‘The Broken Tooth Horde.’ That was the name being passed around for the ad-hoc army. Koruk found he liked the sound of it.

  He watched as the new horde was assembled, and gave a few more rousing speeches. As predicted, the imp troupe were largely unwilling to integrate, but Kiwai had convinced them to lend a few men to act as trainers. It was better than nothing.

  Moktark had organized the horde into warbands fifty strong, with one impid advisor shared between three of them. The warbands would elect their own leader from the strongest amongst themselves, and live and fight together as one. Unconventionally, there were many women amongst the new warriors as well, and most of the warbands had a mixture of sexes. It seemed to work out somehow, and nobody complained. The women had as much right to vengeance as the men it was decided.

  In total the horde comprised about 5000 warriors, with the remaining population of Brittle Teeth forming a logistical supply train which furnished weapons and armour, foraged for food and materials, and distributed the dwindling rations between the warbands.

  It was one of these foraging parties that dropped the corpse in front of him.

  “Warchief, we found this thing in one of the lower caverns. It tried to shank poor Kogg, but we managed to wrestle it down.”

  Koruk stepped down from his makeshift stone throne to look at the creature. It was an ugly, brown thing, small and squat with long gangling limbs and a pot belly. He flipped it over with his boot, revealing a hideous face bristling with sharp crooked teeth, and flanked by wide batlike ears.

  “Semthak, Kiwai, have you seen such a thing before?” He asked. Both shook their heads.

  “Look at its fingers.” Moktark pointed out. Koruk looked at the long, knotted appendages, and his mind brought up the image of the marks on the neck of the dead orc. “Ugly looking... goblin isn’t it?”

  Koruk thanked the foragers and congratulated them on their victory, leaning back on the throne after they left. It felt uncomfortable under his butt, and he shifted uneasily.

  “Our murderer in the dark perhaps?” Semthak ventured. Koruk nodded wearily.

  “I think things just got more complicated.”

  A week later, Moktark reported that the army was as ready as it was ever going it be. Food was running out, and it was time to move. Hemust’s Rock Crushers echoed the sentiment, and so it was decided.

  With Hemust’s throng in the lead, they began the long march through the twisting honeycomb of caverns that extended through Orcus’s Claws. They kept close to the surface, wary of hidden horrors in the depths below, leapfrogging from cave to cave. On several occasions they were forced, by rockslide or other barriers, to lead the horde outside under the sky. They travelled through the lands that had once been their domain with trepidation, always keeping an eye on the sky, ready to scatter and seek shelter at a moments notice. The brief sojourns onto the surface world gave the hunters some opportunity to replenish their supplies, but they all breathed a sigh of relief when they were able to duck into the relative safety of the next cave.

  For two days they continued this way. It seemed to be going quite well, but their good fortune was not to last.

  “Humans! To arms!”

  A series of loud cracks rang through the cool night air as battle was joined. Koruk’s party rushed through the confused bands of orcs, trying to find where the humans were attacking from. Fire flashed below them, at the base of the cliff they were traversing.

  “Below us! Ambush!”

  Koruk hit the dirt as barkers chewed up the ground in front of him with their magical projectiles, sending puffs of dust into the air. He propped up his own huge weapon in a crevice between two rocks, and let it rip, sending a stream of glowing streaks in the general direction of the enemy. Other orcs wielding looted human weapons did the same, bracing them against their bellies and arms and lighting up the air with a cascade of noise and light.

  The orcs might not have understood how to aim the weapons, but the effect was good all the same. One of the human’s metal carts burst into flames, and the attackers scattered. A few warbands of orcs made to give chase, shouting victory cries as their enemies fled the field.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Wait! Don’t chase them!” Koruk yelled, but his voice was drowned out by warcries. Thankfully the humans had routed, and they took few casualties.

  Moktark went to sort out the inevitable disputes over looting rights for the barkers that were even now being pulled from the burning wagon and the hands of the dead, leaving Koruk to survey the aftermath of the battle. The newly crowned warchief sighed, and looked to his weapon.

  Koruk popped the box out of his barker, and put a new one in. A tinkerer had figured out that the barkers needed to be fed boxes full of little pointy bolts in order to keep working, much how a sling must be fed with stones, or a bow with arrows. The knowledge had swiftly spread from fire to fire, and the boxes had become more prized than the finest axe or golden treasure. He had two more left, and he wondered where they would source more of the wondrous things.

  Something told him he’d need more of them soon, as he watched a warrior hold aloft a severed human head with a cheer. The humans who escaped would be back with greater numbers, and they had no time to dally here.

  Koruk found Semthak, and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Get them ready to move again.” He whispered.

  It was traditional habit for orcs to celebrate a victory in battle on the spot, dividing up loot and trophies and determining a pecking order of who killed who, and so the horde was predictably upset at being told to pack up and leave immediately after their first major victory. Most however were still wary of the human’s sky fire, and the few shouts of “coward” directed towards Koruk went largely unheeded.

  But still, Koruk knew it was a wound to morale that would be difficult to patch, even if it did quickly become apparent that it was the right move.

  “The winged death comes! Look to the sky!”

  Shouts of panic began to spread through the assembled horde as a trio of black shapes appeared in the blue sky, coming out of the sun. They were flying in a triangular formation, and banked sharply to turn directly towards the quickly scattering orcs.

  “Warchief!” An exhausted runner yelled, panting heavily. “Human warriors approach from the south! They are led by giants!”

  “Damnit!” Koruk swore. “We were so close. Spread the word! Everyone is to retreat to the next cave mouth! We cannot fight them here out in the open! Send the women and children ahead!”

  The fire began to rain down. Absolute chaos ensued.

  The human aircraft roared overhead, and warriors died in droves as they attempted to form up to protect the noncombatants in the supply caravan, sacrificing their lives to draw fire and protect their families. A few bands pulled away to fight the human ground forces, but were quickly broken without support and clear direction. The system of message runners Koruk had devised to bring orders to the different warband leaders proved futile, as the runners were variously killed out in the open or forced to seek cover to preserve themselves. The battle was quickly turning to a rout.

  But then the imps appeared. Moving with coordination and bravery that seemed supernatural, they took up position on a ridge on the cliffs above, and began lobbing spear, arrow, and bullet down upon the hated foe. Their aim was true, and many humans fell to the ambush, their advance slowed considerably.

  A voice shouted down at Koruk.

  “Go! We’ll be right behind you!”

  Koruk waved at the familiar face on the cliffs above him, thanking whatever gods were listening that Kiwai had kept his head during all this. A giant form stepped over the rock he was crouching behind, and with a shout Koruk raised his barker and held down the trigger. A shower of sparks, blood, and shrapnel sprayed into the air in front of him as the metal monster staggered backwards under the onslaught, but he did not fall.

  The faceless metal warrior unsteadily raised his weapon, and Koruk saw death staring him in the face. His own barker clicked and beeped uselessly in his hands.

  Suddenly a whirl of green slammed into the hulk, sending it smashing down facefirst into the ground. A muscled arm lifted a battleaxe into the air, and brought it down with a heavy crunch onto the gold domed skull of the monster. Red blood dripped down, staining the red ground beneath.

  “That’s one for one little brother!” Moktark shouted. He reached down and grabbed Koruk’s arm, hoisting him to his feet. “I think we’ve just about had it though!”

  Koruk couldn’t agree more.

  Somehow, they managed to make it to the cave mouth. Moktark and Koruk stood at the entrance, ushering in the imps and whatever stragglers were left. As Kiwai rushed past, he shot the young imp a smile and a salute. The humans pounded the rocks around them with their barkers, and their vehicles were steadily crawling closer over the loose rocks.

  “Get back! They’re coming!” Koruk yelled, fleeing into the darkness.

  His heart raced as he clicked the last box into the barker, and levelled it at the circle of light that formed the entrance to the cave. Time passed slowly. Sweat beaded on his forehead in spite of the cool dampness surrounding him. The humans didn’t appear.

  “What could they be doing?” Moktark asked from beside him.

  A thundering explosion echoed through the cave, and suddenly Koruk found himself bathed in total, blinding darkness. A few shouts were punctuated by the sounds of clattering rocks.

  “Oh.” Said Moktark. “They’ve sealed us in.”