The twin volcanoes rumbled ominously behind them, a roar from the boiling magma lakes at their cores deafening at this altitude. A hiss of gases as they escaped through cracks in the earth and a sky that glowed red from the lava made this place unwelcoming.
‘That’s a big area to search for a city,’ Marrok sighed.
‘Don’t lose faith just yet. I have a feeling our destination will become apparent all too soon,’ said Torith. ‘Just keep looking.’
Jonjo turned to his subordinates. ‘Each man must get some rest while he can, we may need to move quickly at a moment’s notice.’
The unit as one removed their heavy packs and then dug out a bedroll each. This then was laid on the rock before each man settled down to rest weary limbs. It was not too long before Marrok heard snores from the men behind him. He also felt tired, though he would rest when the mission was complete. Menin had entrusted him with this task and considering what Coinin had undergone over the past few days, his was an easy duty and one he was more than happy to see to fruition.
The night drew in and brought with it a chill in the air, and despite the hot rock that surrounded them, the raiding party gathered their cloaks tightly around them.
Marrok sat and flicked stones over the edge of the outcrop of rock, and grew ever impatient and eager to get moving. Sitting there, he reasoned, would not find the city. It was after a few more minutes sitting kicking his legs over the edge of the precipice that something caught his eye in the distant gloom. Far below him, a solitary light flickered into existence. This attracted his attention. Someone had lit a campfire in the forest below, and then more campfires shone through the canopy one after another until a significant acreage of the tree cover was aglow.
Marrok looked over his shoulder. ‘Torith, Jonjo, come and look at this,’ he said excitedly.
The generals joined him quickly, and he felt a large hand clap him on his back.
‘Now there’s your city,’ Torith laughed. ‘It pays to be patient.’ He winked to Jonjo.
General Jonjo next addressed the makeshift camp. ‘The city is below. We will set out at first light and work out our next strategy for infiltration once we are in sight of the camp. For now, rest up, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.’
Marrok inwardly smiled. This mission had been easier than he had thought. They had found the city on the eighth day since entering Madorine. He dug out his bedroll and lay down. He had changed his mind, they had found their target, and now he would sleep so that he was fresh for the morning.
❖
It had been a cold night as the camp slept; the lack of a campfire had been a contributing factor, as had the biting wind that raced across the volcano slope. The hot rock had done nothing to ease the stinging wind that had found its way inside their cloaks and made them uncomfortable. Generals Jonjo and Torith had not wished to give away their position to a potential enemy by lighting a fire, so a cold night it had been.
At first light they packed up the camp and made a treacherous journey down the steep slopes of Mount Dibor, slipping and sliding down loose rock, until they reached the base.
They quickly spread out and silently crept forward through the trees towards the city’s known location, weapons at the ready. The forest was light and aided their good time through the undergrowth, and as they drew closer, the familiar sounds of a city began to filter through the trees: traders trading, carts crunching their way along rough ground, animals mooing, baying or bleating, and Madorine in conversation with one another. What the uninitiated did not expect was the smell; it was repugnant and had Marrok heaving.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,’ Jonjo whispered upon seeing Marrok’s green face.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ Marrok choked.
During the day they quietly circled the city from the cover of the trees until they arrived at a spot that gave them a good clear view of the centre of the encampment.
King Curlicca’s tent was grand, and of the hundreds that surrounded it, it was the most colourful. It towered regally above all others and had the royal crest emblazoned on each of the panels that made up its octagon. Ropes held the pointed canvas roof in place, and the lines were secured into the ground. Crested flags adorned each intersection, leaving the visitors in no doubt whose tent this was.
They watched the Madorine come and go, paying particular attention to the guard that continually patrolled the outside of the royal tent.
‘I still prefer good old-fashioned brick and mortar,’ said Jonjo, and received murmurs of agreement.
‘I think we need to send someone to scout around a bit, see if we can find a way inside that tent,’ said Torith.
‘I agree. There is not much to be seen from here among the trees,’ Marrok concurred.
‘That’s settled then, off you go.’ Jonjo chuckled and patted Marrok on the back.
‘Again I have to go?’
‘Well, you are the new boy,’ Torith smirked.
Marrok did not argue with the reasoning. He understood that he needed to show the unit he was capable and to be trusted. He might be a general but respect needed to be earned. He dropped his pack and removed his canteen of water and tucked this into his clothing.
He gripped arms with Torith and Jonjo. ‘I will be one hour. If I have not returned, assume I am in trouble and go ahead without me. What counts is the recovery of that sword.’
‘Aye, brother.’ Torith squeezed his arm in support.
‘Be vigilant. Find us a way in,’ Jonjo encouraged.
Marrok nodded and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head in an attempt to appear anonymous and then stepped from the shade of the trees into the camp that was cleverly erected between them.
There were far more tents here than he ever thought possible, ranging from the slight to the ridiculously large belonging to the more affluent Madorine. Every possible design had been used, and the occupants had utilised every conceivable bit of space. Hung from the tent sides were agricultural implements, kitchen utensils, pots and pans, and other household paraphernalia, unusually not on the inside, but stored on the outside. The very makeup of the canvas dwellings suggested that they could be erected within minutes and dismantled just as quickly.
Almost all had a circular cut-out at the very tip to allow smoke to escape from cosy fires lit inside, where cooking would take place. As he walked by the first dozen or so tents, he managed to catch a glimpse of the interior of most. They were mostly dark and dingy, yet inside of those lit by oil lamps, he saw canvas bedrolls arranged around a central fire, and that was it, aside from a lockbox or two tucked out of the way. Very straightforward and easy to move at a moment’s notice as the King commanded.
Marrok, one for settling in one place, thought how irritating he would find this existence.
The livestock, he thought, must be kept in an area outside of the camp at night, where guards could easily watch over them, as very few were to be seen, and yet he could hear them in the distance.
A path intersecting the tents had been cut through the trees, without destroying the canopy cover. Marrok realised that this was why the camp could not be seen during the day. Only at night when fires were lit did the city become visible.
The path allowed for simple hand-drawn carts and livestock to be transported along it from one side of the city to the other. The road, if you could call it a road, was heaving with Madorine travellers. He had to sidestep so often to avoid being crushed by a very large male or female with an even bigger sack of produce that anyone would have thought he was a street performer entertaining everyone with a dance.
Every so often, two or three armoured guards with long spears strode along the centre of the road, and would push pedestrians aside with their shields, or shout orders. Marrok guessed they were there to keep law and order.
He was puzzled again. He had been taught as a child that the Madorine were fearsome and brutal, and yet he saw none of that. There was no warring of the clans to be seen, and no
bloodshed, just peaceful coexistence. Perhaps this King Curlicca had united the tribes and taught them the error of their ways.
He was now in what he assumed was the market district of the city. The tents were cleaner and made from more colourful materials, and as the small village he had traded at yesterday, barrows and stalls selling wares were prevalent.
The trading district circled the King’s tent, he supposed to allow the King better access to his taxes.
He checked the sun in the sky, and after noting its position from the shadows cast by the trees, he worked out that he had been gone almost thirty minutes. That meant he did not have much time to find a way into the King’s tent and get back to the unit. He pushed forward quicker this time. The crowds and their noisy trading, he hoped, would provide a distraction to the guards circling the tent. All he needed to do was walk around it, and test it for weaknesses without being spotted.
He suddenly had an idea and looked about him for a likely place to find what he sought. There on the side of a tent, several feet away was a broom. He smiled and made sure no one was looking, then quickly retrieved it and returned to the walkway surrounding the King’s tent.
He began to sweep dead leaves from the path and pushed them to the side nearest the tent. Unbeknown to anyone he pushed at the canvas, checking for weaknesses or movement that could translate into a way in. The first three panels yielded little result, so he moved on.
He kept his head low as a patrol passed him without batting an eyelid. He smiled, knowing the plan was working. He kept sweeping and stopped at the fifth panel, which seemed looser than the rest. He checked no one was looking and dropped to his knees and felt along the bottom of the canvas. It was indeed loose enough for him to fit his head and shoulders through. He had found their way in. He smoothed out the flap of material and returned to brushing, only this time he veered off into the lesser important tents. Once out of sight he dropped the broom and jogged into the tree line, to then dash back to where the unit of men waited.
He saw them ahead, anxiously waiting for him, and waved to them as he jogged on. Unexpectedly after circling a large tree, he was struck in the chest by something hard and found he was lying face up in the dirt and winded. He cradled his chest in pain and recoiled as a Madorine soldier in full armour stood over him, leering and snarling, as globs of saliva dripped onto his face.
The guard raised a curved sword and prepared to strike. Fortunately for Marrok his men were alert and sent a volley of arrows at the Madorine. The distinctive whistle of the flight feathers was the last thing the orc heard before an arrow exited his left eye, and sprayed blood across Marrok’s face. The green giant teetered for a moment and toppled on top of the winded Marrok.
Seconds later he heard footsteps crash through the forest at top speed towards him.
‘General Wulf, are you well?’ Private Scroggins asked. The young soldier had reached him first and immediately set about trying to shift the giant frame of the dead orc without much success.
‘Here, let me help,’ said Jonjo.
Both men grunted and groaned as they tugged the muscular giant off Marrok. As they did so, Marrok took a deep breath, relieved to finally get some oxygen back into his lungs.
Jonjo unfastened Marrok’s cloak and ripped open the shirt beneath to reveal a large reddening welt across his chest. ‘Looks like you were hit pretty good.’ He fingered the swollen bruise on the young man’s chest. ‘I’d say you have a couple of broken ribs, nothing too serious, but you will be sore for some time.’
Marrok cursed and accepted an offer to help him sit up. ‘Just bind me up, I will continue,’ he said, his face contorted in pain.
‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You will slow us down,’ Jonjo objected.
‘I will slow no one down. Now please do as I ask, I will see this mission through to the end.’
Jonjo looked at Torith for help. He could not order Marrok, only dissuade him from what he considered to be a foolish course of action.
‘We cannot order you, General, however, the safety of my men is paramount. If you insist on continuing, then you will be a lookout only. You cannot take an active role in the recovery of the sword,’ Torith added.
Marrok’s face clouded for a second, angered at himself for suffering the attack by the Madorine guard. ‘Very well, I will step back.’
The rest of the unit set about hiding the body of the guard deeper in the forest.
‘We don’t have long before that guard is missed,’ said Jonjo.
‘I’d say sundown at the latest,’ Torith added.
‘Why was he here? Do you think he followed me?’ Marrok asked, and winced at the pain of Scroggins’ attempts to bandage his chest.
‘Unlikely, he was ahead of you. It’s more likely that he was taking a pee or having an impromptu nap and heard you running through the forest,’ Jonjo replied.
‘Well, no matter, we have one injured man and till nightfall to make our plan. What did you discover?’ Torith asked.
‘I’m puzzled, the Madorine aren’t anything like I’ve been led to believe. I see orcs living together peacefully. I thought they were supposed to be at each other’s throats?’ said Marrok. ‘I just don’t understand it. They killed my parents, but they aren’t behaving how I remember.’
‘There does seem to be some disparity between the reports of Madorine internal warfare and what we are seeing. I can’t answer your question. However, the Archmage will be quite interested in this, there seems to be a cultural shift,’ said Torith.
‘Aside from that, there is a loose canvas panel to the King’s tent. I will have to lead you to it.’
‘What of the guards? Their numbers and patrol pattern?’ Jonjo asked.
Marrok thought hard. ‘From what I saw, the guards mostly patrol the roads throughout the city, and two guards circle the King’s tent at roughly five-minute intervals.’
‘Good, then that gives us plenty of time to access the shelter without being discovered. No doubt the camp will settle down at last light, perhaps to be with family groups, and that should leave the place pretty deserted,’ Jonjo said.
‘I think we should settle down ourselves, rest up and conserve our strength. Tonight we go in. We may not get another opportunity, especially if they begin to miss that guard,’ said Torith.
‘Agreed,’ Marrok nodded.
❖
They had watched the sun’s light wane, and that brought with it new sounds from nocturnal animals waking from their slumber to begin the night time ritual of hunting or foraging.
They had quietly moved nearer the camp, opposite where Marrok had exited the city earlier. This, according to his intelligence, meant they were closer to the King’s tent than from anywhere else in the city. That meant less chance of being seen and a quicker route to the destination, but more importantly a swift exit.
They knelt and peered around trees mere feet from the camp’s perimeter, watching for movement and any sign that they had been discovered. So far all was quiet, and this bolstered their confidence.
They had suffered a near miss earlier in the afternoon when a young Madorine, and what must have been his sweetheart, had ventured into the forest and set about getting to know each other intimately, three feet from where the unit lay resting. It was a heart-in-throat moment; thankfully they were far too engrossed to notice Marrok and the others, and after a time walked back to the city hand in hand.
‘We will venture into the city one at a time, General Wulf first. General Jonjo and I will enter the tent after we have been shown the precise location. The rest of you will melt into the shadows and provide assistance if we are discovered. If we fail in our mission, leave us and head back to the temple as fast as possible,’ Torith ordered.
Whispered approvals issued from the unit, all eager to enter the city under the noses of the Madorine, execute the plan, and then disappear like ghosts. Jonjo assessed the light and indicated it was time to leave. Each man checked his weapons were secur
e and out of sight, yet easy to reach if needed.
‘General Wulf? Please lead on,’ said Jonjo.
Marrok looked at each and every man in turn. ‘Good luck, gentlemen,’ he said.
Without further procrastination, he left the tree cover and once more entered the camp. His hood covered his face as he slowly and deliberately made his way to the financial quarter using the same route he had exited from. Two young Madorine passed him deep in conversation; Marrok guessed they were talking about livestock from the snippet of the discussion he caught. The sounds and smells of the city had changed from earlier in the day. A strong smell of cooking wafted down the pathways as he manoeuvred between tents. He could hear music and laughter coming from many of the dwellings, and a soft glow emanated from most, as the canvas diffused the light. He rounded a last tent and had arrived at the market ten minutes later with no further incident.
He remained in the shadows and merely observed and noted that the market had been packed up and a few remaining Madorine were finishing up. He estimated that within another five minutes the market would be empty save for guards posted at the entrance to the King’s tent, and of course, the guards who patrolled the exterior at five-minute intervals.
He was puzzled by the lack of security around the King. But then who would want to attack a city full of Madorine? They were a formidable enemy and had a fearsome reputation. Although Marrok now knew the Madorine reputation appeared to be a fiction, it did leave him to wonder why they had attacked Arrom Village. There was more to that event than he understood. He decided that to put his mind at rest and obtain some closure, he would return to Arrom and seek the reason behind the raid.
Torith joined him moments later and lightly tapped him on the shoulder to indicate his presence. Marrok was impressed how soft-footed the man had been and was glad that they were on the same side.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 34