by Justin Wayne
***
The orcs were still gathered about Cleave Rend, but not in a defensive stance. Their posture indicated they were discussing something and had yet to come to an agreement.
“Ten gold each!” another called.
“No, twelve!”
“Why we want twelve?”
“It’s more than ten!”
“No it aint!”
The skull watched them impassively, biding his time before he could break their will fully and commit them to his cause. He knew the orcs would follow him regardless of wanting pay and that he could force them to do so at any given moment. So profound was his confidence that he still stood unarmed.
But he wanted to be careful about it this time. To manipulate them so extensively they believe they actually want to go with him and desire victory in the name of Cleave Rend. So his aura slowly spread, a scentless gas like that of oil with a blackness that shone green, blending with the smoke of the dying fires perfectly.
Soon it would poison their minds and taint their hearts until they became absent of opinion and free will. Their thoughts would be his for the twisting until they had no choice other than to agree, but would believe that it was their choice. Just a few more minutes.
Everything was going according to plan.
Suddenly a battle cry tore him from his concentration and the mist dissipated. He turned abruptly and watched in stricken amazement as a score of Warriors charged into the field with weapons high and shouts to their gods.
While his hesitancy only lasted a second and he was on the move, the orcs were bewildered by the shocking turn of events this night and stood around dumbly looking to one another for an answer when the giant men collided into them.
A warhammer thudded off an orc chest; caving in its ribcage, and another hit an orc across the temple dazing it long enough for a killing blow to the head. In a frenzy, the wild men roared and struck out again and again.
But those two kills were more than enough to snap the orcs back to their senses. In the ensuing commotion, a shadow passed the fight and vanished into the darkness toward the mountains.
They hollered back and met them with equal ferocity, giving in to the primal urges both groups thrived on, hacking away at each other. The orcs had come with greater numbers but after the losses stood at thirteen strong to face the northmen of twenty. But Cleave Rend didn’t take too kindly to being interrupted.
A young Warrior charged him with a great claymore over six feet long, its blade a sterling mirrored polish and the handle shaped from a great cat’s fang. The blade came in low with a great whoosh that forced the demon back a step, then came around the Warrior’s body to circle back and down at an angle. The blow caught Cleave Rend cleanly on the shoulder and split the warped armor he wore until the blade dug deeply and bit into his sternum.
But the skull merely laughed and gripped the sword, pulling his enemy in closer, then backhanded him so hard he flew away a dozen feet. It yanked the sword free and eyed it critically.
“This is a fine blade, boy,” it graveled. “I think I shall keep it.”
Dradewen stood and wiped the blood from his lip. “I think not!” he challenged. “The sword of my grandfather will not be found in the hand of a vile orc or whatever spawn you are!” He took up a pair of clubs from the dead and spun them about experimentally.
Cleave Rend nodded his approval. “I like this one. You are a brave one, boy. Foolish. But brave.” He whipped the great claymore about. “Come taste the steel of your blade!”
They met with a great slam as the blade came in a cross-sweep that was knocked away with a club, then a spinning Dradewen came about with the other club and slammed it against the demon’s back. Cleave Rend stumbled forward and marveled at the combination of strength and cunning in the young Warrior.
But it quickly fell to naught for he deemed this one unworthy and backpedalled with a series of wide swings that drew the young warrior into a defensive posture. Then he came high and dropped it low in a vertical chop that passed right through one of the clubs without resistance. Dradewen responded with a jab of the other that brought Cleave Rend’s sword high, then hurled the shortened one which had been cut at an angle into its stomach where it impaled the demon.
The impact jarred Cleave Rend but he hardly noticed it, so great was his fury. All of his plans were coming to fruition. The meddling fool Ulgvhen had been struck down by his hand and garnered him the terror that surpassed fear; giving him the utmost respect of the tribal orcs. Even the bounty hunter had been within his reach. But he had wanted to make an example of him as he had ended up doing to Ulgvhen when the oaf had tried to kill his target.
And now the coward was surely gone and his own followers soon to be destroyed!
The anger welled up within him and he threw the sword at the young Warrior. It whistled at him with such tremendous force he was thrown clear off his feet and through the tallest fire that Cleave Rend had turned him toward until it was behind him.
Dunawar saw his son fall and roared as he had never before. He cometted into the demon and slammed his hammer into Cleave Rend’s side until the monster hung over it, folded over on itself to the left. But in his blood rage Dunawar didn’t notice the toll had exerted Cleave Rend’s energies and left him temporarily dead as he repaired himself.
He lifted the broken body over his head, still upon the end of his warhammer, and spun on his heel repeatedly then released. The hammer, body leading, soared through the field to slam into the boulder Outsider had hidden behind prior. The body caved in, crushed, and hung from the boulder where it was impaled.
The fighting around Dunawar soon cleared as the Warriors, empowered by seeing their chief’s immense display of power, and the orcs dismayed by the fall of theirs. The few beasts still breathing and capable of standing fled into the hills, several catching a spear in the back as they went.
The leader of the Warriors stood resolutely, unaware of the toll the battle had had on him and his men, and prayed to Valhus and Snowhelm. He closed his eyes and called out for them to spare his son and trade him places; life for life.
He didn’t see or hear the large figure approach from behind, weapon drawn.
