“A barrow?” Arkk said with a scowl. There went his best plan.
The horde had holed up in an old burial mound some distance south and east of Langleey Village. He had been hoping for a nice open field where Ilya would have had a clear shot at the summoner from afar. Even if she couldn’t get a shot, somewhere open would have been better. Arkk had never been inside the barrows here. He knew from stories of mercenaries hunting down the odd necromancer that they weren’t spacious areas.
Tight quarters with around over a hundred goblins and a few dozen orcs sounded like a good way to get overwhelmed. If they were only attacked from one direction, the terrain might favor Vezta. Arkk couldn’t guarantee that, however.
“Is the summoning being conducted inside the barrow or out here?” Maybe there was still some hope for Ilya’s skills to put a quick end to the situation.
Olatt’an, the elderly orc with the battle-scarred face, shook his head. “The chief was preparing it within.”
“Damn.”
“Problem, ‘boss?’” Rekk’ar, the leader of the four orcs, said with a curl of his lip.
Arkk didn’t rise to his tone, instead taking the crystal ball from Vezta. He didn’t have as much control over it, being less experienced, but he had enough to scan through the tunnels beneath the earthen mound.
Goblins packed the tight corridors. There was only one entrance to the barrows, a narrow entrance that would probably force most orcs to duck as they walked through it. A short way in, the path split in three different directions. Following one goblin-stuffed path in the crystal ball, Arkk found what looked like a temporary barracks inside a larger chamber with skulls and other bones lining the walls. A little over a dozen orcs had cleared away the goblins, leaving space with small mats for sleeping on. The room and the corridors seemed to be lit with glowing stones similar to those that lit Fortress Al-Mir’s new library. Arkk wasn’t sure if they had been left behind by the ancients who had built the barrows or if the orcs had brought them in.
Following the center path, Arkk saw a much smaller chamber with a low altar. The altar was adorned with the same symbols as the Langleey church and it looked to have been built into the ground, meaning it was part of the original architecture. However, new symbols had been scrawled into the top using… well, it looked like blood, so it probably was. A much smaller orc stood hunched over the altar wearing a dark cowl and long robes, drawing a fresh profane symbol with her fingertips. It looked like she had cut her hand for the blood.
“That’s the chief,” Rekk’ar said, leaning over the crystal ball. “Fool,” he spat, watching her work.
“I thought orcs tended to follow the strongest of the group. She doesn’t look like much.” There were two other orcs in the room, standing near the entrance. Both towered over her. She might even have been shorter than Arkk or any other average human.
“Ah, but you don’t look like much either,” Olatt’an said, a smile creasing the wrinkles on his face. “Yet here we are, following you.”
“I… intimidated you into following me.”
Olatt’an nodded, then motioned toward the crystal ball. “The same is true here, though it is true that the only thing that saved the chief from being the runt of the group was her brother. Then she found that book in a village we… visited.” Tapping the ball, Olatt’an pointed at a thick tome that was chained to the cowled orc’s hip. A thick black book with glimmering red circles interlaced within each other on the cover.
Abbess Keena, though she stood a few paces away, narrowed her eyes. “The symbol of desecration,” she said, making a gesture with her right hand from her navel to her chin, then left shoulder to the left hand. She murmured a prayer as she did so.
“Whatever it is,” Olatt’an said, “it taught her magicks of foul nature. Put herself and her brother in charge after… embarrassing the previous leader.” Both Rekk’ar and Dakka, the shorter orc, looked to Olatt’an as he spoke with frowns spreading across their faces, but neither commented. “Turned our little group toward more vicious activities, taking more risks and… subjugating every goblin we came across. Be warned, the chief will not go down as easily as other orcs and the goblins will not fight against her.”
“Noted.”
After watching the summoner work for another moment, Arkk pulled the vision in the crystal ball back to the crossroads and followed the right path to another small open space inside the barrows. Goblins swarmed the room along with twelve heavily armed and armored orc guards.
“Humans!” John said with a gasp, looking over Arkk’s shoulder.
Three humans sat, huddled together. One was dressed in the tattered remains of what might have been a fancy suit at one point in time. To his left, someone wearing boiled leather armor tried to keep a straight back, but his face, black and blue with an eye swelled shut, looked like it had been used as a punching bag. A woman sat to his left, looking better than either of the other two yet still wearing the remains of a once fine dress. Arkk could see gashes along her arms and face, though none so bad as the armored man.
“The ones the chief is planning to sacrifice,” Rekk’ar said. “Looks like some more orcs have joined them.”
Six orcs were in the room as well, stripped of their weapons and armor. They sat apart from the humans yet they had not been treated any better.
“If we free them, they’ll help against the goblins and the chief?”
Rekk’ar crossed his arms. “We don’t speak for all orcs,” he said, then dipped his head slightly. “But it is likely, yes.”
“Good. Then—”
“Wait!” Dakka said, leaning close to the crystal ball. She pointed to two of the guards standing to the side of the room near the entrance. “That’s Orjja and Pett’en. They were thinking about leaving with us. If they knew there was another option…”
“Too late, girl,” Rekk’ar said with a sad shake of his head. “After our desertion, the chief will have her most loyal on watch. You’d never get in there. The most you can hope for is to shout in the fight and hope they hear over the bloodlust of battle.”
Dakka bared her tusks but slowly nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said, teeth clenched together.
The ones on watch, Arkk had already seen. The orcs had helped to point out where they would be. Three orcs stood outside the cave, crouched around a small campfire along with a bunch of goblins. But there were others, further out. The area around the barrows was made up of gently sloping hills with the occasional tree. Nothing as dense as a forest. Arkk had called the villagers and orcs to a stop well in advance of getting close specifically to avoid being spotted over the relatively empty plains.
“We need to take the watch out first,” Arkk said. “If we can get close before raising the alarm, we have a better chance at catching them before they bunker down. It looks like they rigged the entrance to collapse unless it was always that unsteady looking. Either way, I would drop the entrance, buying time to begin the summoning while any invaders were trying to dig their way in.”
“Master,” Vezta said, sliding forward. “If I may remind you of Fortress Al-Mir’s mines…”
“Mines? What… Oh. Oh!” Arkk’s eyes flashed with acknowledgment. “That… Does that work out here?”
“I don’t see why not. Those walls are hardly fortified and this barrow does not appear to have an active claimant that would hamper the magic of their teeth.”
“Got it,” Arkk said, mind churning over the possibilities. No matter what, however, they needed to deal with the watchers first to get closer. “These guards in the trees around the barrows need to go. Ilya, can you and…” Trailing off, Arkk looked over the group.
They had not brought most of the teens from the village. Only the eldest two. Nine men and six women had joined up. Of them, only Archie carried a bow. Despite his name, Arkk knew he was nowhere near a good enough shot to hit someone in a tree from a hidden spot.
Looking back to the orcs, Rekk’ar carried a particularly nasty-looking pike—more of a halberd—and Dakka wielded a shield covered in thick spikes alongside a battle axe large enough that Arkk doubted he could lift it. Olatt’an carried a crossbow but was quite the elderly man for an orc. The other carried a crossbow too, but… his size… any guard worth posting would see him coming long before he got within range.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Arkk said to the rotund orc.
The orc stiffened, drawing in a deep breath. “They, uh, they call me The Butcher,” he said, voice slightly deeper than normal.
“I’m not calling you that,” Arkk said, tone flat.
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped slightly, earning mocking laughs from all three of the other orcs. “I guess you can call me Larry then.”
“Larry.”
“That’s my name,” he said with a sigh.
“Not… Larr’ak or… something else?”
“No, I was raised among humans,” he said with a shrug. “Had a nice little shack to myself on the outskirts of Pineberg Burg. The village huntsmen would bring me their kills and I’d chop it up for them in exchange for keeping some for myself.”
Arkk blinked. “You were literally a butcher.”
“That’s what I said.”
Arkk closed his eyes and let out a small breath. “Why don’t we have you sit this one out?”
His comment got another round of laughs from the three orcs. Arkk got the distinct impression that they didn’t think too highly of their comrade here. Though, probably rightfully so. He didn’t look like a fighter and, if what he was saying was true, probably wasn’t a fighter.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
How did he wind up in a group of raiders? A question for later. They only had about two hours before this ritual was supposed to begin. No time for chatting.
Arkk, left with little choice, looked to Vezta. He didn’t want to send her away. Without her at his side, even a small group of goblins would overrun him in moments.
Then again, this time he had the villagers at his back and the orcs, as long as the latter didn’t break their bond and backstab him, but he was fairly sure a lightning bolt was faster than a battle axe.
“Vezta, Ilya, can you take out the guards in the trees without alerting the others?”
“Of course,” Vezta said with a deep bow.
“Yeah. As long as your monster doesn’t get in my way.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You—”
“Please,” Arkk said. “We need as much time as possible.”
Vezta bowed again and, after taking a few steps away from the group, tendrils ripped out from her own shadow, lashing around her as they pulled her down into the grass. That got a few gasps from everyone else around. Ilya headed off toward the southeast, opposite Vezta, drawing her black and white bow as she sprinted. Despite the speed at which she moved, Arkk heard nothing of her footsteps in the grass. Years of keeping silent and hidden from wild game would hopefully serve her well against the orc guards.
Luckily, orcs didn’t see any better in the darkness than humans did.
“Right,” Arkk said, waving both humans and orcs to his sides. “Don’t be too alarmed. Slave Natum,” he intoned.
“You know,” John said, “telling us not to be alarmed just makes me more nervous.”
“Might want to close your eyes,” Arkk said, pushing magic into the intoned spell.
A bubbling mass of flesh, eyes, and mouths formed before him, earning a groan from John.
“I was right.”
Arkk shook his head, focusing on summoning the lesser servants. He managed five before he started to feel the exhaustion. Stopping there, for now, he leaned down and whispered a few words. The lesser servants listened intently before turning away. Their bodies turned into one large mouth which promptly aimed downward at the ground. The five disappeared beneath the surface of the ground.
Turning back to find a group of sick villagers and orcs, Arkk frowned.
He wondered if Vezta could modify that spell so that miniature Veztas popped out instead.
Later.
“While they’re doing that, let’s go over the plan I have in mind…”
----------------------------------------
Arkk stood on the opposite side of the burial mound from the entrance. The large heap of earth was eerily silent. Being filled to the brim with goblins and orcs, Arkk would have expected some noise, but the air was as dead as those interred within.
Vezta and Ilya had been successful in their task, allowing Arkk, the villagers, and the orcs to approach the barrow. They had left the guards out front alone. They were too close and their deaths would surely cause a ruckus. Right now, Arkk had the element of surprise and he did not intend to give that advantage up.
A large hole now existed on this side of the mound where there had been none before. The lesser servants were swarming over the mound as Arkk directed. Why fight through a horde of goblins and trapped passages when he could simply make his own tunnels? He was just waiting on a few finishing touches.
Arkk glanced around, making eye contact with those around him. The majority of the villagers stood alongside him, as did Dakka, the brown-skinned orc warrior. She had a serious look in her eyes, staring at the incomplete tunnel ahead of them. No one spoke. Not even Jorgen and Hurtt. Everyone knew the plan and, with a few alterations suggested by Olatt’an and John, they had agreed that it sounded like the best course of action.
Olatt’an, along with Vezta, Ilya, Rekk’ar, and the braver villagers were a short distance away, positioned in front of a near identical hole in the mound. Vezta either sensed his gaze or noticed with the multitude of burning eyes positioned around her body. She turned her head, meeting his look with her proper eyes, and offered a small nod of her head.
Arkk could sense the lesser servants nearing the completion of their tasks. Turning his gaze to the crystal ball, he checked in on each of the rooms. Orcs in the makeshift barracks looked to be rousing each other. Likely in preparation for the ritual. Goblins still packed the corridors, but he was hoping to avoid dealing with the majority of them. There was movement in the prisoner’s room as well. One of the guards looked to be having a bit of a disagreement with the others, who were advancing on the human prisoners.
They were running out of time.
The summoner herself seemed to have finished drawing her patterns on the altar in the barrow. She stood over it, inspecting her work. Arkk couldn’t hear through the crystal ball, but he watched as she barked out orders at the pair of guards in the chamber with her. One turned back to the corridors immediately, but the other hesitated. He opened his mouth, saying something.
The chieftain took exception. She raised a finger, muttering something. A bolt of sickly green light crossed the distance between them.
The guard started screaming, tugging at the skin on his face. Blood started boiling from his mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. Lacerations split his skin. Blood gushed from his chest and arms and even his fingernails. He collapsed in short order, shuddering a few times before going still.
All the while, the chieftain simply turned her back to him, hardly a care in the world as she looked back to the altar.
If she had been a little more attentive, she might have noticed the crack split the rock between her feet. The gap widened, splitting apart to the point where she did finally notice, but it was too late. The ground disintegrated under her as the maw of a lesser servant ate into the floor of the room. She screamed as she drew a crooked knife from her sash and dark magic erupted from her free hand. Arkk felt the servant die near instantly, but not before wrapping a tongue around the chieftain’s leg, dragging her down into the deep, deep pit it had been digging for the last hour.
As other servants began collapsing the corridors on the goblins, Arkk drew a sword, dropping the crystal ball.
“Now!”
Servants ate through the walls of the prisoner room, completing the tunnels just as Arkk and the others charged in.
“Electro Deus,” Arkk shouted, frying an orc that Dakka had pointed out as one that would never betray the chieftain. Several goblins fell to lower-powered bolts as others rushed into the room.
The captive humans were screaming. They had probably been screaming ever since the orcs had started advancing on them, but that didn’t change now.
A cloud of dust billowed out from the collapsed corridor, but it brought with it a large horde of goblins that had managed to get out of the way of the falling ceiling.
They were intercepted, along with the surprised orcs, by Vezta’s group. Two orcs, a few humans, an elf, and a servant charged into the barrow, attacking anything that looked like a threat. Dakka rushed forward as well, running after her two friends to try to get them to give up… or else to be the one to grant them a warrior’s death. Her words.
The rest of the villagers behind Arkk weren’t here to fight. They had weapons, but their task was the prisoners. Both humans and orcs. John helped the leather-clad mercenary to his feet while Jorgen hauled the man in the wealthy clothing over his shoulder.
Arkk himself headed to the orcs along with Hurtt and the village blacksmith, Irving. The two largest non-orcs among their group. Larry followed as well. Not a fighter, but the hope was that a familiar face would convince the captive orcs to move a little faster.
A few lightning bolts sent after stray goblins were more for a display of strength than killing them. Vezta certainly needed no help. Fingers still crackling, he held his hand out to the orc in front of the group of prisoners, which caused a wince, but the orc set his jaw in defiance.
Arkk twisted his wrist, now holding his palm out as if to help the orc to its feet. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“It’s okay,” Larry said, sweating profusely as Hurtt slammed his weapon down on another goblin. “He hired us. Said he’d keep the humans from hurting us if we help take down the chief.” He paused, then glanced to Arkk. “Uh… Right?”
Arkk glanced aside, speaking in a flat tone. “Yes, Larry. That’s—”
A cry had him whirling around.
Ilya, back near the tunnel entrance trying to shoot arrows from afar, cried out as a goblin crawling along the wall pounced on her back. The goblin’s weapon was more a rusted slat of metal than a proper knife, but it was still sharp enough to cut as it flailed its little arms around. Blood spurted from Ilya’s face just below her eye before the goblin rammed the blade into her side.
Arkk didn’t even get a chance to cast a lightning spell before a crossbow bolt appeared between the goblin’s eyes.
His eyes traced the path of the bolt in a flash, noting Olatt’an already whirling to use the blade fixed to the end of his crossbow against one of the larger orcs. He slammed the butt of the weapon into the larger orc’s face before the blade sliced open his neck.
“Electro Deus.”
Six other goblins that had been clinging to the walls fell to the ground in smoking, twitching piles of limbs. The last one hit looked like it was about to get back up, only for a thick tendril to sprout from the floor and crush it against the wall.
Ilya, teeth clenched, had her hand pressed against her side, pinning the rusty blade in place as blood dripped from her fingers.
Arkk wanted to run over to her. She was alone, separated by the distance she had been trying to use to her advantage.
John made it to her first. With the battered mercenary already leaning on him for support, John scooped up Ilya into his arms and started carrying her out through the tunnels. The Abbess was outside. She could do more for Ilya than Arkk could.
“The Throatripper joined you?”
Arkk whirled back to the prisoners he had almost forgotten about. Something in his expression must have betrayed his anger; the entire group flinched backward as he faced them.
“Olatt’an,” Larry whispered, answering the question before Arkk had a chance to ask it.
Throatripper sounded far more vicious than Larry’s epithet, especially knowing that Larry’s was his profession. He wondered what kind of history Olatt’an might have behind him to garner that. Whichever of the prisoners had mentioned it had done so in reverence, not scorn. He probably had quite the body count. Then again, that was the man who had just saved Ilya from further injury entirely on reflex while engaged in his own battle.
“Are you coming or not?” Arkk said, deciding not to address it to anyone at the moment, prisoner or even himself.
The orcs seemed far less hesitant now, nodding near instantly.
Arkk turned away, unleashing a bolt of lightning over Vezta’s shoulder. She probably had been aware of the orc coming at her from behind, but it didn’t look like she had been moving to handle it.
The battle was dying out. With the corridors collapsed, the enemy couldn’t reinforce their numbers. Were it not for the goblins, both those in the room and those that had survived the collapse, the twelve orcs would probably have fallen long ago simply due to the villagers having superior numbers.
Dakka had blood on her axe. The woman she had pointed out earlier was at her side, but not the other one. She had blood dripping from under the leather armor she wore, leaking from a gash around her waist. Not that she looked to care. She wasn’t even hunched over.
The captive humans were gone, as were those who had been assigned to escort them out. Larry, Hurtt, and Irving were leading the captive orcs out. One enemy orc had thrown his weapon to the floor, keeping his arms in the air in the universal signal for surrender.
The rest were dead. Rekk’ar lifted his blade from the punctured skull of the last one who had been fighting.
Arkk couldn’t help but grimace as he noted that their side had not survived entirely intact despite surprise, numbers, and Vezta. Ken, the village brewer, was on the ground. A blade had bit into his neck, leaving him partially decapitated. The Abbess couldn’t cure death. Several others were sporting wounds that ranged from scrapes and cuts to deep gouges, especially in the arms. Vezta was treating the worst injury in much the same way as she had treated Arkk after a goblin gnawed on his arm. The village shoemaker, Benji, was missing his left arm below the shoulder. Vezta had his stump wrapped in her tar-like body.
Clenching his teeth, Arkk gnawed on his lip. He should have done more. He could have done more. The plan had been made with him going to the captive orcs in the hopes of keeping them from attacking their backs if they decided to stick with their kin. He had expected more of the orcs to switch sides after what Rekk’ar and Dakka had said. But only two had, the one who had thrown down his weapon and the woman at Dakka’s side.
And the night wasn’t done yet. They needed to get back to the Abbess. They had left her a few villagers—the teenagers and one other—as guards, hoping that everyone else would rejoin her before anything happened. The orcs and goblins at the entrance would surely have noticed the collapse and while they might spend a few minutes investigating there, they would eventually make their way around.
Then there were the orcs in the barracks. With the corridors collapsed, they would be trapped. Arkk had half a mind to leave them there after this.
But he was already forming a plan for them. Without captives in their room, Arkk had no reason to enter. A lesser servant could eat a small hole into the side of the barrow, forcing them to crawl out if they wanted to ever leave. They could be captured one by one from there.
That still left the chieftain. Arkk was hoping she had fallen to her death—the servant had dug quite a massive pit—but he wasn’t going to count on it. If she lived or escaped, she would certainly try again.
The chieftain was now the priority.
Teeth clenched together, he led the group out of the barrows, back to the field where Vezta and the Abbess could tend to the wounded before they had to continue.