Chapter 14:
Bridging the Gap.
Don't get me wrong. But having to sit around and wait because there is no way to cross that god damned river of molten rock to get at the heroes literally camping on its Northern Bank behind a massive defensive line was beginning to drive me absolutely insane. Even the nearing completion of the pet project on my weapons thanks to two extra weeks of doing nothing, and knowing I would be able to wield it in battle within a month, was a consolation of limited value. For the moment, with regards to weapons, I am content to wield the matching blades, Sange and Yasha.
In all fairness, the time had allowed us to create detailed plans of the enemy fortifications, as well as ways to break said fortifications, all rendered null due to lack of a suitable bridge to cross the river. The most appropriate words to describe some of the more ludicrous suggestions that had been attempted bordered along the lines of Troll stupidity. The best example would be our attempt to tunnel beneath the aforementioned two hundred meter wide river of molten death. It took three attempts and a dozen Imps before we gave up on that idea.
When the "golden trio," composed of Gazz, Drahuliska and Erk showed up at my Dungeon Heart and claimed that they had solved the problem, I felt my blood, already raging, begin to boil. It had been far too long since I had killed something. The Blood Rage that the Dark God Kharnax had seen fit to bestow upon me did have this unfortunate minor side effect of me wanting to kill things and shed the blood of anyone and anything moving, but I digress.
Research in the Library had born fruit in the form of the necessary spells and incantations necessary to actually enchant the stone of the bridge and prevent the river from simply devouring it. The bridge also fit into a ridiculously small and lightweight package that would have to be deployed manually upon our side of the river, which would then expand in a bridge that would reach the northern bank of the river. Not to mention that the damned thing would be wide enough for a charge of eight warriors in full armor and still leave room to maneuver.
While it made fording the river much easier, it did not solve the problem of the enemy having a well designed defensive line with Elven Archers, who fired their bows with unnerving accuracy, rarely, if ever, missing a shot. There was a saying somewhere that, when you crossed the eyesight of an Elven Archer, you had best pray that your shield and hide are thick enough to withstand arrows. A charge across the bridge would leave me the corpses piled at one end, and me without an army. The fortifications of the heroes was a wall, almost ten feet, with towers at regular intervals along its entire length. And these were not square towers, but perfectly round ones. It is an established fact of siege warfare that when you knock out the corner of a square tower, the entire structure will come tumbling down. To take down these towers, you have to first capture the walls, and if that isn't bad enough, there are two such walls, spaced about fifteen meters apart with no bridges between the two of them. The first wall effectively acts as a funnel to turn that gap into one massive killing ground.
The only approach would be to assault the one and only way through the walls. The drawbridge had been raised for as long as we had been present in this land, and there was no doubt that there was a well constructed steel portcullis behind that bridge, and probably a set of doors as well. The only way in was as well defended as the rest of their defensive line. Fortunately for me and most unfortunately for them, I have an equalizer available to me… I will just have to make sure that, once my equalizer does his thing, I give him what he wants.
The equalizer in question could actually start and finish most of this battle single handed, but I know that I cannot meet such a price, and as such, I'm going to have to make do with the best that I can get, which, in this case, is extremely limited in this case. My enemy knows that there is only one place that our hammer can fall, and that is the gatehouse. But it is still possible to breach the walls at other points, and just to weaken the garrison at the gatehouse, decoy strikes will hit and fade along the length and breadth of their wall, forcing them to station men along the entire length.
The drawbridge, portcullis and doors would be obliterated, torn asunder and trampled underfoot by any means necessary before we slaughter those who stand against us and begin collecting prisoners. I'll need lots of prisoners. The power of the psychic link made dissemination of the battle plan simple and it was easy to understand for all of my warriors, which meant that we could strike before the sun sets on this day, for a red sun will rise on the morrow, marking the spilled blood of the heroes.
Throughout my dungeon, my warriors moved with the speed and precision that they knew I expected of them, to war and victory. For there is no defeat, there is only death. I won't lie to you dear reader, I knew that I was going to enjoy what fate had in store for the heroes of this land. And it would only be a matter of minutes before it fell upon them.
"Keeper, all of your forces are in position and awaiting further orders," the report was provided in the quiet, hushed and whispered tones that only a Warlock possesses. What I don't understand is why he was whispering to me, especially when he can talk to me normally via the psychic link between Keeper and minion, but I wasn't about to press the issue. My guess is that he does not want to give up the game to any of the enemy, especially the snipers sitting pretty behind cover, just waiting for a sound to give away a target.
"Understood. Gazz, strike and show no mercy!" I could not see the battles being fought farther down river, but I could hear the shouts and roars of beast and spells as the two decoy attack teams threw themselves into the fray, no doubt killing several of the heroes on guard duty. I could hear the shouts and calls from within the enemy's underground citadel, the yelling of orders and the heavy, crescendo of boots upon the stone floor as they marched to stem the tide of expendable warriors I had thrown at their walls. Let them slaughter those mindless beasts.
A wordless roar broke from the Dungeon Keeper, a roar that was echoed by the swollen ranks of his army behind as they charged forward, the enemy struck dumb for a moment at the sheer numbers of warriors that threw themselves towards the gatehouse. A shout from the wall, and arrows began to fall, many on target but stopped short by both magic and demonic hides that turned away the arrows with ease.
Charging forward, the Demon Spawn surrounded the Dungeon Keeper, akin to the waves of an ocean surging towards land, even as magic in numerous shapes and forms lanced out, smashing in the drawbridge, gouging away chunks of the heavy oaken wood to pierce the portcullis and doors behind it. A second barrage followed close on the heels of the first, and the drawbridge was blown off its hinges in a shower of burning wood and sparks, smoke roiling through the air, "Forward my Warriors! Kharnax demands their blood and skulls! Forward!"
The simple, diabolical threat, shouted and echoed within the confines of the cavern, echoing with skull numbing power as the voices of every warrior joined in the chant, surging forward like a tidal wave of death and carnage. The first wave had achieved its objective, the drawbridge and stout doors having been pulverized by the volume of magic directed at it, leaving the hot, burning frame of the portcullis, wrenched and warped out of shape but it still stood, barring the advance of the Black Flame. Through the dense smoke, the Keeper could see the enemy reorganizing, and runners being dispatched to call all the pathetic warriors of light to battle.
Let them all come. I have need of all the blood and skulls that I can collect in this slaughter of every warrior that the Lord has at his command. Those who do not fight such as the women and children, will be the most appropriate offerings when the time comes. Thus far, the Keeper had yet to do more than cast a flurry of spells, but the blades he carried, Sange and Yasha, trembled in their scabbards, eager to taste blood. His smile had a feral savagery to it as he unsheathed both blades and stepped towards the massive portcullis, already beyond crippled. With a single roar, he cut through the metal bands of the portcullis, causing the lower half of it to fall to the tiled stone floor with a clang louder than the fist of the God upon the gates of hell.
The gateway breached, the army of the Black Flame surged forward, cutting down the unfortunate defenders caught in the courtyard, as arrows rained down from the battlements, but to little effect. The magic employed by the Black Flame provided ample shielding from the devastation. A pair of shafts slammed into the Keeper, rocking him back a step. He growled as he waved the short blade in his left hand at the two archers who shrieked, fire exploding from their flesh to leave charred corpses upon the battlements.
He grunted at the pain but shrugged it off. Already he could feel his body healing both wounds. Ducking low, he swung his blades around him, a whirlwind of movement that ripped limbs and shattered shields and bodies alike. A single tortured roar, and he leaped the distance from the ground to the top of the first wall, smashing a group of clustered archers over the edge while his the larger heavier Sange slammed into the back of a Rouge, the point emerging from his chest, even as Yasha ran through another man's neck, an unstoppable titan of destruction.
"Where is your Lord?" he roared, even as he slew the last of the defenders in his immediate surroundings, "Where is the bastard who leads this pathetic rabble! I challenge him! Where is he?" There was no one who could answer the question posed, as the warriors of light were far too few and far too busy fighting with the desperation of possessed men to prolong their meager existences. Screams of agony and pain were intermingled with battle cries and the shouts of the victorious seeking another opponent. Arrows flew and spells sizzled through the air, creating the familiar smell of blood and sulfur.
The mentors of the Black Flame and the Trolls roared as they tore through the second portcullis, the Trolls heaving their massive war hammers in to the wooden door that was now the final line of protection that stood between the Black Flame and the interior of this dungeon. Already the Keeper could feel the pulse, the stead fast throbbing of the Dungeon Heart that ensured the existence of this Dungeon of Light, a bastard offspring of the true Dungeon Heart that is the soul and lifeblood of the Keepers. Keeper Firestorm marched through, his forces flowing around him intent on victory.
Not far from him, the Mentors of the Black Flame maintained a powerful barrier spell that successfully blocked the majority of the arrows launched in their direction, even though they were engaged in furious combat, back to back, claw and spell in a dazzling array of magic and skill that rendered the flesh of his enemies from their bones with magical barrages of fireballs, magic missiles and meteor spells in every direction.
Within the hour, the defensive walls were broken, littered with the corpses of the warriors of light who had attempted to defend it and gave their lives to the last to defend the only passage in to the heart of the Dungeon.
The sudden flux in mana and irregularities in the rhythm of the Dungeon heart were the only telltale signs, and they were sufficient to make it clear that the Lord of the Land, approached. The wispy white portals that connected the underground to the land above shimmered and glowed as massed ranks of heroes began to emerged, marching in full lockstep with their weapons drawn and at the ready, as their lord himself appeared, his heavy ornate plate mail armor shinning with its own internal light as he raised his massive blade, "For the Light! For Justice! For Honor! Send the foul spawns of the devil back to hell!"
The Black Flame had been bloodied, taking light losses, but they stood their ground, confident that this pestilent enemy could be crushed with ease. There was some laughter and derived cheers from the ranks, several making rude gestures at the marching heroes. But the laughter began to die away as the sheer number of warriors increased and then doubled. The net result being two to one odds against the Keeper. That equalizer would be needed, and rather urgently, "Mentors: prepare for the summoning!" growled the Keeper. He took a breath and shouted to his warriors, "Withdraw to the bridge and reform our lines!" While his troops streamed from the battlefield he grasped the arm of the passing Head Troll Erk. It took the Keeper a moment, for he found himself trying to talk down to the level of a Troll to issue his order "Block hole with ba-da-boom."
Erk's face broke in a massive smile, his tusk jutting up on either side of his somewhat elongated face. His thick hide was covered in blood, mostly that of his enemies but there were a few cuts and lacerations upon his body. Not that it mattered, for Trolls are difficult to kill due to their innate regeneration. Erk considered the order as he cast his critical and semi-professional eye over the broken walls and shattered gate structures and made a suggestion of his own, "Big holes in wall. Big ba-da-boom would be better!"
With the Keeper's approval Erk howled something to several other Trolls. It took them only seconds to assemble the devices that they carried and plant them beneath the archways that the heroes would have to pass through. Once the archways came down, they would have to climb over them, making them easy targets. It was done in seconds and a sharp momentary flash of light, followed by a hammer blast of wind totally sealed off the passages and left the defensive walls broken, crumbling ruins of their former majesty.
The reformed lines of the Black Flame waited in concert as the enemies battered themselves against the broken walls, crashing through while they swept forward with the ferocity of a river. The Black Flame saw the sheer number of the enemy being brought to bear, truly a case of three to one disadvantage. The eighty or so surviving warriors of the Black Flame knew that the bridge was the safest place to fight, for they could not be outflanked or out maneuvered, so long as the shields of the skeleton warriors held the line.
The lava river bubbled and popped, as if it was a living organism. The chanting of a Warlock and a Dragon could be heard, and the river seemed to grow ever more excited by their chant. Rising smoke from the river took the colors of the rainbow, seemingly twisting and turning, perhaps taking on the same demonic visage but none could be sure. The vile repulsive language of the demons echoed as the chant continued louder and more fervent, just as the heroes broke through the last barricade and advanced towards the ranks of the black and gold clad army. The white robes of the heroes whipped up when they increased their pace from a steady march to an assault charge, giving a single voice to the battle cry. The Black Flame stood their ground, awaiting the orders of the Keeper standing at the center of his battle line, the fire burning in his eyes mirrored by the fire burning in his soul.
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