Finn and Chondris leaped into the forest on either side of Ballin, leaving Tandris with Pyell, who quickly unsheathed his sword with his left hand. “Good thing I’m left handed,” he said with a slight smile towards Tandris. “Now be off with you.”
Suddenly the underbrush exploded in front of them and a massive orc crashed through, a huge black sword raised above its head. Tandris heard more commotion from the other side and reasoned that the orcs must have been flanking them the entire time, a maneuver not expected from creatures known more for their strength and brutality than for their intelligence. They generally didn’t think much about tactics.
The beast was a giant, at least a foot taller than most orcs, and far more heavily muscled, with arms thick and bulky like thin sacks stuffed with big rocks. The orc wore dark plate armor with Gould’s white eye painted on the breast plate. He roared loudly, the sound echoing off the steep gulch in which they traveled.
Tandris, an accomplished archer, nocked an arrow quickly, releasing the shaft without aiming. He had no time to sight in the beast, but luckily the orc was close enough that he didn’t need to. The shaft took the orc directly in the forehead, stopping its momentum dead, and dropping it to the ground like a sack of bricks.
They heard fighting and yelling nearby just as a second orc rushed at them from behind a nearby tree. Pyell, revitalized by a surge of adrenaline, shoved Tandris aside as the orc’s blade whistled by, cleaving into the ground. He swung his long sword down onto the orc’s back. The blade hit its armor, sliding down the metal and making a shallow cut on the base of its neck.
Tandris stumbled to the side as Pyell engaged the orc. He knew Pyell was right, that his duty was to get to his king and warn them, and that he was the only man who could make it. So with an ache in his heart for his friends, he extracted himself from the fight, leaping over a log and sprinting through the underbrush with as much speed as he could muster.
The orc swung its meaty arm sideways and took Pyell in the side, launching him backwards into a large tree. Then it turned, aiming a vicious looking weapon, similar to a meat cleaver, at Pyell’s head. Pyell ducked under the blade just in time, and it embedded itself several inches into the thick wood. He then lunged forward, hoping to skewer the beast through one of the seams in its armor. His aim was true and his dwarven made sword sliced into the orc’s thick shoulder, stopping as the tip hit the armor on its back.
The orc roared in pain, and with savage fury grabbed Pyell around the neck with its left hand, driving him back into the tree. The orc’s weapon, thick and bladed on both sides, was bad luck for Pyell, as it was embedded in the tree at the same height as the back of his head. With its tremendous strength, the beast easily slammed Pyell’s head into the back of the blade, embedding the black steel six inches into the base of the knight’s skull. Pyell’s body instantly went limp as the blade severed his spine.
Tandris did not look back as he dodged and bounded through the forest like a frightened deer. He raced through the game trails spurred on by the sound of pursuit. Several black arrows whistled by him, some thudding into nearby trees. But after several minutes the noise lessened and all he heard was the pounding of his own heart as he pushed his body to run even faster. He knew that his friends were giving their lives as they fought to give him time. All he needed was a few more minutes, enough to give him a wider lead. If he got that, no one could catch him. He knew he could run for hours, maybe even all day at this pace, but he wouldn’t need that much time, so he pushed himself even more. He only needed a few hours to reach the king and the rest of the knights. He could do it. He concentrated on his breathing and the pumping of his arms and legs. He must warn the king.
He was startled by a sudden sharp pain slamming into his shoulder, causing his body to stumble to the right. He managed to keep his footing and continue running, but when he glanced back at his shoulder he saw a splotch of red materialize on his tunic. Something had hit him, penetrating the flesh by his shoulder, though he could feel that it had not hit bone or a major artery. It must have been an arrow shot by a powerful bow, luckily only grazing him, passing right through flesh and landing somewhere in the forest. It was a shallow wound and he ran on, his fear and adrenaline masking the pain.
He had no sooner regained his rhythm when, from the dense brush, a huge orc jumped at him from the side, swinging its heavy sword in a deadly arc. Tandris knew that if he lost his momentum, all would be lost. He dodged by the blade, spinning around the monster. He was quick, narrowly evading the deadly attack, but not fast enough to avoid the edge of the orc’s blade that whistled just past his arm. It was unlucky really. Tandris had used his arm to balance his spin, and because of that his hand was stretched out wide, right in the path of the orc’s weapon. He felt a sharp pain as the orc’s thick sword severed three of his fingers at the second digit.
Tandris didn’t acknowledge the pain. He just kept running as blood from his injured hand splattered the forest around him. The oversized orcs were extremely powerful, and dauntingly inexhaustible, but they could not match his speed and agility. He would make it through them he thought, gritting his teeth and running on.
***
King Kromm pushed aside the fir branch, stepping down a rocky animal path. His giant frame still moved with grace, and despite how hard he had been pushing himself, he did not seem to tire. He focused his mind on his destroyed city and dispersed people, channeling his anger into every step and movement. Generations of his family had built Tarsis from the ground up. And now, after one horrible night, it was all gone. Why was it so hard to build something great, but so easy to destroy it? What is it that drives someone like Malbeck to do what he does, to destroy when it is so much more rewarding to create? As he contemplated these questions, he made a silent vow to make things right, and he knew that he was willing to die trying to achieve that goal.
It was mid-day and the air was brisk, but nevertheless he was sweating under his polished armor, as were all the men as they pushed themselves hard, hoping to break clear of the low lying mountains, dropping down onto the Tarsinian plains. From there they would try to commandeer horses from mountain villages and make haste to Finarth. It was a long journey that was sure to be filled with many struggles.
The soldiers were tired and dirty but their determined faces reflected years of training and combat. They were the king’s best fighting men and they would not let him down.
Allindrian, the Blade Singer, scouted ahead while three groups of scouts brought up the rear. They had fought hard to break through Malbeck’s picket lines and now they hoped they were home free.
“Father, do you think they are following us still?” asked Riker, the blonde youth following close behind the king. The boy was only sixteen but he was already bigger than a grown man. He was not an experienced fighter, but his father had started his training when he was young and he was exceptionally skilled with all weapons, more skilled in fact than most veteran warriors, but lacking the confidence that comes from actual combat. Riker wore a shirt of chainmail covered with huntsman’s leather. His long blonde hair and blue eyes made him a spitting image of his father. The only difference was that Riker did not have the girth of his father, which meant he was still more muscular than most men. But in comparison to his father, he was more slim and lithe, attributing those characteristics to his mother.
King Kromm continued to push on as he talked with his son. “I do, my son. The Forsworn will be relentless in their hunt, but have no fear, we will escape them.”
“I do not doubt it, but why do they put so much effort in hunting you?” asked the youth.
“Hard to say. My bet is they know I am capable of uniting the people again, something they do not want. Malbeck will want to destroy all leaders who have the strength and power to stand up to his injustices. They are hoping to lay a path of destruction for the darkness of the Forsworn.”
“But we will fight them, right Father? Riker asked, worry evident in his voice. “We will not le
t that happen.”
The king stopped in his tracks, turning to face the prince. “Son, I will not stop until Malbeck is destroyed.”
Riker smiled, placing his hand on his sword. “I will help you, Father. I am not afraid.”
“I know, but remember, fear is your friend. Harness it and use it, but don’t let it override your courage. Men of courage know fear, but they control it. Do you understand?”
The boy looked at his father, thinking about what he said. “I do, and I will remember your advice.”
“Come on, you two,” chided the queen, “you chatter more than my hand maidens.” The queen moved up behind them, getting closer to hear their conversation. Forty knights marched behind them in groups of two as they made their way down the narrow animal trail.
The king smiled at his beautiful wife. He thanked Bandris every day that he had escaped from Tarsis with his family. Now, more than ever, he was thankful that she was not the typical woman of royalty pampered in her great halls with silks and jewels. She looked at home in her huntsman’s clothes and wool traveling cloak. Her short bow stuck up behind her back, nestling in a leather quiver with several hands of arrows. Strapped to her side was a beautiful curved saber that she could use quite well for a king’s wife.
They continued moving down the trail, coming to a large clearing that opened onto a tranquil mountain lake.
“Take some water and quick rations,” the king said to his men as they funneled into the clearing. “Take rest, we will depart shortly.”
The men gathered in groups, resting on rocks, logs, and the soft grassy ground. They drank from their water bags and ate strips of salted meat. General Farwin ordered the men to replenish their water from the lake as he wandered amongst them speaking words of encouragement. The men were tired, for they had traveled and fought hard for days, but their eyes still reflected the passion and energy they had for their mission. They would see their king to safety, or die trying.
King Kromm drank from his water skin as a man yelled in the distance.
“My Lord!”
His men were up quickly, weapons out, moving into defensive positions. Years of formation drilling had enabled them to adapt to the fighting ground quickly. Men with bows were up and standing high on rock formations while spearman ran to the front, backed by men with swords.
All eyes turned toward the sound of a man sprinting down the trail from which they had come. It was one of their scouts. The king quickly advanced towards the scout as the man stumbled down the rocky path.
“My King!” cried Tandris. “Orcs are rapidly approaching!” Tandris stumbled, his tired legs finally giving out on him. He had run full out for two hours and his injuries were taking their toll. Though his wounds were not serious, he had been slowly losing blood as he could not risk slowing to mend them adequately.
Kromm caught Tandris as he stumbled into him. His mighty arms held him up with ease as Tandris tried to regain his balance on wobbly legs.
“Easy, Tandris. What happened?” the king asked calmly.
“My King, we were set upon by orcs, huge beasts that fight like they are possessed. Pyell and the rest of the scouts stayed behind to give me time to warn you. I barely got out alive.”
“How many and how far back are they?” the king asked tensely.
“Pyell said it was just a scouting party, ten in total. He believed they were part of a larger force but I do not know how many. These beasts can run like the wind. I could barely stay ahead of them, my King. I imagine they will be here shortly.”
“Very good, you did well, Tandris. Here, drink some water,” ordered the king as he gave his water bag to the exhausted scout. “Tolben, see to his wounds.”
A short knight with cropped gray hair moved from behind the spearman to help Tandris. The king turned away from the scout and faced his men.
“Men, orcs are near! We must find better ground in case we are forced to fight! Gear up! General Farwin, Addalis, to me!” he ordered, moving toward his wife and son.
The knights gathered their gear, preparing for departure with military precision. Addalis and General Farwin met with their king and his family near the edge of the lake.
“Any ideas?” the king asked them quietly.
“My Lord, your suggestion about finding better ground is sound. These hills taper down to this lake. I would not want to be here when the vermin arrive. We would be sitting ducks to archers and spearmen, if they have any.”
“My King, we need more information on who follows us. I have an idea,” Addalis said.
“I agree. I need to know their numbers, what their strengths may be. What is your idea?” asked the king.
“I have a potion that will enable me to scout their numbers unseen and return to you promptly.”
“Addalis, I cannot afford to lose you. Will it be safe?”
“I will be fine, my Lord.”
“Very well, see to it. General, what is your suggestion. Do we run, or do we fight?” The king turned his blue eyes on his commander.
“Sir, I do not suggest a fight until we know their numbers. Let us proceed south down the mountain and reevaluate after Addalis returns.”
Kromm nodded in affirmation, having already come to the same conclusion. “Very well. Hopefully the Blade Singer will return. We could use her skills. General, give me your five best fighters. I want them with my family. Pick ten more to bring up the rear. Have them stay within shouting distance,” ordered the king.
Addalis stepped away from the king, fishing around in a bag at his belt. Because the bag was enchanted, all he had to do when he reached into it was to think of the object he wanted. Instantly a small glass bottle materialized in his hand and he brought it forth. The bottle, a cerulean blue, was filled with a small amount of clear liquid. He removed the lid, bringing the bottle to his mouth.
“My King, I shall return shortly,” he said quickly.
The king turned from his wife and gazed at the wizard with concern. “Be safe, my friend, and return soon.”
Addalis nodded his head and drank from the bottle. The bitter fluid slid down his throat and immediately he felt its effects. His body felt warm as he concentrated on the form that he wished to take. Within a few moments his body had melted into the form of a raven, its black wings flapping in mid-air. Addalis flew off as the knights began to make their way down the mountainside.
The men moved with haste and purpose, their eyes constantly scanning the area for enemies. The east side of the lake was blocked by tall steep cliffs that grew into the clouds, completely blocking travel in that direction. The ground gradually sloped away from the lake on the west side, so that was the direction they took. They had already made their way to the base of the mountain and the scenery was starting to open up into meadows of lush grass peppered with patches of fir trees. Even if they chose to find high ground, there was none nearby that was accessible. The natural incline of the rocky cliffs funneled them further down the mountain. Besides, the plan now was to wait for Addalis to return from his reconnaissance trip before they made any tactical choices. What they did know, however, was that they could not sit there and wait.
The king walked briskly in front of his wife and son while the five guards moved quickly behind them, alert and ready to give their lives for the king and his family. Kromm carried a massive two handed long sword strapped to his back. The blade had been made by the elves and imbued with the energy of the Ru’Ach. It had been given to his great-great-great grandfather and passed down from father to son for several generations. It was a sentient weapon, named Cormathian by the elven wizard who spun the magical weaves of the blade. The weapon had been given as a wedding gift to Kromm’s ancestor, King Lybidus. Sentient weapons were very rare, as the magic used to imbue a sword with human characteristics was beyond even most court wizards. Cormathian had thoughts, made choices, and could interact with Kromm in a way that no other magical sword could. It was part of him, an extension of his very self. Together they were an in
domitable force. Luckily for Kromm, his ancestors had been as large as he, and were capable of wielding such a massive sword. The blade was almost as tall as a man with a two foot handle wrapped in silver wire. The cross piece was wide and simple, free of intricate carvings, and at the base of the blade, where the pommel met the cross piece, a sapphire, with a milky white interior, had been embedded, giving the stone a life of its own as the milky interior swirled around inside the stone like a mist caught in a glass ball. The sparkling silver blade, despite generations of battles, was unmarred and perfect in shape and form. The weapon, simple in design, was made for destruction, not appearance.
Suddenly a black bird flew down from the sky and landed in front of the king. Within moments it transformed back into Addalis, whose sudden appearance startled the men behind them into drawing their weapons. Once they saw that it was Addalis, they slid their blades back into their scabbards.
“Addalis, I’m glad to see you. What news do you bring?” the king asked anxiously.
“My Lord, I counted close to fifty orcs moving at a rapid pace.”
“Only fifty? One of my knights can kill five orcs easily.” As the king finished his sentence, General Farwin quickly stepped up beside him. The king turned toward Farwin, smiling as he spoke. “General, fifty orcs approach, shall we have some fun?”
“My Lord, if I may interrupt,” interjected Addalis.
“Go on,” replied the king, turning his gaze toward the agitated wizard.
“These orcs are not normal. They are abnormally large, heavily armored, and they move with a precision not typical of their species. They run with no evidence of exhaustion. I have never seen their like.”
“I see,” the king replied, his smile disappearing.
“A new breed I believe. They will be upon us sooner rather than later,” added the wizard.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck Page 10
