The half-orc released the bars. He inspected the red dust clinging to his skin. Wiping them together he turned and secured his twin axes. The keen weapons were polished to a shine. Sunlight gleamed on the edge. He'd grown fond of the weapons forged from the greatsword his brothers had given him. He shook the memories from his head. They wouldn't serve him here. Staring down at the light weight weapons he could nearly feel their desire for blood. The same desire the crowd craved.
Returning his attention to the arena, the thick chains clanked along the huge sprocket, raising the portcullis. He watched the human approach. His beady eyes were locked on him. The man's bronze skin was shiny. Probably partially from sweat, but it was more than that. He looked as if he'd been oiled from head to toe. His face bore no emotion, simply a lingering glare that burned into the half-orc's soul.
Krenin couldn't help but feel like the man wanted to lunge out at him. His eyes followed the man until he was out of sight. He stared out into golden, blood soaked sands and marched up the ramp. The roar of orc cheers funneled into his ears. Guttural laughter and joy washed over him filling him with a sense of bliss. He reached the center of the large stadium and threw his axes into the air greeting his audience.
They erupted at his gesture shouting their praise.
The portcullis clanked open on the far side of the arena alerting him to his opponent's entry. He turned to see who he'd be fighting today. It was always a surprise. If he could prepare it'd make the whole process much smoother, but as it was he never knew until they took the sands. The gate stood wide open yet nobody passed through.
The crowd grew restless, booing the absence of his opponent.
I have to do something. They grow tired and lose excitement. Raising his axes once again he shouted to them letting his words silence their chants. “Seems the mighty Krenin too scary for them. They hide in cell, pissing themselves!” These, the little things in life worth fightin’ for!
They roared louder than ever receiving his boasts. It was short lived. A massive quake echoed through the stands shaking the very ground beneath them. Locked in silent anticipation they stared intently at the large opening at the far side.
Krenin turned to face the monster slowly making its way into the sands. How such a beast could even fit in the tunnels was a mystery in of itself. He could hear his heartbeat pumping away inside him. Not so much as a gasp could be heard from the spectators. Only the thundering footsteps of the approaching behemoth sounded. He'd never seen one of its type before. It was twice the size of the largest orc and drug what looked to be a huge club that may as well have been the lower section of a tree. Even the thick ridges along the sides and head reminded him of tree roots.
Processing the sight Krenin could see the crowd out the corner of his eye. They returned to their usual, primitive selves though he couldn't hear them. Only the beat of the drum in his chest and the earth shattering foot falls could be heard. He was frozen in the sight. How could such a creature exist? He'd been told about all manner of beasts that he'd never seen. But this one couldn’t begin to compare to those he'd seen. Memories flashed back to him recalling a specific book Ravion had been looking through. He hadn't paid much attention at the time, but he saw a picture of a massive beast. It was a mountain troll if memory served. This one looked a bit different. It had dark green skin and layers of moss for hair. If they were named by the region they resembled this one had to be a forest troll.
His will to live growing within him Krenin gripped his weapons, feeling his knuckles pop around the leather wrapped bindings. Taking a deep breath he prepared himself for the fight of his life.
The troll spotted the small orc in the center of the arena. As if he somehow awoke its brutish nature it let out an earth shattering roar, drowning out the echo of the crowd. Raising the tree-like club it charged.
Krenin let his rage grow, feeling each thundering step barreling toward him. The sand around him hopped from the massive weight impacting it. His heart pounded in time to the beat matching its rhythm. Watching the behemoth he waited for the perfect moment. Now! He broke position and charged straight toward the beast releasing his own battle cry. He watched the thick club as if it were moving in slow motion. A single impact was likely to kill him. The huge, wooden weapon slammed down at him. Jumping just before it connected he felt the wind from the impact rush around him. His feet landed atop the massive cudgel, balancing ever so slightly. Refusing to wait a moment longer he ran up the weapon and jumped, bringing his axes around.
Chunks of damp sand flew into the air from the impact. The troll saw the tiny orc in the air headed straight toward him. Bringing his hand up it swatted him, knocking him from the sky like a bee in search for honey. The sharp edges of the chopping blades bit into his arm, shooting pain through his body. Anger on the rise, the troll recovered ripping his club from the sand. As soon as he found him he was going to crush the orc.
Krenin crashed into the sand. He had to have drawn blood, but it was too soon to tell. The swat came out of nowhere. He jumped to his feet knowing he didn't have much time. Fortune favored him. He was behind the creature. Heaving his axes he brought them down, sinking the blades into the troll's back. Bright green blood erupted from the wounds coating his weapons. Ripping them free the back spray splattered across his face. The bright green spray was in deep contrast to his darker skin.
The troll howled in pain, spinning around to find the tiny orc. Raising his club he reared back to crush the pest.
It moved much faster than he'd expected. Momentarily frozen at the sight of the approaching club, he tried to move but couldn't. He was too close. Regaining control of his body he lunged, hoping to avoid the blow as best he could. The trunk-like club caught him in the side launching him off the ground. Krenin felt the air rush from him. He couldn't breathe. Flying through the air he felt numerous pops inside him. No doubt his ribs were broken. He landed roughly onto the arena floor. The momentum carried him through the wet sand. Every part of him hurt, but it told him he was still alive. If he didn't get up he wouldn't feel anything for much longer. Forcing himself to his feet he spit the sand from his mouth and exhaled in short, rapid breaths trying to control his body. The adrenaline was rushing through him. It would keep him going a while longer, but it did little for the pain. His muscles tensed and his bones cracked. Taking his first deep breath he forced his eyes to remain open. Turning to find the troll he spotted his axes lying in the sand where he’d been standing.
The troll watched the little orc fall to his back several feet away. To his surprise he rolled over and got back to his feet. Roaring his anger he spat his twisted words at the orc. “Pu kcab teg dna tih Rakuu's ekat ot elba cro ynit owh?”
Krenin forced the pain aside. Clearing his head of all distraction he recited Malakai’s words. “A clouded mind is a dead mind.” He had to get his weapons if he was going to survive. “Don't know what you say and don't care. You going to die!”
The troll approached the defiant orc and raised his club to finish the job. There was no way he could withstand another hit.
Krenin felt the shadow engulf him long before the brute was within striking distance. He looked up at the ugly, green head silhouetted in bright sunlight. It made it difficult to see anything, but it was better than being completely blinded. He watched the club raise ready to deliver the final blow.
The crowd fell silent awaiting the fate of the half-breed. He'd done so much to bring them entertainment. It would be a shame for him to fall, but that was the life of a gladiator. Some would win big from his death others would go into debt. It was orcish politics in the north. Had the lesser races known the true extent to their ambitions there was no way they'd think them nothing but muscled brutes.
Krenin watched the club waiting for the right moment. He might die, but that day would not be this one. The club rocketed down aimed for his head. The half-orc dove between the troll's leg ignoring his pain at all cost. Throwing every ounce of strength into a single blow Krenin slam
med his shoulder into the creature's crotch. The club slammed down showering sand atop of them both.
Rakuu cried out in pain. Dropping the club he grabbed himself, hoping to dull the throbbing ache.
His axes were too far away. He had no doubts about that. He couldn't lift the club even on his best day. Out of options he spun around and jumped on the troll's back throwing his arms around it's midsection as best he could. His arms weren't quite long enough to lock his grip, but perhaps he could hold on long enough to do some damage. Squeezing as hard as he could he felt several pops erupt from his insides. An unbearable pain exploded in his side. He couldn't tell if it was more ribs breaking or the already broken ones resetting. It didn't matter. It hurt either way. Holding his breath to keep from passing out he continued to squeeze. He had to weaken the beast if he was going to survive.
Rakuu regain his composure when he felt the orc latch onto him. He wasn't sure how he was going to get him off. He couldn't reach back to grab him. There was no way to him without hurting himself. He could try to fling him off or he could crush him under his weight. Lying down could possibly give the tiny orc the chance to do something tricky. It'd already proven it was faster. His decision made, Rakuu flailed about trying to throw the orc off of him. It was no use. He was attached too well. Howling his frustration, a rush of anxiety flooded him with the unwanted growth.
Krenin strained to keep his hold. He was growing tired and his grip was slipping. If the beast kept flinging him around like that he was going to fall. Running out of time he scanned for his axes. They were close, but still out of reach. Out of options he buried his face in the creature's arm pit. The stench made him want to vomit, but it was nothing compared to what he was about to do. Opening his mouth wide he bit down on the soft flesh ripping his head from side to side. Bright green blood erupted in his mouth filling it as he tore a chunk of flesh away. It tasted nearly as bad as it smelled. Spitting the chunk to the sand he couldn't get the oily taste out of his mouth.
Unable to get away the troll roared in pain. He had to get away from the out of reach pest. Lost in panic, he charged toward the side wall, hoping he could smash him against it. In his panic, he didn't see the club at his feet. Tripping over the thick, wooden weapon, he slammed face first into the sand.
Feeling gravity shift Krenin let go. Now was his chance. He rolled away from the troll, letting him fall in solitude. Rushing over he snatched up his axes and spun around hoping he could finish the beast before it could get back up.
Rakuu rolled to his side and reached under his arm. He was able to feel the edge of the torn area just out of reach to sooth the pain. Careful to keep sand out of the wound he pushed against the blood soaked ground trying to pick himself up.
Krenin charged. Jumping as high as he could he prepared the keen edges to strike deep. The creature buckled under the unexpected weight as he landed on the troll's back. Letting loose Krenin swung hard, burying blades of death into the beast's neck.
The troll felt a sharp pain cut into the base of his skull. He tried throwing his attacker from him, but it was too late. The second axe had found its mark.
Krenin stood atop the dying troll. His fists were locked around the submerged axes. The first was embedded in its spine, the second stuck between the vertebrae passing straight through the flesh and bone. The troll's head fell from its shoulders, bouncing on the sand before coming to rest a few feet away. A pool of bright green ichor leaked out soaking into the already moist ground.
The crowd erupted in cheers, amazed by the battle they’d just witnessed.
Krenin plucked his axes free and tried to raise them but they were too heavy. Exhausted and full of pain, he felt them slip from his grip. The heads sinking into the churned sand, he left them behind as he marched weakly toward the portcullis.
***
A gentle breeze caressed the waist-high stalks of brown wheat making them dance in unison. It was a calming roar, one you wouldn't notice without listening for. Agonizing screams echoed through the tear filling the open plains land with their despair. A shimmering orange crack appeared in the air ripping apart the fabric of reality. It widened, allowing room for a single man to pass.
Perrimen stumbled through the magic vortex and tripped in the tall grass. Pulling himself up he pushed through, clenching the mask sealed against his face. How could I have failed? It wasn't my fault. I couldn't stop it! A trampled path followed in his wake. Struggling against the latched appendage the voices echoed out in retort, taunting his already fragile sanity. You failed! He’s coming! Why didn’t you stop him?
Unable to take the abuse he dug his fingers beneath the edge, hoping to dislodge the source of his torment. His head throbbed against the echoing chorus, refusing to abandon him. His nails cut into his jaw line, but he found the nearly seamless edge. Forcing every ounce of will into a single cognitive purpose Perrimen pried the mask from his skin. “It wasn’t my fault!”
The golden shroud peeled away, growing easier each passing moment. The voices silenced leaving him to himself. Pulling the mask free the red and blue tendrils atop his head shriveled and disappeared. His brown duster faded away leaving the tattered and aged robes of white and gold in its place. The aging wizard tightened his hand into a fist, forcing his body to obey for the first time in as long as he could remember. Free of the controlling power he felt a vulnerability in himself. One he'd never noticed before. He was a weak old man. While his years of study trained him in the arcane arts, making him one of the most power magi in Dalmoura, it was a candle compared to the sunlight the mask provided.
Dropping to his knees he stared up into the reflected sunlight feeling the rays upon his face. The relevance was not lost on him. Perrimen tensed, accepting the sudden freedom bestowed upon his broken mind. It was a blessing and a curse. To be free meant responsibility, which in itself was a prison. The truth was there was no such thing as true freedom. Only shades of an illusion. True freedom was true chaos. The question became how much was it worth? He glanced down seeing the wicked kris tucked into his waistline. Drawing the blade he could feel the darkness within it begging him, pleading to be used. Were he inexperienced in resisting such temptations he had no doubt the blade would have claimed its next victim. Stuffing the weapon back in the sash he exhaled, letting his stress fade away. The wind embraced him, gently caressing his face. A shadow in the back of his mind demanded attention. Acknowledging its presence, the realization of his actions hit him. “He’s coming. I need to let the tower know.”
Sighing deeply sigh he pushed himself up, decided in his future. Turning west Perrimen pressed the mask against his face, letting it thrust its freedom upon him. The golden, expressionless cover enveloped his head completely locking itself to him. The red and blue tendrils sprung with force, resuming their ever seeking dance. His clothing shifted, reverting back into a brown, leather duster. He knew what needed to be done, but he couldn't do it like this. As if the thought were command the duster morphed, taking a fluid like appearance. His gold and white robes returned, though not the tarnished and stained one he'd been wearing. These were long and elegant, seemingly new. The power flowed through them like a sheet of water in constant flux around his body. The mask and cap faded into him revealing his round, freshly shaven face and shoulder-length hair, groomed and sun faded brown. The receded hairline left a slight peak in the center of his aging face, though years of his youth returned.
Knowing where he needed to go the wizard took a single step toward his destination. The orange crack appeared and, as quickly as he'd arrived, he was gone.
Stepping from the swirling energies Perrimen marched through the arched doorway ignoring the guards posted on either side. Passing through the reception hall, he didn't bother looking at the decor. It hadn't changed in centuries. Such admirations belonged to apprentices and visitors. Ignoring the receptionist, he stepped into the teleportation shaft. Picturing the destination in his head, he felt the energies swirl around him. Turning around, he marched o
ut into an expansive chamber filled with tomes and scrolls as far as the eye could see.
“Perrimen?” Uirial asked, rushing over to take his brother’s hand.
“I've come to warn you. The corruption has been released. It's already begun to spread into the realm. The tower will not be around much longer.”
Uirial paused, studying his brother's face. He'd been gone over a decade, yet his youth had reversed. Something was different about him, but it was clearly him. The fact he'd been able to enter the chambers without summons was proof enough. “Brother, tell me. How’d you come by this knowledge? When last we spoke, your mind was broken from the weight of the crown.”
“I’m not here to talk about my time as baron!” Perrimen snapped, slamming his fist down on a pile of books. It was no wonder The Tower’s reputation had diminished over the years. They always over analyzed everything instead of taking immediate action. “Something must be done. I can feel the tendrils lashing out, wrapping themselves around the base stones. You must act!”
The magistrate looked his aged brother up and down. “You don’t feel like yourself. But I’ve learned enough to know when to take your advice and when to turn cheek. I will do as you ask.” Uirial placed his hand against his brother's shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat. “I'll look into the oculus. Perhaps I'll be able to find this corruption before it sets in. He released the elder mage and turned toward the shaft. Spinning around, he looked upon his brother once again. “Perrimen, I'm glad you're back. This place hasn't been the same without you.” Uirial disappeared in the swirling tunnel.
The Order of the Trident: Speculum (Eldarlands Book 2) Page 4
