Beyond Dagothar (The Oraclon Chronicles Book 1) Page 6

  spire Mountains. A place in old gyant speech

  called Kag'ar Grul, or...Where Titans Flee.

  Annals of Uthril, excava-

  ted from Barrowen

  Devilspire Mountains...Kag'ar Grul of the Bholbash orcs

  A few days ago I was escorted to the interior of Kag'ar Grul Keep. This huge mountain was the center of Bholbash orc culture, the rulers of most of the Devilspire range. Only in southern Devilspire did the Bholbash orcs yeild to the sovereignty of the feared axemaster orcs.

  I had been given about an hour with an interpreter to explain to the orc chieftains about the history of the Uprising and the Warlord, his armies of underworld warriors and their present course straight toward Devilspire Mountains. The history lesson was required because the orcs keep no written records and their own oral traditions are too mythic to be relied upon as historical memory. Unlike the dwarves, elves, giants and faeries, orcs have lifespans similar to humans, so there were none alive today who experienced those prior wars.

  Those orcs in attendance stood far apart from me. The chamber was dimly lit by embers in deep bowls suspended from chains but I knew the orcs could see good. Several older orcs had listened with younger warrior chiefs, local goblin clan leaders, some tall cave ogres and toward the back standing in the darkest shadows was a cyclops giant. As I was giving my speech three fierce-looking long-haired orcan axemasters entered the chamber and listened. These figures were the most dangerous in the cavern chamber and they stood proud and undaunted by the glances and stares aimed their way by the hundreds in attendance.

  When I arrived, probably the only human ever to have walked these halls willingly, Matthias was busy flying to the villages, strongholds and surrounding colonies of orcs, goblins, minataurs, hill giants and some surprisingly civilized rock trolls. During these trips Matthias was aware that he was being observed by sharp-eyed condor men that never allowed him to approach without ascending rapidly to altitudes that he could not follow. I had assigned the gauntleteer the task of bringing them all under the leadership of the Bholbash orcs for mutual protection, knowing this would further please the Bholbash elders. Some of these groups were defiant and unruly.

  But that was many days ago. Now I stood in a vast congregation cavern with a center outcrop of rock flattened for a platform. Many stone benches were provided for seating and they were full of orcs, mainly commanders and chieftains with leaders also from Dijin Castle and Ebrog Pass, two mighty valley fortresses. The only cavern ceiling supports were three massive pillars of twisting stone left standing after this natural cavern once home to titans had been carved wider by the orcs over hundreds of generations.

  Though we Borderealm rangers are usually despised by the orcs, by almost all attending this gathering in fact, we are nonetheless respected. Seen with suspicion and contempt on the one side, we were regarded for our exploits on the other. The orcs were in the habit of exaggeration and the tales they told among themselves of our exploits have little semblance with reality. No rangers had committed any hostile acts toward the orcs in a very long time, since the three ancient Devilspire Invasions when the orcs invaded the plains of Feymark'ul. But they didn't recall this, far it was beyond their memory. What they did remember, though, was a treaty the Borderealm rangers secured for them with the scorpinids of Splinterdark that had sought to eradicate them. Foolish orcs raided Splinterdark forest and incurred the wrath of the

  Mound Barons. Countless scorpinid soldiers and drones, a host formerly under the spell of the Shadowitch who was now dead, poured into the mountains of Devilspire and terrified the orcs.

  In but two days the orcs lost their valley and were holed up inside this mountain keep until the rangers during my grandfather's day secured for them the treaty, the scorpinids returning to their woodland haunts assured that they would see no more orcs under their trees.

  The orc elders remember my grandfather. His name was Jebrael Arrowloft, also a Caerean bowmaster. He raised me in the order and even adopted Michel. My father did not protest, a woodcutter. He and I were never close. My mother died at my birth and he had taken it very hard, from what I was told years later. A few years after Michel's training was complete, grandfather died, seven years ago at the age of seventy-three. By orc tradition I was guaranteed protection because I was of the seed of the Peace Bringer. Matthias did not come inside the mountain for no such protection extended to him. Trevor was at Dretchwold Hills with the lizardfolk. Luey went to Wandering Elms and should now be travelling east. Michel was at Shannidar, going to Sigils Arch. Abdias was heading home, and going to Deckers Port, the closest civilized town of humans outside of Arborealm.

  The Bholbash orcs were represented in full by over two dozen chieftains. Also in attendance were goblins, other orcs, ogres and hill giants allied to the Bholbash orcs. Another group represented was made up of cave ogres, hill giants, some minataurs, two cyclopes and hunchback rock trolls. The cyclopes had war paint around their single eye like a black sunburst. The minataurs wore shaggy skins with odd symbols etched and painted on their horns. The giants wore sewn lion skins.

  A third group consisted of nine orcs in heavy armor all having masterwork hatchets strapped to their backs. These orcs were taller, heavier than the Bholbash orcs, a different breed with long skulls and eyes that conveyed a much higher intelligence. All nine of them had their stringy, thick locks of black hair tied back in tails behind their heads.

  Axemasters.

  They were the most dreaded of all orcs. Supreme among warriors, barbarians and soldiers, they were feared by all who had been unfortuante enough to have them as enemies. Their battle prowess was legendary, admitted by the dwarves who hated them and the elves who feared them. Though I have never witnessed an axemaster fight, Matthias had told me stories of the slaughter they effected in the past. Cavin Knightshade was the only one of us who had personally watched an axemaster in battle and he assured us at Conclave a few years ago that even Poltyria raised no men who could equal the feats he saw. Cavin is an expert swordsman.

  When my eyes adjusted I had found it interesting that there were gathered here a small collection of athradoc. These were better known as dark faeries. Most of them lived in the forests of Dimwood, Splinterdark, Treehelm, in the Silapenti swamps and jungles, in Feyknot-on-the-Water and a few were known to reside in secluded areas of Arborealm. But these dwelt here in Devilspire Mountains and I had never come across them before. There were panlike satyrs with blackish wrinkled skin and sharp barbed spears, a few long-haired goat centaurs with two-handed maces, bows and arrows and shortswords harnessed to their waists. A female centaur stood with them, bags hanging from her flanks and a ceremonial knife slung across her breasts. Standing among them were two feathered condor men that we rangers had seen often in our travels but never encountered. A lone figure that appeared to be made of rocks like an elemental stared at the assembly with yellow unblinking eyes. I had never seen anyone like him before.

  A large silver-haired orc rippled with muscle stood on the platform. He raised his staff which was topped with the skull of his predecessor. By long tradition the Great Orc's symbol of rule was the skull of the Great Orc he defeated to gain the position. The cavern quietened . He spoke slowly to the assembly and paused, allowing the many translators to convey his words in goblin, giant and sylvan. None cared to translate to me but I took no offense. I understood sylvan, which was relayed through a condor man who understood giant.

  I looked around at the nods the leaders of various groups gave when the Great Orc looked their way. The Bholbash orcs were more organized than I thought. The whole cavern knew what they were facing. Many among the crowd gathered took turns speaking. This went on for a good while and much of it I missed because the words were not conveyed in giant all the time, so the condor man translating for the athradoc faeries did not speak. Eventually I perceived that an argument was occurring and suddenly all eyes turned on the group of silent axemasters.

  When one of the axemasters slightl
y nodded whatever was being contended, ended.

  After an hour or so of speeches, questioning, reports and planning, the Great Orc raised again his staff and the entire cavern erupted deafeningly in yelling and the clashing of weapons, boots, feet, hooves and claws. Howls, grunts, gutteral shouts and the gnashing of teeth added to the noise.

  I knew then that the Bholbash Alliance was born.

  As others began emptying out of the mountainhold the female orc interpreter I had spoken with days earlier appeared again at my side.

  "It be done...we fights together." Her words were syllable-by-syllable but easily understood.

  "What was all the talk about?"

  "Many see things...animals in Dimwood flee...goblins of Darkfrost gone...killed...many fires in the west...battles...giants from underworld seen...black elves on monsters fly at night...condors see fifty burning villages...chiefs say rangers to be trusted...strange-colored dragon flies by day...all think there be five or seven armies...many refuse Bholbash leaders...Great Orc not trusted...they will follow axemasters..."

  At hearing this I now understood all that I had witnessed. Evidently the enemies of the orcs of Devilspire still refused to ally totally to the Bholbash orcs, but as the axemasters were revered, feared and respected by all, they would join the alliance only if led by them.

  As I made my way out of Kag'ar Grul I wondered how the others were faring.

  All of Dimwood was awed by their exodus.

  The whole race of Silthani elves departed the

  wood of their nativity and resettled in the plains

  of Shannidar, so named after the ruling family

  they followed. Here did the elves erect great

  citadels. The city of Sigils Arch was built to

  rival even Nimbolc of the dwarves and Talan

  Dathar of men.

  inlaid green quartz inscript-

  ion in old sylvan ruins of

  Feymark'ul

  Citadels of Shannidar

  Michel looked down in dismay from the upper balcony of the old fortress. The underworld army of hornback orcs marched in ranks and the sight was unsettling. Orcs were not supposed to be so disciplined. Altogether their were about eight thousand enemy troops on the ground. But somewhere unseen was an aerial cavalry. The others along the balcony stared quietly down at the approaching enemy.

  The Borderealm ranger had arrived two days ago and informed the Ayr about all those things discussed at Conclave. The Ayr, known by other faery races as the Noble Ones, were a very protective species of faery shapechangers that often acted as guardians over others in need of their vigilance. A race as lethal as they were benevolent. These were a very old race dating to times when unicorns were still found in the forests and pegasi on the winds.

  But time did not favor them and they were now a diminishing breed. Their numbers were largely made up of dark-furred, slender humanoid women with feline features that could change into large black panthers. The apanthoi. The second largest group of Ayr were the hawkmen, the only Noble Ones that could fly. The third group and least populous were the dangerous bruun, ferocious bear shapechangers that towered over the others. The fourth and last group of surviving Ayr numbered only two, the ariels, lionlike leaders of the Ayr. The two brothers were the leaders of the Ayr, Eganosh being the more prominent, and Alaryel. Gone were the weasel, the owl and the sparrowen. The Ayr have cousins in the outlands of Borderealm but they were never considered to be Noble Ones. The closest kin were the now wicked and infamous Magrar of Gnosh.

  The Noble Ones earned their epithet from a lengthy history of settling disputes and rescueing those in peril, seeing wayfarers safely through their territories. A forgotten race of elves beyond the memory of men had constructed the citadels on the plains of Shannidar and built the vast city of Sigils Arch. Long ago, after the departure of the Silthani, the Ayr occupied the ruins throughout Shannidar and only small parts of the ruinous metropolis. Living in the west, the Ayr never forgot their home in Everleaf, with Elderboughs.

  Michel and many of the Ayr had taken up a position in the far northern citadel in preparation of the oncoming invaders. From the parapets the ranger knew they were not going to hold the underworlders back. They were outmatched and heavily outnumbered. A foreboding silence pressed down upon them as they soberly watched the assorted hosts.

  Tall, armored dusk giants walked heavily among battleworn ogres, hornhulk knights in mageguards protecting draconian warsorcers and dark elven warlocks. Little creatures with large helmets tended entire lines of seige engines that were still being moved closer to the citadel. Two separate cavalries of riders on two distinctly different kinds of animals were grouped in front of a legion of about six thousand underworld orcs. The presence of enemy wizards did not trouble the Ayr for they were of very great antiquity, their pedigree guaranteeing them to be immune to almost every form of magic.

  But the six-legged beasts with wide, tooth-filled mouths were alarming. Their scent was alien and full of death. The apanthoi along the walls studied the monsters and then looked at one another searchingly. They had lived and experienced millennia, and had never encountered such vile, crypt-smelling beasts.

  Hawkmen scouts flew in and reported a camp a few miles away filled with winged goblins, blackish four-armed elves and large, ugly dragonoid steeds with flat faces that vaguely resembled gigantic bats. Another hawkman reported that a second underworld army was approaching but was a couple of days away and hindered because it had to defend its flanks from assaults by war bands of centaurs led by King Thalleus of Wandering Elms. With the speed and strength of horses, the centaurs were hard to deal with.

  Though very old and proud the Ayr were not haughty, guided always by an innate wisdom in recognizing things for what they were as opposed to how they seemed. With a natural affinity toward and respect for the rangers of Borderealm, they listened to Michel intently. The Noble Ones perceived things deeper than the words they heard, reading into the souls of others details many others miss. They knew Michel to be the youngest of the rangers though he was much wiser than his years.

  "We must sacrifice the citadel to secure Sigils Arch," Michel said. "As we do this we must also convince them that we are making a stand, not actually fleeing." The beautiful warrioress apanthoi pressed in around the ranger listening.

  "Explain, please," requested Durina, a pantheress who stood closest to the human.

  "There is little to save here but ruins. The threat is to Sigils Arch. Not the city, it is too vast to defend and we are too few," Michel replied, unaware of the profound respect they felt for him as he included himself as one of them. "Those at the Arch need time to prepare and plan and we are in position to slow down the enemy."

  "What do you propose, Michel?" asked Soaroch, a leader of the hawkmen who spoke several tongues, including human dialects no longer used. Beside the hawkman Durina watched Michel with her catlike eyes, studying him. Michel noticed her scrutiny and took in her beauty, her elven feline features, knowing these women were capable of great violence. Their sensuous bodies were covered in a fine coat of dark fur.

  "We must attack them before they begin to seige. By wits not force we can rid them of their chief advantages in what threatens the Arch the most."

  "And what is that?" asked one of the other pantheresses, round eyes split with dark pupils. Beside her Durina continued boldly staring into Michel's eyes.

  "Uh...well, Sigils Arch is a mighty stronghold no army can take without war machines, giants and wizards." Hearing the rangers words the two apanthoi women looked at each other, suddenly realizing that six thousand orcs in armor did not look so intimidating any more. The older pantheress looked back over the plain at the advancing army. She spoke.

  "Then we must destroy those engines, fell those giants and slay the mages." Her statement received nods from the others as Michel found himself lost in the eyes of a feline vixen. There would be no debate among the Ayr. As Michel and Durina were very far away the others formulated a pl
an and dispersed in haste.

  * * * * *

  General Garru of Legion Four stood with his subcommanders. Puzzled, he looked out over the flat plain between his army and the crumbling citadel. Something was wrong.

  About thirteen hundred slender females bearing no weapons left the safety of their walls to fall out in to the open plain. And they were approaching his host. They were spread out walking briskly toward them in the grasses.

  A true bloodborn orc, Garru was not proficient at solving mysteries, but took a certain comfort in following orders. Had the Warlord miscalculated? he worried. Was this an army of witches? He had never before encountered such a tactical challenge. There wasn't a female in all of Legion Four. To portray more confidence than he felt, he had barked orders but was now thinking that he had made a mistake.

  Beyond the walking army of women stood the old and cracked citadel. It was obviously once an impressive collection of towers, ramparts, balconies and walls but had over ages fallen into disrepair. There was no real way it could be defended against his legion. His deepset eyes refocused on the plain between the fortress and his troops. The umberslog herd had been unleashed and were plunging forward in a stampede of chaos, tearing up the plain in their passage. The herd erupted into howls at nearing the crowd of slender, dark-skinned females. Behind the slogs, just then taking off in pursuit, were groups of heavy hammertaurs and their orcan riders. The third wave remained still. These were the lightning-fast basilaks.

  The umberslogs closed in on the enemy women and General Garru gulped when he saw them change . It was fluid, quiet, seemingly effortless. The entire force of walking women transformed in to thirteen hundred very large black panthers.