Rising of a Mage: Book 03 - A Mage Risen (3 page)

Anwar had hardly slept when morning came. He got up, dressed, and threw on his pack of supplies. Grindel had given him a map. After looking at the map and comparing the distance between Evermount and the fairy forest to the distance between Kampar and Ambar, he knew that it was going to take at least a week and a half. When he opened the door to his apartment Grizzle and Jabaal were sitting in the hall, waiting. He nodded to them, and they followed him back in.

Jabaal and Anwar picked up the heavily cushioned litter that Anwar had strapped
Mariah to. Grizzle picked up her pack from inside the door and led them back out. No words were exchanged as they walked up and out of the mountain. The passageways were full of dwarves, but none of them had any peace to offer. Some nodded to Anwar as he carried his wife, but most just watched.

When they reached the entrance of Evermount
, their closest friends were waiting. Anwar and Jabaal set Mariah down.

Grindel was standing there
, looking every bit the king and like an older version of Grizzle. Grizzle’s wife was standing next to her son. She was tall for a woman. Anwar had to admit even now, with everything going on, that there was something about her: with that pale blond, almost white hair, and those glowing blue eyes, she was bound to pull your attention. That is, of course, if she is not standing next to her son.

Grundel the Half Dwarf Prince
, they called him. The son of Anna and Grizzle, he was everything a dwarf was supposed to be, only bigger. He had his mother’s height, which put him at nearly six feet tall, and he was three feet wide. He was compact and stout and wide just like a dwarf, just taller. It was often said that dwarves were built like tree trunks. Well, if Grundel was a tree trunk, he was a very, very old tree. His sheer size was daunting enough, but the effect was compounded by the pale blond hair and glowing eyes of his mother. His unnatural size mixed with his mother’s hair and eyes made him a fearsome creature.

Standing off to his left was Navaeh
, with a braid of some plant tied in her long, black hair, keeping it pushed over her shoulders. She wore loose, worn leather pants, and a worn leather vest that left her torso and cleavage exposed. Over her shoulders hung a cloak of animal pelts.

Next to her was Rundo.
Anwar couldn’t help but smile at his little friend. Rundo was a halfling, even shorter than the average dwarf. Most dwarves stood around four feet tall, and Rundo was at least a few inches shorter than that. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and he had sideburns that came to his jawline and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a brown and green linen long-sleeve shirt and loose, brown leather pants tucked into his knee-high black boots. On each hip rested one of his enchanted daggers.

After looking over them all
, Anwar looked back at Jabaal. Jabaal was still smiling at the very fine-looking little halfling. Even without his armor, Jabaal looked every bit the paladin. He would have made an excellent knight. He had short black hair with sideburns and a mustache that merged into his beard. He kept his facial hair trimmed as well. Jabaal looked like a man who should have long hair, but he always said that long hair made for a short battle for a man in a helm. Anwar had to admit it made sense.

When he looked back toward everyone else they were all staring at him. “Thank you all for everything. You aren’t just our friends
, you are our family. We will save Mariah, and then we will come back and help finish off the rest of Miskrull’s minions.”

Everyone hugged and said their goodbyes to each other
, and put a hand on Mariah and said goodbyes or kissed her brow. Anwar wished his brother could be here for this, but he had transported him to Ambar yesterday, and the guild masters had gone back to Kampar then, too, using Master Gabriel’s ring.

With all the goodbyes said
, they all stepped out onto the landing at the top of the stairs. The last one out was Grundel, as he had to appease his mother. It was, after all, the first time he had ever been away from her, and as mature and old as he might seem he was still only seventeen. Anwar looked back one last time, nodding at Grizzle, and then started down the long stone steps out of Evermount. With everything that was going on, Anwar would also have to keep in mind that he was now responsible for Grizzle’s only son.

There were five horses waiting at the bottom of the stairs
, not counting Bumbo, Rundo’s black-and-gray-striped miniature pony. Anwar had had his doubts about that pony, but he had seen that it wouldn’t startle in Istan. Even with orcs charging, it hadn’t run off until Rundo told it to.

Before the two dwarves
who had carried Mariah down the steps had finished strapping her litter on top of one of the horses, Messah, the hawk, landed on Navaeh’s shoulder. Navaeh had fallen into depression after the death of her wolf, Asser. They had shared the same connection that she shared with Messah. Asser had died in the fight at Istan on the way to Evermount. They had saved those people and they were now safely inside the mountain with the dwarves. Mariah had been able to pull her out of her depression some before the wedding. Since then she had shown a grim determination to save Mariah. Watching her with Messah was the first time Anwar had seen any of that weight lift. It was good for her. She was a daughter of Kalise, the goddess of nature, and being cramped up inside the mountain caves had compounded her depression and anxiety. Soon the hawk flew from Navaeh to Rundo. The hawk had taken to the hafling, and Anwar watched for a moment as he rubbed the back of the bird’s head as it nuzzled his neck.

Everyone was mounted and Mariah’s litter was strapped in. Grundel had never been on a horse before, so the pack horse was hitched to Navaeh’s horse. The horse Mariah was on was hitched to
Anwar’s. Anwar thanked the dwarves before they headed back up the stairs.

Anwar looked at his companions, a druid, a half
-dwarf prince, a halfling, and a mage escorting a priestess to the fairy forest. Anwar and kicked his heels into his horse and began a slow trot. Navaeh rode behind Anwar, and Rundo rode next to Grundel’s huge mount, coaching him.

They were on the road east toward the fairy forest to save his wife. The sun was just coming up and was shining in their eyes so
Anwar looked down at the ground in front of his horse and focused on suppressing the boiling rage of magic inside of him.

Fredin Dungin sat in front of a fire looking over his camp. It was the second night since Delvidge had come to him. They had marched for two days, and Fredin's tribe of thirty thousand was now nearing fifty. He was going to march on Evermount with a hundred thousand orcs. Fredin had been suspicious at first, but all three of the tribe leaders who had come had named him horde leader. As he stood there looking over his horde, thinking about finally overtaking the dwarves, he heard someone squeal a challenge.

He turned and watched as an orc walked into the light of the fire. He was a big orc, but not as big as Fredin. He was younger
, though. Fredin wasn’t intimidated, but he never underestimated anyone. He’d seen enough orcs lose fights to weaker opponents trying to show off. Fredin didn’t know the orc, and for anyone to challenge him that he didn’t know must mean he was from one of the other tribes. Fredin had met the tribe leaders. This orc wasn’t one, so he was trying to jump straight to the top.

Fredin watched as the orc drew a sword. It wasn’t long
, but it curved inward and had a sharp tooth that cut back on the end and could be used for tearing or hooking joints. With his other hand the orc drew a long knife.

As Fredin slid the Dungin
greatsword over his shoulder, the clan chief who had arrived today stepped into the light. Dungin watched as the chief stepped in front of the challenging orc. “You will not challenge. Dungins lead to victory. Then we take our own land.”

The orc snarled.
“Dungins lead to victory, but Dungins don’t need lead Dungin.” Quicker than Fredin would have expected, the orc threw the long knife. The chief leapt to the side, but that had been the intention and before he could get his sword up the other orc’s sword came down on his shoulder, cutting deep into his chest. The orc left his sword in the dying chief. He picked up the chief’s better-made sword and retrieved his knife. Then he turned his attention back to Fredin.

“What clan have you taken
?” Fredin asked the orc.

“I am now chief of the Wutend clan,” the orc replied.

Fredin assumed he wasn’t the smartest in the clan since he didn’t even know to give his name before his clan. He was a clever fighter, though. Not clever enough to beat Fredin, but clever.

“Who is the chief of the Wutend clan
?” Fredin asked.

“I am chief,” the orc answered.

Fredin knew that the orc wasn’t very smart now. He would have been content to have the able fighter lead the clan if he had any sense, but he was just a brute.

“If you had given your name you may have lived long enough to keep it. Now I will take the Wutend clan.”

Fredin watched anger flash across the orc’s face. He charged, howling, as he threw the knife again. Fredin went the same way the chief had gone, but he didn’t leap out of the way. He spun, sending his greatsword out to arm’s length. The orc didn’t see it coming. Before he could get inside the reach of his own weapon, the Dungin greatsword had cut him in half. It happened so fast his mind wasn’t able to keep up. Fredin stepped out of the way. The orc took a couple of stumbling steps as his feet tried to keep up with his momentum and then his body fell to the ground, splitting in two just under the ribs. Fredin watched as the challenger’s blood and intestines poured over the ground. Most orcs were cannibals, but Dungins did not eat other orcs. Fredin thought it was a disgusting habit, but he did not stop others from doing it. It did make supplies less of an issue after a battle, when all the dead became food.

After both bodies were torn apart and carried off
, Fredin called to the Wutend clan. It took longer then he would have liked for the clan to get organized, but finally he had most of them standing together. It was a huge gathering, as orcs from other tribes began appearing to see what was happening.

“Wutends
, your clan chief challenged Fredin of the Dungins. I claim the Wutends. Who will challenge my claim?” Fredin shouted over the crowd.

After a few minutes
of silence, he shouted to the crowd again. “If there is no challenge then I claim the Wutends as Dungins. You will move into the Dungin camp now. The Wutends are gone.”

Fredin
listened as orcs howled and squealed and shouted. Fights broke out and some orcs were killed and devoured. By morning it was all over and the Dungins were larger by around five thousand. A couple hundred died last night, but his clan had grown. He would take what he could get. Thousands of orcs were going to die taking the dwarves, and the more he could bring to his tribe before this was all over, the stronger he would be in the end. He would have the largest tribe when this was all over. He wasn’t going to defeat the dwarves only to have another orc tribe destroy the Dungins.

The following day was uneventful, but that night there were more fights and more deaths.
Fredin had been able to control his tribe, and the new members followed the lead of the others. Fredin had learned that from his father: if you take a new tribe, integrate them to your tribe quickly. If you allow them to stay as a separate unit within the tribe, they will never be yours. The problem wasn’t his tribe, though, it was the others. He knew they were too many and too different to coexist without fighting someone. His goal was to keep them from fighting each other. The next morning he called for a meeting of clan chiefs.

As camps were being broken
, the four clan chiefs sat in front of Fredin. One had come during the march the following day and another in the night. That made five clans, not counting the Dungins, and between sixty and seventy thousand orcs. His clan still made up half of that. With any luck he would be able to claim at least one more clan before this was all done. That was a thought for later, though. Now he needed a distraction for his army so they would stop killing each other.

“Each of you is the chief of one of the five clans in this army. The clans are fighting each other. Since you cannot control your clan
s we need someone else to fight. Who knows places between the dwarves and us?”

Fredin listened as the clan chiefs argued over where the biggest towns or villages were. Eventually Fredin decided to split the forces and hit the two towns that were generally agreed to be the largest
, both of which were along the path to the dwarven city. Fredin picked the last two tribes to arrive—the smaller force—to go southeast to the smaller town there. Not that it would matter: there were no cities with high walls, and even a large city would not be able to stop an attack of twenty to thirty thousand orcs. The first two tribes to arrive to the horde would go southwest to the larger town. When both towns were raided and destroyed, all of the orcs would meet up the next morning along the path to the dwarven city.

Fredin would not send
his own Dungins to either town. He could control them, and even with their overwhelming numbers, hundreds of orcs were going to die in each town. This was just another way to ensure that the orcs’ bloodlust was satisfied, and that his tribe remained the largest in the horde.