta on Bogo…Bogo’s the point! Delta on Bogo!” Ibelgof commanded several times. Switching formations was not unknown to the dwarves. Battle tactics were taught very young to most dwarven males, and all knew “V” formation to Delta marked moving backwards up a tunnel. This usually meant retreat. The battle continued on as the dwarves shifted. Their position became less fortified by giving way in their ranks. Bogo and those just behind him found themselves covered in enemies, but Delta was successfully formed and the dwarves began moving back up the tunnel.

  After settling into the new formation, the next command given by Captain Ibelgof Opfs was one he wished he never had to order in all his years commanding.

  “Retreeeeeat!” His voice rose above the sounds of battle. “Back up the tunnel quickly lads!” Then, all at once as the ogres had pushed half way through the mass of orcs, the dwarven army offered their final blows and retreated back up the tunnel. At the same moment the dwarves working the ballista kicked over barrels that up on the platform. The barrels fell towards the center of the chamber. As they hit the ground the barrels broke open and oil splashed on the floor. The slick surface threw the orcish charge into disarray. Unfortunately a couple of dwarves fell to the ground as well. The whole front line of orcs slipped and tripped most of the
attackers who were rushing in behind them, which completely slowed the onslaught. One or two dwarves couldn’t recover from slipping and were pulled into the chaos of orcs and killed, but most escaped as the timing and placement of the oil was impeccable. Years of training proved worthwhile.

  A few brave dwarves including Hurlon and Bogo, who was wounded in many places, stayed to slow the enemy’s progression as they recovered from slipping in the oil. Eventually the enemy would come on too strong. Hurlon, Bogo and the brave remaining few dwarves would enjoy the greatest dwarven honor that could be had: giving their lives in battle while defending their mountain. The courageous final few slaughtered the first monsters that arrived in sheer blood lust, but there were just too many coming. As he was about to let out a final war cry and face death, Bogo heard the distinct voice of another dwarf.

  The dwarf with the garish scar, Arnie, yelled at the top of his lungs “Drop the platforms!” which was enough of a warning for Bogo and Hurlon and the few that remained alive in the gutsy final stand. Together they ran, using all the energy they had left, back towards the tunnel from which they came. Then two dwarves who were against the sides of the tunnels began pulling heavy chains that were connected to various parts of the ballista platforms at the entrance to the tunnel. They heaved with all their might and pulled free the foundations of the platforms. Bogo, Hurlon, and the few others who were running back, dove into the tunnel with all the remaining strength that they could muster.

  Another dwarven strategy: tunnel congestion. Under the platforms, which were made mostly of wood, were many rocks and boulders that were held steady by the solid base of the platform. As the dwarves pulled the chains and the foundation collapsed, the stones tumbled out and poured into the tunnel’s mouth. Along with rocks were wood and heavy dust. The obstacles halted the charge of the enemy and created space between the attacking army and the fleeing dwarves. A few unlucky orcs had advanced and found themselves on the dwarven side of the rockslide. The monsters looked around confused, but turned to see Bogo and his comrades returning to their feet. Within seconds there were no more orcs alive on that side of the avalanche as the dwarven warriors disposed of them quickly.

  The captain knew that the orcs would be through the barrier within minutes, and that his army had to keep moving. He led his warriors back up the tunnel from which they came. The passageway began to slope up at an incline that became steeper and steeper. After about thirty yards, the sounds of the orcs breaking through the rubble could be heard. They would be up the tunnel soon. The angle of the ground flattened and the battered army of bearded folk arrived exhausted in a small chamber. Barrels were stacked against the walls to the left and right in the small area atop the sloping tunnel. In the back of the chamber was another tunnel passage leading deeper into the mountain and back towards Orzalar.

  The dwarves rushed on up the next tunnel. Opfs instructed several soldiers to stay behind and get around the barrels. As the last of the army was up the tunnel, the remaining few began to round up the barrels to face down the slope at the oncoming army of orcs. Together they chopped and smash the containers, but not until they were completely destroyed. Grease and oil poured out from barrel after barrel. It flowed down to the orcs who were just beginning to ascend the slope. At first the flow was slow but then, as more and more barrels broke, it increased in speed and volume.

  The orcs were charging with great haste. The first wave took of attackers slipped on the spill. More and more slippery fluid flowed down to them. Within minutes they were piled on each other again, but the advance would not stop. Orcs were stepping on their fallen kin in order to advance. Back at the top of the slope, Captain Ibelgof Opfs removed a torch from the wall. The light from the torch danced off his face, showing that it was covered in blood and dirt. His colleagues stared at him as he breathed hard from fatigue. The captain then let out a yell and tossed the torch and screamed “burn ya’ damn dogs!” When the torch landed the large amounts of oil and grease quickly burst into a fiery inferno.

  The blaze grew and grew and a fireball raced up the tunnel. Opfs and his remaining dwarves backed away and covered their faces from the heat of the blaze. The screams of the enemy were the last thing they heard as they entered the tunnel that lead back toward Orzalar. In the tunnel was a large stone, carved to jam into the tunnel passage. The dwarven warriors began to roll the stone towards the tunnel to cover the entranceway. The screams faded and muffled as the stone filled the tunnel and was then wedged in place with heavy beams and other stones. The smoke, flames, and odor of burning flesh were now blocked. The army had retreated and gave up the mines, but it cost the enemy dearly; however his would satisfy no one. The mines of the east, the ancient mines that belonged to Orzalar for generations, were lost and the monsters were content with giving up the chase to keep that which they just conquered.

  ***

  The air felt tense. All eyes were on the humans in the room. Curiously, Ostinus and Elberon were served two frothy mugs of ale as they sat. Geeyor Runsevor sat opposite them at the table stroking his beard with his own mug within reach. His brown hair was straight and his wardrobe was ornate with gold and red steel rivets linking fine thick cloths. His mug was fancy, bearing the emblem of his noble house on the front.

  “Gentleman, thank you for joining me, it is much appreciated.” It was clear to the humans that Geeyor did not have as much of a rough accent the other dwarves did; presumably from years of education as a noble. They both nodded toward the dwarf then raised their glass as he made a silent toast towards them. Oddly, consuming ale was almost always appropriate to dwarves.

  “The men of your city and the dwarves of Orzalar have always had a friendly and strong relationship. It is curious why our people do not interact more. While the trade that you two bring to our mountain is appreciated, there could be much more done to benefit both of our cities.” His fingers tapped the table.

  “Agree,” replied Ostinus. “It is never too late for such a thing. It has been suggested to our council, however why they do not act, one cannot be certain.” He sipped his ale. It is because the council can’t figure out how to profit from it themselves. He did not say, but thought.

  “Ok…well perhaps one day.” Geeyor stopped tapping his fingers and put his hand flat against the table with some force. “As you are aware, our mountain now faces an unexpected foe that has disrupted the peace we dwarves have enjoyed for many years,” he shot a glance at the host of dwarves that escorted the human merchants into the room and continued. “I bring you here to discuss the implications this has to your city of Lunemire and the other two human cities. We do not know the size of the force that has emerged, however it is clear that they are hostile and hold little regard for the lives and property of others.”

  “Did they not come initially in peace?” Elberon asked remembering what Tidor had told them.

  Geeyor’s lips pursed. “So they claimed, then when we did not hand over what is rightfully ours, great mines that me father’s father helped build.” It was apparent Elberon’s question bothered the dwarf. Neither of the humans missed the slip to the rough dwarven accent. “They decided to try and take it by force.” The noble dwarf guzzled his mug of beer, slammed it hard on the table and rose from his chair. “Our soldiers have traveled east to defend our mines. They could very well be fighting the dogs at this very moment.” Geeyor’s voice rose.

  “Now? Battle? In the mountain?” Elberon asked. Concern was visible in his brown eyes as he gazed to Ostinus.

  “Aye,” Geeyor went on, “It would be foolish to not think of your city. What if they come to Lunemire and peacefully ask for half of the farm areas that are to the east of the city? Then, when you decline their absurd request, they decide to take it. Nothing is safe. They are volatile…and dangerous.” The humans were impressed that Geeyor was even aware of the location of the farms, which provided much of the food to the city. The dwarf’s point was well made to the priest and the warrior.

  “Does our co
uncil know? “ Elberon asked. It would be expected that the council of the city would keep even the most critical of information from the citizens.

  “No, we will send emissaries to Lunemire to inform the city,” replied Geeyor.

  “And when were you planning to you do this?” Ostinus said in a confrontational voice, drawing a surprised, concerned look from Elberon. This was a noble household of Orzalar, and Geeyor was a young lord.

  “Right now.” Geeyor said and snapped his stubby fingers and a nearby dwarf stepped over and handed Elberon a rolled up scroll that was sealed with a wax stamp in the sign of the house of Runsevor. The noble dwarf then pointed to the door. A burly dwarf who was by the exit yanked the door open powerfully. Geeyor spoke loudly but tried to remain calm as he turned from the table and walked towards his guests. “You’ve heard what’s happening here, now go and tell your council. You are the emissaries.” He pointed at the men with his left hand and stroked his beard with the other. “Go now so that you can be prepared for what may happen. We will be fine here. No one is dislodging us from our mountain. Make sure you’re ready if they approach your city.”

  The humans stood and looked at each other. The grim faces of the dwarves made them realize they were meant to leave. “We will leave at once, will anyone be accompanying-” Elberon’s reply was cut short by a horn blowing back in the Great Hall, and the sound of screams.

  Everyone, including Elberon and Ostinus, in the room went running out to see what was happening. The commotion in the Great Hall grew louder and louder. “Get healers and doctors!” Was heard being screamed over and over. The two humans didn’t walk far from the door of the house of Runsevor. They, even more than those around them, were confused and alarmed. Their attention was drawn towards the back of the Great Hall, near the entrance to the mines where much of the ruckus was happening.