Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

Chapter 237

Mole thought she had found a perfect position from which to lay an ambush.

She lay crouched in a narrow crevice in one of the cliffs overlooking the defile. From her position she was invisible from below and above, and her cover include a protruding boulder almost as big as she was that she rapidly discovered could be worked loose without much effort. From where she was she could look out over the approaches of the defile, and if she retreated to the crevice there was a relatively easy and secure route back up to the top of the cliff behind her. From there, she was sure she could circle around the plateau without exposing herself to too much fire from any archers that weren’t actually standing atop the cliffs.

Dannel’s warning was the first catch in her plan, but she was still sure that she could do more damage from here than in cover with the others, so she held her ground as the elf retreated. She had one holdout, a potion of invisibility that she’d picked up on Occipitus, so she was confident that she’d be able to get out of a sticky situation. She had a great location, multiple weapons at hand, a clear avenue of escape, and the potion for emergencies. Everything was set.

She loaded her crossbow and gathered about a dozen stones the size of her head that would prove effective missiles against anyone traveling through the defile.

But the second catch in her plan was the sight of the charging rank of orcs running up the trail toward the defile. They weren’t being cautious, they weren’t checking for traps, they weren’t doing anything but charging ahead, and there were a lot of them. Somehow she figured that dropping a rock on the head of one wasn’t going to faze the next fifty. Or, she thought, swallowing as the line of orcs exploding from the mountains onto the trail grew longer, the next fifty after that.

And then she saw the first ogre.

So much for the perfect plan.

An arrow shattered against a boulder right where Zenna had just had her hand an instant ago. The tiefling darted into the lee of the stone, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun just beginning to descend over the mountains to the east. The archers moving along the clifftops were easy to spot, dark shapes outlined brightly by the long rays of the afternoon sun. She knew that orcs were sensitive to bright light, and the archers were probably firing blindly at their positions, but that would be little solace if one of their long shafts found its mark. More arrows were falling, now, their steel heads clinking angrily against the stone as they impacted.

Dannel, on the other hand, was not hoping for lucky shots. He’d laid out one of the orc quivers he’d captured on a boulder in front of him, and with methodical efficiency drew and fired. As Zenna watched in amazement—the orcs were five hundred feet away!—the first arrow slammed into the chest of an orc archer, dropping it. Even as it fell, Dannel’s third arrow snapped from his bow with a twang that sounded like a clear musical note. Zenna followed its path in fascination as it rose high into the air, a bright gleam as the sunlight caught the steel head, then descended... falling from the sky...

Landing in the throat of an orc archer. Even as it fell, she realized that his second shot had scored a hit as well, and an orc was staggering back, the feathered shaft jutting from its thigh.

“I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that,” she said. “Not even my father can use a bow like that.”

Dannel grinned, drawing another three arrows from the quiver. The remaining orc archers apparently had drawn a similar conclusion, for they were taking cover, finding what shelter they could among the bare rocks strewn along the ridge.

“My father would have killed all three,” he said, before turning to take aim for his second flight.

Zenna didn’t have a chance to respond, for a loud roar sounded from the defile.

The rest of the orcs were on their way.

A few paces below her, Arun and Hodge had taken up a position near the summit, giving them a broad command of the front approach up the face of the tor. Hodge had laid down his spear, and was winding his heavy crossbow, the trusty weapon he’d lugged across hundreds of miles both on this world and in the Abyss. Arun did not have a missile weapon, but he stood his ground stoically, awaiting the enemy. With Hodge’s help he’d strapped Morgan’s magical shield to his injured arm, one of his light hammers ready to throw in his other hand.

A crash and a loud cry of pain sounded from the direction of the defile, and Zenna grinned despite herself. Then another arrow landed a few feet away, and she realized that she had her own defenses to attend to. Focusing her thoughts, she began summoning her magic.

In the crowded confines of the defile, Mole could hardly miss. Although there was a brief unpleasant moment when she pushed the boulder free, nearly going over with it before she caught herself, the heavy stone tumbled down into the narrow space and crushed the head of a charging orc with a very satisfying smack. As a bonus, the stone then tumbled to the side as the orc fell, landing on the calf of a second orc and smashing the bone, crippling it.

Even as the orcs shouted in pain and rage she was tossing her other ammunition down at them, picking up the smaller stones in both hands and hurling them down at the orcs. One orc looked up in time to take fifteen pounds of rock on the center of its face, and went down in a thrashing heap.

The charge had stalled, but the orcs were quick, very quick, to respond. Arrows and spears blasted Mole’s position, but she was well-protected by the jutting rocks and her magical armor. One orc archer got lucky and hit her on the arm as she hurled another stone, but her armor absorbed most of the force of the impact, and she quickly worked the nasty barbed head of the arrow free of the wound, grimacing against the pain.

She peeked out from her shelter long enough to see that the ogres had reached the entrance to the defile, and she started thinking that it might be a good time to retreat. Then she saw an ugly orc covered with tattoos and fetishes, clad in a hide shirt decorated with equal garishness, and she felt a sudden sinking feeling as it pointed at her, shouting a word that was no doubt the trigger to some unpleasant spell.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 238

Dannel continued his barrage against the orc archers along the ridge of cliffs that surrounded the plateau. At that extreme range, and hindered by the bright light of the late afternoon sun, they had yet to score a hit. But even though most of them had sought out cover, the elf continued to score hits. But even though almost a half-dozen of them had been taken out by his shots, there were easily twice that number left along the ridge, and it was clear that many times more that number were coming through the defile.

Zenna watched the entrance of the defile intensely, wishing she could see what was happening. She had a spell that could allow her to see across the intervening distance, but it would take a long time to cast, minutes that they just didn’t have. Already the first orcs had emerged onto the plateau, and they were spreading out, some pausing to fire arrows uselessly at the dug-in companions.

Mole twisted back deeper into the crevice, trying to stay as clear as possible of the sticky strands that had penetrated back into her avenue of retreat. The shaman had conjured up a web that had effectively defeated her ambush, forming a lattice that filled the defile from the tops of the cliffs down to about twenty feet above the ground. Orcs now poured through the tunnel thus formed, the hulking ogres close behind, the noise of their progress echoing against the cliffs.

The companions watched as the orc horde poured out onto the open plain from the defile. Clearly they already had orders from their commanders, for instead of rushing straight at the companions atop their impromptu fortress, they spread out to both sides, forming a ring whose obvious purpose was to surround the defenders, to prevent them from escape. One or two fell here and there, a bolt jutting from one orc’s side, a long arrow stuck through the eye of another. But by the time that the ogres appeared the ring was nearly complete, and behind them came a huge, muscular orc clad in a black steel breastplate, holding aloft a huge axe with a head surrounded by angry red flames.

“That’s the leader,” Dannel said.

“Yer daft, elf,” Hodge growled. “Of course that’s the damned leader! What gave it away, the bloody flamin’ bloomin’ gods-damned flamin’ axe?”

“Get ready,” Arun said simply, and Hodge turned to reloading his heavy bow.

Behind the war leader Zenna saw several other figures, clad in hides and dark cloaks, that she figured were shamans. Those had to be watched carefully, she thought.

The din of the orcs filled the plateau, resounding off of the surrounding cliffs. Damn, there’s over a hundred and fifty of them! Zenna thought grimly, surveying the gathered army that surrounded them. They’d fought demons and survived, and orcs were individually no big threat, but so many...

“We don’t want them to wait,” Arun said calmly. “We want to provoke them to attack now, while the sun’s in their eyes.”

“One provocation, coming right up,” Dannel said. He bent his bow, and death began to spread again among the orcs. He focused on the front ranks of the encircling ring, but sent a shaft almost incidentally toward the shamans. Zenna observed that the arrow was turned at the last instant, confirming her suspicion that those orcs were magic-users. They were too far to see clearly, but she suspected that they were using their spells to prepare the orc leaders for battle.

Well, she could deal with that, if need be.

“Come on then, you cowards!” Arun yelled, his stentorian voice overshadowing the raucous cries of the nearest orcs. His holy sword was a bright shaft in his hand, gathering up the rays of the setting sun and reflecting them outward in a brilliant radiance.

Zenna cast a minor spell, and a loud crashing noise echoed over the plateau. It was followed by a rhythmic sound, a deep, challenging shout. She didn’t know much of the guttural orcish tongue, but Lok had taught her a few curses, insults that would get the blood of the fiercest orc warrior boiling, and those words now sounded through the power of her ghost sound cantrip, taunting the gathered army.

The orcs, already raging, were driven over the edge. In a violent surge they came rushing forward, weapons aloft, shouting out a cry of doom and battle.

 

[Mimic]

Great update as always... and a bump to put this thread back to the first page where it belongs

 

[Lazybones]

Great update as always... and a bump to put this thread back to the first page where it belongs

Thanks!

* * * * *

Chapter 239

Zenna loaded her last crossbow bolt and fired at the onrushing horde. She scored a hit, the orc falling back to vanish into the ranks around it, but then there was no time to think, only to fight against the surging tide.

They’d taken up positions so that Zenna was on the side of the tor that was nearly vertical, an almost sheer thirty-foot wall. That cliff channeled the assault toward the opposite side of the bluff, but there were numerous workable assents, including a comparatively gentle slope up the front that was wide enough for twenty orcs to come up it at once. It became more narrow at the top, where the ring of boulders formed a defensive wall around the summit.

It was there that Arun and Hodge stood waiting. Missiles glanced off of their armor, but thus far neither dwarf had taken a serious injury from the attacks from below. Both knew that this would change, once their foes closed to melee range.

Arun brained one orc with one of his light hammers, knocking the warrior into several of its peers struggling up the slope behind it. The positioning of the outcropping was such that the orcs were charging into the setting sun, nearly blinding them, but that barely seemed to faze them. They knew that enemies were at the top of the hill, waiting, and they would find them by touch and smell, if their eyes failed them.

Dannel, on the other hand, had a clear shot down the hill. Every arrow he fired seemed to find an orc chest, or throat, or face. He’d already discarded his first quiver, and was well into the inventory of missiles in the second. At close range now he was truly devastating, and for a moment the orc rush faltered in the face of those shafts of death.

But he was only one elf, and they were many orcs.

“Here come the ogres!” Arun warned, even as he dodged an orc spear and drove his holy sword into its chest. The orc wailed and fell back, even as Arun turned and impaled another that had managed to slip up the flank of the hill, trying to get behind the dwarven defenders.

Then the crashing wave struck, and both dwarves were surrounded by a storm of blades, the boulders at their backs the only thing keeping them aloft against the raging tide.

Zenna stood from her position of shelter and moved to the far side of the hill. A dozen orcs were visible, climbing the steep slope. One spotted her and let out a cry, and the others soon echoed it, eagerly rushing forward to claim apparently easy prey.

She disabused them of the notion with a color spray that blasted into them. Several orcs were knocked unconscious, and tumbled down the hill, their bodies crashing into the rocks until they came to a stop near its base.

But the others came on. One reached the summit and rushed at her, confused by the shifting mirror images that surrounded her. Finally it cut at one, but its choice was unlucky and an empty image vanished at its stroke. Three others clambered up behind it, eager to overwhelm her by sheer numbers, but before they could strike she unleashed a spray of burning hands from her wand that engulfed all four. Two staggered back, their flesh crisp and smoldering, but the other two pressed their assault, driving her back. Behind them, other orcs continued their ascent.

On the other flank, the slope was equally tricky, but another dozen and more orcs were pressing from that direction. One cried out an alarm as a lithe form appeared atop the boulders, looking down at them. Dannel’s bow sang, and orcs fell, clutching at the arrows jutting from their bodies as they slid down the hill. Several archers at the base of the hill took shots at the elf, but just as quickly as he appeared he’d vanished again, dropping back behind the boulders.

Meanwhile, the wave of orcs rebounded from an implacable force; the two dwarves. They were outnumbered twenty, thirty, forty to one; there was no way they could have stood before the onrushing tide, but somehow they did. Hodge stabbed an orc through the chest with his spear, and drew it out to catch a second in the gut. The spear was wrenched from his hand as the orc fell, but then five more had closed to strike, assaulting him from all sides with greataxes and equally huge blades. He brought his shield up, and took the hits. On his other side orcish blades clanged against his magical armor, driving him back against the stone. Arun had laid a ward of protection upon his friend, against the evil that filled these creatures like a cancer, and that protected him, and none of the initial attacks penetrated his defenses. But even so, for a moment it looked as though he would go down from the sheer weight of the charge.

Then his fist closed around the hilt of his axe, and the weapon swept out in a broad arc. Two orcs fell, the first with its face laid open to the skull, the second clutching at the bloody stump where its arm had been.

Seven feet away, Arun stood his ground. He’d infused himself with the power of Moradin, and against his strength, the orcs found themselves unable to stand. His sword pained their eyes even more than the sun, and every time it cut, they bled. Two burly orcs leapt at him, hoping to grapple him and drag him down, but he tore himself free easily, driving his shield into the face of one orc with enough force to shatter bone, and crushing the other’s skull with the hilt of his sword.

But even as he repelled the grapple, another pair of orcs that had managed the flank clambered up atop the boulder at his back. One raised its maul to strike the still-unaware dwarf in the back of his skull, but before it could deliver the punishing blow a shadow shifted within the ring of stones. The orc’s companion shouted a warning, but it was too late as a large form exploded upward from a shadowy crevice between two boulders that seemed barely large enough to contain its bulk. The orc tried to shift its attack to strike down this new adversary, but Clinger was too fast, seizing the orc in his powerful jaws, crushing its body. The second orc stumbled backward and tried to get away, but the celestial lizard dropped his first victim and sprang after it, taking it down before it got ten steps distant.

A wall of bodies had risen around the two dwarves, and for a heartbeat the assault faltered, the orcs stunned even in their fury at the ferocity of the defense.

But then, behind them, came a reassuring cadence, a thump of heavy bootprints against the stone.

The ogres had arrived.

 

[Broccli_Head]

Why you gotta stop right in the middle?

 

[Lazybones]

Why you gotta stop right in the middle?

Cliffhangers=supsense=returning readers.

I think of this as one big Saturday serial from the B-movie era, 'cept I update more frequently.

* * * * *

Chapter 240

“Thus far, your spell-weaving has done little to impress me,” Kavorek said, regarding the shamans with thinly veiled contempt.

Uk’bek drew himself up to confront the war-leader. “We have laid our most potent wards upon you and your ogres, Great One! The foe will not stand against your charge!”

“Thus far they seem to be standing well enough,” the orog said, turning toward the battle. He nodded to the first of his brutes, and the creatures started forward. Kavorek intended to join them, but a cry drew his attention around.

Uk’bek was clutching at his back, twisting around, his acolytes rushing about him in confusion. Kavorek saw that a small crossbow bolt jutted from his back, perfectly positioned for maximum effect.

“Ambush behind us!” one of the lesser adepts cried, darting for cover behind some nearby rocks.

“Oh, Gruumsh’s balls,” Kavorek cursed, tempted to strike the idiot down and be done with him. No doubt the hidden archer was the same one who’d conducted the ambush, and he suspected that there was only one foe up on the cliffs, perhaps two. He caught the attention of some of his own archers still up there, and pointed toward the sniper’s approximate location with a slash of his hand.

The archers nodded, and a half-dozen hurried in that direction.

“Stay here then, and pray for victory,” Kavorek said, before turning his back on the shamans in disgust and starting after his ogres toward the battle. The adepts were incompetent for the most part, but as the orog exulted in his enhanced strength and stamina as he ran across the field of battle toward his foe.

Zenna felt a stabbing pain in her side as one of her remaining foes caught her with a glancing blow that managed to cut through both her shield and her mage armor. Grimacing, she blasted both with another burning hands, and the orcs collapsed, their flesh blackened by the flames. She could see that other orcs were pushing up the slope, however, and would be upon her in moments.

Zenna retreated into the ring. She met Dannel, who tossed aside his second quiver—empty, now.

“There’s more coming behind me!” she warned.

“Yeah, me too,” he said, dropping the orc bow and taking up Alakast. “Go help Arun and Hodge. Those ogres are coming and they look tough.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll hold your backs.”

“There’s too many...”

“Go. Trust me,” he added, with a wink.

Reluctantly, she did as he said.

The elf turned to see several orcs already appear through the gaps in the ring of boulders. They were cautious, now, willing to wait for numbers before coming at him.

Dannel laughed, and let the song fill him. As the melody washed through his body, bringing his magic with it, he felt his body... change subtly, his skin growing tough and leathery, his facing reforming into a reptilian visage.

“All right, whenever you’re ready,” he hissed, facing them now with the form and features—and the natural armor—of one of the lizardfolk.

The first ogre charged up the steep ascent, heedless of the orcs it trampled in its rush. The others were close behind it, and the ground shook at their coming. The orcs gave way, forming a cheering corridor around the charge, eager to watch these enemies that had blooded them so destroyed. The ogres carried massive two-handed swords nearly as big as they were, and as they came ahead they flew into a violent rage. One stumbled on the loose rock and fell, delaying it for a few moments, but the other five formed a wedge that drove straight toward the waiting dwarves.

And then, suddenly, the upper slope was shrouded in murky darkness.

Some of the orcs cried out in superstitious fury, but the ogres, blind in their rage, paid barely any heed, rushing into the shadowed zone heedlessly. They knew where the enemy was, and would not be denied the death and destruction they had been promised.

Unfortunately, that upper slope was littered with orc corpses and loose rocks. A loud crash echoed from within the darkness, and then another, as charging ogres stumbled and fell.

The lead ogre let out a resounding roar of pure guttural fury as it exploded from the darkness and saw Arun standing before it. It brought its sword up to strike down the paladin. There seemed no way it could miss...

And yet, somehow, it did, the heavy blade crashing down into the rocks less than a hand’s span from the dwarf. For the two dwarves there was no mystery, for the warriors of their kind, whether a shield dwarf of the North or a gold dwarf of the Great Rift, all share that special skill and training that allows them to avoid the powerful yet clumsy attacks of giants. Arun came up under its guard, stepping forward and drawing his holy sword in a brilliant arc across the ogre’s gut, sundering its armor and smiting it with the pure holy energy of his divine patron. The ogre staggered back, its entrails draining from the massive gash drawn across its lower body, and it toppled slowly backward like a great oak felled by the skill of a veteran lumberjack.

Two more ogres emerged from the darkness, slightly disoriented, but quick to spot the two dwarves. Hodge had recovered his spear, and stabbed one in the torso, driving the weapon deep into its body. The ogre roared in pain but quickly countered, smashing Hodge’s shield to splinters and catching him on the shoulder with the tip of its blade. The dwarf’s armor plate held, but the blow nonetheless staggered him.

But that didn’t stop him from dropping the spear and hefting his axe, and rushing at the ogre. It tried to bring its sword to bear again, but the dwarven miner-turned-warrior was faster. He didn’t even bother to go for its body, sweeping the axe low and taking off one of the ogre’s legs at the knee.

The ogre fell, but Hodge didn’t have time to finish it off, as the last few ogres had already recovered from their falls, and were coming forward cautiously through the darkness, their huge forms reduced to amorphous blobs in the shadowy depths of Zenna’s spell. The dwarf rubbed at his wounded shoulder; he knew that he couldn’t take many more hits like that. And there were still all those orcs on the far side of the darkness...

“All right, come on already!” he yelled, brandishing his bloody axe, careful to move out of the reach of the still-thrashing ogre he’d crippled. To his right, Arun stepped forward to join him, limping slightly. He’d taken out his second ogre in much the same manner as the first, although that one had managed a crushing blow against his thigh that his armor had only barely held against.

Even as another ogre materialized from the shadows, a bright lance of coruscating flames shot down over the heads of the dwarves, flaring over the giant brute’s body. The ogre cried out in pain, but did not falter. Hodge glanced over his shoulder and saw Zenna standing between the boulders, the familiar glowing shield before her, bright nimbi of magical energy outlining her hands as she worked her magic. Hodge had never been all that impressed with her spell-working (although he certainly had come to appreciate her healing talents), but at that moment she had the look of some avenging spirit, wrapped in shadow, the very powers of the universe coming at her call.

But that instant was all the time he had for such musings, as the ogre was joined by the last two of their kin, and as they emerged from the darkness they hurled themselves at their enemies in a final violent rush.

 

[Polynike]

“Oh, Gruumsh’s balls,” Kavorek cursed

you have to love orckin

what a fight old one nice one.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 241

Dannel stood in the center of the ring of stones that circled the summit of the tor, watching as more orcs filtered in between the gaps in the looming boulders. There were at least twenty now, and they drew courage from their numbers, for despite the death he’d already unleashed upon them, ultimately he was only one enemy. And Dannel had no illusions about his fighting prowess, even with Alakast at hand and his defenses augmented with the lizardfolk form he’d borrowed with his alter self spell.

So he had to even the odds a bit.

He reached up and grasped the necklace he’d worn since they’d found it in the hag lair in Vaprak’s Voice in the Demonskar, snapping one of the golden globes from its setting. He hurled the tiny sphere at the largest group of orcs, six of them standing in a cluster around one of the openings in the boulder ring. Even as the sphere exploded into a blazing fireball, incinerating all six orcs, he charged at the survivors nearest to the blast, laying about him with Alakast. The orcs, caught off guard by the fireball and the suddenness of his assault, drew back. A few thrust at him with their spears or swung their swords and axes at him, but his armor turned most of the blows, and the one blade that gashed across his exposed bicep failed to penetrate his thick new hide. In turn that orc’s sword went flying a moment later as Alakast crushed its arm, snapping the bone, and even as another tried to attack him from behind the staff swept around in a deadly arc that collided powerfully with its head, knocking it off its feet.

Dannel had taken the initiative, but the remaining orcs were not craven goblins, to run screaming when confronted with a tough foe. They still had numbers on him, and as they rushed at the darting and spinning elf, attacking from all directions, their attacks began to have an effect. It took all of his effort just to keep them at bay, but even as he continued to land violent blows with Alakast, soon runnels of bright red blood decorated his arms and legs, and a spreading splotch appeared on his left shoulder, where a spearhead had torn through his defenses.

And still more orcs trickled into the melee, as the creatures continued to press the flanks.

Not so far away at that same moment, Mole was finding her own situation growing equally grim. She’d stuck that head shaman good earlier, and by the continued exclamations she heard from the below she figured he was finding the poison she’d swiped from that follower of “Wee Jas” in Occipitus to be most unpleasant. But the orc commander had seen her, and now a half-dozen orcs were pursuing her. Her arm hurt where another arrow had hit her... stupid dumb luck! She muttered a curse she’d picked up from Hodge. The arrow had been doubly unfortunate for her in that she’d been carrying her potion in that hand, and when hit she’d dropped it to shatter on the rocks at her feet. So her holdout was gone, and her hiding place revealed. Now she was running along the ridgeline at the summit of the cliffs, six orcs chasing her, and arrows still knifing past her from the other surviving archers back near the defile. Luckily they were too far away to have much of a chance of hitting her, but as she’d already proven, luck was a fickle ally...

Proven again as she leapt over a slight rise to reveal that the ridge came to an abrupt end just ahead, with nothing but a sheer fifty-foot drop to a rocky ground below. She skittered to a halt, inches from the edge. Her magical boots and nimbleness had allowed her to gain a lead over the pursuing orcs, but as they saw her suddenly stop they redoubled their efforts, clearly eager to do unpleasant things to her with those various weapons they carried.

Great swords smashed stone and clattered against magical armor plate as a huge melee raged at the summit of the rocky slope. Less than thirty seconds had passed since Zenna had called down the darkness, and yet each tick seemed an eternity in the chaos of the melee. Hodge cried out as a ogre sword crunched into his side, and he fell back, nearly finished. Zenna, standing just a few feet behind him, almost within the the ogre’s reach herself, calmly blasted the already wounded ogre with a second scorching ray, and it fell, its face charred and blackened.

And Arun. Arun Goldenshield, Divine Champion of Moradin, stood his ground as two ogres laid into him with all of their considerable strength behind the blows. He took hits, and narrowly dodged others, but throughout it he did not falter, and when his blade swept it brought Death. The first ogre was already bleeding from a deep gash in its thigh, and as it lifted its sword to strike again Arun lunged in and sank three feet of blessed steel into its body, stabbing up through its gut into the vital organs above. The ogre spat blood and crumpled, falling across the body of the first ogre he’d killed earlier. The second ogre shouted a cry of frustration and disbelief and drove its sword down two-handed into the paladin’s back, hoping to somehow defeat this little creature that would just not die. The ogre had killed armored men before, but somehow the metal plates held and the sword slid off, slamming into the ground with enough force to split the stone. The paladin turned, and the ogre saw the promise of death in the dark eyes beneath that silvered helm. Arun stepped forward and unleashed a full attack.

Seconds later, the last ogre went down.

Zenna was quick to reach Hodge’s side, pouring healing energy into the stricken dwarf. More shapes were materializing within the darkness, smaller forms, but many, many more. Knowing that the orcs would be worse off in the light, she dismissed the spell and stood, looking down the slope.

There had to be at least sixty orcs there, with a huge brute at their forefront, a giant of an orc with a massive axe with a head surrounded with flame. The orcs did not charge forward; shielding their light-sensitive eyes from the last rays of the setting sun, they looked with dismay at the hacked and burned corpses of their mighty ogres, and the three foes that yet stood before them. Four foes, as Clinger rose from the rocks behind them, a limp orc still dangling from his jaws.

Arun stepped onto the pile of ogres he’d killed, standing on the top creature’s chest. He was injured, but he channeled Moradin’s power into himself, and his sword did not tremble as he swept it over the gathered orcs, before it settled on their leader.

“If it is blood and destruction you seek, orcs, then you shall find it here!”

Kavorek stepped forward. He’d lost here today, he knew. Even if his orcs could still prove victorious, the base of his power had been sundered, and the tribe had been decimated. If that idiot Uk’bek survived—and his kind usually did—then his shamans would no doubt make arrangements that would see him quietly killed at some point when he wasn’t expecting it.

So he basically had two choices. He could retreat, lose face, and depart this particular band of orcs, striking out to seek a new opportunity elsewhere. He’d had to do that before, and while there were always risks involved, he was confident that he would survive and adapt.

On the other hand, there was personal honor, and defeat of this foe. The dwarves had to be injured, and that spellcasting woman had clearly used up some of her resources already. And there were more of his orcs atop the tor behind them; he could hear the ongoing sounds of battle.

Kavorek was an unusual creature, part orc, part ogre, gifted with an intelligence unusual among either race.

But ultimately, he was what he was.

Lifting his axe, he roared a challenge, and charged.

Behind him, his orcs came on in a wave.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 242

Dannel staggered as another axe clipped his side. His armor held, but he felt the pain slam through his body like a hammer. He’d already broken a rib, he suspected.

There were orcs all around him, over a dozen now, although he’d killed at least that many with his fireball and Alakast. At least there didn’t seem to be any more coming; though that was small enough comfort with the current contingent apparently enough to finish him off.

He swept Alakast around in a broad arc, and the orcs fell back for a moment. They could see that he was weakening, though, and no sooner had he finished his sweep than they were rushing in again, weapons seeking his flesh.

But he’d gotten what he wanted, an instant’s respite. He smiled, a grim smile, as he lifted his prize—the last missile from his necklace—and slammed it into the ground at his feet.

Even as he lifted his weapon and roared his challenge of battle, Kavorek felt his magical augmentations slide off of him. He fixed the spell-woman with a hateful look, but spared her no further attention; his focus was on the dwarven knight, who likewise had fixed his attention upon his greatest foe. The dwarf was no fool, rushing ahead to meet him and be overwhelmed from all sides; the two dwarves and the woman calmly retreated so that the boulders were again at their backs.

The orcs surged ahead. A number hurled spears or light axes before them, but those were easily turned by the shields of the dwarves and the magical defenses of the woman. The dwarven knight stood at the forefront, awaiting him, and Kavorek felt the song of battle fill him as he outdistanced his troops, leaping forward to smite the dwarf with a powerful, inexorable assault.

The blow crunched into the dwarf’s armor with crushing force. The plate held, but Kavorek knew he’d hurt his foe. He laughed, the insane sound of the battle-mad warrior, and brought his weapon up to attack again.

As he did so, he met the eyes of the spell-woman.

And froze.

It was as if ice had been poured into his veins. His body stiffened, his muscles refusing to obey him. He could do nothing, even as inside his mind he raged and screamed. He could only watch as the dwarven knight lifted his sword, and with a single powerful stroke took the mighty orog’s head clean off his shoulders.

Behind him, the orc charge faltered at the ease with which their battle-champion, the orog who had led them to victory in dozens of raids, was dispatched. Behind the stones, they watched as a blazing fireball rose up, accompanied by the screams of their fellows as they burned. They looked again at the bloody corpses of six ogres, once armored titans, and at the gathered bodies of dozens of their own.

Then the woman raised her hands, and a fell mist rose up out of the stones. Cloying, red, it roiled and burned, holding them with a superstitious awe. When a demonic face began to take shape within the living fog, looking over the host with a hungry look, they’d had enough. They broke, fleeing, their bloodlust replaced with a desire for escape.

Atop the cliffs, Mole watched them go. She bent to clean her knife on the dirty coat of one of the dead orcs. She looked at the bodies around her speculatively. Six orcs, six bodies. On reaching the cliff, she’d hidden among the rocks there, pretending that she’d jumped off. The orcs had bought it, and the first two were dead before they even realized otherwise. Then she was jumping and darting and tumbling among them, avoiding their clumsy attacks, springing in to attack and then dodging back out before they could counter. They’d chased after her, and a few had even managed to hit her, but her magical chain shirt had held against all of the blows. Her mace had killed three, and when the last one had turned to flee, her knife had found its back.

She shook her head in amazement. She remembered orcs as being a bit tougher than this.

Back on the tor, Zenna returned to the interior of the ring of stones. Blackened orc bodies were everywhere. She finally found Dannel half-buried under an orc whose face had been staved in—clearly the work of Alakast. He was still in his altered form, and for a moment her heart clasped tightly in her chest as she thought he was dead. But then he groaned as she pulled him free, and moments later a healing spell brought him back to consciousness.

“You’re a great big stupid idiot,” she said, through her tears.

His form shimmered and returned to its normal features. He reached up with a slender hand marred with dried blood, and touched the tiny droplets before they could fall free. “I do love you, Zenna,” he said.

She shook, the tears redoubling, and he took her in his embrace. Behind them, the last rays of light from the fading sun disappeared as the golden orb fell below the horizon. The two dwarves stood there, silent, watching as the day slowly gave way to night.

 

[Jon Potter]

Fabulous battle, LB! You've put these guys up against some truly spectacular foes (dragons, demons, hags) but this battle with "lowly" orcs stands out in my mind as the best one yet. Action-packed and bursting with visceral goodness!