by Tiger Hebert
“I am sorry, my lord, I just can’t. Hopefully your prayers are big enough for those of us with little faith,” answered Melgrim as he pulled himself together.
“My prayers are no bigger than yours, Melgrim. Someday you will see that,” answered the king as he smiled upon the captain.
As their conversation neared its conclusion, a guard rushed into the Hall of Kings. “Sire, you are needed at the outer wall! It’s your son. He has been injured, and there is conflict at the gate,” exclaimed the guard as he fought to catch his breath.
“Melgrim, we must go!” shouted the king as he ran out of the Hall of Kings, with Melgrim close behind.
The two ran toward the stables, but the royal guards were two steps ahead of them, rushing their two steeds toward them. The king hoisted himself atop a white stallion that was marked with some black spots around the back half of his body and down the hind legs. At the same time, Melgrim climbed atop Shadow, and the pair set off toward the outer gates. It would take a few moments, as they had to work their way through the winding roads and gates to reach the outer wall. The long silvery hair of the king whipped in the wind as they raced down the cobblestone streets.
Over the narrow Portfalls River, past the many pockets of highland farms that were nestled in the midst of the mountainous terrain, and past the scenery of their beloved and busy little city, they rode. It all flashed before them as they made their way down the winding mountain road. With great speed, the horses carried the riders quickly and safely down the long road, delivering them to their destination at the outer gate.
As they arrived, they moved past the throng of people and tents only to find a loud commotion near the wall. As they moved toward the chaos, pushing their way through the crowd with their horses, the shouting and arguing grew louder and louder, and yet they only found a few figures at the center of it all. In the middle of the mob sat Captain Nikolai. He was propped up on a rugged wooden table. His upper body was completely undressed as the doctors examined his injured right arm. His arm was reddened and particularly swollen at and just below the shoulder joint, and with every touch of the doctors, he grimaced in pain. Between his gasps for breath, he would reengage in his quarrel. Before him stood two large orcs, who continued to plead their case with him.
“No, you filthy savages! We are not your keepers. Be gone!” barked Nikolai.
“What is the meaning of this?” interrupted a loud voice.
The soldiers were caught off guard, but they quickly dropped to a knee in response to the presence of the king. The visitors, too, bowed low to show their respect to this foreign king.
“These animals ask us to grant them asylum among us! We have our own problems on our hands. We don’t need to be protecting their green…and gray hides,” shouted Nikolai.
In frustration, Ogron interjected, “Protect our hides? Perhaps we should have left your hide to the Minotaur, Captain!”
“Is this true? Did our guests save your life?” asked the king directly.
The captain looked at the king for a moment, and then his heart sank as he dropped his eyes to the ground. He remained silent.
“Captain?” repeated the king.
“Yes, my king,” answered Nikolai, ashamed.
“My lord, they saved my life as well. These two men led the charge along with Captain Nikolai and two other cavalry men. If it were not for their intervention, I would not have escaped their outriders.” Melgrim nodded as he shed some light on the situation. The king then turned his focus over to the two gray-skinned figures that stood before him.
“I am Tiereon, king of Storm Vale. To whom do I owe my gratitude?” asked the king as he climbed down from the elegant leather saddle.
“My name is Ogron Hammerfist. I am the chieftain of the Gromgore Confederation. We are the orcs of the Agremnall Hills, and this is my little brother, Theros,” answered the chieftain with a stoic expression.
The king eyed Theros’ imposing physique and quipped, “I would hate to see your big brother!”
The tension was broken. The king smiled, and the two orcs chuckled as the whole crowd had a laugh.
“Now on to serious matters. As you can see, we are about to be under attack, so I hope there is good reason for you and your people to be squatting on our doorstep. Why are you here?” inquired King Tiereon.
“Several days ago, we were driven from our homeland by the Zenari. We escaped with as many as we could, but many were lost. Now our homeland lies in ash and ruin, just like Trellion,” informed the elder Hammerfist.
Murmurs of disbelief and concern resonated through the human crowd at the hearing of this new information.
“Trellion has fallen? What of the elves?” asked King Tiereon in dismay.
“The Zenari laid siege to Trellion under the cloak of night. They slaughtered everyone in their path and burned everything,” said Theros.
“Who would do such a thing, and why?” questioned the king with a saddened look on his face.
“There is an evil far darker than the hearts of orc or man at work here, King. This army draws its wicked power from a shadow drake that lives among them. The foul creature’s very presence has corrupted and warped all of the life it touches. Under his power, the Zenari existence is for but one purpose—to serve their master,” added Ogron.
Murmurs broke out through the ranks of the soldiers, and their expressions ranged from shock to outright terror.
“A dragon? Nice try. If you are going to drum up some elaborate scheme to gain our charity, you should at least make your story believable instead of dreaming up fantastical creatures of myth and legend, you fools,” spat Nikolai with no shortage of arrogance.
The king whipped his head to his left where Nikolai was being tended to. Then he snapped at him. “I won’t tolerate a commander in my army speaking to our guests like that, and I sure as hell won’t tolerate it from my own son. You will show respect and decency to these people!”
This revelation regarding Nikolai gave Ogron and Theros a new understanding of the situation.
Then the king turned back to the orcs. “I have experienced the seductive lies of freedom and power, much like the ones promised by dragons. I have also witnessed the cunning and cruelty that comes packaged within such lies. Hammerfists, your people are welcome here in Storm Vale. As you can see, we are preparing for our own war, but at least you will not be between the hammer and the anvil when it strikes,” declared the king.
Melgrim apologetically chimed in, saying, “Some would say, out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
“Swinging my hammers will help keep me warm in these cold mountains,” muttered Theros with a mischievous grin.
The crowd erupted into laughter one last time before they dispersed. The king threw a tunic over Nikolai’s head, covering his torso. He helped his son climb atop his horse, and then he climbed atop his own. Shortly thereafter, the king and his son headed north toward the castle.
“Kimble, take a few men with you and gather some supplies for our new friends. They will need tents, blankets, and most importantly, food. Spare nothing, and hurry, the Minotaurs are coming,” ordered Captain Melgrim.
At his command, the young and spry soldiers jumped into action, mounting up and racing up the road behind the king.
Melgrim then introduced himself to them, saying, “Ogron, Theros, I owe you my life. My name is Melgrim Forsythe, and I am a captain in the king’s army. Now, we do not have a lot of time, so let’s get your people safely inside the walls.”
“Thank you, Melgrim,” responded Ogron with a slight nod of the head.
“Have you eaten?” asked the captain.
The orcs answered the question with a simple shake of their heads.
“We will need your strength if we are to stand against that which comes our way today. So, once we have you secured behind the walls, eat and rest,” ordered the captain.
They nodded in agreement. Then they walked off to share the news with their people. Cheers of ex
citement burst from the encampment. Hurriedly they began herding their people, their wolves, and the hralls past the obstacles and into Storm Vale through the gate that would soon be sealed shut with the massive iron door. Everything was taken inside the wall, with the exception of their makeshift encampment. This could prove to be a tactical advantage to them in the face of the advancing army, but only time would tell.
Both orc and human were shut in behind the great iron door. They moved the mothers and their young children far away from the front lines, making room for them within Storm Vale proper. However, all the able-bodied orc men and women that were battle-capable remained in the garrison at the outer wall. They prepared for battle, equipping themselves with whatever armor and weapons were available while getting some food in their empty stomachs. Meanwhile, the Hammerfist brothers joined Captain Melgrim and his lieutenants in the command tent.
“The first attack by the Minotaur was purely a test of strength. There was no trickery, no guile. They charged right up to the front door. They were measuring us. We cannot hope to be so fortunate next time. They will not come in the hundreds this time but in the thousands. They also come with some type of machines—siege weapons, no doubt—but I didn’t get close enough to identify them. I wish that were the worst of it, but they also appear to have some…ogres. From a distance, they appeared to be from the Shard Cliffs, north of Jasprita. They, themselves are siege weapons,” reported Melgrim.
“How can we defeat such an army?” anxiously questioned one of the younger lieutenants.
Pointing to the great stone bulwark, Melgrim replied, “With this!”
“And with this,” said Ogron as he dropped his great axe on the wooden table.
“And this,” chimed in Theros as he dropped his mighty hammer on the table before adding, “and these,” as he also dropped his two maces on the table with a grin.
The encouraged men cheered in the command tent, but this foe would not be defeated this easily, and Melgrim knew this.
“When they release the ogres upon us, it is imperative that we take them down immediately. We can’t afford the havoc that they will bring. All forces must focus our fire on those targets first,” instructed the captain.
“What do you know about these ogres?” asked Theros.
“Frankly, not much. They inhabit the rugged Shard Cliffs, just north of Jasprita on the coastline. They are foul-tempered abominations of incredible size and strength. Their skin is so calloused and coarse, it serves as a protective barrier, so our archers may have little effect on them,” replied Melgrim.
“Do they have any known weaknesses or aversions?” questioned Ogron.
“Generally, they are believed to be creatures of very limited intelligence. They do not appear to be capable of complex thought processes and tend to be very aggressive and combative when engaged. There is also some speculation that they have an irrational fear of fire, but this is not confirmed,” answered the captain.
“That means that they will not delay the attack at all, and the ogres will be unleashed before nightfall,” inferred Ogron.
“Good observation. I expect that in the next few hours they will be here and that the war will begin,” stated Melgrim.
“Captain, have your bowmen set everything ablaze the moment we see the ogres, even before they reach us. We must expose them to their fears,” Ogron articulated.
“Captain, where’s the nearest blacksmith?” inquired Theros.
With a puzzled look on his face, Melgrim responded, “Up the road in Storm Vale proper. Why?”
“Take me, and I will show you,” promised the hulking warrior.
The meeting concluded with Melgrim escorting the Hammerfist brothers higher into the Sky Reach Mountains until they reached the wonderfully crafted city of Storm Vale proper.
“Never have we seen anything like these mountains or this place. Your lands, your home, they are spectacular,” marveled Ogron as they entered the gated city.
“Thank you, my friend. It is here, in the Sky Reach Mountains, that my people found refuge when we were driven from our homelands some fifty-plus years ago,” returned Melgrim.
“Where did your ancestors live?” inquired Theros.
“The jewel of the north. Jasprita was her name. That was, until we were betrayed into the hands of the same beasts that bear down on us now. It appears they have come to finish their tasks,” said Melgrim grimly.
As the captain finished speaking, he pulled his horse to a stop outside of the smithy. Hopping down, he gestured for the orcs to follow him. Over at the smithy, working tirelessly, stood Tomar, beating more iron into form and function.
“Tomar, I want you to meet some of our guests, Ogron and Theros Hammerfist. They are orcs from the Agremnall Hills.”
“They will be staying with us,” said Melgrim as he motioned for the orc to step forward.
“Aye, it is good to get some color around here,” opined Tomar with a smile. “Welcome to the Sky Reach!”
Brief smiles lit up their hardened faces for the moment.
“Theros, you requested a smith, and Tomar is the best in the Vale,” stated Melgrim as he signaled that the floor belonged to the orc.
“Are you familiar with the bola?” asked the warrior.
“Not something we make, but indeed I am,” responded Tomar with a quizzical look on his face.
“I want to know if you can make half a dozen oversized bolas. Two iron balls, one on each end. Iron chain links, about three feet long, connecting them. In the center of each, a heavy iron eyelet or ring. Large enough to thread a heavy rope through,” explained the orc.
“Goodness, man, you’re not asking for much, are ya?” shouted Tomar.
Crossing his left arm across his chest, he propped up his right elbow. Then bringing his right hand up to his face, he began tapping his fingers upon his chin. He tilted his head back, almost as if he were looking for some magical answer to appear in the sky.
“By my calculations, I could have them done in…three days,” answered Tomar.
“Three days? Three days will be too late,” uttered Theros.
“Do the balls have to be round an’ smooth, like polished?” queried the smith.
“Nope, it just needs to work,” answered Theros.
“Aye, I can get my apprentices to pound out the iron balls. The real problem is the chain links. They take a lot of time to make,” added the smith.
“I have an idea,” interjected Melgrim. “Take some of the chains from the harbor lifts and repurpose them for the task. We can always make new chains for the lifts at another time.”
“Oh, that’ll do the trick. I will deliver them as soon as they are finished,” shouted Tomar as he mounted his nearby mare.
“Don’t forget the iron eyelet. It is crucial. It must be in the center of the chain length,” reiterated Theros.
“Will do,” replied Tomar before he urged his horse up the road.
“The next item is the inventory of your siege weapons,” stated Theros.
“We have a combination of a dozen or so mangonels and scorpions,” replied Melgrim.
“Scorpions?” asked Ogron with a look of confusion.
“Scorpions. Oh, perhaps you would know them as ballista?” asked the captain.
“Modifications may be necessary. Where are they positioned?” questioned the orc.
“Half are en route to the outer gate. The other half will remain at the second gate, in the event that the outer wall is breached,” said Melgrim.
“Perfect. Let’s get to work while we have time,” urged the chieftain.
The men mounted up again, turned away from the town square, and rode out of the city. Down the long and winding road they traveled quickly, first passing through the second gate that Melgrim had mentioned, then all the way down to the outer wall. Spotting the siege weapons immediately, Theros leapt off his hrall to run over to the ballista first. Examining the wooden structure quickly, he was able to make an evaluation.
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nbsp; The large orc turned to the captain and said, “These are just as I had hoped. The bolts are launched from the shaft by a firing arm, which is what we need for this to work. The modification should be simple. We simply need to make a set of angled launch plates for our bolas. The launch plates will mount here, to the front of the firing levers,” he said while touching the firing arm. “The plates must sit elevated, nearly a foot above the shaft. The angled plates must be two and a half feet wide, so that the bola chains will lay right in the corner groove, with just the balls hanging off the ends. The center of the angled plate will need to be mounted upon a short rugged swivel, allowing the plate to rotate. The final detail is that one end of the angle arm must be affixed with a rope that is slightly shorter than the firing shaft.”
Chiming in to confirm the details, Melgrim said, “So the bola sits on the launch plate, and when it is fired, the rope becomes taut, forcing the plate to spin, giving rotation to the bola.”
“Yes. Another long rope will be affixed to the iron eyelets, and it will run all the way back there.” Turning, he pointed over at the herd of hralls that rested on the roadway. “If we can snare these ogres with the bolas, we can tear them down,” finished Theros.
“This is brilliant, Theros. I am not sure how much time we have, but if we can make this work, it would be a boon to us,” exclaimed the captain with excitement. “Very well, let’s get these to the top of the walls and let the modifications begin!”
“While you two handle that, I will prepare the mangonels. I believe all the supplies I need are already on hand,” added Ogron.
“What do you intend to fire?” asked the captain.
“Just that,” replied Ogron with a smile, “fire.”
With a look of surprise, the captain turned away so he could gather some more soldiers and orcs to get their project underway. Quickly man and orc worked together to move the heavy wooden ballistae to the top of the great wall.