by David Adams
They would have no such luck this day. The only consolation was that the river’s edge provided a path that led directly to their goal, Old Bern, and allowed them to make good speed. “How long do you expect we’ll be following the river’s course?” Uesra asked.
“Two weeks, if the banks are as clear as they’ve been today,” Silas replied.
Barlow groaned. “Two more weeks of all this howling might put me over the edge.”
“At least their numbers appear to have stopped increasing,” Xanar offered. “Apparently two hundred is enough to keep tabs on us.”
Uesra saw a troubled look cross Darius’ face. When the young man said nothing, she asked him what he was thinking.
“Only that I agree with Barlow, and that two other things bother me. First, we’ll not be able to move unnoticed into Old Bern with all this racket about us, and second, that there’s a chance the brothers won’t even be there.”
“Meaning this could go on for longer than two weeks,” Adrianna concluded with a sigh.
Images of Orgoth and Kaelesh simply staying out of their way came unbidden to each of them, the brothers leading them on a never-ending hunt while they were slowly driven mad by the shades.
“Come on,” Silas said, wanting to push the thought far from his mind. “There is nothing slowing us. Let’s see if we can shorten that two weeks.”
Everyone was more than happy to match his quickened pace.
Chapter 14: Orgoth, Lord of Fear
The day was proving to be a beautiful one. The sun was brilliant in a clear sky, and winter was nowhere to be found, the air cool but not cold and the last vestiges of snow gone. Spring was still several weeks away, so the world was still more tan and brown than wearing the brighter colors that would welcome the new season, but there was promise in the air. The river bed continued to widen, the water’s current slow but steady and holding a power that didn’t wane as the ages came and went.
“Too bad we don’t have boats,” Xanar lamented. “All this marching can get tiresome.”
“Water’s still bitterly cold,” Darius reminded him. “I’d rather stay here on land.”
Xanar shrugged. “Cold is relative. But we have no boats, so there’s no need to debate the point further.”
The path along the river, such as it was, alternated from narrow sections where they walked single file or were even forced back into the thick growths just off the banks, to wider areas where they could walk six abreast with room to spare. Small-to-medium-sized rocks might be hazards when they were forced near the water, but in the more open areas they walked upon mostly hard-packed earth. They were in one of these wide, open areas when the shades abruptly fell silent and drifted off over the Vale River, hovering there while watching the companions with their sapphire-blue eyes.
“This can’t be good,” Darius said.
The group had naturally stopped upon the sudden change in the shades’ behavior, and their hands strayed to the hilts of their weapons. For a few minutes nothing moved or stirred, then a great rustling began in the woods that lined this portion of the river. Into the clearing came a host of demons of all shapes and colors, each carrying a cruel weapon and all with faces that bore dire malice. It seemed to the company that these creatures had suddenly sprung into existence, and in fact they had, in a way. If the company could have inspected the areas just inside the tree line they might have seen the markings scribed into the ground, markings that now glowed red with the fires of the pit, and which acted as portals for Hell’s Horde.
The companions drew their weapons and backed toward the water. To the north the demons moved to block their retreat, but those closest and to the south simply stood watch just past the tree line as if they were an otherworldly honor guard sent to mark the company’s passing.
“Any ideas?” Adrianna asked. She alone bore no weapon, and the spell she prepared left her feeling more than a little exposed against such a force.
“Think they can swim?” Xanar asked in reply. The others couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Doesn’t matter,” Uesra said. “They have bowmen behind the front ranks.”
“I wonder why they don’t attack,” Barlow said.
“Maybe they fear your sword,” said Darius, noting as everyone else had the shimmering white light Gabriel was giving off.
“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” Adrianna said.
“Looks like they’re allowing us to continue on as we were, at least for now,” said Silas. “Since our only other option is to try to fight through them…”
Silas stepped out and the others followed, while a heavy silence hung oppressively about them. The demons’ eyes never left them, bored into them, and the hungry looks on their faces left no doubt that something was holding them back.
For a quarter-mile they walked under the withering gazes of Hell’s Horde, the only sounds those of the river and their own footfalls. The riverbed then turned east, and as they reached that point they cleared the trees that had blocked their view further downstream. The line of demons continued on another hundred yards before bending to reach the river, effectively boxing the travelers in. But this they hardly noticed. Fifty yards before them stood a large figure in black armor. The faceplate of his helm masked him, but each of them could guess who he was. His great black sword was before him, his hands resting on the hilts while the tip of the blade dug into the ground. He stood nearly seven feet tall, but there was nothing long or stretched to his appearance. The curve of his armor spoke of toned muscles and great strength.
“Orgoth,” Darius whispered, in case the others hadn’t drawn the same conclusion. They had, and did not reply.
The company slowed but continued forward, finally stopping about ten yards before the demon-lord. Behind and beside them the other demons closed ranks, now three or more deep. Only the icy water of the Vale offered a promise of escape, and that only temporary. The shades, too, gathered over the river, their eyes shining in anticipation of what was to come.
Barlow stepped forward, Gabriel held ready at his side. The sword’s light was almost blinding. “I expected more courage from one with such a fearsome reputation. You must fear us greatly if you feel you need such a host to aid you.”
Orgoth laughed, long and hard. “Brave words from one who would have six fight me at once.”
“We’re merely mortal. I wouldn’t think such odds would frighten you.”
“They do not. But I will not fight all of you at once. That would force me to be too swift. I want to enjoy this. My minions are here only to ensure each of you gets a chance to test me. You have made the selection of who shall be first.” Orgoth then continued in a tongue none of them could understand, the language of the abyss. He made a few quick gestures, and several dozen of the nearest demons advanced. They pushed in front of the travelers, driving them back a few feet and allowing space for only Barlow to pass.
“Don’t go forward alone,” Darius said. “That’s what he wants.”
Barlow turned to regard him with a tired expression, one that spoke of a life of toil and hardship and now looked upon the face of death. But his eyes were lit with a fire, one that burned in his heart and which his aging body could dim but not extinguish. “I’m not going alone,” he said. After he passed the demons they locked their weapons and screened the rest of the companions, leaving Orgoth and Barlow to face one another.
Barlow began to pray, the words barely audible. He could have done so without speaking or moving his lips, but lifelong habits die hard, and he always found the soft rhythm of his own voice to be soothing and to make him feel more in God’s presence.
Orgoth spoke as well, a word of command.
Barlow found that his voice had left him.
“Now it is you that would call for reinforcements. We can’t allow that.”
Barlow wanted to offer a retort, to note Orgoth’s fear of One greater than he, but he could manage no words. He held Gabriel before him, trying to draw comfort f
rom the sword’s obvious power.
Rather than ready his own weapon, Orgoth slowly removed his helm. “Behold the Lord of Fear,” he said, relishing the impact his horrible visage had on those there to confront him. Even with so many denizens of the underworld about, the horn-like growths, oozing openings, and twisted features that passed as his face were something one could not truly prepare for. It was all Barlow could do to not turn away in disgust, which would have made him an easy target.
Orgoth took up his sword and stalked forward. “Come, paladin,” he spit out, “meet your doom.” As the last word left his lips he leaped forward, letting his great sword trail behind him and then bringing it around with breathtaking speed and power.
Barlow had intended to dodge what seemed to be a clumsy first blow, but the quickness with which Orgoth could wield the huge black sword surprised him. He had to parry with Gabriel, taking the brunt of the strike head on with his weapon. His knees and elbows buckled but held.
Orgoth stepped back and nodded. “An impressive weapon. Most would have shattered under such force. Let’s see how quick you are with it.”
Barlow knew Orgoth had an advantage in strength and reach, and he now found that the demon had one in quickness as well. He managed—barely—to fend off a string of seven blows, but could tell he wouldn’t hold out for long against a sustained assault. Orgoth stepped back once more, content to play with his victim for now and to offer his assessment of the duel aloud. “Not bad, but you appear to have little stamina.” It was obvious from his voice that the effort on his part hadn’t even begun to wind him. “Perhaps you might have done better in your younger days.”
Barlow wanted to reply but couldn’t, his tongue still held by the demon’s spell. That was likely for the best. He needed all his focus and energy to be on the swordplay if he wanted to survive. He hoped that Orgoth was overconfident, a weakness that might be his downfall, but he knew the demon’s analysis of their respective skills was accurate. He also knew he had no chance if he stayed on the defensive. He stepped left then right, and brought Gabriel around in a vicious arc.
Even with his sword held in only one hand, Orgoth easily batted the blow aside. With the other hand he struck Barlow in the chest using only an open palm, which was still sufficient to send the paladin sprawling backward.
As Barlow scrambled to his feet, an arrow flew past, striking Orgoth squarely in the breastplate. It did not penetrate his armor, but snapped in two, the pieces falling harmlessly to the ground.
Orgoth again gave a quick command in his native tongue, and a dozen demons grabbed Xanar, one taking his bow and two holding dull-edged blades to his throat. “If he even tries to move again, kill him,” Orgoth said, using the common tongue so none could misunderstand the situation.
Barlow knew he had to take advantage of any opportunity. While the arrow had only given him time to recover, the subsequent orders had provided a better distraction, and potentially an opening. He leaped forward, too aggressively, trying to bring Gabriel to bear while Orgoth’s weapon was slightly lowered. It nearly worked.
Adrenaline had driven Barlow to move a hair faster than Orgoth expected. The demon’s block was in time, if not perfectly clean, forcing Barlow to the side rather than stopping him cold. But this played to Orgoth’s advantage, as now the paladin was off balance. Orgoth continued in the same motion started by his block, driving his fist into Barlow’s back, the force of which lifted him into the air for several feet before sending him crashing face-first into the ground.
Barlow rolled over, the pain in his back and side exquisite. He had heard the bones breaking, wasn’t sure he’d even be able to move again as he landed. He looked up just in time to see the dark form already over him, and he raised his eyes and his sword in unison to deflect the blow he knew was coming.
If he had been an instant slower Barlow would have been hewn in two from the top of his head down, but still his reactions were slowed by age, exhaustion, and pain. Gabriel was able to meet Orgoth’s mighty sword at an angle, deflecting it from its intended line, but a clean block wasn’t made. Orgoth’s sword tore Barlow open from his left shoulder down into his chest, a deep and ugly wound. Barlow gasped for air as his blood poured out, bright red but darkening where it pooled. His strength left him, and Gabriel became too much to bear. He dropped his sword, leaving him defenseless as his merciless opponent prepared to finish him.
As Orgoth raised his sword over his head, a concussion shook the world, an explosion of sound that echoed off distant hills. Orgoth was lifted several feet and tossed near the edge of the river, where he lay still, face down on the muddy bank. But the demon-lord was far from being the only one effected by the shock wave. Barlow was thrown again, the air he fought to pull into his damaged lungs forced out of him. The wall of demons between the other companions and Orgoth was also sundered, the monsters scattered right and left, each stunned or injured. Silas and the two elves were likewise knocked to the ground, leaving Darius, who had been standing to the right of the others, as the only one standing. He reacted before the unaffected demons, who were stunned by seeing their leader so ignominiously tossed aside, as if he were no more than a child’s toy. Darius ran to Barlow, worried the paladin might already be dead but wanting to provide what aid and comfort he could. He put his hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp when he saw how bad the wound was.
Darius dropped to one knee and put a hand cautiously on Barlow’s good shoulder.
The paladin’s eyes fluttered open, but they were glazed and far away. “What happened?” he asked, Orgoth’s command over his voice now gone.
Darius hadn’t had time to process that yet. Now it hit him, and he turned back to see if he could spot Adrianna. He could not. “I think Adrianna cast that sonic blast spell again.”
Barlow grimaced, and a tear trickled down his cheek. When it fell to the ground it mingled with the blood that continued to leak from his body. “I wish she hadn’t. It came too late for me, anyway.” Then with dawning awareness he asked, “Orgoth?”
“Took the brunt of it.” He motioned to where the demon lay. “Looks like she got him.”
Barlow smiled but then his face grew slack. “Then she did well.”
A new sound reached then, familiar and unwelcome: the sound of metal-on-metal. Orgoth was rising.
Darius gripped his sword. “Hopefully he’s weakened,” he said, mainly to himself.
Barlow laid his hand on Darius’ arm. “Take Gabriel.”
Darius hesitated, then said, “I can’t do that. And it’s a paladin’s weapon. I can’t wield it.”
“So I would have thought earlier in our journey. But I think now that it responds to the heart, and I have learned much in our time together, though that may not seem to be the case. Tell Silas he was right.”
“Barlow, I—”
The paladin’s eyelids dropped and closed. A long, slow breath left him, then he grew still.
Darius spared Orgoth a quick glance, saw the demon-lord had regained his feet and was beginning to turn around. He had missed his best chance to strike while Orgoth was unaware, but he hadn’t even considered abandoning Barlow at the moment of his death. Seeing how Xanar’s arrow had been thwarted by Orgoth’s armor, he did wonder how his own sword would have fared. It was just possible that human sympathy had delayed him enough to give him a chance he might have otherwise missed. He laid his hand gently on Barlow’s brow and said, “Rest well, paladin. May you meet your Savior this day.”
Darius let his head hang, and heaved a heavy sigh, as if fighting back sobs. His mourning for Barlow would be real in time, but for the moment he needed to focus on other pressing matters. He let his sword fall from his hand and made a small choking noise, as if finally overcome by grief. From under his hooded eyes he made sure Gabriel was where he wanted, and then saw what he hoped to see: the slow approach of heavy black boots.
It took every bit of nerve Darius had to remain still and to keep his head bowed. Every instinct he had screame
d at him to look up, to grab the sword and defend himself from sure death. But he had heard of and now seen Orgoth’s ability, and he thought himself to have little chance in a test of swordsmanship and strength, regardless of what damage Adrianna’s spell might have done the demon. So he waited with his head down, feeling like a prisoner with his neck exposed while the executioner stepped forward with his cruel axe.
Orgoth stopped two feet before him. Somewhere behind him Darius could hear Xanar, a shout of warning that was quickly muffled. Closer he heard the grinding of Orgoth's armor as he lifted his sword.
Darius grabbed Gabriel and swung the blazing sword in an upward arc, bringing it to bear from Orgoth’s left side. The sword went under the armor below Orgoth’s hip, struck metal and slowed, but managed to tear through enough to dig an inch into Orgoth’s hide.
The demon spun wildly, pulling Gabriel from Darius’ hands and sending the young man sprawling to one side.
Darius used the momentum of being tossed aside to continue to roll, stubbornly coming to his feet in a ready position. He had managed the first blow, but even with surprise and a holy sword his strength had only been sufficient to inflict the slightest of wounds. He fully expected as he was rising that Orgoth would be on him in an instant, and only his hands would be left as a defense against Orgoth’s mighty black sword.
But Orgoth was not interested in Darius at all. Gabriel remained wedged in place, and the white light it cast off pulsed, as if it were drawing power in large, steady draughts. Orgoth made no effort to remove the sword, not even to touch it. He lifted his head and howled, a primal scream that froze everyone in place. He began to shake violently, and from beneath his armor light began to emanate, as if Gabriel’s holy fire was spreading through him as a wildfire through dry woodland. The light grew until Orgoth could hardly be seen, a dark shape surrounded and consumed by blinding light, although his cries of anguish could still be heard.
