The heavy footfalls of thousands of orcs resounded through the echoing passage, like the crashing of a waterfall upon stones. And like water the army seemed to flow as it moved, expanding to fill every tunnel and alcove that riddled the mountain like some ancient ant’s nest. Light from thousands of torches, candles, and lamps accompanied the horde on its march, bobbing up and down upon the river of bodies, and thousands of empty stomaches gurgled and rumbled.

  The last of the rations had disappeared the previous night, with little fanfare. The horde still marched with fire in their hearts and determination in their eyes, but Moktark knew that it was only a matter of time before they began to weaken, until that fire was snuffed out. Still, he ordered the horde onwards, and onwards they marched.

  The change in leadership had been met with challenge, of course. Several strongmen had appeared to challenge Moktark, asking why he should be granted the honour of leading the horde. Asking where the Giantkiller had gone. Moktark had given his challengers his answer by way of his fists, and Koruk’s chosen successor seemed largely undisputed, for now at least. But as hunger gnawed at their bellies…

  Moktark wondered where Koruk was now. Not for the first time or the last he wished his little brother was at his side. He always seemed to be able to pull some plan out of his butt when Moktark was scratching his head, and the big orc had come to rely on his younger friend more than he thought possible. He was proud of him, proud of how much he had watched him grow. Moktark didn’t get this mumbo jumbo about visions and prophecies and magic rocks, but he trusted that Koruk knew what he was doing.

  “The tunnel is opening up.” Semthak said. The old orc was marching at his side, along with Hemust, the Rock Crusher leader. Moktark shook off his introspection, and took in his surroundings.

  Contrary to what he expected, the deeper they had delved into the mountain’s depths, the wider and clearer the passageways had become. Rough hewn warrens were beginning to open up, giving way to wide, straight roads carved into the living stone. They passed enormous machines that had sat idle for millennia, awaiting long dead operators, and massive wagons straddled rows of metal rails, filled to the brim with ore that glittered in the torchlight. A thick layer of dust had settled over everything, and with every step centuries of accretion kicked up around Moktark’s boots.

  “Orcus’s halls.” Semthak muttered. “Lost for countless generations. Mere myth in the eyes of most shamans.”

  Moktark grunted noncommittally.

  A shout rose from the right flank. Hemust’s miners had found something.

  “Footprints.”

  “Barefoot by the looks of it.” Semthak said. Two pairs of footprints led off into a squared off doorway inset into the wall. “A well trodden path as well.”

  “I guess this place isn’t as lost as you thought.” Hemust said.

  “If there’s people down here, they might have food.” One of the miners offered. His belly rumbled as if to puncture his words. “We should follow these, see if we can find where they lead.”

  Hemust hesitated, rubbing his bare chin and looking into the darkness.

  “Two teams of five. Keep in regular contact. Don’t kill anyone if you can help it.” He ordered. The miner saluted, fist over heart.

  “Yes warchief.” He said. He gathered up some of his fellows, and with torch in hand disappeared around a bend.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Semthak offered.

  “No. It’s a fool’s hope. But at this point I’ll take any hope I can get.”

  Hours dragged on as the army waited for the scouts to bring news. They never returned. Hemust ordered his men to move on, saying that the miners would be able to easily catch up to the army when they found their way back up. Moktark knew better, and kept his eyes open from that point forward.

  The underground highway seemed to stretch off into the distance forever, and another day passed by without incident. The horde settled down to camp, having no fuel for fires, or food to roast over them. The darkness pressed in on all sides as orcs carefully conserved lamp oil and torches.

  Moktark lay on his side on the smooth stone floor. He tossed and turned, but no matter how he laid the stone seemed to suck the heat out of his body. Exhaustion began to set in though, and gradually he drifted into the space between sleep and consciousness. He began to hear music. It sounded eerie. Alien and hostile, played on flutes that carried sound like the wind whistling through trees. Moktark missed trees, and wondered when they’d get out of this wretched cave.

  The cold surface under his shoulder began to annoy him, and he rolled onto his back. His eyes flashed open. The music hadn’t stopped.

  Moktark bolted upright, and glanced around. Several other orcs were already up and looking around in bewilderment. The sound didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. It echoed through the hall, resonant and haunting.

  “This place is haunted. We’ve walked into a damn crypt.” Moktark muttered.

  “I find it hard to disagree with you.” Semthak said.

  The music continued on, and Moktark tensed, gripping his axe with white knuckles. Eventually it faded away, maybe an hour later, or perhaps only a few minutes. Moktark found he couldn’t tell time underground, and had long given up trying.

  He laid back down, knowing he should get some rest. It was some time before he was able to get to sleep again though, and he held his weapon close as he slumbered.

  The following day, or what was generally accepted to be the next day, the hall widened again, opening into an expanse so vast that Moktark imagined the entire horde could have stood abreast, and not spanned it. An exaggeration, he thought to himself, but the army fanned out into the room all the same, 20,000 orcs not even coming close to filling the massive space.

  “Watch your step.” Semthak said. Moktark gazed down at the pit that opened up in front of him. It seemed to go down forever, a massive circular hole in the floor that spanned at least half the cavern. In the dingy murk, he could see enormous cranes and bridges extended out over the pit, reaching out like the legs of some horrible spider.

  “Who would build this?” Semthak asked.

  “Not me.” Moktark replied.

  “Look at those bridges.”

  “I’m not stepping foot over that deathtrap.” Moktark said. He shuddered and took a step back from the abyss yawning in front of him.

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  “I wouldn’t either. Look at them, they look ready to collapse. I’ve never seen something so…”

  Something about the look of them raised Moktark’s hackles. They looked strange juxtaposed against the smooth straight lines of the tunnels and ancient equipment they had seen thus far. The structures were strange and disjointed, stretched between cranes and gantries like old cobwebs made of twisted metal and junk. As Moktark’s senses adjusted to the gloom, he began to see other signs that something wasn’t right. There was a smell coming from the pit, like rotting meat. Piles of debris were strewn around, whereas the previous halls had been clean save for the dust…

  “There’s no dust.” He said.

  “We shouldn’t be here.” Semthak said. Moktark nodded in agreement. “Let’s turn back and find another way.”

  The music started up again, that haunting refrain Moktark had heard before. It seemed to be magnified by the huge chamber, raised in volume a hundred times. Drums joined the wailing flutes, deep and full, and he could feel it pounding in his chest along with his heart. A horn sounded, somewhere in the distance.

  “Too late for that now. To arms! The enemy comes!” Moktark yelled, his voice carrying itself easily over the din.

  Arrows and darts whistled out of the darkness, and orcs fell to the ground. They began writhing and gasping, clutching at their throats as they died. The horde formed up as quick as it could, forming a circle of shields with the pit at their back.

  “Poison! Get the healers!” Semthak yelled!

  “Get the supply train behind the shield wall! Go!” Moktark yelled. Semthak rushed off, shouting orders.

  “They’ve cut off our retreat. The only way out is forward, around the pit.” Hemust said, an arrow clattering on the smooth stone behind him. “My Rock Crushers will watch your read, get your men moving. We can’t let ourselves be pinned up here.”

  Moktark nodded, and barked orders to his men to start pushing around the right side of the pit. Projectiles continued raining down, and Moktark raised his shield to deflect them, missing the magical silver tower shield he had lost. Then the deadly storm suddenly stopped. There was silence, save for the slow cadence of the drumbeats all around them.

  “They’re coming! Brace!” Moktark commanded, suddenly understanding what was up. A tide of twisted bodies and jagged metal suddenly charged out of the gloom, shrieking in high pitched voices that set Moktark’s teeth on edge.

  Moktark pushed to the front of the line, and yelled a battle cry over the shriek as the first wave of bodies slammed into the orcish formation. He caught a rusty scimitar on his shield and drove his axe into the skull of the snaggletoothed creature that had swung it, kicking its broken body back where it was swallowed up by a dozen other hideous creatures. The orcs held firm against the onslaught, felling dozens with spear and axe. Barkers roared from behind the shield wall, and the monsters fled on dying step, tripping over their own dead as they disappeared back into the gloom.

  The respite wasn’t to last though, as another surge of goblins threw themselves into the ring of torchlight and slammed against the orcs. Although the orcs killed ten for each that they lost, they were forced back step by step with every onslaught.

  Back towards the pit, Moktark realized. They were being herded like animals towards their doom. Not if he had anything to say about it though.

  “Not one step back!” Moktark yelled “Charge!”

  Leading by example, Moktark broke ranks and pushed forward into the sea of heaving bodies with a howl of rage. He drove the edge of his shield into a flat face to his left, and swung his axe underhand into the belly of another snarling goblin, sending it flying through the air with a spray of dark blood. The other orcs rallied and charged forward behind him, driving the foul creatures back into the darkness.

  Hideous faces leered out of the shadows around Moktark, and he lashed out at them with his axe. Somehow he had gotten separated from the others, and was surrounded. His shield had broken, and he had driven the splintered wood into the throat of a foe. Now he fought with both hands on his axe, desperately parrying the jagged points thrust at him, his torch flaming at his feet where he dropped it. The smooth floor was slippery with black blood under his feet. The sounds of carnage were all around him, but in the echoing environment he wasn’t sure which way the orcish lines were.

  Moktark roared in rage and swung his axe at the darkness. The tip of it impacted on a metal helmet, and he was rewarded with a yelp of pain and a spray of blood and flint shards. A gap opened in the ring of foes, and he could see the light of fire beyond! He pressed his advantage, plowing into the darkness, his torch forgotten. Blades nicked his flesh as he swung about himself in a fury, but the twisted horrors didn’t dare stand in his way. Moktark broke free, and ran towards the line of orcs that had reformed itself after the charge.

  Hands clapped him on the back as he made his way back amidst his men, and cheers broke out. The goblins before them were scattered in disarray, and Moktark ordered the horde to start moving around the pit.

  “Moktark! Come quickly!” Semthak yelled. Moktark gave the command to keep moving as he ran back to see what the problem was.

  “The rear lines are faltering!” Semthak quickly explained to him. “Hemust has fallen.”

  Moktark pushed through a ring of healers and knelt down beside Hemust. The massive orc was riddled with arrows and darts, the broken haft of his warhammer still clutched in his grip. Hemust struggled to breathe, the poison coursing through his veins. Moktark looked up at one of the healers, who shook his head.

  “You must… lead them. Zern...thod.” Hemust whispered, his voice barely escaping his swollen throat.

  “It will be done. You have my word!” Moktark said. He clasped his hand into the Rock Crusher’s. “It will be done my friend.”

  The dying orc’s hand went limp, and Moktark placed it over his chest. He reached up and opened Hemust’s eyes.

  Moktark found the Rock Crusher’s line almost completely collapsed. Something big and hairy broke through the wall of orcs ahead of him, lunging at his throat. With honed instinct he brought his axe down on top of it, slamming it down into the stone floor. It looked like some sort of hairless, tail-less dog crossed with a rat, and Moktark didn’t pay it much more attention as he climbed up onto an ancient machine to see what was going on. What he saw was confusing.

  Packs of dog-things, giant beetles, and other strange animals were being driven toward the Rock Crusher line by teams of goblin handlers prodding them with long poles. It was an unorthodox strategy, but undeniably effective. The frenzied animals were breaking holes in the shield wall in their desperation to escape the goblins, and the goblins were taking advantage of it to isolate and surround groups of orcs. The crazed wildlife weren’t exclusively attacking orcs, and Moktark watched a giant beetle bisect one of its handlers before charging into a throng of goblin warriors. The goblins didn’t seem to care, driving forward with reckless abandon.

  Unfortunately for them, Moktark had fought beast tamers before.

  “Barkers!” Moktark yelled, gesturing toward a group of imps hanging back. “Take out those handlers! The rest of you, start making noise!”

  Moktark led by example, bellowing a war cry that was quickly taken up by the rest of the front line. The animals paused, confused by the sudden roar. Suddenly the air split with deafening gunshot, and their tormentors fell dead where they stood. Some of the beasts started to turn away in terror, back toward the goblins, and other animals quickly caught onto their fear and followed suit. The stampede trampled and scattered goblins, giving the orcs a chance to regroup.

  “We’ve bought time! Regroup! Grab what you can carry and follow me!” Moktark yelled, leaping from his perch, and the Rock Crushers did as he commanded. They retreated in good order, regrouping with the Broken Tooth Horde, and together the combined forces charged toward the far wall. The orcs had momentum now, and the scattered goblins routed, melting back into the darkness.

  An opening yawned in the rock ahead of them. A doorway, promising deliverance. Moktark flattened himself against the wall as the first of the orcs barrelled through the opening. Arrows and darts clattered on the stone around him as bodies brushed past him like a torrent, escaping the deathtrap of the pit room, but still he held his ground. As the torrent slowed to a trickle, Moktark held back a group of miners with an outstretched arm.

  “Collapse the tunnel behind us!” He directed. The miners didn’t hesitate for a moment, swinging their hammers and pickaxes with reckless abandon, chopping into the stone as if it were butter. Pebbles and dust rained down on Moktark’s head as they worked. Beyond he could see yellow eyes glinting in the darkness.

  The miners ran for it as the first stones began to tumble downward, and with a crash that set Moktark’s ears ringing the ceiling came down in an avalanche of debris. When the dust and coughing had settled, Moktark looked back, and sighed. His chipped axe fell from his weary hands as he rubbed the dirt and blood from his face.

  They were safe, for the moment. The monsters were sealed away, but so too was their avenue of retreat. There was no way back now.

  “I hope someone grabbed something to eat.”