Fogle Eric - Forge of the Gods 01 - The Last Knight (V1.0)

by 5kops

  Redmon ducked back behind the ridge and cursed. Hands shaking, he pulled another arrow from his quiver. It struck him then that he had killed another sentient being and his battle lust faltered. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind. He told himself that though he was no expert with the bow, he was still a Bre'Dmorian squire, proficient enough to use the weapon with accuracy. This proficiency, he knew, came from God and though these were sacred creatures, he needed to protect his commander and men.

  Steeling his resolve, Redmon poked back up, drew his bow, and fired, this time hitting the leg of an orc who was charging Areck. The creature stumbled headlong into Areck's charge, and he swept down his sword and decapitated the creature.

  Then the scene became chaotic as the orc war-chief rallied its troops and reset them into a proper formation to meet Areck's charge. Redmon watched his commander hack and slash another pair of orcs in the arm and face. He was about to fire another arrow at an oncoming pikeman when Areck ordered his warhorse to become a weapon. He dropped his shot as the creature was pummeled times by iron-shod hooves and teeth.

  Redmon heard the pound of hooves, followed the battle cries of "Stars-gait!" and "Brenly!" It seemed that the captain and Areck's forces had fi­nally arrived!

  ****

  The only thing Areck could concentrate on was fighting long enough to allow Telmouth to join the fray. He felt a sting in his right arm. His sword lashed out again and another orc fell to its knees.

  An arrow whizzed by his ear and he raised his shield in time to deflect a battle axe meant for his chest. The orcs reformed their lines and headed for him while archers found cover and pulled their bows taut. In that moment, Areck saw his own death. He had offered his life for his men's, and God seemed ready to accept.

  An arrow sailed through the air and landed in his warhorse's flank. The beast went into a wild frenzy that Areck could not control. More arrows buried themselves in the charger and a blow struck Areck across the chest, knocking him from the saddle. As he fell back his foot caught in the stirrup and Areck slammed face first to the ground. His horse bolted out of the area, dragging Areck by one leg.

  Just before blackness took him, Areck saw his men pouring from all sides, slaughtering the orcs.

  He felt peace. He would die in battle, for his men and for the cause. And, more important, he would die a knight.

  Redmon drew another shot, this one aimed for the war-chief of the orcs. At first the beast had been protected by its troops but with archers raining down arrows from above, Areck charging in from the west, and another force charging in from the east, the orcs had began to break.

  With great effort he steadied his hand and looked down the sight of his left forefinger. He was about to let loose the arrow when the orc com­mander was spun sideways by a pair of arrows, one impacting its forearm the other hitting him just below the shoulder. The creature gurgled and pulled itself along the ground, trying to reach cover.

  Redmon tried to get an open shot, but the creature never offered itself up. Grunting, he turned around just in time to see a massive ore charge Areck. He drew his bow taught, steadied his breathing and let fly.

  Unfortunately for the orc, who was running full speed with its mace held high, Redmon's aim was true and the arrow impacted the back of the creature's skull. Its head snapped sideways and its sprint turned into a stumble.

  The creature did not drop its weapon; rather, its arms gave out and its stumbling inertia sent it falling towards the unseeing captain.

  "Lord Areck, look out . . .!" was all Redmon had time to say before Areck was struck in the chest by the creature and its heavy weapon.

  Though he was more than fifty yards away, Redmon heard the dull thump before he saw Areck driven backwards off his horse. More so, with Areck's foot caught in a stirrup, the commander couldn't move and several orcs, seeing an advantage, had started to charge.

  Redmon drew his bow back, targeting the first of several orcs trying to flee the oncoming riders and reach the commander. He let fly just in time to hit the creature in the thigh, sending it stumbling into its brethren.

  He called out to the riders below but was not heard over the clash of metal and wood. Redmon slung his bow over his shoulder and slid down the ridge to reach the commander.

  He vowed that if Areck was still alive, he would personally salute him in Starsgalt's name for his courage and valor.

  He never got that chance.

  Another arrow, this one from an orc, struck the commander's warhorse in the front shoulder, making the stallion rear in anger and bolt. Redmon stopped in mid-stride, his mouth open in fear. He watched as Lord Areck's body was dragged behind the beast into the forest.

  As he reached the bottom of the hill Redmon unslung his bow and dropped it to the ground. He pulled his bastard sword, let out a Bre'Dmorian battle chant, and charged into battle.

  He did not notice that only five his men lay dying or that the battle was over. From all accounts, Brenly's army had won!

  23

  IT WAS dark when Areck returned to consciousness. For a moment he thought he had died and undergone the transition of the spirit to immortal resting place. He had heard several theories regarding utter darkness. There was always darkness before everlasting light.

  He heard a noise and an owl's hoot. He tried to push himself up but felt a great weight pinning his right leg to the ground. The soft patter of rain­drops echoed in the night.

  If it is raining I am still alive, he thought, bringing his hand to his temple to inspect the throbbing that interrupted his thoughts. Pain stabbed through his eyes, making his vision blur. He tried to remember.

  I was in a battle, he thought. He had obviously suffered a blow to the head. He moved his fingers to his face and began probing his eye sockets, nose, and cheeks, finding deep lacerations before noticing that the right side of his mouth stood out in swollen pain.

  He must not have fared well if he was alone in the dark, pinned to the ground. He was parched and fumbled for a canteen. His fingers recognized a saddle and fumbled through several packs, pulling out jerky and a water skin. As he raised the cool water to his lips, he realized that he was not rid­ing the mount but his leg was trapped beneath the saddle.

  He probed the area around the saddle, finding several arrows and a sticky substance he assumed to be blood. His horse lay on top him, its neck twisted.

  Memories flooded his mind.

  He saw his own death approach as orcish archers fired arrows. No ar­rows had struck him, however, but buried instead into the horse which be­came uncontrollable. Then he had heard shouts . . . but that had been be­fore he was struck in the chest by a hammer, which knocked him from his horse and his foot tangled in the stirrup. He shivered as he remembered the impact of landing face first into the ground and his charger bolting from the area.

  He thought he had died to save his men. Anger ran through his soul. His mount had probably hit a rut and dove to the ground, breaking its neck. He guessed it was a fate better than bleeding to death. That he was alive surprised him. Am I so quick to desire my own death? I do not deserve to be a knight!

  With his back against a tree trunk, Areck place his left leg on his saddle and pushed. Though he could barely move the heavy horse, he was able to free his right leg. The pain made vomit run up his throat.

  He waited until his head cleared and his eyes adjusted to the night be­fore looking around. Though he could not make out the terrain, he heard the soft trickle of water. He wracked his brain, trying to recall the maps of Brenly and its surrounding areas that he had spent hours studying.

  He turned onto his stomach and pulled himself away from the fallen steed. Though his sight was limited, he could vaguely make out dark shad­ows of the forest.

  Judging by the cool air and the mossy ground beneath him, Areck fig­ured that the stream was wide with a quick current. With a grunt he moved into the clearing, to the bank of the stream as rain splashed on his face. If his mind was clear enough to think,
it was clear enough to walk.

  He recalled the name of the only fresh water source in the region, Eagle Creek, a mountain stream that erupted into a small lake, the local reservoir.

  As he knelt down and splashed water across his swollen face, he felt oddly satisfied at discovering his whereabouts. If memory served him, the creek wound itself over fifty miles from the mountains to the Emmonds Lake, coming no closer than five miles from the grasslands that spread at the heart of Aresleigh. He could not be precise, but he was at least seven or eight miles into the woods and lost until he could see the morning sky.

  Areck tried again to stand. He found that the pounding in his head sub­sided to a mere annoyance if he did not move his neck, turn his head, or make quick movement. With so much armor, his pace would be jostling— not good for a concussion.

  "I wonder which way the stallion took me," he whispered, wondering for the first time how close he was to enemy territory. He wondered if the others thought him dead, or perhaps they had realized he was a coward, stupid enough to charge fifty orcs, get knocked off his horse, and run like a weeping child.

  A sliver of moonlight danced on the rushing water revealing a wide riv­erbed with fast, shallow water. The rain subsided to a drizzle. If the cloud cover cleared and if no mist pushed its way down from the mountains, moving with soft feathery fingers out into the forest, he would be able to move.

  Areck pursed his lips. He could wait out the night and begin his trek in the morning, which would be safer. However, if he was in orcish territory, he would stand out. Or, he could try to find his way by night and hope the darkness would help conceal him from the Orcs' keen vision. Neither pros­pect pleased him.

  Bringing his hands to his head and rubbing his temples gently, he made his decision. He did not like the thought of traveling blind in the night, but he liked traveling alone in unfamiliar territory in plain sight even less.

  Going back to his fallen steed, Areck realized that he would be without sword or shield. However, he was not unarmed and retrieved a small dagger from his belt, sliced away the straps that tied his saddle into place, and un­wrapped a small rectangular shape swathed in fine cloth. The dull gleam of a gladius shone in the moonlight. He had brought Lord Malketh's blade with him so he might present it as evidence to the High Lightbringer. It looked like God had shown him some mercy. He fumbled through his sad­dle bags and retrieved a small pouch containing dried meat and a canteen.

  For a moment he doubted himself then turned towards the river bank, and followed it.

  ****

  Due to random spurts of rain and clear sky, the mist never settled. Areck's eyes swam in vertical lines and his stomach knotted, leaving a wave of nau­sea to pass over him. Unfortunately for his eyes, due to the shifting moonlight he had trouble identifying objects further than ten feet away.

  Areck took a deep swallow of cool water and rubbed his right temple gingerly. This was his fifth stop. The change in illumination caused his sen­sitive eyes to hallucinate things that could not possibly exist. Great shadows stalked him. His nerves made each crashing near and unpredictable.

  This has to stop, he said, squinting at the shadowed features of his ex­tended hand. I wish the moon would either stay in the sky or allow the cloud cover to take hold making it rain all night.

  While his eyes readjusted to the dimness and soft rain thrumming stead­ily, Areck considered his circumstances. He knew that he would be hard pressed to move even if he wanted to. With this light, it was hard to discern detail. It was like a dark shroud was trying to blot out the light.

  Areck fumbled his hands over the hilt of his sword, making sure for the umpteenth time that it was attached in a makeshift scabbard and ready to be drawn upon in need. He had to admit that wandering in the utter darkness was unsettling, especially without a shield, which had been destroyed in the horse's flight.

  After thirty minutes the rain ceased and a few clouds parted, revealing rays of light. Areck closed his eyes and utter blackness enveloped him. A stab of pain shot through his eye socket, subsided, and his vision cleared. He thought he heard a movement and tightened his grip on the sword.

  God knows what is watching me right now, he thought. The moonlight shifted the shadows again. Areck locked his waterskin around his shoulder and pushed himself off of the stump. He began to take step, and stopped. He sensed something different, a warrior's survival skill.

  He closed his eyes. There was a feeling out there, something strange. He couldn't say what it was, though a feeling of nausea swept through his body. It almost felt like . . . divinity.

  Impossible! His nerves were playing tricks on him, while his feet were fol­lowing a path he could not see.

  He convinced himself that this was the path God had chosen for him, a sign that a divine spirit had come to rescue him.

  ****

  He traveled for two hours. The new path took him deep into the forest where his definition of darkness was redefined. In the middle of the forest, with no light to guide him, there was little he could do to avoid low hanging branches and thick wiry bushes that tore at his bruised flesh. He knew he was lost within moments of losing the trail that had shone so brightly near the bank of the creek.

  As he walked along, grumbling, arms flailing, his feet snagged on a thick root and he stumbled.

  What in Starsgalt's name made me pick this route? His hand passed through a thorn bush, lacerating the skin. He snatched it back and flopped on the ground, pressing the bleeding wound to his lips.

  I must be out of my mind! I know my wits are playing tricks on me . . . and so I de­cide to follow my intuition into the darkness? What did I hope to find out here, a cleric and a horse to take me back? Fool! You would have been better off-—

  Snap.

  That was not the wind, nor branches high overhead. Again Areck heard the snap of branches followed by the harsh, guttural jabber of orcs.

  Areck's heart raced as he cursed silently and crawled away from the harsh voices that drew near. He was about to duck behind a tree when he noticed a silhouette. He shifted his hand to his sword fearing to draw the blade for the sound it would make and inched backwards, peeking at the figure.

  There was no doubt it was an orc.

  Its stench wafted downwind and its guttural breath was deep and men­acing. The creature was looking at the ground, its hands full of earth. It was looking for him. He could not let it raise a call for help. In his condition, he might be able to handle one of the creatures, but not a band. He straight­ened to step behind his prey when another orc stepped out of the black­ness, waving its hands in the air.

  They talked loudly, one pointing in his direction. The other cackled in its grating voice, slapping his compatriot across the back. The other staggered from the blow, turned, and swung at its tormentor, catching only air as the second orc moved off with staggering speed into the forest.

  Areck sighed. His heart raced and pounded with a thunderous beat. Why would God save him from battle only to have him killed by an orc? He made a mental note to pray once he reached a safe haven.

  Another feeling washed over him, the same irrational feeling that had possessed him to wander into the nothingness of night. He could not help but feel foolish about the entire matter. He told himself that he needed to stay near the riverbed if he was to find civilization. It was a certainty, an absolute. He would backtrack to the stream and try to make his way back to Brenly.

  Without another thought, he set off in the direction of the orcs.

  As he strode, he realized that he had turned around and was heading the foolish direction. He had been sure his mind had said that the creek was the wise choice. Deciding that his mind was addled and needed explanation, he reminded himself that the orcs were bad news. He concluded that he was right and stepped off again in the direction of the orcs.

  What in Starsgalt is happening to me? he thought, realizing that once again he was traveling counter to his warrior's intuition. Picking up his foot, he tried to turn
towards the creek but was compelled to right himself. Again he tried to turn towards the creek, but this time he began to shake, each step making his body tremble. He threw up his hands and stopped. He felt like he was being ripped apart. He wanted to scream but thought better of it.

  If Starsgalt's leading me, who am I to disobey? God made sure those monsters didn't see me; maybe their is something he wants me to see. Maybe these orcs are my destiny.

  He could not argue. There was no doubt that he was being divinely in­spired to continue on his current course. There was only one being who would call him to service: God. It would be unwise to not heed a calling.

  Areck accepted that his fate was not in the direction he wanted to go, but along a more treacherous path.

  Once he stopped struggling, his head cleared and another sickness in­tensified. He could feel the divine sickness washing over him like an oily film.

  He took a drink of water and poured some on his bleeding hand. When he was satisfied, he lowered his head and walked in the direction his feet, rather than his mind, told him to go.

  Areck struggled on in the dark for an hour before he saw the soft glow of fire, a stark contrast to the nothingness of night. He picked his way through dense brush and thick trees to where the forest opened into a small clearing. The clearing looked much like the place where he had chosen to attack the marauders. However, Areck could see no chokepoints or ridges that cut across the landscape; one side rose high into the night while the other emptied into the forest. This would be a much harder battle, he conceded.

  As Areck studied the camp, he saw countless orcs milling about, some metal-smithing, others tending animals, others moving in and out of make­shift shelters.

  They have made barracks, his brows lifted in amazement. The creatures were not known to use any military procedure other than killing, pillaging, and destruction. This was a major achievement for the entire race, one that made them all the more dangerous. The implications of what he was wit­nessing sent a shiver through his body. If this race learned organization, they were a threat to the entire region.