Orcblood Legacy - Honor

by Bernard Bertram

  Already the dwarves had managed to eliminate over three dozen trolls on their own, proving their efficiency. Trolls who witnessed the prowess of the pair chose to direct their attention to the human woman who was quickly becoming overwhelmed. And it was true. Adjacent to Cormac, Malice continued to be on the defensive. Her pale skin shone brightly against the dark environment, only bringing more attention to the many cuts she had suffered. Her expertise was more aligned with the shadows, picking off unsuspecting targets one-by-one. This was the first encounter she had experienced of this magnitude, and despite the woman’s best efforts, Malice could not hold back the wave of enemies that flung themselves against her with increasing abandon.

  Watching his mother be pressed back, inching closer and closer to the growing flames at her back, Bitrayuul broke formation to come to her aid. With Bear now alone on the flank, there was no way to prevent trolls from pressing the weakened defense. She swiped with heavy paws, claws rending flesh apart with a spray of blue blood in every direction. However, like her master, the animal’s weapons were ineffective. To make matters worse, she had no torch. Even if she had held one in her mouth, the awkward position would only have served to expose her neck more. Nevertheless, the clever beast found a way.

  With powerful jaws, Bear grabbed at the nearest troll who aimed to attack Bitrayuul’s backside, clamped down tightly, drawing blood, and launched the troll behind her into the pit of flames. The fire roared in ecstasy as its flames grew higher and higher consuming the dying creature, the troll’s screams shrieking loudly off the cavern walls.

  Tormag and Cormac, those sudden machinations of death whose sole purpose seemed to be to remove all trolls from existence, chanted happily and boasted with laughter. This almost seemed a game to them, and in truth, as veterans of the dwarven military, it likely was.

  In their joyous state, however, neither had noticed the breach of formation at their rear. Malice and Bitrayuul were hard at work regaining the ground that had been lost while Bear and Fangdarr struggled to keep their targets at bay. All the orc and his companion could do was keep fighting while they waited for their allies to come to their aid.

  Bear growled in concern as a troll jumped past her and through the flames to arrive at Tormag’s back. Due to his reliance on the monsters being too afraid of fire to approach from behind, the unsuspecting dwarf continued merrily in his slaughtering. Fangdarr took a moment to glance behind after hearing Bear’s lament. In that minor glimpse, the orc recognized the troll instantly. Raz’ja stood behind the dwarf, each of his three-fingered hands wielding sharpened stone daggers. That sinister grin Fangdarr encountered before was pasted on the troll chieftain’s face once more.

  “Tormag!” cried the orc in desperation. “Turn around!”

  With luck, the dwarven warrior managed to hear Fangdarr’s plea over the cacophony of clashing steel and the constant guttural howls of the trolls and turned to face Raz’ja. But it was too late. The vicious troll’s weapons were already sailing toward the dwarf’s neck, seeking to end him in a single strike. Tormag was a skilled warrior, but even he could not hope to lift his weapons to parry in time.

  The round, brown eyes of the dwarf never closed; Tormag would not grant the troll the satisfaction. Instead, he stared determinedly into the blood-thirsty gaze of Raz’ja and accepted his fate. The troll stretched his maw into a salivating grin, savoring the kill to come. How he yearned to feel his daggers puncture through the thick skin of the dwarf. Raz’ja was so enthralled by the prospect that he failed to notice the glimmer of shining steel coming toward him.

  It passed through the troll’s neck in an instant, completely halting the leaping troll’s momentum. Raz’ja’s decapitated head retained its grin as it rolled into the fire. Despite being severed completely from his body, Raz’ja’s face still bore his lucid expressions. It contorted from wickedness to shock before finally settling on agony as the flames consumed him.

  Chakal kicked against the troll’s torso hard, pushing it into the pit of flames, the roaring inferno howling voraciously as it engulfed the fallen corpse. The kick allowed the spry elf to launch himself into the remaining fray of trolls. Immediately, the assassin was surrounded by a dozen of them.

  Tormag watched in confusion at the turn of events before turning back to focus on the enemy at hand. Upon seeing their leader being corroded away by the flames and hearing his piercing screeches of agony, the creatures spurred forward enraged. If they had been formidable before, they were twice so now. Their blind fury at the loss of Raz’ja spurred their attacks to blitzing speeds that greatly surpassed their previous skills.

  Each of the companions were pressed back by the aggressive assault, causing their circle to tighten once more. Even both dwarves were now on the defensive, unable to retaliate. However, Tormag had a clear view of the elf who had saved the dwarf from his fate. Still, Chakal remained surrounded by the tumultuous wave of fiendish creatures, but his dagger and short-sword worked expertly at a level the commander had never before witnessed. Not a single attack penetrated the elf’s perfect defenses. Always were they brushed aside at the last moment with a sweeping glance of his elven blades or dodged by Chakal’s agile movements.

  The spectacle was both inspiring and terrifying to watch at the same time. Tormag knew this to be the hunter who sought to end them all. But if that were so, why would the elf save him? To that extent, the dwarf’s honor would allow no less than to return the favor. Granted, Chakal did not, at the moment, seem to need saving, but Tormag would settle for a bit of assistance. As the dwarf repelled the opponents in front of him with a heavy shove, his right-handed hammer poised back for a throw. The flames on the weapon had nearly died away entirely as the oil had been consumed—only the bits of troll flesh on the head kept the flames alive. The throw would be difficult—many intersecting trolls stood in its path—but he had to try.

  As the flaming weapon soared through the air, trolls ducked away in fear as it sailed overhead. They had seen enough of those rampaging hammers being thrown into the bodies of their allies to know to avoid contact. With a loud thud, the hammer found its mark, and the troll nearest the elf assassin burst into flames. With fire in his eyes, the elf’s face shifted to sheer thrill, and the assassin savagely sliced away limbs, heads, and even cleaved bodies in half, sending them all into the burning pillar. Within mere moments, Chakal’s pit of fire grew thrice the size of the other as it chewed away at the dozen trolls in its grasp.

  Chakal conquered his enemies without so much a scratch. By the time the elf had disposed of the first dozen, the remaining half wanted no part of this impossible warrior. There was no hope for them. The elf sprinted after each as they clambered away, clawing at the stone in an attempt to flee up the walls around them. The remaining trolls all turned their attention toward the screams of fear. Watching their kin get slaughtered brutally by a single enemy caused them to lose their resolve and those out of his reach fell back into the shadows.

  Fangdarr and Bitrayuul watched the creatures retreat, glad to finally reach the conclusion of the skirmish. They looked to each other, breathing heavily from the assault. As Bitrayuul was about to speak, he heard Malice scream.

  “What is HE doing here?! No! No! Leave us!”

  Confused, the half-orc followed her gaze and found Chakal nonchalantly striding toward them. The elf’s attire was covered head to toe in blue-tinted blood, making him hardly recognizable. But for Malice, there was no mistaking the monster that had haunted her—and would forever more.

  The woman instantly charged forward with unintelligible screams, weapons raised. Tormag lunged forward and grabbed hold of her by the waist. “Wait, wait! He saved me. Us!” Malice heard nothing he said. She cried out in a mix of emotions. She thought her mind had been restored, but the elf’s appearance proved it was all an illusion. There was no chance for renewal. She crumpled to the ground and wept as the realization hit her like an ogre’s maul. Would she ever be free from herself?

  Bitrayu
ul, however, was not of such a broken state of mind. He strode forward accusingly before also being stopped by Tormag. “Lad, no! Me life is owed t’ him today.”

  The half-orc seethed with anger at the presence of their stalker, but he could not dispute his father’s claim. It was an unspoken rule among the honorable that a life saved was a debt to be repaid. Bitrayuul growled from beneath his helmet but remained in place.

  Fangdarr, Cormac, and Bear had not encountered Chakal before; they had only heard of their allies’ recounting of the assassin. As a result, they were not as concerned by the threat at hand. As far as they knew, here stood a single elf, one who had helped them, no less. Bear, though, growled with a furled snarl at the assassin.

  “Listen, elf,” Tormag began, turning toward Chakal, who stood smiling awkwardly. “Me honor demands that I thank ye fer what ye did fer me, and so I shall. On me life, I thank ye.” All eyes were on the dwarf as he thanked the same devil who had threatened their lives and had brought about the destruction of the young girl three of them had come to love. Malice continued shrieking and wailing in mental agony, refusing to look at the elf.

  With an almost negligible shift, the elf pushed both of his curved weapons into the dwarf’s chest around the plates of his armor. Bitrayuul gasped in shock as the tip of the elf’s sword punctured through his father’s back. Chakal proceeded to lift Tormag’s dying form high into the air with strength that seemed impossible for his slim frame. The assassin held the dwarf suspended as he inspected his prey as if he were a piece of meat. No expression. Nothing. Tormag’s mouth sputtered blood. His beloved magical hammers fell to the earth with dull thumps.

  “It was not his kill to claim,” Chakal stated coldly before kicking the dwarf’s lifeless form free from his blades directly into the fire.

  Each of the companions were frozen in shock. Bitrayuul and Fangdarr watched as their adoptive father’s corpse lay atop the blistered carcasses of the trolls beneath. Tormag’s eyes still hung placidly open, peering right at them—a sight that would haunt them all the rest of their days, they knew. Even Cormac, who had grown attached to Tormag over their short time together, was pained heavily by the loss. Though, seeing a dwarf treated as such by an elf caused his grief to be eclipsed by anger. The captain charged forward with a yell. As he reached Chakal, the dwarf stabbed forward with both shield-blades, but the assassin’s face turned to a grin as he chuckled and faded into nothingness as the weapons passed through. Sparks flickered as the blades skittered across the stone. Cormac looked around confused. How could he simply be gone?

  The chuckle came again, this time louder and from all directions. “One by one, each of you are mine. I have sated my lust for now. Go, fight your dragon. Know that I will be waiting for you thereafter, so do not fall.” As soon as it came, the sound was gone, leaving them with only the sound of Malice’s terrorized sobs and Bitrayuul’s joining cries. Fangdarr, too stubborn to allow himself to show vulnerability in front of his kin, placed a hand atop Bitrayuul’s shoulder in comfort.

  Cormac quickly jogged back to his companions. His thick hands reached over the heaping mass of charred corpses to pull Tormag out of the fire. Luckily, thanks to dwarven skin being so thick, Tormag’s corpse did not suffer too heavily from the flames, though most of his beard and hair had withered away. The captain patted down his friend for good measure, stamping out any wisps of smoke that had started to form.

  Bitrayuul reached forward to grab the lifeless hand of his father, bringing about renewed tears as he felt no squeeze in response. Fangdarr reached down gently and closed Tormag’s eyes for all of their sakes. Bear stumbled away quietly before returning in short order, holding the pair of war hammers in her mouth for the half-orc. Bitrayuul took them from her with a smile, glad to have a part of the dwarf to keep with him.

  The party sat in silence, deep in their thoughts, each lamenting the loss in his or her own way. However, they did not get to wallow in their grief for long before an odd noise came out of the distance. The party looked to each other, thinking the sound had been imagined. Yet, all searched for the source, confirming it was real. It came again, closer now. They scanned the area unable to find the origin. Then it came again—this time unmistakable.

  A dragon’s roar.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  DEFIANCE

  Far off in the distance, just below the smog-like clouds that shrouded the mountain peaks, Fangdarr could see the drake’s billowing silhouette. Powerful wings spread wide as the beast came for them. Yet the orc showed no fear. He would scream into its face just as he had done before. With all he had been through, he was ready to face this greatest of challenges without regret.

  The proud chieftain’s companions were not so resilient. After all, this was Fangdarr’s quest, not theirs. Seeing the wisps of abysmal black and purple trailing off the wingspan of the monster, glittering in its wake, nearly broke their resolve. Closer it came. Another shriek. Bear nudged against her master in support, though the others may have needed it more.

  “You ready, Bear?” the chieftain asked of his beloved ally with a smile that stood contradictory to the task at hand.

  As if she understood, the animal huffed in confirmation before sending up a defiant roar. Fangdarr had never been more proud to call her his companion than in that moment. Opening his jaw wide, Fangdarr joined in Bear’s howl at their enemy.

  Despite their crippling grief and fear, the remaining members of the group took confidence in the defiant outcry of the pair. Bitrayuul rose from his father’s corpse, anger burning inside him. A vicious flood of rage, the likes of which he had rarely felt, surged through his veins. His orcish veins. Bitrayuul had seen the effects of such fury on his brother. He had watched as it granted him impossible strength, far surpassing Fangdarr’s already impressive capabilities. The half-orc knew that without control, such a blind berserk state could spell his own doom. Nevertheless, Bitrayuul allowed the warm, embracing emotion to permeate his body. Tying Tormag’s small, thick war hammers onto his belt, Bitrayuul strode forward to join his sibling.

  Cormac needed less convincing, though the dwarf could not deny his fear. He could not abandon Fangdarr. Too strong was their bond. He simply mumbled a small message to his long-lost wife and child waiting for him in Bothain’s Mines. “I may be joinin’ ye sooner than ye thought,” he said before his shortened legs pressed him forward until he was standing next to the roaring warriors. With his most boastful voice, the dwarf let out his own cry into the wind.

  Malice watched as the final companion left her to join the cause. Even now, her paranoia over Chakal continued. His presence was nowhere to be seen, but she knew the assassin was there. Watching. Waiting. She thought to end it there and then. Rid herself of her pain and fear and join her lost daughter. Oh, sweet Lilyana. The memories of running her fingers through the child’s soft golden hair, cuddling up with her at night, and watching her play in the grass all flooded through the frightened woman. How she yearned to be reunited with the girl. Malice knew the regret would stain her for the rest of her days. The woman looked to her friends—the ones who had risked their own lives, and even lost it, for the sake of hers—and to her son, who now needed her more than ever. Without realizing her actions, Malice rose to her feet. This was one regret that would not be added to her list.

  With all of the party assembled on the rock, they watched in awe as the dragon’s hulking form continued to grow in size. By the gods, it was vast. Only Fangdarr had seen the beast in all its splendor before. And such a wondrous, terrible sight it was. Even if this were their last battle, it would be one few others could claim—a small consolation in the face of the prospect of being melted alive by the shadow dragon’s acidic breath or being crushed by its tremendous jaws.

  The dragon screeched again. It would be upon them soon, they knew. There was almost no time to plan after wasting so much time answering the challenge. Immediately, Bitrayuul hopped down from their perch to inspect the field.

  “
The trolls are still littered everywhere, we have uneven footing, and little cover.” As the half-orc peered at their surroundings, he couldn’t help but notice just how unfavorable this location was for engaging a dragon. The encasing walls of their shelter would serve as their tomb should the dragon think to unleash its breath within. Bitrayuul had never encountered a dragon before, but he suspected they were not unintelligent monsters.

  Cormac jumped to the lower level as well, scanning each direction. His eyes lit up as he remembered a more suitable location. “Come, come!” the dwarf called to everyone, urging them to follow. Friends in tow, Cormac traversed the small gap through the shelter and into the open passage once more, to the place Fangdarr had first met Raz’ja.

  “This is good. This will do well,” Bitrayuul complimented him.

  The area proved much more beneficial than the last. Here, the group had a clear view of the sky should the drake remain in flight. Even more so, many tall, jutting rock formations sprouted all around to stand as barriers to the acidic breath of their enemy. Additionally, there was plenty of space for the dragon to land once they were hidden, forcing it to come after them within range of retaliation. They took their positions in anticipation.

  From Bitrayuul’s spot, he could still see through the gap into the sheltered hovel that had served as his father’s demise. The half-orc could just barely make out the dwarf’s body. He drew rage from that vision and let the anger rush through him.