Chapter 3
The Training Room rang with a cacophony that was no less chaotic than a battlefield. To Barthog's right, a pair of dark mistresses blasted lightning bolts at a steel dummy. Ahead of him a dark knight beheaded five straw dummies in a second, while somewhere behind him a couple of bile demons swung their sharp-edged horns at each other faster than anyone would ever think was possible; judging by their bulk. A warlock was straining himself trying to produce a big enough fireball to cause worry to a straw dummy. Barthog himself, along with few of his fellow goblins were practicing on wooden dummies. Barthog felt clammy, that kokrotten imp hadn't brought him any bedding, which meant he had to sleep on the cold floor. Even in his cave back in Lurkwood he had slept on a pile of leaves at the worst of times. He hadn't slept for more than three hours before Mentor Horst had bellowed them awake and got them training.
Despite the clamminess in his joints, Barthog was in a jovial mood. All elf-poison related worry had been lifted from his chest. Lucky for him, the resident Healer was about as bright as a wooden stump. He never questioned how Barthog got himself hit by an elven arrow, and therefore Barthog could happily retain all of his salary; half of which he was planning to offer the Healer in exchange for staying quiet about the injury. The poison was out of his system and a fresh bandage was wrapped around the wound. Barthog hadn't bothered to put the bracelets back after that. No one noticed a goblin. Barthog let his right arm rest, and practiced with his left. Now that the primary worry was behind him, Barthog longed to catch up on some Dungeon news and gossip. Unfortunately, Fughorn seemed to be the only one interested to bring him any.
"Have you heard?" Fughorn said from Barthog's immediate right. "They're sayin' Rudo Redhand's been seen around Boregind. If he joins up with King Stelhind it's bad news fer us!"
Barthog groaned inwardly. He'd never knowingly stand next to this bog-slurper, except that the dolt had the tendency to sneak up on you unawares. Barthog deliberately turned to the goblin on his left. "So what do they call you, mate?"
The other goblin pointed at Fughorn, and gave Barthog a nasty leer. "I don't think your boyfriend's finished!" He said, cackling.
Unfortunately for the goblin, Barthog had been practicing hand to hand combat. He was just as good with his left fist as he was with his right. As the other goblin fell with his feet in the air, Fughorn howled with laughter. Barthog would have punched him too, but Fughorn was saved by the timely arrival of Mentor Horst.
"Everyone out!" he barked at the room. "You've played with those dolls long enough, underworms! Get yourselves doing something useful for a change!"
Mentor Horst was also the Train Master. He looked more like a gladiator than a sorcerer. His leathery mask of a face had a permanent scowl beneath his shining bald head. His build was in close proximity of a giant bull. Horst gave an angry snort when he saw Barthog's unfortunate victim lying on the floor. He charged forward and gave the goblin a sharp kick.
"Think he's a bit knackered, Mentor sir!" Barthog called out as he walked out. "He'll be up in an hour or so!"
They trickled out of the room while another batch of Dungeon minions went in for their session of training. Barthog rubbed his sore knuckles and shook his head. He'd rather not have gotten into a fight with a fellow goblin this early in the game. It was bad conduct. He wondered how many goblins there were in this Dungeon who wasn't Fugwar's crony.
"Tha' woz brilliant!" yelled Fughorn, who had appeared quite suddenly beside Barthog. Barthog opened his mouth to tell him to kokthrot off, when he heard someone call out to his left.
"Oi, Nancy!"
Barthog turned to see the two horned frame of Fugwar, flanked by a dozen of his goons. Fugwar eyed him with lazy contempt.
"Wot am I gonna do with you, Nancy?" he said. "You come into this Dungeon and then show me disrespect." Fughorn spread his arms and looked at his cronies. "I can take it." he said to them, and then continued to Barthog, "But then you go an' ass-owlt one of my boys. What am I to do about that, eh?"
"Your boys?" said Barthog softly. He was fast losing patience with Fugwar's skepittle. "You backthrot all of 'em?"
A soft "ooooh" issued from Fugwar's cronies. For a moment Fugwar's face was a mask. He was scrutinizing Barthog with a new kind of wariness. He took two steps forward.
"You an' me, Nancy." he said quietly, pointing. "In the Combat Pit. Right now."
"There's chickens in the Hatchery." Barthog said calmly. "If you want ter intimidate summink." He turned and walked away. He could hear Fugwar's goons jeering, but he could also feel Fugwar boiling with rage. He smirked to himself. He would deal with this dungpoonit when the time was right.
The Great Hall of Morg's Dungeon wasn't as cavernous as Melor's, but it was well furnished, and still large enough for every little sound to echo at least twice. Melor's Hall had had the traditional long tables that one would find at a King's castle. Many of his minions had been contemptuous about that. Only a dark lord who had managed to Emerge and rule the overworld had any right to such lavishness. Morg's Hall suited its purpose. Smaller tables were scattered all around, with wooden stools all around them. In the far corner, Barthog could make out several littlewheels, slotspin boxes and dice tables. Despite not being a huge gambler, Barthog was pleased to see them.
Barthog sat down at a table near the Hall entrance. His right shoulder had started to scream feebly once more. It was a good pain, the Healer had assured him. It meant it was healing fast. Despite that, Barthog groaned miserably. He was dying for his daily ration of one tankard of ale, except the kitchen wasn't open yet. He thought back to the disaster at the Dungeon he had deserted. Barthog had served three dark lords in succession. Even a day before Melor's defeat he was wistfully thinking of Lurkwood. There was a time when reminiscing about home wasn't something he did willingly. It was a shameful prospect; for cowards and weaklings who could not face the world and wanted to crawl back home to their Mammies. Even now some of that shame remained, and yet a part of him supported his right to a temporary rest. Hadn't he earned it? Hadn't he charged down the valley of Voregard - screaming bloodcurdling war-cries – with the mighty army of Maurod behind him? Hadn't he survived in the frontlines of Lady Krota's Dungeon campaign against the Pendrian Empire? What did it matter if the bitch got herself slain after she Emerged? He had made her. Where would these so-called great overlords be without the likes of him? Barthog looked around his grim surroundings and sighed. He could have been on his way back to Lurkwood even now, if it wasn't for the kokrotting elf-poison. He had left Lurkwood with a half-loaf of hardbread, five copper pieces and a makeshift bow. He wouldn't return there with a cartload of riches, as he had foolishly dreamed back then. But what did it matter if it was only a tiny sack of gold and a patchwork of battle scars he brought back? How many goblins could attest even to that? At least he wouldn't be here, risking his life once again for some warlord.
"Good one!" a voice said behind him. "That was a scene an' a half!"
Barthog emerged sharply from his reverie. His hand flew to his copper sword before he could stop himself.
"Easy now." the voice said again. "Won't be needin' that with me."
Barthog turned to see an unknown goblin. The Hall had a slow trickle of creatures coming in now to exploit the short time they had for rest. The other goblin sat in front of Barthog, chuckling.
"Fugwar's in a right state." he said. "Never seen him so wound up. I'd be careful if I were you, mate."
"I'll look after myself." grunted Barthog. He wasn't in the mood to talk about that fool at that moment. He looked across to the other goblin, glad of company. "What are you called, then?"
"Haglock." said the goblin.
"Humph." Barthog was reminded instantly of that other Haglock he had known less than a day ago. He tried to not think of the arrow in his head, his body probably left where it was to rot. The Dark gods were cruel.
They introduced each other. Haglock had only been here slightly over a month. Morg's Dungeon had been in construction for little over a year, and the surge of recruitment had started more recently. Lord Morg had his eyes (or eye; who knows how many he actually had?) set on the mighty Kingdom of Boregind, and had placed his Dungeon beneath its North-Western border. There was still no solid indication that the enemy was aware of Morg's subterranean presence near its border, though this was only what the goblins could surmise. No goblin was ever given a place at a dark lord's War Council, so a great deal of information was denied to them. However, Haglock reckoned the sudden surge of recruitment might indicate otherwise. Barthog silently agreed. This was Haglock's first experience with a dark lord's campaign. Still, he'd had years of experience working in raiding parties. Haglock's eyes seemed to pop out when Barthog filled him in regarding his experience.
"You was with Lord Maurod?" he breathed.
Barthog shrugged nonchalantly, and nodded. It was hard not to look smug about this.
"An' I've just been tellin' him about Rudo Redhand!" cried an excited voice. Barthog looked to his right and suppressed another groan. Fughorn had found their table. He sat down and looked eagerly at them. His nostrils quivered excitedly. He turned to Haglock and said, "Have you heard?"
"Yeah, Rudo." said Haglock. He turned back to Barthog with narrowed eyes. "Didn't he bring down Maurod? You must've seen a lot of him."
Barthog explained that he hadn't. Rudo had attacked from the East, with the might of the Krisni-Akaba'ad alliance behind him. Barthog had been among the troops stationed at the Blue Marshes down South. By the time they returned to the Blood Fortress, it was deserted save the ocean of corpses that surrounded it. Maurod had fled, with Rudo and the remains of his troops in pursuit. With the boss gone, Barthog's last payment never came. Barthog had no regrets about that. The loot he scavenged from the bodies had made up for most of it.
"Lucky." commented Haglock. "If you was there you could've been on that body pile."
Barthog sensed a sudden scepticism in Haglock's tone, and resented it at once. He would have to show these newbies what he was made of, and soon. Fughorn seemed to have believed him about his credentials. His heavy-lidded eyes were narrowed to slits with excitement.
"If High King Stel hires him we've got big trouble on our hands!" he ranted happily.
Barthog rolled his eyes at the goblin's naivety. He was familiar with the pre-veteran's excitement at the promise of adventure; without taking into account just how closely death hovered over them. Goblins at the least posed little concern for the likes of Rudo Redhand.
"Stelhind asked his help once before, you dolt!" snapped Haglock. "Rudo turned him down."
"That right?" said Barthog, surprised.
"You din't know that?" said Haglock.
Barthog detected a half-sneer in Haglock's tone. Annoyed, he opened his mouth to make a half-retort, when suddenly there was a clap of thunder near their table. The three of them jumped and looked around. A tall, wiry-thin man was standing where the sound had been. He had short, sleek hair that was matched perfectly by his small goatee, wearing a black robe dashed with purple. He fixed the three of them with a glare.
"You!" he snapped. "Useless dolts, the dark lord does not pay you to socialize!" The man had a sharp, slightly-nasal voice. "Come with me at once. I'll see if I can get you doing something constructive."
"Right you are, Chief Mentor sir!" Haglock said, jumping to his feet. "Come on, you lot."
They followed the man out of the Hall. As they went past a couple of rooms, the Mentor stopped at an open doorway. Barthog saw a workshop in there. He felt a strong wave of heat on his face the next moment. A couple of trolls and an orc were hammering noisily away at something he couldn't quite see. The Mentor had paused in order to shout angrily at the trolls while they gave him resentful looks. Barthog took this opportunity to trip a passing imp. This was the one who failed to bring him his bedding. Or at least, he thought it was. In truth they all looked alike. The imp gave him a baleful stare, but the presence of the Chief Mentor seemed to stop it from speaking or retaliating. They continued on. Soon they had walked so far from the main part of the Dungeon that its clamorous ambience began to die away. Finally, they went through a door into a small and completely unfurnished room. Imps scurried in after them carrying stone, brick and trays of mortar. From either ends of the room fortifications were being made that came steadily towards the centre of the far wall. They were made with great speed, with imps climbing on top of each other to raise the fortifications to the roof. Crude as the fortified walls looked, Barthog knew that once finished it will be flowing with magic channelled from the Heart. Only the strongest magic could hope to penetrate a Dungeon's fortifications.
"You will guard this room until further instructions!" barked the Chief Mentor over the cacophony. "The Lord Keeper will be watching this area with special interest," he added, "any skiving and I will personally supervise you on the torture wheel, understood?"
"Yes sir, Chief Mentor." said Fughorn as the Mentor marched out of the door.
When the Chief Mentor was safely out of earshot, Haglock muttered something that had Fughorn shaking with stifled giggles. "I'm guessin' that's not his real name?" said Barthog.
"His name's Hikandrix." whispered Haglock, "But soon enough you'll be calling him that other name more often."
"It rhymes, too." noted Barthog.
"Wonder what's so special about this room." muttered Haglock.
Barthog wondered as well. They watched the steady development of the fortifications, standing at a safe spot from which they could avoid the movement of the imps. As Barthog watched the brick-and-stone wall coming towards each other from left and right, he began to have a faint suspicion about what going on. His suspicions came true after about an hour. The imps stopped building, leaving a brown wall of earth flanked by the two fortified ones. They cleared up the excess brick and stone and carried them away. The ones that remained picked up their shovels.
"Oh, skep." commented Barthog.
The imps had begun to dig into the earthy wall. Barthog saw the beginnings of a tunnel that would be around five goblins wide. Tunnelling out of a fortified room meant only one thing; Morg wanted to explore a potentially enemy-infested area. Barthog looked at the expressions on his fellow goblins. Even Fughorn seemed to have understood the situation. It suddenly dawned on Barthog that there were only three of them. Two, if he counted Fughorn's lack of experience. For a moment he wondered if he should go back and ask for back up, and then remembered that Morg was keeping an eye on this place. Fughorn sighed and waited. Putting your trust on a dark lord never boosted your confidence. A half-hour passed. As a testament to their speed, the imps had dug a tunnel long enough that its end was lost in the darkness. A short while later the Chief Mentor reappeared with another clap of thunder. He went to the new reinforced wall of the room and plucked out a couple of flaming torches that had been placed there. He glared at the goblins and gestured towards the tunnel, just as Barthog had feared.
As they entered the pitch dark passageway, Barthog saw door of the room opening behind them. A dark mistress with silvery hair and glacier-blue eyes came through it, followed by another dark haired mistress. A dark knight followed them, his body shelled in black armour. He was flanked by three orcs. A bile demon thumped and knuckled into the room last. A small amount of hope flared in the goblins' hearts. They only hoped that the backup would be where they are when the enemy came. The tunnel was pitch-dark, but the goblins' nightseeing eyes adjusted quickly to the light of the torches that came behind them. The human Mentor would have greater trouble seeing anything in this place. As they delved deeper, the earthy wall on their left fell away to be replaced by a wall of godsbone rock. It reflected a lighter brown colour than the surrounding earth. It gave Barthog a strange sense of reassurance. Not even the magically fortified walls of the Dungeon could put up a defence as good as godsbone. They came to the end of the tunnel. A large, wooden door barred their way. Barthog's heart sank; only bad news lurked on the other side.
The Chief Mentor held one of the torches against right wall. It remained there without anything seeming to hold it in place. "Break it down!" he commanded the goblins.
Barthog perked up at once. "Come on, lads," he called out, "Altogether!"
Barthog and Haglock kicked the door in unison. Fughorn caught on and joined them a moment later. Barthog was resenting the orcs that had stayed behind. They were stronger and some of them had hammers. They could do this in no time. Large as the door was, it seemed to be made of thin wood. It didn't take too long before it started to creak and begin to splinter. One final blow made it collapse. Even as his last blow fell, Barthog heard the sound from the other side. It was a sound that haunted his nightmares.
"RUUUUUUUUUUUUN!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs. He tore down the corridor as fast as he could. The passageway shook and rumbled beneath him. He didn't need to look back to know that a great boulder of stone was coming after him, and catching up fast. Barthog gritted his teeth and ran faster. He tore through the other end of the tunnel. The cry of warning died in his throat. The room was completely deserted. There was no time to try and open the door. The boulder burst into the room. It shone mossy green in the torchlight. Barthog rolled out of its way to his left. The boulder hit the wall beside the door. The magically reinforced wall made it rebound. It rumbled back and hit the wall on the left of the tunnel opening, then rebounded again, and again, and again. It was going further away from Barthog, yet he knew that it could very well roll back. Barthog ran to the door, found it locked and kicked it in rage. The boulder rebounded one last time, and then the magic that fuelled it seemed to run dry and it suddenly crumbled against the opposite wall into a mound of earth and rock. Through a film of dust Barthog saw Fughorn crouched against the wall on the other side of the room. The boulder had been slowly progressing towards the unfortunate fool. Fughorn's complexion was a pale, puke-green. His eyes stared back at Barthog hollowly.
Barthog mentally cursed Morg. Then he hoped Morg couldn't read minds. The door of the room opened then. Chief Mentor Hokandrix ambled in and his troop of Dungeon minions followed him. Barthog glowered at them hatefully. They however, strode into the tunnel without as much as a glance at the two goblins. Barthog took this to mean that no enemies would be streaming in from the other side of the door they had smashed. A couple of imps followed the troop carrying little metal poles with a rounded top. Barthog followed them purely out of curiosity. The boulder had distorted the perfectly rectangular edges of the tunnel opening. The floor was smooth in its wake. As Barthog went in, he saw Fughorn scurrying out of the room without a word. More imps were streaming in. They were already fortifying the tunnel walls from the entrance. Two imps streaked past him carrying temporary torches on long poles. As he neared the end of the tunnel, he was the corpse of Haglock lying on its face. Should've stuck to raiding and robbing, Barthog thought sadly.
Imps were taking the remains of the doors apart; others were fixing the silvery poles on the floor of the other side. Barthog supposed they were gas or lightning traps, or both. He and others found themselves in a largish single cave that was roughly oval in shape. A chasm, at least ten goblins wide, split it down the middle. The two sides were connected by an arched stone bridge. A wide passageway started on the opposite end of the cave wall and disappeared around the corner. The other side of the chasm had torches flickering on the cave wall. Barthog went forward past the others and looked down the chasm. It was deep. A golden thread snaked in its gloomy depths. It was a river of lava; Barthog thought he could feel some of its heat even from here.
"The enemy is on the other side." remarked the Chief Mentor, but no one needed him to state the obvious. Suddenly, there was an almighty crash. One of the orcs had run on to the stone bridge without being instructed. It collapsed under him almost instantly, proving that it hadn't been built recently. The heard the orc screaming for quite a long time. It was a large drop.
Both of the mistresses cried out with dismay. It wasn't out of concern for the orc. The breaking of the bridge had postponed their opportunity to deal out some pain to the enemy, and perhaps receive some. No one was more eager to run to the jaws of death than a dark mistress, who revelled every opportunity. These two were probably getting bored of strapping themselves on the torture wheel of Morg's Torture Chamber. Barthog shook his head at the thought.
"The bridge must be rebuilt at once." said the blonde mistress firmly.
The Mentor rounded on her, looking furious. "Dare you presume to advise the Lord Keeper on his decisions?" he growled.
"Will he punish us?" said the dark haired mistress eagerly.
"Be silent!" barked the Chief Mentor. "And stay alert, the lot of you! I shall consult the dark lord."
Hikandrix closed his eyes. For almost a minute they waited. Then the Chief Mentor's eyes opened and glowered at the mistresses. "Chaos, Thorne; you will stay and guard the chasm until further notice. I will send the warlocks Telchines and Malach to join you."
"Those fools?" hooted the blonde mistress.
"Silence!" snapped the Mentor, but both mistresses cackled contemptuously.
The Chief Mentor shook his head with disgust. "The rest of you disperse!" he yelled. He turned to the armoured knight and said, "Peragonn, get all the knights suited and ready. We may be engaging the enemy within the next forty-eight to seventy hours! Perhaps even sooner!"
"As you wish, Chief Mentor." rumbled the knight from behind his helmet.
They went back to the down now doorless tunnel opening. Four traps were erect on either side of it. Their round top was rotating, indicating that they had been activated. Any creature who had not given his allegiance to Lord Morg would face a fatal (or at least painful) experience if they tried to enter this passageway. Barthog saw the corpse of the goblin called Haglock being dragged away feet first by two imps. He sighed mournfully. A day hadn't yet passed since he had entered the Dungeon, and already he had come so close to sharing the other goblin's fate.