When the goblins were about twenty-five yards from the line, the twang of multiple bows rang out. A heartbeat later, the goblins crashed to the ground as several arrows hammered them. One of the goblins squealed and began screaming in a high-pitched tone that was almost painful. Sword in hand, a pioneer stepped out from cover and onto the path. He efficiently slit the throat of the screamer before dragging each body out of the way and off the path.
Benthok rose to his feet, whistled, and motioned in an exaggerated manner with his sword, pointing it forward for the line to move. Beyond the lieutenant, Tovak could see Dagon already in motion, leading his pioneers forward, off to the left. Greng’s strikers were gone. Before it had become light, they must have moved forward in preparation of storming the wall from behind. Or they might have simply been out of his view.
Tovak, Gorabor, and Dagmar moved with the line, slowly, cautiously through the forest in the direction of the canyon. Tovak heard distant, faint shouts that sounded like cries of alarm, but he could not be certain. With each step, the shouts grew louder.
After about two hundred fifty yards, the steep slope of the other ridge came into view, seeming to tower over them. As they continued forward, through the trees, the ground began to incline steeply upward to their right as they entered the canyon. It became rocky and broken. Tovak knew it would be difficult to traverse.
The foundation of a building appeared to their front. It was small, box-like, with a slight depression. The stone walls of the foundation rose only to knee level and were covered with moss. Tovak climbed over the wall and into what had once been the building itself. He wondered what it had been, a farmhouse, storage? With the forest all around him, there was simply no telling. It was now a ruin, a monument to the past that no one remembered. A few steps later, he climbed out the other side. There was another foundation a few yards away to his left that looked suspiciously like it had belonged to a barn.
There were more shouts ahead, drawing his attention. They were closer now, as was another horn call that sounded desperate. It blew several times. In Tovak’s mind, he could well imagine the warband’s lead companies, led by Captain Struugar, moving through the canyon, preparing to assault the wall, if they had not already begun to do so. Then, from ahead, in the trees, there was a harsh shout, almost animalistic. Benthok held up his hand. The entire line stopped and then crouched down.
There was another shout close by. It was followed by the distinct ring of steel on steel. Tovak found that shocking and it set his nerves on edge. There was a bloodcurdling scream and then silence.
A heartbeat later, half a dozen orcs wearing black leather armor burst through a stand of trees and brush ahead. When they spotted the line of skirmishers, they came to a halt, suddenly uncertain.
“Shoot them!” Dagon roared. “They cannot escape! Bows ….”
The thrum of bowstrings from the pioneers filled the air. An orc dropped, while another was thrown to the ground with an arrow in his side. He roared with pain. The injured orc staggered back to his feet and shouted something in his guttural language, while pointing ahead with his bloodied sword at the line of skirmishers. Shouting war cries, the other orcs charged forward. The leader, badly wounded and with an arrow sticking out of his side, managed two steps before three more arrows hammered into his leather chest armor and knocked him down. He did not rise again.
The surviving four orcs, closer to the path, continued at a run for the skirmisher line. Another orc was hit by an arrow. Though staggered by the missile, he kept moving forward at a run. Then they reached the line, attempting to go through a gap between groupings of the skirmishers. Thegdol and Benthok were moving to intercept them, as were the nearest skirmishers. Tovak, Gorabor, and Dagmar were just too far away to do much other than watch, and Tovak could not risk using his sling and hitting a friendly. Besides, their responsibility was to hold their position and keep any other enemy from slipping by them. So they, like most of the others along the line, simply watched the drama unfold.
Tovak saw Bane reach the enemy first, bodily positioning himself in the path of one of the orcs. The skirmisher swung his sword in a powerful slash towards the orc’s midsection. The orc blocked the strike, knocking it aside. However, the creature’s momentum carried him full on into Bane. They both went down in a tumble. Then Thegdol was there, as was Benthok, along with two other skirmishers. The melee was violent and ugly. Two orcs went down in rapid succession.
One shoved a skirmisher roughly aside and sprinted forward, breaking through the line. He got five yards before an arrow hammered into his back. The creature went down hard. This was followed almost immediately by an agonized squeal of pain that reminded Tovak of a pig being slaughtered. Then Bane pulled himself to his feet. The skirmisher had lost his sword, but he held a bloodied dagger in his hand, and he was fairly coated with the orc’s green blood. All of the enemy were down. It had happened incredibly quickly, almost shockingly so. The fight was over and done.
Then Benthok abruptly looked Tovak’s way, only that wasn’t right. The lieutenant was looking beyond him. He pointed. Tovak, Gorabor, and Dagmar turned. While they had been focused on the fight, two orcs had gotten behind them and were scrambling into the trees along the steep slope of the ridge. Tovak felt a surge of horror at the lapse. He cursed himself. He should have been watching the area around them, not the fight. To the orcs’ front was an old wall that was overgrown with ivy. They were both moving towards it.
“Tovak, Gorabor, Dagmar, get them,” Benthok shouted. “Don’t let them escape.”
Tovak began running. A quick glance behind told him Dagmar and Gorabor were following. Weaving through the trees and dodging boulders, they began climbing the slope as they pursued the enemy. Both orcs reached the wall, glanced back, and then hastily pulled themselves up and over the other side. Dropping down, they were gone from sight.
Tovak increased his pace, pushing for all he was worth. A few heartbeats later, he reached the wall, which was about six feet in height and about twenty to thirty feet long. It was covered with ivy and moss. The stone had once been cemented together and then plastered over. Only remnants of the cement remained and some plaster. There were easy handholds. Sheathing his sword, Tovak began climbing. The stones shifted but held his weight.
He reached the top and glanced over. He felt his heart plummet. Both orcs were gone. It seemed almost as if the forest had swallowed them up. He pulled himself over and dropped down to the ground below, which was strewn with stones that had come down from the wall. A heartbeat later, Gorabor joined him. Scanning the trees to their front, Tovak pulled out his sword.
“Where’d they go?” Gorabor asked, searching the forest as well.
Tovak did not know, but he knew what he had to do. He had to find and kill them, before they could spread word of the warband going for the wall. Tovak wasn’t helpless either. He knew he could find them, track them down. He turned his attention down to the ground, studying the area intently. After a moment, he spotted tracks amongst the leaves. He pointed to the right. “They went that way.”
He started forward, with Gorabor following. Behind them there was a heavy thud, followed by a grunt.
“Bloody gods,” Dagmar hissed.
They looked back to find Dagmar on the ground cradling his ankle, the one he had injured days before.
“Bloody gods,” Dagmar groaned. “I have the worst bloody luck.”
“Are you alright?” Tovak asked.
“I’ve gone and bloody twisted it again,” Dagmar said, through gritted teeth. He attempted to stand and clearly couldn’t. He looked up at them. “What are you looking at me for? Go get the bastards.”
That was enough for Tovak. He turned, with Gorabor at his side, and started forward, following the enemy’s trail.
Chapter Fifteen
Tovak moved through the forest with Gorabor a few yards behind him. With every passing moment, it became brighter out, easier to see. The enemy were making no effort to conceal their
tracks, and Tovak was moving at a good jog, nearly a full run, as he followed their trail. The previous season’s leaves rustled under his feet as he ran.
After they had gone five hundred yards, the two creatures came into view. Both had stopped running and had clearly paused to take a breather. Almost immediately, they spotted Tovak and Gorabor and as one turned and broke into an outright run. It became a full-on race after that. Tovak’s legs kept pumping beneath him and pretty soon he was sucking some serious wind. He had to assume the enemy were doing the same. At least he hoped so.
As he chased after them, he soon realized he had left Gorabor behind, somewhere back in the trees. He considered stopping, but to do so would see him lose sight of the enemy, and he couldn’t allow them to escape. He decided there was nothing to do but keep going. He hoped Gorabor would be able to follow.
His heart pounded in his chest. His legs burned from the effort. His body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his breath came in heavy gasps as he pushed himself to the limit … and then beyond.
Tovak was beginning to tire and the distance between him and his quarry grew from twenty yards to thirty. He began to lose sight of them as they ran, the trunks of trees temporarily blocking his view. The distance increased to forty yards, fifty. Then, as he went through a tight stand of young pine trees, he lost sight of them. When he emerged through the pines, the two orcs were nowhere to be seen. A deep fear crept into his heart. Had they gotten away? Had he failed?
Slowing to a walk and desperate to get his wind back, he searched for their trail amongst the scattering of leaves and moss on the forest floor. There was no disturbance or evidence they had even come this way. He could hear nothing, other than the breeze moving through the trees and stirring the leaves overhead.
When he caught up with them, if he did, it would be two against one, and he was rapidly becoming spent. Tovak understood his only hope was that both orcs would be just as exhausted as he was.
He knew they were close by but could not find their tracks anywhere. He retraced his steps but saw nothing other than his own boot prints. As he neared the stand of trees, he recovered the orcs’ trail. They had turned to the left there, likely to throw off pursuit. Feeling a thrill of excitement, he pressed forward, following and making his way through the trees as quietly as possible, despite his breath coming in short gasps.
As he moved forward, the forest began to thin around him. He came upon a low wall of dark stone with thick blocks. The wall formed the remains of a foundation. Lichen and moss grew over it. Stepping up to the wall, which was chest high, Tovak looked beyond.
There were dozens of ruined buildings ahead. Tovak took a moment to scan about. It looked as if he had found the remains of an ancient town. He saw no movement, so he stepped around the end of the wall. The other four walls of the building had collapsed, falling inward into a disordered pile of shaped stones. Vegetation had grown up over it all. Tovak paused again and surveyed what he could see. It appeared as if the forest was doing its best to claw back the remnants of civilization in this place. He had the sudden feeling that nothing in the world held permanence, and that made him feel slightly sad.
Moving forward slowly and holding his sword at the ready, he followed the tracks deeper into what was left of the town. The farther he went, the more structures he saw, parceled out around him. Mostly, all that remained were walls, foundations, or collapsed piles of stone that vines and vegetation had taken over.
Stepping along what had once clearly been a street, but was now scattered with large oak trees, Tovak came to a small square, where several streets had converged. There were what appeared to be the remains of a rectangular well in the center of the square. Or perhaps it had been an aqueduct-fed fountain where the residents would come to fetch fresh water. He could no longer tell. He moved up to it and glanced down into the hole or basin, whatever it had been. It went down a few feet, then stopped. He saw no water. It might have intentionally been filled in, or maybe time had done that job, with layers of leaves from uncounted years.
As he quickly followed the tracks, he glanced around the square. What had happened to the people who had lived here? Where had they gone?
He was surrounded by what was left of a large Dvergr town, perhaps even a small city. He was sure of it. The stonework of the buildings was too similar to what his own people built. There was no telling how far the ruins extended out into the forest, but he suspected they were extensive.
Holding his sword at the ready, he continued on, scanning the ground, following the tracks. They led him down a narrow street, and then onto a larger one, straight ahead into the middle of what he decided must have been the town center, a central square of sorts.
It was good-sized, easily two hundred feet across. Here would have been the center of the community, where the government and holy buildings would have been located. If it was anything like his people’s towns, farmers from the countryside would have come to this place to sell their produce and goods. Important meetings would have been held here and news read by officials.
Tovak tried to picture what it might have looked like in his head and had difficulty doing it. Too much time had passed, and so very little was left, just the remnants of who these people had been to mark their passing.
In the center of the square were a large pedestal and a fallen tree. The pedestal was of the kind used to mount statues. But of the statue there was no sign.
Tovak continued forward. A few feet into the square, the trail stopped, as if both orcs had vanished into thin air. There was silence all around. Not even the birds chirped. On guard, he glanced around, wondering where the two creatures had gone. The buildings that had hemmed in the square had all been large structures, and there were plenty of places to hide amongst the fallen columns, collapsed walls, and trees that grew up throughout it all. Tovak took a moment to get control over his rasping breath as he scanned carefully about. His heart was still pounding in his chest from the exertion.
He could see nothing that stood out to him, no movement. But he had the sense the enemy were close by. It was a distinct possibility that they were lying in wait, maybe even watching him. He looked down at the tracks again and back the way they went. He decided they had doubled back on their own footprints. It was a clever move and it told him his quarry were not stupid, mindless beasts. They were thinking individuals, capable of higher reasoning. That made them even more dangerous.
After a moment, he started forward, deciding not to play their game. He moved deeper into the square, stepping around a couple of large oaks that grew close together. He continued to carefully scan the area about him as he moved. He stopped at the ruined pedestal. It was taller than he was by a head and at least six feet wide. He realized after a moment that what he had thought was a fallen tree was in reality a massive marble statue that had fallen and then become overgrown with vegetation. The statue had broken into several pieces and, with the overgrowth, was nearly unrecognizable.
For a fleeting moment, as he looked around, Tovak felt very alone. There was no sign of Gorabor, and the only sounds were his own faint footsteps as he moved about, exploring, and the occasional gust of a breeze. But, in truth, he wasn’t alone. He’d never been alone. He had his faith and always would.
Blowing out a determined breath, he moved around the statue and continued forward a half-step at a time to the far side of the square. He decided to circle around behind the ruins bordering the square. He would pick up their tracks that way and, if they were planning on an ambush, possibly gain the upper hand on them.
As he moved past a medium structure with multiple columns that had fallen outward and split into large chunks, he hesitated. The columns had partially sunk into the forest floor. He wondered if this might have been a temple at some point in the distant past. A temple to his god, perhaps?
Then he heard a rustling of leaves to the left. Tovak turned just as an orc, who had been hiding behind a stone wall five feet away, emerged and charged him, shout
ing a guttural war cry as it came on.
Tovak raised his weapon and took two steps back to gain space. The creature’s blade crashed down into his sword, forcefully driving him back another step. A roar filled the forest, this one coming at him from behind.
Tovak spun and dodged desperately sideways, narrowly avoiding a slash that swung down at him and slammed into the ground. The second orc’s blade kicked up a spray of dirt.
Tovak scrambled backward, moving away from the center of town and down what had once been a narrow street, perhaps even a side alley. Both orcs came after him. Tovak continued to back up, moving off the street and up what seemed to be a small hill. He had to watch where he was going so that he did not bump into a tree or trip over a root.
The two orcs followed. They held long, straight blades at the ready, and their eyes were filled with what he could only describe as cunning and intelligence. They rushed him together, slashing at him. He parried one swing and dodged the other as he continued to back up the hill. One of the orcs snarled something in their own language to the other and lunged at Tovak, the blade coming in fast and low. Tovak blocked. The clang of steel on steel rang out almost painfully on the morning air. He took another step back. The other orc swung his blade high, aiming for Tovak’s head. He blocked that blow as well and moved back another step.
Step by step and thoroughly on the defensive, he blocked, parried, and dodged one blow after another as he continued to give ground. He knew he was in real trouble. There was no doubt about it. He could already feel himself tiring and that was dangerous, for that’s when mistakes were made.
He took a quick glance behind him and saw a small wall about a foot high that ran around the crest of the hill in a sort of ring. It was only about a foot high and two feet wide. Increasing his pace, he stepped over it. As one of the orcs went to follow, Tovak lunged forward, striking out. The orc stumbled on the wall as he hastily attempted to back up, almost tripping and falling. The tip of Tovak’s blade slipped past the orc’s guard and sank into the exposed flesh of his shoulder, punching easily through the creature’s leather armor. Lightly wounded, the orc hissed in rage and swatted Tovak’s blade away, then made a lunge of his own. Tovak gave ground as he was forced back once again.
Forging Destiny Page 21
