Sacrifice of Ericc

by Anthony G. Wedgeworth

Exhausted from the hours of running, Brimmelle and Gluic fell hard to the ground, spraying dirt into their face.

  Brimmelle spit dirt back out into the darkness and yelled. “Far enough! We can’t run any farther.”

  “See those torches in the distance?” Santorray pointed from where they had come. “They’re tracking us and gaining on us.”

  Avanda sat down to rest as well. “My legs hurt and I’m thirsty. I need a break.”

  “I can’t carry you all, so get on your feet keep start moving,” Santorray growled.

  “Santorray, set Ericc down and give us a few moments to drink and rest.” Thorik kneeled down and handed his grandmother some water. “We’ll move all the more quickly afterward.”

  The sliver of moon gave off just enough light for them to see general shapes. Thorik was unable see the pleasure across Gluic’s face as she sipped the water, but he could hear it from her sigh of relief.

  “We have no time. They are nearly upon us.”

  Thorik slowly got to his feet. “We have a bigger issue.”

  Several dozen men were on three sides of Thorik’s group.

  Santorray saw the figures as well. Lifting his nose, he took a deep breath. “Eastland Military.” Growling, he turned and squinted to see his enemy but his eyes just couldn’t focus to validate his words.

  Thorik stood over the Nums on the ground to protect them. “We’re trapped.”

  Both sabers from Santorray’s belt were immediately unsheathed for an attack. “Not without a fight.” He allowed blood to drip from a fresh bite of his lip.

  “They have crossbows. Put your weapons away before you get us killed.”

  “I’ll die fighting before I let them capture us.”

  “And how will that help any of us? We will have failed Ambrosius and lost our own lives just to slay a few of their men.”

  “Better to die trying then not to try at all.”

  Thorik moved in front of the Blothrud. “There’s a time to fight and a time to back down. This is one of those times to understand we can’t win. We must save ourselves for a time when we can.”

  Hesitating, Santorray heard the stress of additional bowstrings being pulled back and locked in place. He could only assume they were pointed at him. Even if he charged forward, he would most likely perish before he even reached the first few Eastlanders.

  “I trusted you at River’s Edge when we left Grewen. Trust me now. I know what I’m doing. Put your weapons away,” Thorik said as an order and with compassion.

  Slowly, Santorray sheathed his sabers.

  They stood motionless as they waited for the men to speak.

  Instead, the men made an opening for them to pass forward. They knew better than to approach a Blothrud to remove his weapons. They would wait to do so back at camp when they had more reinforcements.

  Thorik helped the Nums to their feet. “Come on. They’re leading us someplace.”

  Santorray picked up Ericc and followed the Nums. “Most likely their base camp.”

  “Fine mess you got us into, Thorik.” Brimmelle complained. “Walking us right into our enemy’s camp.”

  “More likely your annoying voice being overhead by scouts,” Santorray said to Brimmelle.

  Over the next few hills, torchlight illuminated an area with tents and wagons. Flags from Southwind and Eastland were prominently displayed throughout the camp where several hundred men prepared for the night.

  In the center of the camp was a thick post to which Grewen was chained. Sitting down, he leaned against the post, his wrists and ankles bound by the same chain.

  A fleeting moment of exhilaration came upon Thorik when he saw his Mognin friend. Just to know he was still alive was enough, but to have him within sight was remarkable. Nevertheless, this quickly passed as the Num realized that he also would be chained up and all of them were most likely headed for the Southwind mines.

  The scouts quietly led them down the hill and into camp, while one of them rushed ahead to alert their commanders.

  Stopping at the main tent, Santorray set Ericc down on his feet. The injured youth had been struggling to get down off the Blothrud for several minutes as he slowly awoke.

  Standing up, the young man held onto the closest Num for support, who happened to be Brimmelle. Ericc’s weakened knees wobbled and his eyes tried to focus. “Where’s Darkmere?” Ericc coughed. He had no idea where he was or what events were happening around him.

  Exiting from one of the larger tents was an older man, ripe with scars from many battles. His red robes covered metal armor across his chest, which bore the symbol of Eastland, the symbol of bloodshed and hatred to all Altereds. Three swords crossing blades, forming a triangle, with blood pooling in the center from each weapon. “Well done men, you’ve recovered Ericc,” the general said to his scouts.

  A second figure emerged from the tent. It was Lucian. Pushing his long blonde hair out of his face and behind his ear, he bestowed a smile of devious enjoyment as he watched Santorray stand before them. “General Hatch, these are the criminals I’ve been looking for, especially the Blothrud. I knew they had something to do with Ericc’s escape.”

  “Remarkably, you were correct,” the general said. “As agreed, I’ll give Ericc to Asentar. Do what you wish with the others.” He then turned to his commander and added an order. “Remove their weapons and tie up the Blothrud and Nums.”

  Santorray grabbed for his sabers with lightning speed, causing the archers to prepare to fire.

  “Wait!” Lucian yelled before addressing the general. “I don’t want the Matriarch cheated out of seeing Santorray’s death. I will address this.”

  The general had little respect for Lucian, but he needed to keep the Matriarch from becoming an enemy. “Commander, keep an eye on our Southwind friends in case this gets out of control.” Then the general returned to his tent.

  Lucian turned to address the captives. “It’s over, my friends. You’ve been captured and we didn’t even need to use your Mognin companion for bait.”

  Stepping forward into the street in front of them, Lucian looked directly at the Blothrud. “Santorray, I thought I had killed you once, but I won’t underestimate your resolve this time. Instead, I shall behead you in front of the Matriarch herself. Then I shall mount your head to decorate her chamber’s wall to ensure you never come back to life and haunt my streets.”

  Raising his hand with two missing fingers, Lucian made sure Santorray could see the stubs. “Seeing that you bit off my fingers, I plan to cut up your Mognin and Num friends and feed their meat to our hungry troops who worked so hard to track you down. Only fair, wouldn’t you say? Of course, what would you care? Blothruds never get along with other species.”

  Santorray slowly cut his own shoulder before pointed his bloody sabers at Lucian. “I’ll teach you what is fair.”

  Over thirty men pulled back and locked their crossbows. The same amount readied their swords.

  Lucian nodded his head at Santorray, trying to convince him to take a swing at him, giving the archers reason to fire their arrows. “As much as I prefer to kill you in the company of the Matriarch, I can live with your death occurring right now. So I strongly recommend you and your followers drop your weapons before my good nature is taxed, and I decide to kill you all right now.”

  “Santorray! No!” Thorik shouted. “Not now. This is not the time.” Removing his spear from its holder on his back, he prepared to drop the weapon to lead his party in their surrender.

  Lucian laughed at the statement. “The mighty Blothrud, Santorray, taking orders from a Num? And a small meek one without soul-markings at that.”

  Thorik’s grip tightened instead around the spear instead of releasing it to the ground.

  Santorray’s hands shook as he fought off the temptation to finish the job on Lucian regardless of what would follow.

  “He’s baiting you. Don’t give him a reason to order our deaths.” Thorik tried to relax his own hands.

  “
Your deaths have already been ordered.” Lucian continued with the grin. “You might say that I’m just playing with my food. Bringing it to a boil before I eat it.”

  “Hold back,” Thorik ordered Santorray.

  Lucian enjoyed the game and decided to continue it down a different path. Eyeing one of his men, he gave him the signal to grab the girl from the back, which he did. Avanda was pulled from the group and brought around to the front.

  Avanda squirmed and bucked against the man until he finally released her in front of Lucian.

  Helpless, Thorik looked on with fear and anger. Would he once again not be able to protect her? Would he be forced to watch her pain this time? “Leave her alone!”

  Lucian leaned down to her height. “I never did get a chance to see just how soft your skin really was.”

  Reaching for her red purse, Avanda was going to take care of the man here and now.

  Lucian pulled out a crooked blade from his side and slapped the flat side of it against her hand, cutting her hand near the thumb, causing her to drop the purse.

  She immediately clutched the injury with her other hand and cradled it near her chest.

  “Not this time, little witch. No magic to help you out.” Dripping with her blood, Lucian’s blade moved to her neck and pushed against her skin, before he peered toward the Blothrud. “And no one here to save you this time.”

  Waves of Rava’Kor memories flashed in her mind. Helpless, she would soon be violated. Not alone this time, a crowd would watch her being raped. Her arms and legs went rigid, tense from the memories. She wanted to run, or attack, or anything other than stand there and relive his repulsive touch to her body.

  Ralph had climbed out of her backpack and onto her shoulder. He leaped onto Lucian’s hand, biting down hard onto his wrist. His acidic saliva poured out onto the man’s skin.

  Lucian screamed, as he reached to grab the lizard off him. But the spines on the little creature’s back poked deep into his palm.

  Ralph coiled his body around Lucian’s entire wrist, chewing on the flesh as the acid softened it.

  Unable to get the critter off, Lucian smacked the lizard’s head with the hilt of his blade, knocking it out cold.

  Ralph fell to the ground, exposing a severe red ring of torn flesh around Lucian’s wrist.

  Lifting his leg high in the air, Lucian smashed his boot onto the lizard, crushing it into the hard ground several times. He made sure the creature was dead before wiping the bottom of his boot off with his knife.

  Avanda was in shock from watching the slaying of her little friend. No longer did she wish to run. Now her only desire was to see the man pay. Her body filled with rage over her companion’s death.

  Lucian turned back to her and placed the knife back to Avanda’s neck. Lizard flesh and blood dripped from the blade onto her chest. “For crimes against me, you are now legally my slave, to do with as I wish. And I wish to feel your soft skin, all of it, every night, until I get tired of you and sell you off to slave traders.”

  Reaching out with his other hand, Lucian slowly pulled her injured hand toward his face. “But until then, you will please me and fulfill my desires.” Slowly, he dragged his tongue across the open wound on her hand to taste her blood.

  Pulling her hand back, she slapped him hard across the face. She no longer feared the man who once haunted her dreams. In some way, he had just freed her from her internal torture.

  But her slap had only heightened his desire for her, as he smiled at her tenacious spirit. “I’m glad you like it rough.” Lucian slapped her back across the face, knocking her to the ground. “Because so do I.” Lucian lifted his blade to stab her.

  “NO!” Thorik screamed in violent rage, his fist squeezing tight around the shaft of his spear.

  A roar erupted from the Spear of Rummon, launching a magical flame from its point, which engulfed Lucian’s head. Fire coated the man from his neck up as he screamed in pain, dropped his dagger, and placed his hands over his eyes to protect them. But it was insufficient, his eyes had been seared and the skin on his face continued to burn.

  Avanda watched as white flames stirred between his fingers as his hands also caught on fire. She witnessed the flames coil inside his mouth as he yelled for help. However, there was no help to be given or time to give it. The flame ended as fast as it had begun, leaving Lucian’s face and hair charred and blackened as he gasped for breath.

  As the reality of the assault took hold, the archers altered their aim now to the Num for his attack.

  Thorik quickly drove his spear into the ground. A mighty shock wave emanated from the weapon, violently crashing outward, followed by a rhythmic pounding in the ground. The blast wave covered the valley. Soldiers fell, tent stakes snapped, Faralopes panicked, and campfires flared from the fanning of the flames. The shock of such unexpected force took a few moments for the Eastland army to collect themselves.

  “Now, Santorray,” Thorik ordered, even though the Blothrud was already pursuing his first victim in the same motion of getting back on his feet.

  Lucian fell to his knees, begging Avanda for help.

  “You’re evil and vile.” Avanda’s stomach tightened as she looked at the destroyed face of the man who would rape her. Picking up his dagger, still dripping with Ralph’s blood, she held it to his neck. “It’s one thing to fight for your morals even if they are skewed. But you have none. The world will be better without you.”

  His pain was overwhelming as he looked for an end. “Then kill me. Put me out of my misery.”

  She looked at Ralph’s dead body and pushed the blade forward, only to stop before slicing his neck. “That’s too good for you. I prefer that you live to feel the pain which you inflict on others.”

  Lucian fell to the ground unconscious from the irrepressible suffering, as Avanda stood up with a new strength and fortitude.

  A tight circle of men continued to fight Santorray with long swords and flails, leaving the archers only a periodic open shot to his head. An unfortunate miss of the Blothrud could end up hitting their own men, so no shots were fired.

  Thorik pulled out his throwing daggers and attempted to stay out from under Santorray’s feet and away from the swinging of his sabers. The few men that reached in to grab Thorik away from the Blothrud were met by the stinging of the Num’s blade.

  Brimmelle and Gluic were grabbed, but put up little resistance. They were pulled back and held at knifepoint.

  Avanda grabbed for her red purse with new enthusiasm.

  Pulling out her red beads she began to chant, but was bumped during the commotion of the men fighting Santorray and Thorik, dropping and losing the beads on the process. Stirred up dust quickly covered them up and they fell out of sight.

  Reaching back into her purse, she removed several small bones. “Bellfin’Pec.” She waved her arms about. The ground near her turned to thick mud and spread out past Gluic and her son. The expression on her face was the same surprise and disappointment that came over Brimmelle. They were caught.

  All three Nums were lifted out of the mud and carried over to the Mognin. Avanda, Gluic and Brimmelle were quickly chained up to the same post as Grewen.

  Fir Brimmelle’s eyes searched about the camp. “What happened to Ericc?”

  Gluic smiled. “He decided not to join our battle.”

  “I wish he had taken us with him.”

  Backing up to Santorray, Thorik watched as men were tossed in the air by the mighty Blothrud. Weapons, shields, and helmets shot in every direction from the battle behind him. With Rummon too far to reach, Thorik put his tiny daggers away and grabbed a fallen sword and shield. He then proceeded to hold off the men attempting to grab him and tie him up with his friends.

  Santorray continued to take man after man down, but there was simply too many of them. He would exhaust his strength long before they ran out of men. He knew the odds of survival were unlikely, but at least he would go down fighting.

  Fighting his way forwa
rd, Santorray carved an opening for Thorik to escape and free Grewen and the Nums. It wasn’t long lived; still it was enough for the small Num to twist his way through. Unfortunately the clever moves cost him his newfound sword.

  Thorik reached Grewen and the Nums. “Where’s Ericc?”

  His grandmother replied, “He left.”

  “We’ll search for him as soon as I set you free.”

  The locks on the chains around their ankles and wrists were too large for Thorik to break with the small daggers, and his spear was lodged in the ground on the other side of the Eastland troops. He had nothing to break the locks with, so he would attempt to bend them with his dagger.

  “Thorik,” Brimmelle said.

  “Just wait, I might be able to-” Thorik finally noticed what his uncle was alerting him to. A dozen men, with swords and arrows pointed his way, stood poised for battle.

  Two high pitched horn blasts sounded, causing the men around Santorray to stop fighting and back up, while Thorik was captured and added onto the chain of prisoners.

  Santorray was breathing hard from the fight. Human blood splattered across his face and chest, but he was not harmed.

  General Hatch had his troops back under control. “Spears ready!” he ordered.

  The circle of men, encompassing the Blothrud, were handed long spears from behind.

  The general demanded synchronized movements from his troops. “Spear down.”

  Spears lowered to the ground with single pound.

  “Spears aim.”

  Raising the front blade of the spears to waist level and keeping the back end of it on the ground, soldiers behind them placed their boots on the base of the weapons to ensure they didn’t slide backward.

  Santorray was now in a prison of two dozen spear blades. Smiling, he licked the human blood from his face to intimidate the men. He wondered how many he would take out before he fell.

  “Front lines down.” Hatch watched his orders performed in perfect movement as the men around the beast squatted down without moving the spears.

  “Archers ready.”

  Standing behind the squatting men, a circle of archers lifted their crossbows in unison.

  “Archers aim.”

  Pulling back on their strings and locking them in place, the arrows were lined up to fire.

  Refusing to go down without a fight, Santorray attacked.

  “Fire!”

  Chapter 30

  Del’Unday Army