Flight of the Krilo

by Sam Ferguson

  “So when I saw you coming out from your home, you were seeking the dream?” Halsten asked.

  “I thought something might be amiss, yes, though I had no idea you were going to be the next to be plagued by this dream. The part that perplexes me is, why did you shoot the large buck?”

  Halsten frowned. “I thought it would make you proud for me to bring home such a prize,” he said. “I shot him first because I could honor you by giving it to you as a gift. I continued to hunt so I could get more food for the tribe, but the grasses grew tall enough to cover the deer. I had no idea that I had wounded a brother wolf.”

  Jarle nodded and listened carefully, stroking his chin. “Then that is why you saw the rest of the dream, and I have not,” he said. “You see, I never slew that largest deer. Though I turned my back upon Akuhn’s temple, I always left the largest deer partly out of gratitude to her for the hunt, and partly because I was entranced by how much it grew each year. You slew the deer, and so you have altered the course of the dream.”

  “I did wrong to slay it?” Halsten asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Jarle said. He stared into the ashes for a moment and then shook his head. “No, as I said before, the fault rests with me. After all, the wolf emphasized the fact that you shot him with the bow I gave you, rather than just to be angry that you shot him. This suggests that your sin lies in what I have given you and set before you. Perhaps you slew the large buck because you will change something the way I could not. In the forty years we have been here, I have obviously missed the mark, and failed to appease the Wolf Goddess. This, I fear, is why the desert grows from the east and the animals thin. Our enemies grow bolder as well. We should never have left the Sacred Valley.”

  “Why not?” Halsten asked. “You have never spoken of it before as though it was a mistake.”

  Jarle’s shoulders slumped and he hung his head to the side. “I have not given you the whole truth. And that is why you did not see the temple in your dream. How could you have? You never knew what our duties truly were.”

  “Our duties?” Halsten asked. “You aren’t making any sense.”

  Jarle held up his hand again. “The Wolf Tribe is responsible for protecting the temple. We are the chosen tribe to remain in the Sacred Valley. Our duty is to care for the temple, and ensure it does not succumb to time or marauders.”

  Halsten moved as if to stand, but stopped himself mid-way through the motion. “Then why did we ever leave?”

  Jarle smiled. The gesture was enough to unnerve Halsten in and of itself. In all of his life, Halsten had only seen his father smile three times. Once on the day he gave him the bow, a second time when a rival tribesman had tried to challenge him with a sword and Jarle had beaten him using only a wooden spoon, and a third time when a score of marauding Tarthuns had come into their lands. That was one of the bloodiest days Halsten had ever witnessed, and even now he found it hard to think about what his father had done to those trespassers.

  “I left because your mother would not live within the Sacred Valley,” Jarle said. “She came from the Eagle Tribe, and was used to roaming outside of the large mountains that make the walls around the Inner Sea and the Sacred Valley of Akuhn. As you know, a Varvarr princess is free to choose whomever she wishes to marry. We princes like to think we woo them and make them swoon, but the truth is they have us all wrapped up around their tiny little fingers from the moment they decide they want it so. Well, I was plying her with gifts, but she told me flatly that the choice was between myself and the prince of the Bear Tribe. I asked her what I could do to win her heart away from the challenging suitor. Her response was that I would have to leave the Sacred Valley of Akuhn, and build a home for her in the great forests in the east.”

  “But she knew of our tribe’s duties to Akuhn?” Halsten asked.

  Jarle’s smile faded and the old man nodded. “She knew what it meant to ask her price. But, she also knew that I would not refuse her. We were happy, for a time.”

  “Why not return after she died?” Halsten asked.

  Jarle reached forward with such speed that Halsten had no time to react. The sting of the old man’s heavy slap pulsed on Halsten’s cheek. A single, warning finger wagged at him in the air, making it clear he was not to speak of such things again.

  “I turned my back on Akuhn, and she turned her back on us all,” Jarle said. “The way I see it, we are even.”

  “But the game will continue to dwindle, and the deserts will grow,” Halsten said forcefully. This isn’t about you anymore. It involves both of us.”

  “Whatever has been done to the temple is done and over with now,” Jarle said. “It has been forty years.”

  “Then let me go, I will see to the temple and make amends.”

  “You would take your family, and the whole tribe back with you?”

  “If it means lifting the curse that has been levied upon us, then yes.”

  Jarle scoffed. “If Agatha were pregnant, would you be so quick to respond I wonder? Or what of Sarkis? He is only eight. You would march him all the way back to the Sacred Valley? People died getting out of that infernal prison. Your mother was right, life is better when you live free, outside of stone walls. So what if the desert comes, then we will cross it and find new lands. That is what your mother would have wanted!”

  Halsten was about to respond, but a shout rose up in the night outside.

  “Orcs!” someone cried from outside. “Orcs are upon us! Rise up, men, rise up!”

  “We’ll continue this later,” Jarle snarled. “We have orcs to kill.”

  Halsten went for the door and pulled it open. His right hand went to his axe and his left hand went to his knife. He ran out to see Samek running to the north. Halsten turned and saw a well-organized war party running toward the village. The bright orange light from their torches made them easy targets for the Varvarr equipped with bows, but the orcs’ thick armor protected them from most of the arrows.

  Halsten charged after Samek, glancing to the sides and ensuring that no orcs were coming in from other directions. The orcs were something of an enigma to Halsten. They were counted among the cursed races, those creations responsible for the Great War that ripped the world apart in its infancy, and yet they appeared to have as much honor as any Varvarr Halsten could think of.

  Living close to their settlements in the Feklyn Wood, Halsten had had many opportunities to meet them in battle. Not once had he ever heard an orc beg for its life. Nor had they ever backed down from a fight, even when outnumbered. Other than their strange appearance and their savage customs, Halsten could see little difference between his race and theirs. Why the Old Gods had cursed them, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps in another world orcs and Varvarr would have been trading partners.

  In Terramyr, they were enemies.

  Halsten leapt over the stone wall marking the edge of his village and ran out to meet the nearest orc, a large figure armed with a spear and dressed in heavy chainmail over the top of padded leather greaves and hauberk. The spear was thrust straight at Halsten’s stomach. Halsten stepped to his right, sweeping the spear away from him with the knife in his left hand, and then he came in with a savage chop of his axe that bit deeply into the orc’s neck. The creature’s head lolled to the side and nearly fell off as blood spurted out from the gaping hole.

  The Varvarr prince yanked his axe free and continued charging. Out to his right, Samek cut off an orc’s arms at the elbows with one fell sweep of his great sword. The mighty Varvarr then cut back and took the orc’s head as well before sprinting to catch up to Halsten’s side.

  “A good night for a fight,” Samek said.

  Halsten nodded. Any other night, he would have agreed, but tonight he was too focused on the dream to fully give himself to the battle at hand. An arrow whistled past his left ear and thunked into the eye socket of an orc ten yards ahead. The orc had been in full sprint, but stopped abruptly and its head jerked back with the force of the arrow. It stood there, awkward
ly frozen in mid-step for a few seconds before finally toppling over to the ground.

  A roaring torch whirled through the air at Halsten and smacked him on the right shoulder. The fire didn’t have long enough to ignite his clothing, but the sparks and embers stung and caused the large man to wince. A second later, the orc who had hurled the torch was leaping toward him.

  Halsten brought his axe up and deflected the first chop. He ducked under the weapons and slashed his knife across the orc’s torso, but the chainmail kept the orc safe from harm. Halsten then leaned in and used his shoulder like a battering ram, knocking into the orc’s side. The two stumbled a few feet and Halsten came in hard and fast with his axe.

  The orc was quick to defend, easily blocking the axe with his sword. The creature then laughed, its yellow tusks shining slightly in the torchlight. Black, wide eyes locked with Halsten and the orc smiled as it kicked out with enough force to push Halsten back.

  “Nyapic,” the orc snarled.

  Halsten sneered back at the orc. He came in hard and made as if to chop with his axe, but as the orc stepped back and raised his sword to parry, Halsten drove his foot forward, putting all of his power into the front kick. The blow played out as if in slow motion. First the heel of Halsten’s boot connected with the chainmail. There was a faint ringing sound immediately followed by the armor and fabric beneath giving way to Halsten’s foot. The orc’s abdomen depressed several inches. The orc’s eyes narrowed and the beast’s smile faded, contorting into a grimace as the orc grunted. Next, the spine curved forward, followed by the arms. The waist buckled out and finally the orc’s feet left the ground, trailing the creature as it flew through the air several feet and finally landed in a heap on the ground.

  Time sped back to its normal pace and the deafening sound of shouting men and grunting orcs was second only to the clanking metal of their weapons and armor.

  The orc on the ground pushed himself up and came back at Halsten, foaming furiously as it went into a rage. An arrow struck it in the shoulder as it charged, but the head failed to pierce the chainmail and the arrow glanced off. The orc came in with a diagonal slash. Halsten jumped back.

  A horizontal chop followed the first attack, and then a straight thrust. Each of these Halsten easily dodged while he waited patiently for his opening. The orc lifted its sword high with two hands. Halsten darted in under the chop, wrapping his arms around the orc and tackling it to the ground once more.

  As the two grappled each other, Halsten dropped his knife and used his left hand to keep the sword at arm’s length while he tried to find on opening with his axe. Instead of holding the sword with both hands, the orc now held it with only his right, while he seized Halsten’s wrist with his left, preventing a strike from the axe. The two rolled over several times in the grass, each trying to use his torso and legs to gain control of the fight while hands were occupied.

  Halsten head-butted the orc, but he came in too low and split his forehead open a bit on the orc’s right tusk. The orc laughed and promptly twisted, throwing Halsten to the ground as they spun over once more.

  “Szanalmas!” the orc growled. He then head-butted Halsten. The force of the blow caused Halsten’s vision to black out for a brief flash, and then there was a terrible ringing in his ears. Still, Halsten did not relent. He shifted his right leg out to the side and then came in with a heel strike to the back of the orc’s left knee. When the knee bent, the orc lost his balance and Halsten flipped them over once more.

  He nearly gained the upper hand when suddenly a terrible shout erupted. He looked up just in time to see another orc sprinting toward him with a heavy, spiked club. Halsten yanked back with all of his might, pulling the orc below him up from the ground just in time to use as a shield. He ducked low as the club came sailing in. The orc he was holding convulsed sharply, and then went weak.

  Halsten came up from his make-shift shield to see a confused orc standing motionless and staring down at his blood-soaked club. The Varvarr prince didn’t need to look at the corpse on the ground to know the back of the orc’s skull must have been crushed to bits. He used the moment of confusion to slash across the club-wielding orc’s neck with his axe. The orc fell to the ground in a spray of crimson.

  Halsten had no time to rest. Two more were charging toward him.

  Samek barreled into one of them and the two engaged in a furious exchange of sword strikes. The second orc continued toward Halsten.

  Wrestling with the other orc had shaken Halsten loose from his fog. He no longer thought about the dream that had come to him, nor about what his father had said. His body shivered once as the warrior within him rose to full life. His senses sharpened, allowing him to see the scores of brothers he had in the field with him. A fire rose in his heart, giving him a new strength that ran down his arm and into his weapon. He was going into a state of mind that brought his skills to their peak, and caused his foes to cower in fear. The Varvarr Bloodlust was upon him.

  Halsten took in a breath and felt the cool air flow through his nose and down into his lungs, bringing along with it the earthy scent of the grass and the slightly metallic odor of fresh blood. He turned and walked toward the orc running at him. He deftly moved to the side, avoiding a spear thrust toward his chest. He grabbed the spear in his left hand and yanked it hard, pulling the orc off balance. Next he drove his axe into the orc’s chest. Small links of chain shattered and splintered as the axe blade tore through the chainmail and then disappeared into the orc’s chest.

  Halsten then kicked the orc to the ground, ripping his axe and the spear free from the orc. He continued on, flipping the spear around in his left hand with a casual twirl while simultaneously slashing across the chest of another orc with his axe. Again the axe tore through the chainmail and ripped open the orc’s flesh. Bones cracked and broke apart and then the orc fell to the ground.

  The Varvarr prince stalked up to the orc who was still locking swords with Samek, and thrust the spear into the orc’s back, lifting the creature off the ground two feet before flinging the squirming body to the side and off of the spear.

  Halsten didn’t return the nod of thanks that Samek offered him. He had already found the battlefield prize he was after.

  A large, bald headed orc with metal plate armor was standing near the back of the field, shouting commands and offering signals to his warriors. The Varvarr prince broke into a slight jog. He pushed through an ongoing duel and then thrust his spear into a short orc that had his back to him. The spear shaft snapped, leaving only a five-foot long pole with a sharp bit of wood where the spear head used to be, but that didn’t stop Halsten.

  The next sword-wielding orc that came running at him was jabbed in the face with the sharp bit of wood. It wasn’t a lethal blow, but it did gouge the orc’s forehead on the first shot, and it put out an eye on the second. Halsten then raised the shaft like a club and brought it down on the orc’s head. The wood splintered apart, leaving only two feet of wood in Halsten’s left hand. The orc fell to his knees, eyes glazed over and shoulders slack. Halsten drove the remaining bit of wood through the orc’s neck and then released his grip on the spear shaft.

  An orc near the leader saw all of this and raised a bow at Halsten. Halsten threw his axe and the weapon buried itself deep into the orc archer’s skull before it ever pulled back on the bowstring.

  Weaponless, but still in his Varvarr Bloodlust, Halsten continued marching toward the leader of the orcs. Around him the cries of battle funneled into his ears, extending the life of his fury as his adrenaline spiked and his heart continued to thump hard in his chest.

  To his right, an orc ran at him with a sword drawn and ready to strike. He turned at the last second, ducked under the swing of the blade, and came up with lightning-fast hands that gripped the orc’s wrists and turned them over. The bones popped and snapped as the great sword fell to the ground. Halsten pulled forward on the joints, dragging the orc off-balance. He lunged up with a powerful knee to the orc’s nose and the c
reature cried out as blood shot out to the side and its head snapped backward. Halsten then let go of the orc’s wrists and stepped behind it. He kicked the back of the orc’s knees and brought it to the ground. A second later he hooked his left hand around the front of the orc’s neck and grabbed its throat. He took a fist full of hair in his right hand and pulled the orc’s head back.

  Halsten’s eyes locked with the orc commander’s, and then he crushed the orc’s windpipe with his left hand and pushed the body to the ground.

  The Varvarr prince reached down for the great sword and resumed his march toward the commander. Another three orcs would try to intercept him, but now armed with a mighty great sword, Halsten put each of them down quite quickly, two missing limbs, and one entirely cleaved in twain with a chop that ran all the way down the orc’s spine.

  As Halsten had expected, the orc commander showed no sign of fear in his gray eyes. If anything, he seemed to be smiling as he pulled his curved sword free and prepared to fight.

  “Gyere, harcos, menjunk tancolni,” the orc commander said.

  Halsten did not bother wasting his breath with a response. He held his sword out to the side, and then he rushed in with a mighty war cry that sounded quite a lot like a wolf’s howl, for he was supplicating Akuhn, the Wolf Goddess.

  The two collided in a shower of sparks as their swords struck against each other. Halsten lunged out and kicked the orc commander, but the large orc only laughed as the plate mail absorbed the blow. The orc came in hard and fast with a series of strikes that were admirably deft and agile given the orc’s size and the fact that he was in plate mail, but Halsten was the nimbler of the two, and had the added advantage of not being weighed down by heavy armor.

  Of course, this came with a price of its own, as a red line of blood was drawn across Halsten’s abdomen by the tip of the orc’s sword. Luckily it wasn’t deep, for Halsten had dodged, but it still stung something terrible, as shallow slices often do. The Varvarr prince came in with a heavy chop on the orc’s left shoulder. The sword failed to cut through the plate mail, but the metal was dented so much that the orc winced and was knocked aside. Halsten seized the advantage and came down at the orc’s neck. The orc moved to the side, but took the brunt of the blow in the left collarbone area. Again the metal dented in, but this time there was a distinct crack! Bone had been broken underneath the armor, Halsten knew.