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| Author | Young Eagle Flies Free |
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The torches had already long since died down, leaving Glorlaf in pitch darkness, allowing him to finally distract himself from the atmosphere of terror cast by the carvings and gloominess of the cavern and collect his thoughts. He wouldn’t allow himself be carried away by vain hope, but even captured, beaten up and close to breaking down, he managed to keep some sort of reasoning. He was thinking about his brothers-in-arms who were fighting against the leaders. His thoughts then kept returning to the mighty barbarian wanderer who had cut a deal with him to help his people. Did Rayzar put up with his word and continue fighting as they had agreed?
And then suddenly, his keen ear caught some sounds. He shook his head to make sure those sounds were not portrayed by his imagination, for those were distant sounds of battle: clashes of weapons and resonant blasts of something strange and eldritch which he, having heard many legends about grand wizard cities, identified as Chaos magic. The sounds grew nearer and soon echoes filled the dungeon, and the young lad’s eyes, widely open, tried to clutch anything out of the darkness around him, to witness what was happening. He yanked the chains several times trying to pull them out of the rock walls, but they wouldn’t give in.
Suddenly, the sounds of battle switched to a chorus cheer of joy. The battle was over and, as far as Glorlaf could tell, the victors were quite numerous. He realized they could leave without inspecting the dungeons, and yelled for help in barbarian language desperately... | Sunlight cut his eyes sharp and painful even through the eyelids that shut tight the very moment he stepped outside, cautiously supported from both sides by the Empire soldiers. He grasped at a field flask, avidly drinking the contents in large gulps without much differentiating the taste. Refreshed, he looked around and finally realised that his wildest dreams which he kept shooing away down in the dungeon, came true: the mighty Empire deigned to provide them assistance. He let his eyes linger on Ulgrak’s corpse collapsed in the front yard of the keep in an unnatural posture, several spears and arrows still jutting out of his massive body.
Glorlaf brushed aside all the persuasions to rest and recover strength; and just an hour later, he rushed on wolfback towards the river to reunite with the resistance.
Either thanks to the presence of invading military forces of the Empire, or by the tales of Glorlaf of his imprisonment and endurance, the latter soon noticed he was being turned to. Even older Barbarian guerrilla members acknowledged him as their captain. Such a responsibility could confuse or even paralyze younglings like Glorlaf, but not him. Brave in heart and resolute in mind, he quickly assimilated the role. He knew his tribe perfectly; he had many ideas about how to weaken the tyrants and where to sow dissension.
On nightfall, his men began to act. They wedged into the enemy encampments to set mutilating traps, poison foodstuffs or deprive of their sleep by performing diversionary deceptive attacks from the surrounding thickets.
Glorlaf personally selected a dozen most nimble men to infiltrate the keeps. Their mission was to poison wells inside the keeps and diversify the inner encampments, leaving many false traces that would make the leaders’ lackeys take up arms against each other and their masters at dawn... |
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