The Immortal Mystic (Book 5)

by Sam Ferguson

  The next eight met similarly gruesome fates. Within a matter of minutes all thirteen of the orcish archers were lying dead on the ground. Lepkin walked away from the field wearing nothing but the mixture of blood across his skin. The men hailed and cheered. If any orcs saw the ordeal, none of them came against the men in battle again that day.

  *****

  Lepkin sat on the edge of a cowhide cot, watching the field surgeon stitch his arm back together. The grunts and moans around him seemed to make his pain seem less than it was. He glanced to his right and saw a man whose leg had been so badly crushed they were preparing to cut it off above the knee. They bound him and gagged him after forcing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey down his gullet. Whatever wasn’t poured into the man’s throat went into the wound. The man howled and screamed.

  “Barbarous,” Lepkin commented.

  “Well,” the surgeon started as he looked down his nose at the sutures he put into Lepkin’s arm. “If we had more magic around these parts, we might have the luxury of being more humane. We do the best we can with what we have.”

  Lepkin nodded and gently pulled the surgeon’s hands away from his shoulder. “I can finish this,” he said. “I have dressed my own wounds before.”

  The surgeon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just don’t come whining to me when you get an infection and the fevers take you.”

  “You already cleaned it,” Lepkin reminded him. “I’ll be fine with the stitches. Perhaps you can help them.”

  The surgeon turned to the man about to become an amputee and shook his head. “He is a lost cause,” he said. A frown crossed his mouth and then he sighed. “I have seen a lot of wounds like this. If he survives the blood loss, the fevers will take him for sure. It’s almost impossible to remove all of the debris, but neither can they take his leg any higher up for it would prevent them from making a proper tourniquet.” He shook his head again and packed his bag. “No, I will move on to someone I can save. As much as you need to win on the battlefield, I could use a win in here tonight too.”

  Lepkin nodded his understanding and began pushing the hooked needle through his skin. He pulled each stitch tight, bringing the skin together and squeezing out droplets of blood. He hurried his work and managed to finish and leave the area before the others began their work with the bone saw.

  As he walked across the courtyard men stood and cheered. They saluted him and shouted his name in adoration. Soldiers turned from their fires and food and began clapping. Then, he saw Mercer coming toward him. Lepkin offered a simple nod and a wave to the others before making his way to Mercer.

  “Quite a show you put on today,” Mercer said. “They are calling you the…”

  Lepkin held up a hand and shook his head. “I don’t actually need to know.”

  Mercer smiled. “Come, I have something to show you.” Mercer turned and limped along, leading Lepkin to the main keep. They walked in and wound their way into a side chamber off the main hall. Once inside Lepkin smiled big.

  “Hi beanpole,” Al said with a great grin.

  Lepkin moved in and the two clasped hands with a hearty shake. “I am not going to bow to you,” Lepkin teased.

  “That is what Gorin said,” Al groused. “You tall folk simply have no respect.” Al put on a mock scowl and then folded his arms as if he was angry.

  “Are you here alone?” Lepkin asked.

  “No,” Al said. He looked up to Mercer and the commander nodded.

  “I will leave you two alone.” Mercer turned and left the room, closing the doors behind him.

  “I have some of my warriors here. I thought you could use the help.”

  “How many?” Lepkin asked.

  “Five hundred,” Al said beaming ear to ear. “They are being shown to their quarters as we speak. Sorry we didn’t get here in time to fight with you.”

  Lepkin frowned. “I had hoped for more.”

  Al shrugged. “I have three hundred north with Grand Master Penthal, two hundred in reserve at Roegudok Hall, five hundred with me, and five hundred with Faengoril to hold a new pass from the east that the Tarthuns might use.”

  “Why not mobilize the Home Guard?” Lepkin asked.

  Al sighed. “The Home Guard is not what it once was. It is mostly comprised of dwarves who are too old to fight on the open fields, or green recruits who have no place on the field against either orc or Tarthun.”

  Lepkin nodded. “I understand.”

  Al ribbed Lepkin. “Besides my five hundred will give the orcs a good fight. Better than two thousand of the beanpoles I saw hanging around these walls.”

  Lepkin moved to let himself sink into a chair and looked at Al intently. “Dimwater is sick.”

  Al nodded. “I saw her earlier. Marlin is with her, he will take care of her.”

  Lepkin closed his eyes and sighed. “She is pregnant,” he said.

  Al whistled through his teeth and tugged on his beard. “That changes things a bit then, doesn’t it?” The dwarf king moved nearby and slid himself up to sit on a table. “Listen, I have some other people here with me.”

  Lepkin opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Al. “Who?”

  “Lady Arkyn, Master Gorin, and Master Peren.”

  Lepkin straightened in his chair and smirked. “Truly?”

  Al nodded. “Listen, Gorin, Arkyn, and Peren fought with you at Lokton Manor.”

  Lepkin knitted his brow together and started to shake his head, but then he understood what Al meant. “I see. Why not bring them in and let them know what really happened?”

  Al shrugged. “It was an intense battle,” the dwarf king said. “Master Orres died there.”

  “I know,” Lepkin said. “Erik told me of that.”

  “So what do we do?” Al asked. Lepkin shrugged. Al pointed to the door. “My soldiers are sleeping tonight, and then we are going to ram our steel down so many orc throats that we will be free from this place before you know it.”

  “How can you be sure?” Lepkin asked. “I have had to use my dragon form several times just to keep the orcs at bay.”

  “Bah.” Al said with a wave of his hand. “Marlin told me that Erik slew Tu’luh. That is a huge victory for us. Then, you couple that with a man who faces a slew of orc archers wearing nothing but what his mother gave him and beating them all with his bare hands, and you have the makings of a demoralized army. Now, you go take care of your wife and you let me, Arkyn, Peren, and Gorin handle those pig-faced, green dogs out there.”

  “Let’s not tell them about Lokton Manor, not yet,” Lepkin said.

  Al nodded. “Alright. I will keep that quiet. Go and see to your wife. Peren and Arkyn are with Marlin now doing what they can.”

  Lepkin smiled. “It is good to see you, my friend.” Then he pushed up, grimacing as he put weight on his left shoulder. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

  *****

  Gorin dropped his gear onto the sturdy bed and looked around. There were four others in the room with him. Each was assigned to a bunk bed. He slowly sat down upon the mattress, hands out and fingers splayed as if he expected to fall through the thing. The wooden beams creaked and popped as they bore the brunt of his weight. Finally sure that it would hold him, he leaned back on the mattress and kicked his legs up. His ankles and feet dangled over the foot of the bed.

  Something lumpy poked into his head from under the pillow. He sat up enough to reach back and sweep his massive hand under the pillow. He pulled out a wooden doll no bigger than his pinky finger. One of the other warriors saw him and quickly came over with their hand out.

  “No disrespect, sir, but that belonged to Kendral Harbov. I’ll take it.”

  “I didn’t mean to take another man’s bed,” Gorin said as he sat up. “I can just as easily sleep on the floor. The mountains never offer me a mattress anyway.”

  The soldier shook his head. “No, sir, he won’t be needing the bed anymore. He died today.”

  Gorin could see the sadness in
the man’s face. There were no tears, but there was a distance in the man’s gaze that showed he had lost someone he had known. The large warrior handed the doll over to the soldier.

  “Thanks,” he said with a half-smile.

  “Has the fort lost many?” Gorin probed. Some of the other soldiers sighed, others just stared at him. The soldier holding the wooden doll nodded his head.

  “We hold our own well enough. The walls protect us from open battle, but for every orc we kill, two or three more arrive the next day. All of the orcs are flocking to Ten Forts. Without reinforcements, we won’t last longer than a month or two at most.”

  Gorin scanned the room. It was obvious everyone else felt the same.

  “We came in with five hundred dwarves,” Gorin put in quickly. “I am sure that more soldiers are well underway. King Mathias wouldn’t stick Ten Forts out in the wind.”

  “I don’t see any nobleman’s sons here with us,” one of the others put in. “Admit it, you are probably only here for that little kid who disappeared.”

  Gorin looked at the brown haired man and nodded. “I am here for Lepkin and Erik,” he said.

  The soldier with the doll suddenly tossed it back to Gorin. “Kendral carved that to remind him of his son. He had only been with his wife for a year before he was transferred here.” The soldier gestured around the room. “Most of us are sent here for three or four years. There is never a way to say no. Noblemen, however, buy their sons out of service here.”

  “Or if they do come here it is as officers,” the brown haired man said.

  Gorin looked over the doll and curled his fingers around it. “The officers here are fine,” he said. “You should give this to Kendral’s boy,” Gorin instructed as he tossed the doll back. “None of you have to be here. King Mathias doesn’t compel military service. You all chose this life. So either get over it, or keep your mouth shut so you don’t taint the rest of the army with your sludge.” Gorin walked over and stood in front of the brown haired man, glowering down at him. It wasn’t that the soldier was scrawny, but compared to Gorin he seemed so short and small that a fight between the two would be about as even as a fight between a twenty year old and a twelve year old.

  “I have been here for seven years,” the brown haired man said. “I have done back to back rotations here, and am on my third. I have no woman, and I haven’t seen my parents or sisters for nearly a decade. Now, there are orcs out there that wish nothing more than to put my head upon a pike. I saw what they did to some of our men. They cut their heads off and tied them to a horse. One of them they must have flayed, because they wrote a message on human skin. On human skin!”

  Gorin tipped his head to the side and pursed his lips. “You should be honored to fight here,” he said. “In one hundred years songs will be sung of the battles fought at Ten Forts. It will be up to you to decide whether orcs sing of their victory, or the families we miss so dearly sing of how we saved them. As for me, I don’t see any difference between nobles and commoners. They both bleed easy enough. I see only men with honor, and those without. Make your choice about which you will be.”

  The room grew very quiet.

  At that moment, the door opened and in walked Peren, carrying a green bag and making a straight line for his bunk. “I assume you took bottom again, Gorin?”

  Gorin didn’t answer. His eyes remained locked on the warrior with the brown hair.

  “Ah,” Peren said as he noticed the situation in the room. “Making friends already, are we?” Peren threw his bag onto the top bunk and moved to a round table in the middle of the room. He produced a deck of cards and then pointed at the warrior in the brown hair. “You there, come over here. Let us settle this like gentlemen. I don’t know what this is all about, but there is no problem that a good game of cards can’t solve.”

  “Keep your cards,” the man hissed as he turned his back on Gorin.

  “I thought we could play a round of canago,” Peren said.

  “Drinking games aren’t allowed,” said another soldier.

  Peren shrugged. “Yeah well, I am tired. I have been on the road for days, and I had the misfortune of riding behind this brutish man over here.” Peren pointed to Gorin. “He smells worse than an ox by the way, have you gents noticed that yet?”

  That did it. A few of the men began laughing and some of them moved in toward the table. Gorin started to approach too, but Peren waved him off.

  “Oxen don’t play cards,” he said.

  The others laughed, but Gorin just grunted and moved to the bed. “Not everything is a joke, little mage,” he whispered as he passed by.

  Peren pretended not to hear. “Alright, the rules are simple. I draw a card and lay it face up. I then draw another card. You guess whether it is higher or lower. If you are wrong, you drink.”

  “We don’t have any drink in the bunks,” one of the soldiers complained.

  “Ah, well, I can fix that.” Peren moved back to his green bag and pulled out a set of small cups. He took them to the table and set them in front of the others. “Now, all I have to do is—”

  Lady Arkyn leaned into the doorway and called out, “Gorin, Peren, we need to go.”

  Peren’s eyebrows went up and he pointed to the cups and cards in front of him. “Right now?” he asked.

  Gorin grabbed his massive warhammer and made for the doorway. “Come on, Peren, let the others play with your toys while we are gone.”

  Peren frowned. He looked down at the empty cups and then sighed. “One for the road.” He snapped his fingers and all of the cups filled with amber colored whiskey. He grabbed one cup and took a short sip.

  “Peren!” Gorin shouted from the hall.

  “You men go ahead and play the first round, but hold my seat!” Peren rushed out the door and down the hallway to catch up with the others. He wedged between his companions and looked up to Gorin. “So what was it this time? Giving them the famous ‘honorable men’ speech, or did one of them steal your sweetroll?”

  Gorin glanced down at him. “Honor,” he said tersely. “They need to pull their armor on like men and get down to business.”

  “Ah, yes, well I am sure that has made us popular bunk mates,” Peren lamented.

  “I am sure your drinking game will fix that,” Lady Arkyn put in. “Until the morning when their heads are splitting.”

  Peren held a finger up in the air. “That is the beauty of it. They are only drinking air.” The other two glanced at him quizzically. “What? You have no issue with me changing rats into wyverns, but you don’t think I can transmute air into alcohol? The genius thing is, they will go to bed drunk and happy but not wake with a hangover. No harm done.”

  “You should spend some time in my village,” Gorin said. “Then maybe you would quit these foolish games.”

  Peren shrugged. “I am who I am. I make no apologies for that. Besides, I like to make people smile.”

  “Enough,” Lady Arkyn said. “We have work to do.”

  “Where are we going?” Peren asked.

  Lady Arkyn pointed down another hall. She led them out to the main courtyard of the next fort over to the west from the main keep. As they stepped out into the night air, Peren and Gorin saw the whole group of dwarves before them.

  “Night hunting?” Gorin asked.

  Arkyn shook her head. “The dwarves are going out, but we are not.”

  “Then why are we here?” Gorin asked.

  “We are going to help with the gate. Mercer wanted us to help with the attack because he suspects a traitor in his ranks. The only others that know of this are the dwarves. Mercer himself is in the gatehouse now, watching the assigned guards.”

  “I think I need another drink,” Peren put in. “I didn’t realize I was going to babysit. I could have sat that one out.”

  Gorin nodded. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

  “Well, that is what Mercer wants.” Arkyn looked to Gorin. “He wants you to muscle the gate in case the dwarves need to retreat qu
ickly.” Then, she looked to Peren. “He wants you on hand in case we need extra support.”

  “What, did he gather a bag of mice or something?” Peren asked sarcastically.

  “Actually, he did,” Arkyn said.

  The three of them moved into the gatehouse and opened the gate upon Mercer’s command. The dwarves raced out, many of them riding upon the giant, snarling lizards they called cavedogs. The cavedog riders galloped off to the east while those on foot broke out to the west.

  “Where are they going?” Gorin asked.

  Mercer came up and clapped the giant on the back. “Some head east to cut off any reinforcements to the orcs. The last few nights we have watched them stream in from that direction. The others on the cavedogs are headed out to the west to see if they can’t find a way in to the caves we think they are hiding in.”

  “I suppose I wouldn’t be much good in a tiny cave anyway,” Gorin said. The large man closed the gates and then moved to sit down. “I hate waiting,” he added.

  Mercer chuckled. “When they return, let them in, and then go and get your rest. You all have my thanks for doing this on such short notice.”

  Peren offered a limp salute and then shot Gorin a cross-eyed look as soon as Mercer had his back turned to them. Gorin sniggered and threw a pebble at Peren.

  “Sit down before you hurt yourself, court jester,” Gorin said.

  “I would have been a good jester,” Peren commented. “Peren the Magnificent they would have called me. I bet King Mathias would have me permanently in his court for performances. People would come from miles around just to hear my jokes and watch my tricks.”

  “I have a trick I would like to see,” Gorin said.

  “What is that?” Peren asked.

  “Well, I am not sure you could do it, so I can offer you two.”

  “I bet I could do both of them. Try me, come on, tell me what they are.”

  Gorin sneered wickedly. “The first is to make yourself disappear.”