The Order of the Trident: Speculum (Eldarlands Book 2)

by Samuel Rikard

  Gareth heard a loud crash. He spun around, seeing two of the large orcs slam one of the tables into the wall. One of the humans fell to the floor, his head crushed. There was no question the man was dead. “We’ve got orcs.” Hurriedly, he jumped into the crawl space.

  Krenin stepped toward the hole. Sizing it, he wasn't sure he'd fit. It was almost as wide as his shoulders. If anything it'd be extremely tight. He readied to jump hoping it wouldn't hurt too badly. He still hadn't fully healed from his time in the cell. Something grabbed his arm pulling him the other direction. Muscling through he tried to continue, but it was no use. Whatever had him was stronger than anything he'd felt. Stealing a glance, a startling image stared back at him. It was clearly an orc, though its skin was the color of charcoal and hundreds of scars marred every visible patch of flesh. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn the eyes flashed red for the briefest moment although they were clearly a dark brown now. Before he could move a head sized fist rocketed toward him, knocking his vision into blackness.

  ***

  “It was all for a gods damned test?” Gareth fumed, clenching his fist in anger. He could feel the air around him tense.

  Demetrix sat atop a wooden crate digging the tip of his dagger into the grain. “I wonder what they’ll do with him?”

  Ravion peeked out the doorway of the abandoned shack watching the last of the orcs leave the tavern. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’ll be good. We need to get him out of here, but first we have to find this rod. We can’t risk breaking him out before we go in. It'd draw too much unwanted attention.”

  “So we're just gonna let him rot?” Gareth slammed his fist into one of the thick, wooden supports. It cracked under the blow. He inspected the wood, surprised he’d hit it that hard.

  “We have a few choices. We can put it to a vote. We can let him sit for the night while we go after this rod and hopefully get the direction we need. It's a typical heist scenario, which will more than likely end with some heat. That means added security when we go after Krenin. Or we can try to go after him now, which might be expected since they know he wasn't alone. If we take that route it's guaranteed we won't be able to get the rod for quite some time or at least until they've forgotten about us. Either way we're against the hourglass. I personally vote we get the rod first and then Krenin. It's a simple retrieve, extract, and escape plan. Which seems easier than having to wait gods know how long until they stop looking for us.”

  Demetrix wiped the tip of his dagger and sheathed it. Taking a deep breath, he spoke. “I don’t like leaving him in there any more than you guys, but I agree with Ravion. We can’t risk breaking him out before we have everything this town has to offer. If we do so prematurely we might as well kiss our chance home goodbye.”

  Gareth glared from one to the other unhappy with their decision, though he understood their reasoning. “Fine, but we’re going to get him out. He's in there because I jumped prematurely. If I'd waited a little longer we could have fought our way out and he wouldn’t have gotten captured.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. We had a plan. It worked as best it could have under the circumstances. Had it been you or I that got caught they might have killed us outright. At least with him being what he is, it buys us some time.” Demetrix had his own regrets, but they wouldn't serve his purpose. Moving forward, he jumped from the crate and approached the door.

  Ravion glanced out of the hole in the roof staring up into the ever-cloudy sky. “Night’s about to fall. We need to move soon.”

  ***

  Krenin awoke feeling a sharp pain in his wrists. He struggled, but couldn’t move. Opening his eyes he looked around, seeing several of the larger orcs standing over him. He was splayed out on his back, his arms stretched and bound to a thick plank under him.

  The orcs grabbed the plank and lifted him upright. His weight shifted, putting all of it on his arms. He felt his shoulders separate, threatening to pull out of their socket. His wounds tore open from the tightened skin. Blood began trickling down his back. The increasing pressure of the jagged iron barbs dug into his wrist, cutting flesh. The orcs slid the beam into place, sinking the peg of the vertical post into a hole in his skull. They let go, letting the crucifix teeter slightly where it crossed.

  Krenin felt his strength waning. He'd been hanging for what he guessed was a few hours, yet it felt like an eternity. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, not that it could be seen through the constant rolling clouds. It was the approaching tide of darkness that heralded its coming. The flare of torch fire caught his attention. The orange glow was somewhere behind him, out of sight. He struggled to see, but it was beyond his reach. A figure approached, clinging to the shadow. One of the orcs held the torch standing in silence, like some dog obeying its master. The orange glow reflected on the razor edge of polished iron extending from the man's hand.

  “This warvich was found in your possession. Where’d you acquire it?”

  Krenin squinted in the growing night trying to get a better view of the man and weapon. Catching it at just the right angle he recognized the jagged sword Gareth had given him. He opened his mouth, finding his lungs heavy. Clearing his throat he forced the words. “Found it on the ground.” He couldn’t see the man's face, but he could tell he was smiling.

  “Now is that anyway to begin a new relationship? What if I told you I know where this blade came from, and it really doesn’t matter how it came to your possession. I just wanted to see if you’d tell the truth.” He paused for nearly a minute before selecting his next words. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can defeat five of my finest warriors, I’ll allow you to keep this sword.”

  Krenin felt the desire well inside him. But at what cost? Even if he had the blade there was no chance he was going to be allowed to return to his brothers. And in his weakened state, was it possible he could face five of these monstrous orcs and survive? He spat what saliva he could muster at the man, knowing he was out of range. It didn't matter, the insult was enough. “Give me that blade and I’ll stick it up your ass!”

  “That’s what I like to hear. That inner fire that burns so bright in one yet to be broken. It’ll make you that much more loyal once your will is mine.” The man tossed the warvich into the dirt. “Bring him down. I want to see how bright that fire actually burns.”

  ***

  The unnatural darkness filtered down into the courtyard obscuring all movement outside the glow of wall mounted torches. Demetrix snuck behind the unsuspecting man. Reaching out he tapped the guard on the shoulder. The man spun around. Demetrix punched the man in the larynx, silencing his screams. Quick as he could he tackled the man, wrapping him up. Once his arms locked around the guard's throat he squeezed, feeling him go limp. He picked himself up and drug the man into one of the shadowed corners, laying him to rest as quietly as possible.

  “Took you long enough.” Ravion smiled from across the walkway, gesturing to the unconscious guard behind him.

  “It’s been awhile, cut me some slack.” The younger dalari turned and gestured from beneath one of the mounted torches.

  Gareth walked toward them. “I don’t understand why we can’t just kill ‘em. It’d be twice as quick and less likely to bite us in the ass.”

  Ravion sighed “We’ve gone over this. We don’t know which side this magistrate falls on. If we kill her guards that’s another enemy we don’t need to make. I’d rather face the wrath of a pissed off politician over a stolen item than have them come after me with thoughts of vengeance for lost men.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? You’ve met just as many men of power as I have. Rarely have any of them given two shits about those under their employ. Typically they’re just as likely to kill them themselves for failing to protect their interest.”

  “Now’s not the time for this conversation.” Demetrix charged. Dropping to his knees he slid across the polished, slate floor. He pulled his bow, tripping two guards rounding the corner. Standing up
he hooked the strung bow around one’s head, using it to slam him into the other.

  Ravion rushed forward. Tackling the remaining guard, he choked him out.

  Gareth watched helplessly, seeing a third guard round the corner. The man's sword was raised and ready to pierce Demetrix’s back. “Look out!” Instinctively his hand shot out, as if he were going to physically stop the attack. He felt the man's throat in his grip. Squeezing, he felt the pulsing body squirm against the invisible grip. Gareth watched him go limp, letting his unconscious body fall to the floor.

  Ravion and Demetrix stared in wonder at their friend.

  “Um? What was that?” Ravion asked, his puzzled expression asking the same question multiple ways.

  “I don’t know. Things like that have been happening since I lost my eye.”

  Ravion stared intently at his friend, amazed by what he'd just done. “I assume this is what Senaria was talking about? Whatever it is, it’s not magic. I’ve seen my fair share. You need to learn to focus it. Can you imagine what you could accomplish if you knew what you were doing?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  Demetrix stood. “I agree. You need to learn to focus it, but now is not the time. We need to keep moving. The next patrol won’t pass for another twenty-two minutes.”

  Chapter XVI

  The Heist

  Krenin hit the ground, his legs buckling from the impact. Approaching footsteps demanded his attention. He glanced up catching the keen edge of his sword in the glow of the torchlight.

  One of the orcs carried the blade toward him, tossing it in the dirt in front of his feet. Krenin lunged, wrapping his fingers around the appropriate sized weapon. He spun around letting the jagged blade cut into the unsuspecting orc. It didn’t make a sound, falling into the dust in a pool of crimson blood. Krenin rolled his wrist, recalling the blade to his control. He stared his rebellion into the shadowed figure. “One!”

  The man gestured, clearly amused.

  Krenin watched another orc approach. The brute held a smaller version of the sword he had in his hands as well as a shield. Keeping the man in the corner of his eyes he unfocused his vision, allowing a wider span of sight. The last thing he needed was someone approaching from his blind spots. The orc rushed in, reaching over his shoulder mid-swing and grabbing the wooden shield strapped to his back.

  Krenin threw his sword up knocking the smaller weapon away from him. He took a few steps back, careful to keep an eye behind him. The orc continued forward, locking the shield against his arm. He hammered the smaller warvich against the wood. The action created a ringing thud. With a vicious smile on his face he charged, slashing twice before thrusting the shield out to bash the smaller green orc.

  Krenin knocked the swipes wide, but wasn’t ready for the shield attack. He felt the reinforced wood bash into him, pushing his arms into his body. He tried to recover, but the orc was already upon him.

  The larger orc swung, putting all his strength into the single attack hoping to cut the green orc down before he could recover. He heard the steel ring out. Looking down he was amazed to see the the greater warvich locked against his, halting the power attack. How did he do that? I'm stronger, bigger. Puny orc is disadvantaged! No way he strong enough to stop me!

  Krenin strained against the blow, his legs threatening to break against the force. It was nearly more than he could handle. Pushing against the attack he readied to deflect the shield. Looking into the brute's face he noticed something he never expected. Surprise. He could use that to his advantage. Watching the orc’s shoulders he saw the first sign of movement, telling him the attack was coming. As he'd anticipated the shield flew forward. Krenin let the remaining force against his sword press him down. Spinning on his knee he broke away from the smaller weapon, watching it slash into the dirt. Dropping his sword he locked his hands on each side of the crude, wooden shield ripping it away from its master.

  The orc wasn't prepared for that.

  Krenin twisted his upper half, slamming the wooden device into the orc's face. It cracked against the blow. Hitting him again, he watched the smaller sword fall from the brute's hand. The shield cracked completely, splitting into two layered chunks of wood. He brought one of the halves up, smashing into the orc's chin. The brute fell backwards, landing in the dirt.

  Krenin stepped over the orc, bringing the jagged point of the broken shield down. It pierced the orc’s throat, nearly cutting his head off. Tossing the broken shield aside Krenin reached over, securing the smaller sword. He punched the dead orc, letting the jagged hand guard rip his flesh open. Pausing for the briefest moment he saw a reflection in the still eyes of his victim. Refusing to wait he brought the smaller sword around, jabbing the wide tip through another approaching orc's waist.

  The orc cried out in pain. Dropping to his knees he raised his warvich, weakly trying to impale him. Krenin released the sword and grabbed the orc's wrist. He squeezed as hard as he could, feeling the bones crack beneath his grip. Straining against him he twisted, feeling them give. A sickening pop echoed out and the hand came free, held only by skin and muscle. He forced the blade around, shoving it through the orc's neck.

  The orc fell backward unable to stop himself. He choked and went still.

  Krenin picked himself up and marched to his sword. Pulling it from the dirt he turned and faced the shadowed man once again. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his spine. “Three!”

  Two orcs charged in. Their weapons were drawn and ready to cut the green-skin down. One of them swung a long, brutally sharp pike down towards his head.

  Krenin dodged the weapon, knocking it away from him. Spinning around, he felt the other orc slam into him. He flew backward to land in the dirt. His sword slipped from his grip. The orc was suddenly upon him, punching down at him.

  Krenin felt the hardened leather gauntlet smash into his face. It was all he could do to stay conscious. He felt his neck pop from a second blow. Timing it out, he waited for the next one. Seeing it coming he bucked, throwing the unsuspecting orc over his head.

  The orc face planted in the dirt. Picking himself up, he glared his anger at the smaller orc.

  Krenin rolled, narrowly avoiding the bladed tip of the pike. It plunged into the ground, burying the head. Using the opportunity to his advantage he tightened his stomach and rolled the other way, throwing all his weight against the wooden shaft. It pulled from its wielder's hand and snapped against the odd angle his body was forcing it into.

  The orc roared his discontent and drew his warvich.

  Rolling to his knees Krenin jumped up, waiting for the orcs to be upon him again. He was unarmed, out manned, and unsure how he was going to survive this. They were stronger than him, but he was resourceful. This was going to be battle of opportunity, nothing more. Readying himself, he waited for their approach. He caught movement from the corner of his eye. He watched the first orc swing. He ducked, causing the creature to miss him entirely. Krenin dropped low and kicked, swiping the orc's legs.

  The unarmed orc dropped from the unexpected kick. He rolled, regaining his balance. Popping up to his knees he swung, bashing the half-orc in the face.

  Krenin fell backward, watching the other orc step into view.

  He raised the warvich to decapitate the green-skin.

  Krenin had to do something fast or it would all be over. Seeing the kneeling orc he sprang up and lunged at him. The orc threw his hand up to block the head-butt. He felt the smaller orc grab hold of his tunic, pulling him off balance.

  Krenin held on tightly, falling backward. A spray of blood coated his face. He stared into the dead eyes of the orc in his grasp. His head fell forward landing against his chest, held on only by a thin layer of skin. Pushing the orc shield off of him he reached out, slamming his fist into the side of the remaining orc's boot.

  The orc howled in pain feeling his ankle crack against the powerful blow.

  Krenin hit again, weakening the orc. He rolled, securely grabbing
the other leg and pulled as hard as he could. The orc's leg came from under him and he crashed into the dirt.

  Wasting no time Krenin jumped atop him, putting every ounce of strength he had into each punch. Seeing the broken shaft of the pike sticking from the dirt he pressed the orc's head sideways, forcing it onto the splintered wood. The needle like slithers cut through flesh, burying themselves into the orc. Krenin felt his resistance give. The orc was beaten. Releasing him, he stood and turned toward the man once again. The thrill of the arena came back to him. He glanced around at the dead orcs, feeling the honor he'd learned to cherish so much. Returning his attention to the man he wondered what was going to happen next.

  The man smiled, only his mouth shown in the torchlight. “Well done. But he's not dead yet. Kill him!”

  Krenin glanced back seeing the orc pick himself up. He was bleeding from several gashes along his face, but none as severe as the gaping hole in his jaw exposing the ridged bone beneath. Unable to stop himself Krenin charged the orc, kneeing him in the face.

  The orc fell backward robbed of his strength.

  Krenin locked his arms beneath his knees. Reaching over he grabbed the blood soaked spike sticking from the ground and ripped the pike head free. He couldn’t help himself. He had to obey. His arm acted without command. He watched, helpless to his own assault. The bladed head sliced deep into the orc's throat. Twisting the broken weapon he hooked it around his esophagus and ripped it free, bringing flesh and meat with it. He could taste the blood in his mouth. It was sweet. Sweeter than anything he'd tasted before. Jabbing the tip into the orc's skull, he picked himself up and turned around.

  ***

  Gareth strained against the awkward weight. He held both arms overhead, struggling to balance the smaller man. “What do you see?”