Part XV: The Coming of The Myz
Chapter 9: The Flight to Oz
Timeline: A0323
Weeks later, after driving all the way to wastes of Antarez Ford again, Hacktor and his generals were gathered around the war table in the king’s tent, the flickering light of the oil lamps casting long shadows on the worn map of the Derk regions. The defeat of Sizor and the Myz at Morgush was now a distant memory. The Kon-Herr leaned over the table, his eyes scanning the lines and markings that detailed the lands he had fought so hard to conquer. His thoughts focused on a prize that had eluded him for over two decades.
“Garrick the Golden Hand,” he muttered, more to himself than to the others. “Twenty years I’ve hunted him. Twenty years of blood and war, and still, I’ve never laid eyes on him.”
Fredrick Vendal and the other generals exchanged glances, well aware of the obsession that drove their king. Garrick was a legend among the Derkka, a phantom king always talked about and who was forever taking back lands the dwarves had captured but who’d never met Hacktor head on. The thought of finally facing him in battle had consumed Hacktor for years.
“We’ve taken The Blackwoods and much of Gor too,” Hacktor continued, his voice filled with grim determination. “Their forces are scattered, and now is the time to strike at the heart of their rebellion. Babel must fall – and Garrick too.”
The generals nodded in agreement, seeing the logic in his plan. Although Fredrik and some of the other doubted if The Golden Hand even existed, their military sense was enough to know that taking Babel would cripple the Derkka’s morale and cut off the head of their people. Yet Babel was far away – in the very heart of the enemy’s lands. It was not without risk.
“It’s a bold my, my lord.” Fredrick surmised. “Yet one that could end the war in our favor once and for all.”
The other generals nodded, yet before the final decision could be made, the sound of excited voices echoed outside the tent, followed by the appearance of a ragged, dust-covered figure flanked by two of the king’s guard at the entrance to the tent. The visitor’s breath came in labored gasps, his clothes torn and bloodied from the long journey. It was clear he had traveled far and fast, driven by urgency.
“Sire,” the messenger rasped, his voice barely audible as he collapsed to one knee. “Oz… is under siege. General Heraclez… begs for aid. Uruk attacks. We… w-won’t last much longer.”
Hacktor’s eyes narrowed as the words sank in. Oz, the northern stronghold he had worked so hard to reclaim was again in peril. If it fell, the Drokka’s hold on the borderlands of Kra would be lost, and with it, any hope of controlling the northern territories. Nobody knew who Uruk was, yet they could guess that it wasn’t good. The generals exchanged worried looks, Fredrik Vendal knew the decision to attack Babel suddenly thrown into chaos.
Hacktor stared at the exhausted messenger for a long moment, his mind racing. The dream of facing Garrick and taking Babel was still fresh, but the reality of the situation demanded his immediate attention. With a sharp intake of breath, he made his decision.
“Prepare the cavalry,” Hacktor ordered, his voice cold and resolute. “Let’s plan our ride to Oz.”
Knowing he couldn’t bring a slow moving army all the way to Oz in time to make a difference, the decision was quickly made to send all but the Calvary back to Rhokki Pass – effectively ending the war that year for 90% of his troops.
As you can imagine, after having survived fierce battles where they saw many of their friends fall, when those men learned they’d be headed home none complained – loaded with booty and anticipating the delights of the wagon train they could enjoy on the way, they happily made ready to follow their Kon-Herr’s order and head back to the mountains – and more than a few broke out in song, thanking their gods for watching over them.
Months earlier, whilst Hacktor and his army were first marching to Gor in the south, General Heraclez was already engaged in a desperate struggle to hold onto the Kingdom of Oz in the borderlands of Kra to the north.
Recall that Hacktor have first retaken Oz in AO 301 – reopening the site of the Drokka’s first kingdom in over two centuries. Hacktor installed his trusted friend Gromm Stonefist at the city’s Steward and Gromm managed that war-torn kingdom for two decades – only to lose both the city and his life when I created The Myz and gave them to Gwar to unleash on the world. That was in AO 321. When he received news of Oz’s fall in AO322, Hacktor had rushed through the Drokka Byways with an army to take it back – which he did a year later that same year. At which point the king installed his mentor General Heraclez as the Kon-Herr of Oz and then Hacktor returned to Rhokki Pass].
Although advanced in age, Heraclez was a seasoned warrior and when he took over he knew immediately that holding Oz would require both skill and strategy. For the first month or so of AO323 his methods worked and he kept the goblin hordes at bay, but when I’d given Gwar more Myz to deploy and the God of War sent them to Oz under the command of the giant Uruk, I knew Heraclez would have his hands full. Try though the wily general might, Heraclez and his kingdom was soon besieged by Uruk’s forces at every turn as Oz became a fierce battleground.
By the end of the spring, the situation had become dire. Realizing his doom was fast approaching in spite of his ‘reign’ as Kon-Herr of Oz having only just begun, Heraclez swallowed his pride and dispatched a score of messengers with an urgent plea for Hacktor’s aid. Since the general didn’t know where his king was, he sent some messengers back towards Rhokki Pass via The Byways, while others he sent to The Blackwoods, the ruins of Antarez Ford, and throughout Gor.
Meanwhile, unable to stop his enemies, Heraclez had to watch as the Myz and goblins took back the area around the ruins of Razzyn, rebuilt an outpost there, and pushed the Drokka forces back from the borderlands in front of Oz. Uruk and his Myz were relentless, taking a heavy toll on the Drokka ranks and Heraclez knew his only chance was to hunker down inside the mountain of Oz and defend it from a place of strength – hoping against hope that somehow the great Kon-Herr might rescue them.
Unbeknownst to Heraclez, Hacktor had indeed received his call for aid and was on his way. With a band of 10,000 mounted troops, Hacktor’s knights rode with all the speed his war ponies could muster, tearing through the fields of Gor and Kra, determined to save Oz. It was a risky plan, but that was Hacktor—reckless, stubborn, and determined to the last.
The journey north was grueling, the air growing colder as Hacktor and his cavalry pushed onward. The land of was treacherous, filled with hidden dangers, and the Myz and goblins that patrolled the area had to be dealt with. But Hacktor pushed his troops onward, driven by the knowledge that Heraclez and his men were running out of time. They rode through most nights, the moonlight casting eerie shadows over the landscape, every sound seeming to echo with the promise of danger.
Every mile brought them closer to Oz, but also deeper into the heart of enemy territory. The once lush fields were now scorched and barren, a grim testament to the war’s toll on the land. Hacktor’s mind was a storm of strategies and calculations. He imagined what awaited them at Oz: an overwhelming force of goblins, Babel Derk charioteers, more Myz, and likely another Myz commander to be dealt with. But turning back was not an option. Oz had to be saved, and General Heraclez had to be rescued. The stakes were too high to fail.
As they approached the outskirts of Oz, Hacktor’s scouts brought back reports that confirmed his worst fears. The enemy forces were vast, numbering in the tens of thousands. They had encircled the mountain stronghold, their siege engines pounding relentlessly at the gates of Oz. And they were under the command of the biggest Myz anyone had ever seen – with the name Uruk loudly proclaimed by the enemy.
When they finally arrived at Oz, Hacktor and his commanders surveyed the scene from a hidden vantage point in the hills. In the valley below, the imposing sight of the Myz warriors in their dark armor sent a chill down the spine of even the bravest Drokka. The goblins and Babel Derk swarmed like ants, their shrill war cries echoing through the night air. It was a dark tide threatening to engulf the caves of Oz. Worse yet, the Drokka cavalry looked to be outnumbered nearly three to one. They had speed and the element of surprise, but against such a massive force, it would take more than just bravery to win the day.
The situation was worse than Hacktor had imagined, and for a moment, even he seemed at a loss – how to break through the enemy’s lines before it was too late?
As his king struggled for words, his friend and most trusted general Fredrik reminded him, “At least we’re not too late. Heraclez and his Drokka are still resisting. There is yet time, my Lord.”
That seemed to fill the Kon-Herr with resolve and Hacktor averred, “We will find a way to break through!”
His commanders nodded, though they knew the odds were slim, but a plan was put together – it was daring, bordering on suicidal, but there was no other choice. They would charge the enemy ranks, break through, and get inside Oz to save Heraclez and his men—or die trying.
Later that night a strange coldness drifted into the camp, blanketing the world in eerie silence. Hacktor and Fredrik huddled around a dwindling fire, cloaks pulled tight against the surprising cold. Tomorrow they would face incredible odds – perhaps their most difficult test.
“You remember our first battle?” Fredrik asked, his breath visible in the frigid air.
Hacktor smirked. “You mean the one where you nearly took my head off by mistake?”
Fredrik chuckled, shaking his head. “You were barely more than a boy then. Thought you’d live forever.”
Hacktor’s gaze dropped to the fire, his voice quieter. “I still do, sometimes.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Finally, Fredrik broke it, his voice unusually soft. “Hack… when you’re leading your Drokka, remember they come first. Before glory, before bloodshed. They’re why we’re here.”
Hacktor looked up, meeting his cousin’s gaze. “And you… remember not everyone is as disciplined as you, Fred. Sometimes you have to take risks – you can’t do everything by the book.”
“We’ll see.” The older general laughed.
They clicked their horns and downed their gozalka. Neither knew what the future held, but for now they were brothers in arms, bound by battles and blood, destined to carve their paths across the world.
[Too bad one of them was about to die…]
The Apocrypha of Azazel 