“The trick, Tad, is to never show any weakness,” Glum sagely advised the boy.  They rode to the Prison of Eternal Suffering.  The trip through Hangman’s Forest, down the Gallows Road, had been pleasant save for being outdoors. 

“Right.  No weakness,” Tad whimpered.  His vision darted to note every bouncing branch and swooping shadow.   Green, leafy treetops crowded over the boy on either side of the road.  He cursed the crunching of his boar’s hooves against the gravel and dirt, as they masked the movement of the many predators who lurked in the woods.  Bearwulvs, for certain, but also the razor horns, quilled squirrels, and rot flies. Tad knew Ottis and the Fearsome Forest, he knew how surrounded her was by danger.  Not that the Machines Works weren’t dangerous, but most of those threats were mechanical and predictable, unlike a quilled squirrel crazier than an outhouse chipper rat.  “But what if the orcs challenge me or something? Like … to a duel,” his voice cracked while asking the question.   

“In the middle of a campaign?” Glum scoffed, with a confirming bark from Greybrow.  “Besides, they wouldn’t challenge members of a War Party; duels are between War Masters.”

“So a War Master would challenge Hohza for control of the campaign,” Tad said.

“Unlikely. The Dread Lord Withering Sorrows personally appointed Hohza to run this campaign.” Glum shook his head. “To challenge him would be to challenge the Dread Lord’s wisdom!”

“What if … what if …” Tad bunched the reins close to his face. He leaned toward Glum, and whispered to his mentor: “What if Hohza were to fall?”

After making a surreptitious glance over his shoulder at the two orcs riding behind them:  Hohza, atop his massive black mare with a white mane and white streaks along her haunches; and Gohta with his red buffalo.   Glum answered: “Then we’re no longer in the service of a War Master and have no obligation to stay in the battle.”  He winked.  “Fortunately, the prison has a Machine Works entrance nearby.  Good place for a retreat.  I’ll point it out to you when we get there.”  His suggestion of fleeing a pitched battle made, he straightened his posture as best he could with a back bent by age. 

Tad turned his attention to the road and bristled in silence.  Glum had been there to dissuade him, from a few years back when Tad tried to join the Logistics Corps, to just a few days prior when he recommended fleeing to another part of the domain. Did Glum think Tad a coward or incapable of serving in any meaningful way?  His knuckles whitened as he gripped the reins tighter.  At least his anger distracted him from his fear, as he was unconcerned with random chittering and calls.

“There you go, you’re getting the hang of it,” a powerful voice cheered from behind.

“What?” Tad snapped to attention.  He looked over his shoulder to see Hohza giving him an enthusiastic thumb up as he trotted behind on his horse.  Gohta beside him, looking almost as peeved as Tad had felt a moment ago. 

“Your riding! You’re showing a lot more confidence, Tad,” the orc hollered.

“Thanks,” Tad blurted as he turned and hunkered in his saddle.  Embarrassment burnt his cheeks more than the sun filtering through the leafy branches which stretched over the road.  No weakness, Tad thought.

“Impressing the new boss already, are we, Tad,” Glum whispered to Tad.

“You’re my boss,” Tad whispered.

“That was back in the Machines Works.” Glum raised his arm up as though saluting the trees.  “And this is no Machines Works!”

“No. No it isn’t.”  Tad breathed in the air sweet with pollen and moist leaves. Its complexity stung his nose.  The Machines Works had a steady air of oil and metal that had sat through the ages.  Out here, each breeze mixed the scents so that he never knew what would come next.  “Glum … do you think we’ll ever get back to the Machines Works?”

“Once this campaign is over, should you feel you want to return to the Machines Works, I’m sure you can just ask Hohza and he’ll send you back.  He seems a reasonable fellow who will accept when he’s made a mistake.  He’ll see you back home,” Glum answered.

He hummed a moment.  Perhaps feeling the boy’s eyes on him, he added: “You just do your best to keep alive, Tad.  Otherwise, pay attention! It’s just like you said the other day: this is research to that Ottis story of yours right!” He reached across from Greybrow and squeezed the boy’s shoulder tight.  “But for now, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and there’s a breeze in the air!”

“Gross, isn’t it.” Tad stuck out his tongue as though he tasted the endless nature sprawling before him.

Gallows Road was the main route from hub of Withering Sorrows’ domain to the Prison of Eternal Suffering.  It continued through the Forest of Tears, which covered much of the northern parts of the Dread Lord’s domain and ended at the Dead Valleys, where the moon berry orchards lie.    

Only going so far as the Prison of Eternal Suffering, roughly a third of the way to the northern border, took Hohza’s War Party three days at a leisurely pace.  They proceeded along, sometimes engaging in conversation all around, but mostly the orcs and goblins kept to each other.  At night they camped together, and Glum took the opportunity to teach Tad how to pitch a tent or start a fire as he’d learned during his years of service in the Logistics Corps.  The orcs chided the goblins’ need for shelter and sleeping bags.  Hohza was friendly about it, while Gohta always seemed offended. 

When they camped, the War Master posted a beacon nearby.  It was a palm-sized (for an orc) silver emblem of an eagle which held a golden scroll.  Shortly after hanging it from a tree branch, messenger birds would arrive with communications strapped to their legs.  From these, he learned he was receiving a party from the North Country to assist in the campaign, that Bigrummar had been assigned to assist, and got detailed progress reports on the Prison’s repairs.

 The Prison was a shell of its glory days.  Even the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows, said to be older than even the oldest living elf, was too young to remember that bygone era.  Some goblins even speculated that the prison’s storied past was as made up as Ottis the Odd Goblin’s exploits; an excuse for an incomplete monstrosity of a structure where resources were wasted on upkeep because it would be impossible to complete. 

Whether decayed or incomplete, as the road turned and the woods thinned in anticipation of the prison grounds, Tad’s eyes widened when he arced his head back to behold the fullness of the spire’s silhouette that pieced the sky.  It was a rod of red stone wrapped in a spiraling staircase.  The tower was crowned by a platform that looked big enough to hold a small army.  Tales told of orcs raining arrows from that platform and laying waste to sieging armies such that the enemies would become trapped by a wall of their fallen allies.

Tracing the stairway’s path with his eyes, Tad wondered why nobody thought to wreck it with a shot from a trebuchet. That would leave the forces camped above stranded.  Perhaps the structure was enchanted from damage; it certainly seemed to have weathered the millennia of disuse well.  Only the platform’s collapsed walls which stood like misshaped teeth in a jaw, belied the tower’s age. 

“They say there are parts of the Machine Works that reach deeper than this thing is tall,” Glum said.  He answered the boy’s stunned, slack face with a sly grin.  Tad had no doubt the sprawls of the Machine Works beneath the Dread Lord’s domain could house dozens of towers such as this if laid on its side, but he couldn’t imagine it going so far into the ground.  The deepest points he knew of were maybe half this structure’s height.

“Even the Makers would be impressed by that,” Tad muttered.  He trotted forward on Keg through a bend in the road, past which he could see the grand gates to the prison grounds.  The wrought-iron arcs of bars and spikes were being hauled into place by gangs of goblins with chains and pulleys.  Past them were the prison grounds, at the center of which was the tower’s base, itself surrounded by wicked looking walls of sharp metal.

“We’ve arrived, fellow warriors,” Hohza said.  He pushed ahead.

“The defenses appear insufficient,” Gohta grumbled as he urged his buffalo to maintain speed with his War Master.  He rode past the goblins recklessly close, whose steeds whined and stumbled in response.

Pointing at a crew of diminutive figures toiling around the base of the tower, Hohza said: “The goblin work crews are building them up as we speak!  It will be good to see these grounds in better shape than they’ve known in an age.” He looked to his fellow orc, smiling.  “Remember that time here, when we routed Olan and Bigrummar’s war parties in a training exercise?”

Gohta chuckled, clutching his wobbling belly as he did. “Yes, your strategy was to ‘make the two of us seem like twenty.’”

“Then you complained that ‘we’d still be outnumbered.’” Hohza smiled. 

“But you won?” Glum raised an eyebrow. 

With a knowing wink, the War Master refused to answer.  Riding two-by-two, the War Party sauntered past the gates and through the prison grounds.   As they proceeded, goblins stopped their tasks: saws stilled, caught in planks of wood; nails waited to be banged into boards; and mortar dripped from trowels while the goblins watched the War Party.  

 They stopped just outside the barrier surrounding the tower. There, Hohza urged the goblins to dismount by saying “go on,” as he pointed his hand at them.

Feeling the goblins’ eyes on him, Tad climbed from Keg’s saddle with some hesitation as he feared his every motion being scrutinized.  Don’t show any fear, he reminded himself.  But if not fear, what would he feel? Anger?

Yes! Who were these Logistics Corps workers to scrutinize him, a member of a War Party! The one leading these defenses against the invaders! As his cheeks burned once more and the tension of attention pressed his brow Tad moved, if not with experience, then with confidence.  He walked around Keg and began to pull off a satchel, however he failed to unfasten it from the boar’s harness.  The animal refused to be pulled by the bag and instead turned to nip at Tad, who narrowly snatched his hand away.  A laugh rippled through the crowd.  Who were they to scrutinize him, Tad wondered while his face burned from embarrassment. 

He was grateful, then, when Hohza grabbed the crowd’s attention by dismounting his horse.  “Yes, Warrior Glum,” he spoke with the authoritative tone of a War Master, deep chested and confident. The gathered goblins murmured in awe.  “We won, by outmaneuvering Bigrummar and Olan’s teams.  Also, we’re not afraid to use enchanted items.”  He patted the sheathed sword which hung from his hip.

A goblin leaned out of the crowd, hanging on the shoulders of the workers on either side of him.  “You mean you wield magic swords?”  His colleagues pushed him back into the crowd, muttering insults at him for speaking out of turn.

“The swords are the least of it!” Hohza patted a sack slung over his horse’s haunch.  “In combat, we employ many items raided from the Dread Lord’s stockpile.”

“I still fear them a little,” Gohta mumbled.

Hohza rolled his eyes.  “My point is, we did what seemed impossible because we use tools which our peers fear to employ.  We’ve done it before, and we’ll do it again with this campaign! Now, who is in charge here?”

“You are, sir,” a goblin in the crowd answered with a quivering voice.  He stepped forward.  Tad could barely glimpse his wrinkled from under his purple Logistics corps bandana as he kept his head lowered.  “I’m Officer Lim.”

“I’m only in charge of the soldiers, Officer Lim.  You’re responsible for the grounds,” Hohza said.  Officer Lim lifted his head and stared at Glum and Tad, who stood beside each other. 

Glum returned the stare for only a moment before shouting: “What?”

“Sorry, War Master Hohza.” Lim averted his gaze from Tad’s boss. “It’s just that we had heard rumors.  These two Machine Works goblins who ride with you.  They’re … ?”

“They’re the newest additions to my War Party, Officer Lim! Warrior Tad.” Tad offerer a meek wave.  “And Warrior Glum.” The old goblin nodded acknowledgement. 

“They don’t … look like warriors,” Lim said.

“Well, we’re,” Tad began, but felt the tip of Glum’s cane dig into the top of his foot.  The sentence died with a whimper of pain.

“Consultants,” Glum finished on his assistant’s behalf.

“They’ve already proven themselves in combat, Officer Lim.  I assure you they’re worthy of my War Party.  I expect you will extend them the same respect you would show Gohta or myself.”

“Of course, War Master Hohza,” Lim answered.

“Combat?” Tad whispered to Glum.

“Medics … for Hohza,” Glum whispered back.

“It’s been some time since we’ve needed to mount a defense against invaders from the World of Light, but there are some standard traps for us to set and repairs for us to make to bring these grounds to a defensible condition.  They shouldn’t be a problem to finish within another week or so.”  Lim bobbed his head from left-to-right as he spoke, like he was checking a list written on the clouds above.  “I trust you have the inventory of enchanted items?”

Gohta tilted his head at a sack slung over his back. “Right here, Officer Lim!”

“Great.” Lim snapped his fingers as he looked up at Hohza. “I’ve got my squads setting defenses up at the standard locations for this type of invader situation.  We checked guidance, and this seemed like an a-seven scenario. Wouldn’t you agree?”

With a slow nod of the head, Hohza said: “Whatever works best.”

A goblin stumbled out of the crowd with several rolled-up maps crushed against his chest.  “We’ve marked the locations of our fortifications on these maps.  You’ll want to consult them when distributing your troops.”

Hohza thanked the goblin as he pulled the maps from his clutches. Unrolling one of the papers, while tucking the others under his arm, the orc scrutinized the map through squinted eyes.  Lim approached Hohza and tugged at the tattered bottom of a pantleg.  Hohza knelt to meet Lim’s short stature, showing the map to him. 

“I’ve marked where the guides recommend distributing keystones here, here, and here,” Lim said as he pointed at spots on the map.  He then shrugged.  “I’m not sure why this one is nearer than the others.”

“North of here the forest floor is uneven.  Taking that into account, travel times between all three and here should be equivalent; perhaps a half-day’s ride to each with haste.  That makes it easier to receive updates, redistribute forces as needed.”

“Oh!” Lim smiled in understanding.  “That makes sense. I would have just set them equally apart as the bird flies.”

“I’m sure the original plans did.  Then they realized it was a mistake.” Hohza stood back up. “I should like to read these guides you mentioned if you have them available.  Just as a refresher.”

Lim stared up at Hohza, mouth agape.  “I’ll send for those,” he eked.

“I appreciate that,” Hohza said.

Glum whispered to Tad: “Lim probably didn’t expect that Hohza could read.”

Lim raised up his hand, his index finger extended.  “Speaking of receiving updates, we’ve some devices that should revolutionize the process! This will be an excellent opportunity to give them a thorough test.”

Glum slapped his hand to his face and grumbled.  “Oh, great, leave it to the Logistics Corps to treat a life-or-death situation as a great chance to do some testing.”

Gohta stepped forward. “War Master Hohza, I volunteer to help with the placement of the key stones along with this new equipment!”

“Who else would I trust with that task?” Hohza patted his companion on the shoulder. He rolled up the map and handed it to the chubby orc. “We’ll handle soldier deployments and other strategic planning here, but I’ll need you back to fight by my side in a week.”

Gohta turned, his flab bouncing with the same jubilance as the smile on his face. He bounded toward his buffalo as he called out: “Send me in the direction of these devices!”

“Wait,” Glum yelled.  “War Master Hohza, the deployment of such important materiel shouldn’t be left in the hands of just one of your war party,” he said to the orc, quieter, as he hobbled towards him. “I can help with managing the goblin workers here but Tad should assist Gohta.”

“Wait,” Tad gasped.

Hohza eyed Glum suspiciously.  “He’ll be back by the time the fight comes here, regardless,” he commented in response to concerns otherwise unstated.

“Understood,” Glum nodded.  “But Tad needs more experience riding. A young Warrior such as Tad really ought to be doing something more than ordering around work crews.”

“War Master Hohza, he rides a pig,” Gohta whined, rolling his eyes.  Keg argued with a wet snort, then stood proud with his chest thrust forward. 

“Dwarves have been known to ride boars into combat,” Hohza said.  “Fine, Tad, you’ll accompany Gohta. Glum, you’re with me.” Hohza pointed at the top of the tower.  “We’ll have a meeting with the War Masters up there. Tonight.”

“All the way up there,” Glum whimpered.  “Tad, maybe you’d like to swap duties?”

“Not at all!” Tad clapped a hand on Glum’s shoulder.  The old goblin faltered, but Tad caught him and whispered an apology.  He hoped the other goblins hadn’t noticed. “Besides, it’s Hohza’s order, and you always told me not to second guess the boss in front of others.”

“Since when do you listen to my advice?”