The Eighth God (The Orcslayers Book 1)

by Paul S. Lavender

  Half a dozen of the orcs fleeing the tower were suddenly crushed under the body of the giant and the golem as they rolled on the ground. The golem had managed to get one if his large hands on the giants' throat and began to squeeze.

  Grash-Kul and his bodyguards stepped out of the dust to face the defenders. Before them stood an elf dressed in black leather with rubies studding it, in his hand was a long sword, and as Grash watched the sword began to sing…

  BAZAK-KUL…

  With a roar, Grash charged at the elf, and as he ran forward, the elf smiled.

  Tierra watched as the orc chief and his warriors rushed forward taking all her coins out she flung them towards the bodyguards.

  Grash heard the zip of projectiles as they flew past him to sink into the orcs around him. Arms snapped as the coins flew into them, one man went down with a hole were his manhood had been. To his left, an eye exploded and to his right, a throat was torn open.

  Then he was upon the elf, swinging with one of his cutters even as his other cutter swept low aiming for the elves groin.

  The elf made no move to avoid the blades, and Grash smiled as the cutters ripped through armour and left shallow cuts in his skin. Saethryth stared in shock as he realised that the chieftain wasn’t using metal blades.

  ‘Aye I know who you are, elf, your father, told me all about you. The Dancing Death my kin call you. I had these obsidian blades made especially for you.’

  Saethryth raised Epiacum even as his mind screamed out another name.

  ‘You killed my father you bastard, and now I am going to kill you.’

  Grash couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘What’s so fucking funny?’

  ‘Just rememberin’ your father bent over as my boys taught him a few tricks.’

  Saethryth knew that the orc was just trying to bait him into making another mistake. Well not defending himself was going to be the last mistake he made. He couldn’t use many of the swords magical properties on the battlements as he was as like to kill a friend as a foe. So, it would all come down to the old ways of muscle and skill.

  64: Erasnus

  Erasnus led the small band of scouts into the long grass that seemed to cover the entire region. He grunted and waved his gutter at one of the scouts to move in front. It didn’t take long for the scout to wave his companions forward. You could smell the two corpses long before you saw them.

  The handful of scouts spread out as they looked for more tracks leading on. Erasnus could see the corpses belonged to two humans, and he advanced slowly as he decided whether to have the woman or not. It had been a long time since he had had a good fuck, but in the end, he decided that the stench was too much and that the corpse would be far too dry.

  As he got closer he realised things didn’t look right, he stopped and looked around, there was no blood in sight.

  He knelt next to the closer body, that of a man. The man had had his throat cut, where was the blood.

  Suddenly the corpse sat up and clamped his jaws around Erasnus’s throat, he tried to scream but blood was flooding his throat, and it came at as a gurgle.

  65: Holding the Tower

  Quinn had just picked up his sword from where it leant against a table when the door to the tower was smashed open, and half a dozen orcs rushed in. Three of his men fell before they could even get near a weapon, limbs cleaved off, throats sliced open, ribs shattered by the orcs cutters.

  The rest of his men ran to retrieve their weapons even as Quinn moved forward to block the path of the advancing orcs.

  One of the orcs yelled something as it charged Quinn. Quinn didn’t know what it had said, and he didn’t give a flying fuck either. As the orc drew closer, Quinn planted his feet firmly and prepared to receive the charge.

  The orc swung down in a chopping motion, a move which Quinn would have put a recruit of his on latrine duty for a week. The orc hadn’t even aimed for the bulk of Quinn’s body but was trying to cut Quinn’s sword arm off. The Sergeant tutted as he moved at the last second and let the cutter swing harmlessly past to clang against the floor with a shower of sparks.

  ‘Arsehole!’ Quinn spat the word into the orcs face as he brought his sword up and thrust into the exposed belly of the orc. The blade pierced through the soft skin at an angle that took it under the ribcage and straight through the orcs heart. The orc sank to its knees in front of Quinn and Quinn took the opportunity to kick the slumped form over. From behind him, he could hear one of the men throwing up. That, he thought was the problem with the recruits these days, too many years of peace had made everyone soft. Elves, humans and latterly the half-elves had very little experience of war. At most a small group of orc, marauders would cross the mountains and would be hunted down by a lucky squad or two.

  Quinn had been lucky three times in his thirty years as a soldier, four times now he amended. He’d puked the first time, and many times later as they had retraced the orcs path of destruction. By the time they were done with that day he had puked so much he couldn’t puke anymore and he was convinced he smelled of it for a week after. After that first time, seeing the things the orcs had done to men, women, kids and even animals, killing orcs had become a whole lot easier, and now here he was doing it all again.

  He grinned as another orc headed towards him. This one was of the larger Kul type and had a leather breastplate and skirt on. The armour looked to be about two sizes too small by Quinn’s estimation.

  It raised a blood covered blade and time seemed to slow, giving Quinn a chance to notice bits of blonde hair sticking out from the blood and bits of grey brain matter. The blade slowly descended, and Quinn parried it with his own blade, pushing the cutter up and out leaving the orc’s torso exposed as he brutally back slashed. The blade slid across the orc’s stomach, and grey entrails began to ooze out. The orc screamed in pain and dropped his weapon and made a vain attempt to push his innards back in.

  Quinn ducked as a third orc thrust a gutter at him, and as he parried the blade, he saw fear in the orc’s eyes and then a reflection of the pain as he removed the orc’s arm at the elbow. The orc reeled away clutching at the stump and then suddenly the blood was fountaining out between the orc’s splayed fingers.

  Quinn slashed his blade at the orc’s head, but the blade missed as the orc slipped on the gore lying all around him on the floor. He found that he had a little bit of space and moved around the dead or dying orcs. He just managed to get to a clear part of the floor when the next orc came at him.

  The last two of his men who were still with him had moved to either side. Both men had managed to pick up spears, and they thrust forward at the advancing orc. One of the spears missed by an inch as the second spear thrust into the orc’s throat, punching its way out the back of its neck, snapping the orc’s head back, and as the orc fell it pulled the man’s spear away with it.

  Before the man could draw his sword, an orc had thrust his gutter into the man's chest and with a scream the man was down. Quinn looked at the last man, and they looked about ready to drop his spear and run.

  ‘Steady, trooper. We’ve got nowhere to go except through that door, and those bastards have got nowhere to go except through us. Use the spear to keep ‘em back an’ leave the sword work to me. We’ll be fine.’

  He smiled at the soldier even as he patted a shoulder.

  More orcs were heading towards the doorway, and Quinn sighed as he did a quick tally. Looks like I’m going to die…again, he thought as he set himself in the doorway and prepared to defend the tower to his last breath.

  The orcs faces were full of hatred as they raised their motley collection of weapons and charged towards their enemy.

  Suddenly a huge stone blade swung along the length of the wall and decapitated the charging orcs, who fell to the ground spraying blood one by one. The blood began to pool over the cobblestones of the wall beneath them.

  Quinn let out a deep breath and looked at the soldier behind him. The man was crying and then suddenly was laughin
g, salty tears streamed down his face into his laughing mouth. Quinn was about to yell at the soldier when he started to splutter on the salty tears that streamed down his own face.

  Together the two men sat down on the ground and laughed.

  66: Death and Destruction

  Kepler parried the orc gutter as it swept in to disembowel him. Inside his plate mail, he was sweating from the exertion of defending his section of the battlements. orcs were pouring over the walls between the crenellations, rushing at the men – his men and at the tower where Quinn and his few men had been pouring the oil down onto the foes below.

  Quinn would have to deal with the latter, he thought.

  He just had time to get a quick look at the carnage before him, the bodies of the men and women he had brought with him to Knights Perch lay over the battlements, along with far fewer orc bodies.

  Suddenly he was defending himself as the orcs reached him and the twenty or so soldiers that he had left. They had formed a line of spears and shields behind him, and he just hoped that they would hold the line. This was their first engagement, his as well when he thought on it, but at least he had been trained in martial skills thanks to his father. But his men had chosen to become soldiers because they had been unable or unwilling to find other means of employment. Oh, some had wanted to be soldiers while others had taken the coin to avoid the headsman. They had lost a lot of friends already, and Kepler was concerned about their morale.

  The orc that he had parried came at him again, the gutter swung in low and again Kepler parried the blade and with his other arm punched his shield into the orc’s face. The orc spun away with a crunching of cartilage, his hands flying up to his now broken nose. Kepler thrust his blade into the back of the orc sending his foe sprawling on top of the battlement. There was a low cheer from behind him and then the wave of orcs was upon him.

  Kepler found himself battling one orc with his shield while parrying another, the orcs further out of Kepler’s reach found themselves skewered on spear points as they were thrust forwards.

  The two orcs came at him from opposite sides, both hoping that the other could take down the armoured Knight in front of them. Kepler decided not to give them time to decide, he feinted a low sweep at the legs of the left-hand orc, and as the orc jumped back, he flicked his wrist towards the other Orc that was advancing. The tip of his sword punctured through the orc’s eye and into the orc’s brain killing him instantly.

  Kepler started thinking to himself, he was not going to die here, he was going to live and avenge his father. Oh, his father had been a right bastard at times, but they had loved each other in their way. These orcs needed to be punished for his ignoble death, and then the masters that had brought them all to this had to die.

  The other orc was backing away as the steel-clad warrior strode forward, another group of orcs had just cleared the battlements, and most were headed for the tower. A shadow passed over the battlements causing Kepler to look up. The Knight stood over the battlements, and as it swept its stone sword across the battlements, Kepler threw himself to the ground.

  Orc blood sprayed into the air as the stone blade sliced through the enemy force and Kepler was drenched in it as it rained back down. He looked back at his squad of men and women, they were ashen-faced, and a few of them had sweat trickling down their faces. As Kepler watched a spear tip fell off its shaft. The wood had been neatly sliced.

  He let out a sigh as he slowly tried to get back to his feet. Then hands were grabbing his arms and helping him.

  The men began to cheer as they saw orcs running back down the pass toward the orc lands.

  67: The Weight of Dead Names

  Grash-Kul sneered at the elf standing before him, every minute he faced the man more and more of his men would be breaching the battlements.

  ‘You’re going to die today Orcslayer, and if you’re lucky my men won’t get a repeat performance of what your father got. Oh, how he squealed when my men took a turn with him.’

  Saethryth didn’t say anything, all he needed was an opening, and he would let Epiacum do the talking.

  Suddenly Grash-Kul darted forward, one cutter held high and the other held low. Saethryth raised his own blade to block the downward blow and then with astonishing speed he brought the sword low to block the other cutter.

  Saethryth knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the pair of cutters off him forever, not with only the one blade. Then he remembered Concangis was still strapped to his back harness. As Grash-Kul came at him again, Saethryth willed Concangis into his empty hand.

  Grash-Kul smiled in victory as he swung both cutters in from opposite sides if one blade were blocked the other would disembowel the Orcslayer. The elf blocked the sword on the right and tried to spring back, but it was too late the other cutter was about to bite into the elf.

  Then with a clang of weapon on weapon another longsword was in the elves hand, and it had parried the other cutter. Grash-Kul let out a yelp of surprise, both long swords were identical and as he looked they both started to sing. Names of orcs long dead and more recent were sang out loud, and Grash-Kul started to feel fear as the names went on and on. His advantage of two weapons was lost, and now it was as if his body was being hammered down with the names pouring out of the twin blades.

  Behind the Orcslayer he could see shapes coming out of the dust. Humans, elves and half-elves all covered in dust, they walked forward to stand behind the elf with the black blades. And they stared impassively as the dirge the swords were singing pounded away at the orc before them. The two obsidian cutters started to flake and crack, black glittering rock falling to the battlements.

  Grash-Kul was suddenly on his knees, tears flowing down his face as his bones began to fracture inside. His mouth opened to scream as the pain became too much, so much so that it was a release when the two long swords swept in from opposite sides to swipe Grash's head from his shoulders and send Grash-Kul to oblivion.

  Saethryth looked at the two blades as he kicked Grash-Kul’s body from them. That had never happened before, he thought to himself. And now the blades felt empty as if they had been storing orc souls just for this very moment.

  Do not worry, you will just have to fill us up again!

  ‘You’re both alright then.’

  We are low on power, this has nearly drained us of all our magic, but as we kill orcs again we will regain our former strength.

  Saethryth hadn’t heard Concangis speak before, the other blade sounded older than Epiacum, as if they hadn’t been the same age when they had been forged. Another mystery to find out about, he mused.

  He was brought out of his reverie by a mighty cheer and as he looked he saw that the orcs that were left were in full flight.

  68: Death comes for us all

  Caw flew in circles as he watched the scene in the meadow unfold below him. Two figures lurched through the tall grass as pieces of flesh dropped from their bodies. Scattered around lay the corpses of a small group of orcs, some of them had been partially eaten.

  One of the figures bent down, a man it seemed, picked his lower jaw off the ground. The other, a woman was talking to the man, but without his jaw, he couldn't reply. Suddenly the woman's right eye exploded, and yellow liquid ran down her cheek.

  As Caw continued to watch, the two figures came together and held each other. Neither of them made a sound as the reason for their existence was extinguished on the battlements of Knights Perch.

  Soon their bodies had completely disintegrated, and Allen and Jillian Royce were no more.

  Caw wheeled around one more time and then flew back towards Knights Perch.

  Well, I've never seen anything like that before, he thought to himself as he flew along.

  69: Meeting

  They sat around the table, looking at each other. Some of them were covered in dust, some in blood and the unlucky ones were covered in both. None of them seemed to have the energy to speak at that moment.

  What was left of the garrison were
sorting through the bodies looking for the wounded soldiers and dispatching any orcs that they came across. Wounded soldiers were taken to the barracks where village men and women were tending wounds as best as they could.

  Melress would make his way there as soon as he was done here. Hopefully, he could save a few lives, but there were far too many dead to bring back. He would die of old age long before he was through.

  Eventually, Kepler as the highest-ranking soldier present spoke into the silence,

  ‘What do we do now?’

  Saethryth sighed and steepled his fingers ‘Well you need to use the talk-stones and find out which fortresses still stand. Melress needs to go and see to the injured…’

  ‘I also need to get to Hamerband as well!’ Interrupted Melress

  ‘I've been thinking about that if you are willing, and Tierra is as well I thought she could go to Hamerband.’

  ‘What?’ Interjected Tierra.

  ‘Look, you can fly, so it won’t take you as long as Melress and if there is the need then on your return he can go himself.’

  ‘No.’ said Melress, ‘She is my wife, and I want to be the one to make sure she’s alright. I don’t think that I’m being unreasonable.’

  ‘I just thought that you might like to come with me that’s all.’

  ‘Why where are you going?’

  ‘To the one place where we will find the answers to all this. Why did the orcs attack? What are those shape-shifting creatures? Who is behind everything? The list goes on. I’m going to Helekose, and I’m going to put an end to whoever or whatever is behind this.’