Wrack and Ruin

by Dave Willmarth

  Battleborne

  Book Two

  Wrack and Ruin

  By

  Dave Willmarth

  Copyright © 2020 by Dave Willmarth

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters and events depicted in this novel are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Silent as a shadow, the grey dwarf thief moved through the dark alleys of Nogroz, now known as Stormhaven. She was Izgren, second in command of the local Thieves’ Guild, with the rank of Adept. Among the Nogroz guild members, only the Master was more skilled in the arts of deception and assassination.

  Light-headed from too much blood loss, she stumbled around a corner. The sounds of her pursuers were fading, but she was not yet safe. The cursed dwarves and orcs that had invaded her city were ruthlessly hunting her and her guildmates. Already more than a score had been killed, and at least three captured.

  That was her reason for being out of the den. She had hoped to infiltrate the city dungeons and free the three prisoners, one of whom was her own son.

  Izgren had gained access to the lowest levels of the keep easily enough. Her people had an entire network of secret tunnels and hidden doors that formed an intricate web across the city. Including one that led from the sewers up into the dungeon via an ancient and rusting ladder. From the bottom dungeon floor she crept up a stairway that was unguarded, no surprise since the invaders thought the only access to the cells was from above. Her scouts had already warned her that half a dozen dwarven sentries guarded the thick iron door that led from the keep’s main level down to the two dungeon levels.

  She reached her comrades’ cells without incident, and had managed to pick two of the locks, freeing her son and one other. She was nearly finished with the third lock when a pair of dwarven guards opened the nearby door. Instantly she hurled a dagger at the closest of the two, the enchanted weapon punching through his steel chest plate and penetrating deep into his shoulder. The second dwarf shouted an alarm even as he drew a short sword and shield and leapt forward to stand between his wounded companion and Izgren.

  Her son and his fellow newly freed thief, both novices in the guild, rushed toward the dwarf. Her son shouted, “Finish the lock!” as he clashed with the dwarf, slamming a shoulder into the shield. He paid for his bravery with a deep gash on his arm when the dwarf struck back.

  Armed only with a dagger she had handed each of them when she freed them, the two young thieves did their best to parry sword blows and harass the armored dwarf from both sides. Izgren tried to ignore her son’s plight and focus on the lock in front of her. In seconds, she defeated the uncomplicated mechanism and stepped aside as their third comrade, a journeyman rank thief she’d mentored nearly five decades earlier, flung the door wide. His hand already out, he accepted a dirk from Izgren and joined the melee. Just as he reached the enemy and managed to slide his blade into the guard’s back, four more dwarves descended the stair with weapons ready.

  Izgren withdrew a pellet from a pouch on her belt and tossed it toward the stair. “Run!” she shouted at her son, who was now bleeding from several deep cuts. The pellet struck the ground at the dwarves’ feet and erupted in a burst of foul-smelling, eye-stinging smoke. She caught a glimpse of her son turning to follow her, then screamed as she saw a sword erupt from his chest, heart’s blood coating the blade. A moment later a scream that ended in a gurgle told her that the other novice had perished.

  Setting aside her grief, the grey dwarf dashed away from the battle, heading toward the opposite end of the corridor, and the stairway down. If she and the remaining thief could make it through the secret hatch and close it before the dwarves caught up to them, they’d have more than enough time to disappear in the sewers while the dwarves searched for the exit. She had no doubt they’d find it quickly, but even a minute or two would suffice.

  The soft footsteps of a trained thief behind her gave her some comfort. At least one of the prisoners would be freed. And her son and his friend would not be tortured for information on the guild.

  Just as she reached the bottom step, the unmistakable sounds of several crossbows firing were followed immediately by a grunt behind her. Two bolts whizzed past her to strike the stone floor. She leapt to the side as two more weapons fired, those bolts passing harmlessly. But when she peeked around the edge of the doorway to look up the stairs, she found the journeyman tumbling down the last few steps, a bolt through his throat.

  Tossing another smoke pellet, she dashed down the corridor, weaving from side to side in hopes of making herself harder to hit. The dwarves fired, then fired again, shooting blindly through the smoke. One of them got lucky, and a bolt punched into the back of Izgren’s knee, causing her to stumble forward. She landed face-down on the stone floor with a grunt, then immediately began to scramble back to her feet. The hatch in the floor was in the second to last cell on the left, only ten or so steps away.

  The dwarves had focused on the sound of her fall, and two more bolts went past her head, taking chunks from the wall at the end of the hall. A third slammed into her side, easily penetrating her leather armor. Gritting her teeth to keep from making a sound, she took the final steps to reach the cell door, then threw herself inside. Sliding across the stone floor, she fell partway through the hatch opening before catching herself. Securing both feet on the ladder, she reached up with one hand and pulled the hatch lid closed as she lowered herself through. Already she could hear the pounding of dwarven boots on the stone in the corridor above. It wouldn’t take them long to find the hatch once the smoke cleared, her two wounds having left a blood trail on the cell floor.

  Grabbing hold of either side of the ladder and nearly passing out from the pain, she removed her feet from the rung and allowed herself to slide down the ten feet or so to the stone platform below. Flakes of rusted iron from the ladder sliced at her hands, a few embedding themselves in her skin, but she ignored the pain. Safely on the ground, she took a moment to yank the bolt from the back of her leg. A quick inspection of the one in her side told her that removing it now would do more damage than leaving it where it was. Izgren quickly produced a health potion and gulped it down. It stopped the bleeding from both wounds, and the hole in her knee began to mend. But when she heard tapping near the hatch above, and quickly started forward through the sewer tunnel, the movement caused the wound around the bolt still in her side to reopen.

  She had left the sewers at the very next manhole, knowing that the dwarves would be actively searching them as soon as they found the hatch. Now, several minutes later she was almost at her destination. Almost safe.

  The invaders had thoroughly searched the sewers already, seeking her guild’s den after her master had ordered the initial attempt on the new king’s life. They had discovered a few of the hidden doors that led to weapons and supply caches, even a few tunnels. They’d searched every building, patrolled the rooftops, and encountered several of her people, resulting in loss of lives on both sides. But the one place they hadn’t searched was where she was heading now.

  A few more staggering steps, her hand holding a thick cloth to her side to keep blood drops from leaving a trail. She rounded a last corner and tripped again, her shoulder slamming against the stone of the outer wall. A quick look to either side, and she located a particular stone, slightly off color in one corner. Pressing the sto
ne three down diagonally to its left, she waited, gasping in pain as a doorway slid silently inward. Not waiting for it to open fully, she stepped inside the wall and touched another stone as she passed. The door slid shut just as silently, and she let herself collapse to the floor with her back against the wall.

  Outside, the sound of pounding boots drew closer. She held her breath, tears of pain and sorrow streaming down her cheeks. A moment later the pursuers passed by the hidden door and continued down the alley.

  Lightheaded from exertion and blood loss, unable to stand, she simply rolled to her hands and knees. Keeping one hand pressed against the bolt in her side, she crawled onward. If she could make it to her master, he would be able to remove the bolt that she suspected had penetrated her liver, and heal her.

  A minute later she detected soft footfalls approaching ahead of her. With a sigh of relief, she allowed herself to fall onto her uninjured side. The pain was enough to make her gasp as she lost consciousness.

  *****

  The orcs had been marching nonstop for two days and a night. Their War Chief, An’zalor, had threatened to take their heads and mount them on stakes outside the city if they failed to capture the mine that now lay just a mile ahead of them. The mine had belonged to the War Chief, until his dishonorable behavior during the sacred arena trials had forced him to concede it to the Chimera King. Many of their fellow orcs had abandoned the city in the days since, unwilling to follow the disgraced An’zalor.

  Some had accompanied the new king of Stormhaven, following the War Chief’s cousin Gr’tok in a caravan to Stormhaven to begin a new life. Others had been preparing to leave in large groups, to form independent villages of their own. Until word passed through the city that An’zalor had set an ambush for the defectors and specifically targeted Gr’tok’s family. Another dishonorable act.

  That night the guards at the eastern gate had been drugged into unconsciousness, and more than two hundred orc families had fled the city. They did not remain together, or use wagons or beasts of burden to carry their belongings, as this would have made them easy to track down and murder. Instead they scattered through the woods on foot, moving fast and changing direction often. Some had plans to meet up in predetermined locations after a month or two. Others simply kept going in search of a new place to settle.

  Shortly after the few surviving scouts from the failed ambush of Max’s caravan returned with word of his brother’s death, An’zalor stormed out of his fortress and shouted for his regular troops to take up arms. He spat and cursed at them, stomping back and forth in front of the barracks building as he waited for the warriors to gear up and get into formation. When the last of the warriors dashed from the barracks, An’zalor grabbed the unfortunate orc by the neck and lifted him into the air.

  “Too slow! I have no use for weak or lazy warriors!” With a roar of rage he slammed his victim onto the ground, then stomped on the warrior’s head. The others went silent at the sound of the crunching skull.

  “The puny toy king has taken over the northern mine.” He growled to his troops as he moved back to stand in front of the orderly lines. “You will reclaim it! We are at war with Stormhaven!” The troops stomped the ground or slammed weapons against shields as they roared their approval. “Kill anyone you find in or near the mine, and send me their heads to decorate my city walls! You have six days. If you fail me, I will mount your heads, and those of your families, on the road to the gate as a reminder of the consequences of failing your War Chief!”

  Four hundred orcish warriors promptly marched out the gate on foot, their long and muscled legs allowing them to keep a fast pace. Behind them, other orcs scrambled to load a supply wagon and follow. Far ahead, a score of mounted scouts ranged through the woods and fields, reporting back every few hours.

  The warriors had been driven hard, their commander ruthless in his ambition. Gr’tok’s former position as lead Commander was up for grabs, and retaking the mine would help him earn that title. The column paused in their march only twice per day, and once in the middle of the night, to rest and eat for an hour. Orcs had tremendous stamina, and the well-trained warriors made the march with little complaint. Though many had lost faith in their War Chief, the opportunity to fight in a real battle outside the arena was a great motivator. All but the very youngest were veterans of many small border skirmishes, but none had been alive long enough to remember the larger pitched battles of the war against the dwarves, elves, and humans.

  Now, just a mile from the mine, the Commander had called a halt. The orcs had no need for stealth, believing that they vastly outnumbered the Stormhaven forces. Fires were lit, meat roasted, and ale passed freely among the troops. The sun had set, and they would rest until sunrise, when the attack would begin.

  In his tent, Commander Iz’tag studied the map that one of the scouts had just handed to him. The road they were camped next to was clearly marked, as were the surrounding hills, fields and forest. Just to the north was a mining pick symbol indicating the location of the mine.

  “How many?” He growled at the scout.

  “We can not know for sure, as many remain inside the mine. But from the boot and wagon tracks we’ve found, we believe as many as two hundred dwarves. And we saw twenty or more of the traitor orc warriors.” He paused and pulled out a hand-drawn sketch on tattered parchment. “They’ve already begun constructing a fortification. There is a thick wooden gate across the entrance to the mine, and a twenty foot high wall that extends in an arc about one hundred feet out. They have not yet installed the gate in that wall, though they were working to assemble it when I left.”

  “Dwarves and traitors.” The leader spat in disgust. “No sign of the king?”

  “There were many sets of wagon tracks leaving the mine and heading further north. We believe the caravan continued on several days ago. There are also signs of more recent mounted patrols.”

  “That explains why the frightened dwarves are scrambling to finish their gate. They must already know we are coming.” He stared at the map. The mine was built directly into the side of a cliff. “Tell me about the terrain.”

  “There is forest surrounding the mine, except for the cliff side. It has been cut back to provide lumber for the wall, and there is now a two hundred foot clear zone along the entire wall. The back side of the mountain behind the mine is not steep, but the cliff face is sheer and extends upward nearly three hundred feet. There is a stream nearby, well outside the walls.” The scout paused. “If we had more time, we could simply lay siege and let them die of thirst.”

  “Time is not a luxury we have.” The commander shook his head. “An’zalor gave us six days. We’ve marched for two, so we have, at most, three days to kill these dwarves and seize the mine. A rider with spare mounts could return to the War Chief in a day and a night if he pushes his animals to their limit.” He tapped the mining pick image on the map. “No, we must assault the mine at first light and crush them quickly. When we breach the wall, any survivors will retreat into the mine. In those tight spaces, the cursed dwarves are effective and stalwart fighters. Our numbers will mean little, as only a few of our warriors at a time can face them.”

  The orc leader tapped one sharpened nail against a lower tusk as he considered his options. “Wake four squads and put them to work felling trees. And dig a few wood kiln pits. By morning I want twenty stout ladders, and as much wood pitch as we can make. We shall see how anxious the dwarves will be to defend burning walls.”

  *****

  Max was enjoying himself. He, Dalia, Smitty, and Dylan had spent half a day exploring the tunnels and caverns near Stormhaven. They’d run into a dozen fights with creatures of the underworld, including a solitary stonetalon, and a nest of rock spiders. The fights with lower level monsters hadn’t earned any experience for Max, Dalia, or Smitty. But Dylan had leveled up twice and was close to gaining a third. Dalia informed them that the rock spider meat would be a welcome addition to the menu at the tavern back in Stormhaven.
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br />   After a long day with Redmane dealing with the administrative issues of his new kingdom, Max had found Smitty and Dylan in the tavern. The three had gotten roaring drunk while they reminisced about old times, and lost friends. They shared their stories of the time spent in this new world so far, until Smitty had passed out cold and fallen to the floor.

  Dalia had found them in the morning, much too early for their liking, and suggested the outing. It was part scouting mission, part group dynamics training, and might have gone on all day. Except that Max received a notification that, though he’d been expecting it, he’d hoped wouldn’t happen so soon.

  ***Attention!***

  The Northern Gold and Silver Mine is under attack!

  Quest Received: Defend the Mine!

  Repel the invaders and protect your property.

  As ruler of Stormhaven and owner of the mine, you may

  share this quest with any citizens or allies you choose.

  Max sighed, calling a halt. “Hold on guys, we need to head back.” He waited as Dylan, who had been in the lead as their tank, stopped and turned toward him. “The orcs have just attacked the mine.”

  Without a word, the others followed him at a jog as they retraced their steps back to the city. When they passed through the gate to the inner keep an hour later, Redmane was waiting for them. Behind him were Gr’tok and thirty or so orc warriors, along with a company of fifty dwarves, all armed and armored.

  “How’d you know?” Max asked, coming to a halt and shooting a look over his shoulder at a heavily panting Dylan. Ogres were not made to run long distances, and the poor guy looked about ready to collapse.

  “As your Chamberlain, I received the same notification you did.” His first minister replied calmly. “As did your other councilors. King Ironhand has already dispatched two mounted companies to support the forces at the mine. I took the liberty of bringing them here and sending them through the portal to the outpost. That puts them several hours closer than they’d be had they left directly from Darkholm.”