by Heath Pfaff
The sound of a man screaming from the other side of the camp drew Xan's attention. Xandrith made quick progress, circling around the tree line surrounding the caravan's encampment. He passed over the heads of no less than four armed men. The group was quite a bit larger than the assassin had thought, and that troubled him. It took him ten minutes, but he finally rounded the backside of the camp and came into view of the man doing the screaming.
Lottan had been staked over a large boulder so that his back was curved along the ridge of the stone. There were five armed humans, but they seemed to be doing little but watching. It was a massive orc that stood towering over Lottan. The brute was dressed in full battle garb with only small slits of his gray skin showing through the openings of his armor. His horns rose from the crown of his head through openings on his helm, but weren’t nearly as long as the tusks that jutted up from his bottom jaw. He carried a massive sword made for an orc of his considerable size, and he had it out. At first Xan was a little concerned, but it was clear that the orc wasn’t done discussing things with Lottan quite yet.
"I know your people, mechanna. You keep papers and plans with the designs of these magics you build. Where do you keep them? Tell us how to run these carts of yours, and we won't have to hurt any more of your people." The orc's voice was low and intense, a rumbling boom of command.
Xan had never seen an orc running a band of mercenaries. Orcs generally had a stronger sense of honor. It wasn't unheard of, but it wasn't common either. The presence of this one put the assassin ill at ease. Humans could be dealt with, but orcs were stubborn to negotiate with and fearsome in battle. He would have to reevaluate his entire approach.
"There are no schematics for these carts, and they won't run!" Lottan shouted. "Please, leave us be. We haven't anything you'd want to take!"
The orc flipped his sword in his hand, grabbing it by the top of the blade. Without warning he brought hilt down in a brutal swing that smashed into Lottan's left leg. Xan didn't need to be closer to know that the blow had shattered most of the bones in that leg. Lottan screamed again, his agony filling the clearing like a terrible and unshakeable fog of despair. As the scream subsided, the orc spoke again.
"This is not something I enjoy." He said in his rumbling voice. "Your suffering does nothing for me. Give me the information I want and this will end. We are not unreasonable men. We are men of the battlefield, and you stand between us and the instruments we need to wage war. Your carts would be invaluable assets in the war against the trolls."
As the orc spoke, Xan crept closer and closer to the small group. He left the sack of scrap metal hanging from a branch just as he was forced to abandon the high ground due to the thinning of the trees, but still he stuck tight to the shadows as he made his way from the boughs out into the clearing. Years of sneaking had made cautious movement almost second nature to him. He drew his knife as he went, dashing quietly from cover to cover, timing his movements so that they wouldn’t be seen. This was his area of expertise.
"The plans, and tell us how to work the carts, or we'll find someone else to break after we're done with you." The voice of the orc boomed loudly as Xan looked for an opening to reach the cart by which they were torturing Lottan. A single guard stood on the side of the cart facing away from the area where the caravan master was being held. He was looking out towards the other side of the clearing, opposite from where Xan was creeping up behind him, but the assassin could tell he really wasn't paying much attention anyway. His posture was sloppy, and his head was constantly turned back in the direction of the scene of torture happening on the opposite side of the cart. He'd drawn the short straw and wasn't able to watch with the rest of the men. Today his luck really wasn't with him. Xan moved in silently behind him, closing the gap until they were only inches apart.
The assassin's next moves were quick, controlled, and precise. The man was wearing heavy armor, so he couldn't just be stabbed through the heart. Instead Xan grabbed him around the neck, circling the big man's throat in his powerful arm. The troll strength he'd gathered seemed to be in full effect because Xandrith felt the man's throat compress against his arm with surprising ease. With his other hand, Xandrith drove his dagger into the man's face, aiming for the eyes. There was barely even a gurgle as the three strikes dove through his skull and into his brain. The body slumped and Xan carefully lowered it to the earth. That was one less man to worry about. He cleaned his knife on the man's tabard and turned to face the cart. He took a high hand hold and pulled himself towards the top of the horseless wagon to put himself at a better vantage point.
"I can't give you what I don't have!" Lottan was screaming as Xan hunched low against the cart's roof. He was behind the orc, above the heads of the humans who all had their attention focused on Lottan. From his new vantage, Xan could see just how badly the caravan leader had been beaten. Both of his legs, his arms, and his hands were shattered. If he ever walked again, it wouldn't be well. Maybe if they could find a really skilled healer he could be restored, but traditional medicines wouldn’t be of any use.
Xandrith wasn't the best judge of information given under duress, but he guessed that Lottan really didn't have the information to give the orc and his band of men. The assassin doubted the man would protect his secrets to such terrible ends, but that wouldn't stop the orc from torturing him to death before starting on another member of the caravan. Xan would need to act quickly and decisively. He took a deep breath. “Well, this is stupid!” Xan’s ever present ghostly critic noted, appearing next to him as he stood up atop his perch.
All the human eyes snapped to him at once, confusion evident in their expressions. Fingers rose to point at Xandrith, and that got the Orc's attention. Xan waited, his knife tucked along his arm. “Yeah, this is really dumb. We are definitely going to die.” Shadow-Xan added, but Xandrith didn't have time to hesitate and carry on a conversation. As soon as the creature's black eyes were turned in his direction, the assassin dove down from the cart's roof. He went knife first, all of his body riding behind the fighting blade that actually belonged to his apprentice, Haley.
To his credit the orc almost managed to get his arms in front of his face before Xandrith struck. Almost. Xan's blade didn't strike an eye like he'd hoped, but it did sink deep into the flesh of the orc's right cheek. He roared in rage as his flesh fell away, flayed to the bone. A fist nearly three times as large as a human man's hand struck Xan in the ribs, right in the place where the bag of metal had cut into him just the other day. Pain tore through Xan's body like a blast of lightning, but he refused to give up his grip. He adjusted his hold on his knife and struck again, this time penetrating the orc's eye. A human might have died from that blow, but the orc's skull was too thick for Xan's knife to penetrate further than the socket.
The mercenary leader howled in pain. He was trying to get his sword into a position where he could use it against the assassin, but Xan was too close. The other men were looking on in horror as this beast, this inhuman thing from the shadows, fought the leader they considered indestructible. Xandrith knew they wouldn't stay out of the battle long. As soon as they realized that Xan wasn't some kind of invulnerable monster they would come to their leader's defense, and then the fight would be over quickly.
The sound of metal clattering on the ground was all the warning that Xan had before a second hand was suddenly grappling with him. The orc's right hand grabbed his knife hand and clenched tight like a vice as his left still worked to try and pull Xan away. Xandrith lashed out with his new claws, aiming for the orc's remaining eye. He felt his nails ripping through gray flesh and then suddenly he was being thrown backwards through the air. Xan wasn't certain how he'd lost his hold, but a fraction of second later he was slamming into the side of the cart. The blow rattled his bones and made his vision swim for a second. By the time he'd righted himself he found himself face to face with a really angry, one eyed orc, and his band of men who had gathered their senses and drawn weapons.
"What and
who are you?" The orc's voice was surprisingly calm despite the fact that its face was torn to pieces. The words were slightly slurred due to the damage Xan had done to one side of his jaw.
"I'm Trast, and I've come to negotiate the peaceful surrender of you and your men. It would be a shame to have to kill so many when the world is such a dark place already." Xan put on his best showing of bravado.
The orc responded with a chuckle. "You must be a black smith, carrying around such a resplendent pair of steel balls."
Xan returned the small chuckle. "No, I'm afraid not." He let all expression fall from his face and locked his eyes on the orc. "I'm just a demon with a vested interest in this caravan who doesn't take kindly to others interfering with my business."
The humans began to whisper amidst themselves. The orc spat blood and gave another throaty laugh. "Demon, eh? Is that why you're so ugly?"
"I'm not a troll, am I?" Xan rolled up his sleeves and held his arms out, showing off the strange black patched skin he wore. "I'm not an orc, and I'm not fae creature. Do I look human to you? What does that leave?"
"What you are doesn't matter. I'm of a mind to cut you into small pieces and feed you to the local game. You've already tried my patience well past my limits. What business do you have with this caravan?" The orc pressed. The humans might have enough imagination to picture Xan as some kind of demonic creature, but orcs weren't known for their great imaginations. They were straight forward and logical.
"My business is my own. I'll give you one more chance to leave. These people are under my protection." Xan threatened, acutely missing his magic.
"I'm not leaving without these carts and the schematics for the construction of more. These tools will make my war band unstoppable. I will find mechanna who can build me more, and we will take the land back from the trolls. There is no match for the value of this knowledge." The orc declared. "Now unless you can give me what I want, I'm going to kill you."
Xan sighed, nothing was ever easy. The muscles in his body coiled tight like a spring. "Then I'm afraid you'll all have to die." As Xan said the last word he unleashed his pent up energy. He didn't bother going for the orc, that was a fight that he would have difficulty finishing quickly. He dove right, straight for the nearest human, and in three quick strikes the man fell away with blood pouring from his neck and face. Xandrith didn't stop there. The parts of him that had become more like the trolls were fast and powerful, and he dipped into that as he attacked. He had two more men down before the others had oriented themselves to strike back.
Xandrith sidestepped a well-aimed thrust of a sword and slammed his fist into the side of the blade, sending it skittering uselessly in the wrong direction. Then Xan dove forward into the man who'd made the strike. Xan's knife slipped beneath his arm and through the tightly woven chainmail there, diving into the man's chest cavity as the chain chattered beneath the force of his strike. The orc was on him then.
The great warrior hadn't even bothered to grab his sword off the ground. He attacked Xan with his giant, powerful hands, intent upon breaking the fragile looking assassin with the power of his muscle alone. Xan slipped his grip before it could tighten. The plate mail gloves the orc was wearing didn't offer enough grip to hold the churning half-troll. Xan spun about to slip beneath the orc's arms and drove his dagger into the softest place he could find, which ended up being a small gap in the orc's shoulder armor. Four times Xan was able to plunge his dagger home before the orc turned on him, swinging his fist like a great hammer.
Xan managed to absorb some of the blow into his own momentum, but the hit still sent him sprawling backwards. The two remaining humans had backed off, fear evident in their features. One dropped his sword and ran back towards the rest of the caravan. He was probably going to summon the others of the mercenary band. Xan needed to work faster. He rolled to his feet as the orc was picking up his sword from earlier. He charged for the beast while it was still recovering its weapon and Xandrith landed on the orcs back. The sudden added leverage caused the orc to topple to the ground atop his sword. The assassin reversed his grip on his knife and shoved it into the gap between the orc's helmet and back plate. He was rewarded with a gush of dark red orc blood. Xan kept stabbing.
The orc attempted to scramble to his feet, lifting Xan up with him, but the assassin fastened his free arm around the monster's huge neck and held on for dear life. His knife flashed again and again as he drove it into the orc’s neck. He was searching for a spinal joint, a place where he could crack the neck, but its bone structure wasn't like a human's. Instead the plates of its spine were designed to lock together when its back was straight, and the orc was standing straight now. Still, Xan's knife was having an effect. The orc thrashed about, attempting to grab Xandrith and pull him off. Xan swayed from side to side, avoiding the slowly diminishing attempts. With every swing Xan placed another solid blow.
Victory came suddenly. The orc slumped to its knees and released a last, rattling breath before falling over. Xan drew his dagger free of the creature's spine and stood up. He was covered in orc blood from head to toe. The last human fighter who remained dropped his sword before turning to flee. Xan momentarily considered giving chase, but he was exhausted. Sleep deprivation combined with the action of the last few days had left him worn to the bone.
"Well, you made that look easy." Younger Xan commented, appearing from the ether to offer his feedback on the situation.
"Things aren't always as they appear." Xan replied, rolling his shoulders and stretching the muscles down the length of his body in search of new damage. He had some bruised ribs and the wound caused by the metal scrap was bleeding again.
"Trast?" Lottan's voice called weakly. "When they came we thought they were with you. I'm sorry, we didn't know. Thank you for coming back"
Xan took a step in his direction, but he stopped when he heard the sound of armed men running in his direction. He turned just as the first of the human mercenaries came around the caravan cart. His eyes fell to the corpse of the orc. He drew his sword as he inched forward towards Xan, and soon others were following suit.
"Haven't I killed enough of you today?" Xandrith asked, waving his knife through the air before him as he gestured. "You should leave before I finish this business once and for all."
Uncertainty passed amongst the faces, but the man in the lead stepped forward again his blade leveled at Xandrith's neck. "There are nearly thirty of us. We're not afraid of one monster."
"I may not kill you all, but I will kill a lot of you. Is there really anything in this caravan worth taking that risk? Are your lives worth so little?" Xandrith was already tensing for the fight he knew was coming. These men weren't cowards. He may have been able to scare off one, but they thought they were indestructible in a large group.
"Get him!" One of them yelled, and the tide came on. Xan killed the idiot in the lead before the heavily armored man had taken his first ill-fated step forward. His speed and dexterity were heightened beyond human limits, and he put every bit of that power to work. There were far too many of them, but Xan had every intention of leaving a tall pile of corpses around his own. The battle became a blur.
Xandrith vanished into a well of instinct and training. There was no space left for thought, only the movement of the moment and the pattern of war's chaos. Men fell, screaming and dying, blood washing out across the ground. Some scored hits, but most died without coming close. At some point amidst the all-encompassing turmoil the fight changed in Xan's favor. It wasn't that he was winning single handedly, but some dynamic had altered, and suddenly men weren't coming at him from every direction. He barely noticed until he found himself with a single opponent pinned to the side of the cart by the point of the knife Xan had driven through his chest, and there was a strange stillness all around. The battle was over.
He pulled his knife free and the body dropped to the ground to join all of the others. Xan swung about with his dagger in his right hand, looking for the next person to fight, bu
t there were no more. There were other people though, indistinct faces. It was all a blur.
"Trast?" One of them asked. "Trast, are you alright?"
Xandrith shook his head. Who was Trast? Wait, he was Trast. Who were these people? The haze of his battle madness began to lift, and it was replaced by a hazy confusion. All around him were the men and women of the caravan. They'd joined the fight at some point, no doubt freed when their guards had left to face Xandrith.
"I'm alright." Xan said quietly. It felt like he was telling himself. "I'm alright." He said it again. Somehow, he'd managed to survive that fight.
"You should take a seat. You're wounded. We'll have someone look over your injuries as soon as Lottan is seen to." A woman said from a few feet away. Xan nodded numbly. He walked beyond the chaos of the circle of the bodies he'd helped create, and slumped heavily against a tree. Someone walked up to him and offered him a skin of water which he took gratefully. He couldn't quite get beyond the fog of what had just happened. His exhaustion, the pace of the battle, and the stress of the previous few days were clawing at his focus like a rabid wolf clawing at a the front door to a cabin.
"The scrap metal is over there." He pointed in the general direction of where he'd left the bag. He wasn't sure if anyone was listening to him, or even if they'd be able to find the bag if they were. He was asleep almost before he felt his head touch bark.
Chapter 3
Wagons North
The old woman was working diligently on Merrick's wound. Her four fingered hands were nimble despite her age, and she worked with a practiced patience that bespoke familiarity in dealing with serious wounds. For his part, Crow lay completely still and as silent as if he were already dead. Haley only knew he was alive because his chest rose and fell subtly on occasion. His skin was like ice to the touch, and he was as white as a corpse in winter. Haley was watching his face for any indication that he could tell what was going on, but he didn't even wince as his caregiver pressed a searing hot blade into the last of the three openings in his chest. Smoke and the acrid smell of burning flesh wafted into the air. A moment later the woman's hands were back at work, stitching together the perforated flesh.
