Battleborne

by Dave Willmarth

  He cast a heal on himself, not even getting to his feet, and focused on the manticore. He cast Confuse, but the spell failed. Either the creature was too many levels above him, or it was in too much pain for the spell to work.

  Spotting his sword in the sand several steps away, Max ignored it. He drew his halberd from inventory and lunged at the monster. Both dwarves were back on their feet and had come together to plant their shields again. Even as another heal from Dalia washed over him, he thrust the halberd’s pointed tip into the manticore’s face. It skittered up along the snout, tearing across the cut that Battleaxe had already made, then plunged into the left eye as the creature tried to back away.

  There was a brief roar of pain that ended abruptly when the spike reached its brain. The manticore’s legs buckled, its remaining tail sections fell limp, and its belly hit the sand.

  All of the party members leveled up as the crowd leapt to its feet, roaring with excitement at the fight’s conclusion. Max noted that Smitty had remained busy throughout the fight, planting more than a dozen arrows into the manticore. He gave the corporal a thumbs-up before taking his bow back and going to recover his sword. They were allowed to loot the manticore and recover their arrows, before being rounded up and escorted back into the tunnel. Instead of leaving, Max took out his axe and removed the manticore’s head, much to the approval of the gathered orcs, who cheered even louder at the taking of the trophy. He raised the head high, spinning slowly to show it to the entire crowd before putting it into his inventory. Only then did he allow the guards to escort him and the others into the cool, shady tunnel.

  Back in their cage, Max took a moment to check on the others. Thanks to Dalia’s healing, everyone was in good shape. She reported that being crushed by the monster had broken several of her ribs, but they were healed by the time the fight ended.

  They took a moment to check their loot, which consisted of chunks of manticore meat for everyone, a combined twenty four pieces of chitin, six claws, four fangs, and its heart. Dalia asked for Battleaxe’s shield, produced a glass bottle, and began to scrape the nasty black venom from the shield into the bottle. “Never know what we might be able to make of this. If nothing else, you two can dip your arrowheads into it.”

  They were all assigning attribute points and reading notifications when their favorite commander arrived. He peered through the bars of the cage, catching Max’s gaze and giving a single nod. “You fought well. Tomorrow will bring a tougher enemy.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked away.

  Chapter 22

  Left to themselves for the rest of the day, the group did some more talking, planning, and sparring. Battleaxe was merciless in his drills, saying that their lives depended on skill and speed, and if that manticore was just the first of their opponents, they needed to improve as quickly as possible.

  At midday a guard brought a cart with trays of food. When he opened the door to push the cart inside, Max decided to take a risk.

  “I would like to speak to the commander who escorted us here. I’m afraid I don’t know his name.”

  “Gr’tok.” The guard replied. “I will send word to him. If he is still in the city, he will come, Chimera King.” the guard spoke respectfully, surprising Max.

  “And what is your name?”

  “I am Lo’tang.”

  “Thank you for bringing us this meal, Lo’tang.” Max produced a gold coin and handed it to the orc. “And for sending that message to Gr’tok.”

  The guard grunted agreeably, pulling the cart from the cage and locking the door. “Good fight this morning. Next one will be harder. You will fight orcs.” He paused, then added, “Prisoners, not warriors. Thieves, traitors, and cowards. They have not been fed today, and have been told they will get food when they defeat you.”

  “Thank you again, Lo’tang. We will be prepared.” Max nodded as the guard departed.

  Max sat down to eat with the others. The meal was quite tasty, each of them receiving a pastry pie filled with light meat that tasted like turkey, mushrooms, and gravy. There was a bowl of apples, fresh bread, and a pitcher of ale for each of them.

  “Hungry orcs are going to be vicious.” Smitty observed around a mouthful of bread.

  “Aye, but if they’ve not been fed, they’ll be weakened.” Dalia observed. “And if they be thieves n such, they’ll fight dirty. Likely with stealth abilities. Backstabs and cut hamstrings.”

  They finished their meal and went back to training. A few hours later, as they stopped for a rest and some ale, Dalia spoke quietly. “That last fight, I nearly died in the first moments. Max, ye can heal a bit, but not enough. Battleaxe, Smitty, if you’ll allow it, I’d teach ye both to heal yerselves. In case I go down again.”

  Both agreed, and Smitty bowed his head to where she could reach it. He closed his eyes, and Dalia’s face tightened in concentration. After a moment, she let out a breath. “Ye need to put some points into Wisdom and Intelligence. Ye’re all Strength and Constitution, typical orc, and ye barely have enough mana to cast one heal.”

  “The next time I level up, it’ll all go into Wisdom.” Smitty promised.

  Next Dalia transferred the knowledge of Nature’s Boon to Battleaxe, and shook her head. “Ye ain’t much better. Ye’ve got maybe two or three heals in ya.” She grinned at the dwarf. “Melee fighters. No brains at all!”

  Battleaxe snorted, promising as Smitty did to assign points to increase his mana pool.

  They were just beginning a discussion of tactics for fighting a group of humanoids when Gr’tok arrived. “You asked for me?”

  “I did. Thank you for coming. I believe you to be an honorable orc, and I wished to ask a favor of you. One that could benefit us both.”

  “What is this favor?”

  “I noticed this morning that there was significant wagering during our fight. I would like to place a wager myself, but can not do so while in this cage. Could I trust you to place a wager on my behalf? I would give you one quarter of the winnings for your trouble.”

  The commander grinned at him. “You believe you will win.”

  “I know we will win. And I am willing to risk some gold on the outcome. Do you know what the odds are for the next fight?”

  “Tomorrow you fight orcs. Six to one that you lose. By morning, maybe ten to one.”

  “Then I would like to bet one thousand gold that my companions and I will win.” He produced a pile of gold and platinum coins atop the nearest bench. Smitty gasped, and Gr’tok’s eyes widened. If you will give me your word of honor that you will place the bet and return to me my winnings, minus your twenty five percent. Assuming you can find someone to take such a large bet. Maybe several smaller bets?”

  Gr’tok was no fool. If he placed the bet and Max won his fight, he would be a wealthy orc. At six to one on a thousand gold, his share would be fifteen hundred gold, fifty times what he earned in a year as a scout. And he was reasonably sure the odds would increase to ten to one. And if Max were to win the next fight, but lose the one after… “One condition. I hold your winnings until the trials end. If you lose, you die, and will have no use for the gold. I give my word of honor that I will place your bets, and return your winnings, should you survive.”

  Max actually laughed. The orc had a point. But the proposal brought up a concern. It would be in the orc’s best interest for Max and company to lose, at least in their final trial. That much gold would tempt a saint into ensuring that’s how things went.

  “Will you also give your word not to work against us? Not to make our trials more difficult?”

  Gr’tok growled at Max, who wasn’t sure whether the reaction was because he’d insulted the commander’s honor, or because he’d correctly guessed his intentions.

  “I swear I will not work against you, on my honor.”

  “Then we have an agreement!” Max reached through the bars to shake the orc’s hand. “And I remind you that I am in need of trustworthy warriors to lead my own troops
in Stormhaven. Should you choose not to retire with the pile of gold you’re about to win.” The two grinned at each other, eyes sparkling and fangs exposed.

  *****

  Morning brought another hearty breakfast, and Gr’tok accompanied the guards who delivered the meal. He didn’t speak to Max with the guards present, just gave him a significant look and a slight nod to let him know that the wagers had been placed.

  Max turned to the others, grinning. “I don’t know how many trials we’re facing, but this one’s going to make us wealthy.”

  Gr’tok did speak on that topic. “Four. There are four trials, each more difficult than the last.” The guards both nodded their agreement. One of them, Lo’tang, spoke up.

  “Few have survived the trials. The last to do so was An’zalor, before he claimed the old war chief’s daughter as his prize.”

  This instantly caught Max’s attention. “Prize? There’s a prize for surviving the trial?”

  Gr’tok nodded. “I forget you do not know the ways of my people. We believe the trials to be a form of judgement from the gods. If you enter the trials and acquit yourself well, you earn the respect of our people. Even should you fail to survive, you may earn reputation that boosts your family, your tribe. And a warrior’s burial. Surviving the trials means you have earned the approval of the gods, and the right to request a reward from the war chief.”

  “On the other hand,” Gr’tok grinned. “Should you show cowardice, lack of honor, or fight with less than a full heart, you would be executed and fed to some of the beasts in the arena for all to see.”

  Max caught on to the hint, but spelled it out in case the others hadn’t. “And showing mercy to your opponents would be considered fighting with less than a full heart.”

  “I see you understand. There is no mercy in the trials. It is a fight to the death for all who step on the sands. You live by destroying your foes, you die with honor, or you become manticore droppings.”

  The cage grew quiet as Gr’tok and the guards departed. Each of the party were digesting this latest news. Four trials, live or die, no quarter. Max was fine with those terms. He had no compunction about killing beasts, or orcs, to complete his quests and improve his existence. A stronger king meant a stronger kingdom.

  It wasn’t long before the crowd noises above increased, and the party’s escort came to get them. Max was feeling optimistic, and anxious to get to the fight. He spoke quietly to his group as they took their short walk.

  “We’ve all got heals now, and Smitty and I can both use a sword without stabbing ourselves. Maybe.” He grinned at the others, who chuckled. “We hit as many of them as possible before they close with us. We may not get kills, but we’ll slow them down, bleed them a bit, make them pay for every step they take.”

  The others nodded solemnly, their faces becoming grim as they stepped out of the tunnel onto the sand. The dwarves equipped their shields, but not their weapons. Max and Smitty both equipped bows and quivers. The reaction of the crowd was once again mixed, though Max thought maybe more of the orcs in the stands were cheering this time.

  When they reached their designated spot near the center of the sand, the dwarves slammed their shields down together and crouched behind them. Max and Smitty each nocked an arrow, and waited for their new enemies to appear.

  It was only a moment before the other gate was raised, and a group of orcs stalked forward. There were ten in total, and they wore varying types of armor, from a few leather straps to full chain shirts and metal boots. None carried a shield, which made Max grin. Several carried oversized swords and clubs common to orcs, while others carried two swords or daggers. Only one held a bow, and Max glanced at Smitty to make sure he’d taken note of it.

  When the orcs roared and rushed forward, both Max and Smitty shot the archer first. They had previously agreed to take out any long range damage dealers first, whether they be archers or casters. The two arrows both punctured the orc’s chest, knocking him off his feet.

  Max and Smitty let fly their second and third arrows, and the crowd roared when the dwarves popped up from behind their shields and fired crossbow bolts into the two closest approaching orcs. As they ducked back down, Max cast Confuse on the front four orcs that were grouped tightly as they approached the dwarves. When they stumbled and began to look around, Max and Smitty peppered those behind them with arrows. The dwarves popped up again, launching two more bolts into the same two orcs as before, Dalia’s striking a throat, and Battleaxe’s bolt disappearing inside his orc’s gut. They dropped their crossbows, took weapons in hand, and prepared to repel the first orcs to reach them.

  Max and Smitty spent ten seconds firing at the unconfused orcs, then switched to the ones under Max’s spell. Each of them stood still, or wandered slowly, looking around the arena. Max was able to put arrows into two faces before the spell wore off. He tossed his bow to Smitty again, drew his halberd, and with a two-step crow-hop, launched it forward at the nearest orc, which was now advancing and only ten steps away. The spike blasted into the orc’s chest, knocking it backward where it was stepped on by another charging orc.

  Taking a moment to survey their enemy, Max saw that most were between level fifteen and twenty, and all of them were now wounded in one way or another. Every one of them had at least one arrow embedded in its flesh, and Smitty was busily launching more. He did not back up this time, as they wanted him within easy reach if he got attacked from behind. Just because the party hadn’t seen any rogues emerge from the tunnel, it didn’t mean they weren’t there. Smitty was the lowest level among them, and thus in the most danger of perishing to a backstab or throat cut from behind.

  The first of the orcs hit the dwarves’ shields and bounced back. The two had activated some kind of shared magic, and their shields glowed a soft blue as they pushed against the orc’s massive body in unison. When it fell, they both stepped forward, hacking at the stunned opponent and shaving off a huge chunk of its health. Another blow from each as they stepped back, and the orc expired.

  The crowd roared in approval!

  Max saw a flicker to his right, gone in an instant, and he knew what it meant. “Smitty, spin!”

  Without hesitation, the orc did as ordered, holding his bow out horizontally about three feet off the ground, and spinning rapidly. The bow struck two orcs in black leathers, breaking them from stealth even as they reached toward Smitty with wicked looking long knives.

  One of them, finding himself exposed and standing between Max and Smitty, barely had time to blink before Max’s sword took her right arm just below the shoulder, the severed appendage dropping to the sand as she screamed and tried to staunch the flow of blood with her remaining hand. The other stealther got the sharp point of Max’s bow as Smitty stabbed him in the gut with all the orcish muscle he possessed. Trusting Max to have his back, Smitty immediately turned and resumed putting arrows into the orcs in front of the party. The archer had managed to get to his feet again, so Smitty sent a shot through his throat, the third arrow putting him down for good. Another approving roar from the crowd nearly deafened them all.

  Max followed the plan, leaving the dwarves and their shields to hold the line for a few seconds while he dealt with the second rogue. It was bent forward, both hands covering the deep puncture wound in its gut. Max raised his sword and chopped downward, the rogue’s head falling to the sand nearby its partner’s arm. A quick stab in the one-armed orc’s back, and she was out of the fight as well.

  Wasting no time, Max moved to the left and charged toward the dwarves’ backs. Smitty was slowing the other orcs, hitting each of them in turn with an arrow. Two were already bashing at Dalia’s shield, while one particularly brutish looking orc was trying to pull Battleaxe’s shield away from him. That one roared and yanked his hand back when Battleaxe used the top of the shield as a chopping block, severing the orcs fingers with his hand axe.

  Max leapt forward head-first over top of the scout, his sword extended in front of him. The blade s
tabbed into the chest of the orc that was no longer gripping the dwarf’s shield, pushing it off balance and slicing through enough muscle to render that arm ineffective. Curling into a forward roll, Max left the sword embedded in the orc and produced his double-bladed axe as he planted his feet and began to stand.

  He didn’t make it all the way to his feet.

  An orc carrying a massive spiked club had been watching Max as it charged forward. It timed its strike perfectly, catching the side of Max’s head just as his feet touched the ground. Max was fortunate that his forward momentum from the roll brought him close enough that the midpoint of the club struck his noggin instead of the spikes nearer to the end. Still, the blow knocked him sideways off his feet, and stunned him.

  The surviving orc combatants roared in unison, the sound echoed by the majority of crowd who were rooting for the home team, so to speak. Smitty put an arrow into the gut of the one who’d downed Max, then another into an orc that kicked Max in the face while he was down. Battleaxe shouted, “Ho!” and he and Dalia pressed forward, knocking back the two orcs that had been battering her shield. One of those orcs stepped back onto Max’s face, dropping his health pool by about ten percent, then fell backwards into the orc that had kicked Max.

  The valiant dwarves took another step forward, both of them now straddling Max’s body as they hacked and slashed at the nearest orcs. Of the seven orcs still alive, only five were on their feet. Two more were sporting several arrows protruding from vital areas, one on its knees, the other flat on the ground.

  Smitty continued to fire, focusing now on the orcs closest to Max and the dwarves, even as a third orc with stealth abilities, who had bided her time and watched the other two rogues die, appeared behind him as she stabbed him in the back. One blade went into his kidney, the other snagging on his ribs and failing to penetrate through to his heart. Screaming in agony, Smitty stabbed backward with the bow, shoving the sharpened point into the rogue’s face and tearing a long gash through her cheek. He then used the bow like a staff, smashing it upward into the rogue’s face with a two-handed thrust that knocked her off balance. Then he stomped forward and crushed her face with one boot before falling to one knee himself. His health bar was down to ten percent, and he was bleeding badly. He tried to cast a heal on himself, but the spell just wouldn’t come, the throbbing pain interfering with his focus. Smitty had no experience with casting, and his panic prevented him from concentrating on the spell to complete it.