Homeward (Ch. 34)
[Serial] An escape unfolds, the tempo quickens, and Abaddon tries out an old plan.
Table of Contents
Part 1: The Grove’s Bounty: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11
Part 2: A Mayor’s Ransom: Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24
Part 3: Armageddon: Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33
Previously, our heroes set out to save their Orcish friends from the thralls of an ancient necromancer’s spell. They infiltrated the Dwarven tomb and managed to recover their buddy, Hrothgar. In order to put a stop to the drum master controlling the tomb’s undead Orcs, they hatched a plan to have Hrothgar carry Abaddon up to top of the tomb where he could cast a silencing spell. However, Hrothgar got distracted upon seeing his brother and dropped Abaddon in the middle of the tomb.
“Mr. Orc?” Abaddon squeaked once more upon realizing that Hrothgar had dropped him like a sack of rubbish. Well, technically, he was inside a sack of rubbish, so he couldn’t blame the Orc too much. Still, it would have been nice to get abandoned somewhere closer to his target. And with fewer zombies.
The undead thralls stared with vacant eyes. Their drum master was close now, but remained out of sight. Abaddon’s legs might have quivered if they weren’t wrapped in a knot around his head.
The drumbeat halted a moment, and then it sped up. Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun. All the Orcs in the corridor lurched toward him. It was time to run away. Except Abaddon’s legs weren’t available, so he had to run on his hands.
He skittered beneath the legs of a lumbering Orc, untying his ankles as he bobbed and weaved to evade their grasp. By the time he reached the stairs, he’d returned his knees beneath his torso. Finally back on his feet, he arrived at the top of the giant Dwarf statue where the drum master stood.
The haughty Orc, mummified in the rust-gold of Dwarven armor, turned toward him. Six bongos hung off his belt, allowing him to weave the spell that commanded the thralls with a complex language of musical notes, syncopation, and rhythm.
The speed of the drumbeat quickened once more. Du-du-du-don. Du-du-du-don. It almost sounded like the drums were shouting Abaddon’s name! The new melody called another thrall of Orcs from their duties, threatening to surround the sorcerer as they climbed straight up the statue.
“Shoot, I better hurry,” Abaddon whispered, and began casting his zone of silence spell.
A wave of relief hit him as he finished the spell before the Orcs reached him. The drums fell silent. But that relief soon dissipated as he examined his surroundings. The Orcs were still coming after him!
He shouted for his friends to come to his aid, but no sound emerged from his mouth. Shoot.
Ryld and Mr. Dwarf had said something about the Orcs still following orders even after the drum master stopped. Was there some way to halt them? Abaddon was starting to wish that he’d paid more attention when they came up with the plan.
No time for that now. The Orcs climbing toward him had almost reached the top of the statue, and now the other Orcs from the hallway had filed in behind him. He was cut off from all sides. If he didn’t figure out an escape route soon, he was finished.
His eyes darted around the room and settled upon a crane jutting from a nearby wall. It held a palate of bricks, and beside it an empty hook swung alluringly back and forth.
“Chandelier…” Abaddon whispered and charged headlong toward the crane.
He leapt off the statue, propelling himself with all his strength. The sorcerous acrobat still came up short of the hook, but he had a trick from the circus up his sleeve. With a quick cast of his mage hand spell, the dangling hook met him halfway.
His weight lowered the hook to the lower story. Meanwhile, the palette of bricks rose up to meet him, offering a helpful bridge. But it seemed the bridge would prove more helpful to the Orcs than to him, since the thralls from the statue were heading right toward him.
Thinking fast, Abaddon fired off another mage hand, tipping the palate of bricks over. They spilled onto the approaching Orcs, knocking them to the floor.
“Hah! Take that!” Abaddon cried.
Though something told him that his celebrations were premature. That there was another discussion he should have paid more attention to—this one back in his circus days when Ringmaster Dogen was setting up their wire act. Something about counterweights…
“Uh-oh,” Abaddon whispered.
The palate, now empty of bricks, soared upward, while Abaddon plummeted below.