In the morning he awoke and took care of his morning ablutions. He finished the rest of the stone spider meat and decided to make his way north. Peacehatchet had gotten a gentle nudge when he considered going that direction; while the other cardinal points didn’t set off alarms, none of them had been blessed by a shove from the orb either.
Peacehatchet had walked the better part of the day and finally left the orks’ territory by mid-afternoon. He found a stream and filled his stomach with cool water. He would hunt in a bit, just needing some small game to hold him until he went out on the morrow seeking real food.
The ork sat by the stream enjoying the serenity of it. He had never been out on his own, never had a time when someone wasn’t telling him what to do. Now he was free to go and do whatever he liked and the idea appealed to him. The barracks had been cramped. He came from the plains and longed for wide-open spaces. He had lived in the cavern because he’d been told to do so. Now he could live wherever he wanted, so long as the orb told him it was a good place to be, he amended.
Lost in his ruminations, he barely heard the cracking of twigs and the moving of brush until it was too late. Peacehatchet hid behind a nearby tree, cursing himself for not asking his orb about the area. He needed to form a habit where he made inquiries about everything. It would take getting used to, but it was better than being killed in a surprise attack.
A line of six small beings, ranging from three to four feet in height came into his sight. They were green, sporting overly large heads that had long noses and oversized ears. He recognized them. Individually they were weak, but in packs, they would surround and overwhelm individuals foolish enough to try to fight them alone.
Peacehatchet looked his area over. He’d left his spear by the stream. He had his daggers, his axe, and a sword. He made to draw the sword, and what felt like a hand restrained him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t really care—the orb knew and that was good enough for him. Instead, he reached for his daggers and slipped them from their sheaths. They were made of humble materials, but both could cut an enemy gullet to groin without slowing.
He had intended to stab the first of the goblins—that was the word the orb had forced into his head when he thought about them—but his Hand told him no. He considered throwing the weapons and received an affirmation. He planned to step out from behind the tree, throw his daggers and then go for his spear. Receiving no negative pressure, he followed his plan. The first dagger was thrown at the lead goblin. It took him in the throat and he fell to the ground before he realized he was dead. As the leader dropped, the other blade sailed true and hit the fellow behind him. The second goblin hit the earth with barely a breath leaving his body.
Peacehatchet did not take time to revel in his new strength; he dove from behind his tree and snatched the spear from the ground, coming up in a roll, weapon at the ready. The third goblin looked perplexed, having heard nothing but seen his comrades simply fall over lifelessly. It caused him to pause and in that second’s hesitation, Peacehatchet’s spear burrowed into his chest and erupted from his spine, stopping only after a foot and a half of the shaft had made its way through the body.
The remaining goblins reacted far differently than their dead brethren. They drew their weapons and scattered off the trail. One had readied a bow, and an arrow slipped by Peacehatchet’s face by merely the width of an inch. He pulled the sword from its scabbard unhindered by the Hand this time and charged the green man. The goblin was already nocking another arrow but Peacehatchet’s newfound strength gave him unbelievable speed and he was on the humanoid before it could fire another volley. His sword cut the goblin’s head in twain before becoming lodged in its jaw. The ork gave a great tug, but could not free his weapon before a second goblin leapt onto his back and began stabbing him with a crude stone knife.
Peacehatchet released the sword and let the goblin drop. The goblin on his back wasn’t doing much damage as its knife did little more than leave shallow cuts, but they stung! The ork warrior spun around so that his back was to the tree he’d been hiding behind. He then kicked backward as hard as he could, driving the goblin into the tree with a loud splat. Its body went limp, no surprise as Peacehatchet had heard its spine crunch on impact with the tree.
The last goblin appeared, watched as the one on Peacehatchet’s back fell bonelessly to the ground, and yelled, “Kłótnia!”
Peacehatchet didn’t know if that was a threat, the other goblin’s name, or a curse word and he didn’t really care. His axe found his hand without really looking for it and, before he knew it, the last of the goblinoid’s head was rolling down the trail.
The ork made his way back to the stream. He drank more water and then washed his back. His flesh was a criss-cross of slight slashes and curving cuts that had not managed to get all the way through his thick hide. None were deep, but were enough to be annoying. Next, he recovered his weapons, saddened to see one dagger’s blade had broken. It had been an excellent weapon and he mourned its loss. Finally, he grabbed the goblin that he’d first killed and began to field dress it. An ork had to eat after all.
***
Hours later, Peacehatchet had a full belly and had scavenged a canteen from the goblins that he’d filled in the stream. He figured that they had been coming there to get some water and wondered if more were going to come, but his Guiding Hand told him he was safe for the night. The lone warrior had no clue where he was going but decided he would get there fast enough. He would continue his way north in the morning and see what surprises were in store for him.
Part of him wondered if his Guiding Hand could ever be wrong, and after pondering it a bit, he decided it likely could. He wondered if it would wake him if he was in danger.
Peacehatchet knew that he couldn’t continue to wander Ludus. He needed a plan. No, he needed an objective, a goal. He was not made to build some little hut on the prairie, nor was he meant to stroll the land and sightsee. He asked himself, what did he want? What did he truly want?
He wanted revenge. He wanted to make the person responsible for the deaths of his people pay. They had to pay in blood and bone, no other currency would do. Once more his mind drifted to the invaders and how easily they’d slaughtered the Plains People in the caverns. He hated them and wanted to kill them, but as soon as that thought bloomed in his head he felt a crushing weight on his heart.
The orb was unequivocally telling him to stay away from them, which meant in the larger picture they were either too much for him to handle, or that they had not been responsible for the deaths they had caused any more than a sword held responsibility for the blood it drew. Either way, he got the message. If he was right, this meant that he had to figure out who was responsible, and how to make them pay. Regardless of what his orb said, someone had a debt to pay and he would give his life even if he knew he would fail just to satisfy his need for blood, the Hand be damned. Either it helped him or it could accept that he would not settle for less than revenge.
He asked the orb about his sleeping arrangements and once he was satisfied he drifted off into sleep. For the second time in his life, he slept soundly, secure in the knowledge that nothing would come to kill him in the night.
In the morning when Peacehatchet rose, he made sure his fire was properly extinguished, and he began his trek north once more. He maintained a steady if leisurely pace. Periodically he talked to the Hand and found the best and safest routes for him to follow. He was just letting the unseen hand guide his way.
Then, inspiration struck him.
“Orb,” Peacehatchet drooled around his tusks as he thought about his question. “Point me in the direction of the person or thing that can tell me who it is that holds responsibility for the massacre of my people.”
Oddly, he received a firm nudge in the direction he was already headed. Shrugging, he resumed walking. His pace had, unconsciously, doubled and he covered ground—without a hint of getting winded—faster than he ever had before. Truly, his stamina had improved great
ly. Being orb-Bonded was an incredible thing, and knowing his own power, it was not a wonder that the invaders that came in the night had slaughtered his people so easily. They had stood as children against giants. The ork could not wait to increase his abilities further.
The day passed uneventfully. Peacehatchet kept a steady pace while dreaming of glories that lay in his future. As the sunlight faded he snacked on leftover meat from the green humanoids and sipped from his canteen. Then since he was not tired and had barely broken a sweat, he decided to keep going until he would no longer be able to see. That time came three hours after sunfall.
He had chanced upon a clearing and decided that the soft grass would suit his back better than tree roots and rocks. Peacehatchet pulled some cloth he had taken from the green people and improvised a torch so that he could gather enough firewood for a small fire. The ork was about to return to the woods when he saw the body, a body he recognized.
He froze. It was one of his people, a survivor of the slaughter of Yanbei. His ears could hear ragged breathing, and see the ork’s chest forcibly rise and then collapse as if it were under a heavy stone. He had found a survivor only to arrive moments before his death! He cursed the gods for his lazy demeanor. Had he not been so casual the day before he might have been in time to help his fellow ork or even divert him from the danger altogether. Now more tragedy had befallen his people. This ork’s death would be on his head.
Peacehatchet leaned down and gazed into the face of Swiftarm, a strong fighter that had seen many foes fall before him. The ork’s body was broken and bruised. His eyes were so swollen that Peacehatchet barely recognized him at first glance. Something had broken every bone in his brother’s body, something large enough that it looked like it had been achieved in a single, most likely glancing blow. He could now see large trees that had been pushed aside and snapped like saplings from a west to east direction. He would have noticed it instantly in the daylight, but tonight there was no moon and all that stretched out before him was an impenetrable wall of darkness. Peacehatchet forced the torch into the ground by the dying ork’s head. Swiftarm struggled to see who was there.
“Smartstrong?” His voice was weak and strained to catch the air. Flecks of blood burst from his mouth and foam from his lungs built up at the edge of his lips. Peacehatchet could tell that he wanted to raise his head, to turn and see the one who was there for him but pain and broken bones made that impossible.
“No,” the orb-Bonded replied. “It is Peacehatchet, your brother in arms, come to see you back to the plains.”
“The plains that burn like fire in the sunlight?”
“Yes,” Peacehatchet replied softly.
Swiftarm smiled. “Smartstrong, Helpssturdy, Truthwatching, Burningblood, Razorback, Threetusks, and Bloodruns escaped the giant on four legs that crashes through trees. Bloodruns and I found the others after the Delvars had gone. Smartstrong said it was a sign. I think he’s been enlightened by Tartooth.” He choked and took several minutes getting his breath back. “They had been stunned in the explosion but survived. We thought we’d found everyone. I’m sorry we left you behind. I didn’t see it, and I do not think it even noticed us at all. We were simply in the beast’s way.”
“Why didn’t you go back and perform the rituals for our dead?”
“Smartstrong already did,” said Swiftarm. “By the time I met with him, he had done his duty, helped by Helpssturdy and Truthwatching.”
Suddenly, Swiftarm disgorged what looked to be a large blood clot that rolled down his cheek and hit the ground. “Attacked...we were,” he gasped, “attacked but we chased them off. Must’ve been forty little green men. After that we were outside of our territory, and Smartstrong has a holy mission to complete.”
“Holy mission?”
Swiftarm gave a slight nod and winced from the agony even that slight movement caused him. “Yes. He said Dolos is a liar, that he tricked us. The emissary only brought us here to guard his treasures. He is not a vassal of Tartooth. Had he not lied and kidnapped us we would still be home with our women and children. We would be hunting muskallo across the plains, riding sharpa, using ancestral weapons to bring death to our enemies, and starships to find them. We would have all died in the sight of Tartooth.”
“You are in Tartooth’s gaze even now, my brother.” The words passed from Peacehatchet’s lips before he knew what he was doing. He laid a comforting hand on the side of Swiftarm’s face.
“No,” the dying ork said, shaking his head from side to side in spite of the pain. “No. Tartooth is blind here. If he could see this place he would have taken us home, not let Dolos use us like playthings.” He stopped and took huge gulps of air and practically shouted, “Smartstrong believes the Delvars, the ones that crushed us in our home, are the true gods of this place and he seeks to spread the word. The Delvars will defeat Dolos and we will be avenged!” The effort of making this declaration proved too much for the ork and he expired as he gave a gurgling blood-filled death rattle.
Peacehatchet threw back his head and roared. After mourning, he observed the death ritual for Swiftarm as a brother should. He roared again, letting Tartooth know that a warrior was coming, a great warrior, and that their god should prepare a place at his table for him! He roared until he went hoarse, and then he hissed sobs into the night sky as he wept for his family. Rivulets of tears fell as he finally patted his chest, accepting the loss of his friend.
He spent the rest of the night on his knees beside his brother, staying long after the torchlight faded and did not ask anything of the Hand. Sunbreak found him focused and furious. He had spent the night contemplating what Swiftarm had said and come to one conclusion: Dolos had to die. He was the one responsible for everything.
The Delvars might have destroyed his people, but it was in defiance of Dolos. He understood Smartstrong’s logic now. If the Delvars were not smiled on by Tartooth, the Plains People would never have been beaten. This was a sight from Tartooth!
Now Peacehatchet craved blood, the blood of the one responsible, and he did not care if it came from a man or god. He would have his revenge. He might even try to work with the Delvars if he encountered them again. He didn’t have to like the killers, emissaries of death, but his Hand had told him quite clearly to pick no quarrel.
He turned his thoughts inwards. It was time to ask his orb a question whose answer that he doubted he was going to like. If it had reacted so powerfully before, opposing his desire to kill the Delvars, as Swiftarm had called them, he was certain its response to his new desire was going to be very painful.
“Lead me to the best thing that will help me kill Dolos,” he said through gritted teeth.
Surprisingly, he felt a slight prod in his back and a tug on his left shoulder in the direction the monster had come from. That was not what he had expected at all. The orb’s reluctance was somehow being communicated, but its acquiescence meant that what he wanted to do was possible. He had no guarantee that he would be able to succeed, but he swore that he would die trying.
The old ways lived on, and it was time to make a declaration, a Plains People promise!
“My name is Peacehatchet. I am a warrior of the plains, orb-Bonded, and blooded by the Delvars. I swear on my blood that my brothers will be avenged, or my life will be forfeit!” He dragged his axe across his chest and let his blood spill down his belly. He raised the weapon and with a snarl screamed, “Tartooth! I so swear, hold my soul to this standard so that if I fail in my promise, you will send me to the nine hells for all eternity!”
He was sure he heard the clear sky rumble, and Peacehatchet knew his oath had been heard. Tartooth’s gaze did reach Ludus.
There was no turning back. Peacehatchet was on a holy mission. Now finding Smartstrong or other Plains People to help, and a weapon that could kill a god, were his goals. Fate would decide which came first.
A Guiding Hand, Note
From the Author, Raymond Johnson:
Ray grew up on a steady stre
am of horror, sci-fi, and fantasy as a kid, but could never manage to beat his brothers on their home video game systems. Upon discovering LitRPG he decided to craft stories and worlds in which his snotty brothers could no longer defeat him. He is married, has five children, and works as a funeral director in southeastern Ohio. He also hosts the Litrpg Audiobook Podcast, sharing his love of audiobooks and Litrpg with the world.
You can connect with the author on his Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/RaymondDaleJohnsonAuthor/
End of Delvers LLC: Surviving Ludus,
—A Collection presented by Blaise Corvin
Some of the characters in these short stories will be returning, even as early as in the new book of Delvers LLC, Golden Handcuffs!
Please read on for a note by Blaise Corvin, including multiple ways to connect on social media.
…And don’t forget to review this collection! *please with a cherry on top*
(even, “This was a fun book. I am glad that I read it. You should try it too.” is perfectly fine ^ ^)
Mo’Hali Heroes
Dolos orb-Bonded
Duanna orb-Bonded
Mages
School--::--Subschool:
Earth-:-Metal
Air-:-Void
Water-:-Life
Fire-:-Matter
Consciousness-:-Time
Light-:-Darkness
Force-:-Attraction
About the Editor:
Blaise Corvin served in the US Army in several roles. He has seen the best and the worst that humanity has to offer. A sucker for any hobby involving weapons, art, or improv, he’s a fairly hard core geek.
He currently lives in Texas with enough geeky memorabilia to start a museum.
Being a professional author, he must sometimes talk about himself in third person within author biographies.
Delvers LLC- Surviving Ludus Page 45
