Tovak stepped over to the injured pioneer and knelt down. He had lost consciousness, which was odd because, as far as Tovak could see, he’d only been wounded on the arm. Tovak wondered if he’d somehow hit his head when he’d fallen.
The ring of steel on steel close at hand drew Tovak’s gaze back to the fight. The leader blocked each of Karn’s attacks, alternating with his weapons, left-right-left-right, as he gave ground. Tovak could see the leader was drawing Karn in. And then in a flash, the leader countered, catching Karn’s weapon high. He slashed across Karn’s thigh with his off-hand, and the corporal let forth a bloodcurdling scream of pain. He staggered back, clutching at his leg with one hand, and raised his sword to block a follow-up attack. It did not come. The enemy was watching Karn with what Tovak took to be immense satisfaction.
Abruptly, Karn fell to the ground, his entire body wracked with convulsions. What magic was this? Tovak felt the rage within his breast swell with intensity. Almost without realizing it, he had started moving forward, but another orc came at him, charging in from the side with a hacking slash aimed for his head.
Something sparked in Tovak, igniting his senses with a fire that coursed throughout his body. His blade came up without even a thought, and he blocked the orc’s attack. Fueled by a rage that had been building for a lifetime, Tovak stepped back, swung his blade over his head, and put every ounce of strength and hate into a single blow.
The orc’s blade came up, perfectly placed to stop Tovak’s swing.
A resonating ching of metal breaking filled the air as Tovak’s sword shattered the curved blade of his enemy and sliced into his upper arm. The orc roared in pain. Tovak drew back, reversed his swing, and came around again, pouring all his effort into it. The orc raised his ruined arm in a futile attempt to block the killing blow. Tovak’s blade passed clean through the arm with a wet thuck just above the elbow, before cleaving down into its side. Tovak’s blade cut easily through the leather armor as if it were parchment. The orc grunted with the impact, and staggered backward with impossibly wide eyes, before falling to the ground.
Tovak knew he had delivered a mortal blow and sensed no more threat from that quarter. He turned away from his wounded opponent and looked around for the enemy’s leader. He spotted him a few feet away, standing over Karn, who was still convulsing violently as if in a fit. Though the fight raged all around, now there was nothing between him and the enemy leader.
“Come on,” Tovak screamed. His vision had gone red around the edges. In all the world, for Tovak, there was only this evil creature, who had struck down two of his comrades, one of whom was a friend. He strode forward, his blade held ready.
The orc turned his gaze from Karn to Tovak and bared his tusks at him wickedly. The creature lowered into a fighting stance and waited.
“Tovak.” Benthok’s warning shout barely registered. “Don’t. That’s a Koin’Duur.”
With every fiber of his body, Tovak hated. He had not known such pure hate could exist until this very moment. He needed to destroy this creature, eradicate its entire existence, no matter the cost.
Like a stone drawn along the bottom of a fast-moving river, the pull dragged him forward. It was as potent as Tovak had ever felt, and he gave himself over to it.
When the enemy was just within reach, Tovak swung a slashing attack. The orc raised his off-hand weapon and side-stepped. Tovak’s blade glanced off the block, but he was expecting the orc’s main-hand attack. He halted, cut sideways, and blocked the slash of the second blade.
Around them, the battle continued to rage. Distantly, he heard roaring orcs, the battle cries of his comrades, oaths, shouts, and the ring of steel on steel. But in that moment, his opponent existed alone, a pillar of darkness that needed to be destroyed by Tovak’s light, which he felt shining within.
The orc came at him with a savage off-hand slash. Tovak stepped back and blocked. A flurry of slashes assailed Tovak’s defenses, driving him back. He understood that his opponent was highly skilled, but something within Tovak seemed to have awoken. It made him faster, stronger, fueled his drive. His enemy appeared too slow, and it was almost as if time itself were slowing. He blocked each blow, which came fast and hard. He began angling his blocks, putting more force behind them, pushing those deadly short swords away in an attempt to create an opening.
Again, and again, the orc came at Tovak, but each slash and thrust failed to penetrate the wall of steel Tovak created between them with his blade. Again and again their blades clanged painfully. Tovak parried a wide arcing slash aimed at his midsection. In a fraction of a heartbeat, he saw what he’d been waiting for—the barest opening and a chance to cleave the orc’s flesh.
Tovak caught the next attack with a high block as the creature drew back his other hand and prepared to strike. The tip of Tovak’s sword dipped as he stepped forward, and he drove it into the orc’s thigh. A jolt ran up his arm, along with a dank, sickening feeling that revolted him. He twisted hard as he’d been taught and stepped back, bringing his blade with him.
The orc grunted in pain. Instead of falling back, as Tovak had expected, his opponent came forward and attacked, slashing at Tovak’s head. Tovak ducked beneath it and swung his blade straight up as he stepped away. The edge of his blade glanced along the orc’s bracer at an angle, sliding down, and sliced into an exposed wrist. Again, there was a jolt of that sickening feeling.
He drew back, parried a weak backslash from the orc. Too late, he realized his mistake. It had been a feint. The orc twisted, slashing with his off-hand, hard. Tovak leaped back, but the blade raked along the edge of his arm, slicing open the flesh.
The wound flared with pain, as if molten steel had been poured onto his flesh. In an instant, the searing burn raced across his nerves. He felt like his body had been set on fire. Angered, Tovak stepped into his opponent and slashed hard. The blade sliced across the creature’s neck, thoroughly opening up the throat. Tovak felt a spray of hot blood across his face. He could taste and smell the coppery tang.
“Bastard,” Tovak snarled as the orc staggered back. Dropping his swords, his opponent reached for his damaged neck, choking on his own blood. The orc’s legs seemed to fail him as he slowly sank to his knees. A moment later he toppled over onto his side, lifeblood pouring out onto the forest floor.
Tovak felt a moment of intense satisfaction and triumph roll over him. He had eliminated the evil from this world, done his part to cleanse it. Then the pain in his arm seared, flaring with intensity, as if he’d been poked with a hot brand. He screamed in agony. Dropping his sword, he gripped his injured arm. His vision began to swim from the pain, only Tovak knew it was more than that. It had to be. The wound wasn’t that bad. It was a simple slice and did not go that deep. But at the same time, his arm had gone beet red, as if it were burning from the inside out.
With each pounding beat of his heart, it seemed the pain spread further throughout his body, from his arm up through his shoulder and across his chest. The pain was quickly becoming unbearable.
“Thulla,” he gasped, “help me.”
He felt himself tumbling backward as blinding agony assailed his senses.
Chapter Eleven
Tovak knew only pain.
Time stood still, contained in a single moment that burned as hot as dragon’s fire. Hours, days … the moment stretched out along a razor-thin line, burning white-hot as it drew itself across a seeming eternity of burning.
At the edge of his senses, a spark of cool, blue light appeared, drifting down through burning currents, the pain, the agony. He had a sense that the spark could soothe the hurt, quench the fire, and end the pain.
Embrace Me, a deep voice said, as I have embraced you. Serve Me, Tovak Stonehammer. The path is yours alone to walk. The choice must be freely made.
In burning agony, Tovak reached out with his mind, desperate to wrap his hands around it. The spark was his salvation.
The spark neared, coming ever so close, sifting through the flames w
ith a will of its own. He grabbed it. A sense of love and peace such as he’d never known settled over him. It penetrated his being, filled him up, and as it did, the agony lessened, faded at least enough for him to suck in a breath of air. A wave of soothing energy, originating at the center of his core, spread out across his body. Agony became pain. When it reached the wound on his arm, from which the fire spread, there was a sharp jolt, and then the burning eased rapidly, as if freshly forged steel were dipped into a bucket of water. He could almost sense the steam rising from the wound, floating away.
Pain became ache.
Tovak sucked in a gasping breath. His mind seemed to be shrouded in a fog. Fire still danced along his nerves, but it was muted, distant … a far cry from the all-consuming agony that had wracked his very being.
And so … the pact has been made and the journey begun ….
Tovak took another breath, this one deeper. Through a haze, he blinked. His eyelids seemed heavy and his vision was blurry. It took a moment to clear. Tovak looked around to find his comrades still fighting with the orcs. The battle was spread out all around him. How much time had passed? It didn’t make sense. It had felt like forever and yet it likely had been mere heartbeats. His thoughts seemed confused, scrambled. What had happened? Had he hit his head? Then he remembered the voice, the love, the peace, and suddenly felt stronger.
To his right, Benthok fought a desperate duel with an orc.
“Finish the others,” Benthok shouted as he fought. “Don’t let any escape.”
The orc landed a glancing blow on the lieutenant’s shoulder armor. Benthok grunted and took a step back. The orc came on and their blades met once again. Both moved fast, their swords barely a glinting blur of steel. Benthok’s features were a mask of concentration as he blocked every strike. Tovak glanced over at the enemy’s leader. The body lay a few feet away.
I should be dead.
The thought echoed in Tovak’s brain. He turned and saw the body of the pioneer a few yards away. The pioneer did not appear to be breathing. Karn lay a few feet away, still and unmoving.
A roar from the orc battling the lieutenant drew Tovak’s gaze. The creature sent a flurry of attacks crashing into Benthok’s defenses. Benthok gave ground one step at a time, but it was clear he was weakening, tiring.
“Thulla,” Tovak pleaded through a ragged breath as he rolled onto his side. “Grant me the strength.”
Another wave of cool energy filled him, pressing the pain back further still. He sat up, wincing, and reached out to where his sword had fallen. He wrapped his fingers around the grip, at first rather clumsily, then with more confidence. It felt good to hold the weapon. With effort, he sat up. He jammed the point of the sword into the forest floor and, using the weapon as a crutch, pulled himself up and onto his feet. It was an effort to breathe. Every movement brought back flickers of pain, memories of the agony. He pushed through it and straightened.
Tovak struggled to focus his attention on the orc battling Benthok. He must help. The rage at the enemy surged through him once again, pushing the ache back even further. A wave of dizziness washed over him. Tovak staggered a step and almost fell. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the fog that seemed to cling to his every thought. He took a stiff, wooden step towards the fight between the lieutenant and the orc. Benthok’s blade was a blur. So too was the orc’s. He took two more steps, closing on the creature from behind. He tightened his grip around the sword and lifted the blade. It felt like it weighed ten times its normal weight. Drawing in every ounce of strength, he thrust as hard as his body was able for the orc’s back. The effort was too much. Tovak lost his balance and fell to a knee.
The tip of his blade, however, punched through the back of the orc’s calf. The orc roared in pain and half turned. Benthok took that moment and stepped forward. His sword jabbed out, stabbing into the creature’s belly. The orc’s scream ceased as the lieutenant’s blade went deep. Benthok gave the sword a savage twist. Mouth working, the orc gagged in utter agony as he sank to his knees, dropping his sword. Benthok kicked the weapon away and pulled his blade out. The orc stiffened and fell over onto his side, twitching.
The dizziness returned as Tovak tried to stand again. He felt something within him, something new. If he closed his eyes, he could see it in his mind. It was a blue light. Mentally, Tovak reached out for it. He didn’t know what to make of it, then realized it was the blue spark. He recalled the voice and suddenly felt very small. His faith in Thulla, however, bloomed beyond the love he had always felt for his god.
What is happening to me?
You have been saved, My son.
Tovak felt a moment of astonishment. Then the fog pressed in once again, wrapped itself around his mind, and swallowed him as he fell headlong into unconsciousness.
Tovak blinked his eyes, but there was only blurry fog.
“He’s coming around.”
The words floated down into Tovak’s consciousness, as if he were at the bottom of a deep well. He recognized the voice, but his addled brain wouldn’t put a name to it. With effort, he forced his eyes open, waited several heartbeats for the face above him to come into focus, and then realized he was staring at Lieutenant Benthok. The sky above was dark and the moon was up.
“Sir?” Tovak asked.
“How do you feel?”
It took Tovak several moments to comprehend that he’d been asked a question, and several more to wrap his head around what the question meant. He considered it for a moment. He was exhausted. He knew that much, but what about the rest? He drew in a slow, steady breath. He shifted his legs slightly. There was an ache with each movement, but it was dull at best. He moved his arms. They, too, were stiff and sore. And the back of his right arm, where he had been injured, still burned with fire.
“Tired,” Tovak finally managed. His voice was a croak. He cleared his throat. “Stiff and sore.” He stared into Benthok’s eyes as the fog cleared further. “Alive?”
“It looks that way,” Benthok said. “I thought we’d lost you too.”
“Too, sir?”
“We lost five, and Karn is still unconscious from that gods-forsaken poison.”
“Poison?”
“Yes,” Benthok said. “The Koin’Duur coat their blades with it. You and Karn should be dead right now. Though Karn likely won’t make it.”
Tovak closed his eyes and felt a wave of worry for Karn.
“And what of my wound?” he asked.
Benthok got a curious look upon his face, bordering on disbelief.
“I stitched and bandaged it up. I think you will recover.”
A fading memory of what had happened when he was struck by the enemy leader’s blade floated through his thoughts. The ocean of fire … the blue spark … the voice …. Had that all really happened?
“It seems Fortuna favors you,” Benthok said.
“Thulla,” Tovak said.
“Whichever god you choose to thank then,” Benthok said. “Maybe there wasn’t much poison left on the blade. Whatever the reason, you are damn lucky.” Benthok fell silent a moment. “Killing a Koin’Duur by yourself … and then having the strength to come to my aid.” Benthok shook his head. “I think you might be gods blessed, Tovak, or stupid. Of which, I am not sure yet.”
“What’s a Koin’Duur?” Tovak asked.
“You don’t know?” Benthok seemed surprised by that.
Tovak shook his head and almost immediately regretted it. His vision swam once again, and his stomach felt like it had flipped. He almost upchucked. It took effort to keep that from happening.
“They are warriors of skill, courage, and daring,” Benthok said. “They are also the blessed of Avaya, dark and malevolent things. They are said to do the dark goddess’s bidding and are imbued with occult powers. Thankfully, their numbers are few and we don’t see very many of them.”
“It was evil,” Tovak said, his voice a mere whisper filled with the horror of the memory. He swallowed and locked eyes with his lie
utenant. “I could feel it, Avaya’s touch, the darkness.”
Benthok did not reply. His face was a mask, but Tovak thought the lieutenant’s gaze looked troubled. There was a worry deep in his eyes.
“Did we get all of the orcs?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. He realized that if any had gotten away, then the enemy would soon know they’d been there. With the warband out on the plateau, it wouldn’t take much for someone to conclude they were scouting the ridge for a specific reason. If that happened, the whole mission would be in jeopardy.
“We did,” Benthok said. “We’re cleaning up the area so nobody can tell easily what happened here. With luck the most they’ll know is that a patrol disappeared but not where exactly. If anyone comes this way, they’ll probably figure out this is where the patrol ended up. But if we’re lucky, by the time they find the battle site, we will be up and over the ridge and it will be too late to stop us.” Benthok paused, glanced over at something, and then returned his gaze to Tovak. “We’re going to be heading back to camp soon.”
A sharp pang of guilt slammed into him. He remembered what had set everything in motion … what had caused the orc leader to stop and engage them. It had been Tovak. He was certain of it. The Koin’Duur had sensed him, just as Tovak had sensed its evil. It was all his fault. Regret and anguish filled his heart.
Thulla, what have I done?
“It really was a Koin’Duur?” Tovak asked.
“Nasty stuff, servants of Avaya,” Lieutenant Brund said, appearing from the other side of where Benthok crouched. “They fight with poison and are dangerous, even without the filth they coat their blades with.”
“Sir,” Tovak started a bit uneasily, looking between Benthok and Brund, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” Brund asked.
“I think I might have drawn that Koin’Duur to us, sir.”
Forging Destiny Page 15
