The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (18 page)

“When you’ve knowledge of something bad that will soon be known to others, do you tell them before they learn of it from the others?” Memlatec asked.

“I say let the bad news take its own time getting to them, that’s what I says. What’s the bad news?”

“Never you mind about that.” Memlatec could hear Aleman grumbling below.

“Worrisome old man, you’ve got some juicy news, but you won’t share it.”

Memlatec heard him put down the platter and start lumbering his way up the stairs to the workroom, wheezing with each step.

“I hates to climb these stairs and wouldn’t go near the workroom to clean it, but you’re holding something back and I’m determined to know what. Ain’t no sense in making an old man climb these stairs when you could just tell me over the railing.”

From behind his worktable, Memlatec heard Aleman grumbling, slowly making his way to the top of the tower. If the creaking railings aren’t enough, the huffing and puffing can be heard through the whole tower. “Go back downstairs. I’m not about to tell a gossiping old poop news I don’t want to tell the king.”

Memlatec chuckled at a clever idea, then, casting a spell, levitated himself and floated out the window to the ground below. He listened carefully.

“Where are you, you old fool?” Memlatec heard Aleman ask as he grumbled, searching the room. “How dare you disappear after I’ve climbed all those stairs?”

“You looking for me, Aleman?” Memlatec shouted from the ground floor.

“How’d you get down there, you tricky old goat?”

“You said you never go to the workroom,” the wizard responded with a wry grin. “While you’re up there, clean the room and remember not to touch the ingredients cases!” Memlatec left the tower for Helshian Court Palace. He could hear Aleman shouting curses at him from the balcony as he rode to town. Having gotten the best of Aleman, the wizard laughed until he nearly fell off his horse.

* * *

Earwig and Dreg camped for the night in a crumbling abandoned barn to escape the dreary rain that had developed in late afternoon. Rain trickled in everywhere from the holes in the decaying roof. A musty smell of mold permeated the place. Dreg saw the witch looking around, rolling her eyes again.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dreg asked Zendor, who refused to enter the barn. “You smell something inside that scares you? Zendor senses something ain’t right in there, Miss Earwig.”

“That gasbag is the source of all the smell except for the mold,” Earwig said and continued into the barn. She yelled over her shoulder, “Probably the mold, too.” With Zendor tied up outside, the two travelers lay down for the night in the now dark barn. Near midnight, Dreg woke to a rustling in the hay nearby. A momentary streak of moonlight shot through the clouds, down through a hole in the roof, illuminating a great greasy troll. His muscled arms swung back, about to bring his club down on Dreg’s head. Dreg rolled out of the way, but the troll moved to redirect his swing.

“Ouch!” screamed Earwig, jerking back her hand just stepped on, unbalancing the troll.

The moonlight disappeared. The barn plunged into total darkness. Scuffling began in the pitch black interior. No one knew who was who. Hay flew up all around. Groans were everywhere, along with Earwig’s screams. The club swooshing by in the dark near Earwig must have unbalanced her. The three creatures scurried about, trying to locate each other in the murky staleness to the constant thud of the troll’s club slamming the floor and timbers.

Earwig eventually lit a finger-torch. When she did, her hand was very near the troll’s face. The small flame cast a golden light on the creature’s oversized, greasy facial features, making them even more pronounced and terrifying. The light accentuated the witch’s marbled-purple face, and the troll jumped back from her. Both yelled and Earwig jumped back, extinguishing her finger-torch, throwing them in total darkness again.

“This way,” Dreg called out to Earwig, having found a sliver of light passing through a crack in the barn door.

But rather than run, Dreg heard Earwig casting spells into the ebony interior as the troll continued swinging his club. Dreg heard Earwig fuming the more the troll avoided her spells. She’s obsessed with getting the best of him.

“Stand still, you nasty troll,” Earwig said.

Then Dreg heard more shuffling in the straw. She can’t get a fix on him, he thought. I need to get to the door and let some light in, but they’re shuffling around to smash each other between the door and me. He felt his way around the stall posts to the entry.

“Miss Earwig, you needs to get out of there,” Dreg said from the cracking door. “Give up on torturing that thing and save yourself.” Then the wind blew the door shut, and darkness filled the barn again.

“I’m not done with this nasty troll.”

Whoosh!

“That was close but not close enough,” Earwig growled.

In a momentary light shaft, Dreg saw the witch found a stick on the floor. She’d tripped over something in the dark and grubbed about, trying to get up. Then again in the dark, she began babbling.

She must be trying to transform it into a wand, he thought.

In another momentary illumination, Dreg saw the witch and troll move about, arms stretched like tentacles searching for each other. Then Dreg saw a flicker of light and heard Earwig chuckle.

She made a wand, he thought. She’ll get the best of him yet.

“Come here, you bad troll,” Earwig said. Her sticky sweet tone could hardly mask her evil intent. “Ha! There you are.”

Trolls are ugly and stupid, but they do have a good sense of self-preservation,
Dreg thought, holding his breath. A flicker of light and the wand showed the troll moving away from the stalking witch. Then darkness prevailed again, and the sound of movement in the hay stopped. She’s standing still and listening, Dreg thought. A rustle in a hay stall nearby revealed the troll sought refuge there. A ray of light through the roof exposed the witch creeping toward the sound.

A sudden noise in the straw just beyond the stall and Earwig pounced on it with all her considerable weight. The witch cackled, delighted she finally had her hands on the troll.

Dreg winced hearing the swooshing sound arcing toward her.

“Whack! Thud!” The ominous sounds echoed in the barn as the troll brought down his club on Earwig, knocking her flat on the floor, nearly cracking her thick, lumpy skull. Her eyes rolled in her skull. She shook her head and thrust the wand up at the club’s source.

“Pow!” cracked the blue wizard-fire bolt as it shot into the troll’s calf.

“EYOW!” screamed the troll, instantly losing his triumphant grin as darkness enveloped them again. The smell of burned flesh rose in the barn. The troll hopped about with his leg smoldering. Then Dreg heard him bash the witch with his club again. “Splat!” came the club’s sound, smacking the flabby hag. The two continued to zap and smash each other. Neither won; neither would back down. Only when the troll’s club snapped from pounding Earwig, and Earwig’s wand lost all its charge, did the two lay exhausted and immobile on the floor.

With the light of dawn, Dreg threw open the barn door. The two combatants lay beside each other on the straw, rendered helpless by their swollen limbs.

“You all right, Miss Earwig?” The groaning continued unabated. Dreg shuffled into the barn and, struggling, dragged the distended witch over the straw to the door. She groaned and moaned, even more than did the troll, shuffling away from the lethal sunlight.

“Kill the troll!” babbled the witch.

The apprentice ignored Earwig’s ranting, rolling her up a plank onto the cart.

“The indignity of it. I’ll beat you senseless when I recover,” Earwig complained bitterly.

“Sorry about that,” Dreg said with hat in hand to the troll. The troll moaned and tried to get up. He was so swollen from his burns that all he could do was roll around in the shadows. Dreg grabbed Earwig’s hat and fled the barn for the cart’s safety. With Earwig grumbling about revenge all the while, Dreg enticed Zendor to drag the cart once more. They moved north on up the road toward Dreaddrac.

General Bor still commanded the rock-dwarves that survived the journey from the Highback Mountains on Tixos to the Hador Mountains on Dreaddrac’s southern border. Rock-dwarves had virtually no emotion, only a sense of purpose that kept them plodding away at the goal set for them by the Dark Lord, their creator. Nightly, the general led his army along the mountains until they were within sight of Hador nestled between two great mountains in the chain. Their mission was to break through the pass so that the army of orcs, ogres, goblins, and trolls could swarm down on the unsuspecting forces of Hador and Graushdem on the Hadorian Plain. The Dark Lord wasn’t going to leave that pass unbroken with defenders behind his lines in this invasion. 

In the moonless night, an orc that knew the mountain paths led General Bor to personally investigate the sealed sally port gate beneath the Hadorhof. Duke Jedrac of Hador had decided that the entrance was too dangerous and sealed it up, but the general wanted to see for himself what possibilities it offered. Hador was the only pass through the mountains. General Bor would have to take the pass or bypass it if the northern army was to attack along the eastern side of the peninsula. Failure to get control of Hador had cost Dreaddrac the initiative in the Wizard Wars. That oversight ultimately resulted in his retreat and failure in those conflicts. This time the Dark Lord had decided Hador must be broken in the opening campaigns of the coming conflict. He’d made that clear to General Bor.

After studying the gate in minute detail, General Bor brought out a charged power wand and shot a jolt into the gate at a precise point he discovered in his examination. There was a muffled cracking sound somewhere in the gate, rumbling in response to the energy. The general tapped his stone fist at three places in the gate. It swung out ever so slightly. The orc grinned at the general’s success, but the rock-dwarf showed no emotion.

The gate was located under a rock outcrop that prevented the Hadorian defenders high above from seeing the area around it. General Bor opened the gate being careful not to strain it, fearing it might crack from the stress. He stepped inside.

This large cavern was for staging a lot of men for a sortie out against attackers, Bor thought. Looks like Jedrac had the cavern filled with rubble to close the passageway up the interior of the mountain to the city above. The duke didn’t figure on rock-dwarves’ abilities.

The general took careful note of the cavern and its packed stones, returning to his dwarves before daybreak.

Preparations made, the general waited patiently for the next great nighttime thunderstorm. Bor hurried a band of experienced rock-dwarves to the sally port so the heavy rain and lightning would prevent the soldiers high above from seeing or hearing the unexpected troop movements. One by one, the rock-dwarves worked their way into the cavern unnoticed. Using incredible force, the rock-dwarves quickly ground the rock rubble to dust. Much of the dust was scattered along the mountain base outside of the cavern and more was carted away by the orcs laboring for the general and his dwarves. Thunder muffled crushing rock, rain the movements of the northern forces. Before dawn, the cavern was cleared. The rock-dwarves rested in its dark space. Stone workers sealed the rubble-filled staircase up to the Hadorhof. The defenders had no way of knowing the cavern was cleared. They had no way to attack those working the cavern beneath their fortress city.

With his lead team of rock-dwarves secure within the mountain, the general and his best workers explored the walls of the grotto for a weakness. Bor moved slowly along the rock, tapping regularly, listening to the resonating sounds.

“Here,” Bor said. A nearby rock-dwarf came to the spot and began chipping out rock.

“There be a fault line here,” the dwarf told Bor.

When the next storm pounded the mountains above, the rock-dwarves began hammering into the granite at the fault. Rock-dwarves are rock specialists. Their power is immense, such that they could hammer out large chunks of solid rock with each blow struck.

“Why does you hammer the mountain’s base rock?” asked one of the general’s orc attendants.

“The mountain ain’t as solid as most believes,” Bor said.

“It’ll take yous years to tunnel through the mountain. The king won’t wait that long to make war on the South,” the orc mumbled as rock-dwarves hammered away rhythmically.

“Strike the stone here,” the general said, tapping a slight crack in the apparently solid wall.

Clang!

“You hear the tone?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“That’s not the sound of solid rock. There’s a hollow behind it that rings back in the tone,” the general said. “There’s an opening not too far back.”

*

The rock-dwarves pounded their way along the mountain fault, following several leads. General Bor insisted the tunneling be wide enough for twenty orcs to march abreast through the opening. If they were successful, and General Bor was used to being successful, Dreaddrac’s northern orc army would need to pass through the mountain before the Hadorians could organize resistance at the southern face of the mountain below their fortress city.

              About the time Ozrin and General Tarquak were smashing the Sengenwhan defenses for the second time, General Bor’s force knocked through the solid rock into a tunnel within the mountain only General Bor suspected.

* * *

Long before men came to the Hador Mountains, King Ormadese’s dwarf ancestors eagerly tunneled in them for the mineral resources they found there in abundance. After the Wizard Wars, the dwarves sealed themselves beneath the mountains and avoided men that increasingly settled on the surface above. When the dukes of Hador began building their castilyernov at the pass above, the dwarves ceased to tunnel under the supporting mountains lest the two should encounter each other. After the Wizard Wars, dwarves only dealt with men when the last of the wizards vouched for individuals they could assure would respect the dwarves’ privacy and rights.

The Hadorian dwarf kingdom, ruled by King Ormadese, reframed from getting involved in the surface conflicts. They sealed off the eastern-most tunnels to their own citizens lest someone discover the dwarves inadvertently. The rock-dwarves stumbled into one of these ancient exploratory dwarf tunnels when following a fault south through the mountain beneath Hador.

Cautiously, General Bor sent scouts to explore the abandoned shafts. The Hadorian dwarves had sealed this most eastern passageway off from their kingdom’s endless warrens. The general learned that not only did this new passageway instantly open his advance, but also that the original owners had sealed it off. The general was convinced that what should’ve taken him ages of hard tunneling, always at the risk of discovery, was suddenly complete and secure.

Immediately, the general stopped the work, stationed his rock-dwarves as guards all along the corridor, and sent word to the King of Dreaddrac that the way into the Dukedom of Hador and the South was complete. The general awaited orders to open the mountain passage as soon as the eastern orc army could assemble at the tunnel and seize all Hador, the gateway to the South.

* * *

King Ormadese stamped around his subterranean council chamber, his jeweled boots slapping on the polished stone floor. His elaborately robed courtiers stood around awaiting his inquiries for advice. The king was visibly upset and mumbled as if no one was present.

“What is this tunneling going on in the east under Hador,” he asked rhetorically. No one has tunneled in the mountain since the wars generations ago. The only activity was when men filled the sally port cavern.”

“This is clearly new tunneling north to south, Your Majesty,” ventured one councilor, looking around to his co-councilors for visible support. Having spoken first, the dwarf backed away and bowed as deeply as a rotund dwarf could.

Another advisor ventured a step forward. “They are perilously close to our eastern-most halls. If they venture much closer, they will encounter the sealed tunnels leading to our kingdom.” 

“We’ve not ventured into the outer world since the wars, and only had contact with the wizard and his protégé Saxthor at his request. Our policy has been to abstain from the affairs of men. Do we interfere now?” Ormadese mumbled to no one in particular.

“We must alert the wizard in any case, Majesty,” a councilor said. “This could be an invasion force from Dreaddrac. It would prove catastrophic should they open a passage under the mountains to the southern peninsular.”

“Yes, perhaps we could notify Wizard Memlatec,” the first advisor said. “At least he should be aware of this. He may know what’s going on.”

The king looked at the speaker then around the room at the others, who merely nodded their heads. “Saxthor has become King of Neuyokkasin I understand. Memlatec will notify him if he deems it necessary. Our friendly exchange has been successful and true to his word; the travelers have never spoken to others about the existence of our dwarf kingdom.”

Another advisor, a senior one with a long white beard, stepped forward. “Well, we must notify someone. From the sounds coming through the walls, this tunneling is no mining operation. There is too great a force hammering day and night to be a minor undertaking.”

“If we open our passages to the eastern tunnels and run into anyone, our presence will be known and our secret exposed. Then dwarves and men will be forever squabbling over the rights to subterranean mountain territory,” stressed another advisor. “We should do nothing and hope they pass by without our discovery.” All the councilors now walked about agitated, pondering the pros and cons of action.

“If the forces of Dreaddrac are tunneling in the mountains, the discovery of our tunnels and kingdom will invite instant war. It will bring destruction to us, so long hidden within the stone.”

King Ormadese grumbled, hesitating long over the dilemma. “Either choice will bring an end to the peaceful isolation of our kingdom.” He looked about the room at the faces of his advisers. Most shook their heads affirmatively. “Then send an emissary to Memlatec informing him of the goings on here. Ask his advice on the matter. And send word to Duke Jedrac above. Be the invaders from Hador or Dreaddrac, the duke needs to know of the potential disaster for us all.” King Ormadese spoke, then stormed out of the chamber.

An orc army was assembling on the plain north of the Hador Pass, just out of sight of Hador’s sentries. Expecting the possible dwarf warning, General Bor stationed guards at night on the southern approaches to the city. King Ormadese’s messenger never made it to Duke Jedrac above in Hador. By the time the king learned of his messenger’s disappearance, the orcs were streaming down the mountains on a moonless night toward the massive tunnel beneath the Hadorian citadel.

*

King Ormadese sent word to Memlatec in Neuyokkasin at the same time he sent a messenger to the duke. When the message reached Memlatec, it was too late for the wizard to affect the situation in Hador.

“I expected Dreaddrac to attempt to break through the Hador Pass,” Memlatec said, looking up at the owl, “but I didn’t expect them to tunnel under the mountains.” Memlatec analyzed the new situation. “I’m glad I sent Hendrel to get his family out of Hador. Dreaddrac will attack Hador very soon and with all its strength. I don’t want Hendrel’s family caught in the battle.”

The wizard turned to the great horned owl on his perch in the workroom corner. “I expected and feared General Tarquak’s renewed attack on Sengenwhapolis, but I hadn’t thought the Dark Lord would release a silver-scale dragon so early in the war. If Dreaddrac has unleashed such a monster on the South, the full-scale war is in effect.”

* * *

“Saxthor, we’re running out of time,” Memlatec said in the emergency advisory meeting the next day.

“Yes, if someone is tunneling under Hador, it will be Dreaddrac’s creatures,” Saxthor said. “At least Duke Jedrac sealed the passage he built down through the mountain.”

“There’s nothing Jedrac can do now to prevent or stop the activity under the mountains,” Memlatec concluded.

Saxthor stabbed a knife into Hador on the map in front of him. “This war is going to be a struggle to the death, Memlatec. If Dreaddrac succeeds in breaking through in Hador, that dark sorcerer can extend a second arm into the South. He’d trap his opposition between the pincers. If Sengenwha has fallen, and it appears it has, the orc army will be on the borders of Neuyokkasin before we can complete our defenses.”

“You grandfather left a cache of powerful arms that were to remain hidden until such time as Dreaddrac would again rise to challenge the South,” the old wizard said. “I’m the only one left that remembers the weapons or how they’re hidden. When Count Vicksnak returns, we’ll go to the arsenal and examine the arms so you can determine how best to utilize them.”

Saxthor clutched Sorblade’s hilt and turned to the chatra. “Send word to King Grekenbach warning him of the potential invasion from under the Hador Mountains. He needs to know that an attack is coming from under the Hador Pass, not through Heggolstockin as we expected. Hold, we will write the message personally.”

Saxthor rang the bell for his personal assistant. Belnik appeared instantly from outside the council chamber door.

“Belnik, send for a reliable courier whom the chatra here recommends,” Saxthor said as he wrote the carefully worded message to King Grekenbach. Belnik left to get the courier. When he’d closed the door behind him, Saxthor commented to the assembled advisors, “We hate that our sister, Queen Nonee, now lives so far north in Graushdemheimer.”