The Gate - An Ancient Connection Read online

  The Gate

  An Ancient Connection

  

  Book Two of the Gate Series

  B.N. Crandell

  Smashwords edition

  The Gate - An Ancient Connection

  Copyright © 2014 by B.N. Crandell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN9781310439339

  www.bncrandell.com

  www.ozauthors.com

  A Dedication to Jared Wynter

  Keep fighting.

  Acknowledgments

  Editing: Serena Tatti Editing Services, www.story-editor.com

  Cover Art: Rachel Martin

  Cover Layout: Nilantha Rathnayaka

  Ideas and Suggestions: Desiree Crandell

  Table of Contents

  Fodder

  Rescue Plans

  Runaways

  A Hostile World

  Release

  Scouting

  Freedom

  A Combined March

  Negotiations

  A King’s Decision

  The Darkness Arises

  Heperi

  Izlalek

  Prisoner or Guest?

  A Royal Treatment

  Gathering Wizards

  Good or Evil?

  Defending Heperi

  The Marching Dead

  The Great Retreat

  Battle of the Gate

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Ka’ton

  Ki’arantha

  Fodder

  Sarai awoke. She threw back her blanket and looked down, instantly noticing the blood on her thin, tan coloured nightdress. She cursed silently to herself. She couldn’t understand it; she had always been a good breeder, one of the best in fact.

  She rolled out of her bed which was nothing more than a thin, straw-filled mattress on the floor. Standing up, she stretched out her aching muscles and joints before taking a few steps to the far end wall of her little room. Here she made a mark on the wall next to a number of other marks. She knew how many were there as little else had been on her mind of late, but she counted them again just to make sure.

  Eighteen. She wasn’t wrong. Never had she reached eighteen cycles. Falling with child had always been so easy for her since she was fifteen, even being blessed enough to have twins once, allowing her to have one full week of rest.

  Only six more marks on that wall and she would be taken to Supreme Mistress Sylestra and that was a one way trip. She had witnessed the supreme mistress’s sacrifices before. Her fate was certain but she was hoping that would be many years away. She would have to have more encounters with her partner Brendan, but for now she needed to report this to the guard.

  Once she had thoroughly cleaned her nightdress and clothed herself in her simple, grey cotton clothes, she left her small two roomed dwelling and hurried off to the guardhouse. The sun was starting to cast its reddish light over the compound. It was a relatively cool spring morning and so Sarai folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her shoulders as she walked. As she neared she noticed a line of women out the front. This was always the case as the women had to report their monthly cycles.

  Sarai positioned herself at the end of the queue and stood there nervously. The woman in front of her was silently sobbing. Sarai gave her a brief pat on the back even though she could be whipped severely for doing so. The woman stood up straighter at the touch and eased her sobbing but didn’t turn around. Sarai observed the closest of the guards, making sure her actions had gone unnoticed. The orc was pacing the length of the line with his murky-green, hog-like face fixated on the women, looking for any excuse to use the whip hanging by his side, but had obviously not seen her small act of affection.

  Slowly Sarai moved closer to the reporting window as more women came to queue up behind her. She’d have to work extra hard today to make up for this lost time. The orcs would not listen to any excuse for reduced productivity even if it was their own systems that were the reason — in fact especially then.

  Finally the distressed woman approached the window and stated her name and identification number. After flicking through the pages of a hefty book, the orc gave the woman an evil grin. He instructed the armour clad orcs near the window to take the woman.

  The woman would have collapsed had the two orc guards not gripped hold of her slender arms. Sarai could hear the woman’s screams continue as the orcs took her deep into the guardhouse. Sarai felt miserable that all she could offer that woman was a small pat on her back. That woman had very little time left.

  As the orc returned his attention to the line, Sarai approached the window.

  “State your name and identification number,” said the orc in a bored voice.

  “Sarai. Five, three, eight, six, two, two,” she said in a slow, clear voice. She waited patiently for the orc to find her details in the book.

  “That’s eighteen marks,” said the orc with a twisted grin. “Perhaps you need an orc to give you a baby.” The look he gave her made Sarai sick to her stomach. It wasn’t unheard of for an orc guard to rape a woman, although if it was discovered they would be sacrificed along with the woman. Sarai gave him her most innocent smile and walked away.

  On her way to the textiles mill, rushing along the hard cobbled road, Sarai could not help thinking that she would soon find herself in the same position as that woman. She was thirty-four and had birthed fifteen children. She was lucky enough to be partnered with a strong handsome man who was obviously also a good breeder.

  Some women were partnered with orcs. It was all based on appearances and she had been blessed with good looks. She hoped that she has passed these looks onto all of her children. Even though she’d never see her children again or even recognise that they were hers, she liked to think that they would enjoy the best life they could in their circumstances.

  Looming before her on the edge of the compound limits was the large textiles mill where she had worked since she was eight. It was a massive red-bricked building at the end of the road with towering spires reaching heavenward on all four corners. As she was late for her shift there was no queue so she swiftly approached the small guardhouse in front and reported in, explaining to the angry orcs why she was late.

  * * *

  Captain Yetch, of the Black Skull tribe, stood upon the battlement looking off into the distance. He had recently been promoted to grunt captain, and pride expanded his chest. This was his first assignment in his new position and he was determined to do it well.

  Grenth is a forward defence post for the city of Qunik which is where General O’hark believes the Red Axe tribe will target next. The general had given him this very important task to alert the city of the enemy approach. His orders were simple enough. Maintain vigilance and light the signal beacon when the enemy was sighted.

  He had command of one hundred grunts which is the maximum number a captain is allowed. He was assured that once the beacon was lit, reinforcements would be sent to aid in the forts defence. All he had to do was hold out until they arrived.

  A number of scouts were sent out each day at varying times. Yetch was adamant that he’d know of any approaching army before they were even in sight of the walls. As he began to pace the battlements a nearby warrior yelled out to him.

  “A scout returns,” yelled the warrior as he pointed out into the distan
ce, “And he carries a red flag.” Yetch immediately looked to where the orc was pointing and caught sight of the running scout. The red flag he was carrying signalled an approaching army.

  “Sound the bell!” shouted Yetch. “Every orc to arms.” He repeated this command all the way to the entrance of the fort.

  The gates had already been opened by the time he arrived and the scout was approaching with great haste. Captain Yetch stood firm until the out-of-breath scout stood in front of him. The orc was short and scrawny with unkempt black hair. He wore the standard leather armour for a grunt, which was well worn as it had been passed on from other orcs who had either died or been promoted. No great expense was ever spent on grunts who were the lowest ranked warriors in the army.

  “The Red Axe marches?” Yetch tried to remain calm as he waited for the scout to catch his breath and reply.

  “It does captain.” The scout tried to stand a little straighter, but still hunched over significantly. Captain Yetch ignored the lack of decorum considering the circumstances.

  “How many are they and how far?” he asked sternly.

  “Perhaps five thousand and they are only a short march from the river. Captain, they have four or five companies of worg riders with them.” Yetch felt his legs go weak. How could he hold out against such an overwhelming number for any length of time? He couldn’t show any weakness around these orcs though, he was in command here. He turned to a nearby grunt.

  “Light the signal beacon now.” The orc instantly obeyed and ran off.

  “Keep these gates open for the other returning scouts. If they haven’t arrived by the time the Red Axe are in sight, close and bar them.” Captain Yetch marched off to make sure the fort was as prepared as possible.

  * * *

  Great Shaman O’tukka, the most powerful orc shaman in the tribe of the Black Skull, took another careful look around. No one would likely follow him but he had to make sure. The black walls of the canyon closed in around him, blocking the majority of the suns light. He had been dreading this occasion for so long but it couldn’t be put off any longer or it would make matters worse.

  He summoned a detailed picture in his mind of a well-known location and began to cast his spell. He finished by pointing to an area right in front of him and a moment later a swirling, light blue gate formed. After a deep breath, the great shaman stepped through.

  * * *

  “The signal’s been lit, fierce one.” The incorporeal image of General O’hark’s heavily scarred face hung in the air over the desk of Gilkan the Fierce One, leader of the Black Skull tribe. His head was bald with the exception of the very centre of his crown where he allowed a handful of black hair to grow long, tying it together with a band and letting it hang down the middle of his back to shoulder blade height.

  “The Red Axe grows bold. They believe us to be weak. What of Grenth?” The fierce one leaned back in his high backed, leather chair and held the points of his fingers together while resting them on his chin.

  “A necessary sacrifice, my fierce one. One hundred grunts will show pretence of resistance and prolong the advancement of the army. All other preparations are in place.” The general looks very pleased with himself and so he should.. He had achieved so much is such a short time. Gilkan did not think their enemies would be so quick to advance.

  “How long before they reach Qunik?” asked Gilkan leaning forward in his chair and gripping the armrests.

  “I believe they will take Grenth in a matter of hours but will likely camp there overnight before marching here. They will want to be well rested before attacking a well-fortified city.” Gilkan leaned back in his chair once again, crossed his arms and cupped his chin with his right hand stroking his short plaited beard. He had hoped to keep the six humans here a little longer as they still had much to learn from them, but he couldn’t pass up this opportunity and those six could make a huge difference.

  “I will arrive first thing tomorrow morning with six more prisoners.” General O’hark looked ready to argue with him but obviously thought better of it.

  “I look forward to the visit, fierce one,” said General O’hark with a slight bow of his head. The general turned and commanded the shaman near him to terminate the connection. Gilkan watched the image turn to mist and evaporate and the blue glow of the orb darkened until it was pitch black again.

  * * *

  Great Shaman O’tukka stepped out of his gate and into a familiar room. The very plain room made it easier for him to keep it firmly in his mind. Everything was as he had left it which didn’t surprise him. The door was heavily warded and there was no reason anyone would want to come into this room.

  A small wooden desk and chair nestled in one corner, a dark wooden closet in another and a large chest at the foot of a long undisturbed bed. This was his childhood bedroom.

  He enacted the simple spell he had created to disarm his magical traps, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. He turned right in the empty hallway and walked until it intersected with a larger, busier corridor and he was instantly noticed by many.

  Once again turning right, he shuffled towards two large, elaborately decorated doors. Two towering orcs stood before them in heavy leather armour holding halberds at their sides. As he approached, the guards crossed their halberds over one another’s, blocking his access to the double doors. He simply stopped and stared at one of them. The orc’s knees trembled slightly but he held his pose.

  Before O’tukka could tell the guard how foolish he was, the double doors opened inwards. Ahead of him was an enormous room with a row of solid round stone support pillars on either side of a lush red carpeted walkway. Orc guards stood as motionless as statues either side of the pillars. As he took a step forward, the great shaman knew that there were many guards out of sight with crossbows loaded and likely trained on him right now.

  All this grandeur and pretence of power was unnecessary. He cast his gaze to the end of the walkway. An intricately decorated golden throne with blood red velvet covering the padding perched upon a raised platform. The velvet had gold decorations inlaid and in the centre, high above the one seated upon it was a golden skull perhaps half the size of an actual skull.

  The figure seated elegantly on the throne was the most powerful being the great shaman knew. He was aware that she could single-handedly destroy all those within the room without breaking a sweat — himself included. The seductive, youthful looking woman gazing sternly at him was the first human he’d ever seen.

  * * *

  The Red Axe formed ranks below the walls. The scout had been accurate — five thousand enemy soldiers were preparing an assault on Grenth. Captain Yetch had the vast majority of his company on the walls in plain view of the enemy. He left a few down behind the walls to operate the arrow carts, small machines that could fire fifty arrows at once. The specially designed arrows fitted into the fifty small tubes. A backing board at the rear of the tubes attached to a tensioning mechanism which could be wound up tight and locked in place.

  A single trigger released the lock, springing the backing board and launching the arrows. The accuracy of the device was poor, but when the battlefield was full of enemies it was hard to miss. The cart could be wheeled around and operated by a single orc, but Captain Yetch hoped it gave the illusion that many orcs were lined up behind the wall.

  Yetch noticed the worg riders were kept to the rear of the army. He wasn’t surprised by this as they would be little use charging toward high walls. What had him really worried was the ten shamans he had counted among the throng.

  Where were his reinforcements? He had lit the signal beacon three hours ago. At a slow march they should be arriving at any minute now, but General O’hark had assured him that reinforcements would be swiftly sent. Was there a problem back in Qunik? Had the enemy attacked there as well?

  All too soon the charge was on in full. When the enemy was within range of the archers, he ordered them to fire at will. Soon after, he ordered the arrow car
ts to fire as they had a shorter range. Then the magical gates started to appear and the worg riders charged out onto the wall.

  Captain Yetch yelled out his orders for archers to focus fire on them. Worg riders started being shot and dismounted before they were fully through the gates which caused congestion for those following. But too many had already made it through and the worgs were ravaging his grunts even without their masters.

  As a worg charged at Yetch, he ran fearlessly toward the beast. As he neared he dived forward onto his belly and slid under the animal narrowly avoiding its snapping jaws. He hurriedly turned onto his back and thrust his sword into the worg’s soft underbelly. He directed the dying creature’s fall to the side and regained his feet.

  No sooner had he stood up, he was knocked down again from behind. He swiftly rolled over and scurried back only to be pinned down by the powerful paws of the worg looming above him. Looking beyond the beast’s aggressive snarl, he saw the evil grin of its rider. Just before the worg started tearing into him, Captain Yetch came to the realisation that he and his company had been used as fodder.

  * * *

  O’tukka walked to within ten paces of the raised throne, stopped and bowed low to the woman seated upon it.

  “Well if it isn’t O’tukka.” The woman looked the great shaman in the eye as he stood up straight and a feeling of hopelessness started to creep into his consciousness until he was able to block it out. “And his power has grown considerably I detect.”

  “Supreme Mistress Sylestra, you honour me too much with your words,” replied O’tukka.

  “I do indeed O’tukka! You have failed to report for well over a month. Explain your reasons for this.” Supreme Mistress Sylestra stood up and glowered down at him. Her long flowing black dress almost touched the ground and the dual splits on either side showed off her shapely legs.