by Tiger Hebert
“In that case, we want to avoid it. Those main trails will likely be more dangerous for our mission. Let’s see if we can find a less used path,” Ogron replied.
Warm air pushed through the leaves as a gentle breeze washed through the jungle. The trio made their way through the underbrush, scanning the jungle for secondary paths. The big orc showed surprising agility for his size as he moved swiftly in the moonlit maze.
“Chief, this path here looks forgotten,” said Ugluk as he veered right of them to the west.
“Good eye,” shot Ogron. “Let’s see where it leads.”
Quickly, they joined Ugluk on the overgrown trail. The mossy trail was greatly encroached upon by ferns and vines in the underbrush, yet it was wide enough for passage. Traveling single file, they appeared to be heading southwest initially, and then it began to redirect them. A chill filled the air, as if the heat of the jungle did not finish the journey.
“It appears this path will take us due south, right to the fallen city. It shouldn’t be much farther,” speculated Ogron, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
Moving steadily down the path, a faint glow radiated in the distance. Shards of light flickered through the green walls ahead of them as they stayed their course. Noises in the distance aroused their senses, and the sounds of the city floated on the breeze. Pressing closer, they could hear the exotic rhythm of the zither, flute, and santur seducing the night air with a sensual melody. Cymbals teased the crowds. Music fit for a harem echoed through the streets and into the wild.
Nearing the end of the path, Ogron led the young orcs off the trail into the underbrush. Wading through the dense tangle of growth, the orcs found a small opening just before the edge of the city. The young orcs stared through the foliage and underbrush in amazement. Never before had they seen anything like this.
The forgotten city of Karthusa stood before them. Temple after temple towered above the carved stone streets. Five in all rose from the jungle, forming a compass. Smaller temples marked the four cardinal directions while the larger one marked the center. Sitting in the very heart of the city, it was the most formidable, easily towering over the rest. Vines and moss draped over the ancient monuments and buildings. Small houses and shops lined the street in every place not occupied by jungle, temple, or river. The Kiyai River was a serpent slithering its way through the heart of the city. Fires burned throughout the city. Atop every temple burned a large fire, and torches lined the streets. Rare Karthian stone, rich with bonze and copper hues, shimmered and sparkled as the torchlight danced across it. Even in the midst of darkness, its beauty was unsurpassed.
Drakari priests played their instruments from the temple roofs, basking in the glow of their blazing fire pits. Men and women danced in the streets, entranced by the music. Savory scents filled the air with an intoxicating aroma. Ugluk and Brozz’s senses were overwhelmed. The night smelled of roasting pig, dripping with the nectar of the sweet Kiyai, the same decadent red fruit the river was named for.
“Do not become enchanted by your flesh,” ordered Ogron. “There is a darkness here. Control your senses, or they will ruin you.”
“Yes, Chief,” the scouts replied in obedience.
“She was beautiful. What you see tonight is nothing compared to the height of her glory. She is now but a mirage, trying to hide her scars and dark secrets,” lamented Ogron.
Watching the city streets, they noticed a formation of armed guards. Adorned with long black garments and masks, the soldiers marched. The tips of their long spears glinted in the torchlight. Their captain wore a light coat of chain mail over his black garments, bearing two sheathed swords at his sides. He walked next to the formation, his hands resting on the handles of his curved blades. Barking commands, he directed their march route through the streets. Sixteen pairs of black leather boots kicked in unison as the platoon moved with disciplined precision.
Ogron hoped to study every element of the Zenari, looking for any insight or weakness during his brief visit. The streets of the city were heavily guarded. Identical platoons could be seen throughout the city. The chieftain felt their position would serve them well, as they should be able to get a fairly close look at the soldiers on patrol without forsaking their cover.
The platoon continued toward them on their patrol of the city. Their gaze fixed ahead, the soldiers marched with perfection, heels striking the carved stones in silent cadence. They traveled eastward on the northern perimeter. A second platoon was set to pass them from the opposite direction. In moments they would cross. The units were unidentifiable from each other. Even the officers bore the same appearance.
As they marveled at the military precision of the soldiers, Ogron noticed something else. A low rumble and rustling sound in the distance. The chieftain slowed his breathing, and he turned his head, lending his ear to the jungle around him. A soft but rapid tromping of the underbrush was coming toward them.
Our trail is found, he thought.
Slowly the orc unhooked the axes from his belt. Ugluk and Brozz followed suit, preparing for the worst. The noise continued in the distance behind them when they heard an unexpected sound from the street—the slap of soldiers boots as they snapped to a halt. Turning his eyes quickly to the city street, Ogron saw both platoons had stopped and were facing each other.
The hair on the back of the orcs’ necks stood up. Their hearts began to pound in their chests. Their pursuers from the rear were closing in as just over thirty armed soldiers stood before them. The young orcs fought to breathe quietly as their chests heaved in anticipation. Ogron’s mind raced.
This was a trap. Turning back seems like the better option, but either way—Then in a short command, the captains ordered their platoons to face the jungle where the three hid. Without warning, the captains shouted, “Charge!”
The soldiers dashed across the clearing between the street and bush, their spears fixed north. The chieftain’s muscles rippled while he clenched the leather-wrapped handles of his axes. The soft noise behind them became a crashing noise. Their pursuers were about to crash down upon them.
“Ker ut Kraw,” growled Ogron in a low voice, which means “for glory and honor” in the orcish tongue.
“Ker ut Kraw,” echoed his scouts.
With a bestial fury, the chieftain let loose a primal howl as he leapt from the cover of the jungle, high into the air above the clearing. His arms held his large axes wide, exposing his hulking body. Surprising the soldiers, he crashed down, burying his left axe into the neck of one soldier. Twisting his body, he swung his right arm in a wide arc to his right, decapitating another.
Ugluk and Brozz followed their chief, crashing through the foliage toward the spearmen. Howling in battle, the trio let loose a storm of Zenari blood as they snapped spears in half. The young orcs began chopping down the first wave of attackers.
Ogron quickly spun away as a spear was thrust at his chest, narrowly avoiding the attack as the spear shaft glanced off his back. Ending his rotation with power, Ogron drove the axes deep into the assailant’s back. As he pried his cleavers from the lifeless body, he glanced back quickly to find his young orcs holding their own.
Turning around, he saw the head of a spear thrust toward his gut. Sidestepping the jab, he allowed the spear to dart past his right side. Then with a downward swing of his mighty right arm, he smashed the shaft of the spear. It splintered into pieces under the force of the axe, and leaning forward, Ogron unleashed a deafening roar in the soldier’s face as he drove the other axe into his chest.
“Sound the alarm!” one captain called to the other as the ambush went south.
The captain took off, sprinting west down the street toward the nearest alarm. Ogron attempted to chase after him, but the soldiers cut off his pursuit quickly, encircling him. Pulling his axe back with his mighty arm, he hurled the axe over the heads of the spearmen. Rotating end over end, the axe sped toward the captain, finding its mark with a sickening thud. The axe was lodged deep in the captain�
�s back. Momentum carried him as he stumbled, and he crashed right through the gong.
The gong rang out in the city streets, reverberating over the stone, even above the music and the chorus of battle. More soldiers would be coming soon. Ogron switched the remaining axe to his right hand, but he was surrounded by spears. He was preparing for his final fight when he heard thunder strike twice behind him. From the corner of his eyes, he saw two spearmen crash to the ground lifelessly under the weight of two mighty hammers.
The two spearmen that remained in front of him shifted their gaze past him. Seizing the opportunity, he ripped one spear away with his left hand and shattered the other with his axe, leaving the two spearmen unarmed. It was then that a large wolf lunged past him and ferociously attacked one of the soldiers. Ogron cut down the other with his blood-drenched weapon.
After hurling both of his hammers, Theros reached behind his back to retrieve his great maul. With a furious war cry, he unleashed the devastating power of the large hammer. Groaning as he swung the weapon in a wide arc, he destroyed the foes, crushing them under the weight and momentum of the bludgeon. The massive orc shattered their bodies with brute force.
“Warriors, we must go now!” barked Ogron as the streets began to flood with Zenari reinforcements.
Ugluk and Brozz finished off the last few soldiers at the edge of the clearing as Ogron and Swift darted toward the jungle trail.
“Theros, let’s go!” ordered Ogron.
“Not without my hammers!” bellowed Theros as he raced toward the oncoming army. He rushed to his hammers. They were lying at the feet of two dead soldiers. After snatching them up, the warrior reversed his direction and dashed toward the covering of the jungle.
The remaining captain chased after the mighty orc. Curved blades drawn in the air, he was gaining ground on Theros quickly. So Ogron snatched up a spear from a fallen soldier and let it fly with all his might.
As the captain’s swords began to descend, his chainmail ringlets burst as the spear impaled his chest. The spear had arrived with enough force to neutralize his momentum, allowing the orc to reach cover safely ahead of the Zenari.
“Swift, lead us home, friend.” Theros beckoned to the gray wolf.
Taking the lead, Swift guided them through the moonlit jungle. “It was a trap!” exclaimed Ugluk.
“Indeed it was,” panted Ogron.
“I know. I tried to warn you,” hollered Theros as he fought for breath.
They rested briefly once they reached a small clearing in the wood. The chieftain asked, “How did you know?”
“I followed him. He set up the trap to deliver you into their hands,” snarled Theros.
“Who? Who would betray their own?” questioned the chief.
“Mogrull! He sells his soul for the power he seeks!” Theros snapped.
“We will deal with him later. For now, we must get back. Let’s move,” ordered Ogron as the four orcs resumed their jungle escape. They followed closely behind Swift. He was their guide through the darkened maze of undergrowth all the way back to the hills.
9 The Blood Debt
The absence of warmth filled the bowels of the dark temple. Slow footsteps echoed through the open chamber. The priest hesitantly passed through the long stone hallway toward the cavernous lair. His mind drifted.
It didn’t always feel like this. How? I can’t remember. I can’t believe it. It has been nearly seventy years now. But it wasn’t like this, no, not like this. Entering into the inner sanctum then was different. It was warmer, but it was more than that. Now it’s cold and dank, and then there’s the fear. To stand in his presence, in awe and reverence of his power and his might, it is intoxicating, but the fear never leaves. Tonight will be no better.
“I can smell your filthy flesh from here,” rumbled a deep voice.
“My apologies, Master Slayvin,” replied the pale cleric from the tunnel as he shivered.
“You and your kind disgust me,” hissed the voice. “So weak and given to failure.”
“What do you wish of me, Master?” inquired the man as he walked toward the open sanctum.
“Become useful perhaps? But I suppose that is beyond your capacity,” mused the voice.
“Sacrifice? Tell me your will, Master,” spoke the priest as he reached the tunnel’s end.
“Yes, how about your own?” snarled Slayvin. “Walk right in!”
At the end of the tunnel emerged two fiery eyes of untold depth, blazing as they stared at the priest. The nostrils glowed with a dark ember from within. An expansive chasm of tooth and flame appeared as a massive maw opened before him. Black spires extended row after row from both jaws. Fires roared like a furnace deep within the great dragon.
The paradox of the flame lived inside the beast. Fire-like magma boiled and churned in his bowels, not unlike the beast’s very own rage. Yet the dragon seemed to rob the world of its warmth, almost devouring it out of the air as if to fuel his own dark fire. Strangely, a chilling breeze accompanied every word and breath that came out of the blackened beast. Even the burning pit of hell inside his mouth seemed cold at first.
“Death, I welcome your embrace,” remarked the priest, resigned to his fate. With a sudden movement, the dragon snapped his jaws shut, and those piercing eyes found him again.
“I would not give you the satisfaction, Ekrin. You cannot escape me that easily. Now I might gnaw on you, but I certainly would not eat you. You humans are so frighteningly simple. You cannot serve my will in death, at least not yet. On the other claw, you do not appear capable of doing my will in any regard,” remarked Slayvin.
“Master, our f-forc—,” stammered Ekrin.
“Enough, priest!” bellowed the dragon as he raised his head up and sat back on his massive hindquarters. “Your men let the elven king and his kind escape to the sea. The orcs came here, to my kingdom, and your men could not even capture them,” growled the beast as he stretched out his black wings.
“But, Mighty Slayvin, who can withstand your might? The failures of your armies only give a false sense of security to our foes,” said Ekrin.
“Do not attempt to placate me, you foolish mortal, or I will let the whelps teeth on you—alive,” snarled Slayvin.
“Then what is your command, Master?” inquired the priest.
“You know the law. The price of failure is blood. Their debts must be paid,” growled the black dragon.
“The captains?” asked Ekrin.
“Yes,” answered Slayvin. “Assemble the city. They will watch.”
With this final remark, the great dragon turned away from Ekrin, dismissing the high priest to his task. Staring in silence, Ekrin watched the scaled obsidian tail slither away into the darkness of the sanctum.
The high priest felt a great weight upon him for what loomed ahead. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Letting out a soft sigh, he turned around and walked out of the sanctum and into the dark tunnel as thoughts raced through his mind.
Jun and Somar are good captains. They have always served with loyalty. Never did they place anything before their devotion to that black beast, and now they will die all because those stupid nasty orcs escaped. That wicked beast won’t even do his own bidding. The foul monster makes my blood boil. What am I to do? Reject his orders and simply end my measly life? No. These people need me. I protect them from him. Well, most of them…
That is not the point! I have a role, a purpose. I am the high priest. They need me. Do not lose your focus…What if the orcs rise up against us? It is only a matter of time. The humans and elves are no threat, but if the orcs ever became truly unified, they could destroy what we have worked so hard to build. That is not even mentioning those that still believe in the Ancient One. They are perhaps the greatest threat to us. No, we need the master. He protects us.
He will protect Karthusa and her children. Master keeps us free from the fear of our enemies. No orc, human, or elf will place us under their heel for fear of the wrath of the great dragon!
Even the Baalim bow to Slayvin! Jun and Somar, your debts must be settled.
The priest moved with a speed that belied his age. His dark purple robes billowed behind him. Long silent strides led him out of the temple and into the city streets. People scrambled out of his way as he strode down the center of the street. Crowds parted, giving him a wide berth.
The gem-encrusted miter on his head and the golden embroidery decorating his robes captured the tantalizing flicker of the torchlight. A long staff was nestled into the clutches of his left hand. It was adorned with a brilliant black globe, pure obsidian splendor, held fast within the clutches of a large golden dragon claw at the staff’s head. The flawless black stone mirrored the night’s light off its smooth polished surface as it swung at Ekrin’s side.
He passed through the city streets until he reached the military district on the western side of the city. Even the soldiers and guards made sure to steer clear of the high priest. Often people greeted him, but he preferred silence. Rarely did he even return their glances.
As he approached the War Master Hall, he raised his arm, extending his rod toward the massive wooden doors ahead of him. Soldiers sprang from their activities to open the doors to the hall ahead of him. Into the hall he marched, with his rod aimed for the next immediate doors. Two more nearby soldiers hurried to get the doors for him as he walked right past them and out of their sight.
Quickly the priest made his way up the curving stone stairway lining the outside of the round room. Swiftly he moved up the stairs, reaching the second floor in no time. From across the room came the sound of a man snoring. He looked to the far end of the room; indeed, the officer was fast asleep. His black leather boots rested on the table as he reclined back in his chair.
Ekrin froze, watching for any signs of waking from the officer. The snoring continued to reverberate through the cold room. Seizing his opportunity, the priest moved slowly and carefully over the assortment of stones that made up the hard floor of the War Master Hall.