Rising of a Mage: Book 03 - A Mage Risen (5 page)

Vingaza watched as
some of the Dragons began nodding their heads in arrogance, while some were laughing and making jokes about Alamira. But he was happy that at least half of the room controlled their emotions.

He waited a few moments for everyone to have his or her private conversations before raising his hand again. “Each of you may bring three
Dragons with you. It is up to you whether they are wizards, assassins, or priests. We will leave from Ambar tomorrow and meet up with the orc horde on their way to Evermount. Before you all go there is one more thing. We have discovered that Anwar has a brother, and that brother is here in Ambar. I am already taking care of that issue. With this news I realize that we have an opportunity. We will need one of you to go to Kampar. You will take as many agents as you feel necessary. Anyone who is not going to assist in the fight at Evermount will be at your disposal. You will use our agents there to locate everyone with a connection to Anwar. The king there hates him as well and will help in capturing them. When Anwar hears what I have done to his brother, and that people are being killed in Kampar because of him, he will surely come running. Then you will spring your trap and capture him. Do I have a volunteer to take this on?”

One of the wizards in the front of the room stood. “I will do it.”

It was Stregone. His brother had been with Nemitz at Istan. Anwar had killed both of their brothers on the same day. “Stregone it is, but remember you are not to kill him. Take as many Dragons as you need to capture him. Anyone he may have ever befriended will be taken, and you will kill one of them each day until he comes for them. I will ensure that he hears of it. The rest is up to you.” With that he turned and left the room.

When he
returned to his office he sat down in front of his desk. He had fed them the seed of revenge. They all had at least known someone who had gone after Anwar and failed. It was much more personal for him. He sat there thinking about the brothers he had lost. Anwar had taken his family from him. Delvidge had promised to take everyone from Anwar. That one thought turned his pain into happiness and determination. He had been planning his revenge on Anwar since Anwar had killed his youngest brother in Kampar. Now the time had finally come.

Fredin had watched the two war parties split up and head toward the towns were they would feed their bloodlust. Now he stood on top of a huge hill staring to the west. It was a few miles away but he could see the town. It was bigger than he had expected, but still only a town. There couldn’t be more then a couple thousand people there. A log palisade surrounded the town, sharpened poles stuck out of a deep ditch around the wall, and more of the poles poked through gaps in the wall. But the walls and the defenses had been neglected.

Fredin had to admit that it wasn’t a town orcs would normally attack. Orc clans rarely ever moved as a whole. Hunting parties or raiding parties were constantly out, but they would normally hit smaller farmsteads. A hundred orcs together was a lot
to be found outside of the camp, and they would never engage a town like this. But against thirty thousand orcs, the defenses wouldn’t have stood a chance even if they had been maintained.

Fredin
watched as the mass of orcs ran toward the town. To their credit, the townsfolk attempted a defense. But it didn’t take long before the main gate was breached. Soon after that a large section of one palisade was knocked down. Hundreds of people were escaping south, most of them probably women and children. Half of them would likely be run down by nightfall. It would be hours before the orcs had finished sacking the town. Fredin was about to leave when he saw something that surprised him.

Fire. The biggest difference between orcs
’ and humans’ way of sacking a town was that orcs would not use fire. Orcs hated fire. They weren’t trolls. Fire didn’t cling to them, but they could die just like anyone else, and they feared fire. It was a primal fear, and no matter how much an orc tried to fight it he couldn’t overcome it.

Fredin was interested to see how this would play out. He stood watching as the town
speople lit rows of homes and buildings on fire. He hadn’t noticed it before but the town was set up in a grid. It was smart. Three lanes of houses were now burning in front of the orcs. They were at a standstill. More and more of the people were escaping out of the town to the south. Then he realized it.

The town wasn’t set up in
a grid. It was set up in three sections. As the fire reached the end of the lane everything, toward the north of the town caught fire. Soon the northern third of the town would be surrounded with fire. The orcs in the town wouldn’t even realize what was happening. Each section of the town was separated by at least a hundred feet, so that when one burned it would not light the other. After about thirty minutes, all of the orcs who were already in the town had been surrounded by fire. Slowly, buildings inside the grid began to catch fire. Fredin noticed that everything inside the grid was built close together so that not only would everything catch fire, but also there was no escape. Fredin knew that if orcs would just run through the outer perimeter of fire they would make it through with only minor burns. Even knowing that information, Fredin doubted he would be able to force himself to do it. He would likely have burned to death inside that grid because he would be too scared to run toward the flames. Watching all of this, Fredin was then surprised for a third time.

A group of orcs was tearing down buildings in the center of the area that was burning. They couldn’t have more than an hour at most. Fredin watched as the orcs made
their way toward the center, away from the fire.

The orcs
who had been pushing into the town had run back the way they had come when it started burning. The leaders of the two tribes were either very weak or they had led the attack into the town. If there had been any real leadership the fifteen thousand orcs outside the town would have gone around south to attack the escaping people. Instead they pushed back the way they had come and watched as orcs began to burn alive inside the town.

The group in the center had opened up a large area. From the size of it there had to be at least a couple hundred orcs there. Whoever was leading that group was uncharacteristically intelligent
—a rare quality in orcs. The Dungins had somewhere along the line started teaching their children, with the result that most Dungins were smarter than the average orc, who tended to rely on strength and size to overcome anything. Whoever led those orcs was a thinker; he had realized what was happening and had been able to organize a bunch of fire-frightened orcs. If the smoke did not kill them, Fredin intended to find out who he was. He was dangerous. He decided right there that if that orc lived, Fredin would recruit him or kill him. A thinking orc could be dangerous, but if Fredin could bring him over to the Dungins he could prove useful.

Fredin had seen all he cared to see. These humans had escaped. Thirty thousand orcs had been reduced to fifteen. Hopefully both of
their chiefs would be dead. If they were, he might be able to make it a win for the Dungins.

Fredin and the hundred orcs
who had stayed with him caught up with the rest of the Dungins that night. He had sent his son Verruckt ahead with the rest of the Dungins. When he got to his tent Verruckt was waiting outside with two very large orcs, both as large as his son, who was himself huge for an orc. Vewrruckt was only twenty-three years old and still had a few years of growing to do, but he was already bigger than almost any other orc. The fact that these to were so big told Fredin that they must be new clan chiefs.

“I am Fredin of the Dungin clan and leader of the horde. Who are you?”

Both of these orcs were used to being the biggest and were obviously put off by his size. These orcs were over eight feet tall, but Fredin still stood a head taller. His son would be close to his height in another couple of years. Fredin continued to stare down at them, waiting for one of them to speak.

“I am
Traurig of the Bedauerlich clan. The chaos god comes. I bring twenty thousand orc to fight.”

“I am
Schlimm of the Schmerzlich clan. I bring twenty
five
thousand to fight.”

“I am the
horde leader. I have been accepted by the other chiefs. If either of you want to challenge, do it now.”

They both lowered their eyes.

“Then you are part of the horde. Together we bring down the dwarves. There are four more clans out raiding towns. They will be back by morning. The horde is now more than one hundred thousand. We will destroy the dwarves and take their mountain.”

Fredin was sitting in his tent hours later when he heard shouting and squealing outside. He knew that the clans were back. By the sound of it there was a new clan chief
, and he was prepared to blame him for the disaster that happened today. With a smile on his face Fredin took his greatsword in hand and walked outside. His son stood outside the tent with his own greatsword ready. Walking toward the tent was a crowd of orcs—close to a hundred was Fredin’s guess at a glance. A rather large orc was shouting in the front as he walked toward them.

The orc at least had the sense to name himself when
Fredin approached. “I am Torricht. I have claimed both tribes that fought today and they are now one tribe. The Torricht tribe.”

Fredin’s eyes went past him to the orc just behind him. He wasn’t sure what it was about him. There was something about his eyes. Then he realized. He was figuring out his options. He wasn’t focused on the fight that would surely come but figuring out what he was going to do after. This was the orc who had organized the others in the town, he was sure of it.

Fredin turned his attention back to the orc standing ten feet in front of him. He was going on about how the Dungins had not fought. Fredin recognized it as a trap. He kept repeating himself in different ways.

“You challenge Fredin?”

He knew he hadn’t actually challenged him. He had just been trying to show off, but now he would have to challenge him or he would be challenged.

Fredin saw the anger mixed with fear in his eyes. He was trying to back out
, he just couldn’t figure out how.

Fredin taunted him. “Everyone look. It is the scared mouse of the woman tribe.”

Torricht reached both hands over his shoulders. Each returned with a spiked mace in it. “You challenge Torricht?”

Fredin just smiled. “A snake does not challenge a mouse.”

To Torricht’s credit he at least understood he was being insulted. He just didn’t understand how—that was clear by the way his face twisted up. Fredin just smiled again. Torricht didn’t have a choice. He had to fight.

Torricht came at him fast. His right
-hand mace came down, trying to crush Fredin’s head. He side-stepped, raising his greatsword for the other mace that was coming in toward his right shoulder. He pushed against the mace and stepped toward Torricht. Torricht tried to swing his right-hand mace at Fredin’s left shoulder, but that was what Fredin had anticipated. When he stepped toward him he had come inside the range of the mace. He let go of his sword with his right hand and grabbed the mace. Torricht tried to pull it away, but Fredin smashed his face with a head-butt. Torricht rolled backwards on the ground, coming back up to his feet quickly. Fredin tossed the mace to his son while Torricht wiped the tears from his eyes. Blood was pouring from his bulbous pig nose and at least a couple of teeth were broken. Torricht charged again. This time he slipped and his mace came down at Fredin’s legs. He swept his sword across, but he was too slow. He had been preparing to block high and wasn’t able to get his sword across in time. One of the spikes dug into his thigh. His sword came across just too late and severed Torricht’s arm above the elbow. Black blood poured out. Fredin picked up the mace and brought it down on the back of Torricht’s head.

Fredin tossed that mace at the feet of his son as well. “I am Fredin of the Dungin tribe, and leader of the
horde. I claim the Torricht tribe as Dungins. Do I have a challenge?”

The big orc next to the smart one drew two swords and stepped forward. When he opened his mouth to challenge, Fredin didn’t even
give him time to say his name; he just put his sword through his mouth and out the back of his skull. There were no other challengers.

Fredin gave his son orders to
integrate the new tribe into the Dungins. Then he told the smart orc to come into his tent. One of the priests came with them. Fredin sat down in a chair while the priest packed the wound in his thigh with poultice. It was deep and painful, but the leg still held his weight. It wouldn’t slow him down.

Fredin stared at the orc standing just inside the entrance. “I am Fredin of the Dungins. Who are you?”

“I am Gescheit of the Dungins.”

Fredin had to smile. Gescheit wasn’t big
—he couldn’t be more then seven feet tall—but he was clever. This had to be the one. “You are the one who organized the orcs to clear the area of anything that could burn in the town.”

Gescheit didn’t answer right away. It was another unnatural sign of intelligence for an orc. “Torricht led that.”

It would have been enough for any other orc, but Fredin was a Dungin. “You led Torricht to the idea.”