The Four- Chapter 21: Foes from all Sides

Pouring from the hidden passage, the party found themselves in a long chamber. It was crowded with rough-hewn furniture; bunks, tables, and chairs littered the area. The floor was covered in pelts, as were many of the bunks. Facing them were two rows of orcs, some wearing armor, others hastily trying to don hide chest pieces and gauntlets. An orog  stood beyond the orcs, bellowing orders and calling out threats.

“Stunty-lovin’ fools! Old Yarrack’s boys are gonna cut you all down!”

Jarek and Malark were in front of the orcs. Jarek had mounted a table and was laughing. Malark was flexing and staring, breathing hard. Veins bulged in his massive biceps and along his tree-trunk neck. He finally howled, more wolf-like than human. He pointed his axe at one of the orcs and growled.

“Gonna die, greenskin!”

The orc he pointed at, looked side to side, then tried to retreat. The orcs behind him shoved him, pushing him back into line.

“Not him. You!” Malark kept pointing.

Two orcs in the second row looked at each other, then back at Malark. One of them turned to flee when the orog stepped up and smashed it in the face,

“Der be five of the runters, Nuznack! Stay ‘n fight, coward!”

The orc, shook his head and tried to slip past the orog. The two of them started to scuffle and wrestle.

“On ‘em!” Jarek leapt from his perch, hammer back in a two-hand grip. Malark launched himself at the cowering orc, axe swinging up. Jarek crushed the orc, his two-handed strike crumpling the creature into a heap.  He used his momentum to roll off the dead creature and two-boot kick an orc in the second line. Malark’s strike shattered a raised greataxe, continuing down to cripple his opponent. Malark drove his knee into the creature’s gut, then shoved him backwards before spinning to slash his axe deep into another orc. Lia blinded one orc with a ball of flames to its face, before hitting another with a crossbow bolt. As the bolt drilled into the orc, she was already making sigils in the air, speaking mystic words, calling on the Weave and its arcane power. Seraphina charged, blades swinging. She bounded around and over the cluttered mess, leaping from a barrel to a table then into the orc line with one blade out, rolling the other into a reverse grip. She deflected an axe, the stabbed her blade into an orc, the plunging steel entered at the neck and penetrated deep into the creature’s chest cavity. She used the planted blade to spin around the mortally-wounded orc and kick another in the face. Adran stayed back, sending arrow after arrow into the line of orcs.

Speed and violence surprised the orcs. They fought in a disordered, clumsy mass. The orog was still struggling to keep the frightened orc in the room, bellowing threats and oaths at orc and dwarf alike. Malark was the biggest target, and bore the brunt of the attacks. The orcs swung and missed, or grazed the hulking man as he twisted and spun, smashing his shield and axe into any greenskin he could reach. Two lines of orcs only hindered their ability to fight together. Without spears and shields, the back line was forced to poke at the party with slender javelins instead of supporting their fellows.

Seraphina reached around the impaled orc and cut its throat with her free blade, dangling from the other still lodged in the beast. She let go of the stuck blade, narrowly avoiding a poked javelin that stuck into the dying orc. She slipped a dagger out, using sword and dagger in her usual style, stabbing and blocking, a tiny whirl of flashing steel. Malark bashed an orc in the face, then kicked it in the knee, toppling the injured beast. He turned and swung his axe in a crushing blow that opened an unarmored orc from shoulder to hip. Jarek swung and kicked, still laughing maniacally. He was in his element, stuck in a close, tight melee where number counted for little due to the cluttered confines of the space. His steel boots stomped and kicked, adding bruises and smashed toes to the hammer-blows he was dealing. Adran concentrated his fire, ending one orc, then picking another target. Lia released the conjured energies she pulled from the Weave, the coruscating blast bubbling and hissing in an acrid splash of green ooze that burned through armor and flesh alike. Slapping at the smoking ooze, the orc squealed in pain, its scrabbling hands slowing until it sank on lifeless legs.

The remaining orcs were frantic. They had been so self-assured and confident before the blood started to flow. Every stroke from the Four and their dwarf friend dealt hideous damage.  Half the orcs lay dead or dying amid the clutter of debris and furniture in the large chamber. The orog had stopped fighting with the fleeing orc, screaming to it instead, “Go ye useless git! Go fetch Burdug and her hags! Go! Then Bajok! Get all de boys!” One of the orcs caught Seraphina, her blade taking much of the impact, but cutting her deep. She staggered back, hurling her dagger at the orc. The other two swung uselessly at Malark and Jarek, axe blades sweeping air.

Malark used the foundering swing to step into the orc’s guard, delivering a smashing blow that clove the beast’s skull in two. He followed the death-blow with a howling spin that tore the axe free and buried it into the spine of the orc who had just wounded Seraphina. Lia sent a mote of flame across the room to impact on the orog as he turned from the fleeing orc to enter the fight. It growled and swore at Lia, slapping at the smoking, blistered flesh. The orog charged Malark, his greataxe was a massive, heavy instrument of war and the beast swung it with both hands firmly on the haft. Malark raised his shield to block the first blow, the smashing impact pushing the huge man to a knee. The orog attempted another strike, but a quick roll let Malark escape a second hit. Adran hit the orog twice with arrows, running forward to punch the surviving orc before grabbing it by the arm to spin it into Jarek’s hammer.

Malark was back on his feet. Circling the huge orog, he growled and swore. “Dead. Dead greenskin.” His eyes were blazing with an anger they rarely saw. “All dead.”

The orog laughed and swore. It knew it was probably doomed, but it also knew help was coming. “All die. Stupid humie.” It spat a gob of phlegm at Malark, hitting the angry man in the bare chest. In an instant Malark bounded forward, his axe sweeping from low guard to carve through the breast’s armor and flesh alike. He kept plowing forward, head-butting the orog then sinking his teeth into the creature’s cheek. Its axe was no use in the grappling match and it pummeled Malark in the ribs, hammering punches in rapid succession. Malark headbutted the orog again and again, breaking its face in several places, its eyes welling with tears from the pain and impact until it was nearly blind. Blood poured from the beast’s smashed nose, choking the beast. Seraphina had recovered enough to sprint to Malark’s aid. Both hands on the pommel of her blade, she drove it deep into the orog’s side, burying the blade, then ripping it free to enlarge the deep wound. The beast snapped its tusked jaws at Malark, but he kept dodging the weakening attempts. He dropped his head to bite the creatures throat, teeth digging deep into leathery hide. His picked the beast up, turning in a throw that slammed the beast into a large chest. The impact broke its spine, paralyzing the orog’s legs. It swung feeble blows at them, unable even to maintain its axe grip. Malark stood over the beast, orc blood covering his face and chest. He raised his head and howled in triumph. Jarek stepped up and smashed his hammer down, crushing the orog’s skull and ending it.

All of them were panting and gasping, the adrenaline dump leaving them weakened after the vicious fight.

“Can’t. Stop. He sent. Wee git. More.” Even Jarek was wheezing.

Adran was rummaging through a pouch the orog wore on its belt. He pulled a vial out, held it up to the light then tossed it to Seraphina. “You took a pretty good blow. We all need to catch our breath before more trouble finds us.”

Catching the vial, Seraphina shook her head. “I’m okay. Malark looks worse off than me.”

“Looks.” Lia walked up to him. “I think all this blood is orc blood. Gods ‘n fiends, Malark…’ She didn’t finish.

“Hate greenskins.”

“I can tell.”

“Little friend drink potion.”

“Really, I am ok. All that might be orc blood, but you are cut, there, there, and there. And that arrow hit from earlier… Yondalla’s blessings!” Seraphina pointed. “Take this.”

Malark’s huge hand dwarfed Seraphina’s as he took the vial. He uncapped it and drank half the contents, then capped it and handed back. “Better?”

“No!” Seraphina laughed. “Drink it all!”

Malark shook his head and picked up his axe. “Find more orcs.”

“Hold on, big fella, let’s at least look around a bit. These orcs might have some coins hidden away.”

All five searched through the mess and debris. Each of the orcs had a handful of personal coins, but nothing else was located amid all the crates and barrels. They poked and prodded. Tossing skins and blankets off the bunks, and emptying sacks. Adran was antsy and was pacing near the door watching the others.

“We should go. That one that fled has had plenty of time to get help.”

“Hold on, elf, dint be so hasty. I think I found something.” Jarek was circling the room, fingers tracing cracks and protrusions. He tugged on a stone and it came free, thudding on the hide-covered floor. Crouching to peer in, Jarek reached into the void and pulled a sack out. He hefted the heavy sack, jangling with coins and turned to the others with a smile. “More coins. You four nay gonna need a thing after this journey. And…” he peered into the dark void before reaching in, “an axe.” Hefting the axe he turned it to inspect the head. “Kin it be?” He held the axe reverently. “This has the mark of Durgeddin. They do exist. Creation’s left by The Black. Moradin provides.”  Slipping off his pack and stowing the coins and the axe, Jarek stood up and picked up his hammer. He headed to the door, looking up at Adran. “Just a moment longer then ye wanted, elf. A moment nay ginnae make it worse. An’, I found one of the most precious treasures here.”

Jarek stopped, and sniffed. Turning his head, he sniffed again, then moved closer to the door. “Stay back. I kin smell somethin’ foul.” He spat and reached for his waterskin. “I kin taste it, too.”

“What is it, Mr. Jarek?” Seraphina sniffed once. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Yer too far away, miss. It be out there.” He pointed through the open door. “I dinnae smell it ‘til I got close.”

Adran leaned towards the door and sniffed once, then covered his face with his cloak. “Poison. Its foul.”

“What can we do?”

“I kin go first. Find the end of the poison.”

“You can’t just go breath that! What if its deadly?”

Jarek laughed and thumped his chest. “Probably an old trap from the before times. Nay ginnae kill this dwarf. You’ll see.” He turned and headed into the hall. He looked both ways and murmured something they couldn’t hear before disappearing to the right. He was gone for a minute or two when they heard him call out. “Hold yer breath and come to my voice. That stupid git musta set off a trap when he ran out.”

“How far are you?”

“Not far. Less ‘en twenty feet. Ye kin make it on a breath.”

“We can’t stay here, and the bridge is gone.” Lia took a deep breath and ran out.

Before any of the three remaining party members decide to go through the poison cloud, they heard growls and barks, and Jarek shouting.

“Ye kin hurry it up! We got company! Git back ye furry beast!”

“Sounds fun. We should probably help.” Seraphina unsheathed her blades and inhaled. She sprinted out of sight, with Malark close behind. Adran sighed and inhaled, rushing after the others.

Passing through the swirling green mist, they found themselves in a worked stone tunnel that was wider and taller than the last few passages they had been in. Jarek and Lia were fending off the attacks of a pair of huge wolves, glinting steel and snapping teeth vying for advantage. Just beyond the melee was a set of steps that climbed above the tunnel floor. They heard a booming, guttural voice shouting almost incoherently.

“Vak! Thrag! Kill ‘em!”

“Perfect.” Adran moved swiftly, drawing and firing at one of the wolves. His target yelped when the arrow hit. Adran kept moving until he could see up the stairs, waving his free hand in the air, murmuring then pointing. A massive ogre was standing on the steps, holding an equally massive greataxe. Brambles and vines sprung from the very stone, a mass of vegetation rapidly growing to entangle the ogre. Vines curled and climbed his legs, thorny brambles filling the wide staircase. Roaring and struggling against the mass of greenery, the ogre broke one leg free, then the other.

“Hoped that would have slowed the beast down for a moment, at least,” Adran called out. He drew and fired again, thudding an arrow into the ogre’s chest. “We’ve got a fight!”

Jarek swung his hammer, connecting with one of the wolves and sending it sprawling. The wolf got up, but was wary, snarling and limping. “Got ye good, ye blighter!” Jarek was laughing again. Pointing his hammer at the ogre he shouted a challenge. “Come on, ye smelly beast! Come fight Jarek, ye big oaf. Taste me dwarven steel!”

Seraphina rushed into the fight. The wolf that was snarling at Jarek barely had time to look her way before she was slicing and stabbing. With a blade in the creature’s back, she flipped over the beast and opened a cut in its belly. The wolf howled in pain, twisting and turning in a vain attempt to connect with the nimble halfling. Lia was slashing and stabbing with a dagger in one hand while her fingers signed and waved, calling on her sorcerous powers. Flames enveloped her hand then blasted into her furry opponent. Smoking fur and sizzling meat sent the wolf into a frenzy. It leapt forward and knocked Lia down, sinking its teeth into her arm. Malark flung his torch aside and gripped his axe in a two-hand grip, swinging in an over-shoulder arc. The blade parted flesh and bone, nearly severing the beast’s spine, ending its life. The massive creature slumped onto Lia, trapping her and forcing the air from her lungs. She sputtered a quiet plea.

“Get it off, I can’t breathe!”

Malark grabbed the ruff of the dead beast and flipped it off her, reaching to pull her to her feet.

She gasped, air filling her lungs. Steadying herself with a hand on the big man’s arm, she nodded her thanks, still trying to catch her breath. Malark patted her on the head, grimace-smiled and charged the ogre.

Seraphina had the other wolf’s attention and was circling and feinting, slicing and stabbing while smashing the beast in the snout whenever it tried to bite her. She was smiling and laughing at Jarek’s continued taunting of the shouting ogre. Despite the seriousness and danger of their situation, somehow this fight seemed less serious than with the orcs and troglodytes.

Jarek was fighting a defensive fight. The ogre was still on the stairs, using the height advantage to swing his massive axe in brutal strokes. Unwilling to give up the security of the stairs, it howled and shouted, trying to goad them into approaching. Jarek was dancing around, trying to smash the axe every time the ogre swung the weapon. Finally connecting, dwarven steel rang off the axe, smashing a chunk from the rusty axe head.

“Ay told ye, ye stupid beast! Dwarven steel will win this day! Come on ye filthy git, come down off yer perch and fight me!” The dwarf had a mad look in his face. He was still smiling, but there was a dangerous glint to his eyes. The ogre was already dead, and didn’t know it.

Lia downed a healing potion, cradling her injured arm while the serum took effect. Malark stood close to Jarek, watching the ogre and the dwarf parry and swing. He was tense, muscles bunched and twitching. He watched the axe swings, and then the ogre retreat back. Adran launched another arrow at the creature, another arrow sticking in its thick skin.

Pouncing, the surviving wolf leapt at Seraphina. She dropped in an instant, both blades stabbing up as the wolf misjudged its leaping attack. Twin blades were buried in the beast’s chest cavity, the leaf-shaped blades disappearing as she shoved them deep. Grasping the hilts tightly, the momentum of the wolf tore the blades free, opening grievous wounds. Seraphina spun and came up to one knee, blades ready. The injured wolf looked to its master, then back at the little halfling that inflicted so many wounds, then turned tail and fled down the corridor.

“Back ye useless mongrel! Fight with me!” The ogre was incensed. His allies were dead or fleeing, his enemies were taunting and unafraid, and he was injured. Finally rushing forward out of the stairwell, he gripped his axe tight, bearing down on Jarek. The dwarf was bouncing on his feet, hammer in both hands, ready for the beast. Malark jumped the instant the ogre moved, swing his axe up, then down in a brutal, crushing stroke. The brute used his mass and strength to drive the strike, his speed making the difference. Unable to defend against a strike he didn’t anticipate, the ogre took the full power of Malark’s axe. The blade hit where the thickly corded shoulder met the beast’s huge arm. Honed steel parted skin, muscle, sinew and bone. Driving the strike with all his might, Malark severed the ogre’s arm, then spun around to drive another blow into the beast from behind. Blinded by pain and the terrible injuries, the ogre was unable to defend Jarek’s attack. Ducking under the one-handed axe stroke, the dwarf smashed his axe into the beast’s knee. Bones cracked and popped. The knee buckled under the impact and the ogre staggered, sinking painfully onto its shattered joint. Adran buried another arrow into the creature, quickly drawing another arrow. Malark swung once more, his axe smashing into to ogre’s neck, taking its head.

As suddenly as the fight began, it was over. Malark had the ogre’s blood spattered all over him. He was gasping from the effort of his brutal attacks. Jarek spat on the crumpled ogre, then kicked the head down the hall. Lia was stretching her arm, fingers flexing as she recovered her strength. Seraphina was watching the passage where the wolf had fled, always alert for more dangers.

“Up the stairs, out of sight.” Adran was moving as he spoke. “Soon enough, more orcs will be heading this way. We need to regroup for a minute.”

Lia didn’t argue. Moving quickly around the fallen bodies and grabbing Malark by the arm, tugging.

“Come on, up the stairs. Let’s go look for treasure.”

Jarek nodded at Adran, then glanced at Seraphina. “Hear anythin’, lassie?’

She shook her head, but kept an eye down the hall as she moved towards the stairs. “Check him for coins.” She nodded towards the dead ogre, and kept watching the far hall.

Jarek knelt, searching the body for pouches or pockets. “Nothing. Must keep his stash up there.” He looked up the stairs and stood. “That wolf wanted no part of yer blades.” His eyes were twinkling. “You bring the fight, miss.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. “After you.”

Up the stairs, the party found themselves in a large chamber. Not quite as big as the barracks, it was still the largest space they had encountered on this level. Iron-bound doors hung open; a bloody human skull was mounted on a spike hammered into one door. Inside, torches burned in bronze brackets mounted on the walls, filling the space with smoke. Poorly cured animal hides covered the stone floor and were piled on a huge, dwarven-made bed frame. The smell was oppressively bad, an indescribable stench filling the chamber.

“Filthy git is right.” Lia spat and coughed. “That beast lives in squalor. Let’s find something and get out.”

“I think the ogre was their chief. Most of the treasure should be up here.” Jarek was kicking at the hide covered floor, flipping some of the hides back. “Where woulda stupid git hide treasure?”

“In chests.” Malark was pointing at a pair of chests against the wall opposite the doors.

“What? Where?” Jarek looked around, then followed Malark’s gaze. “In chests. Right ou’ in the open, cuz the stupid beast though’ this place was secure.”

Booming a laugh, the dwarf stomped over to the chests and flung the lids open. Coins of all shapes filled the chests, gold and silver glinting in the torch light. Atop one pile of metal was a slender rapier crafted from shining steel with a filigreed basket hilt.

“There must be a thousand coins in each one!” Seraphina rushed over to scoop up handfuls of coins and let them fall back into the chest.

“Ay, there musta be.” He picked up the rapier and swung it back and forth. “Not me choice of blades, but ‘tis a fine sword.” Dropping the sword, he bent over and fished a vial out of the coins. Holding it up to the light, they could see brown, silver, and gray layers resembling bands of stone in the liquid. Jarek shook the bottle, but the colors did not mix. “Interesting.” He pocketed the potion, then slammed the chests closed, latching the lids. “We’ll need to hide these someplace.’

“Not yet.” Adran was searching still, turning hides back, and stepping on lumps in the floor. “We can’t get distracted by shiny coins. When we fought the group in that barracks chamber, one of the orcs went for help. Where is that orc?”

“Fled? Was jus’ a distraction. Maybe there aren’t any more, and they was trying to give us a worry.”

“But say there are more. Where are they?”

Seraphina had her lips pursed, like she did when she was thinking. “He said something like ‘Go fetch someone and her hags!’ Then he said ‘Get some orc and all de boys.’ Or something like that.”

“So?”

“Five crowns he meant that shaman and her body guards. The ones we killed right after we got up to this level of the hold.”

“So that orc was going to find dead orcs?”

“At least the shaman. I don’t know what ‘all de boys’ means, but it seems like there might be more orcs up here still.”

“We should have been mapping this as we went.” Adran was looking at Jarek. “Unless you have a map.”

“Nay, elf, I dint have ‘un. Never had ‘un. Dinnae have time to make a map. We been fightin’ since we got up here. I kin tell ya we made a circle ‘round that crevasse and the bridge. Methinks if we tunneled though here,” he pointed near the chests, “we would come back to the passage that led to the doors and the bridge after we rescued those two poor sods.”

“We haven’t seen every chamber here, have we?”

Jarek shrugged. “I cannae say, Mr. Elf, I cannae say. If we find the natural part o’ this level ag’in, I kin tell ya more.”

“After we came up the stairs there was that winding cave part. It had two places that were carved and worked stone. The passage to the bridge, and the passage we didn’t explore. If we see the cave again, we will know we found the other part.”

“After that? Is that all?”

Malark lost interest in their conversation and wandered around, finding a pile of torches. He shoved several into his pack, lighting a new one from his own flickering, fading stick.

“Short o’ checking every wall fer days, I cannae say. Yes? These orcs have had plenty o’ time to search for all the secrets. Even greenskins will find secret passages given ‘nough time.”

“But the Forge?” Lia was tossing flames from hand to hand. “Where is the Forge?”

“Ah! The Forge. It be separate from the Mountain Door. Deeper in the mountain. Remember the Iron Door? Beyond that, methinks.”

“Let’s keep going. If we find all the orcs on this level, then we can finally get some sleep. Suns and moons, we need some real sleep.”

“Find more greenskins?” Malark was standing by the doors, looking down the stairs.

“If you really want to.” Lia picked up her cross bow and crossed the smelly chamber. “If nothing else, we get out of this stinky place.”

“What abou’ the coins?” Jarek was staring at the two chests.

“We come back for them. There is no place safe to stash them yet.”

Filing down the stairs, Jarek was the last to go. He took one last, forlorn look at the chests of glittering gold and silver, then sadly turned away.