Chapter 36: Earthquake Scroll
Morgash Bloodhowl’s heart was hollow with regret. He had been too eager for glory, gravely misjudging the strength of those bizarre humans. He had also underestimated the human army, especially the foreign lord who had come to their aid.
Why did the humans have so many mages?
Why were those strange ones impossible to kill?
And why would such powerful and unique Minotaurs follow a human lord?
Too many questions swirled in Morgash’s mind, but it was all meaningless now. He stared at the human soldiers closing in around him, his expression ashen, a man resigned to his fate.
Baron Hawthorn shot a glance at the half-dead orc chieftain on the ground, a flicker of malicious glee in his eyes. He scurried over to Alistair’s horse, his face splitting into a sycophantic grin.
"My Lord, Sablewood is a humble place. I cannot gather the ten thousand gold and five hundred pieces of equipment at this moment. However," he said, producing a document, "I have prepared a promissory note. I will pay five thousand gold, two hundred sets of standard armor, and the promised grain immediately. The remainder will be delivered within the year. If that is acceptable...?"
With a flourish, Hawthorn presented the promissory note, which bore the imperial seal, to Alistair with both hands.
Alistair glanced at the note, saw no issues, and passed it to Thorne to be put away.
Seeing Alistair accept the terms, Hawthorn pressed his advantage. "My Lord, I have but one small, improper request. Might you allow me to handle the execution of this orc chieftain? He has spilled too much blood in Sablewood Creek. I wish to make a public example of him before my subjects."
Alistair understood Hawthorn’s motive perfectly. He wanted the military merit that came with killing a chieftain to offset some of his losses, while simultaneously bolstering his own heroic image. Alistair was indifferent. As an Earl, the glory from killing a hundred orc chieftains wouldn’t be enough to earn him another promotion. He might as well use it to appease Hawthorn.
After all, this battle’s losses had fallen heaviest on Hawthorn’s knights and militia. The players didn’t count, as they could resurrect. Alistair, by contrast, had lost only eight knights and forty-some infantrymen, with only a single Minotaur suffering a light injury. The ten thousand gold he’d extorted would more than cover the damages.
It was, without question, a great victory.
After the battlefield was cleared, Alistair and his retinue were invited back to Sablewood Keep by Hawthorn.
"My Lord, our victory banquet is prepared. Are you certain you won’t attend?"
"There’s no need," Alistair said, waving a hand impatiently at the beaming Baron. "Have the five thousand gold, the equipment, and the grain brought out now. I’m on a tight schedule."
Truthfully, after three days away, he was already starting to miss his pretty maidservant.
Seeing Alistair’s firm resolve, Hawthorn stopped insisting. "Very well," he said with a sigh of feigned disappointment. "In that case, please wait just outside the keep. I will have my knights bring the items out immediately."
Alistair offered no reply. Hawthorn shot a look at his personal guard, who then hauled the limp, expressionless Morgash Bloodhowl into the castle’s great hall.
But Hawthorn had no intention of calling his knights to move supplies. Instead, he dragged the orc chieftain to the castle’s highest terrace, which offered a commanding view of Alistair and his army below.
"Do you recognize this?" Hawthorn sneered, pulling a scroll from his coat and waggling it in front of Morgash’s face.
Morgash lifted a heavy eyelid. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his features.
"You do, don’t you?"
Of course, Morgash recognized it. It was an orcish Earthquake Scroll.
Crafted by the great Orc Shamans, it was a strategic magic scroll that could only be activated by an orc chieftain. They were designed to shatter city walls, but they were also brutally effective against armies in a confined space.
"Where did you get that?" Morgash rasped. "Were you so certain I would be defeated?"
He instantly understood the cunning human lord’s plan. A wide, cruel grin spread across his face. The thought of these humans slaughtering each other brought him immense pleasure, especially when one of them was such a powerful lord. Every instance of human infighting only strengthened the orcs.
"A trophy, won by my father when he killed an orc chieftain," Hawthorn explained. "If Lazlo hadn’t reminded me of it, I’d have forgotten I even possessed it. I never imagined it would be so useful today." He cast an appreciative glance at his steward before continuing, his voice a low, conspiratorial hiss.
"I wasn’t certain you would be defeated. But without this scroll, if you lost, I would have had to give that bastard ten thousand gold! If you had won, we both would have died. But now, with this scroll, and with you defeated... I live, and he dies!"
"You are truly a lord of great courage," Morgash said with a dry chuckle, the line between praise and mockery blurred.
"Does that mean you are willing to help me use this scroll?" Hawthorn asked, pleasantly surprised. He had expected this to take more convincing. "If you cooperate, I can spare your life."
"There is no need. It would be my pleasure to serve you. To use this Earthquake Scroll to kill the lord and his army below." Morgash’s voice was calm. "Afterward, I only ask that you bury me on the battlefield. That is where I belong."
"Done. In that case, come with me."
"It is not so complicated," Morgash said. "To activate the scroll requires only my blood, and a single phrase in the Orcish tongue."
Alistair and his soldiers waited outside the keep for some time. But instead of gold and equipment, they were met with the sight of the castle gates slamming shut, and the sound of Hawthorn’s arrogant laughter from the terrace above.
The Baron stood there, protected by his personal guard, only his upper body visible as he looked down upon them.
"Good evening, esteemed Earl of Frostfell. I am afraid I have some bad news for you." Hawthorn’s face, twisted with venomous hatred, slowly contorted into a grotesque mask.
"Star of the Empire, second son of House Goldlion," he declared in a high, sing-song voice. "You are about to die!"
"By Earthquake Scroll!"
He held up the scroll with his short, pudgy hand, waving it back and forth. "This scroll has already been activated! All I must do is speak the Orcish phrase..."
He spread his arms wide as if to embrace the moon. "And BOOM! You will all be buried alive! And it is all because of you! Because of your greed, Earl of Frostfell, Alistair Goldenlion!"
"Do you have any last words, your eminence, the esteemed Earl of Frostfell, Alistair Goldenlion?"
Alistair looked up at the man on the terrace, who was dancing and gesticulating like a lunatic, and gave him a smile of profound pity, the kind one might reserve for a village idiot.
"My last words? What last words could I possibly have for a piece of trash who hasn’t even figured out how to properly exist?"
"What?" Hawthorn sputtered, thinking he’d misheard. He shook the scroll in fury, roaring through gritted teeth, "Do you have any idea what you are saying?! This is an Earthquake Scroll! Very well. I was hoping to see you beg... but since reasoning with you is pointless until your back is against the wall..." He began to tear the scroll. "All of you can go to—urgh..."
A sharp shlick sound cut him off. A sword blade erupted from his chest. The intense pain nearly made him pass out.
Hawthorn forced himself to look back. The man who had stabbed him was his most trusted guard. The man to whom he had shown the maps, with whom he had discussed all his intelligence, including this very plan.
"I never thought..."
His fingers twitched, and the Earthquake Scroll fluttered from his grasp to the stone floor.
"My apologies, Baron Hawthorn. You do talk a lot," the guard said, his voice laced with boredom. "Frankly, I was growing impatient. If I hadn’t wanted to preserve this usable Earthquake Scroll, I would have killed you yesterday."
"How... How could... You..."
"Are you trying to ask why it was me?" the guard said, blinking innocently. "I suppose I can understand your confusion. After all, you are just a minor baron. You would never imagine that your most trusted man would belong to House Goldlion."
"You... you despicable traitor," Hawthorn choked out. "I was so good to you... and you..."
"Now, let’s not say things we don’t mean, Baron. If you hadn’t decided to play this life-or-death game with Lord Alistair today, I likely would have served you faithfully for the rest of my life."
The guard offered a slight smile, then unceremoniously dropped Hawthorn’s body to the ground. As the life faded from the Baron’s eyes, the guard bent down and calmly picked up the scroll.