Only moments had passed since the battle started and neither Tamboor nor Petyr had been severely injured. However, the humans hadn’t taken much of a toll on the monsters either. So far, they had only killed two of them and those were just goblins. They were so busy defending attacks from several opponents at once, that it was hard to get an offensive strike in. The two humans made a great team, but both were tiring as they had been fighting all morning back at the village.
Ryebald, on the other hand, seemed to be tireless. His fighting style was much more straightforward, which was more effective in this case. The dwarf made great sweeps of his ax, aiming low to the ground, taking out legs and bellies of the creatures. So far, he had killed three and wounded several more. Unfortunately, this tactic left him open for attack. He had been struck several times, but each hit just seemed only to enrage him further.
As Fist reached the fight both Ryebald and Petyr saw him and cried out to Tamboor in warning.
“Don’t worry about the ogre! He’s a friend!” Tamboor shouted.
His words were confirmed a moment later, when Fist waded into the battle with his mace, sending dying goblinoids sprawling every which way. At this point, the momentum swung into the townsfolk’s favor and the goblinoids began to flee. Soon, there were only six left and they only remained because they were too afraid to run.
It looked as though the fight was over, but no one saw the small ball that rolled across the ground from the trees. When it reached the center of the fight, a strange buzzing noise filled the air. All of the combatants froze in place.
Chapter Fifteen
Fist’s mace was stopped an inch from a gorc’s head. His body had frozen in place. What had just happened? He strained and strained, but not a muscle would move. The only things moving were his lungs as he breathed and the sweat and blood dripping off of his body.
There was a rustling in the trees beside the road and a large group of orcs with spears stepped onto the road. They were followed by one very large ogre. The painted symbol on its forehead marked it as a member of the Rock People.
Fist would have swore if he had been able to move his mouth. It was Gerstag, the leader of the army attacking the town. The ogre had evidently taken advantage of his position in the army because he no longer carried the crude club Fist remembered from their fight. He now had a fine weapon, a huge trident as tall as he was, with three cruel, hooked prongs.
“My-my!” a voice called out. “Gerstag, are these the warriors that escaped you back at the village?” Out from behind the ogre, stepped a puny looking human with greasy hair and a sickly pallor to his skin. Gerstag responded to the question with a sullen grunt. The skinny human laughed and clapped his hands. The fingers writhed about bonelessly as if each finger was an individual snake.
“Well-well, so here they are then. I have caught them for you. Did I not tell you that no one would escape to bring news to the next town?” The greasy man looked around and saw something he didn’t like. He stopped in front of Fist and frowned.
“My, this is a big one. What is one of your ogres doing fighting my orcs?” The wizard placed a hand on the side of Fist’s frozen face and his fingers wriggled about, probing the ogre.
“I know this one.” Gerstag strode over and growled. “I know this one. He is Fist. He is outcast from the Thunder People. The son of the mean one, Crag.”
The wizard looked puzzled. “I am afraid I don’t recall this tribe in the rolls of my army. Er-, I mean, the Barldag’s army.” the wizard said, hastily correcting himself, but not before some of the soldiers noticed.
“We don’t follow you!” one orc snapped. “We follow the Bardag!”
“Ohh, yes-yes, I know. But I am his messenger, you see. Yes,” the wizard said. He pointed one squirming finger at the orc, then added with a snarl, “and here is a message!”
The orc screamed as the left side of his head swelled and swelled until it was three, then four times its normal size. The growth continued until the orc fell over from the sheer weight and its oversized head burst upon contact with the ground. The wizard cackled to himself.
Gerstag frowned momentarily, shaken by the wizard’s outburst, but then he looked a bit closer at Fist and grinned. Gerstag moved forward until he was only a few inches from Fist’s face and stared in his eyes as he spoke, “You don’t know the Thunder People, messenger man. That is because the Thunder People is dead. That one, Crag, refused the Barldag’s words and the tribe would not join us. We killed them all and took their womens.” The ogre chuckled, knowing that Fist could do nothing about it.
Gerstag’s words brought Fist some pain, but those wounds had long since closed. He had already lost the Thunder People when they banished him. Now they were really gone and though it saddened him, he was proud of his father for making the right decision. His pride was raised just a little more when the wizard next spoke.
“Ah, yes. Is that the tribe that killed so many of your warriors, Gerstag?” The greasy man seemed to take great delight in taking the powerful ogre down a peg or two, and Gerstag’s resulting scowl told him that he had succeeded. “Well, no matter, no matter,” he said and bent down to pick up the glowing bauble. “We must be careful with this. It is a very sensitive item. If someone were to step on it, the enchantment would brea-”
In the middle of the wizard’s sentence, a cry rang out. An orc’s severed head flew past the wizard’s nose, spattering his pale face with blood.
“YOU!” A shout echoed along the road. “I know you! Ewzad Vriil!” Another orc doubled over in pain and Fist saw that the dwarf Ryebald had broken the enchantment over his body.
“Oh, a dwarf. They are a stubborn lot, aren’t they?” the wizard said. “I hate those things. Their resistance to magic makes them so . . . Inconvenient, yes.”
“Betrayer!” the dwarf howled. He swung his heavy axe again, trying to plow through the orcs and get to the wizard.
The orcs had been caught off guard at first, but they were highly trained guards. Their job was to protect the leaders of the army. The dwarf only got within a few yards of the wizard before being skewered by several spears.
“Betrayer!” Ryebald snarled, ignoring the fatal wounds. Blood poured out the corner of his mouth. Somehow, despite the spears stuck in his body, he managed to move forward. Throughout this, the wizard watched the dwarf with a strange grin plastered on his face. He kept his hands clasped together, golden rings glistening on his squirming fingers.
Courageously, the dwarf moved forward, dragging the orc guards with him. He stopped in front of the evil wizard and raised his axe high. Even though he had no more breath in which to speak, the dwarf mouthed the word betrayer again. But the dwarf’s attack was cut short. He was lifted into the air, squirming on the end of Gerstag’s trident.
“I hate these short ones,” the ogre leader growled. “They take so long to die.”
The wizard smirked at the remark. “True.” He looked at the other prisoners. “Well, I suppose we should kill these others too.” He nodded and the orcs raised their spears.
“Wait!” Gerstag shouted. He pointed at Fist. “I need to fight this one. Last time we battled, I could not end it.”
The wizard sighed, “Oh dear, you know, the problem with using ogre’s in your army is that they always find some point of honor to fight about.” Gerstag growled and the wizard relented. “Very well, then. Very well. It’s the Barldag’s will and all that. You kill him.”
The ogre shook his head. “Release him first. It’s more fun like that.”
The wizard shrugged and gestured. Suddenly, Fist felt his body released. His mace swept down, killing the gorc that had been frozen beneath it. He twirled around, determined to take as many of these monsters with him as possible, but the wizard gestured again. The ogre was frozen once more.
Fist was seething inside. The heroic death of the dwarf had touched him. He knew that his situation was hopeless and he was not afraid to die, but he feared for the lives of Tamboor’s fami
ly and Squirrel. They were still in the house. The only thing he could think to do was make the lives of his captors as miserable as possible and hope that the family could escape.
Orcs came and took Fist’s mace away. Then they cleared back to leave room for the fight. Fist found his body released from the magical spell once more and turned to face Gerstag.
Gerstag put the dead dwarf on the ground and ripped his trident free. He pointed the wicked prongs at Fist. “Come, son of dead Crag. I will kill you too!”
Fist shook his head. “You did not kill Crag.”
“Yes I did!”
Fist snorted in response. “You aren’t strong enough to beat Crag. He more likely died straining with your womens!” The orcs broke out in laughter and Gerstag’s brown face turned deep red with anger, confirming Fist’s suspicions. If Crag truly was dead, Gerstag was not the one who killed him.
“When I kill you, you will know the truth!” Gerstag spat. “Now fight me!”
“No.” Fist rose to his full height, which was over four inches taller than Gerstag. “I will not give you the honorable death.”
Just then, there was a scream from within the house. Fist grimaced. It was Efflina. Several orcs came out the front door holding Tamboor’s wife and two children who were kicking and struggling. When they saw the gathering in front of the house, the children cried out for their father.
One of the orcs spoke to the wizard. “We found these ones under the floor, hiding.”
Fist looked at Tamboor who was still frozen in place. The man’s face was unmoving, but Fist saw the pain in his eyes. He could imagine the hell that the man was going through inside.
“Wait!” Fist shouted and turned to the wizard. “I will fight him. But if I win, then you must not hurt the lady or the childs.”
“Really?” The wizard looked at Fist as if he were some strange puzzle. “My-my. Why should I bargain with you, ogre? I don’t care if Gerstag fights you. Not at all.”
“Do it!” cried Gerstag. The outcast ogre had humiliated him in front of his own army. He needed to save face.
The wizard ignored the ogre leader’s request and looked deep into Fist’s eyes. “Why do you care what is done to these humans, big thing?” he asked.
“They are my tribe now.” Fist answered. The wizard looked both surprised and intrigued by the strange ogre.
“Enough!” Gerstag shouted. “It doesn’t matter! I will kill him and we can do what we want with the humans!”
The wizard gazed at Fist thoughtfully with one hand stroking his chin, his boneless fingers twining about as if trying to find purchase on his pale face.
“Very well, ogre. If you defeat Gerstag, I will not harm them.” As Fist nodded and turned to face the ogre leader, the wizard giggled. “Not that you have a chance. Not without a weapon. No, Gerstag is quite the capable one. At least this should be fun to watch, don’t you think?”
“I will make you scream just like Crag,” Gerstag snarled at Fist, holding his trident at the ready.
The comment didn’t bother Fist. He already knew the truth. His only concern was the children and Efflina.
The ogres circled around each other at a distance for a moment, then Fist charged in. Gerstag thrust the trident at Fist’s throat. Fist grabbed the weapon at the base of the prongs, pushed it high over his head, took one step forward and sent one heavy foot into Gerstag’s groin with concussive force.
The ogre leader doubled over. Fist dropped the weapon and wrapped his huge hands around the ogre’s head. He squeezed, and with one twist of his powerful arms, he broke Gerstag's thick neck.
It was over in less than a minute. The onlookers were stunned silent. Fist dropped the lifeless ogre to the ground and spat on him. He turned to the human wizard.
“Now let them go!”
“Let them go?” Ewzad Vriil stared at the body of the ogre that had been his commander. Why was it over so quickly? His mind tried to wrap itself around the concept of what had just happened.
“Let them go you say to me?” Ewzad Vriil’s face twisted into a snarl. He thrust his arm out, casting a spell that froze the triumphant ogre. He had expected Gerstag to kill this strange beast handily.
“Blast! Blast it all!” It had taken him months to build up to this attack. He strode to the corpse of the ogre leader and kicked it in the face. “Why did I let you fight him? Why? You stupid, stupid, stupid, idiot!”
Ewzad fumed. Gerstag had indeed been an idiot, but he had also been a fine warrior that kept his troops in line. Ewzad had taken great care to make sure that his rule over the ogre was iron clad. Now his leader was dead and he felt the fool for letting the ogres fight. Without Gerstag, the army might fall apart.
“Oh, I knew something was different about this one!” He walked up to Fist. “Yes you are different aren’t you? And I knew. I knew! Why didn’t I listen?
“Blast, blast, blast!”
They had conquered the village of Jack’s Rest easily enough and his day had started out wonderfully. Now his good mood was spoiled. He set the glowing orb down gently on the ground and reached deep into the pockets of his robes. He pulled out the petrified moonrat eye.
“Are you there?” He tapped the eye repeatedly. “Are you?”
“Yes master, I am here,” the voice purred.
“What a horrible choice for a leader! You told me that he would secure our success. Gerstag was worthless!”
“Master you must listen to me when I call you. I warned you against this fight, but you did not listen.”
“Enough! Enough of your babbling. We need a new leader. These fools will run loose all over the hills without someone in charge and I cannot stay to watch them. I have far too much to do!”
“Master, there are others listening.”
“Oh. Yes, yes you are right.” Ewzad had forgotten the goblinoids standing around him. They stared at him with a mix of fear and anger. They wouldn’t be able to hear the other voice because she spake only to him. They just saw him arguing with himself. He squeezed one of his rings and a cloak of silence fell over the entire area. “There now. That’s better isn’t it? I do hate wasting my energy on these types of spells though.”
“Master, worry not. I am here to help you.” The female voice was soothing. “My children have penetrated these mountains. My voice is strong here. I will find you another leader and prepare him.”
“That might take too long, my dear. If they get out of hand and the BattleAcademy catches wind that they are here, my plans will be set back once again!”
“The army will not get out of hand. I have other servants here. I will keep them under control until we are ready.”
The wizard held his head. “Oh so many setbacks. Why are there so many? First you lose half your children in the forest. Marckus gets himself killed and all the orcs under his command scatter-,”
“Master, my children are strong again. We grow in many places now. Do not worry yourself. I will take care of things here. You can get back to your other plans.”
“Yes-yes, my dear you are right. So many plans to get back to.”
He thrust the eye back into his robes and walked over to Gerstag’s body. Mumbling angrily, he rooted around the corpse and pulled a pouch from around its belt. Inside the pouch was another petrified moonrat eye much like the one he carried in his robe.
Ewzad Vrill ended the silence spell. He pointed to the nearest orc.
“You, come here.” He thrust the eye into the startled creature’s hands. “Listen to this bauble. A voice will tell you where to take it. Okay?”
The orc held the sphere to his ear and nodded. She was giving it instructions already. It walked towards the town.
“Guards!” Ewzad shouted. The orcs stepped forward, pale with fear of the wizard. He pointed at Tamboor’s family. “Kill the woman and children. Do it slowly. Oh, and make the ogre and the humans watch. When you are done, I want them brought to my keep. I’m not done with them yet.”
As the orcs followed
his request, the wizard waved his strange fingers and a shimmering doorway appeared in the air. Ewzad Vriil stormed back to his keep.
That ogre had truly ruined his day.
Chapter Sixteen
Justan dove out of the way of the small advancing fireball just as it singed the hairs on his arm. As he rolled back to his feet, he tried to force down the excitement in his heart. He had almost blocked it!
“You are cheating, Justan,” Professor Beehn scolded and prepared another spell. “You are not supposed to dodge them. If you get hit then that is just too bad. You need to learn.”
The wizard really seemed to be enjoying himself this afternoon. The sun was high above them in a deep blue sky, but its heat didn’t seem to touch the ground. A cool fall breeze blew across the manicured lawns behind Professor Beehn’s new home.
Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Page 16
