Major Hillsworth cupped his chin, “If it’s a thousand we could defeat them. Go back and get a more accurate count.”
The soldier nodded and hurried off.
“Perhaps we should wake Great Shaman O’tukka, Major. He may shed more light on this army,” suggested Master Pilk.
“If it’s only a thousand we have a real chance to thin their numbers before more arrive, Master Pilk. Not to mention that by sending our army through it’ll continue to weaken the Gate,” replied Major Hillsworth firmly.
“I understand, Major. But it may be wise to determine which tribe of orcs we face here and how many magic users they have amongst them. Remember, we have no magic. Our wizards are all out.”
The Major cupped his chin. “Very well. Rouse the Great Shaman.”
Master Pilk scurried off at once. He found Great Shaman O’tukka in short order and shook him awake, instantly regretting it as the orc pulled him in close, snarled at him and pushed him away ferociously.
“I’m sorry to disturb your slumber,” stammered Master Pilk, “but an army of orcs approaches.”
“From what tribe?” asked Great Shaman O’tukka gruffly.
“I was hoping you’d tell us that. Major Hillsworth wants to attack them, but I’d like to know a little more about them first.”
Great Shaman O’tukka nodded and rose, still looking none too pleased with the disturbance. Master Pilk walked with him to the Gate and watched him disappear as he entered.
Major Hillsworth had a large number of soldiers at the ready. Master Pilk stood beside him and waited. A good few minutes passed and Master Pilk’s concern increased but finally he emerged.
“They are from the Ta’zu. There’s at least ten necromancers among them. I’d recommend that you don’t attack.” O’tukka walked off.
“Wait!” shouted Major Hillsworth.
Great Shaman O’tukka stopped and turned around, still wearing a grumpy expression on his face.
“Care to elaborate? We outnumber them easily.”
“But you have no magic. They have very powerful magic. Leave them be, but keep an eye on them if you can. They won’t attack for the same reason that you should not attack them. If more show up soon then we should be ready to abandon this place and pray to whichever deity you believe in.” Great Shaman O’tukka trounced off once again.
“I’d heed his advice, Major. I’ve read a bit about the powers of a necromancer and it’s not something you want to face without appropriate protection,” said Master Pilk.
“How do we know that he is not still on their side and is simply trying to stall us?” asked Major Hillsworth.
“Because I saw the fear in his eyes when he spoke of this Sylestra and the hatred in his eyes when he spoke of Gilkan the Fierce One. I assure you, he wants this to fail even less than we do, for he’ll be the first hunted.” Master Pilk turned and walked off, leaving Major Hillsworth to ponder his words. The sooner he got some rest the better.
The large city gates opened up and revealed the wide street lined with warriors on both sides. They allowed Sylestra to bring in her own small party of fifty, but the rest of the army had to remain well back from the walls. She realised how vulnerable they were right now but held faith that General Jak’ho had picked out fifty of the finest warriors. He had wanted to accompany her but she denied his request, telling him that if something went wrong he’d be needed to lead the army in the ensuing attack.
Sylestra tried not to look like she was in a hurry, even though she was, and so she walked slowly but directly along the paved street. A small escort of ten orcs beckoned her to follow them. She kept her eyes straight ahead but still took in all the sights in her peripheral vision. She maintained a weak, invisible shield in case any of the warriors decided to be a hero.
They continued to be paraded along the streets of Gnash for an hour or so. It seemed as though Gilkan wanted to stretch the festival out for as long as possible. Once they passed by the many armed warriors, the way behind them became crowded as they closed in and followed the parade.
Finally they turned into a street that ended with a massive circular building. It was obviously their destination. Orcs wearing fine mail armour lined the wide stairs leading up into the building. They stood up straighter and planted their long spears with a thud into the stone floor as she walked by them.
Inside the elaborate halls of the arena she met up with an orc who must’ve been the organiser of the event. He wore a headpiece which held black and red spiked animal hair. His face had been painted black and red, and his long flowing robes almost looked comical splattered as they were with every conceivable colour. He held a smooth metal staff in one hand that rose to just over head height and housed a polished black gem at its zenith— probably onyx.
“Your company will remain here where they’ll be shown to their seats. You may follow me,” said the orc without introduction.
With a hard stare Sylestra stopped the head of her guard from protesting and replied, “As you wish.”
She followed the strange orc down stairs and along a dimly lit tunnel which she assumed led under the arena floor. They passed by the occasional door on either side and came to a door at the end of the hallway.
The colourful orc opened the door and led her inside. It was a non-descript little room with a low bench for sitting at one end and a weapons rack at the other. In the middle sat a polished circular tile attached to chains hanging from drums overhead.
“You may choose your weapons from this rack. They are well-made but hold no magical properties. If they should break, other weapons will be available on the edge of the arena if you can make it to them. Your current weapons must remain here and you must strip off all your clothing so that I may inspect it for concealed weapons. Any use of magic inside the arena and your life is forfeit. You will be shot on the spot. Aside from these rules, there are no other. It is a battle to the death. Do you accept the terms?” The orc spoke matter-of-factly as if it was a well-rehearsed speech which it likely was.
“I accept the terms,” she replied as she started to undress. She took pleasure in orc’s discomfort.
He rummaged through her clothing and inspected it carefully as she stood in the room totally naked. As he passed an item of clothing he tossed it back to her so that she could put it back on. Before too long she had all her clothes back on and the orc scooped up her small pile of weapons.
“If they’re not here when I return, I will come looking for you,” she warned. The orc’s smile did little to hide his fear.
“Choose your weapons and when you hear the horn blow, stand upon that tile.” The orc pointed to the tile in the centre of the room. “It may yet be some time as the crowd find their seats so feel free to pray to whatever deity you will.” The orc’s smile became more confident as he left the room and bolted it shut behind him.
She walked over to the weapons rack and checked the weight and balance of the great swords there. It was clear that they were made for the hands of orcs and not hers as she struggled to grip them. So instead she picked out a long sword which seemed equivalent to her great swords anyway. The handle designed for one orc hand fit her two hands with ease.
Then she inspected the daggers which were also larger than her normal dagger but she managed to find one of a respectable size. The orc hadn’t lied. The weapons were well-made and well-balanced. She put herself through some basic manoeuvres to get used to the weapons and to loosen up her muscles. Plus it helped to pass the time.
She heard the thunderous noise overhead as the crowd of warriors gathered. She imagined the insults being hurled at her personal guard but held faith that they would not retaliate. Their revenge would come when she skewered the Fierce One.
Suddenly the noise ceased and an unsettling hush followed. Then she heard the unmistakeable voice of the orc that had shown her to her room building up the crowd and stating the prize for each victor. He fell silent for a moment until a horn blew long and strong. Sylestra stepped on
to her polished tile.
As it slowly rose, the announcer informed the crowd of the little he knew about her — a female human, the supposed leader of the Ta’zu, a magic caster of some power, a wyvern rider. When she neared the roof a section of it hinged back and let in the blinding light of the sun. Her platform soon reached its limit and stopped with a jerk. She stepped up from the shallow pit and glared at the jeering crowd while shading her eyes. The trapdoor swung shut behind her.
The announcer allowed the jeering to continue and so Sylestra took a look around the arena. It was littered with a range of obstacles — rocks, barrels, platforms, stair cases, hanging ropes and chains. She smiled to herself as she considered it just a larger scale of her Salle.
Finally the jeering calmed enough for the announcer to be heard. He started rambling on about the greatness of the next fighter. An orc that defeated his own father in record time, a mighty leader, having the strength of ten orcs and on and on he went. Sylestra tuned out to most of it even though the cheering of the crowd intensified with each ridiculous feat. She tried to memorise every part of this arena so as to use it to her full advantage.
The announcer’s rant stopped and a hush came over the arena. The colourful orc faced them both in turn and asked if they were ready. Sylestra glared at him and nodded her head. Of course she was ready. She was ready hours ago. Finally he dropped his hand and said, “Fight!”
As the ridiculous orc hurried to the closest gate, Sylestra cautiously approached Gilkan who did likewise to her. His eyes indicated that he wasn’t about to underestimate her as his generals had. Being this close to the orc leader for the first time, she realised how big he was — and not in height alone but in brawn as well. She made a mental note to watch how she blocked his attacks. She didn’t want to break a blade and have to run the distance to the edges to retrieve another weapon.
Gilkan made the first attack and the hushed crowd cheered all at once even though she parried with ease. For that brief moment, though, she got a taste of his raw power. His confidence obviously heightened, he came on in a fury, swinging this way and that with a sword almost as long as she was high. Even with his massive strength, swinging a sword that size would have to be tiring and so she nimbly dodged each attack.
She usually found that orcs were easily irritated when she dodged instead of blocked, but Gilkan was patient. He also left very little room in behind his attacks for her to make a counterattack. This orc could fight.
Sylestra allowed herself to be backed up against a large barrel. She rested a foot against the side of it to get a sense of its stability as she deflected Gilkan’s down-hand swing. It was full and sturdy.
Risking the strength of her blade she stopped Gilkan’s next attack dead and leapt atop the barrel. His surprise became apparent as she struck down with her sword and scored first blood. It was a superficial shoulder wound but it would be a blow to his confidence. She knew that he imagined this fight would be over even quicker than the fight against his father. He now knew otherwise and that made Sylestra smile which unnerved him further.
He showed the first sign of frustration by swinging his sword furiously at her legs which she jumped over, did a flip in the air and landed lightly back on top of the barrel. He ducked under her counter-attack easily and instead of striking back at her, he struck the barrel with a mighty swing. Sylestra anticipated this and did a back flip off the barrel moments before its liquid contents sprayed all over the dry dirt.
The splash of water blinded Gilkan for a brief moment and so Sylestra took the advantage by jabbing in low and scoring another hit on his thigh. Once again blood flowed but Gilkan didn’t even flinch. He sidestepped his way around the broken barrel, keeping his eyes fixed on her.
“You have some tricks, I’ll grant you that, but when I draw blood I’ll make it count.” Gilkan glared at her.
“By slitting your own throat to end your pain?” Sylestra kept moving but never took her eyes off the imposing orc. Gilkan’s face wrinkled up as he came at her swinging his sword, first high, then low followed by a jab. She deflected the first, blocked the second and jumped back out of range of the third.
Gerard’s words about efficiency of movement came back to her and she realised that Gilkan did not possess this. He was fast for his size and cut off any apparent opening, but his fighting style was tiring. It showed on his face. No doubt he seldom had to fight for very long, relying on finishing his enemies quickly.
She danced around him, showing that she still had plenty of energy left. He continued to stalk in cautiously, but made no further attacks, holding his sword at the ready.
“Are we dancing or fighting?”
“Fighting is a dance.” She shuffled her feet about quickly to demonstrate her point.
This time he didn’t strike out at her. He conserved his energy. She would have to change that, so she went on the offensive with lightning quick moves. A worried look overcame him as he barely managed to parry her first strike.
He gave ground fast and went into defensive mode. She continued to push him toward a set of platforms. Thick ropes hung from a solid timber beam ahead. He backed into a rope but didn’t let it distract him, merely letting it swing to one side of him. She watched the gentle swing of the rope carefully as she pushed him further back.
When she came level with the rope she pushed it back behind her as if out of frustration and lunged toward him. He did the expected thing and stepped back beyond her range. She jumped high and flipped over backward, gripping the returning rope with her feet and her thighs as she hung upside down. She rode the momentum of the swing and arched her back which gave her the extended range she needed. Her outstretched sword plunged into his unprotected belly.
She didn’t get the penetration she hoped for as the swing took her back out of range, but it proved to be a painful wound. It would make swinging that heavy sword of his very difficult. Reaching up with her left hand, she gripped the rope and swung down, landing lightly on her feet and holding her sword at the ready. She needn’t had bothered as he didn’t pursue.
He held his hand against the open wound for a moment and then took it away and gazed at his bloodied hand. Looking up, he eyed her dangerously as he wiped his hand on his black jerkin. Readying his sword, he dived at her aggressively.
The grimace on his face remained the only sign of his pain as his movement and strength didn’t diminish. She admired his fighting spirit. She deflected, blocked, ducked and dodged his many strikes, waiting for his fury to play out. He went on for longer than she imagined possible but eventually his movements slowed and his strikes became clumsier.
Frustrated the fight was taking longer than she expected, Sylestra finally blocked one of his attacks, spun in towards him as she drew the dagger from her belt and plunged it into his side. Gilkan roared with pain, dropped his sword and pushed her aside like a rag doll. Sylestra lost her grip on the dagger as she fell and continued to roll, wanting to put as much distance as possible between her and the angry orc.
When she stood up the stubborn orc leader pulled the dagger from his torn flesh. Even this powerful orc could not ignore the pain of such a deep and serious wound though and he sagged. He eyed his weapon lying on the ground by his feet and then looked at her. The time had come to finish this.
She rushed toward him with a view to administering a swift final blow. The orc deserved at least that despite her earlier words to him. As she charged he reached to retrieve his weapon. He had no chance of readying it in time, but he was going to try anyway. As she neared, though, she caught some movement out of the corner of her eye that made her dive to one side instead of finishing Gilkan.
Too late.
The arrow thudded into her chest and knocked the wind of her. She hit the ground hard and painfully. Her vision blurred.
The crowd watching on erupted. Some cheered, but many vocalised their disapproval. The Challenge Festival had been tainted. Sylestra listened intently to the crowd as she lay on her back with
the arrow protruding from her chest. She wondered whether this act had been arranged by Gilkan or if the shooter acted alone.
Gilkan approached her slowly, using his sword as a walking aid. He stood over the top of her — his face unreadable. Was he about to finish her off?
“Do you have no honour?” she spat at him.
He didn’t reply, only produced the dagger that she had struck him with and threw it down beside her. For a moment she figured he meant for her to finish herself off as she had suggested to him earlier. But then he walked away.
She watched his movement carefully as she retrieved the dagger and started to cut away at the shaft of the arrow. The movement sent waves of pain through her body and for a moment she thought she may lose consciousness but she continued nonetheless. Gilkan reached the edge of the arena and stopped near the archer.
The crowd watched on quietly.
Suddenly he lifted his sword and thrust it right through the orc, looking into his eyes as he did so. Gilkan removed his sword and let the body crumple and then made his way back over to her.
“Can you continue?” he asked as she snapped the shaft of the arrow and tossed it aside.
“I can,” she replied. Her surprise was complete when he reached down and offered her a hand up. She took the offer on good faith.
“I assure you that I did not arrange that,” he said as she stood on wobbly legs.
She nodded her understanding. Hearing the crowd’s reaction to the dishonourable act she didn’t doubt his words. If he had arranged it and let the archer live, he would have lost his right to rule anyway.
“Will you allow me to use magic to remove the rest of the arrow?” she asked.
“I cannot allow that. The rules stipulate no magic during a Challenge Festival no matter the circumstances. Justice was done to the interfering orc.” Gilkan took a few tentative steps back from her and readied his sword.
Sylestra placed the bloodied dagger back in her belt and held her own sword at the ready, struggling to ignore the crippling pain in her chest. She needed to finish this fight soon or she would lose consciousness which would spell her own doom.
Invasion Page 4
