by M. M. Whan
“And so, we die.” He remarked quietly, a split second before the fireball landed in their midst, and detonated with enough force to level everything outside of the blast range.
No one from Edward’s patrol survived.
* * * *
Eferath’s archers let fly a continuous stream of death. Anything that stepped foot into the cleared were quickly dropped by a pair of heavy arrows. The orcs discarded their clever camouflage, drew their weapons, and charged furiously.
One orc headed directly for Faerwin, but the keen-eyed elf put an arrow between its eyes and dropped it like a bag of potatoes. In a manner of seconds, neither archer had the luxury of taking their time as orcs poured into the clearing. Eferath heard a sharp hiss and a meaty smack and whirled around in time to see an orc, standing dangerously close. It held its crude weapon high, ready to bring it down to cleave Eferath’s skull. It would have, except for the arrow shaft sticking out of its wrist. The creature stopped dropped its weapon as it stared stupidly at the arrow shaft buried in its wrist. Eferath brought his sword up to attack but another sharp hiss split the air. Only this time, the expertly aimed arrow struck the orc in the forehead.
Eferath glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t see Faerwin, but he knew the elf could see him, and he nodded his thanks.
“Archers!” Eferath heard someone yell, the shout pulling him from his contemplations. Eferath ordered his men to ready their shields even as the first orcs made contact with Eferath’s men. The slithering slap of bows being fired forced Eferath’s men to tighten up. The first rank held their shields facing the orcs in front, while the men behind them held their shields above their heads. Their timing was perfect, and their shields shuddered as a score of arrows rained down upon them. The archers apparently held no regard for their fellows as several fell dead, their backs riddled with arrows.
“Steady!” He shouted, hearing and feeling the orcs pounding away on the shields. If he left it too long, the enemy’s overwhelming numbers would tell and they would all be surrounded and killed.
“Break!” Eferath shouted over the din. Their shields came down as one, and each soldier slashed blindly with their weapons. War cries quickly changed to the cries of the dying as Eferath’s men cut down the first line of mountain orcs. As the dead creatures fell at their feet, the patrol quickly locked shields again as the brutes that were charging hurled themselves at Eferath and his men.
Since they used each other for support, the mountain orcs - despite their large frames - broke against their shields like waves crashing into rocks. The charge halted, Eferath commanded for them to push as one. At first, neither side gave an inch, but as his soldiers stabbed through the gaps of their shields, the orcs soon began to give ground.
As effective as the tactic was, the orcs quickly adapted, and their brute strength more than matched Eferath’s soldiers. The human defenders bent at the waist, struggling to keep their larger, heavier opponents at bay. Eferath knew that if he didn’t do something quick, his men would be pushed down onto their backs. But the young man had one more trick to play. He relayed his commands to each soldier; it was unlikely that the orcs could understand the common tongue, but Eferath wasn’t willing to take any chances.
“On my one!” Eferath shouted over the din. “Three… two…ONE!” The moment the last word left his lips, his soldiers suddenly stopped resisting and dodged backward. The orcs, so intent on overcoming their enemy with their strength, were unable to react in time and stumbled forward. Some even fell to the ground, slipping on the blood of their comrades.
Eferath joined his soldiers as they rushed back into the fray, hacking and slashing with abandon. Soon, all semblance of strategic fighting had flown, and skill and precision were replaced by brute savagery. Many of Eferath’s men hacked and slashed with impunity, and were dropping the brutes in pairs at a time. The ground grew slick with blood. Some was theirs, but most of it was orc. Eferath had lost four men so far; one of which slipped and fell when he was dodging backwards. No matter how many of them he and his men killed, more orcs replaced them. A thought nagged at Eferath as his blade cut a smile into an orc’s neck; His patrol had been moving at a quick pace, too quick for any enemy to prepare such an elaborate ambush. For it to be right at the exact place their objective marker was placed on their map, it was too much of a coincidence to be believable.
Then he heard it.
A loud bang! split the air a moment later. It sounded like it came from a good distance away. His skin prickled as his senses picked up on the use of magic. He grew worried. The direction the explosion came from was too close to Edward’s patrol route for him to ignore. There was nothing he could do at the moment, though. He thought to himself ruefully. Even if he did somehow manage to break contact, he would be inviting disaster upon his friend and that was something he simply could not do. His patrol group had enough problems of their own for now. Looking out at the orcs battling his men, Eferath knew beyond any doubt that this was not an isolated incident. He could only hope that his friend was all right.
Eferath was shaken from his thoughts once again as something heavy crashed into his side, nearly knocking him over. Eferath reflexively grabbed the source to steady himself, and it was then that he realized what had struck him. It was an orc! Its size, weight, and its strength nearly forced Eferath to his knees. Fear gripped him then. The orc was too close for him to have even the slightest hope of bringing his weapon to bear. It took Eferath a long moment before he noticed that the brute wasn’t moving, and another moment to discover the arrow protruding from the beast’s forehead.
Though battle was on in full, the young man did manage to look over his shoulder at one of the two archers and nodded his appreciation. A split second later, he brought his blade up to intercept the falling axe strike of the next orc in line, using his opponent’s superior strength against him. Eferath knew better than to parry the full force of the attack - the force of the blow would have snapped his blade in twain - so he did the next best thing. He turned the axe out harmlessly to the side before hooking his sword around to bring the axe head in line with one of the brute’s legs. The orc howled in pain as the heavy axe blade sank into its shin right below the knee. How the brute howled! It fell back and landed hard on its back with an impact that Eferath felt through the soles of his boots. Eferath almost pitied the poor creature as it rolled around in agony on the ground, but all it took was seeing one of his men getting his throat ripped out by another fiend for that thought to pass. Eferath drove his blade into its chest and into its heart.
He had not the time to savor the kill, though, and he frantically pulled his sword from his dead enemy’s chest. He managed to bring his blade up horizontally just in time to parry a strike that would have cleaved him in two. The parry forced him to lose his balance as Eferath had to bend backward to absorb as much of the power as possible. At that moment, he did the only thing he could do, and slugged the creature hard with a left hook. It stared at him incredulously, as incredulous as the naturally stupid looking features of its face could manage, then it smiled.
The orc shook its ugly head as a mother would to a naughty child, then, with strength that mocked his own, the orc shoved Eferath away as if he were nothing but an inconvenience. The young man bumped hard into another brute. Eferath started to apologize until he recognized what it was he bumped into. He and the orc shared a surprised look before the young soldier cut the poor creature down. Eferath spun around a complete circle, swinging his sword in a protective weave around him. His arm shivered as his blade intercepted a strike that he didn’t even see from the orc that had shoved him. The creature brought its burly sword arm around into a powerful horizontal strike aimed for neck level. Eferath nimbly ducked under the blow, but before he could counter it, the orc brought his elbow back to connect solidly with the back of Eferath’s head. Eferath saw nothing but stars for a long moment, and when he came to his senses, he was surprised that the killing blow had not fallen
.
“Yous not worth the golds!” the mountain orc roared triumphantly as he gripped the handle of his crude sword with both hands. The meaning behind the dim creature’s words were lost to him at that moment. Stars still danced before his eyes from the heavy elbow he had received. Just as the brute brought his blade down to cleave him in half, Eferath desperately rolled to the side. It was an effective tactic - or at least it would have been if his opponent weren’t a seasoned fighter - but this brute was no novice to battle and flattened Eferath with a heavy kick. The orc stamped down on Eferath’s chest, and the dazed young man was unable to move out of the way in time. The breath was blasted out of him and spots of colour danced before his eyes. He could hear the orc chuckling derisively, and Eferath knew that he did not have long to live.
He saw his opportunity a moment later as the muscular brute again telegraphed its attack by lifting its sword above its head. Eferath drew his knife and stabbed it into the brute’s knee, then, as the brute lifted its leg, Eferath swung around and slammed his leg into the back of the orc’s planted leg. With a startled grunt, the orc fell hard onto its back, and Eferath was quick to regain his footing even though his breath came in labored gasps. Eferath recalled at that moment how effective that move had been when Syline used it on him not too long ago.
Despite his effective attack, the wound he suffered from the orc’s heavy boot kept him from following up with a finishing attack. The orc scrambled to its feet and came in hard. Eferath waited until the last moment, then dodged to the side as the orc lumbered past. Eferath brought his blade around to slice the brute across its lower back as it went by. The orc arched its back in response to the devilishly deep cut and had paused in its step long enough for Eferath to stab it through the back.
The orc flailed about, twisting around so suddenly and so powerfully, that Eferath’s sword was torn from his hands, leaving the young man with nothing more than his knife. Even with over a foot of naked steel embedded deep within its body, the mountain orc merely growled angrily and advanced toward him. The orc sprang forward suddenly, bringing its crude blade around in a sidelong cut. Eferath, with only a knife for a weapon, did the only thing he could do and sprang forward also. The orc’s blade came in as Eferath’s went up, stabbing the brute trough the chin. A heartbeat later, Eferath felt as if something had punched him and a profound burning sensation in his left side made him wince in agony. He could feel the blood pouring down his side even as a strange cold sensation washed over him. Eferath looked down to see that the orc’s crude sword was caught in his side to the blade’s fuller. Thankfully, his armour had managed to absorb most of the blow, but it was still a very serious wound.
Thankfully, the orc he had impaled through the chin was dead, and Eferath managed to pull himself free of its blade as the creature sunk to the ground. Eferath was clutching his side, nearly doubling over from the intense pain when something slammed hard into his back near his right shoulder blade. An arrow, he discovered a moment later as he peered over his shoulder.
It was a mistake.
In the time it took for him to look over his shoulder at the quivering arrow shaft, another orc had charged in, undoubtedly unable to ignore an unarmed, wounded human target. Eferath felt the skin at the nape of his neck prickle and turned his head to look in front of him just as the beast brought its blade in. Eferath tried to throw himself backward, but in his weakened state was only able to hop back a full step. It was enough to save his life, though, as the orc blade carved a deep gash across Eferath’s chest.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl for him, then as Eferath felt himself falling. He was distantly aware of the impact as his knees struck the ground. Darkness closed around his eyes as if he were walking backward into a tunnel. He could see the orc’s blade coming in for the final blow. It moved so slowly, but seemed so very far away. He could hear the sounds of battle going on all around him, but they were nothing but feint echoes in a far-off place.
He saw his friend Edward, then, lying dead amongst the bodies of his men, and enemies alike. His eyes were unblinking, staring off into the abyss, his eyes guiding the passage of his soul to the great beyond. Suddenly, Eferath felt a great surge of hate and anger inside of him. He did not believe in visions, but Eferath knew beyond any doubt that his friend was dead. Cold hatred burst forth from somewhere deep inside him, enveloping him until every part of his being was consumed.
Clang! Sounded the ringing retort as Eferath somehow, with speed that defied belief, brought his blade around to swat the incoming attack harmlessly wide. Eferath was just as surprised as the orc who had thought its victory was assured. The brute stood stunned at the impossibly fast parry, and stared stupidly at the human that should be lying dead at its feet. With an attack that was so fast it was blurred, Eferath brought his sword around at neck level to take the brute’s head clean from its shoulders. But he didn’t stop there. Eferath continued with the rotation until his back was to his headless opponent, then he stabbed backward suddenly, fiercely, impaling the already dead orc through the heart. The move had made it so that Eferath now faced the next orc who, had been eager to bring the dangerous human down, rushed at his back for the kill. Eferath’s blade blurred in, colliding with his enemy’s weapon and sending it flying away with a ringing impact. Eferath ducked, then side-stepped into a spin, avoiding the on-rushing orc’s body. Eferath stood up straight, then inverted the sword in his grip before stabbing the brute in the back as it stumbled past.
Eferath spun a deft pirouette, taking yet another orc head from its body before ending with a devastating slash that nearly cleaved another unfortunate creature in two. He cut down orc after orc, cutting a swath of death all around him. Any time fatigue or death threatened to slow him down, Eferath saw the image of Edward’s lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, and his fury fueled him. Just as another enemy came within reach, Eferath ducked under a horizontal axe swipe, then side stepped as the brute followed through with his attack. The young commander turned his body to the side and the deadly axe missed by mere inches. Eferath countered by bringing his blade down to cleave the axe handle in two.
The orc punched him hard, but Eferath didn’t seem to notice. The orc fished for the knife at its belt and stabbed the deadly human in the side. But Eferath seemed not to notice.
Then it was dead.
Eferath sank to his knees just as his last stroke fell, feeling very cold. All strength had left his limbs, and pain exploded all over his body. Once again, darkness closed around his vision, but this time, the darkness was complete. He saw again Edward’s face as his friend lay dead amidst human and orcs alike.
“I’m sorry.” Eferath said softly even as the ground rushed up to meet him.
Face down on the ground, young Eferath closed his eyes, and he remembered no more.
Chapter 9
EFERATH GROANED IN PROTEST AS HE WAS SHAKEN repeatedly. The only sounds he could hear were feint, echoing voices that he couldn’t understand. He opened his eyes, tentatively at first, but the brightness of the mid-afternoon sun made him quickly rethink that course. He was hurting all over, and from what little he could remember, he was surprised that he even still drew breath.
Realizing that the safety of his men could be at stake, Eferath’s eyes popped open, and he struggled to sit up.
“Easy, easy!” Warned a familiar voice, and Eferath turned to regard his patrol wizard.
“You’re lucky to be alive, sir, take it easy.” The young man nodded his agreement, then took a moment to look around at their surroundings. His men were piling orc bodies at the centre of the bowl-shaped clearing to burn.
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Said a voice from behind. Eferath turned to see the speaker, and smiled as Carlisle and Denara walked toward him, the former had his arm in a sling. “Luck does not fight like that!” Eferath pat the swordsman on the shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Eferath asked as he pushed himself to his feet. Carlisle looked
at his right shoulder and offered a shrug as an explanation. “Orc crossbowman got lucky.” Pain throbbed through Eferath’s entire body, and he responded with a nod.
“Aye, apparently more than a few orcs got lucky fighting me.” He said with a strained chuckle. Carlisle shared the laugh, but sobered quickly as he fixed his commander with a stare.
“By all rights, you should be dead, sir.” Carlisle said a moment later, and Eferath’s smile disappeared. “The orc had you defeated, but not only did you move impossibly fast to perform an unbalanced parry with an opponent of superior strength, but you also managed to kill it, and several others while badly wounded!” Eferath took a deep breath though the movement sent another intense wave of pain crawling up his side. He could not remember anything after getting hit in the side.
“I do not remember much of the battle,” Eferath admitted honestly. “How did we fare?” He asked, looking at the wizard and the swordsman in turn.
“We lost seven all told.” Carlisle answered quietly as he hung his head.
“We were damned lucky.” The wizard added grimly, and Eferath took a step back and leaned on the nearest tree for support. The burden of command weighed heavily upon his shoulders, and he felt those losses keenly as if they were his kin. It was his job as their leader to protect them. In the classes back at the Academy, it was constantly drilled into their heads that; no matter how good the commander, you will almost always take losses.
Losses that should never have happened! Eferath thought to himself. Escoran’s own scouts had cleared all of their patrol routes, and even assured them all that there was no danger.
“What is it, sir?” Carlisle asked, and Eferath shook his head.
“How many orcs did we manage to kill?” The young commander asked. Now was not the time to discuss his suspicions. All he needed to do now was to get the remainder of his patrol home.