by Neil Hartley
A muscular figure hunched over, his black studded leather armor creaking under the strain. He put his sword to one side as he frowned, large yellow canines dripped with saliva as he muttered under his breath. Reaching out with a large hand tipped with sharp black fingernails, he plucked a small item from the creature next to him.
He took a deep, rasping breath and spoke.
“Look, all I’m saying is: that if the square root was valid if x over pi equals z, when z was a factor...” Harry drew various markings on the wall with the piece of chalk, trying to illustrate his point, but Herbert interrupted him.
“No no no! You’re forgetting to factor in Hubert’s Theorem, which postulates that the variance of z can be attributed to...”
“Wait! Did you hear that? Someone's coming!”
The two guards quickly stood up, grabbing their weapons as they did so. Herbert hastily erased evidence of their mathematical discussion, just as a small group approached from down the main corridor.
The two growled and put on unfriendly expressions as the party stopped in front of them. The lead figure seemed to be a zombie.
“What you want?” grunted Harry.
The undead creature looked back over his shoulder. “Boss! There are a couple of Orcs here blocking the way. Do you want to speak to them?”
One of the figures stepped forward, pushing his way to the front. He seemed to be a tall thin human, though a very pale one, wearing a long dark robe with a sword strapped to his side.
“Orcs. You're a bit far in aren't you? I thought Orcs were strictly low level stuff.”
“We Black Tribe Orcs. Greater Orcs us,” Herbert said, slapping his armored chest. “What you want?”
“I’m Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. I wish to enter.”
“No one pass. We guards,” responded Harry.
“Yes yes, I’m sure you have your orders and all that, but we would just like to speak to your leader, we won't be a bother,” said Dreth, frowning slightly.
“You not pass. This Black Orc territ.. terri... land,” Harry said, hefting his large and wicked looking mace meaningfully.
“Look, we are workers of the dungeon ourselves, all we wish to do is speak to your King.”
“Me don't know...” Herbert seemed to be wavering.
Harry had no such qualms. “You not pass. King says no one pass alive.”
“Ah, well, you should let us through then, because we aren't alive, are we now?” Dreth raised a thin eyebrow.
Harry paused for a moment as he evaluated this loophole.
“What about him? He look alive,” said the Herbert, pointing his sword at Redthorne.
“Well, he does, that's true. But er, he’s a zombie as well, just fresher than most, that's all.”
Harry waved his mace again. “Me guard! You not pass. Go away, or me beat you urg...”
He was cut off as the tall being plucked the helmet off Harry with one hand and grabbed his head with the other, brutally slamming it into the stone wall behind. Sparks bounced around in front of Harry's eyes as the sharp pain seemed to reverberate inside his skull.
He roared and raised his mace, but the creature stepped inside his swing and brought a bony knee up between his legs, crushing the genitals with a powerful blow. Agony lanced through the Orc, and he screamed as blood dripped down his thigh.
He tried to back away, but the guardian stepped closer and head-butted his nose, causing flashes of light to streak across his vision. Before he could do anything else foul tasting fingers grasped his mouth, upper and lower, pulling his jaw open with a strength that Harry, for all of his mighty thews, could not match. He yanked at the undead's skinny arms in a vain attempt to free himself as bones begin to splinter. There was a grinding noise as the attacker twisted and wrenched the lower portion of his face off. Blood and mucus ran down Harry's throat, and he spluttered and gargled, speckling Dreth with red.
The Orcs' knees began to buckle as the beast in human form wrapped its arms around his neck.
“I don't deal with underlings.” The dry words were whispered into his ears, just before Dreth twisted violently, and everything went black...
~ * ~
“Black Orc down! Black Orc down!” shouted Percy, doing a little jig and waving his arms about.
Dreth glared at the remaining guard, hissing in annoyance. “Now. Are you going to let us in to see your leader, or do I have to really get angry?”
“Y...y...y... this way sir,” stammered Herbert.
“Finally, some co-operation.” Dreth frowned as the guard began to turn away. “Haven't you forgotten something?”
“W...w...what?” asked the Orc.
Dreth pointed to his side, in which Herbert's sword was embedded.
“Oh, s...sorry sir! How did that get there? I will have it out in a just moment.” The guard pulled at the weapon, which slid out with a dull pop. “There, right as rain.”
“What happened to 'Me Grug, you bad'?” asked Cuthbert, scooping the eyeballs out of the dead Orc and handing one to Percy, who popped it into his mouth.
“What? Oh, yes, that. Well, we have to act the part,” said Herbert.
“I suggest it may be worth rethinking your strategy,” said Dreth.
Herbert looked at the body of his friend, whose skin was being peeled back by Sprat. “You could have a point there.”
~ * ~
A heavy tread engaged a hidden mechanism, which in turn activated certain waiting magics.
For the second time in a day the Oracle found himself awakened from stasis. He hissed in annoyance. True, every question he answered brought him closer to release, but it also used up some of his life energy. The only satisfaction he had was answering the questions posed as literally as possible. Petty, he knew, but you had to take your pleasures where you could.
Then the large figure entered the Oracles' chamber, and his eyes opened wide. Still, he uttered his usual opening line. “Welcome to my lair, I am the Oracle Farnsworth the Fair...”
The huge creature strode over to him and leaned down, red eyes close to his. “Where did they go?” It said.
“Your question is obscure, I..Ark!”
A giant hand had wrapped itself around his neck and squeezed, saving him the work of figuring out what rhymed with 'obscure'.
“Answer me.”
The Oracle gulped, or tried to. The hand was tight. “They went that way.” He croaked, pointing at an exit with all of his arms.
“Sensible.” The hand opened, and the Oracle gasped for breath as the brute strode off in the direction indicated.
“Bully,” he choked, but he waited until it was out of hearing first.
~ * ~
Dreth and co. followed the guard through a maze of caverns, passing through several heavily barricaded areas along the way. Orc warriors peered over the stone walls, weapons by their sides.
“Expecting trouble?” asked Dreth.
“Always,” replied Herbert.
Past the barricades they wandered, into Orc territory proper. Large caverns, water dripping from high ceilings, were separated by skins of various creatures hanging from crude wooden frames. Living areas, where Orcs of all sizes and dispositions walked, sat or worked. Males, females and younglings alike stopped and stared as they past.
Redthorne wrinkled his nose. “Urg. They could use some sanitation.”
“Oh hush,” Dreth admonished. “Human settlements aren't exactly sparkling clean.”
“I can't smell anything,” said Percy.
“I told you that you needed a new nose the other week,” said Cuthbert.
Eventually they turned into a more private area, guarded by imposing looking warriors dressed in dark chain mail vests and wielding large swords. Herbert had to negotiate several times before being allowed to pass. They did so though, and not long after entered a medium sized cavern, lit with bright torches.
In this space Orcs mingled in small groups around the walls, talking with each other in low grunts. The center of the cavern was left clear, an obvious walkway leading up to a large throne carved from dark stone.
Sat on this throne an impressive looking Orc sprawled. Black armor was strapped about him, with various tokens obviously taken from his victims hung at strategic points on his body. An enormous two handed sword leaned unsheathed against his seat, and Dreth thought he could see blood glinting darkly on the blade.
The Orc King was deep in discussion with another, much smaller, Orc whom Dreth thought may be a Shaman of some kind. The group stopped a respectful distance away and waited to be noticed.
Finally the shaman-Orc bowed and backed away.
The King looked up. “What have we here then?” he rumbled.
Herbert stepped forward. Dreth couldn't help noticing he was shaking slightly. “King, I am Herbert, a lowly guard from the outer tunnels. These creatures requested an audience with your loathfullness.” He jerked a thumb.
“Did they now?” The large Orc slumped back into his chair and gestured. “Who is the leader amongst you? Why do you wish to speak with King Oscar of the Orcs?”
Dreth gave a shallow bow. “King, I’m Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. My group is trying to find the way to the center of the dungeon. We would appreciate any assistance you could render.”
Oscar chewed on a necklace of dried ears. “Searching for the treasure are you? How interesting.” He leaned forward. “Approach.”
Dreth walked slowly forward. The Orc waited until he was close, then, in a single smooth move, he grabbed his giant weapon and brought it down in a great vertical swing towards Dreth’s head, narrowly missing the horizontal arc defined by the guardian’s dark blade as Dreth responded in kind. As the swords swooped past one another Dreth stepped swiftly to one side, and the Orc’s weapon hit the floor with a shower of sparks and a resounding clang. The deafening sound gave way to the sinister hum of Dreth’s sword, the tip of which was now hovering at the king’s throat.
“I’m going to assume that was some sort of Orcish test,” said Dreth, keeping his sword a fraction away from the leader's throat. “I’m also going to assume I have passed.” He tilted his head slightly to one side. “I have passed, haven't I?”
The King looked at him for a moment and then burst out into raucous laughter. Dreth took that for assent, and stepped back, sheathing Darkblood smoothly.
The Black Orc commander nodded and sat down again. “You will do, un-alive man.”
“So, formalities over, do you have any information for us?”
Oscar made a face for a moment, and then shifted slightly as a loud rumble emanated from his rear. Several Orc spectators applauded.
“I happen to know the direction you need to go. It isn't far from here. However, in exchange for said information, you must do us a favor.”
“Go on,” said Dreth.
“In the next territory along are a tribe of Ogres. For reasons of them being lying scumbags, we have been at war with them for some time. Unfortunately, despite our natural superiority, they still resist.”
Dreth frowned. “As good as I am, I don't think I can win a war for you.”
The King made a dismissive gesture. “We don't need that. We will crush the Ogres ourselves when the time is right. Until then, they have something we want.”
“And you want us to retrieve it for you?”
The Orc nodded, and smiled a yellow fanged smile.
“And what is this object?” asked Redthorne.
Oscar stuck a large finger up his nose and rooted around for a moment before answering. “That, my dear zombie, is a state secret. However, you will find it in a small metal box in the Ogre Leaders' chamber.”
“So, easy to get to then,” muttered Percy from behind Dreth.
Dreth considered this for a moment. “Fair enough. We can have a look anyway. Where are the Ogres?”
Oscar gestured at Herbert. “You. Show them the way, and answer their questions.”
Herbert bowed.
“You are dismissed,” said the King, waving one hand at them and scratching at his groin with the other.
Dreth bowed and backed away, mainly to be sure he had the king in his view whilst still in sword range, before turning and following the guard back out of the throne room.
They followed Herbert out of the hall and down through a maze of winding passageways. The Orcs in this area were all warriors, speaking in low voices, sharpening weapons or just lying on the floor. Dreth couldn't help noticing quite a few with recent looking wounds.
Eventually they arrived at a fortification along a major passageway and climbed several steps up to a narrow walkway shielded by a wall constructed of large stone blocks. They peered over the barricade, to look down a long wide tunnel littered with Orc and Ogre remains. In the distance, a good five minutes run by Dreth's estimate, a similar barricade faced them. The Enemy.
“The Ogres are down there,” said Herbert unnecessarily. “We call this The Tunnel of Blood'.”
“Delightful,” said Dreth, examining the war zone. “I’m not sure about the direct approach though. It doesn't seem to have worked well for you.”
“I could use an invisibility spell,” ventured Redthorne, who had also been looking over the area.
“Do they have mages?” asked Cuthbert.
Herbert made a neutral gesture. “They have shamans, like us. Don't know how powerful they are though.”
Redthorne pulled at his beard. “I should be able to overcome a few witch-doctors,” he said confidently.
“There are some other ways in as well, passages generally too small for them, or us, to use. They are probably trapped though, and I heard someone say that there are... vermin that live in them. Vicious vermin,” the Orc added.
Dreth ducked down as a large crossbow bolt flew up the passageway and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Percy yelped and dropped to the floor. He scuttled on all fours to crouch behind the wall, where he sat, hands on his head. Cuthbert stepped to one side and pushed Sprat behind him.
“Snipers too,” Herbert added cheerfully.
“Are you sure about this Dreth?” asked Cuthbert. “There must be other ways to get to the treasure.”
“Why don't we just walk into their territory and pretend to be friends?” asked Percy, from the floor.
Herbert shook his head. “No way to the Ogres except through us, at least without going miles around.”
“Mmm,” said Dreth. He peered over the wall again, carefully, and though about it for a moment.” Finally he turned to Redthorne. “Wizard,” he said, “get casting, I want invisibility on us all, and a shield if you can manage it...”
“Hold on, hold on!” interrupted Percy. “Are you suggesting we walk down there?” He gestured with a thumb over the wall, just as javelin sized missile flew up, missing Cuthbert by a fraction.
“Percy is right,” said the other zombie from the floor. “There has to be a better way than up suicide alley there.”
Dreth frowned. “What about these tunnels?” he asked of Herbert.
“Over there, too small for you lot though,” replied the Orc. “Anyway, have fun, I have to get back to my post.” He marched off, leaving the group to ponder the small opening near the ground.
Dreth looked down. “Split. How would you like to play a little game of Steal the Ogres’ Treasure?”
Sprat, who was sat in a corner sucking a thumb,* looked up at him. “Name's Sprat,” he said.
“Spit, Spat, whatever. How would you like a lovely new, er...” Dreth cast about for something that would appeal to the young zombie. He reached into the bag that Cuthbert had dumped on the floor. “A nice shiny leg bone? Still has some meat on it! See? Lovely and rotten.” He waved the limb about.
“Ok,” said Sprat.
“Hey! Wait a mi
nute there!” Cuthbert raised an arm, before realizing that could get it taken off. “That’s my son...”
Dreth cut him short. “Let's let young Sprot decide what he wants to do, eh youngster?” Dreth attempted to wiggle his eyebrows playfully, only succeeding in making a face that would have normal children wetting their pants. “Do you want a bone lad? A lovely bone?”
“Oh, come on, that's just blackmail,” complained Percy, “who wouldn't want a lovely leg bone?”
Sprat reached up and took the leg.
“Kid's decided, it's a done deal,” declared Dreth.
Cuthbert shook his head and covered his eyes. Dreth knelt down and spoke slowly to the little undead. “Now, this nice man here,” he gestured at Redthorne, “will cast some spells on you, okay?”
Sprat nodded, his head wobbling alarmingly.
“Excellent.” Dreth went on to explain what he wanted. “And I will just hold onto this leg until you come back okay?” He stood up and nodded at Redthorne, indicating he should start his magic.
Redthorne, standing back in a protective wall niche, cast a number of quick incantations. He waved his hands in several intricate gestures and pointed at Sprat, summoning a protective shield about the small zombie. That done, he spoke several words in a strange hissing language, and cause the small zombie to fade from sight.
“Cool,” came the voice of Sprat.
“Now Spot,” said Dreth, “off you go. Remember, if you don't come back with the box, I will personally tear your head off and feed it to the nearest Orc.”
“Name's Sprat,” mumbled the invisible zombie, but stumbled off towards the dark tunnels, his progress marked by his footsteps shuffling along, and the odd movement in the debris strewn floor...
*One he had found on the floor.
~ * ~
Sprat crawled through the passageways, some tight even for him. Around him creatures and things scuttled about in the dark. He was glad uncle Dreth had got that warm human to do the magic thing on him.
He paused a moment, squeezing back against the wall to allow something slimy and green with no legs to slither past. Stopping only to stick a finger in and taste the trail of slime left behind, not very nice, he carried on. The noises he had been hearing for a little while were getting louder.