The Crafter's Darkness: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 4) by Jonathan Brooks (e book reading free txt) 📕

noise, when Wyrlin realized he hadn’t seen Ferio come back to report on their forward trail.  The older Ranger had proven to be the most adept of them all in moving silently and quickly, scouting out where they would be traveling for the next hour or so, reporting back to Fyola his findings.  Since the robe-wearing Elites were the slowest of the bunch, it usually gave the Ranger plenty of time to scout ahead and discover anything that might be of concern.  The problem today, however, was that Wyrlin hadn’t seen him since he left early that morning.

It was entirely possible that Fyola had given him different orders today, which was foolish if Wyrlin had anything to say about it; being out of contact with any scouts for a lengthier amount of time was never the smartest idea.  Even as much as he hated the Elite leader and wanted her to die for taking what little power he had away from him, he also knew that she wasn’t stupid.  Therefore, he jogged ahead a little and caught up to Fyola, before whispering so low that it couldn’t be heard more than a dozen feet away.

“Have you seen Ferio since he left this morning?” he asked quickly.

The Elite leader was obviously startled a little by his appearance so close to her and she jumped; to try to distract from the way he had surprised her, she blurted out, “No – and it’s none of your business—”

A sudden yelp from one of their other Rangers scouting just ahead of the main group made everyone tense up.  Suddenly a rustling from every direction, including behind them, caused the Elves to quickly close ranks and draw their bows or ready their spells facing outwards in a big circle.  At first, Wyrlin didn’t see anything, but after a few moments he detected movement; from behind a tree came striding an Orc with sword bared and a stern look on his face.  Or it could’ve been a smile for all he knew, as he’d never actually met an Orc before; their green skin and brown leather armor blended almost perfectly in with the forest, however, which was probably why he hadn’t seen him before.

From every other direction came more Orcs, purposefully surrounding them on all sides, until he lost count of how many there were.  From what he could see, he estimated that there were at least 300, but there could’ve easily been more; it was amazing that he hadn’t seen them before they appeared, though, and now he was wondering how long they had been following them.  It probably wasn’t that long; they can’t seem to move through the forest with anything even resembling stealth.  I have a feeling we simply walked into an ambush.

Wyrlin was prepared to fire, ready to take down as many as he could before he fell in case they attacked.  It was only when he saw Ferio and another Ranger being held between two massive Orcs, their muscles so large that one of their arms looked like it was thicker than the older Ranger’s torso.  He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but he kept his sights locked on the nearest Orc, ready to release at the first sign of movement.

He almost let it go when one of the Orcs out front spoke in guttural Orcish; at least, Wyrlin assumed it was Orcish, because he didn’t recognize it.  All of the other Rangers and hunters with them looked like they were in the same state he was – confused and cautious at the Orc’s speech; well, all but Ferio, as he seemed to be able to understand.  Wyrlin had never asked exactly how old the other Ranger was, so it was quite possible he was old enough to have actually interacted with Orcs in the past when their people were a little more friendly towards each other.

“Put down your weapons.  They aren’t here to attack us.”

It took Wyrlin a few seconds to comply with Fyola’s order, as he didn’t trust so many Orcs surrounding him so closely.  However, it was also plain to see that the lead Elite – and most of the other Elites – seemed to be able to understand Orcish, so if she thought it was safe, he was inclined to believe her.  It rankled him to admit that, but he wasn’t stupid, either.

“Are they letting us go, then?” he whispered to Fyola, who put up her hand to stop any further speech.  The Orc spoke again, this time at length, and the Elite leader sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

She spoke to all of the Elves, using a monotone voice.  “They aren’t here to attack us, but they aren’t letting us go, either.  We’re to be brought to their camp, which – if I understood distances correctly – will take us about five days to reach.  From there, I’m assuming they’re planning on interrogating us to find out what we’re doing here.  We can’t win here, unfortunately; there are too many as it is, and it could start a war that both of our peoples would suffer from.”

She looked around and said in the same tone of voice, as if she was still communicating what was happening, “Don’t hand over your weapons, though; that shouldn’t be too hard, because Orcs disdain the use of most ranged weapons, so they may not consider your bows too much of a threat.  If for some reason it appears as though this is some sort of trap, don’t hesitate to fight for your lives.  We have a higher purpose now, so whatever it takes to get it done, we need to keep that in mind.”

Fyola spoke back in the same guttural language that the Orc had spoken in, and soon they were contained within the literal army of Orcs and being marched out of the forest.  As soon as he emerged, Wyrlin noticed a small rundown Orcish