Part XI: The Heart of Darkness
Chapter 5: Antarez Ford
Timeline: AO 301
As the summer sun blazed over Nektar’s Cauldron I was busy thinking about my time in Ramos – specifically pondering how I might find The Crypt of Shadows. The Necronomicon had yielded no answers, portalling all over the flat Earth hadn’t worked either. So now I was trying meditation and relaxation therapy – exposing the bare bones of my ancient skeletal frame to that warm light in the sky which Lucifer and I had placed up there ages ago and which the first man Adam and named The Sun.
I’d been at it for weeks – and yet the only thing that happened was that my grey bones got burned black. “Ach, this isn’t working either.” Frustrated, I sought to take my mind off things so I reached over to my robes hanging nearby and pulled The Eye of Seraphiel out of a pocket…
With little to stop them along the borderlands, Hacktor’s raiders were free to indiscriminately rape and pillage the villages of eastern Gor in the areas that abutted western Rhokii Pass. The mounted troops moved around with even greater speed and left waves of destruction in all directions. It mattered not to the great Kon-Herr that his army’s accomplishments were against inferior forces, nor did he care that many of his victims were unarmed women, underage children, or frail oldsters. This wasn’t just war – as he’d explained to his men, this was a holy crusade levied upon his people by the god Rhokii Himself. His army allowed themselves to share that belief in order to justify their atrocities, thus everywhere they went, Hacktor’s army razed farms and buildings to the ground, destroyed any livestock they couldn’t use, committed unspeakable war crimes on the Derkka, and left behind only earth and water as a testament to the destructive power of Hacktor Derkillez.
Reveling in victories the men loved their invincible king. Especially since everyone took as much plunder as they could carry. Quickly overloaded with valuables, most of the troops took advantage of renting space for their booty in one of Monty Redstone’s brightly covered Consignment Wagons. [These traveling pawn shops had been added to the support trains this season by the ever enterprising Coinmaster and they charged the men exorbitant rates to store and transport their stolen goods]. Between the Coinmaster’s usurious wagons and the men wasting their riches at the gaming and tents with women, few, if any, of the troops ever brought more than a fraction of their takings back home to their families, but as those consequences were far away in the future, none of the youthful fighters lost sleep lamenting their lost earnings for they were too busy basking in the glory of their seemingly invincible strength.
For his part, Hacktor cared not for wine, women, or even the rich plunder. Still fuming with pent up rage over the loss of his stillborn child, the Kon-Herr’s impatience caused him to be merciless on both the Derkka and his men. As soon as his forces destroyed one village, the king was driving his men forward to the next – often giving his captains their marching orders to move out within a few hours after a battle.
Hacktor’s ruthless efforts paid off – very quickly his youthful forces had put themselves into position to control a large swath of the fertile farmlands of Gor all along the east-west roadway called The Drokka Passage. The speed of the army and their rapid victories had caused talk to spring up among the men that the Kon-Herr even had his sights on Antarez Ford.
To their credit, the goblins of central Gor who lived along The Drokka Passage did not abandon their towns nor did they seek to fight guerilla style from the forests. These settlements were bigger and often they were protected by palisades and walls. None more so than the goblin city of Antarez Ford – the de facto capital of northern Gor. Surrounded by rich farmlands, Antarez Ford was a bustling city of some ten thousand souls that straddled the Coctyz River and was split by a bridge that crossed that important waterway. It marked the end of The Drokka Passage and was the gateway to roads which led to Babel in the northeast as well as the cities of Grod and Nazir to the south. Like the Drokka’s did at Rhokki Pass, the enterprising Babelonians had set up tolls at every road that led to and from this ideally positioned city.
Frederik Vendal, the Kon Herr of Kel-de-Kaba, Hacktor’s older cousin, and now also a pseudo ghastwielder like his son Rodrik, had heard talk among the troops wondering about Antarez, and even though he was a saavy veteran, he couldn’t resist discussing the matter with his Kon-Herr. During a quiet night in camp inside the king’s tent, Vendal said, “Hack, the gods have favored us this year. We’ve met success at every turn and if we could advance to Antarez, the wealth of that city is beyond any we’ve plundered so far. It would make a fantastic capstone to the year and you’d return home with riches unseen since the days of our forefathers.”
Hacktor lounged on his makeshift camp bed, eyes closed, half dreaming. “I want that city for more than just its wealth. The bridge is what matters.”
“Indeed. If we controlled that water way and their toll roads we’d create an income stream along the entire Drokka Passage. But can we hold Antarez? It’s far from home and can be approached from all sides. It’d be a tou–”
“I don’t care to hold it.”
“What then? Are you trying to open the door to Nazir-Gor or maybe even Babel itself? It’s a tall task. We’d certainly have to garris–”
“Stop putting words into my mouth, Fred, and let me speak plain – I want the bridge because it would be a crushing blow to Babel and I’m hoping the Marduk would have to come out and fight – finally! Although I won’t be waiting for him at Antarez.”
“Where then?” Vendal wondered.
“You’ll see. First, we must take Antarez, then you’ll learn more.”
Now although ninety-eight percent of the population of Antarez Ford was comprised of working class peasants from the common Derkka class as with all the major cities of the goblin world, it was governed by a Babel Derk – at the time a savvy Babelonian named Bazzu. Having heard about the devastation caused by Drokka marauders along the eastern borderlands in prior years, and fearing these pillagers might one day threaten his city, Bazzu had made numerous appeals to Babel for armed support.
The Marge of the Thatches and Derkka Parliament had assured him there was nothing to fear but promised to come to his aid should the need ever arise. As a politician himself, Bazzu knew when he was being paid lip service and realized he and his city was on its own when it came to mounting a defense.
Since he’d been siphoning off tax monies for over nearly two decades, rather than spend it on frivolous things as he’d done previously, Bazzu had instead spent all his excess funds on fortifying the defenses of his city. Specifically he invested his capital into building massive walls around the portion of the city on the eastern side of the river and his plan was to hunker down behind these walls in an effort to outlast Drokka king’s patience – should they ever arrive.
Part of the reason for Bazzu’s foresight came from a member of his staff – a common Derkka named Rorik Mudfoot. After he’d escaped the destruction of his village Lubbok, Rorik had fled into the Blackwood Forest – there he’d wandered aimlessly for days, the weight of his wife’s death and the village’s annihilation gnawing at his soul. Each night, the screams of his people echoed in his dreams, a torment that refused to abate. The once simple life of a farmer quickly became a distant memory, replaced by a burning need for vengeance and a desire to protect what little remained of his shattered world.
In his wandering back then, Rorik had stumbled upon a Derkka military outpost. Seeking purpose and a way to channel his grief, Rorik had enlisted in the military. He’d spent the next months training and his determination caught the eye of his superiors. Over time, I wove the fates of Rorik so that he assigned to serve at Antarez Ford – under the command of Bazzu. Rorik’s dedication eventually earned him a position as one of Bazzu’s personal guards. My fateweaving caused the bond between the two to grow strong and it positioned them so they’d both be on hand for the next event I had prepared for them.
The late summer sun hung low in the sky, casting a fiery glow over the horizon as Hacktor’s army encircled Antarez Ford. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of anticipation that gripped the hearts of the Drokka soldiers. As the troops settled into their positions, murmurs of doubt and speculation began to spread through the ranks like wildfire.
Antarez Ford, with its towering walls of hardened mud bricks, stood as a formidable fortress against the Drokka invaders. The city, split by the Coctyz River and connected by a stone bridge, appeared impregnable. The walls on this side of the river were tall and thick – they loomed over the army like silent sentinels, daring them to try their luck. To the Drokka, it was a sight both awe-inspiring and disheartening. They also didn’t expect to see the governor and his suite of advisors standing proud upon those walls in open defiance of the Kon-Herr’s army as it approached.
The clarion call of horns announced The Drokka’s arrival yet before Hacktor’s envoy Hadryk Klyntz could advance to demand Antarez Ford open their gates, Bazzu’s standard bearers waved their colors and the governor himself launched into a verbal assault from high atop the wall, “I am Bazzu, Lord of Antarez Ford and I tell you that I know you not. Your people are not welcome here. Our gates are closed and will never open for you. Leave this place and do not return, else Baal will reign down fire to destroy your men…”
As the babylonian continued making threats, Frederick Vendal warned Hacktor, “It’s clear those thick walls are going to be a problem, my lord. They look to be nigh thirty feet high and perhaps half that or more deep. Even with the miner’s gear you had us bring this year, it would take weeks to dig tunnels long enough. Let’s not waste time on tunnels or a long siege when there’s easier plunder elsewhere.”
Hacktor cast an angry eye at his top advisor. “Do you think I’m going to give my enemies the chance to claim victory without a fight? The legend of my name isn’t going to be built by running away. In war, as in life, the side wins which has the greater will to win. So long as I am alive that will be The Drokka!” Yet Hacktor knew better than to act in haste. With a frown he commanded, “Let that fool roar, but have the men make camp. Then bring the commanders to me so we can plan our attack.”
As the men made camp, Gromm Stonefist, now grizzled veteran of three campaigns, eyed the walls with a mixture of respect and concern. “Those walls won’t fall easy,” he muttered to the men around him. “It’ll take more than brute force to bring them down. We might be here longer than we expected.”
A young soldier, barely out of his teens, looked up at the walls with wide eyes. “Do you think we can take it, Captain? I mean, those walls… they look impenetrable.”
Gromm spat on the ground and shook his head. “Walls like that were built to keep armies like ours out. But we’re not just any army, lad. We’re the Drokka. And we’ve got The Ghastwielder Hacktor Derkillez leading us. If anyone can find a way inside, it’s him.”
Despite Gromm’s confidence, unease settled over the troops as they considered the challenges ahead. The soldiers exchanged glances, each wondering what kind of horrors awaited them behind those walls. Would they be able to breach the city? And if they did, what kind of resistance would they face within?
Rumors began to circulate, fueled by fear and uncertainty. Some whispered that the walls of Antarez were enchanted, protected by dark magic from the evil good Baal that would repel any attack. Others spoke of hidden traps and deadly ambushes waiting for those who dared to enter.
But even as doubts gnawed at the edges of their minds, the soldiers found solace in the presence of their Kon-Herr. Hacktor Derkillez, the invincible king who had led them to victory after victory, was their beacon of hope. His ruthlessness, his unwavering determination, and his divine conviction in the righteousness of their cause gave them the strength to push forward, despite their fears.
Hacktor’s tent, in the rear of the camp, stood as a place of both command and solitude. Inside, the Kon-Herr brooded over the challenges that lay ahead. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, each one carefully weighed and considered.
Frederik Vendal, his trusted advisor, watched Hacktor with a mixture of admiration and concern. “My lord, the men are anxious,” Vendal said, breaking the silence. “They see those walls and they wonder how we’re going to breach them. They trust in your leadership, but even the strongest will needs a plan.”
Hacktor’s eyes narrowed as he considered Vendal’s words. “Let them wonder. Let them fear. It will make their victory all the sweeter when we break those walls and take the city.”
“But how are we going to get our men inside those walls? Either we mine or we lay siege and both take time. We can’t very well storm the walls for even if we build ladders to scale them, our men would be easy prey to their archers. So unless you’re telling me your Ghast can break the walls on its own, what are we going to do?”
“What do I care how big the walls are?” The Kon-Herr grumbled. “Maybe the Ghast could destroy the gates, maybe not, but I have another plan anyway. One that’s more fun. Tell me – what’s the nearest town?”
“The scouts have reported a good sized village called Nuzha about a league to the north and two smaller ones whose names I don’t know to the south. But why does that matter, my lord?”
“Send Captain Stonefist and his men to Nuzha and burn it down – but don’t kill the people – instead bring them to me. You will then see this Bazzu fellow willingly open his gates to us.”
Vendal nodded slowly, but it was clear that neither he nor any of the other commanders really understood what their king had in mind.
Yet Hacktor’s eyes gleamed with a fierce light. “This isn’t just about taking a city. It’s about sending a message. To Bazzu, to Babel, and to every other Derkka who dares to stand against us. The Drokka are coming, and there’s nothing they can do to stop us.”
The Apocrypha of Azazel 