by Levi Samuel
“What do you think you’re doing?” Gareth shouted across the table, dropping his own hand so all could see.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play me a fool. I saw you slide that card into your sleeve.” Gareth grabbed the young rogue’s wrist and twisted, exposing the hidden cards.
“Huh? I wonder how that got there.” Demetrix smiled, unable to steel his face.
“I don’t contend with cheaters.” Gareth released his grip, bringing his other hand around in a fist.
Demetrix anticipated the hit. Throwing his weight into it he fell atop the table and rolled, grabbing the edge to topple it with him. Cards exploded into the air flying all directions. The room hushed, watching the spectacle before them.
Gareth stormed toward the prone archer, ready for reimbursement. Demetrix kicked out, hooking Gareth's leg. He pulled, watching the one-eyed warrior buckle beside him.
Gareth let his legs fold. Falling quicker than he intended, he reached out, grabbing one of the empty chairs. Shoving with all his strength it crashed into another table, toppling it.
The men jumped, enraged by their ruined game. In the excitement one spilled his mug on another. That one, in turn, hit him. Moments later the tavern was in full brawl.
Gareth felt someone grab his cloak, pulling him into the air. Unable to get his feet beneath him he crashed back down, hearing a large mass fall beside him.
Demetrix saw one of the large men grab hold of Gareth. Throwing his weight he kicked out, catching the man's legs. His knees buckled and the man fell, dropping Gareth. Angry patrons filled the room, breaking chairs, throwing tables, and using anything they could find to cause pain to the others.
Krenin stood, swinging his half-full tankard into the face of one of the larger men. The wooden mug collapsed against him, sloshing the bronze liquid across his tunic. The man landed hard on the floor showered in bits of wood and stale ale.
Demetrix whipped his legs around transferring his weight and landing on his feet. Grabbing hold of Gareth he pulled him to his feet just in time to dodge a swing from one of the enraged brawlers. “I think it’s time we get out of here. Things are beginning to get out of control.”
“Agreed!” Gareth glanced around the room finding the half-orc near the door. He stood out, like a beast among sheep. The patrons gave him a wide girth, uncertain if they wanted to engage anything that resembled one of the orcs. “Krenin, time to go!”
The half-orc walked toward them, unmolested. They made their way through the barroom toward the kitchen. Rushing down the narrow hall, they turned into the storeroom. Gareth shoved a shelf to the side, revealing a wooden hatch in the floor. Demetrix grabbed the hole in the wood and pulled it open. Quickly jumping down, he rolled to the side and waited for the others.
Gareth heard a loud crash. He spun around, seeing two of the large orcs slam one of the tables into the wall. One of the humans fell to the floor, his head crushed. There was no question the man was dead. “We’ve got orcs.” Hurriedly, he jumped into the crawl space.
Krenin stepped toward the hole. Sizing it, he wasn't sure he'd fit. It was almost as wide as his shoulders. If anything it'd be extremely tight. He readied to jump hoping it wouldn't hurt too badly. He still hadn't fully healed from his time in the cell. Something grabbed his arm pulling him the other direction. Muscling through he tried to continue, but it was no use. Whatever had him was stronger than he. Stealing a glance, a startling image stared back at him. It was clearly an orc, though its skin was the color of charcoal and hundreds of scars marred every visible patch of flesh. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn the eyes flashed red for the briefest moment although they were clearly a dark brown now. Before he could move, a head-sized fist rocketed toward him, knocking his vision into blackness.
“It was all for a gods damned test?” Gareth fumed, clenching his fist in anger. He could feel the air around him tense.
Demetrix sat atop a wooden crate digging the tip of his dagger into the grain. “I wonder what they’ll do with him?”
Ravion peeked out the doorway of the abandoned shack, watching the last of the orcs leave the tavern. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’ll be good. We need to get him out of here, but first we have to find this rod. We can’t risk breaking him out before we go in. It'd draw too much unwanted attention.”
“So we're just gonna let him rot?” Gareth slammed his fist into one of the thick, wooden supports. It cracked under the blow. He inspected the wood, surprised he’d hit it that hard.
“We have a few choices. We can put it to a vote. We can let him sit for the night while we go after this rod and hopefully get the direction we need. It's a typical heist scenario, which will more than likely end with some heat. That means added security when we go after Krenin. Or we can try to go after him now, which might be expected since they know he wasn't alone. If we take that route it's guaranteed we won't be able to get the rod for quite some time or at least until they've forgotten about us. Either way we're against the hourglass. I personally vote we get the rod first and then Krenin. It's a simple retrieve, extract, and escape plan. Which seems easier than having to wait gods know how long until they stop looking.”
Demetrix wiped the tip of his dagger and sheathed it. Taking a deep breath, he spoke. “I don’t like leaving him in there any more than you guys, but I agree with Ravion. We can’t risk breaking him out before we have everything this town has to offer. If we do so prematurely we might as well kiss our chance home goodbye.”
Gareth glared from one to the other unhappy with their decision, though he understood their reasoning. “Fine, but we are going to get him out. He's in there because I jumped prematurely. If I'd waited a little longer we could have fought our way out and he wouldn’t have gotten pinched.”
“You can’t blame yourself. We had a plan. It worked as best it could under the circumstances. Had it been you or I that got caught they might have killed us outright. At least with him being what he is, it buys us some time.” Demetrix had his own regrets, but they wouldn't serve his purpose. Moving forward, he jumped from the crate and approached the door.
Ravion glanced out of the hole in the roof staring up into the ever-cloudy sky. “Night’s about to fall. We need to move soon.”
Krenin awoke feeling a sharp pain in his wrists. He struggled, but couldn’t move. Opening his eyes he looked around, seeing several of the larger orcs standing over him. He was splayed out on his back, his arms stretched and bound to a thick plank under him.
The orcs grabbed the plank and lifted him upright. His weight shifted, putting all of it on his arms. He felt his shoulders separate, threatening to pull out of their sockets. His wounds tore open from the tightened skin. Blood began trickling down his back. The increasing pressure of the jagged iron barbs dug into his wrist, cutting flesh. The orcs slid the beam into place, sinking the peg of the vertical post into a hole near his skull. They let go, letting the crucifix teeter slightly where it crossed.
Krenin felt his strength waning. He hadn’t been hanging for long but already it felt like an eternity. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, not that it could be seen through the constant rolling clouds. It was the approaching tide of darkness that heralded its coming. The flare of torch fire caught his attention. The orange glow was somewhere behind him, out of sight. Krenin struggled to see, but it was beyond his reach. A figure approached, clinging to the shadow. One of the orcs held the torch standing in silence, like a dog obeying its master. The orange glow reflected on the razor edge of polished iron extending from the man's hand.
“This warvich was found in your possession. Where’d you acquire it?”
Krenin squinted in the growing night trying to get a better view of the man and weapon. Catching it at just the right angle he recognized the jagged sword Gareth had given him. He opened his mouth, finding his lungs heavy. Clearing his throat he forced the words. “Found it on the ground.” He couldn’t see the man's fa
ce, but he could tell he was smiling.
“Now is that anyway to begin a new relationship? What if I told you I know where this blade came from, and it really doesn’t matter how it came to your possession. I just wanted to see if you’d tell the truth.” He paused for nearly a minute before selecting his next words. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can defeat five of my finest warriors, I’ll allow you to keep this sword.”
Krenin felt the desire swell inside him. But at what cost? Even if he had the blade there was no chance he was going to be allowed to return to his brothers. And in his weakened state, was it possible he could face five of these monstrous orcs and survive? He spat what saliva he could muster at the man, knowing he was out of range. It didn't matter, the insult was enough. “Give me that blade and I stick it up your ass!”
“That’s what I like to hear. That inner fire that burns so bright in one yet to be broken. It’ll make you loyal once your will is mine.” The man tossed the warvich into the dirt. “Bring him down. I want to see how bright that fire actually burns.”
The unnatural darkness filtered into the courtyard obscuring all movement outside the glow of wall mounted torches. Demetrix snuck behind the unsuspecting man. Reaching out he tapped the guard on the shoulder. When the man spun, Demetrix punched him in the larynx, silencing his screams. Quick as he could he tackled the man, wrapping him up. Arms locked around the guard's throat he squeezed, feeling him go limp. Demetrix picked himself up and drug the man into one of the shadowed corners, laying him to rest as quietly as possible.
“Took you long enough.” Ravion smiled from across the walkway, gesturing to the unconscious guard behind him.
“It’s been awhile, cut me some slack.” The younger dalari turned and gestured from beneath one of the mounted torches.
Gareth walked toward them. “I don’t understand why we can’t just kill ‘em. It’d be twice as quick and less likely to bite us in the ass.”
Ravion sighed “We’ve gone over this. We don’t know which side this magistrate falls on. If we kill her guards that’s another enemy we don’t need to make. I’d rather face the wrath of a pissed off politician over a stolen item than have them come after me with thoughts of vengeance for lost men.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You’ve met just as many men of power as I have. Rarely have any of them given two shits about those under their employ. Typically they’re just as likely to kill them themselves for failing to protect their interest.”
“Now’s not the time for this conversation.” Demetrix charged. Dropping to his knees he slid across the polished, slate floor. He pulled his bow, tripping two guards rounding the corner. Standing up he hooked the strung bow around one’s head, using it to slam him into the other.
Ravion rushed forward. Tackling the remaining guard, he choked him out.
Gareth watched helplessly, seeing a third guard round the corner. The man's sword was raised and ready to pierce Demetrix’s back. “Look out!” Instinctively his hand shot out, as if he were going to physically stop the attack. He felt the man's throat in his grip. Squeezing, the pulsing body squirmed against him. Gareth watched him go limp. Shaken, he released watching the unconscious body collapse to the floor.
Ravion and Demetrix stared in wonder at their friend.
“Um? What was that?” Ravion asked, his puzzled expression asking the same question multiple ways.
“I don’t know. Things like that have been happening since I lost my eye.”
Ravion stared intently at his friend, amazed by what he'd just done. “I assume this is what Senaria was talking about? Whatever it is, it’s not magic. I’ve seen my fair share. You need to learn to focus it. Can you imagine what you could accomplish if you knew what you were doing?”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
Demetrix stood. “I agree. You need to learn to control it, but now is not the time. We need to keep moving. The next patrol won’t pass for another twenty-two minutes.”
Chapter XVI
The Heist
Krenin hit the ground, his legs buckling from the impact. Approaching footsteps demanded his attention. Glancing, he caught the keen edge of his sword in the glow of torchlight.
One of the orcs carried the blade, tossing it in the dirt before him.
Krenin lunged, wrapping his fingers around the appropriate sized grip. He spun, letting the jagged blade cut into the unsuspecting orc. It didn’t make a sound, staining the dust in a pool of crimson blood. Krenin rolled his wrist, recalling the blade to his control. He stared his rebellion into the shadowed figure. “One!”
The man gestured, clearly amused.
Another orc approach, carrying a smaller version of the sword Krenin possessed, though this one had a shield strapped to its back.
Keeping the man in the corner of his eyes, Krenin unfocused his vision, allowing a wider span of sight. The last thing he needed was someone approaching from his blind spots.
The orc rushed and swung, flinging the shield into position mid-stride.
Krenin raised his sword knocking the smaller weapon away from him. He took a few steps back, careful to keep an eye behind him.
The orc continued forward, locking the shield against his arm. He hammered the smaller warvich against the wood ringing out a deep thud. A vicious smile formed between his thick tusks and he charged, slashing twice before thrusting the shield out to bash the smaller green orc.
Krenin knocked the swipes wide, but wasn’t ready for the shield attack. The reinforced wood crashed into him, knocking his arms into his body. He tried to recover, but the orc was already upon him.
The larger orc swung, putting all his strength into the single attack, hoping to cut the green orc down before he could recover. He heard steel ring out. Stealing a glance he was amazed to see the greater warvich locked against his own, halting the power attack. How did he do that? I'm stronger, bigger. Puny orc is disadvantaged! No way he strong enough to stop me!
Krenin strained against the blow, his legs threatening to break against the force. It was nearly more than he could handle. Pushing against the attack he readied to deflect the shield. Krenin stared into the brute's eyes noticing something he never expected. Surprise. He could use that to his advantage. Watching the orc’s shoulders he saw the first sign of movement, alerting him to the incoming attack. As anticipated the shield flew forward. Krenin held fast, absorbing the forceful blow. He had to keep the sword locked until he was ready. Seeing the orc over extend into the shield, he spun on knee and broke away from the smaller weapon. It cut helplessly into the dirt. Abandoning his weapon, Krenin locked his meaty hands around the crude, wooden shield and ripped it away from its master.
The orc wasn't prepared for that.
Twisting his upper half, Krenin slammed the wooden device into the orc's face. It splintered against the blow. Swinging again, the shield cracked completely, splitting into two layered chunks of wood and steel.
The orc stumbled back, unable to regain his senses. The smaller sword fell from his hand, landing in the dusty road.
Refusing to miss the opportunity, Krenin brought one of the shield halves up, jamming the jagged and broken corner into the orc's chin. The brute fell backwards, unable to rise.
Krenin straddled the defeated orc. Slamming the point of the broken shield, it pierced the orc’s throat, nearly severing its head. Krenin tossed the broken shield aside and secured the smaller sword. Inspecting the spiked handguard, he punched the dead orc shredding flesh. The excitement of the arena coursed through him. Pausing for the briefest moment he saw a reflection in the still eyes of his victim. Refusing to wait, he brought the smaller sword around jabbing the wide tip through the approaching orc's waist.
The orc cried out in pain, dropping to his knees.
Krenin ripped the rending sword free, amused by the disemboweled orc’s final moments. It was trying to lift its own warvich in a feeble attempt to stab him. Krenin released the smaller sword, locking his fingers around th
e dying orc's wrist. He squeezed as hard as he could, feeling the bones crack beneath his grip. Easily overpowering the failing strength Krenin twisted, feeling the bones give. A sickening pop echoed and the hand went limp, held only by skin and muscle. Still locked around the gruesome sword, Krenin forced the broken limb around, shoving the weapon into the orc's neck.
The orc fell backward bleeding out and suffocating. It was still before it hit the ground.
Picking himself up, the half-breed marched toward his sword and pulled it from the dirt. Facing the shadowed man once again he took a deep breath and straightened his spine in rebellion. “Three!”
Two orcs charged in, weapons drawn and ready to cut the green-skin down. One of them swung a pike toward his head.
Krenin dodged the weapon, knocking it away from him. Unprepared the other orc slam into him. Both he and his grappling counterpart crashed into the dirt. Krenin’s sword slipped from grip.
Refusing to give the green-skin chance for recovery, the orc punched.
The hardened leather gauntlet smashed into his face. It was all he could do to stay conscious. His neck pop from a second blow. Timing it out, Krenin waited for the next attack. Seeing it en route he bucked, throwing the unsuspecting orc overhead.
The orc face planted in the dirt. Picking himself up, he glared at the smaller, more agile orc.
Krenin rolled, narrowly avoiding the bladed tip of the pike. It plunged into the ground, burying the head. Using the opportunity to his advantage he tightened his stomach and rolled toward the imbedded weapon, throwing all his weight against the wooden shaft. The added force threatened to rip it from its wielder's hands. The wood flexed and snapped, showering the half-orc in sharp splinters.
