Chapter Seventy-Five: Desperation

Sere’s bodies flew free of the mine shaft, breaking into the late afternoon sun. Tom returned to himself with a gasp. It was the longest period he had spent with his full attention running through one of his familiars by far.

He had knots in his back, and a burgeoning cramp in one leg, but he barely felt either. The others looked at him with concern in the dim light of the basement.

“Tom! Are you with us? Is everything okay? What is it you saw?” Rosa asked.

“Yes, I’m fine, it’s fine,” he said. He knew he didn’t sound convincing. Rosa quirked an eyebrow at him.

“There’s …a lot to discuss. It’s getting late, though, and we need to be out of the village rings as soon as possible.” Really, he knew that the discovery he had made might make them panic, and that would mean they would struggle to make it back out of the army’s territory.

“Tom, tell us. We-” Rosa began.

“Rosa!” He cut her off sternly. It came out harsher than he intended, and he immediately felt bad about it. She was looking down, flush rising in her cheeks. He would apologise to her later. Now, they had no time. They couldn’t afford for this news not to make it back. Luckily, they seemed to take him at face value. He resolved to tell them as soon as they reached the Deep again.

It was funny, really, how the Deep now felt like a safe place for him. He banished the thought, and focused on the present.

“Is everyone ready? Let’s move.”

Sere’s bodies had returned by now, strewn about the village they were hiding in. Tom made sure they were all clear, then they activated their stealth enchantments and slowly began to make their way back down the trade roads.

At one point, an orc almost blundered directly into them as they were waiting for it to wander past. Tom cast Hush on it, and stabbed it through the neck. Quietly, he dragged the body behind some burned timbers, and they carried on. His heart was stuck in his throat after that, and it wasn’t until they reached the Deep again that he began to relax. The information he carried was too important. He had to get back to the cave.

Once they were in the Deep, they picked up speed, trying to get outside the range of frequent orc patrols. It meant they couldn’t stop that night, so they simply continued right through, and through the next day as well.

When they stopped that night, safe behind wardpoles from any orcs accidentally stumbling across them, Tom broke the news to the squad.

Errol simply rocked back on the log he was sitting on, his eyebrows raised. Rosa immediately unleashed a furious tirade under her breath. Cass’ eyes went wide, and she began to tremble.

Tom tried to offer what consolation he could, he hadn’t much to give. He didn’t see an easy way out of the situation. His mind kept returning to the giant, hulking shapes in the dark. Each was easily ten times the size of a normal orc, if not more. He knew well the amount of power that orcs’ wiry muscles contained. He shuddered to think how much those behemoths could exert.

Would they be strong enough to threaten the walls? Tough enough to shrug off attacks from the Guards? What if they had skills? Could they forge orc Idealists together?

Tom had no answers to any of the questions, except for a growing certainty that they were in a far worse situation than they had believed. And that was saying something.

They slept fitfully that night, and every night, until they returned to Rea’s cave.

They strolled in, and found they were again one of the last teams to arrive. The atmosphere was jubilant, completely at odds with how Tom felt inside. It seemed the other operations had gone well. There was even singing in one corner of the cave. They must have gone well indeed.

Tom barely noticed further extensions to the cave as he sought out Val. More walls had been pushed back. The dormitories looked almost finished. Scriber and Cub’s workshop even looked a bit bigger, from what he could see through the open door.

He finally found Val, talking excitedly with a few of the other Hunter team leads. She turned and saw his face, and her expression dropped. She could see something was not right.

“Tom, what’s happened?” She glanced around his shoulder, clearly checking all his squad members were still alive. She quickly counted them off, realised that wasn’t the issue, and made the logical deduction. “What did you find..?”

“It’s bad, Val. It’s really bad. The other leaders should hear this too.” Val searched his face for a moment, then nodded. She strode off, gathering up the other team leaders, shouting for others. She returned quickly with all of them in tow, except for two who had not yet returned. Scriber came wandering out of his workshop at the commotion. People began to look around.

Val led them all into a new side room, just big enough to hold meetings of this kind. Rosa, Errol and Cass all followed. Everyone found seats, barely more than notches carved straight into the stone, and looked to Tom expectantly.

“What happened, man?” A grizzled veteran asked.

“Right.” Tom cleared his throat. “It’s bad.” He put his thoughts in order, beckoning for patience, then began.

“We went down the eastern trade road. We got to the second ring without being seen and holed up. I sent my familiar-” Tom summoned one of Sere’s bodies for example. “-to scout. What we found was not good.

“There were all sorts of logs and boulders, like parts for siege engines, all piled up. I found where this Great Smith likely was, but I could also see many orcs coming and going from the mines. But something seemed …off. They were taking food in, and widening the mine entrance.” Tom paused.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“I thought they might have been trying to sap the walls, or even to dig right into Wayrest. It seemed like the sort of simple plan the orcs could throw their ridiculous manpower into.”

“If they’re sapping the walls, we need to contact the Lord General immediately!” someone exclaimed. Scriber laid a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, quieting him. Tom continued.

“I sent my sparrows into the mine, just in case. Eventually, they came to a big cave. Probably two or three times as big as this one. They…” He stumbled, unsure of how to put it. He decided to rip the bandage off.

“They’re Forging, down there. But they’re not making new Idealists. I saw one of their chieftains, one of their Forgers, take regular orcs, and shape them. He added them to a monster… down there. They… they’re building monsters. They’re not building siege engines, they’re Forging them.”

His proclamation met stunned silence. No one spoke. Then Scriber asked a question.

“How big are they, Tom?”

Tom wasn’t quite sure what it was exactly about the question. Perhaps the simple mundanity of it. The practicality. But he was immensely relieved. He hadn’t realised, but some part of him had been worrying that no one would believe him. His heart firmed.

“About five or six times the size of a regular orc. At least. I have no idea at what point they’ll stop, what their goal is in terms of size. It seems like it uses a lot of mana, this type of Forging, and the going seemed slow. It also was not without loss. I saw at least two orcs get used, and their entire mass was not converted and added.” He sighed, rubbing his face.

“It doesn’t help us much, I’m afraid. There’s still no telling how long until they’re ready. But we’re in big trouble, I think. If something that big can’t shake the walls, nothing would.”

“Thank you, Tom. This is …disturbing news. We’ll want to discuss this further, and then inform General Steel. Thank you. Go get some rest,” Val said. She could obviously see how shaken he was by what he’d seen.

“Thank you,” he told them. “For listening to me. I had a thought, on the way here. I didn’t see it, so I can’t be sure, but the orcs have already shown us some crazy shit…”

“Hear, hear!” someone called sarcastically. It pulled a small grin from Tom.

“I think we need to prepare for them being able to forge Idealists into these siege orcs. Maybe they can’t, and I’m wrong, but… I don’t think it hurts to overestimate them.”

“That’s a good point,” Scriber said, wearing a frown. “We’ve given them too little credit for too long. This represents a threat on a scale we haven’t yet seen. It must be dealt with quickly.”

The team leaders broke into energetic discussion, then, asking that Tom send in the merchant woman so that they could contact the Lord General. It didn’t take long to find her, and she wearily wandered off to join the meeting. Tom imagined she was likely getting worked to the bone for that skill of hers.

Cass and Errol wandered off to find some food and catch some sleep. Tom and Rosa went in search of his mother. She was occupied healing several injuries, but promised to talk later. They went to the spot where they usually set up their bedrolls instead. A small door had been set in the wall behind it, with ‘T & R’ carved into it. They shared a questioning look, then went inside.

It was a tiny room. Maybe ten feet by ten. It had a raised stone platform, which had been covered in sheepskins, some small nooks along the walls, and two stone boxes raised higher than the bed-slab to either side of it.

Tom noticed some enchantments on the walls as he looked around. He thumbed one, and some low lights flickered on around the roof.

“Did you ask for this, Tom Cutter?”

He held up his hands defensively. “No! Not me. I was about to ask if you did!”

Rosa shook her head. “These are Scriber’s enchantments. That man is too nice.”

Nice. Tom’s mind flashed to Val, and he knew with sudden certainty who the culprit was.

“Well, I guess we can’t ask them to undo it all…”

Rosa snorted then tossed her pack in one corner. Tom followed suit, then began to strip off his leather armour and mail hauberk. It was getting tatty again, after so long without repairs. He would have to see if Cub could work some miracles.

His armour off, he felt like a great burden had been lifted from him. He sunk onto the sheepskins, and all the aches and pains and exhaustion he had been ignoring came roaring back. It was not unpleasant, in a strange way. He knew he would get a deep, uninterrupted sleep, and that he would not be called on for a day or so. Rosa sank onto the sheepskins beside him.

They lay in silence for a while, both clearly taking stock of their various levels of tiredness. Tom wondered whether he had the energy to go and get dinner for them. A sudden thought struck him.

“Those logs! The boulders!”

“Hmmm..?” Rosa said.

“The materials we thought were for building siege engines. They’re not rams or catapult stones. They’re giant spears and slingstones!”

“That is nice, Tom Cutter,” Rosa said.

“I should go and tell the team leads.” He made to stand, and found a soft hand forcing him back down.

“Wayrest will not fall before morning, Tom.”

Something in her voice pricked his attention. He turned to her, found her looking at him smokily.

“The way you talked to me earlier, in the basement…”

“Oh! I-”

“Shut up, Tom Cutter. You will ruin this. No. I liked it. It is good to see you… taking charge, sometimes.”

Tom’s thoughts spun out, like a water wheel above a river in drought. She had liked it? He had thought she was embarrassed!

“Okay,” he said, aware that he sounded a little simple.

“It is good,” she repeated, firmly. “Just be sure you do not get too used to it.”

Her voice was husky. She toyed with the buttons on her shirt. A seemingly absent-minded, innocuous behaviour, though for once in his life, Tom was not slow on the uptake.

A sudden, overpowering, all-consuming need erupted in him. Perhaps it was the constant danger they had been in. The unending stress. Perhaps it was simply him coming to trust Rosa, to trust that she actually had feelings for him. He knew one thing with blinding clarity.

He needed her. And so he took charge.

For the first time in months, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. No thoughts of orcs, of impending doom, of Wayrest burning, bothered him at all.

He slept, Rosa’s head on his bare chest, and the world became just a little bit more right.