by Jenner, M
“The sooner we are out of this place, the better,” Ty answered, taking hold of the rope and tugging to test its strength.
“Don’t pull too hard, lad; that potion may still be working. We don’t want you pulling the world down onto our heads,” Galandrik said with a wry smile.
“This is the thanks I get for saving your life, typical!” Ty hoisted himself upwards. The rope went up a good thirty feet before he finally reached to top. It was exactly what it had looked like from below – an abandoned well.
Ty pulled himself up onto the side wall and looked around. He was in a clearing which obviously hadn’t been used for many moons. Still in Gateford forest, he thought, but the trees did look thinner now. He shouted down to the others it was clear to come up. Eventually they all made it up, although Galandrik did need a helping hand.
“That’s better; the dank smell down there was hideous,” the dwarf said, taking a deep breath.
“I’d have thought you would’ve liked it, reminding you of home,” Ty said cheekily.
“That’s completely different, where we live is –”
“Don’t bother, Galandrik. He’s making fun of you,” Kern said, shaking his head at Ty.
“Right – which way’s south?” Solomon interrupted, studying the map, and Nuran chuckled.
Chapter Eight: To Catch a Fish
Bok looked at Joli and pointed towards a house in the distance. “That must be the Ferryboat man’s house.”
“Yeah, and the ferry is in too,” Joli answered.
“I don’t think they can cross at any other point, unless they rode around Lake Col - and I doubt they would be doing that,” Bok said as he kicked his horse into a canter.
“No, I think you are right,” Joli said to Bok’s back.
They made their way down to the ferry and found a huge man standing there.
“Can I help you?” Finn rumbled.
“Yes, we need to cross the river. Are you the ferryboat man?” Bok asked.
“I am, and it will cost you. No ride is free in Bodisha,” the man said, throwing a bale of hay onto the wooden ferry.
“Yes sir, of course not,” Bok agreed.
“You are very lucky, as I am just now leaving. Walk your horses on; there are slots for them to keep them calm.”
Bok and Joli walked their horses onto the ferry, then watched as the massive man finished loading straw and barrels. He then clambered up onto a chair and began heaving on a rope, and slowly the boat began to move.
Bok leaned on a barrel and looked out over the river. “Do you think we should ask him if Ty and his party have been across here?” Joli whispered to Bok.
“We don’t need to,” Bok said, smiling to himself.
“Why’s that?” Joli asked, a puzzled look upon his face.
Bok pointed to the barrel top. Joli peered closer and saw the words ‘The Rat’ carved into it.
“I told you he was an idiot,” Bok said, smiling at Joli.
“It looks like he did this not long ago, either,” Joli said, picking a fresh splinter out of the barrel top.
“We’re not far behind them, and if they tried to go through Gateford Forest we will probably overtake them.”
“I doubt if even the Rat is that stupid,” Joli laughed, “but then again…”
“We’ll pick up their trail on the other bank. The tracks should still be fresh.”
“Wherever they’ve headed, we should still be able to find them and kill that little toad.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him, and we will kill him. Trust me,” Bok said with a slight snigger.
Kern and the others were on the move, headed south, using the sunlight that managed to penetrate the trees as a compass. The trees were definitely thinner here, so their progress was easier, and the moss-covered ground seemed damper underfoot. Eventually, the tree canopy spreading over them thinned out like a threadbare cloak, allowing shafts of light to penetrate to the forest floor. They could hear the sound of running water in the distance, and a few minutes later they found it.
The group stood on the bank of a large pool; a waterfall on the far side flowed majestically from over a ledge and down into the pool. Gushing and splashing down onto the rocks jutting out of the water, it sprayed mist into the air, creating a beautiful rainbow.
“There is a keep just south of here, the Norse Keep; we can get supplies and restock there,” Solomon suggested.
“Sounds good to me, but first I think I’ll wash here to get the stink of that dungeon off me,” Kern said, lowering his weapons and backpack to the grass.
“Good idea,” Galandrik answered, and joined Kern in stripping off his armour.
Before long they were all washing and cleaning their gear and clothing in the pool, using the waterfall as a makeshift shower. Using the churned-clean sand from near the bottom of the waterfall, they scrubbed away the dirt from the dungeon and forest. Nuran finished first, and he sat on the bank eating a slice of dried beef and joining in the joking and gaiety.
They all felt better for the wash, and after a brief pause to eat they headed south. They walked until nightfall, until they finally left the confinement of the forest behind them and were on open ground. They found a wagon path, made from years’ worth of traders moving between Marsh Town and the towns of the north.
A few hours more brought them to the top of a hill where, in the brightness of the moonlight, they could see Norse Keep below them in the distance. It was a good mile away; beyond that they could just make out a mountain range, rising up out of the earth like a tidal wave of stone. Cheered that their destination was in sight, they headed down the slope towards the Keep.
As they neared the Keep, Ty grew uneasy. “This looks far too quiet for my liking,” he said.
“Yes, I agree. There are no lights or activity,” Solomon said.
“Are you sure they still use this place then?” Galandrik asked.
“Traders have used this Keep as a halfway point between the southern and northern towns for centuries,” Solomon explained.
“Indeed they do; they restock here or rest for the night,” Nuran added.
“Not any more, by the looks of it,” Ty said as they approached in the bright moonlight.
The Keep was a big place with two massive towers at the front, holding up the two huge main gates. A wall surrounded the Keep, with another tower built at the far end.
As they approached the main gates, they could see that one of them was only just hanging upright; the bottom hinge had been smashed off, and it looked as though the massive gate could fall at any moment.
“It looks like someone attacked the place and smashed straight through these gates,” Nuran said.
“I agree. This place didn’t hold much militia – maybe ten or twenty guards, maximum,” Kern said, looking at the marks of violence on the gate.
“I think it was recently, as well,” Ty said.
Kern knelt and examined the ground. “By the looks of these tracks I would say orcs – and quite a few of them.”
They walked quietly and carefully into the courtyard. As they stood just inside the doorway, they could see the once-thriving shops were all empty, doors and windows smashed; some were even razed to the ground. A small marketplace had once been situated on the far eastern wall; now there were only the remains of smashed tables and carts.
“Try and find some clues, and grab anything that could come in handy,” Kern said.
“I feel a heavy presence of evil; be on your guard,” Nuran said, drawing his sword.
“Should I check out the inn? Maybe we could sleep there – if we’re lucky there may be some food and drink left in the cellar,” Galandrik asked.
“Good idea. I’ll come with you, but the orcs have probably raided everything,” Nuran said as he followed the dwarf.
Galandrik and Nuran walked further into the courtyard, in the direction of the inn, when suddenly the floor seemed to spring to life all around them, lifting them off the ground and fil
ling the air with dirt and dust. They were caught up in a net, the sides of which drew up as it was lifted off the ground. From all directions, orcs attacked.
Kern quickly fired two arrows at the first two oncoming orcs. As the arrows soared through the air, they changed into little firebolts, thudding into their targets and engulfing them in flames. The orcs dropped to the ground, rolling and screaming. Ty and Solomon both drew their weapons and turned to face the orcs, but from the towers above them came nets with weights tied all around the edges. Hundreds of small fish hooks were stitched into the net, so that the more the captive struggled, the more firmly he was caught. Ty and Solomon tried frantically to cut through the net that held them, but as they struggled it only got worse – the hooks made it impossible for them to get free.
Some thirty orcs stood surrounding Kern, who now held his bow with two notched arrows, the runes around their shafts flickering with fire, awaiting release. The orcs had their weapons drawn. Glancing up, Kern saw orc archers filling the tower windows above, and he knew fighting was pointless. Slowly he lowered his bow.
From behind the ring of attackers stepped forward the orc leader. He carried a massive club, and his face had two white lines painted across it; his helmet boasted a red plume of ostrich feathers, and his black leather armour shimmered dully in the moonlight. He stood in front of Kern, looking down at the human.
“Drop your weapon,” the orc demanded. Kern didn’t take his gaze from the orc as he let his weapon fall to the ground. The orc looked over at Ty and Solomon caught in the net, then up to Galandrik and Nuran hanging above him. “Like little fishes caught in a net!” he shouted. The orcs all laughed and jeered, banging weapons onto shields, then without warning the orc leader swung at Kern with the back of his hand, knocking the ranger to the ground. Blood trickled from a cut on Kern’s lip as he tried to push himself back to his feet, but he couldn’t find the strength. His arms went weak and his world spiralled down into darkness.
Hodash approached Grig, the orc leader. “Sir, the prisoners are ready for transport to Sanorgk.”
“Well done. Where did you put their weapons and equipment?”
“All put on the back wagon, sir. Oh, and we did find these, on the two fishes caught on the ground.” He held out the necklaces Ty and Solomon had taken off the orcs they’d killed while rescuing Nuran.
“Orc reward necklaces, for bravery. Hm,” Grig said with a fierce scowl. “Take the others to the mines, but send those two to the upper cells. We need to find out where they got those from.”
“Yes sir, it will be done,” Hodash said, turning back towards the prisoners.
The orcs made ready to leave. Six saddled horses stood at the front of the orc troop, and at least twenty orc soldiers were lined up behind them. Then came the cart, where the captured party sat or slumped with hands tied up behind their backs. After the cart came another group of twenty or so soldiers. Finally, bringing up the rear were two wagons full of equipment, boxes, barrels, sacks, and weapons.
Grig walked forward and mounted the lead horse, followed shortly by the five orcs who rode with him. Grig turned in the saddle to face his troop.
“Uglul kuk forged,” he shouted, then kicked his mount into a canter and led his band out through the smashed gate of the Keep.
Kern sat up, dried blood staining his shirt and face. His hands were tied, as were his feet. Looked around at the other members of the party, the moonlight revealed them all to be disheartened – especially Galandrik, with a black eye and a deep cut across the bridge of his nose and cheek. The cuts had been inflicted by the dungeon skeleton, but had opened again and fresh blood dripped down his cheek onto his shirt. He must have put up a quite fight after being let down from the net trap, Kern thought.
Ty and Solomon met his eyes; each of them tried to force a smile but it wouldn’t come to either face. Nuran laid on his side, either asleep or unconscious; he too looked as though he had taken a beating from the orcs.
Ty glanced behind him, past the band of walking orcs, and could make out their backpacks on another wagon, along with their weapons. How stupid of him to walk into an ambush like that, he thought. The danger had been so obvious. They knew the Keep had been attacked recently, and still they walked into the trap. He bit his lip and closed his eyes.
Solomon edged closer to Kern and whispered. “Where do you think they’ll take us?”
“No idea. I’m sorry for getting you into this,” Kern mumbled back, looking down.
“It’s not your fault, Kern,” Solomon answered, sincerity in his voice.
“Thank you. You are a good friend.”
“Just try to keep it together; we may yet get out of this. We need you,” Solomon said, just as an orc walked alongside the wagon, looking in.
“No talk!” he shouted, spitting into the cart. Kern gave the most encouraging smile he could muster, though he thought it was probably not very convincing.
The troop marched until dawn, then finally stopped and made camp. To the south was the mountain range, and to the west was the edge of the southern marshes. The party were dragged off the wagon and their hands were bound to each other. After being given stale bread and a small drink of what tasted like dishwater, they were then further secured by being tied to the trunks of the trees scattered around the campsite.
“This doesn’t look good, old friend,” Ty said, craning his neck in the direction of the tree where Kern was tied.
“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. Even if we could get free, there are way too many of them for us to try and fight our way out.”
“How are you two?” Ty said, flicking a foot out in Nuran’s direction.
“Aching a bit from where they stuck the boot in, but I’ll survive,” Nuran said, forcing a smile.
“Let me have my axe and we will see who’s wearing the boots!” Galandrik roared.
“I don’t think they will be handing it back, unfortunately for us,” Kern replied.
“I think Kern is right. We just need to sit tight and wait for our moment to either attack or run,” Solomon said.
“Tight is the word I would use,” Ty said as he tried to wriggle his hands free.
“Why do they march through the night?” Solomon asked.
“I think they move in the darkness for more cover,” Nuran answered. “Northeast of these mountains is human land, and orcs are hunted there. A few half-orcs mix in with the humans, but they are never completely welcome. When we cross this mountain range and get further south, we will be the hunted.” A chill skittered down Ty’s spine at the thought of entering orc lands as prisoners.
The orcs slept until dinner time, then broke camp and prepared to move on. The party were pushed and shoved back onto the cart with no more food or drink offered, much to their disappointment (and Galandrik’s slight relief. He was hungry but the food was so terrible, and any meat cooked by orcs might – best not to think about it, he decided with a shudder).
The orc troop picked up a path that led through the mountain ranges to the south. It wasn’t as clear a path as the trader’s roads they had been on, but it was good enough for them to travel at a fair speed. After a good few hours of marching, the light was beginning to fade; on either side of them the mountain peaks rose higher and higher. Every now and again, rocks would tumble down, narrowly missing the troop and their captives.
As dawn broke, they came to a halt. The previous day’s procedure was repeated, except this time the prisoners were tied back to back, apart from Solomon, who was tied to one of the wagon’s wheels. Again the food given to them was bread and water, which they forced down despite the taste. Their wrists and ankles were sore and chafed, and blood covered the ropes that bound them; but the more they moaned, the tighter the ropes got. Their bodies ached and exhaustion nagged at them, but every time one drifted into sleep, an orc would promptly wake him up with a slap of his sword or a fist. They did their best to stop each other from drifting off.
The path through the mountain range
grew ever steeper as they progressed through the pass. Eventually the path levelled out, then started descending; they could see they were at the highest part of the pass. The mountains arched round in a horseshoe shape; sitting in the middle and surrounded by the soaring peaks was a massive black tower – Sanorgk.
Lights shone through many windows around the tower, and thick black smoke rose from many smaller huts clustered at its base. In front of the great tower was an enormous hole in the ground. It appeared to be at least a hundred feet wide, with vicious-looking black, red, and white smoke swirling upward from its depths. The prisoners could make out the noises of anvils being struck, fires being stoked, and whips being cracked.
Sanorgk… This must be the place Finn was talking about, Solomon remembered, where they store the goods and wait for Queen Valla to take her spoils.
When they reached the massive hole, the path they were on forked. One branch led down into the pit, the other up towards the massive temple. The troop stopped at the fork and Grig ordered six of his troop to take Kern, Galandrik, and Nuran downwards into the hole. “Enjoy your stay,” Grig shouted behind them, laughing.
Galandrik was drawing breath to return an answer when an orc guard pushed him forward down the path, sending him falling head over heels, rolling twice. Kern and Nuran, their wrists still bound, couldn’t help him back up, but an orc hauled him to his feet, and they continued down the slope. The wagons and the rest of the orc troops carried on towards the black tower, Ty and Solomon carried helplessly along with them.
Chapter Nine: The Black Tower
The slope led down and around, slowly twisting its way underground. The air was full of dust and smoke; Galandrik, Kern, and Nuran could see humans, dwarves, and elves, all working under the watchful eye of orc guards, who carried whips and other weapons with which to beat the prisoners. Some of the slaves were shovelling coal into furnaces; others were digging, blacksmithing, or just carrying and fetching.
The trio were led down to the far side where lines of men dug away at the walls; others lugged full coal buckets to the furnaces. They were shackled by metal ankle restraints joined together as a threesome with a heavy length of chain between them, eventually connecting to a stake that was anchored to the ground.