There were few whose companionship Gohta cared for, and only a couple who tolerated his in return. Of the pair only Hohza was a person, with other being a feeling: shame.

On those occasions where he found himself rebuffed by his War Master, who favored discussing elven politics or poetry, Gohta would go and sulk in an unlit corner of the Rusted Blade. There, he at least had shame with him. Shame said he was pathetic to be drinking along. Shame said Hohza’s would only humor his presence for so long before his pity ran dry. Shame said to keep drinking.

He’d awake with the rooster’s calls, the stoop of the bar his pillow and the muddy road his bed. Once, he snapped to awareness while strangling a young orc to the rowdy cheers of the bar patrons. As he looked into the bulging, bloodshot eyes of his victim, Gohta thought it would have been nice to see the Wailing Terrors slaughter his squad in the fort. Maybe some could have been pounded on the door to beg to hide along with him and he would have held it shut and relished the sounds of them being torn apart.

He wasn’t even sure what insult this pup, fresh from the caves, angered him with. He relented, then, knowing the punishment for murdering a fellow orc was severe. Besides, the boy’s thrashing struggle had weakened to but feeble kicks. He threw him aside and grabbed an ale off the table. Taking a deep swig he returned to his dark corner then watched as the young orc was hauled away. Out of admiration or fear he was left alone by the other orcs and shame was duly silent.

Gohta urged his buffalo to move faster, in hopes of arriving at the Prison of Eternal Suffering shortly after midday. He did not ride alone. Behind him was Tad with their prisoner, tied to a stick. Following behind were the warriors from the North Country, along with Keg the boar.

Deep inside the orc, however, was shame. That nagging companion reminded him how one of the sprites had been captured … by a goblin from the Machines Works.

“How’s our prisoner holding up,” he asked, looking over his shoulder at the goblin.

“The prisoner is unconscious,” Tad answered. Despite this, he held the sprite at arm’s length. It was a dangerous thing to do when charging through a forest.

“No I’m not, you stupid goblins,” the sprite yelled at them. He squirmed against his bonds, twine from the goblin’s tool belt. “When my sister finds you she’s going to tear you apart! You think I was dangerous? She’s a dozen times worse!”

“A dozen times worse,” Gohta repeated with a mocking sneer. “I knocked her out with one blow.”

“You did not!”

“The only reason we don’t have the pair of you tied to that stick is because she was lucky enough to wake up before me.”

“You’re a filthy liar! Renaut is incomparably ruthless and feared among the Seven Sprite Tribes as a ruthlessly fearsome warrior!”

Just as his buffalo trampled through the forest, shame trampled on Gohta’s boast. Had he awoken before the sprite, he would have stamped her dead. Why would a fearsomely ruthless warrior have spared him? As he mulled the thought he choked on the reins. His buffalo wavered and moaned in confusion.

Gohta righted his ox and looked over his shoulder again. “Tad, get in touch with Hohza. Let him know that we’re almost at the prison, we have the sprite prisoner, and we have the North Country soldiers behind us.”

“Sure,” Tad said. However no communication was made.

When Gohta looked to ask why, he saw Tad with the prisoner, his bug-like face looking annoyed, in one hand and the communicator in the other. The goblin kept switching his attention between the two.

“What is it, Tad,” Gohta asked with an impatient whine.

“It’s just … using the communicator hurts him,” Tad said. The sprite nodded in agreement.

“He’s a prisoner, Tad! Use the communicator!”

Tad winced. “Sorry, Henri.”

“Don’t apologize to him. He’s a prisoner!”

“Exactly, he’s already caught so there’s no need to hurt him more.”

“I’d like to not be hurt any more … and to have my clothes back,” the sprite said. His meek tone was laughable given all the soldiers he’d killed the night before.

“Shut up, prisoner! We know you kept weapons in those robes.”

“Sorry, but we do feel safer without you having your weapons,” said Tad to the Henri.

“What did I say about apologizing?!”

“Henri, this is going to hurt but I need to contact my War Master,” Tad said. His sheepishness made Gohta cringe.

“Dread Lord’s mercy,” Gohta grumbled. He released his right hand from the reins and quickly reached back to smack the sprite on the head. Unconscious, the sprite’s eyes rolled back, his head tipped forward, and the antennae hung limp. “Now call War Master Hohza,” Gohta barked at the goblin. Tad glared at him, his lower lip thrust out in a pout. As the goblin lifted the communicator to his mouth Gohta returned to steering his buffalo.

“This is Tad and Gohta,” the boy reported with a grudging gruffness. “We’ve captured one of the enemy sprites but, we lost our key stone and, we’re on our way to the prison with reinforcements!”

“Tad! Glum will be pleased you survived the night,” Hohza responded. Shame eagerly pointed out the War Master didn’t express any joy that Gohta was alive. “We’re expecting the invaders to arrive at the prison grounds any time now. You have one of them captured, though! I’ll integrate that into my plans,” Hohza answered with surprising cheer given the night’s casualties. Surprising for an orc, at least. The War Master’s elf training emphasized maintaining morale in ways other than threats of violence. “Speaking of plans, Glum has joined Toran at the medical tent south of the Prison.”

The buffalo struggled at a sudden incline and cried out as it dug its hooves into the dirt to climb. Gohta could see clear sky through the trees lining the top of the bank; they were approaching the road. He slapped down on the reins, urging his steed forward. “Make it up or I won’t even bother slaughtering you before the roast!” He looked to Tad. “Tell Hohza we’ll approach through the west gate.”

“No! We expect the enemy to come from that direction! See if you can circle around and come through the north,” Hohza replied. Shame chuckled at the fact Gohta couldn’t even pick the right direction to arrive from.

The buffalo crested the bank and dragged itself into the road. As the animal breathed deep his riders rose and fell like they were bobbing on waves. It shook its head, chomped down a mouthful of leaves and strolled along the road. Gohta looked behind them, seeing the road empty, and then before them, with the tower’s tip poking up over the trees in the distance. “Forward,” he commanded and the buffalo began at a relaxed pace. It would need to rest a little if it would do him any good in combat at the prison. Taking the road, even at this slow speed, they were covering more ground than they did in their dash through the rough woods.

“Gohta, Hohza said—“

“I heard him, Tad! We’re coming in through the West Gate. My animal can’t afford to cut through the woods at speed anymore and if we went slower we’d risk not getting there in time. We’ll take our chances along the road.”

As his buffalo ambled along the road the woods were calm. While some orcs preferred to drink and be rowdy before a battle. Hohza always advised calm and rest. While a nap would be inappropriate, Gohta took in the relative quiet of the woods. In the distance the woods was being trashed as Palical and his horde, along with those scouts from Bigrummar’s camp, trampled toward the Prison. With the prisoner still unconscious Tad didn’t ramble with him nor did he seem interested in chatting on the communicator. Perhaps the worker appreciated the seriousness of the situation.

Then the sprite awoke. “You were really rough, you fat orc! I ought to report you to … some sort of authority.”

“We serve War Master Hohza and he reports directly to the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows. I don’t know if there’s a form or process for lodging a complaint about our conduct. I know there’s one in the Machines Works. This one time, Glum and I were visited by a team from the Eighth Sewers Cleaners District and …”

“Tad, shut it,” Gohta grumbled to the boy, already missing the unaccompanied noise of his buffalo’s heavy steps and breathing.

“Okay,” Tad whimpered.

“He’s right, though. You’re in a combat situation and we really should be quiet or else my friends will find you and kill you,” Henri said. “And that’d be shame because I’m kind of starting to like you, Tad. This guy, though.”

The road was clear ahead. However, something moved in the woods on the south side, to Gohta’s right. Where the road bent, something rustled. Too low to be birds or razor squirrels and not big enough to be bearwulv or even spike antler. A silhouette stood there, standing as still as a tree, but too bulky to be one. Tall and thin, it could only be an elf.

“They’re here.” Gohta leaned forward and slapped the reins. The buffalo brayed in excitement and buffaloed down the road, cutting the corner so close he sheared a sapling with his right horn. Just behind, the outcropping of trees exploded with the sound of riders giving chase. As they did, a tree just ahead lit up as though struck by lightning. A bough split off and fell to the ground.

“Let Hohza know we encountered the enemy on the road and are approaching the West Gate at speed, with them following, as planned,” Gohta commanded Tad. He hunched over, focusing on the road ahead. Then, remembering one of the enemy was with them, he reached back and knocked the sprite out with a flick of the wrist. After the boy relayed the message, Gohta asked him “what do you see back there?”

“Uh … horsemen. Three of them. A dwarf, an elf, and … a human? No, those are elf ears,” although Tad’s voice cracked he remained calm.

“Three,” Gohta wondered aloud. It would make sense that the remaining sprite wouldn’t ride a horse, but there should be a third elf among them. “Tad, is their attention on us or the prisoner?”

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“Who?”

“The sprite!”

“They’re focused on us! The smaller elf, although he’s still tall, I think he’s pointing his hands at us.”

Pointing his hands? Had that tree been struck by a spell slinger with poor aim? Did they intend to stop Gohta’s as recklessly as possible and hope the sprite survived? Dangerous as the sprite was in combat, once stripped of his robes he was hardly a hearty specimen. Not that they had reason to suspect the one rider they encountered was carrying one of their own. “Tad, hold up the prisoner! Let them know he’s with us!”

“Okay.”

With a quick glance of his should, Gohta witnessed Tad’s meek attempt at displaying the prisoner. The stick shook in his trembling grip as he barely lifted it over his head. The sprite bobbed about at the other end, his head bouncing with each shake.

“No, Tad, hold him up!”

After tucking his communicator into his belt, Tad got to his feet, gripping the back of Gohta’s tunic for balance. As he grabbed a corner of the cloth into his fist, Gohta’s collar pulled up, choking him. Then he raised his left him and waved Henri about. “We have your friend with us!”

A shrill voice overpowered the buffalo’s hooves as they pounded the gravel road. “They have my brother! They’re displaying him like a trophy! Kill the monsters!”

At least Gohta no longer had to worry the sprite didn’t consider him worth killing.

Although the tower was visible ahead, it loomed frustratingly far. Fortunately, their intent was only to make it to prison grounds and not the tower, which lay in the center. Those grounds were marked by the gates. The western one, newly renovated to mimic the ancient originals, was mercifully close. The black, wrought iron bars were topped with spikes fastened with sculpted skulls were meant to menace adventurers. To someone desperately trying to reach grounds for safety, they were as welcoming as a bar’s doors.

A team of orcs posted by the gate jumped to attention as Gohta and his pursuers approached. Archers dashed for better angles and nocked arrows while others worked to pull open the gate.

“We’re going to make it!” Tad bounced, pulling the bunched up cloth with him as they did and bustling Gohta.

They crossed between the gates. As they did, the archers shot at the pursuers and the other orcs readied their weapons. Hopefully they could delay the enemy a moment before dying.

A force was amassed a half mile before the tower’s base. Bigrummar’s massive frame was apparent, which meant Yurzan and the rest of his war party were a part of the defenses. Hohza also stood out, as he raised up his electric blade, which shone bright blue against the grey-blue sky.

The soldiers at the gate hadn’t lasted for more than a breath, if they’d engaged the enemy at all. As his allies began to charge toward him, Gohta whispered “steady” to his buffalo.

“Should we turn or something,” Tad asked in a squeak. As tension made the boy pull tighter on Gohta’s shirt he was strangled by the neckline. Hohza and his forces broke to sweep around the buffalo. As he passed, Hohza gave Gohta a reassuring wink.

“What’s it look like back there, Tad?” The buffalo galloped ahead there was clashing behind. Horses screamed and magic boomed in horrific fashion.

“They’ve stopped the enemy!”

“Tad, use the communicator. Let them know one of the elves is unaccounted for. I’ll join them in a moment.”

While the prison campus had contained many buildings, only a few had been maintained over the millennia. There was: a wing of the barracks, a couple of goblin offices, and a warehouse. Most structures had fallen-in roofs, broken walls, and were overrun by plants and animals. It seemed cleaning up the area had been on the Logistics Corps’ agenda, as they’d left a pile of equipment in a field. Near the field, Gohta spotted a hut with most of its stone walls still standing, despite a tree having sprouted through the roof, Gohta brought his steed to a trot and circled around to the rear of the building.

As the echoes of a raging battle were carried on the wind, Gohta and Tad dismounted. Once they did, the buffalo collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud and a long, exhausted groan.

“Poor thing,” Tad remarked as he patted the animal’s head. The buffalo’s nostrils flared with each desperate breath.

“Won’t be of any use now.” Gohta stooped to remove his bags from the harness. Inside were his weapons and armor.

“So what’s the plan?” Tad held the still unconscious sprite to his face. He lightly tapped Henri’s cheeks with his fingertip.

“You get away from here. As long as we can keep our prisoner, they can’t win. Even if they collect the lures, they’d have to exchange them for their ally,” Gohta answered while pulling on his studded leather pieces. He and Gohta favored the lighter armor of scouts, although his War Master had taken to wearing a sleeve of metal on his right arm and shoulder.

“Does that stop them from killing us?”

“It means they’ll be distracted trying to rescue him before focusing on collecting the lures. Hopefully that gives us the opportunity to beat the rest of them! Head south and go join Toran and Glum at the Medical Tent.”

“Okay!” Tad gripped the stick in his hand and began marching across the field toward the southern gate. He disappeared among the tall blades of the long-neglected lawn. Gohta watched and sighed as he watched the boy grunt in frustration while trying to part the veritable forest with his hands.

“Use the walkways!”

“Right! Sorry!” Tad backed out and then bounded along the broken stone covered paths southward.

Without his boar, the goblin likely wouldn’t make it out of the campus. Hohza had teams spread throughout the grounds, however, and with luck one would spot Tad and help him.

Gohta looked down at his exhausted buffalo lazily pulling grass into his mouth and lamented that he, too, was without a ride. After spotting his canteen in his bag, Gohta popped open its cap and lifted the animal’s head by gripping him under his chin. “Drink up. If we survive this, maybe I’ll even name you.” The animal happily lapped at the water as he poured it down his throat. Once emptied, Gohta tossed the canteen to the side. He then retrieved his sword and fastened the scabbard to his waist. He crept to the edge of the wall and peeked around the corner to spy the raging battle.

Tad hadn’t exaggerated when he said Hohza and the others stopped the pursuers. Two of the horses had been felled. With a troll like Bigrummar swinging that giant cleaver of his, cutting down charging horses wasn’t a challenge. While Hohza and the dwarf dueled, the two elves and other sprite combatted everyone else on the battlefield. Still mounted, the elf woman kept her distance, circling the brawl while sniping fighters with magical bolts shot from her hand. Renaut was with her, sitting on the elf’s shoulder. She attacked orcs by pitting the grass at their feet against them. It inched up their armor and swarmed their faces, choking them by stuffing their mouths. While they rolled on the ground, choking, she watched her surroundings, likely seeking her captive brother. Finally, the big elf swatted at this enemies with a club so massive it rivaled Bigrummar’s cleaver as they squared off. That left one elf still unaccounted for. Perhaps he was a straggler and would be caught in Palical’s approach.

With a deep, relaxed breath—as Hohza taught him—Gohta prepared to stroll out to the fight. Unlike Tad, he didn’t have time to wander about in hopes of finding help from allies hidden in the ruins. Just as he began plodding through the overgrown field, Gohta realized that the pile of rakes, buckets, sacks of fertilizer, and other tools had been used to hide one of the goblins’ trucks.

Not that it would have taken much effort to make the awkward contraption look like junk. While the front was not unlike a sleigh used in the mountains the back was an incomprehensible tangle of pipes and metal boxes and instead of runners it had belts of metal slats underneath.

As Gohta approached the truck something inside it disturbed the pieces piled atop it. Then a little green face with black hair tucked under a bright orange cap poked out, sending a cascade of yard tools tumbling to the ground. The goblin yelped and dived back down, leaving Gohta to toss aside equipment and unbury him.

“I thought you’d all evacuated,” Gohta said.

“We did, sir,” he squeaked. “But I was told to watch over this truck.”

“Does it work? Can you operate it?” Gohta threw off the remaining camouflage. Although it made a spectacular noise, it didn’t draw the attention of any combatants.

“Yes?”

“Then I order you to take me into combat with this vehicle.”

“This is the great and mighty Dread Lord Withering Sorrows’ property,” his tone failed the strength of his words. He curled upon himself in the seat, shivering as he pressed against the inside of the sleigh.

“Quite fitting then that I will ride it into combat in service of the Dread Lord!” Gohta flung himself into the seat beside the cowering goblin. He saw the array of levers and dials before him. Pointing at the “Now get this thing going. That’s a command from a member of War Master Hohza’s War Party!”

After a gulp that involved bobbing his head and humping his shoulders the goblin reached up and, hands shaking, worked the controls to make the truck rumble to life. With a startling pop it blew a cloud of white from the back and began rolling forward. Wooden handles snapped and metal parts creaked as they were crushed under the treads.

“Good luck with the elves!” The goblin lifted himself by bracing against the rail and was about to leap out of the truck.

Gohta pulled him back in by his belt. “If I have to suffer having goblins in my War Party, then you can help me charge into battle.” the orc grumbled.

“This thing moves more like an ambling herd of sheep.”

“All the better.” Gohta pointed ahead. It would take several minutes to reach the battle. In fact, Gohta could have walked faster as the contraption rolled along while the goblin worked the controls of the dashboard with aplomb, licking his lips as he got into the process.

Since these trucks were unfamiliar to the World of Light it might prove a distraction to the invaders to witness one approaching. The fact it was being driven so boldly, yet so slowly, might even make the enemy consider it’s some sort of trap. Gohta smiled when the battle came to a sudden stop as he drew near in the noisy, slow-moving truck. Behind the elves and dwarf, Yurzan was taking the respite to rally archers who had been waiting at the edges of the fray. In the distance, Palical and his crew were storming in through the western gate, unnoticed by the invaders.

Even shame was impressed.

The big elf pointed his club at the truck. “Look, Bonnelle, it’s like that thing we saw at the farm! Do you think we can we ride in one of those later on? It looks like fun!”

After imagining shame’s derisive laugh, Gohta groaned.

By pointing in the elves’ direction, Yurzan commanded his troops to unleashed a flurry of arrows. The big elf scrunched behind his club. Several arrowheads dug into its already scratched and pitted surface. The elf girl held up her hands to produce a bubble of light. As arrows struck the magical shield they snapped and bounced off. She felt their impact, however, and although the barrier held the elf was knocked from her horse, causing the sprite Renaut to fly off her shoulder. The horse ran off, screaming.

The dwarf, being so near Hohza, hadn’t been targeted. She wheeled about to examine the battlefield. As she did, she held out her hammer at Hohza, keeping him at a distance. “Ayara, get a vantage point! Kornin, you’re with me!” She dashed off, heading for a husk of a barracks with the big elf following. The girl and sprite vanished from the battlefield, likely a trick of sprite magic.

The truck rumbled toward Hohza who was heaving, his electric blue sword still in his hands, after his heated duel with the dwarf. He watched Gohta’s approach with a playful smirk on his face.

Gohta thanked the goblin for his help and bounded out of the truck as it passed the War Master. He ignored the goblin’s curses as he rolled away.

“There are few warriors who can boast about turning the tide of a battle just by entering it,” Hohza said as he and Gohta shook hands. Hohza breathed heavily and the weariness on his face betrayed that the brawl with Bonnelle had not gone well. He seemed about to discuss things further, however Bigrummar, Yurzan, Palical and his group approached. He puffed his chest and sheathed his blue sword. “Tad and prisoner?”

“On their way to the medical tent.”

“Where they’ll be safe with the rest of the enchanted lures.”

“Pardon?” Gohta’s blood chilled. He looked southward.

Hohza held up the purple velvet pouch which housed the Eggfinity. “It seems we’re victim to my mentor’s scheming. Before the enemy came, I climbed the tower to collect the lures and found them missing … save for this.” He shook the bag for emphasis before cinching it under his belt.

“If most of the lures and our prisoner are at the tent then I’ve put all the injured there in danger.” While Hohza patted his underling on the shoulder and assured him his plan was a solid one, barring unforeseen complications, shame shook its head and marked yet another embarrassing failure.

“The enemy is split, however. One of the elves remains unaccounted for and even the team we faced here has been divided with your presence.” Hohza waved at Palical and his troops. “And we’ve reinforcements!”

Bigrummar and Yurzan sauntered over with their soldiers flanking them. The troll pointed at Gohta and spoke with spittle flying from his angry countenance. “Gohta, what do you think you’re doing? You nearly ran me over in that crazy thing!”

“Pretty sure even you move fast enough to get out of its way,” Yurzan said, rolling his eyes as he did. He spun his dagger around the fingers of his right hand as he walked.

“That Bonnelle lives up to her reputation. Had your allies not kept her team from engaging me, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.” Hohza pointed at Yurzan. “Good work, using their distraction to launch a counterattack.”

Some cheers and jostling went around. Even Gohta felt camaraderie with the other War Party. Then Hohza raised his fists into the air to get everyone’s attention. “Now that the vermin had gone into hiding, it’s time to hunt them down and clean out our prison!”