The Immortal Mystic (Book 5)

by Sam Ferguson

  Peren frowned and folded his arms. “Har har har,” Peren mocked.

  Gorin shrugged. “Well, if you can’t do that, then you could just make yourself be silent. That would still be quite the feat.”

  Peren arched an eyebrow. Lady Arkyn laughed and then slipped out of the gatehouse to move to the wall above for a better vantage point.

  “Funny,” Peren said after she left.

  Gorin sighed and put on an exaggerated expression of concern. “Oh, I am sorry, I thought surely you could do one of the two tricks. I didn’t realize they would both be so hard for you.”

  “Go ahead and laugh,” Peren said as Gorin started chuckling to himself. “I will outlive you, just you wait. Those who take themselves too seriously are always the first to go.”

  “If I die first, then my spirit will come back and whisk you away to my homelands so you can see what it means to be serious.”

  Peren rolled his eyes. “I’m going to sit with Arkyn.”

  “You have no chance with her,” Gorin said. “She prefers men of action.”

  Peren glanced bank and offered a wink. “I act when I need to, otherwise I use my head.”

  Gorin laughed and slapped his leg. “Go on, little mage, go try to woo the fair lady.” He watched as Peren left and then leaned his head back against the wall. He knew he shouldn’t tease Peren as much as he had lately. He wasn’t sure if it was the incident at Lokton manor, where Peren was presumed dead, or if it was the nagging feeling of depression that was starting to gnaw at his stomach that made him do it. The truth was, Gorin was very fond of Peren. He thought of him as a brother. A small, weak brother, but still family nonetheless. He knew Peren felt the same. They had traveled together for several years now, dealing with all sorts of trials along the way. Gorin knew that it was as much the mage’s jokes as it was his skill that endeared the little man to him. He was a good counterbalance to the stoic warrior.

  Gorin stood up and walked out into the pale moonlight. He placed the head of his hammer down upon the ground there in the courtyard and knelt beside his weapon with his left hand upon the metal shaft. He whispered a prayer to his ancestors in his native tongue, asking them to watch over Peren and guard him as one of their own.

  *****

  Maernok sat upon a stool of rock, pouring over the map of Ten Forts for the hundredth time this hour. The candles had burned low long ago, and left him with hardly any light at all. Gulgarin came into the chamber, holding a drinking horn embellished with silver plating around the rim.

  “That was quite a display,” Gulgarin said.

  Maernok nodded. “I have heard stories of Master Lepkin,” Maernok said.

  “Perhaps you should challenge him,” Gulgarin suggested. Maernok shot the orc a dirty look. Gulgarin shrugged and put the drinking horn to his lips. He then pointed to the uneaten meat and potatoes on Maernok’s plate. “You going to eat?”

  “I have no appetite,” Maernok grunted. “Two of our chiefs have gone missing.”

  “Gersimon and the she-orcs reported that once Serndar saw the ram, he tried to desert.” The big orc shrugged and took another drink. “Gerarn tried to stop him and they both died from their wounds.”

  “And you believe that?” Maernok pressed.

  “I have no reason to doubt the testimony of twenty orcs.”

  “Gilifan was with them, that makes me doubt everything.”

  Gulgarin shrugged. “He is a crafty one, but by all accounts he simply changed the metal on the ram and then vanished.” Gulgarin took another drink. “You should just be happy that the remaining orcs from the other clans have agreed to fight under your command. When this is over, you will be a king of three tribes, and not just a chief.”

  Maernok shot Gulgarin a sour look.

  Gulgarin nodded knowingly. “There is more bothering you than Gerarn and Serndar, isn’t there?”

  Maernok struck a fist on the table. “We can’t get the ram within striking distance, our trebuchets are destroyed and we have not the materials to build replacements, and now today not only did Lepkin turn into a dragon, but he stripped himself down and beat thirteen orcs.”

  Gulgarin nodded. “When you put it that way, I suppose even the wine has lost its sweetness.”

  “We need to strike here,” Maernok said definitively as he thumped his finger onto the map. “The eastern most fort.”

  “Why there, good brother, why not continue pounding in the middle?” Gulgarin asked.

  Maernok shook his head. “They have bolstered the main gate. Also, they have reinforced everything to the west. If they have a weak spot, it will be in the east.”

  Gulgarin grinned. “Force them to shift resources eh?”

  Maernok nodded. “I have received word that there are three thousand reinforcements arriving tomorrow. I have already sent runners redirecting them to the east. We will continue to push the ram forward. In the meantime, we will send the reinforcements to the east. We will break through one of the two gates.”

  Gulgarin looked down at the map and growled low. “Who leads the reinforcements?”

  Maernok glanced up, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. “Are you volunteering?”

  Gulgarin’s devilish grin widened and he offered a simple nod.

  Maernok rose from his stool. “I will lead a direct assault with the ram. It is the only way to answer Lepkin’s display today. You will lead the others.”

  Gulgarin tossed his drinking horn to the side and beat his chest with a fist. “Tomorrow will be a glorious day!” He turned on his heels and shouted out as he exited the chamber, “Prepare my horse, now!”

  *****

  Maernok walked behind the ranks of soldiers gathered before the hills. The sun was only now beginning to peek over the eastern horizon. All the orcs stood still, their armor wet with the morning dew. They wore silent, grim expressions. Some had painted their faces black, others concealed all but their tusks behind masks of steel. Behind the orcs on foot were several score atop goargs. The commander cut to his left and started making his way through the rows of soldiers. When he emerged out the front of the formation, he was met by sergeant Drisaerk.

  “The archers have been assembled at the east and west flanks, as per your orders, sir,” Drisaerk said.

  Maernok nodded. “What of Gersimon and the she-orcs?”

  “They lie in wait within sprinting distance of the ram. When we are in position, they will advance the ram to the gate and begin the assault.”

  The commander nodded and started to march forward. Drisaerk gave a wave of his arm and the entire company moved to follow as one unit. Their armor nearly created a melody as each piece of metal clapped and rubbed along adjacent pieces, accentuated by the perfectly timed footfalls on the compact soil beneath their boots.

  Within minutes they were in view of the walls. A horn blasted from the wall, sounding a warning. Maernok pulled his greatsword free from its harness and ran forward. The company behind him did likewise. Orcish archers formed semi-circles at the flanks, firing at the human archers atop the walls. Several columns of orcs hefted up long ladders and sprinted ahead of the pack.

  Maernok led the central charge toward the closed gate. If any humans dared to come out of the walls, he would be there to punish them for their foolishness.

  He shouted with glee when the gates did indeed open. Columns of human spearmen rushed out. The orc commander let out a cry to Khullan and raised his weapon high overhead. Javelins and spears arced over him to strike several humans down. Those who remained continued on their path, leaning into their spears and preparing for collision with the orcish army.

  Maernok swept his greatsword down and out, severing several spears that would have otherwise impaled him. Then he drew his sword back and hacked through two men. A moment later other orcs clashed with the opposing force. A cacophony of crashing metal and screaming mortals rang up to greet the morning sun. Blood fell upon the ground to water the waking soil and patches of grass.

>   The orc commander moved almost as a ghost through the throng of spearmen. No spear ever touched him. Dozens fell by his blade before he bothered to look up. When he did, he saw that several ladders had been raised, and orcs scaled them like ants up a blackberry bush. Clouds of arrows rose and fell, some landing atop the walls, and others directed from the walls to the field below.

  A horn blasted again and the remaining human spearmen turned to flee the field. Maernok growled and he gave chase. Drisaerk was right beside him, as were hundreds of fellow orcs. They cut down as many as they could, trampling over the wounded and dead alike. The slower spearmen met a gruesome fate as the gates closed before they could reach them, leaving them trapped between the wall of stone, and that of orcish steel.

  Still, Maernok had to acknowledge their courage. The score of humans that remained did not cry out for mercy, or for the gates to be opened again. They turned and met their destiny. Some fought with broken spears, others pulled swords. They were no match for the orcish army, but they had shown honor. For that, Maernok would ensure their proper burial after the day’s battle.

  As the last spearman fell, a flurry of arrows erupted from slits in the walls. Maernok turned sideways and covered his face and neck as best he could. Drisaerk was caught by two arrows and fell at Maernok’s feet. Several more orcs met similar ends. The commander looked back to see the ram approaching the gate. He smiled wide.

  “Up the ladders!” he shouted to a few nearby. “Move up the ladders. When the gate is down, the rest of us will pour into the gateway.”

  Several dozen orcs broke out to the sides and made their ways to the remaining ladders. The ram made an awful racket as its wheels squeaked and squawked along the road to the gate. Still, it was an impressive piece of machinery. Even from this distance Maernok spied the red fires that burned within the ram’s head.

  Today, the gate would fall.

  *****

  Gulgarin checked the last of the ladders to be constructed. He walked along the entire length of the contraption and then bent low to inspect the iron hooks at the top. He nodded and thumped the hook with his fist.

  The sun sent its light down through the trees that hid the orcs from view of the walls some five hundred yards away. The air was crisp and cool, but still. The mighty orc chieftain rose to his feet and looked out over the many orcs under his command.

  “If we can claim this keep today, then we will go down in the Annals of Hroot as one of the mightiest companies ever to assemble under the orcish banner,” he said to the officers nearby. “Our brothers hold the humans trapped in the center, and they are assaulting their gate with a ram made entirely of Telarian steel. Now, we will break the humans here, and claim this fort as our own. From here we will spread westward, until all of Ten Forts has been purged of the human filth and reborn as a stronghold for Khullan!”

  The officers shouted and a great battle cry went up through the ranks. Gulgarin pointed to the walls and let out a long, terrible roar. The soldiers answered by raising the ladders and rushing by him toward the walls.

  Gulgarin walked slowly, letting the rushing soldiers pass him by. When he exited from the tree line he stood next to a large oak and watched as the troops covered the ground in a wave of clanging armor and shouting warriors. The ladders upon their shoulders almost seemed to be giant spears, aimed to pierce the walls. Of course, this was not so, but for a moment Gulgarin imagined what it might look like if orcish strength were so great that it could impale through stone.

  Alarms sounded along the walls and archers formed ranks to answer the attacking horde. Gulgarin stood stoic as dots of orcs fell away from the wave. Most of them continued on, however, and there were not enough arrows to stop the force.

  The ladders went up.

  Oil came down.

  Fire came next, but it only served to slow the army. Secondary ladders went up.

  Gulgarin turned around to the reserve force. “Go now,” he commanded.

  The second half of the orc army ran forward, carrying new ladders atop their shoulders. They closed the gap to the wall and placed their ladders along the stone defenses. Arrows flew up and down, but nothing stopped the orcs. Soon there were lines of orcish warriors scaling ladders. The men on the wall managed to push a few of the ladders away, but not enough to keep the wall.

  Gulgarin grinned his devilish grin as he heard the telltale ring of steel upon steel. Melee had begun atop the walls. Now, it was only a matter of time before the easternmost keep was secured.

  *****

  Gorin and Peren rushed up the stairs to the walls. Lady Arkyn was perched atop the roof of the keep and expertly striking down unsuspecting orcs as they crested over the walls with their ladders. Gorin readied his hammer and Peren was busy fiddling with a pair of garter snakes.

  “Will you never learn?” Gorin shouted from above as he thwacked an orc in the chest with his hammer.

  Peren ignored the comment and whispered his chant to the snakes. Then he tossed them over the side of the wall. “This is different,” he promised. “I have full control over small snakes, and I can safely presume there are no wizards among a troop of orcs. They abhor magic.”

  Gorin grunted and brought his hammer down onto the ladder. The wood splintered and the ladder broke apart. Several orcs shouted in vain as they fell to the ground below. Gorin moved along the wall, grabbed an orc by the back of his armor and threw him over the side. An archer stammered his thanks to the giant warrior, but Gorin paid him no mind. He kept pressing through the wall, clearing it as best he could.

  Peren watched his friend for a moment and then he moved to the wall’s edge. A wave of shouts and screams erupted from below. As he peered over the edge he saw a pair of forty foot long snakes. Each of them had three heads now, and a tail ending in a mess of spikes. They slithered along making quick work of the orcs too close to the wall.

  “I need to find a few more of those,” Peren mused to himself. He turned and spied a single spider climbing along a crack in the wall. A wicked grin stretched his lips. “That will do,” Peren said to himself. “That will do just fine.”

  *****

  Maernok heard the shouts and turned to see a trio of hideous viper heads on a giant snake’s body. As he studied it, he saw a thick tail rise up, poised to strike down with its spikes. A moment later the tail snapped down and he heard the groans and cries of those unfortunate enough to be caught by the spikes.

  The orc commander searched the nearby ground and found a pair of javelins protruding from a corpse. He sheathed his greatsword and pulled the javelins free. The great snake was winding its way closer to him, biting and crushing orcs as it went along. Some of them fought back, but they were no match for the three-headed beast.

  Maernok locked his arm back, ready to throw, and then he charged in. He kept an eye on the heads, watching how they would independently strike down at the orcs nearby. Great fangs tore through the armor and punished one orc after another in an endless succession. One of the heads noticed him. It flicked its tongue and reared back to strike. Just before the mouth opened, Maernok let one of his javelins fly.

  The snake struck out. The javelin coursed through the roof of its mouth and out through the eye. Maernok dodged to the side and came up ready with the second javelin. As he had suspected, the other two heads had turned to focus on him. He threw the second javelin, piercing one head through the lower jaw and pinning its mouth closed. He ripped his greatsword free and immediately launched into a high-arching downward chop. The last remaining head had already snapped forward. Venom hung from its fangs, trailing slightly behind the force of its strike. Maernok’s sword connected with the beast and cleaved the skull in two, miraculously leaving him unharmed as the sets of fangs fell to the ground around him.

  Blood and venom oozed out from the dead head. Maernok stepped out from the gore and lopped off the head that had been pinned shut with the second javelin. The orcs cheered and it was then that he realized while he had dealt with one, a group
of soldiers had dealt with another. There were scores of orc corpses on the ground, but now the snakes were dead.

  He raised his arm and pointed to the walls. “Up the ladders, orcs!”

  Those nearest him obeyed immediately.

  Something thumped onto the ground behind him. A moment later he heard a strange clicking noise and a series of high-pitched squeaks. He wheeled around to see a massive spider. Its body was twice as large as any one of the heads from the snake, and aside from the grotesque set of fangs it had a gleaming stinger on its back end.

  Maernok raised his sword and moved in. The spider was lightning fast and countered his every move perfectly. The orc commander could not get close.

  A trio of orc soldiers rushed in from the side. One was decapitated with a strike of the spider’s leg, the second was crushed under the force of another leg, and the third was impaled by the stinger. Maernok charged, but the spider leapt from its victims to land upon the battering ram some forty feet away from where Maernok now stood.

  As fast as his anger and feet could carry him, it seemed he would never reach the spider in time. It struck with unerring precision. Every move it made killed one of the she-orcs pushing the ram. The group stopped and pulled weapons to deal with the spider, but that only made it worse. It spat blinding venom that burned the orcs’ faces, shot globs of sticky web from its back end, and landed killing blows with legs, stinger, and fangs.

  Long before Maernok could reach it, the spider killed all of the she-orcs. It then clambered down the side of the ram and pulled the thing over to crash upon its side. Sparks and embers shot out from the front of the ram, spooking the spider and causing her to jump back to where she had been.

  Maernok didn’t miss a beat. He spun around and charged the spider. She spat venom at him, but he dodged it. A glob of webbing came next, but he dodged that too. The spider moved in and struck out with one of its legs, but Maernok had expected that. He struck out with his greatsword as he spun around to the side of the leg and managed to cut it off at the joint. A grotesque, green ooze spewed out from the severed member and the spider hissed and screamed frantically.