He’d picked up a total of three gold coins, forty or so silver, and some copper. The orcs didn’t carry much ready coin, it seemed. The best pieces Max received were from the leader. He’d been the one to creep into the leader’s tent, unsure of whether he’d be asleep. But the giant orc was snoring loudly, it’s mouth wide open and drool running down its face onto the furs that made up its bed. Max had put the daggers away and drawn his sword again, decapitating the helpless orc with one powerful stroke. He had promised Steelbender, after all, to try and use his sword more. The furs beneath the orc’s head meant Max could chop away without making much noise.
He looted the boss, him being the last orc to die, then began rifling through the tent. There were two chests set against the back wall, both locked. A quick check of the dead orc revealed a leather thong around his neck with two small keys. He used them to open the chests, and smiled happily. Inside the first was a large bag of coins, including many gold and even a few platinum coins. Next to it was a stack of papers, which Max simply tucked into storage for later review. Under the papers were three scrolls, which followed the others into his bag.
The second chest held a matching pair of daggers with long, curved blades that featured hooks on the back side at each tip. There was a small opening at the base of the hook, and Max quickly figured out it was a reservoir for poison. The hilts were wrapped in a soft leather, and looked well-worn. With the daggers safely in his bag, a smaller box was uncovered. Inside that box Max found three small, clear crystal rods each about three inches long.
Now that he was alone, Max took the time to Examine the items he’d quickly tucked away while inside the tent.
First, the scrolls. Of the three, two were listed as Scroll of Communication. Max assumed they were a way for the leader of this scouting mission to report back to his boss quickly if necessary. He’d ask Dalia about them in the morning. The third scroll was a spell scroll, the kind you use, not the kind that teaches. It was simply labeled, Portal Scroll, with no destination named. Max figured the orc would have known where it would take him.
The papers from the first chest were mostly maps. Max opened the largest, and when fully unfolded it covered both chests. It showed the ridge that Max had looked down from at the sentry post what seemed like so long ago. To the south it showed the wide forest. There was a red face that resembled a bearded demon over the location of Darkholm. Far to the south a city was highlighted in green. The orc capital? Max set aside the maps to go over with Battleaxe. The scout surely had a better idea of the surrounding geography than him.
The daggers turned out to be a matched set, and each provided +3 to Agility, +2 to Dexterity, and +2 to Endurance. They were a knife-fighter’s weapons, the kind Max imagined a rogue or assassin would favor. He had a hard time picturing the big burly orc using them, so maybe they’d been looted from a captive? Or were intended as a gift for his mate? Max shrugged. They might bring a good price from Fitchstone. Back into his bag they went.
The crystals were a curiosity. When he tried to Examine them, all he got was question marks. Either his skill wasn’t yet high enough to reveal what they were, or there was some kind of enchantment on them that kept him from seeing.
Finished with the loot, Max pulled up the quest from Regin. He was happy to be able to share the quest with his companions, but as he’d been cutting throats in the camp, thinking about how quickly he was already going to be a quarter of the way toward the goal, a disturbing thought had come to him. Reading through the quest, he was relieved to see that he’d gotten credit for all the ears he’d harvested so far. Which he took to mean that the total number of ears required had not risen from one hundred to three hundred to account for the two dwarves. It seemed that all three of them would get credit for the same one hundred ears. Still, he made a mental note to check with the dwarves to confirm this in the morning.
With that settled, he assigned the three attribute points he’d received from leveling up. He put two into Wisdom, and one into Intelligence, further boosting his mana pool and casting abilities.
Housekeeping handled, Max got to his feet and began to pace around the camp. He moved out to the perimeter, away from the fire, so that his eyes were better adjusted to the darkness. While the dwarves slept, he paced, and thought, and made plans.
Curious about whether a similar ploy would work again at another camp, he pulled up his status sheet. It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, then smiled when he saw that he was still showing as neutral with the orcs. Apparently, since no orcs had been awake to witness tonight’s murder spree, his reputation had not been negatively impacted. If he could pull this off again, he might actually get an orc to escort him to the war chief and have a decent chance of completing the dwarves’ mission as well.
Content with the day’s work, Max smiled as his elven hearing picked up soft snoring, not from the sergeant’s tent, but from Dalia’s. With a gentle shake of his head, he resumed his pacing around the camp’s perimeter, awaiting the dawn.
Chapter 19
Max stoked the fire a bit and began cooking breakfast shortly before dawn. The orcs had brought along a decent supply cache, and Max found a small crate filled with eggs packed in straw. They were much larger than the chicken eggs he was used to on earth, with thicker shells. But when cracked over a hot frying pan, they scrambled up just like chicken eggs. Each individual egg filled the entire bottom of the pan, so he only used three eggs. With each one, he removed one of the kabobs that wasn’t treated with sleeping powder and mixed the meat and veggies into the egg. When he dumped the first panful onto a plate and tasted it, he was pleased with the result. Most of the flavor came from the seasonings on the kabob, but the addition of the texture of the egg definitely added something. And the eggs added a buff of +1 to Health regeneration for four hours.
Skill level increase! Your Cooking skill has increased by +1!
The dwarves stirred almost as soon as he began cooking, the smell of food rousing them. As they emerged from the borrowed tents, Max cooked each of them a similar panful of breakfast. They grunted their compliments as they ate, Dalia digging in just as heartily as the sergeant. When they were done eating, Max took the dishes to a nearby water barrel to clean them, while Dalia and Battleaxe each broke down the tent they’d slept in. The entire tent, poles, ropes, and all counted as one item in their inventory, so they figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring them along. Max had already done the same with the larger tent the orc leader had slept in. He’d also taken the two chests, along with their keys. Except for the coins, maps and the crystal rods, he’d replaced everything he taken from them, so it all only took two slots in his inventory. Besides, one never knew when one would need a good box to store things in, like in a city treasury.
Before they left, Max showed the maps to their scout. Battleaxe nodded approvingly. “These be good maps. And aye, that there green mark be one o’ the ruined human cities. Makes sense the orcs would occupy it.” He chuckled at the demon image over Darkholm. “They be right to fear us! Whupped them once, we’ll do it again if needs be!” His shoulders slumped a bit, and he added, “Though we be a bit weakened after the fight with them greys.”
Next Max pulled out the crystals and showed them to both dwarves. Neither of them recognized the items, or had a guess what they might be. Dalia’s Examine skill was high enough that it gave her the name Power Rods, but nothing else. Based on the name, she ventured a guess that they were of gnomish origin. With a sigh, Max put them back into inventory.
They were on their way again shortly after the sun cleared the horizon. With an accurate map to guide them, Battleaxe led the way straight toward a small settlement marked on the map with a sketch of a tiny house. It was maybe half a day’s walk from the scout camp if the map’s scale was accurate.
They were less than an hour down the path when the scout froze, raising his hand for Max and Dalia to halt as well. He reached down and fingered a tripwire that was strung across the path. Gently
running his fingers toward one end, he pulled out his belt knife and spoke quietly while he worked. “Simple trap, same as the one that got ye before. I’ll have it disarmed in-”
He never finished the sentence, interrupted by an arrow slamming into his back. As Battleaxe fell to the ground, Dalia shouted, already casting a heal. Max drew his bow, turning and firing at an orc that had risen from the shrubs to their left. He fired quickly, aiming for center mass, immediately drawing another arrow. The sounds of rustling, and roaring battle cries echoed all around him. Max spun to see three more orcs emerging from positions that had he and his party surrounded. The archer had taken an arrow to his chest, but wasn’t down. Unable to draw the bow, he dropped it and lifted a wicked looking hand axe from his belt.
Max fired another arrow at him, this time to his face. The orc went down even as the others charged Max and Dalia. Two came at Max, one wielding a longsword, the other a double-bladed axe much like Max’s own weapon. The third one headed for Dalia with a spear held in one hand, a short sword in the other.
Dalia had sword and shield at the ready, taking a moment to cast another heal on Battleaxe before fending off the first spear thrust and attempting to stab the orc in front of her.
Max took one last deep breath before engaging his two orcs. The one with the axe arrived first, swinging it directly at Max’s head, looking for the instant kill. Max ducked the blow by dropping to his knees and thrusting upward with his sword to drive it through the orc’s abdomen. Giving it a savage twist, he then yanked the blade free and rolled to his right, putting the wounded orc between him and the sword bearer. Scrambling to his feet, he kicked at the stunned and dying orc, knocking it back into its comrade.
While the two of them were tangled, Max cast Jump and placed himself directly behind Dalia’s opponent. A quick stab in the back sent the blade bursting through the orc’s chest, surprising Dalia as much as the orc. Max withdrew his blade and left her to finish that orc as he turned and charged back toward the remaining survivor.
Determined to work on his sword skill, and now that he had only the one orc to worry about, Max didn’t cast any spells. He simply drove in toward the orc with an overhand chop. The orc raised his own sword and easily deflected Max’s strike. Max had to hop backward to avoid the corresponding swipe across his middle, his own sword pushed too far out to be brought back in to block. He then pointed the tip of his weapon at the orc’s shoulder and drove it down and in, hoping to sever an artery. The orc once again blocked his attempted strike, clearly a better swordfighter than Max.
This time, when the orc countered, Max screamed in pain. The orc’s sword had flipped back around after the parry, faster than his eyes could follow. Before he could react, the blade severed his sword hand, and Max watched in horror as both hand and sword spun away to land in the grass. Blood fountained from the wound, and Max panicked. He fell backward, his butt hitting the ground. The orc stepped forward, a wicked grin on its face exposing the full length of its tusks. Raising its sword over its head with both hands, it took one more step toward Max, intending to split his skull.
“Boom!” Max shouted, pointing at the orc’s face, then pulling back his remaining hand to shield his face as he tried to roll away. One of two things was going to happen. The spell would work, and there would be orc shrapnel, or the spell would fail, and that massive sword would come streaking down at Max. Either way, he didn’t want to be where he was.
Max groaned as the roll brought his stump into contact with the ground. A moment later there was a splattering, cracking sound, and he felt orc bits shower down on him. There was no additional pain, or damage notifications, other than a loss of 6hp from the bleed effect on his wrist. He rolled onto his back in time to see the headless orc drop to its knees, then fall onto its back.
Max cast a heal on himself, then felt another hit from Dalia. The blood ceased to pump from the stump of his wrist, and he lay back in the grass, his eyes closing. The wound still hurt, and now it itched beyond all reason.
Max sat up and saw that Battleaxe was still alive, having pulled the arrow free and received heals from Dalia. With both his companions in one piece, and no sign of more orc attackers, Max cradled his stump against his chest and stared down at it.
This was one of his nightmares come true. A soldier couldn’t be combat effective with one hand. This was a career-ending injury, what soldiers in World War II referred to as a million-dollar wound. The end of everything Max knew.
It took him a minute to remember that he wasn’t on Earth anymore. That he lived in a world of miraculous healing magic. The dwarves in his first company that had lost limbs were sent back to the city where, so he’d been told, there were specialist healers that could re-grow those limbs given time.
The dwarves gave him some space, looting the orcs before Dalia retrieved Max’s hand and sword. Separating the two, she approached Max and offered him the sword, hilt first.
“Bah! Think, lass!” Battleaxe shoved the sword to one side and seized the hand from her. Kneeling down in front of Max, he pushed the hand toward him. “Take it.”
When Max looked up at him, pain and confusion in his tear-filled eyes, the dwarf shoved the severed hand into Max’s remaining one. “I said, take yer hand, ye blatherin’ fool. Take it, and hold it to the stump. Hold it firm!”
“Wh… what?” Max took hold of the hand and held it up, looking from the dwarf to the hand and back.”
“Ye damned fool! Ye be part troll, no? That be why ye could harvest the Brightwood battlefield. Yer regeneration were faster than the damage from the curse!” He eyed Max expectantly. Max wasn’t following, so the scout took hold of Max’s good hand, forcefully guided it so that he pressed the two edges of the severed wrist against each other, then held it there. “Dalia, another heal, if ye please.”
She complied, casting a heal on Max, and the itch in his wrist increased tenfold. It quickly became painful, and he bared his teeth, growling into Battleaxe’s face. “This isn’t funny, sergeant!”
“It ain’t meant to be funny, ye fool. Listen to me words. Troll… regeneration.” He spoke the words slowly and with emphasis. Behind him, Dalia gasped.
“He’s right! Trolls can regrow their limbs! That’s part of why they be so hard to kill. Ye cut em, the wounds heal right before yer eyes!” She knelt down next to the sergeant and leaned in to closely inspect the wound. “Fascinating!”
Max resisted the urge to scream as the itching escalated into stinging, then burning as his flesh began to bind itself back together. Battleaxe nodded, “Aye, embrace the pain. It be good fer ye! Let’s ye know yer still alive!”
Max heard echoes in his mind of an old drill sergeant yelling at him to “Rub some dirt on it, and walk it off, soldier!” and despite the pain, he smiled to himself. The pain increased, and Max developed a very real fear that his blood was somehow about to ignite and burn him alive from the inside out. The pain was soothed slightly a moment later when Dalia cast yet another heal on him. But then it came crashing back down, worse than ever before, and Max both heard and felt the grinding of bone on bone.
That was when he passed out.
*****
When he opened his eyes again, the sun was directly overhead, burning through his corneas into his brain, He groaned and closed them again, moving his hand to block the sun. When he placed the back of his hand across his eyes, he felt thick, rough cloth.
“My hand!” He sat up abruptly, looking down at his right hand, which was tightly wrapped in a grey cloth bandage. The memories of the fight and the subsequent healing flooded over him. Looking up at the dwarves, who were both standing in front of him, he held up the hand as if to show it to them. “Did… did it work?”
Dalia nodded her head slightly. “It did. Well, it is. I estimate it’ll be another several hours before yer wrist is fully healed. Probably at least a day before it be back to full strength. Best to keep it wrapped and immobile until then.” She handed him a sling to pull on over his head a
nd set his wounded arm into.
Battleaxe handed a chunk of roasted spidorc leg to Max. “Ye can gnaw on this, to help fuel the healin’.” The dwarf turned and kicked dirt onto a small fire he’d built while Max was unconscious. When he was sure it was out, he lifted his pack. “Best we get movin.” The sergeant said, offering a hand to help Max to his feet. “Ye been out fer half the day, and ye can’t be sittin there on yer arse if more patrols show up.”
Max grabbed the meat between his teeth, took hold with his good hand and allowed the dwarf to help him up. Looking around, he bent down to pick up his sword, only wincing slightly when he bumped his wounded hand against his chest. Dalia retrieved his bow from where he’d dropped it, and it went back into his storage along with the sword. He wouldn’t be using either one for a while.
Before they continued southward, Max kicked all four orc corpses to loot them, harder than he needed to. He didn’t look at what he received, too focused on what his nerves were telling him about his hand. The pain had receded back into a severe itch, one he half-recognized from when he’d broken his other wrist once. The docs had performed a surgery to put a mesh sleeve on both his bones to help them heal, then put a fiberglass cast over it, and the itching came when the incision began to heal. He’d searched long and hard for something suitable for reaching inside the cast to scratch that itch.
Max followed behind the dwarves as they moved toward the settlement on the map. He kept his eyes moving from side to side, occasionally spinning around to check their rear while walking backwards. He felt naked, not being able to wield his bow or his sword, so eventually he took the halberd from his inventory and used it like a walking stick with his left hand. If nothing else he could swing it clumsily with his left hand, or try to throw it a short distance. He promised himself at least a dozen times during the walk that he’d find a way to train with his left hand so that he could use the sword as well with either hand.
Battleborne Page 30