by Justin Wayne
Chapter Seventeen: Escalation
Striking out in a rage with abandon, the orcs dismissed any order and rushed in to rip apart the traitor. Their axes and spears led the way, seeking out a nice patch of flesh, in a myriad of primitive weaponry. Yet their lack of organization worked against them.
Cleave Rend, no amateur and having survived centuries through thousands of battles, was no ordinary enemy. His hands spun out furiously with a glint that seemed to flare with life and batted away the clumsy attacks, shattering several spear shafts and bending the head of a battleaxe. Amid the sparks came a second sweep before they could back away.
Cleave Rend howled in glee as blood splashed across his face and spilled down his front. Several orcs collapsed and the others retreated several paces. They eyed the extraordinary fighter before them warily and shared nervous glances.
Cleave Rend nodded his skull and spun a puddle of deep red on his palm. “Now you understand; fools you would be to stand against me on the field of battle and not behind me.” No reply came forth. “But I acknowledge your ignorance and stupidity for you cannot help it. The trait is bound to your orc blood. So I offer mercy.
“For a price.”
The orcs stirred and shifted uncomfortably. A long pervading silence ensued, only the crackling fires and moaning of wounded filling the chilled night air. The demon popped his neck by turning his skull sharply to the side then jumped forward before the dimwitted orcs knew he had moved.
He cleared the distance of ten feet easily and gripped a pair of them by the throat without slowing and tossed them into the largest fires. They landed in a plume of smoke and sent up a hundred sparks that soared into the black sky, soon followed by their screams as their flesh charred and they scrambled to get up.
But before they could escape from the white hot logs the demon had already gripped two spears from the ground and sent them through the flaming orcs; pinning them to the coals.
He smiled inwardly as their cries and agonizing screams reached a fever pitch.
As such, he didn’t notice Outsider slip away from the crowd and scour the corpse strewn field for his friends; praying all the while they wouldn’t be among them. He passed a large fire that had collapsed and spread through the grass. He found them huddled behind it.
Thom was on his knees, working furiously over Merlon. His hands fluttered over the dwarf’s torso, covered in blood. Outsider’s shadow passed over him and he looked up fearfully, his face strained and lined. The pain in his eyes was obvious immediately.
Outsider rushed to them and slid on his knees to their side. His eyes widened as he saw the spear protruding from Merlong’s stomach, slightly to the right. His shirt was soaked thoroughly and his face a pale gray. Outsider knew immediately the wound was a grievous one and he wouldn’t likely survive.
But the surly dwarf stubbornly held on; fully conscious and shouting a stream of profanity and curses.
“Damned orc coward musta’ been too scared of me and thrown it from afar. The son of a goblin loving, green skinned, foul smelling..” he rambled on completely oblivious that neither of them were listening.
Outsider inspected the wound more closely. “It’s passed through his liver and,” he rolled the dwarf over slowly and saw the spear head. “And exited through his back splitting some muscle.”
Thom shook his head, not understanding the implications. “What does that mean?”
The elf took a deep breath. “It means that unless we can fully stop the internal bleeding, he is going to die. However, if we can, the liver of a dwarf will heal itself and he’ll just have to slow down a bit.”
Thom smiled hopefully. “Do you think you can do it?”
Outsider noticed the eagerness in the hobbit’s voice and a pang of guilt struck him in the stomach.
“How ironic.” he mumbled so low Thom couldn’t hear. “Maybe. I’ve never done it before but I’ve seen it.” He gauged Thom’s reaction before he continued. “But first we have to remove the spear.”
The hobbit waned nearly as much as Merlon.
“I know, I know.” Outsider said gently and lowered Thom back down as he tried to stand. “Believe me; I fully understand the implications of doing this wrong. So much so that if I had my way I wouldn’t be the one to do it at all; I would much rather bring him to a friend of mine.”
“Who?” Thom’s voice rose in pitch. Outsider shook his head and waved the thought away. “Please, Outsider, it might make the difference!” he begged, voice pleading with such sincerity even the elf with his usual indifferent attitude couldn’t ignore it.
“He’s a cleric, a priest of sorts that I met in my adventuring. He might be able to heal him.” he explained. “But he lives several days away and I don’t think Merlon has the time. Especially not at the speed we’ll be going.”
He looked back to Merlon and added more pressure around the wound. “Regardless, this spear has to go.” He looked the hobbit hard in the eye with a steely gaze. “Thom, hold him down.”
Instantly the thief shook his head and cried out in protest. “I can’t, I can’t, no way its possible! I’m..this..listen—“
Outsider cut him short. “If you don’t, and he dies because of your ineptitude, I swear I will take you to Cain Sander in chains!” Thom seemed to shrink away from him, feeling even smaller than usual. “Now hold him down until I say stop.”
The elf placed one long-fingered hand upon the dwarf’s stomach and gripped the shaft just above the entry wound with the other. “It isn’t barbed, so it should pull right out. But that exit wound is going to begin bleeding freely immediately. As soon as it’s out, stuff this,” he motioned to a small bundle of cloth laid out beside his knee. “Inside it and hold the pressure until I can bandage it. Alright?”
The hobbit seemed dazed and his eyes unfocused. Outsider slapped his across the face and saw his attention flicker. “You understand?” he reiterated.
The hobbit merely nodded and leaned forward with his arms pressed onto Merlon’s torso. He squeezed shut his eyes and focused on breathing.
In and out.
Outsider gripped the spear firmly.
In and out.
Merlon screamed as the spear begin to slide free of him.
In and out in and out in and out.
Blood warmed his hands and spurted across his cheek.
In and out in and out in and out in and out in and out.
The spear came free with a sickening slurp and fell to the ground. Outsider promptly called for Thom to stuff the wound on either side, then wrapped the dwarf’s bulky frame all the way around like an oversized belt. The bandage was thick but soon began to bleed through. Outsider looked to his already ribboned cloak and tore off several long strips.
Atop the bandage they appeared to hold the hemorrhaging at bay.
Thom opened his eyes which had remained shut during the entire stuffing process, perhaps making it worse as he realized Merlon’s innards had felt similar to that of raw meat, and looked upon Merlon’s pale face.
The only color remaining was in his salt-n-pepper beard, and even that seemed more tinged with gray and silver than he remembered. The lines creasing his forehead were less visible now as he relaxed and his cheeks sullen. His eyes swam beneath his eyelids and he could see the dwarf’s pupils pressing against them as they looked about in his fever dream-like state.
Only then had his age truly seemed to have caught up with the stubborn dwarf who had battled elf, goblin, and orc for much of his life.
“Merlon?” Thom began but looked away as Outsider placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
“Let him rest. If he wakes, he runs more risk of going into shock upon realization of what’s transpired. If that happens his heartrate will increase dramatically and he’ll bleed faster.” The elf shook his head. “I can’t believe the dusty, old fool is still breathing. Only a dwarf could take so much and still hang on.”
“Probably still wants to pick a fight, I’d wager.” Thom added as he s
miled at the thought.
The elf couldn’t deny that. “True enough, but he won’t be fighting any time soon. This will hold only temporarily. He needs medical attention or chances are he’ll die of infection or blood loss.”
“What’re we going to do, eh?”
Outsider sighed and wiped his hands on his tattered cloak. “First, we need to get the hell out of here before these orcs find us again.” He gave a shrill whistle with his fingers between his lips and motioned for Thom to follow him away from the light. He tentatively lifted Merlon and noted how the dwarf showed no awareness of it.
From their campsite, Jiff came running, hidden in the darkness with them and came to a halt at his master’s side. He neighed appreciatively as his neck was rubbed to soothe his uneasiness of the flames nearby.
Outsider set Merlon upon Jiff’s saddle and walked beside it with Thom following. “I’m going to gather our things and take the other horse. Go up the pass for two hours. After that, stop at the first twisted tree; there’s a small inlet where you can hide.” He lifted Thom and sat him atop the gelding. “I’ll meet you there before morning.”
Before the hobbit could respond he gave Jiff a slight push and they went off at a leisurely canter as to ease Merlon’s jostling. Thom looked back in the darkness, his night vision hardly showing a sign of Outsider then losing him completely a blink later.
The bounty hunter ran through the darkness, not fearing he would be seen or heard and ignored the strange sight to his left.
