Black Metal: The Orc Wars (9 page)

“Academic opinions vary as to the most effective ranged weapon to be employed in the field against troll adversaries. While the longbow has the greater range and can fire more frequently, the crossbow has the penetration and a forceful strike. The most common opinion voiced by soldiers is to think of trolls as fully-armored knights who can move as if mounted, without the weakness of a horse that can be killed from under them. It should be noted that most accredited veterans of troll skirmishes insist on the use of the boar spear as the most effective close quarters weapon.” --- Footman’s Combat Manual, Vol III

The fortress of Ameran, dwarvish for The Mountain Tomb, had visitors.

Okada slid down the narrow passageway, his face and armor caked with ash and soot. He moved down the shaft, the treacherous hand holds of the vertical gap in the mountain threatening to give way under his weight. As a fresh wave of soot covered him from above he looked up at the upside down orc descending after him.

The silent threat in the ranger’s eyes were enough to chasten Ma-Gur as he slowed his rapid descent. The ranger had said that there was a reliable way in, but he had no idea this was what he meant. An entrance maybe for goblins or the nimble ranger, but a difficult challenge for more bulky warriors like Ma-Gur. Yet they all descended just the same, at the point they really had little choice.

Ghalik had explained to the warriors that Okada had discovered a weakness in the dwarven defenses. Their smelteries and forges all required steam and soot removal systems, without them the foundries would soon be choked with steam and covered in ash and coal soot. Somewhere deep in the mountain dwarves had set up massive billows, an airbladder that when pumped could push the air up the mountain’s natural vents. The rising air would carry most of the steam or soot out of the foundries and into the air outside.

As long as they were quiet and able to suffer the searing pain of the ash laden steam the small force would be able to penetrate deep into the mountain’s fastness. It was the stealth part that was giving Ma-Gur so much trouble. Even though his body weight was supported by ropes from above, he found that finding a purchase on the soot-covered walls was exceptionally difficult. It didn’t help that he was being forced to make the descent upside down. The blood was pounding in his head, yet he realized that he would be able to better navigate the vent by going down headfirst and thus make good time.

Okada came to a stop right at the end of the shaft, finding that it came out in the low ceiling at the center of the foundry. Below him a number of dwarves toiled blissfully with hammer and tong, crafting the metals that marked the peculiar genius of their race. Oblivious to the threat descending from above the haggard craftsmen continued with their work. Thankfully they did not notice the small piles of soot that had collected on the ground as a result of the climb down the shafts.

Okada gave a signal to the other warriors who had reached his level from the several other shafts in the ceiling. As Ma-Gur joined him Okada and the other warriors began silently lowering themselves down the ropes towards the unsuspecting dwarves.

Ma-Gur stayed even with the other half dozen warriors who were descending in the first wave. Like the others, he picked a dwarf who was almost directly underneath him and closed in. The first wave of warriors had been instructed by Okada to use stealth blades. They were daggers that had been smeared with a mixture of spittle and ash, which dulled their shine so that no light would glint off the metal and give the dwarves a chance to notice and raise an alarm.

He lowered himself almost right on top of the dwarf, keeping just out of range of the heavy hammer the dwarf was using to beat a red-hot piece of edged metal. Had the smith looked up he would have seen a sea of red eyes staring down back at him. Yet his attention remained fixed on the metal, which to him was the very fiber of the world.

Ma-Gur waited until the hammer struck metal once more, then with blinding speed descended the last two feet and attacked the dwarf. The large orc reached out and wrapped one arm around the dwarf’s throat and lifted him off the ground. With the other hand he plunged the stealth dagger deep into the dwarf’s heart. The dwarf gurgled and tried to swing his hammer at his killer, but the blow fell short as Ma-Gur released his grip. The struggling dwarf fell to the ground and writhed in agony as his life seeped out onto the hot tiled floor.

Ma-Gur was about to uncoil his legs from the ropes and somersault to the ground on his feet when another dwarf charged him. Ma-Gur twisted his torso around just in time as the dwarf’s hammer connected. The blow spun Ma-Gur away, his sword and shield knocked away from their place on his back as he flew through the air. Ma-Gur came swinging back as he saw the dwarf raising his hammer for another blow. It never landed, because as Ma-Gur swooped in he released his grip of the rope with his legs but held on with his hands. He used his momentum to flip his body around and plant both of his feet into the dwarf’s chest with a rib-crushing dropkick that sent the dwarf sailing through the air.

The orc hurried to release himself from the rope as the sturdy dwarf shakily regained his footing. Ma-Gur had just managed to stand when the bleary eyed dwarf stumbled forward, clearly wounded but not defeated. The orc cast about in a desperate search for defense as the dwarf clumsily rushed him with hammer raised. At the last moment Ma-Gur cursed aloud and grabbed a half-formed weapon of heated metal and buried it’s red-hot edge in the dwarf’s skull. He released its burning handle as the pain became unbearable. His right hand had become quite useless.

He looked up to see that the other orcs had faired better for the most part. All of the dwarves in the foundry were dead, and with only two casualties. The rest of the horde descended into the foundry as the first wave secured the area. Ma-Gur bound his hand with cloth strips from a nearby workbench while he watched Ghalik order for the assault teams to form up.

Ma-Gur was part of the group that was to find its way to the gate and disable it from the inside. It was the largest of the three groups and led by Ghalik. They had to first find the gate, and then raise it. With that done they were to somehow disable the closing mechanism and hold the gate open at all costs. This would allow the approaching orc army to easily enter the fortress and aid in the fight within.

The other two groups had smaller numbers and less specific orders. Reygoth commanded a force comprised mostly of the remaining trolls who were to wander the citadel causing as much chaos as possible. It was hoped that they would distract and harrow the resistance efforts of dwarves who might seek to protect the gate. Ca’tic’na and the remaining goblins had been ordered to find the dwarven food caches and prevent the dwarves from poisoning or retreating with them. Ghalik surmised that even if victory in the citadel was achieved that they would soon find themselves under siege from other forces within weeks. The army needed that food, and who better to ferret it out than a pack of hungry goblins?

The three assault groups quickly formed up and got underway. Reygoth penetrating deeper into the mountain in search of dwarven adversaries with a certain gleefulness that trolls seemed to be overcome with right before battle. Ca’tic’na and his band slinked off into the shadows in search of the food stores. Ghalik gathered his troops to him and headed for the gate.

None of the invaders knew the layout of the fortress, but while dwarven architecture is elegant it is also quite simple. It was not very difficult for the invading groups to navigate through the underground fortress. After a short time of wandering Ghalik’s group ran across a few sentries and quickly eliminated them. Soon the group came to a precipice that overlooked the convoluted workings of the massive gate.

Never in their long lives had they seen a mechanical creation of such magnitude and complexity. The only knowledge of architecture possessed by the orcs was the mildly complicated layouts of the towns and villages they repeatedly raided. Nothing of this sort had ever been witnessed by modern orcish eyes. Even Ghalik and some of the older warriors, all of who had been alive for many hundreds of years, had never witnessed anything quite so magnificent. Though, magnificent and strangely beautiful as it was, its elegance was lost on the orcish minds. They had not come to marvel, but to lay waste.

The bulk of the horde rushed down the staircase, hoping to engage the guards before they could put up any sort of formidable resistance. As the warriors rushed the small gatehouse Okada, whose newfound skill with a bow was alarmingly accurate, felled the two sentries positioned at the alarm bell. The surprised dwarves barely had time to raise their weapons in defense as they were overrun by the charging orcs.

Within moments the orcs had secured the gatehouse. They were about to congratulate themselves on their victory when a single loud not filled the air. All turned just in time to see Okada sink a second arrow into one of the sentries, but the orcish archer was too late to prevent the stout warrior from sounding the alarm. The dwarf slumped to the ground, dying with the comforting knowledge that his kinsmen could hear the bell and come to avenge his death.

“Hurry! We haven’t much time till the stone men come back to claim their gate!” bellowed Ghalik as he gestured for the group to spread out, “We’ve got to get that gate open. And hold it open!”

Ma-Gur and three other warriors rushed into the gatehouse to open the gate as the rest of the horde took up positions at the handful of doorways that opened up to staircases leading down to the gatehouse. Thankfully all of the doors came from either side of the gatehouse, with the empty inner courtyard below them and the blank wall to which they had their backs.

Ma-Gur could see the courtyard out of the glassless window of the gatehouse. He gazed down upon the tremendous gate of wood and stone, a construct that no siege engine or battering ram could ever hope to break. His eyes traced the lines of chains and rope that raised and lowered the gate back to the gatehouse. Even with his primitive understanding of mechanics he could fathom the gate’s operation. He only had to simply pull the one lever in the room to raise the gate. The dwarves after all had expected invasion from without, not within.

He realized after a few unsuccessful attempts that he would need help, so called over his three comrades. Together they pulled the lever backwards, with every inch they pulled the massive gate raised a foot. The grating sound was tremendous, and threatened to make their ears bleed with its racket. When the gate was raised all the way the sounds had not stopped. At first the orcs looked about in confusion, then suddenly realized that what they were hearing was not the gate, but the sound of fighting.

They rushed outside to discover that the dwarves had rallied and were trying to reclaim the gate. Orcs stood shoulder to shoulder at the doorways, desperately fighting off the endless numbers of dwarves that seemed to keep emerging from the bowels of the mountain. The three orc warriors made to join the battle, but Ma-Gur blocked their way with his considerable stature.

“We are the last line of defense. If one side breaks we will be all that stands between the stone men and the gate. We have to hold the gate for the coming clans,” he ordered as he looked back at the last ditch efforts of the embattled and outnumbered orcs.

“And if the clans to not appear?” asked one of the warriors.

Ma-Gur turned slowly to face him and said, “Then we die alone.”

It was not long until the dwarves had pushed Ghalik and his warriors back to the very threshold of the gatehouse. There were only a handful of orcs left by the time they were pushed back to Ma-Gur’s position. Okada stood with the younger orc as they fought side by side, the ranger’s arrows long ago spent. Ghalik’s magic was all that kept them from being overrun, he had cast a spell on the area right in front of the gate house. It was a spell that slowed movement, and was managing to keep the dwarves from being able to mount an effective group charge. Yet the spell’s power was fading fast, as more and more dwarves moved into its area of effect, gradually sapping away its power and potency.

Yet, when all seemed lost, a terrifying chorus of inhuman howls filled the courtyard. Orc and dwarf alike turned to look upon the source of the sound. All were surprised when an army of orcs began to pour in through the gate. Though the Angir were the only known orcs to stand tall and possess hair, the stooped and wretched orcs of the southern and eastern clans numbered in the thousands. Like the myths and legends of old they flowed into the citadel like a green tide of muscle and steel.

The dwarves, realizing that to close the gate now was a waste of time and lives, quickly ceased their assault of the ravaged group of orcs in the gatehouse and disappeared back into the bowels of the mountain fastness. No doubt they meant to engage the mind numbingly vast army now filling their citadel like water in a porous stone. It was hopeless they knew, but no dwarf intended to abandon his home without a fight.

With a sense of elation and awe the mere dozen survivors stepped out of the gatehouse and looked out into the courtyard. Orcs were still jostling their way into the fortress, by now there must be thousands filling the halls with blood and death. Still more poured through the gates, though now the steady stream had lessened to a trickle, until only sporadic clusters of stragglers joined the invasion.

As the Ghalik and his warriors looked on two orcs walked in through the gates. They were both bedecked in bones and leather fringe, the marks of leadership in both the southern and eastern clans. They both had the look of killers, far beyond the prowess and capacity of the orcs they led. It could be seen in their movements, they were trained in the war arts like the Angir, not simply berserkers like the majority of other orcs. The dried blood and grisly trophies that hung from their belts told the story of the wars they must have fought to have come this far north through human and dwarf territories.

They looked up at Ghalik and raised their curved weapons in salute, one which was met by Ghalik’s own upraised waraxe.

The battle for Ameran was won.