by Sam Ferguson
One of the blue balls blasted into a horseman, knocking the man and horse down to the ground before they could reach Orres. “Thanks!” Orres shouted back over his shoulder.
“Face me!” B’dargen growled.
Orres glanced back to see the tumultuous mob charging forward. He redoubled his efforts, going as fast as his thick legs would carry him. The mounted riders were all filing into the academy now, squeezing in two at a time. He replaced his sword and checked the pair of long knives he kept at his belt, ensuring they were loose and ready to be retrieved. None of the soldiers noticed his approach until it was too late.
He slammed into the last two guards, knocking their heads together in his massive hands and then tossing them aside as he barreled forward. He ripped a helmet off of another and used it to beat in the soldier’s face before he turned on the next and pummeled him to the ground.
“At our rear!” one of the soldiers shouted after he caught sight of Orres.
Orres drew his long knives and went to work. The entrance they had used turned sharply upward into a spiral staircase. The close quarters prevented the soldiers from flanking him and only gave enough space for two soldiers to advance at a time. With their large weapons and clunky armor their motility was severely hampered, whereas Orres was able to work fast with his knives. He dodged a clumsy sword swing and answered his foe with a series of quick stabs into the elbow hinges between the plates of metal. The soldier roared in pain and dropped his weapon. Orres finished him with a massive kick to the chest that flattened him against the stone wall.
The next two soldiers leapt down at him, but Orres was quick. He worked one blade into the visor’s gap in the left soldier’s helmet and drove his knife through the other man’s chest plate. Both men died instantly, but Orres was unable to retrieve either knife as the helmet snagged one out of his grip and his other blade snapped after piercing the chest plate of the other soldier.
Orres moved forward, undaunted. He picked up the next guard, whipped him over his back and dropped him head first onto the ground. A sword came down at him, just narrowly missing his chest as the point sailed through his armpit, slicing into the inside of his left arm. Orres recoiled reflexively and tried to regroup as the soldier came on, shouldering Orres into the wall.
Orres’ head knocked into the brick wall. A few spots of yellow light appeared before him and his head rang as if it were a bell, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He reached up with his left hand, grabbed the guard’s sword arm and then hooked the man’s head with his right. In one deft move Orres spun out to the right and drove the man head first into the wall. As soon as the guard connected with the solid surface, Orres reversed his direction and slammed the man into the opposite wall. The guard slid down slowly, and then teetered over to tumble down the steps.
Master Orres turned up to face the next guard, but instead he saw the last one fall backward, tumbling down the stairs with a gaping, smoldering hole in his chest plate. Orres looked up to see Master Wendal.
“We found the armory, and the other masters have taken refuge.”
“Thanks,” Orres said. Then the large man bounded up the stairs and followed Wendal down the hall on the third floor. The two of them stopped next to a suit of armor displayed proudly next to a glass case with an ivory handled scimitar.
“Give me a second,” Wendal said as he weaved his hands in front of the suit of armor. The armor groaned. The legs moved forward as it stepped off its pedestal, metal plates scraping against each other. The helmet angled down to face Master Wendal. The mage smiled back to it and pointed to the pedestal. “Go back to your place. Stay still and wait until you see soldiers wearing black armor with red trim. When you see them, spring to action and let none of them pass. The golem nodded and stepped back to the pedestal, remaining still as it had been before Wendal’s spell animated him. Wendal turned a pleased smile to Orres. “The next person who passes by is in for a treat.”
Orres nodded appreciatively and slammed his fist through the glass. He retrieved the scimitar and gave it a practice swing. “This should work well in the halls,” he said noting its balance.
“Never thought I would see the day when Kuldiga’s Headmaster would vandalize our sacred relics,” Wendal put in with a wink.
“Stormfang is a great weapon, and as it aided the founding battle for the land on which the academy sits, I think it suitable that it should come out of retirement now to defend it.”
Wendal nodded. “We should get back to the armory.”
The two of them sprinted as fast as they could. They heard the clambering footsteps coming up the stairs, followed quickly by shrieks and shouts as the suit of armor came alive and started bashing the trespassers.
Orres and Wendal stopped abruptly at the armory and Wendal waved his hand over the door. It opened in response to his command and the two slipped inside. The door closed behind them and Wendal once more waved his hand over the wooden portal. It began to hum rhythmically as a soft green hue descended over its surface.
“We should get to the rear of the room,” Wendal instructed. Orres nodded and they joined with the others. Two of the other masters had donned full battle gear, appropriate for the room. Shirts and leggings of chainmail under padded leather hauberks. Each carried a sword and shield as well. Lady Arkyn and another master were perched upon the wooden beams near the vaulted ceiling with bows resting across their laps.
As Orres looked to the people around him he wondered whether his decision was really made from the point of honor, or whether his pride had landed them all in this predicament. Wendal, apparently reading Orres’ face came up and placed a hand on the headmaster’s shoulder.
“You were right to resist,” Wendal said.
“How can you be sure?” Orres asked.
“Aside from the fact that the senator is actually a warlock imposter, the riders are not king’s guards. As I fought my way to you I removed the helmet of one of the riders. He was not human.”
“What do you mean?” Orres thought back to the men he had unmasked, and he had surely seen only humans.
“The first I found was an orc,” Wendal replied. “However that was not the interesting part. I removed two more helmets, expecting to find more orcs, but I found one human and one dark elf. I believe that they were all resurrected soldiers,” Wendal explained. “Reanimated corpses that…”
“I know what the term means,” Orres said. “So who brought them back to life?”
“My guess would be that either the fake Senator Bracken did, or he is working with someone very powerful, a necromancer perhaps.”
“If that is true, it would give me an understanding of why Lepkin would attack the senate.”
“You know of Erik’s purpose,” Wendal said. “I would put my faith in Lepkin long after every senator denounced him.”
“Me too,” Orres replied. “I might have questioned his motives attacking the senate to get to one warlock, but if the warlock works with necromancers, then that would explain everything. Necromancy has been banned since the dragons left.”
“And anytime the realm has seen necromancers, they have always sought after Nagar’s Secret,” Lady Arkyn put in.
The footsteps and clanging armor came closer.
“It sounds as though my golem is about to be defeated,” Wendal said. “What do we do now? We are about to fight against our friends, all because a warlock is spinning lies to gain power.”
Orres nodded. “We are to spare everyone’s life if we can. Use only the force you must use.”
“They will not be so kind to us” Lady Arkyn pointed out from the rafters.
Orres looked up. “Spare them if you can, but put them down if you must. We cannot let the masters join with Senator Bracken. I will go out to meet them.”
Just then the door to the armory exploded into a cloud of noxious green gas. People started coughing and sputtering as they flopped to the floor. Master B’dargen stepped through the gas, protected by a white sphere
of magic.
“Surrender, traitor!” B’dargen shouted.
Orres stepped forward, motioning for Wendal to move back. “You have been deceived,” he shouted to B’dargen and the group. “Those were not king’s guards, they were reanimated corpses, sent here by a necromancer who is working with Senator Bracken.”
“Lies!” B’dargen cried out.
“Go look for yourself!” Orres shouted. “We’ll wait right here for you.”
“I am not falling for your tricks. We all know that Master Wendal could create such illusions to make us think you were telling the truth.”
Orres drew a line on the floor. Blue lightning arced from the tip of the blade to singe the redwood floor. Lines of hissing smoke rose from the ashen line. “I propose a duel then,” Orres said. “I win and everyone goes back to check the corpses. They will find among the others an orc and a dark elf. We all know that neither of those races have ever been in the king’s guard, especially not an orc.”
“Again, illusions that Wendal could easily conjure up to deceive us,” B’dargen refuted.
“So then you would have us fight each other because you are too proud to investigate the truth for yourself?”
“He’s telling the truth!” someone shouted from the hallway. “There is an orc here at my feet, disguised in king’s guard armor.”
“Didn’t you hear that Master B’dargen?” Orres asked.
“I already said Master Wendal would use magic to trick us!” Master B’dargen replied.
“I want no academy blood spilt,” Orres said.
“I won’t fall for your tricks,” B’dargen hissed.
“If I lose the duel, then everyone else will surrender peacefully,” Orres offered.
“No, it’s too late for that!” B’dargen shouted. He raised his hand and charged a spell. Orres flipped the sword over in his hands and readied his stance.
“Or is it that you are so set on killing me to cover up your own secrets?” Orres shouted. “You already know that I am telling the truth. You know everything I said is true.”
B’dargen smiled and arched an eyebrow, but he never got the chance to send his spell.
A sharp whistle pierced the air and an arrow shaft appeared in the center of B’dargen’s chest. B’dargen’s eyes went wide and his spell fizzled and fell over his hand like a cup of spilt water. He fell to his knees and then over onto his face. A few of the masters backed away from the dissipating green cloud but a horde of footmen stepped through the doorway. They looked down to B’dargen’s body and then up to Orres.
“Open your eyes,” Orres shouted at the masters behind the footmen. “That isn’t Senator Bracken down there. He is a warlock! Go back and look at the other soldiers and you will see what I say is true. Why else would Lepkin have attacked the senate?”
“It’s true, I saw it with my own eyes,” Lady Arkyn yelled from above.
A tall, black haired master stepped through the throng of footmen and laughed wickedly. “You expect us to believe you when you so readily kill one of our own?” Master Gri asked pointing to B’dargen’s body. “Why should we?” Master Gri looked to the masters behind him and then back to Orres. “I cannot disobey a direct order from a senator.”
“You stubborn fool,” Orres said.
Master Gri chuckled. “Interesting words to come out of your mouth.”
“I won’t surrender Master Gri.” Orres raised his sword.
“You dare wield Stormfang?” Master Gri chided as he drew a scimitar of his own. “You are a disgrace.”
“For the king!” a footman shouted as he raced forward.
“Spare as many of our comrades as you can!” Orres commanded.
The room broke into a flurry of movement. Arrows rained down from above, catching several masters in the knee or shoulder while dealing death to the footmen that invaded the room. Spells zinged through the air to knock others against the walls or push them back into the hall and block the entrance. Orres charged forward. Lightning leaping from his blade to strike down Master Gri just before the man could come close.
Master Lin, a renowned swordsman, replaced Gri in an instant appearing out of the throng and swinging his scimitar at Orres, catching him in the side. Orres jolted away and brought his blade back just in time to deflect a stab that surely would have gone through his chest. Master Lin spun and wove his sword in and around Orres’ defense to score a gash on Orres’ right shoulder. Master Orres pushed through the pain and lashed out with a savage left hook, but it caught only air. Master Lin had already spun back three paces and was poised to launch another offensive.
A footman came charging in on Orres’ left side, screaming and yelling something completely incomprehensible. Orres threw a massive left backhand strike that knocked the man back on his rump, and then finished him with a quick stab to the chest. Unfortunately, Orres’ strike opened a window that Master Lin exploited perfectly. His scimitar went in and pierced Orres’ exposed right hip. The blade went in through the layer of fat over Orres’ thick trunk and stopped only when it struck bone. Orres fell to the floor and Stormfang tumbled out of his hands.
Master Lin pulled back and swirled away from a pair of arrows just before ducking and somersaulting under one of Wendal’s spells. Then he came back in to finish Orres. Master Orres summoned all of the strength he had left into a primal rage. He rose to his feet, grabbed Master Lin’s scimitar with his left hand, ignoring the sting in his arm and brought his massive right fist down to shatter Master Lin’s jaw. The man reeled back, grabbing at his face and finally fell when a trio of arrows pierced his heart.
Orres turned on the oncoming wave of footmen. There was no time to pick up his weapon. He formed a bloody fist with his left hand and staggered forward to meet them. Stings and cuts appeared on his body as he fought through the throng, knocking enemies together or throwing them into a wall to put them out of commission. With each new slice or gash he could feel his strength slipping away. He caught a couple mild fireballs to the chest as a pair of strange mages emerged through the doorway. He stumbled backward and fell to one knee.
A trio of footmen rushed forward, one of them scooping Master Lin’s scimitar up and aiming for Orres’ neck. Just before the blade connected, another sword appeared over Orres and stopped it from completing its deadly arc.
“We’re here,” a wheezy voice yelled. Orres looked up and saw Master Wendal wielding a sword in his left hand while throwing fire balls with his right.
“I’m out,” Lady Arkyn shouted as she dropped from the rafters above to the floor. Orres saw her pick up Stormfang and rush to stand beside Wendal. The other masters were working their way forward too, cutting through footmen and dodging blades and spears.
Orres tried to push himself up, but he had no more strength left. He fell to his face with a thud. The wood floor vibrated under his face as heavy footsteps danced all around him. As his blood leaked out of his body, he felt hope going along with it. There were far too many footmen. He knew that the cause was lost.
“Wendal, get them out,” he said. “Get them out.” It was hard to breathe now. “Escape,” he whispered.
*****
Eldrik sat in the stable, still shaking and breathing hard. Vengeance had come quickly, but it had not ended his pain. He struggled to understand why instead of satisfaction he felt remorse. He scooted his back against the corner of a stall and kicked a horse apple out of the way. “Mother will be proud,” he told himself. “Mother will be proud.”
“That’s right,” a voice said from the darkness beyond the stall.
Eldrik looked up, peering into the darkness. He rubbed his cold shoulders. “Who’s there?”
“No need to be afraid, boy, I am a friend.”
Eldrik could tell the voice was female, but he didn’t recognize it. “Who are you?” A woman stepped just out of the shadows enough for him to make out her shapely figure. She was not as tall as he, but she was definitely older. He could tell that from the width of her hips a
nd the tone she used speaking to him. If she would only take one more step forward, then the moonlight would illuminate her face.
“I am the one who helped you find Lord Lokton,” the woman said.
“What?” Eldrik reached up to the side of the stall and pulled himself up to his feet. The woman stepped forward. As the moon revealed her face, he did recognize her. “You are the fortuneteller,” Eldrik said.
“And I helped you find the alleyway Lord Lokton would come through and where you could hide to catch him.”
Eldrik swallowed hard, though his throat was dry. What did she want?
“Don’t worry, I am here to help you again,” she said.
“I don’t need more help,” Eldrik said.
“Don’t you want to know how I knew where Lord Lokton would be?” she asked.
“What do you want from me?” Eldrik pressed, finding a sprout of courage from within.
“You have great potential, Eldrik Cedreau,” she said. “I am a friend of your family, and I am here to help you develop your talents.”
“I don’t recognize you,” Eldrik said.
“That doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “I spoke with your mother, and she wants you to come with me. We can help you rebuild House Cedreau and make it great again.”
Eldrik stepped forward. “What do you mean you can make my house great again?”
“You think the only thing Lord Lokton took from you is your father?” she asked. “He took more than that. Many years ago your family owned all of the lands now under House Lokton’s control. Your great grandfather was conned out of the land by Lord Lokton’s grandfather. You see, they have always been scheming against your family.”
