by Wilson Harp
Donal hesitated and then nodded. His jaw was tight and his eyes were tense, but Calaran knew he would do what he had to. Donal slipped out the door, and Calaran looked back at the small gathering in the common room.
“I need to explain some things to you,” he said as he closed the door.
Cavern of Fire
“We should be sitting in the inn drinking a mug of beer,” muttered Baldric. “Instead our bellies are growling and our throats are dry before the sun has even come fully awake.”
Horas motioned the dwarf to silence as they stared over the ridge looking down at the cave entrance. Six orcs sat against the rocks that lay strewn about the path leading to the cave, none of them even slightly alert. Crude drawings in black and red decorated the area, showing tribal pride and possession. The amount of trash and refuse scattered about was evidence that the orcs had been here for some time.
Horas tapped the dwarf on the shoulder and slid down the rocky slope out of sight of the lazy orc guards. He looked over at Lendin, who was gathering another load of the tightly sealed waterbags.
“This idea of yours is pretty good, boy,” said Baldric as he slid down to join the young warrior. “Even if it gets us dead, it will be a lot of fun killing orcs as they come running out of that cave on fire.”
“It won’t ‘get us dead’,” said Horas. “We have thought it out pretty well.”
“Are you sure there isn’t another entrance to the cave?”
“Absolutely sure. Me and Lendin have camped in there many times. In fact, the reason Lendin and the other hunters found the orcs was because that sudden storm came up and they were heading to the cave to wait out the rain. If the orcs weren’t so smelly and noisy, the group might have stumbled right into the guards.”
Baldric grunted as he looked around in the early morning light. “I hate getting out of bed so early, but you were right about the orcs bedding down at dawn. Another hour or so and they will be deep in slumber. Hopefully many of them will never wake.”
Lendin was starting up the rocky path that he had picked his way along twice already that morning. He was carrying another eight waterskins full of lantern oil that he would carefully place along with the others he had set near the top of the rocky cairn-like hill.
“We could have used a few others to help,” said Baldric. “Neither one of us is agile enough to traverse that path the way Lendin does, but I’m sure we could have found one or two others at least.”
“Baldric, this won’t be any trouble at all. Why would we need anyone else? The natural chimney will allow the oil to pour down on the orcs inside the cave. We have the pots of oil and pitch to throw at the entrance. When we light it all up, the orcs inside will either burn to death, suffocate from the smoke, or have to run out of the entrance. You told me that you could hold that entrance by yourself as narrow as it is.”
Baldric scratched at his beard. “It sounds easy in planning, but plans often go awry.” The dwarf sighed with resignation. “Let’s get these pots of pitch prepared. I figure if Lendin stays up here he can shoot into the cave entrance with flaming arrows and then cover us with his bow if we have to run for it.”
“I agree,” said Horas.
The two started pulling the carefully packed jars of pitch and oil from the packs. They were careful not to shake the jars of oil too much and spill any of the volatile liquid. Baldric crawled to the top of the ridge and placed an open jar of pitch. Horas had finished setting out the rest of the jars by the time he returned.
“Do you think one jar will be enough?” Baldric asked.
Horas looked at Lendin as he made the fourth trip up the trail with more waterbags of oil. “Yes, Lendin is quite good with the bow, and one jar of pitch should allow him to coat maybe ten arrows. There should be plenty of pitch spread around before he lights them up.”
Horas looked at the two dozen jars of oil laid out before them. Throwing them down onto the guards would be his job. The eight other jars of pitch would be carried down the path and out to the tree-line by Baldric. Once he started lobbing the oil onto the orcs, the vile creatures would head towards the rocky ridge and leave the entrance unguarded. When that happened, Baldric would be able to slip behind them and smash the pitch-filled jars all along the entrance. With the entrance coated in pitch, Lendin would light some arrows and start shooting them into the entrance. Horas would then run down the path and join Baldric in trapping the orcs in the burning cave.
That was the plan at least. Horas looked to see where Lendin was. His friend was coming back down the dangerous path up to the top of the hill. He was breathing heavily and sat down next to the last of the waterbags.
“I will go ahead and start pouring the oil when I get to the top with the last load,” Lendin said as he tried to catch his breath. “Baldric should start moving down the path now. It should be full daylight by the time we start.” Horas and Baldric nodded and started getting themselves into position.
“When Lendin starts back down the path, I’ll start lobbing the oil onto the guards. Do you think you’ll have enough time to get in position?” Horas asked Baldric.
“Don’t worry about me, boy. I’ll be raring to go by the time you start smashing pottery,” replied the dwarf.
Baldric gathered the eight jars of pitch and placed them into a large canvas bag. Slinging the bag over his back, the dwarf picked up his shield and started down the path. Lendin groaned as he stood and started gathering the last load of waterskins for the final trip up the hill. Before starting up the hill, he looked to make sure his bow and arrows were where he had placed them. Horas started crawling up the ridge again and looked over the edge. Four of the six orcs were now reclining against the large rocks that were in front of the entrance, and the other two were squatting just inside the mouth of the large cavern. Horas slid back down the slope and gathered two of the pots of oil. He was careful as he climbed back up the ridge not to spill any, as he would be building a small fire in a few minutes.
On his fourth trip to the ridge with the oil, he heard the call of a jay and looked over to Lendin. Lendin was signaling that he was going to start pouring the oil down into the natural chimney. Horas reached the ridge and set the jars of oil down. He waved back at Lendin and saw the young woodsman give him a raised hand in return. Horas couldn’t see the dwarf and hoped he would be in position soon.
By the time Lendin started back down the rocky path, Horas had all of the jars of oil near the top and was ready to light the small fire. There were some noises and grunts from the cave, but Horas didn’t see any of the guards outside moving or reacting. Horas searched the treeline and finally saw the glints of sunlight from Baldric’s helmet and shield. Everything was ready.
He pulled the flint and steel from his kit and started striking into the tinder. Lendin had strung his bow and had twenty or thirty arrows with him as he climbed a little higher up the ridge where Baldric had placed the jar of pitch for him to use. Lendin came down to Horas with a pitch-coated stick and waited until the small fire was lit.
“I guess we are doing this,” sighed Lendin.
“We are, and the town will be safe because of it,” replied Horas as he started feeding some small kindling into the nest of burning grass.
“I suppose you are right,” said Lendin. He waited until the flames stopped flickering before he lowered the stick onto it.
Horas smiled at his friend and moved back to the pots of oil. There were a few more yells starting to come from the cave, so Horas knew it was time. He picked up a pot of the oil and hurled it at one of the orcs.
His aim was off and it landed a good ten feet from his target. The pot cracked open when it hit the ground, but none of the orcs stirred. Not quite the heroic throw he had anticipated to start the assault. His second throw missed only by a foot or two. The pot shattered as it hit the rock that an orc was leaning against. The oil splashed onto the face of the orc, who jumped up and started shouting. The other guards got to their feet and started moving tow
ards the angry orc. The third pot smashed to the ground between two of them. At that point, all of the orcs started looking around.
By the time the sixth jar had landed, soaking one of the orcs in a direct hit on his head, they had looked up to the ridge. The sun was just cresting the rocky rise, and they had to shade their eyes to see. Two had been soaked in oil before all six orcs took off into a dead run towards Horas.
Horas looked down and saw that he still had about ten jars left when the orcs started coming. When he looked up to throw the next pot, he saw Baldric dashing to the entrance with the burlap bag hung over his shoulder. The next pot hit an orc on his leg, but they had closed about half the distance and were starting to scramble up the steep incline.
Horas heard the sound of a bow being fired and a flaming arrow struck orc furthest up the incline in the chest. Horas threw his next pot of oil at the orc as it dropped to its knees. His aim was perfect and the jar of oil burst open in flames enveloping the lead orc. The other five creatures saw this and howled in terror. They turned to flee as Horas threw his jars of oil at them as quickly as he could. Lendin started firing flaming arrows at them, catching several more on fire.
Horas took a moment to see if he could spot Baldric. He didn’t see the dwarf at first, but then Baldric came charging out of the cave. His warhammer was held high and he was shouting a Dwarven warcry. Three of the orcs running towards the cave made it past the hardy dwarf, but two were laid low by his fierce attack. Horas left the last several jars, grabbed his shield, and headed down the trail to find an easier place to run towards the cave entrance. He knew that if the orcs started pouring out even Baldric would need help.
He ran down the slope as sounds of battle increased. The ridge flattened out enough for him to see over, and he watched as dozens of orcs came stumbling out of the cave. A great billowing cloud of smoke was starting to race toward the sky, and he knew that the oil pouring down from the roof of the cavern must have found one of their cooking fires.
He knew that the dwarf must be at the heart of the melee before the mouth of the cavern, but the crowd of orcs was so thick that he couldn’t see Baldric. Two orcs fell in quick succession and Horas saw the dwarf, his warhammer covered in blood, leaping onto the back of an orc that was trying to flee from him. Horas tightened the grip on his shield and yelled as he ran towards a large orc that was issuing orders to the panicked and coughing orcs flowing out in a steady stream from the mouth of the cave.
The large enemy never saw the axe that bit deep into the side of his head. Horas dispatched two more orcs before he had to bring his shield around to block a weak spear thrust. That orc went down with the next chop from Horas. The smoke coming out of the cave was growing thicker and darker. Horas faced many orcs in the next few minutes, but more orcs fled from the battle than tried to engage him or Baldric.
“Behind you, boy!” The dwarf’s voice rose above the sounds that merged to a loud roar. Horas spun in time to avoid the axe that was swung at his back by a massive orc. A swift crack of the orc’s knee by the Baldric, and Horas had the opening needed to take the orcs head from his shoulders.
The sounds of orcs screaming in fear and pain were punctuated with some of their leaders yelling hopelessly to restore order. Metal striking flesh and wood mingled with the symphony of orc voices. As Horas fought he realized that the fire grew hotter with each passing second, pushing the melee away from the cavern entance.
The space around Horas and Baldric thinned out, and they saw that many of the orcs had fled the area entirely, although a sizable group had formed up near the entry way of the cave. Horas did not want to get closer to the fire, but he knew that their best chance was not to let the orcs regain their courage. He was motioning Baldric to head towards the cavern when suddenly the ground gave a great heave. The sound of tons of rocks slamming into the ground deafened him. He found himself on his knees with his shield somehow behind him when the shaking stopped.
“What was that?” he asked.
When Baldric didn’t answer, Horas looked around and saw the dwarf face down about ten feet away. Horas rushed over to him and rolled him onto his back. The dwarf coughed and sputtered.
“What was that? Baldric asked.
Horas laughed and helped the dwarf to his feet. When they turned back to the cave entrance, they saw that the entire hill before them had collapsed. The dust and debris from the collapse combined with the thick smoke to create a dense miasma that was slowly spreading towards them.
They had turned back to the ridge and were staggering away from the cavern when they heard a wicked cackle from behind them.
“Why do they always laugh before I have to kill them?” muttered Baldric as he and Horas turned to the sound.
A man in black robes strode out from the smoke and dust. The edges of his robe had been singed by the fire, but he looked hale and unbruised. He was surrounded by some sort of magical aura and was walking above the ground as if on an invisible platform. He held a black wood staff that glowed with power. He pointed it at Horas and Baldric.
“Your fire trick was creative, but I am immune to fire,” the wizard taunted. “My magic protects me against such common--.” His words cut off as an arrow found his throat.
The aura around the wizard disappeared and he fell backwards onto the ground.
“Would have helped if your magic protected against arrows,” said Baldric.
Horas looked over at the ridge and saw that Lendin had already pulled another arrow and was scanning the area for another target.
“Can’t see anything from here,” said Baldric. “Let’s get back up on the ridge and see what is going on. I don’t think the orcs have any fight left in them.”
Horas nodded and followed the dwarf up to where Lendin was still standing guard.
“What happened?” asked Lendin.
“I’m not sure, maybe that wizard did something,” said Horas.
“No,” answered Baldric. “The ceiling of that cave must have been unstable. The heat and smoke from the fire inside probably cracked some stones, and when they broke apart the whole ceiling collapsed. I’ve seen it before in some mines.”
The three adventurers kept an eye on the slowly dissipating cloud of smoke and debris for any orcs that might head their way.
Lendin turned to Horas after a few minutes. “Horas, since you decided to become an adventurer, you have burned down the remains of Long Branch and now collapsed one of the best shelters in the area. No offense, but I see why adventurers are looked at sourly by some people. You can really mess up a place.”
Baldric laughed and smacked Horas on the back. “He’s right, you know. When your mind turns to how best kill things, you lose sight of how others will have to clean up after you.”
Horas did not know what to say or even how to respond. He felt offended and yet chastised at the same time. Lendin broke out in a smile as Baldric kept laughing. Horas realized that his friend meant no disrespect and laughed as well.
When the dust had settled and only the smoke from smoldering fires remained to rise from the ruins of the cave, they headed off the ridge to look through the tumbled rocks and dirt. Horas went to the dead wizard and took his jewelry, pouches, and a couple of books he found in the pockets of his robe. He took the ornately carved staff and thought that Medrick might find some use for it. He also cut off a bracelet with a silver coin woven into leather strips. When he went over to where Lendin and Baldric were looting the dead orcs near the former entrance of the cavern, he showed them the bracelet.
“A cultist? With the orcs?” asked Lendin.
“It would appear so,” said Horas.
Baldric looked confused, so they told the story of the orcs in the woods and the warning that Calaran had given them.
“If there is a cult driving the orcs into this area, that would explain a lot,” said the dwarf. “Orcs don’t normally try to expand into areas with established human towns.”
“Maybe the orcs were asking Karl where so
me chamber was in the ruins of Balcchor at the prodding of the cult,” added Lendin.
“We need to get this information back to… someone,” suggested Horas.
“Uncle Donal, he’ll know what to do. And he knows that bard,” said Lendin.
“Sounds like a plan, boys, but first let’s finish looting these orcs. I want to look at the collapsed cavern as well. Likely a lot of stuff buried in there, and I want to see what we can pull out,” said Baldric.
The sun was halfway toward the western horizon before Baldric was convinced that they had gathered as much wealth as they could without disturbing the more unstable parts of the cavern. The smoke that still drifted high into the sky would have drawn the attention of anyone who was looking up on this clear, sunny day.
“Baldric, let’s go. It will be well after dark before we make it back to town anyway. If there were any number of orcs that escaped, they are likely waiting for nightfall to return,” said Lendin.
“I agree, but I hate leaving even a single coin for those savages to recover,” said Baldric looking around one final time. “Let’s go, I guess.”
Lendin led the small group through the hills and woodlands north of Black Oak. The sun had already traveled below the horizon when they reached the trailhead that would lead through the Shadowmist Wood and onto the High Road. The wind turned cold and started blowing steadily.
“First snow will fall tonight,” said Lendin as they worked their way through the black gloom of the forest. “Maybe the cold will keep the orcs from coming back.”
“Maybe,” said Horas. “But if they are working with this cult, they may keep coming closer.”
“I wasn’t adventuring when this cult was put down the first time,” said Baldric. “I’ll have to ask Martel what he knows about it.”
Lendin came to a dead stop and threw his hands wide to signal the others to wait.