The Dark Lord's Handbook: Conquest Read online

  You can’t be sure from which direction these attempts will be made, as you live in such a large fortress. What you can rely on is the incompetence of your minions; they will be inattentive, asleep, drugged, or bribed, thus allowing miscreants to slip through and make an attempt on your person or your stuff. You must therefore put avenues in place that seduce these attackers into making an approach which proves fatal. Creating these avenues is only half the job, however, as they need to be made known, but not obviously. The word ‘secret’ should be employed, along with stained maps, whispered rumours, and little-known knowledge, all of which are designed to fool the attackers into thinking they are cleverer than dimwits—which they are not. Send minions far and wide with rumour of these secret ways, but ensure they are well-schooled. They should not give up their knowledge without suitable cajoling, plenty of alcohol and other inducements, up to, and including, sexual favours. Their backstory should be well-rehearsed and convincing. The simplest by far is the disgruntled ex-employee who feels slighted for his genius being overlooked by his master. (It’s probably true.)

  A concrete, and often used, example is the secret sewer entrance. Even though it is undoubtedly blocked with an iron grate, or portcullis, and may have a fearsome beast living within, it can be made known that the iron bars are not as strong as they once were, or could be slipped through by one small enough, and that the beast has a weakness for ham that can be laced with a sedating drug. The sewer itself will be vile, which only adds to the authenticity and reinforces the idea that none would dare such trials. Dire warnings of failures past can be reinforced by leaving skeletal remains within the sewer, again showing that others had tried but succumbed to the noxious fumes or the ferocious beast. It will confirm this approach is dangerous and therefore almost certainly correct—it’s a weird logic. Thus the set-up is in place. There’s a secret way in, which only the bravest would attempt, that bypasses the Dark Lord’s entire security, and deposits the adventurer conveniently in the Dark Lord’s throne or treasure room, depending on goal. It sounds almost too good to be true, thus the apparent hazards and previous failures.

  Once sucked in, the trap must be sprung, and this is where particular attention to details must be taken. It’s a death trap. Only one outcome is good enough. If you just want to capture the insurgents before dealing with them—a riskier prospect—then that’s an entirely different trap. Be clear with your goals. How they die is entirely up to the imagination, but death must result. In executing the trap, instruments of death to avoid are anything that can be run away from (big boulder down a conveniently rounded tunnel), dodged (darts fired from a wall, or swinging axes from a ceiling), disarmed (weighty objects on a plinth), or beasts that can be killed by a suitably muscular and well-armed barbarian type—giant snakes, spiders, a Minotaur, even a gorgon (polished shield, job done) cannot be relied upon. Death should come unannounced and with sudden force, allowing the victim the briefest of ‘oh shit’ realisations before the trap earns its name.

  The final element of the death trap that should be considered when designing is the clean-up and reset. A one-shot death trap is not much use. It’s also why the large rolling boulder trap is a bad idea. Not only can it be avoided by fitter victims, it’s a bugger to reset. You’ll want a trap supervisor and a clean-up/reset crew working for him. His job will be to ensure that the traps are fully functional (the testing of which can be done with prisoners, or those who fail their latest job performance review) and well-maintained. A death trap that fails to kill its victim for the want of a new spring or fresh rope is unacceptable. The crew will also be responsible for cleaning up the mess once the trap has been sprung. (Acid-based traps have the advantage of self-cleaning.)

  Trap maintenance is not a pleasant job and a few perks should be made available, like keeping any coin found. Personal effects should be gathered up and inspected carefully for items of interest, such as rings with a family crest or love notes from a spouse, and anything of value, but of no interest, shared around.

  As you’ll almost certainly have a large fortress, with many ways in, you’ll have a number of traps. Efficiency can be improved by playing trap teams against each other. Create a death trap league and keep score. An award ceremony, with prizes of both prestige and value, should be a further incentive, and poor performance, or failure of traps, should have the winning team run their competitors through their own well-managed trap.

  Lastly, a word of caution. Do not get caught in a trap yourself. It seems a trite piece of advice but you’d be amazed how often a would-be Dark Lord, terror of the world, is nailed by a death trap. Don’t ever allow yourself to be lured anywhere near a device, or contraption, that could result in permanent harm. Even if you are intimately familiar with all the workings, the potential for a backfire is too great to risk, and around heroic types even more so. Don’t ever go walking over pits of fire or lava. Don’t ever stand anywhere near pools of anything noxious or acidic. Never, ever, chase a hero down a tunnel, across a bridge, over water, or into the lair of a beast you thought tamed and under your control. If sunlight is a particular weakness, then don’t go into a room with poorly boarded windows or a rickety ceiling. It’s basic stuff, so don’t be a sucker. Take precautions and let the would-be heroes do the dying in the death traps.

  Chapter 16 Death Traps

  The path of least resistance is the slipperiest.

  The Dark Lord’s Handbook

  They crossed the open ground, following the stream of sewage to where it met the dry moat and the aqueduct, or shit-a-duct as Ferg called it. The aqueduct spanned the moat to the rock beneath the wall, from where the sewage issued from behind a set of heavy metal bars. They were now faced with a choice. Either they could cross on the exceedingly low ledges to either side of the aqueduct’s channel, or they could wade against the slow current of crap that washed down it. Neither appealed to Hal. It was a long way down from the aqueduct to broken, stony ground, and it was dark. A slip on the greasy, shit-covered stone and it would be a headlong fall to a skull cracking. The alternative was only marginally more attractive but the only real choice.

  “Are you sure this is the only way?” hissed Zara, as the three crouched on the low bank above the stream.

  “The only one that won’t get us killed,” answered Ferg. “There are other ways, but this is the only one whose secrets I know. The death traps won’t get us this way.”

  “You’ve mentioned death traps a few times now,” whispered Hal, though he didn’t know why. The wall towered above them, and if there were any guards on it they certainly wouldn’t be able to hear them above the gurgling of the stream.

  “Like I told you,” said Ferg. “You got nothing to worry about. I know all about them. Follow me.”

  And with that, the orc slid the few feet down the bank and into the stream of sewage.

  “You first,” said Zara.

  Hal slid down the bank. The sewage wasn’t as deep as he had imagined, barely shin high, but it was slippery. He was about to warn Zara when she came sliding down next to him, lost her footing on the slippery bottom of the stream, and flailed for purchase with her arms. She managed to grab Hal’s outstretched hand, but he lost her grip. She toppled backwards and was caught, quite fortunately, by Ferg. He held her, clearly under strain from her weight and the precariousness of his own footing.

  “Don’t you dare,” said Zara.

  “Sorry, darling,” said Ferg. “Too heavy …”

  Hal grabbed Zara by her belt as the orc let her go. With a quick heave, he pulled her up to her feet and into his arms. Her weight pushed him back against the bank of the stream. Her face was inches from his. He could taste her breath.

  “Thank you,” she said, and smiled.

  “You’re welcome,” said Hal. He moved his arm to hold her firmly around the waist in case she slipped again. She felt good in his arms.

  “I don’t think now is the time for a first kiss,” said Ferg. “Let’s go.”

  Zara le
t go of Hal, shrugged free from his grip, and turned to follow their orc guide. Hal fell in behind, one hand gripping the side of the aqueduct to steady himself. It was probably his imagination, but Hal thought he could smell Zara even above the stench of the muck they were wading through.

  They made it to the grating without incident. With only a sliver of the moon visible between the clouds, any orc guards up on the walls would have no chance to spot them. Even a dragon would have had a tough time seeing us, thought Hal. The bars looked solid enough, with a gap of six inches or so between each, and, though he couldn’t see their bottoms, the tops were fixed firmly into the stone.

  “Now where’s a barbarian of immense strength when you need one?” asked Ferg, tugging uselessly at one of the bars. “He could bend these enough for us to slip in.”

  “No he couldn’t,” said Zara. “Stop playing games and show us how we get in.”

  Ferg looked aggrieved as he tugged at a second bar. It moved slightly. “Wait. What’s this? A loose one? Now that’s careless. Maybe if we jiggle it a bit.”

  “Out of the way, stupid orc,” said Zara, grabbing the bar. She wiggled the bar, and it moved some more. Flakes of mortar broke free from where it had been cemented into the rock. “They’ve not done a good job of this,” she said. With a violent tug, the top of the bar scraped free from its hole.

  “Seems so,” said Ferg. “Or maybe they’ve done a good job of making it seem like you got lucky and they were a bit rubbish. You decide.”

  Zara heaved on the bar and it gave way, leaving a foot-wide gap they could squeeze through. “After you, orc.”

  Ferg squeezed through while Hal took off his pack. Zara followed Ferg, then Hal’s pack, then Hal. Hal gagged on the smell, which was even worse on the inside.

  “Here,” said Ferg, handing each of them pieces of cloth he’d got from his own small pack. “Wrap it round your nose.”

  Ferg tied his own kerchief before Zara was willing to do the same. Hal followed suit. The cloth stank of something strange, but it wasn’t as bad as the sewage.

  “What’s on this cloth?” he asked.

  “Blood, sweat, and tears,” said Ferg. “Does the job.”

  Zara made a sound of disgust but kept the cloth in place.

  The tunnel had been carved out of the solid rock upon which the fortress had been built. It was pitch black.

  “We can’t go in there without light,” said Zara.

  It was a problem Hal had anticipated and he had made some simple torches while he had been on watch in the woods the previous night. It took a few goes with the flint to get them lit, but soon enough they had a smoky light to guide them.

  “Lead on,” said Hal to Ferg, once they were ready.

  “Replace the bar first?” suggested Zara. “You never know, some orc may check it sometime.”

  “She’s right,” said Ferg. “The shit patrol is one of the less desirable guard duties, but it gets done. Mind you, they do know about the loose bar, but seeing as it’s all the slackers and malingerers who draw the duty, they may not bother checking too closely. It’s not as though there’s a constant stream of traffic through this sewer.”

  Hal pulled the bar back into its fixture and smeared it in crap. Only a good shake would show that it had been moved.

  “Right, now can we go?”

  Ferg led the way and Hal fell in behind, Zara bringing up the rear, muttering curses under her breath as she splashed through the sewer. Progress through the first part of the sewer was slow; it was little more than a tunnel hacked through bedrock. Soon enough, the tunnel sloped up and came to an open cave into which streams of sewage emptied from openings around the circumference of the chamber. The result was a small, burbling lake of muck which then emptied down the tunnel they had just come up.

  “This is the sump,” announced Ferg. “See those tunnels up on the wall? They come from all over the fortress to empty here.”

  “How high is that?” asked Zara. “Think we can reach?”

  Hal could see a rocky shelf around the edge of the lake. With care, he should be able to boost Ferg up. It was maybe only ten or twelve feet up. That it had to be done through a constant stream of crap was the most unpleasant aspect.

  “Which one, Ferg?” asked Hal. There were seven possible routes they could take here.

  “Good question, and one I’ll answer in a second,” said the orc. “But first.”

  Ferg reached down, picked up a rock, and hefted it into the centre of the lake. Ripples spread from where it hit the surface. Hal was about to ask why Ferg had thought it necessary to take time to play when there was a furious eruption. A worm-like thing broke out of the lake and thrashed blindly at the point of impact, a gelatinous mouth gaping. It managed to spray the cave with effluent with its thrashing, covering the trio with a fresh layer of muck, before it sank beneath the surface. Hal was glad for Ferg’s make-do face mask.

  Zara had jumped back and gone for her sword as soon as the worm had emerged. She was standing in a half crouch, sword at the ready, waving her torch from side to side in search of a threat. “What was that … that thing?”

  “A worm,” said Ferg. “A big one, I’ll grant you. Blind as a bat, as you could see, but one that could do you a real mischief if you were careless. It’s not a defence as such, more an unpleasant side effect.”

  “Then we’d better be careful,” said Hal. He drew his own sword, conscious it was a little late. If the worm was going to make a reappearance he wanted to be ready.

  “Side effect of what?” asked Zara.

  “I’m glad you asked,” said Ferg.

  “Did you have to ask?” groaned Hal. “We’re wasting time.”

  “You know when you were little and you would sometimes get those little worm things in your poo?” continued Ferg, ignoring Hal. “Well, that’s a big one.”

  “Oh, god,” said Zara. She brought her hand to her mouth and retched.

  “You should know better than to ask Ferg stupid questions,” said Hal. “Which tunnel, Ferg?”

  Ferg seemed to be enjoying Zara’s dry retches. “Well, each has its own merits. That one will lead you into a labyrinth from which you’d never find your way. That one has rats the size of small dogs. In fact, all the rats are pretty big, but that has the biggest ones on account of them being fed. The rest are a varied collection of routes to different parts of the castle.”

  “Which of them is safe?” asked Hal.

  “None of them.”

  “What do you mean none?” asked Zara, having recovered from her nausea. “I told you we should have killed this little weasel and taken our chances.”

  “They all have death traps of one kind or another,” said Ferg. “It wouldn’t make much sense otherwise, would it? Why would you bother to put death traps in one section and not another? You may as well just signpost the safe way through. ‘Heroes this way,’ or something. And I thought we’d got past the death threats. I thought we’d shared a moment and moved on.”

  “Don’t push it, orc,” said Zara.

  “He’s got a point,” said Hal. “It would be pretty stupid. He didn’t promise there wouldn’t be obstacles. You know where the traps are, don’t you, Ferg?”

  “He said death traps. Not traps, but death traps. He’s going to get us killed.”

  “Yes I did,” said Ferg. “But some were still works in progress when I left. And the others—well, they weren’t that good. It’s amazing how survivable many death traps can be.”

  “So which is the least deadly?” asked Hal. He was getting tired of all this and he had one eye on the lake. Somewhere under there was a blind, hungry worm that wanted to suck his guts out and he’d rather that didn’t happen.

  “We’ll go that way,” said Ferg, chuckling. “You’re going to love these traps.”

  It took them a few minutes of cursing and slips, but they managed to get up to the sewer tunnel Ferg indicated without a reappearance of the worm, or Zara hitting Ferg. The tunnel was made fro
m brick and had a central culvert. They could walk on either side, though, in Hal’s and Zara’s case, they had to hunch over due to the low ceiling.

  “Don’t do anything or touch anything unless I say so,” instructed Ferg, suddenly serious for once. “As death traps go, they may not be the deadliest, but they can be if you don’t pay attention. We’ll go this side.”

  Hal followed close behind Ferg, with Zara equally close behind him. The only sound was the gurgling from the culvert and the scampering of rats as they fled the flickering light of the torches. Hal didn’t have a problem with rats; a bakery attracted its fair share and they had three cats, as well as traps to deal with them. It had been one of his jobs to clear and reset the traps so he was used to the vermin. The rats here were no different. They weren’t warped or twisted by some arcane force into monstrous creatures that would leap at you, forcing you down with their combined weight before they ate you alive, while you struggled against their nipping and biting. No. They weren’t that. They were rats like the ones at home. The ones he could see, anyway.

  “Did you work on any of this, Ferg?” Hal asked, in an effort to get his mind off the furry death that lurked beyond the torchlight, ready to pounce at any slip.

  “Nope,” replied the orc. “I was lucky. I wasn’t part of the hard labour squads. Poor buggers. You listen to the old stories, the ones about Zoon, and they talk about him raising up this fortress with the strength of his dark will, but that’s bollocks. Stuff doesn’t build itself. Morden will take credit for this, it being his fortress, but it’s us orcs who built it. We’re the ones who go to sleep at night, exhausted and hungry. The only thing his will does is scare the living shit out of the generals he has around him, so he gets things done or they face his anger. Or worse, the anger of his queen. She’s quite the bitch.”