Chapter Ten
When Kryzzl awoke to the bouncing of his pony on a bumpy trail, he opened his eyes to see that he was being escorted by a large guard. The guard had a burn across his throat from the fight on the night before. The clear morning was bright, they would be at Fael's tower by midday. “Where have Tystyl and Wyrmwood gone?” the prisoner asked, honestly confused.
“Shut it.” The guard had no patience for this man.
So they rode, through the villages and back toward the tower. Kryzzl had no fear of what might befall him this day. He knew he had played his part to the best of his abilities. There would be time to get another plan together, especially with every player obviously retreating. He sat on his pony wondering why.
Stopping to relieve himself, the guard watched over his shoulder to make sure the little man was going nowhere. Kryzzl sat, watching. He knew they were close. A smile crossed his face when the faint scent of orcs rode on the breeze. He knew what this guard was in for.
They came upon the tower in just under an hour. The imposing tower was looming over the dark, dead land surrounding it. Smoke rose from the many orc camps all around the base of the structure. The guard was beginning to wonder why he agreed to do this. The painful blisters on his throat promptly reminded him. Walking through the orc encampment was easy enough. Perhaps the orcs thought he was still under Fael's control, he figured. They walked right up to the front door of Fael's tower without incident.
Climbing the spiral stairs of the tower, the guard stopped on a landing and did as he had been instructed by the king. He bent down, drew a small box out of his pack, and opened it. He then walked away from the box, prodding Kryzzl with the butt of his spear to keep moving.
*******
The dwarves from Jire were rushing through the large tunnel. Seventeen hundred dwarves in all traveled through this corridor, a primitive tunnel that had once been used to transport ore from the only mountain in Caryn all the way back to the great workshops in Jire-Rey. With King Bareet leading the way, the army of dwarves made good time, arriving at the midway point, a large cavern filled with stores of weapons and provisions, in less than two days. “We be right under the city o' Caryn,” Bareet said to Lebouf, who was huffing at this point, “The rest is easier, me friend.”
The dwarves did not stop, though. They rushed along, intent on coming out of the mountain near Fael's tower very soon.
*******
Tystyl was the first to step out of Erimas' extra-dimensional box, leading the way. Wyrmwood and Lisann were out right behind him, followed by Grimm and Erimas. Adley stepped out behind Sunuva and the grunt who were hauling Sunuva's small catapult.
“Lisann, stay behind with Sunuva, no need for the catapult yet. I will take Father, Adley and Grimm to the top. We will summon you should we need you,” Tystyl said as he looked the woman in the eye, a silent word from his mid to hers told her that he would protect the dwarf with his life. Up, up they went, spiraling the tower stairs until they had come to the top.
Adley pulled a wand from the folds of his black and red cloak, waved it above the group, and activated a protection spell that would stop any instant death spells Fael might cast. Grimm prayed over the group, attuning his mind and soul to theirs so that he could better heal them when they were injured. Tystyl had his own items to help protect him.
The pendant around the king's neck was circular with a clear gem in the center. The gem began to glow with magic at his command. The armor he wore was enchanted to protect against fire spells, and his boots allowed him to move with the speed of a warhorse. He was ready, as were the rest. Now they waited for their signal.
*******
The dwarves filed into the chamber just inside the mouth of the cave, in the mountain just west of Fael's tower. They could see the spire, could smell the orcs, could hear their constant arguing and cursing. “Foul beasts, ne'er did like 'em,” coughed Lebouf, who was soon regretting this trip. The old dwarf hated orcs, had lost his children to them many years ago. Of all the creatures on the island, orcs were the worst.
The orcs were not very intelligent, but made up for that in brute strength. They killed and ate everything they could, and enslaved those they couldn't eat. Born and raised without regard to anything in their environment, they left paths of destruction anywhere the orcs would go. The tactics of the beasts were no less appalling than their manners. They would try to outnumber their opponents at least four to one, while another would try to sneak in behind for a quick kill.
“No worries, me friend. I have me plan, we're to get rid o' the orcs quickly,” King Bareet told his general. “Take captain Jon to the right, a small band. Separate a bunch, and then we take the rest by surprise.” This was not a new strategy while dealing with orcs.
Most other armies or factions will fall when the head is taken out, but orcs had no leaders among their ranks. They only had a master, who was usually a wizard who was pulling strings from afar.
“Aye, me king,” the general nodded, and rounded up the men he would need.
Exiting the cave in a heated rush, the dwarves ran down the hill toward the orc encampment. They ran in close enough for the orcs to see them, and then off to the south from there. Predictably, a large group of orcs pursued, thinking to catch and eat the dwarves.
“This was a bad idea,” Lebouf exclaimed to Captain Jon as they were running to their chosen battleground. Once in place against an overhanging cliff, the dwarves all turned and readied themselves for the coming battle.