Erik And The Dragon ( Book 4) (24 page)

He waited for hours on the roof, ignoring the rain and the night’s wind. From his vantage point he watched whenever someone entered or exited the building. Those who left filed away into the night like ants streaming along the ground. As the night wore on, the rain let up, but there were still heavy, dark clouds blocking the moon.

Something stirred below and Nerekar heard the sound of a wooden log smacking against the brick below. A puff of smoke rose up through the chimney all at once, carrying a few small embers with it. He knew they had thrown more wood on the fire. Soon those inside the longhouse would be turning in for the night.

The door below creaked open and a pair of solid looking orcs came out to stand in front of the door. Immediately thereafter the final groups of guests departed from the longhouse. Gilifan was among them.

“You shouldn’t go out in the night,” one of the orcs said.

“I want to see this contraption you spoke of,” Gilifan replied with a hearty slap to the man’s back. “If the battering ram is as strong as you claim, then I will have to order one from you!”

The door closed and the sentries moved into position.

“We’ll let you back in when you return,” one of them said. Gilifan nodded and waved to them as he went with the group.

Nerekar waited for another hour. He wanted to make sure that his target had retired for the night, and give the fire enough time to burn low. The assassin watched the smoke to judge his timing and then, when he was satisfied, he prepared
himself. He pulled thick gloves onto his hands and tied leather pads to his elbows. Lastly he put on a pair of goggles, made from the thick, translucent scales of the bortuga fish. Then he clambered over the top of the chimney, held his breath, and descended into the chute.

It was a tight fit, but he was able to squeeze in. The goggles protected his eyes from the smoke so he could see where he was going and his special leather gloves and pads insulated his hands and elbows from being burned. The heat from the fire roiled over his body and within a couple of seconds he was sweating heavily and the oil on his face was burnt away, leaving a naked, hot sensation on his cheeks and forehead.

Nerekar quickened his pace, spidering down the chute and mostly managing to avoid touching the wall with unprotected skin, except for once when he bumped his knee on a small piece of brick that jutted out into the chute. When he reached the hearth’s opening he stuck his head down to look about. A couple flames leapt up to lick his forehead, but he paid it no mind. This was not the first time he had used such an entrance.

Noting that the room was dark, and void of anyone, he deftly reached out with one arm and maneuvered himself out of the fireplace without so much as singing his leg hairs. He straightened his back and shivered slightly as his skin tightened and adjusted back to a normal temperature. He quietly let out the breath he was holding and removed his goggles. Nerekar then moved to the far side of the main chamber and bent down to look through the space under the door. He pressed his cheek into the floor and his eyeball darted up and down the narrow field of vision. He spied only a pair of emp
ty boots resting next to a bed.

Next he went up to the keyhole and peered through. It offered him an even narrower vantage, but he spied his target’s feet poking up through a green blanket on the bed. He turned his ear to the keyhole and listened to the rhythmic, slow breathing inside.

The orc chief was asleep.

Nerekar opened the door and crept in quieter than a snake in the grass. He closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. He quickly scanned the area and then scaled the nearest wall and grabbed hold of the heavy, thick crossbeams in the ceiling. He monkeyed through them, positioning himself directly over Gariche.

The large orc snorted and his mouth fell open, emitting low, rumbling breaths.

The assassin pulled a small vial out from his belt and gently twisted the cork out. He then pulled a line of silk out of a small pouch on his belt and dipped the end into the vial. The green liquid clung to the silk line and Nerekar smiled wickedly. He rolled his hand around, unwinding the silk line in front of him and lowering the wet end down to Gariche’s mouth. No sooner did the silk line brush against Gariche’s lower tusk than the green liquid glued it to the tooth.

Nerekar corked the vial and pulled a second glass vial out from his belt. He used his free thumb to gently slide the shellbug cap to its open position and then tipped the vial slowly to the line. The clear liquid inside rolled slowly at first, and then when it hit the silk line several drops raced down to the sleeping orc below.

The drops rolled off the silk and dripped into Gariche’s mouth. The orc snorted and coughed, rolling over and
detaching the silk line from his tooth. Nerekar quickly reeled the line in and waited. A few moments later Gariche jerked to the side and a hand clasped at his chest. The orc’s eyes shot open and he gasped for air. Then he twitched and fell back in his bed.

The Blacktongue clambered down the wall and went to the side of Gariche’s bed. The thin assassin easily lifted the large orc up onto his shoulders and carried him to the door. He shuffled the weight onto one shoulder and then used his left hand to open the door. He walked out into the main room and set Gariche in a chair near the hearth. Quickly, he went and grabbed a half empty bottle of wine and placed it into Gariche’s left hand, careful to wrap the orc’s fingers around the handle. He then placed the fire poker in Gariche’s right hand. Speedily went back to the bedroom and pulled the green blanket from the bed and draped it over Gariche. He then grabbed a couple new logs and put them on the fire.

Then the assassin put his goggles back on and clambered up the chimney before the flames caught onto the new logs.

*****

“Well, it is a fine design,” Gilifan said as he admired the plan for the battering ram. “I especially like the fact that it can spew fire from the front. That is ingenious.”

Gersimon
laughed proudly. “Every piece of the ram is made of iron, so it will not only throw fire, but it will be immune to it, that’s why I call it the dragon.”

Gilifan nodded. “I appreciate you taking the time to show it to me, but it is late. I should probably be going back.”

“There is one more thing I would like to show you.” Gersimon motioned with his arm and exited the large workshop. Gilifan ran a finger over the smooth side of the ram again and then followed after the orc. He walked through the small hallway and found Gersimon standing at the end. He put a finger over his lips and then reached into a brass pot. Something clicked and then the end of the hallway swung open, leading to a steep staircase. The orc gestured with his head for Gilifan to go first.

The necromancer quick-stepped
down the stairs, hunching over slightly to avoid ramming his head into the uneven brick ceiling. The smell of dirt and cobwebs assaulted his nose and he put a hand up over his face to keep the musty odor at bay as best he could.

A single lamp burned down below, shadows dancing and flicking this way and that as the flame twitched and writhed. A large orc sat at the table wearing simple leather trousers, a sleeveless jerkin, a pair of thick, heavy wrist bracers engraved with the image of a horse
trampling a serpent, and a pair of rugged black boots. The orc turned, smiling from behind his heavy tusks, and rose to his feet. The chair scraped across the stone floor as he rose. He was easily a head taller than Gilifan, and his shoulders were twice as wide.

“Gulgarin
,” Gilifan said respectfully. “It is an honor to finally meet you face to face.”

“I will leave
the two of you alone,” Gersimon said as he returned upstairs and shut the door.

Gulgarin
pointed his thick arm to the floor above. “My cousin, and blood-brother since we were only six years old. Both raised by our uncle when our parents were slain.”

Gilifan nodded. “He is every bit as cunning as you said,” Gilifan commented. “I am surprised he was able to ingratiate himself here in Gariche’s clan so easily.”

“Gersimon came here a few years ago, after the plague had been wiped out. The clan here was in need of an engineer, and my cousin is the best, so they welcomed him readily.”

“Gariche never suspected that an engineer from another tribe might be his undoing?”

Gulgarin growled and his upper lip curled back. “Gariche is a fool. If allowed to rule he would lead this entire clan away from our traditions.”

“
Fool though he may seem, I can sympathize with his motives for changing his ways. I was told there was a curse,” Gilifan said.

Gulgarin
waved his hand and shook his head. “The rulers of Hammenfein reward bravery, honor, and above all, fortitude and will. They may have cursed him once before, but
he
surrendered. He stopped fighting for what he wanted. If he was cursed before, then he is one hundred times worse off for it now.”

“I see,” Gilifan said. He approached a few steps closer. “S
o, what is it you want to do?”

“The same as I
told you in our letters. Were you able to convince Gariche to fight with you?”

Gilifan shook his head. “Gariche has chosen the peaceful exit.”

Gulgarin pounded a strong left fist into his thick right palm. “Then he is one thousand times cursed!”

“Let the gods punish him as they will,” Gilifan said. “But what about you? Do you still stand with me?”

Gulgarin puffed out his barrel of a chest. “If none of the orc tribes would fight, I would go alone with you to Ten Forts and break down the walls myself.”

Gilifan smiled. “That is what I wanted to hear.”

“What about you?” the orc asked. “How will you deliver your promise to me?”

The necromancer held a palm up in the air and sneered wickedly. “Let’s just say that I think Gariche is going to have a bit of trouble with his heart tonight. In fact, he should be cold already.”

“Magic,” Gulgarin grumbled. “Never liked it much.”

“Maybe that is why the orcs have never been able to retake their homeland from the humans,” Gilifan countered.

Gulgarin looked up to the necromancer menacingly and clenched his fists.

“Easy, my friend. It was not an insult, merely an observation.”

“Magic is for those who are not strong enough to fight for themselves,” Gulgarin countered.

Gilifan bristled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have taken my share of heads by the sword,” the necromancer said. “However, I didn’t use magic on Gariche.”

Gulgarin raised a bushy black eyebrow and then skewed his face into a grotesque, disapproving frown. “Poison then?”

Gilifan nodded.

Gulgarin snorted. “That’s worse. Poison is the way of cowards.”

“I recall a group of orcish assassins that rely primarily on poison,” Gilifan said.

“Not in
my
tribe,” Gulgarin spat.

“Brute strength is well and good, but this matter was delicate. I can’t very well walk into town and lop the chief’s head off.”

“You have the token of debt,” Gulgarin pointed out. “The chief of this tribe has to honor it.”

“Exactly,” Gilifan said. “And now the
new
chief will be bound by it.”

A grin slowly appeared on Gulgarin’s face. “Oh, but you are an evil viper aren’t you?”

Gilifan sniggered. “I will ask the new chief to honor our alliance. However, he has sworn a blood oath to kill me once the token has been spent.”

Gulgarin nodded. “I can see to it that Maernok falls at Ten Forts.”

“Well then,” Gilifan started with a shrug. “Seeing as how Maernok has no heir, I suppose you will also have to assume rule of this clan as well.”

Gulgarin’s grin widened to reveal his top row of teeth. “It would be the only proper thing to do,” he said.

The door upstairs opened and Gersimon ran down the steps. “The guards are on their way here. We need to go!”

Gilifan nodded and went up the stairs while Gulgarin went out of the chamber through a large keg that opened into another secret tunnel. The necromancer and Gersimon had only just returned to the workshop and grabbed the set of battering ram plans when they heard shattering wood and a horde of heavy boots stomping through the house.

“I’ll kill you now you measly dung eating worm!” Maernok shouted as he pulled a heavy mace from his belt. The guards at his side each drew weapons of their own.

Gilifan pulled the token of debt out from his robes. “Have you forgotten what I hold?” he shouted. “Gariche still owes me a debt!”

“Gariche is dead!” Maernok roared. “And you will soon join him.”

“STOP!” Gersimon shouted. “If Gariche is dead, then
you
are chief. By our traditions you have to honor the token of debt.”

“Don’t tell me what my traditions are, outsider!” Maernok spat.

“Maernok,” one of the guards said. “Gersimon is right. It is our way. You have to honor the debt.”

Maernok stormed up to Gilifan and stuck the mace in the man’s face. “Come on, wizard, show me your magic and I will end everything right here, right now.”