The lieutenant pointed to a small dark spot that Tovak had missed. Benthok reached down and touched it. “Definitely dried blood.”
“A hunting party.” Tovak glanced around at the clearing with fresh eyes. He moved over to the fallen tree and saw prints right next to it. They were facing away from the snag. “They stopped here for a break and sat down on the tree.” Tovak pointed in excitement, then wheeled around to face the lieutenant. “The kill was leaned against the tree there where you found the fur.”
“Yes,” Benthok said with a slight grin at Tovak’s sudden comprehension. “I fear we will make a scout out of you yet, soldier.”
Tovak glanced once more around the clearing. He could almost picture the orcs and goblins resting here. Why had he not seen it before?
Benthok stood and placed his hands on his hips. The lieutenant glanced around at the forest outside the clearing.
“I wish there was time to follow these tracks,” Benthok said. “But the light is beginning to fail. I believe it’s time to head back and stop Sergeant Thegdol from worrying.”
“Yes, sir,” Tovak said, keenly feeling disappointment at not following the tracks farther.
“Come on,” Benthok said, starting back for camp, “let’s get moving.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“We’re under attack!”
The shout shattered Tovak’s dreamless sleep.
A chorus of bestial roars mixed with horrific, guttural shrieks filled the night in response. The sound of it was terrifying.
“To arms,” another voice shouted. “To arms.”
“They’re bridging the trench. To the walls.”
Disoriented, Tovak sat upright, blinking. Without the light of the campfires, it was dark. The moon was overhead and occluded by a cloud, but it was just enough to see a few feet. He looked wildly around in the darkness. Something hissed by his head, awfully close. The harsh clash of steel on steel snapped him fully awake. There was a horrible, almost horrific scream that spoke of intense suffering and agony. It was cut abruptly off.
“Get to the walls,” Benthok shouted. “To the walls.”
“Hold the wall.” Thegdol’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness. “They are bridging the trench. Hold the wall, boys.”
A bow twanged from somewhere off to Tovak’s right.
“They’re coming over the west side.” Benthok’s voice was thunder, and it carried with it the steel of command. “To the wall.”
Barefoot and dressed only in his tunic, Tovak climbed to his feet, his hand going for his sword, which he’d laid by his side before sleep. He pulled it from his scabbard and moved for the wall. Two archers were atop the wall to his right, loosing arrows out into the darkness. One of the archers abruptly screamed and tumbled down the berm, her bow falling from her hands. A spear had gone clean through her midsection.
“Get to the walls,” Benthok shouted, and with that command, any thoughts Tovak had of stopping to help ceased. He moved on. The archer on the wall remained in her position, continuing to loose missile after missile out into the darkness, as if her comrade had not been injured.
“More coming from the north,” Logath shouted.
“First Section to the west, Third Section to the north,” Benthok shouted as Tovak made his way to the west side of the camp, which was closest.
“How are the east and south walls?” Benthok hollered.
“East is clear, sir.”
“No enemy to the south, sir.”
“Thegdol,” Benthok hollered, pointing to the sergeant. “Take the north wall. Lead the defense there.”
“I’ve got it, sir,” Thegdol said and moved off in that direction.
As Tovak approached the wall, he saw a pair of orcs pull themselves over the berm. A spear thudded into the ground, just next to him. Tovak stumbled to a startled halt and stared at the quivering weapon, transfixed. A few inches over and it would have hit and most likely killed him.
The clash of arms close at hand tore him from his shock at having almost died. Where before there had been two, now there were three orcs over the wall. Two sentries were desperately battling them. Bodies lay at their feet, which in the moonlight looked like unformed lumps. Whether they were the enemy or not, Tovak had no idea.
Standing on the crest of the wall, the orcs were huge, almost hulking figures. Tovak had never seen an orc before, and now that he had, he felt a bolt of fear course through him. They wore armor covering their chests, with solid-looking helms. In the moonlight, their tusks gleamed in an almost ethereal way. They carried an assortment of weapons: blades, war hammers, axes, and even spears. With every passing moment, more pulled themselves over the wall. These quickly climbed down into the camp, past those that were fighting with the sentries. A half-dozen warriors, screaming war cries and wearing nothing but their tunics, slammed into them. A tremendous clash of weapons filled the air, mixed with the roars from the orcs and shouts and oaths from the warriors.
“Push them back over the wall,” Benthok roared at the top of his lungs as he stepped forward and attacked an orc who had just crested the wall. The orc swung at the lieutenant, who ducked, allowing the weapon to slide harmlessly over his head. The lieutenant jabbed forward with his sword, plunging it into the creature’s leg. The orc roared in pain and stumbled to a knee. Benthok stabbed again, this time aiming for the chest armor. The blow was so powerfully delivered, it pushed the orc backward. The creature fell back down the other side of the wall and into the trench.
Another orc clambered up and over the wall. It swung its sword wildly at Benthok. The lieutenant dodged back. Something snapped within Tovak and he rushed forward. Screaming, he swung his sword for the orc. The creature blocked and their two swords met with a strong clang that seemed to ring on the air. Tovak brought his sword back to strike again. The lieutenant’s sword appeared, as if out of nowhere, and stabbed into the orc’s neck. The point emerged from the other side. The creature seemed to sag and toppled forward, knocking Tovak to the ground and landing on top of him.
It was frightfully heavy, and Tovak struggled to lift the body off him. He felt its warm blood coursing over his chest. Then the creature was rolled off and the lieutenant was helping him to his feet. All around them, the fighting raged with a savage intensity that was almost deafening.
More orcs were pulling themselves over the wall. Warriors battered against orcish shields with their spears and blades or whatever weapon they had at hand. One used his trencher and another a poker from the fire. Yet another used nothing but his bare hands to choke the life from an orc as the two of them thrashed on the ground.
A skirmisher screamed in pain, dropping where he stood. Tovak could not see what had injured him. A second cried out in agony, staggering backward as he clutched at his left arm. A third skirmisher lunged with his blade, driving it into an orc’s groin. The creature roared.
“Come on, lad,” Benthok encouraged as he stepped forward, rejoining the fight. “We need to do our bit. Keep it up, lads. Stick it to ’em. Stick them good.”
Tovak went with him. They fought, almost shoulder to shoulder. The fight raging around them, in the darkness, was nothing but chaos. There was no way to follow it. Though he could hear Thegdol and others shouting what sounded like desperate orders, Tovak had no idea what was happening on the other side of camp. All he could focus on was what was before him, and so, that’s what he did.
Roars, screams, and battle cries assailed his ears. He did not have time for thought or fear. He stood his ground, trading blows with an orc who had climbed over the top of the berm and was trying to force his way down into the camp. Benthok, to his right, faced what Tovak decided could only be a goblin. The creature was smaller than the orcs and wore a patchwork of armor. It fought with claws instead of a weapon.
The orc swung for Tovak’s head. He blocked with his sword and the blow set his fingers to tingling. Tovak reversed his sword and aimed a downward slashing strike at the orc’s right leg. The orc react
ed too late and Tovak’s sword sliced easily through muscle as if it were warm butter. Enraged with pain, the orc bared its tusks at him and staggered back a step on the edge of the berm. It suddenly lost its balance and, arms flailing, toppled backward into space and then was gone.
Tovak looked for his next opponent and saw the goblin was at Benthok’s feet, throat neatly sliced open and legs twitching feebly. The lieutenant slashed at an orc wielding a mace, forcing it to raise the weapon and parry. The edge of the lieutenant’s blade bit into the wood of the shaft, sending flecks of wood flying into the air. With a savage roar, the orc dropped the mace and jumped forward onto the lieutenant, knocking him bodily to the ground. Before he knew what he was doing, Tovak stepped forward and thrust with his sword, driving the point of his weapon down into the back of the orc’s neck. There was a moment’s resistance, then the sword drove deep. Tovak felt the blade grate against the spine. He gave the sword a savage twist and felt a crunching. The creature immediately went limp.
Tovak saw motion out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, but it was too late. An orc was swinging a savage-looking sword and aiming straight for his head. He knew it was a killing blow and there was no way he could block it. A blade snapped in front of Tovak’s face, moving forward in a blur that caught the orc’s blade, stopping it only inches from the side of Tovak’s head. Astonished, Tovak turned to see Jodin standing there, grimacing with the impact of the blow and then struggling to force it aside as he raised the blade away from Tovak’s head. Their eyes met for a moment, and without thinking, Tovak grabbed at the orc’s wrist near the sword hilt and pulled, hoping to yank him to the side and off balance. The orc tried to jerk free, but Tovak’s grip was firm.
Jodin took advantage of the move, stepped closer, and stabbed upwards, thrusting and catching the orc beneath the chin and driving his blade up into its brain. The orc released its grip on the weapon and dropped where it stood. As the creature collapsed, it pulled Jodin forward and off balance. Jodin yanked his blade free to turn and confront an orc that had just made it over the wall. He was too late. The orc lunged and stabbed. The blade took Jodin deeply in the side.
Tovak’s corporal screamed, dropping his weapon and drawing back.
Tovak stared, shocked to immobility, as Jodin’s legs gave out and he toppled backward, slamming onto the ground.
“Tovak,” Benthok shouted as he pulled himself to his feet and struck at the orc that had just taken down Jodin. Tovak came to his senses and turned to see that several more orcs had come over the wall. One was a giant, with bulging muscles and standing at least eight feet tall. It carried a massive iron hammer.
Tovak lunged at the orc, who was now fighting the lieutenant, stabbing it in the hip. The blade point hammered against bone. The creature bellowed and turned towards Tovak but was cut down a moment later as the lieutenant stabbed it in the face, blade going in through the mouth. Blood sprayed into Tovak’s face. He could taste the copper tang in his mouth and felt nauseated. For a moment, it blinded him. He wiped it out of his eyes with the back of his arm.
Without missing a beat, Benthok had pulled back, sidestepped, and parried a strike from the giant orc with the hammer. He caught the hammer on the shaft, just missing the orc’s fingers by a hair. The lieutenant grunted and stepped back a pace, in a defensive posture. The orc advanced, shouting in a guttural language that Tovak did not understand. It sounded like an order or an encouragement to the other orcs. Was this their leader?
Tovak attacked the orc from the side. It reacted instantly and with lightning quickness. The creature parried with an ear-splitting clang of metal on metal as Tovak’s steel met the iron of the hammer. Sparks flew into the air. The strength of Tovak’s swing knocked the hammer back and carried through into the side of the orc’s temple, slamming against the helm.
Stunned slightly, the creature took a step back. Benthok lunged forward and slashed at the giant. He caught its forearm, opening the arm up to the bone. The orc stepped back, raising the war hammer in a one-handed defensive position. Benthok attacked again, driving the big orc backward towards the wall.
Tovak thrust with his sword and aimed for the exposed neck. The creature twisted and the tip of his sword grated against the chest armor. The orc swung the hammer left and right, in a desperate bid to hold both the lieutenant and Tovak back. Benthok stumbled over a body and almost fell. The orc, shockingly fast, leaned forward and swung the hammer with a slash at Tovak’s head. Tovak raised his blade and just barely caught the attack. The force of the blow made his fingers go numb and he cried out from the pain. Gritting his teeth, Tovak tightened his grip, and for a long moment, they strained against one another. The orc roared its defiance at Tovak, who screamed inarticulately back at it.
Benthok, having recovered, stepped in and brought his blade down viciously at an angle. The blade connected between the orc’s head and shoulder. It sank deep, cleaving through the muscle and tendon of the neck. The orc roared in agony as it was driven to its knees. A second chop finished it.
“Nice work,” the lieutenant said to Tovak. “He was a big one.”
The lieutenant was about to turn away towards the fight when a fist came smashing into the side of his head. Benthok’s head spun sideways as he crumpled down into the dirt and lay unmoving at Tovak’s feet. An unarmed orc stood over the lieutenant. The orc spotted Tovak and bellowed, displaying its tusks. Tovak stepped forward, and as he did, the orc took several steps back. It growled at Tovak as he stood over the lieutenant’s body, prepared to defend Benthok, when four skirmishers came charging forward, cutting the orc down in a flurry of strikes.
A horn blew from out in the darkness beyond the wall, three short blasts. It blew a second time. Orcs began shouting amongst each other, and with it, the sound of battle around the camp began to fade, almost completely dying off.
“Don’t let them escape,” Thegdol shouted from the darkness. “They’re withdrawing. Kill as many as you can, boys. Less to fight later.”
The last of the orcs before Tovak were already on the berm. They climbed down into the trench or jumped, leaping out into the darkness and disappearing from view. On the other side of the camp, the sound of fighting intensified for several heartbeats, then died away.
Tovak was left breathing heavily. He blinked, not quite believing what had just occurred, nor the fact that he was still alive. Battle was not as he had expected or dreamed it would be. It was ugly and harsh, cruel even. Now that he’d experienced it, he knew he would never be the same. He stabbed the point of his weapon into the dirt.
He turned around. And as he did, he realized that Benthok had fallen almost right next to Jodin. Remembering his wounded corporal, he rushed over and knelt between them both. A single glance told him that Jodin lived, but he’d been badly injured. The corporal had saved his life, possibly at the cost of his own.
A lancing bolt of remorse shot through him. He suddenly felt irrationally guilty about the Adjudication Circle and accepting the challenge. Tovak looked over at the lieutenant. He checked for a pulse and found one. The lieutenant had just been knocked out, at least he thought so.
“I need help here,” Tovak shouted, turning back to Jodin. He did not know what to do. Blood was flowing liberally from the wound in the corporal’s side. In the darkness, he could not see how bad it was but suspected the worst. “I need help with Corporal Jodin. He’s injured.”
Tovak felt immense relief as Corporal Karn knelt beside Jodin and rapidly examined the wound, probing it with his fingers.
“Put your palm on it. Use both hands and press hard,” Karn said. “If you don’t, he will bleed to death. Understand?”
“Yes.” Tovak did as instructed and felt the hot, sticky wetness of Jodin’s blood on his hands. No matter how hard he pressed, some of the blood seeped through his fingers.
“Good, just like that. I will be right back with a bandage,” Karn said and rushed away.
All about was the sound of the moaning of the wounded, the
shouting of orders or calling for help. No one was celebrating their victory, if that was what you could call it. From the wall behind him, a bow twanged as one of the archers fired out into the darkness. She was rewarded with a cry of agony.
Karn returned with a large bandage and two lengths of cord. He cut away Jodin’s tunic with his dagger, then removed Tovak’s hands from the wound. Jodin moaned softly. Karn placed the bandage against the wound, which, without pressure, had begun to bleed heavily again. He quickly tied the cords tight around the corporal’s torso and the bandage.
“That should do him for the moment,” Karn said.
“Will he live?” Tovak asked. “Please, tell me he will live.”
“That’s up to the gods,” Karn said, wiping his hands clean on the remains of Jodin’s tunic, “and ultimately the warband’s surgeons. That’s if he makes it that far.” Karn shook his head sadly. “He took a bad wound.”
Tovak looked down on Jodin, feeling intense sorrow.
“Thulla,” Tovak said, bowing his head, “grant Jodin a recovery from this wound, for I owe him my life and I do not want him to die. He does not deserve to go this way.”
When Tovak opened his eyes, he discovered Karn gazing at him oddly. He realized he’d just revealed his faith to the corporal. He no longer cared. He was done hiding who he was.
“Deserves got nothing to do with it,” Karn said softly. “Still, I think he’d welcome your prayers. I know I would.”
With that, the corporal stood and stepped away.
“Where’s the lieutenant?” Thegdol called.
“He’s over here,” Tovak said, raising his hand. “The lieutenant is down.”
Thegdol hurried over.
“He’s only knocked out,” Tovak explained. “An orc sucker punched him when he wasn’t looking.”
Thegdol appeared relieved, but he still bent down and looked the lieutenant over. He checked for a pulse and then opened one of the lieutenant’s eyes, staring into it. Satisfied, the sergeant stood and then saw Jodin. A look of profound sadness came over him.
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