by D. A. Adams
Vishghu came out of the shack alone and ran back across the open space, moving to the leisure slaves’ cage. Again, Molgheon covered the ogre as she ran, but only a couple of orcs paid any attention to her. Most were too focused on trying to protect the big house. When Vishghu reached the cage, Molgheon glanced back at Crushaw, and he had reached the eastern side of the house, still using the porch to funnel the orcs. As he backpedaled, the aged general sliced and drew and thrust at the soldiers that chased him, and with each orc that fell, his face contorted more with rage, as if their deaths were insults.
But he was getting tired. His sword was not flashing as quickly, and his cheeks were flushed. Molgheon had to act quickly, or he would be engulfed. While she had been waiting in the dark, she had affixed a rope to one of the top posts to give herself a quick escape, and now, she rose from her hiding spot and rappelled down the side of the tower. Once on the ground, she ran towards the fallow sugarcane fields, looking for a mass of slaves, and found a large group turning the hard earth with hoes. Around them, two overseers popped their whips on the slaves’ bare backs, trying to control the chaos.
“Keep working, filthy swine!” one overseer yelled.
“Don’t mind nothing,” the other called. “Keep your eyes down.”
As she ran, Molgheon strapped her bow to her back and drew Roskin’s sword. She thrust it into the neck of one, and it slumped to its knees, coughing and spitting blood. The other turned towards her, its mouth agape and the whip limp by its side, but before it could move, a Tredjard smashed its head with the sharp hoe. The orc staggered sideways, fumbling for the gash in its skull. As it fell, several other dwarves hacked at it with their hoes.
“My kin,” Molgheon yelled, raising the sword. “We’ve come to free you.”
“Follow the warrior,” the Tredjard who had struck down the overseer shouted to the others. “We are their dogs no more.”
With that she turned and ran towards the area where she had last seen Crushaw. As they went, other field-hands saw them, and those not being guarded by overseers immediately joined the makeshift army. The ones being guarded turned on their field masters, using whatever tools they happened to hold. By the time Molgheon reached the big house, she had been joined by dozens of Tredjards, Koorleines, and humans. Before them, the trail of dead orcs stretched around the house and to the east, where scores of those still living chased Crushaw.
“To the orcs!” Molgheon called, waving her troops forward.
The freed slaves charged them, shouting their native war cries as they went. The mixture of cries grew into a roar of its own, and the sound crashed into the rear of the orcs’ line, causing several to turn around as the wave reached them. As Molgheon rushed into their line, she saw their fear turn to disbelief from the surprise of a slave uprising.
***
Vishghu reached the leisure slave cage and was greeted by a dozen Tredjards who were pressed against the bars, trying to see the chaos near the big house. She was sure that Crushaw had already been killed, which meant that at any minute the entire orc battalion would be upon her. Since she didn’t have much time, she scanned the crowd for Roskin, and when she didn’t see him, she stepped to the door and looked at the lock and hinges.
“I’m here for Roskin, son of Kraganere,” she said, glancing back at the dwarves. “Is he here?”
“If you mean the tall one,” the dwarf with crazy eyes returned. “You’ll have to kill us all to get to him.”
“I’m here to rescue him, you fools. Bring him out, and I’ll bust down this door.”
“He’s too hurt to bring out.”
“We don’t have much time. Just get him.”
“Let us out, and we’ll join the battle.”
The other dwarves shouted agreement.
“There’s no battle, only a distraction, and he’s probably dead by now. We gotta get going.”
“That’s some distraction,” a dwarf with sharp eyes replied. “Because he’s holding off a hundred orcs down there.”
Vishghu turned around, and in the field to the east of the big house, Crushaw stood alone against a handful of orcs. Behind those few, at least sixty more were beginning to organize, forming a line to surround him. The old man’s sword gleamed in the morning light as it slashed at its foes, and in that moment, Vishghu saw him, her sworn enemy, not as the silhouette of evil that she had been told but as a real person. Never mind that he had frozen once before. Never mind the terror he had unleashed on her people. She had witnessed him throw his body between his companions and certain death not once but twice. That kind of courage was worth saving. She turned back and smashed the door from its hinges.
Without a word, she raced down the slope with the dwarves close behind. None of them had any weapons, but they charged straight for the right flank of the newly formed orc line anyway. As they neared it, a sound rose up to their left, and Vishghu glanced that way in time to see Molgheon leading her troops into the rear. Then, she was upon the first orc soldier that was wielding a halberd and turning to face her.
***
When Crushaw struck down the first orc, a rush of memories came to him: beatings for missing the morning horn, for cutting the sugarcane improperly, for crying too softly, or for failing to wince. As he fought the rest of the platoon, the memories morphed into a white ball of rage that engulfed him, and as each orc fell other memories poured onto the fire.
When the second platoon began to encircle him, he backed onto the porch and forced them to follow, as he had done against the ogres on the Veshtteign Glacier. His army had found itself outnumbered five to one, so he had ordered a retreat of his main force into a tall and narrow fissure that was only a couple hundred feet deep. The ogres had followed eagerly, knowing the humans had no escape, but Crushaw, anticipating their aggression, had stationed archers along the ridges of either side of the ice canyon. By the time the battle had finished, nearly four thousand ogres were dead, and the other thousand were fleeing back to their clans.
Before the orcs could circle the big house and cut him off, he leapt over the rail and sprinted east away from the oncoming platoons. In front of him, fallow fields stretched as far as he could see, and the ground was rough with clods from the years of plowing and sowing each spring. Once he had put good distance between himself and the big house, he turned and faced the three fleet-footed orcs that reached him first.
“Surrender and we make it quick,” the middle one hissed in orcish, crouching with its sword at middle guard.
Crushaw responded by taking one of the knives from his vambrace and throwing it into the orc’s exposed throat. The orc staggered backwards and collapsed, crying out in a gurgling squeal. The other two rushed with their swords swung from above their heads, and with the vambrace, he blocked the downward blow from the one to his right, then raked his blade along its abdomen. It fell face first in the dirt and writhed in agony while Crushaw parried a blow from the other. He retreated from it because more orcs were catching up to them, and he didn’t want to get surrounded.
In the distance, he got a glimpse of Vishghu running to the leisure slaves’ cage, and he realized he had to stay alive a while longer to let her find Roskin. He continued to backpedal as the others neared. Each time the orc before him made a slice or thrust, Crushaw tried to find a breach to end this fight, but the orc proved to be a skilled fighter. The others finally reached them, and Crushaw used the clumsiness of a young soldier, thrusting at him with all its weight, to throw the practiced one off balance. While the skilled soldier tried to recover, Crushaw struck it in the head with his pommel, knocking it unconscious.
The skilled orc subdued, Crushaw analyzed the others to determine their skills. He knew the one was clumsy, and of the other four, two at least stood in well-balanced stances. The other two hardly knew how to hold a sword. Continuing his retreat, he let the orcs attack.
The two veterans approached, and one rushed forward, swinging its weapon with a loud grunt. As their swords met, Crushaw p
arried the thrust and performed a vertical downward cut in one blow across an exposed chest, dropping the orc to its death. Crushaw dodged a second blow and drove his sword into the standing orc’s belly. The three green orcs froze in place as their leader grabbed at Crushaw’s gambeson, screaming as the blade ripped apart its intestines. Crushaw twisted the blade, and the orc slid to the ground, its scream fading into a sigh.
Behind the three green soldiers, the rest of the battalion were forming a line two deep and thirty wide. His strength was waning, and the end was near. For a moment, he thought about fleeing for the grassy marsh to the south. He could probably make it because the orcs were not known as good runners, but he had never retreated from a pitched battle before securing victory. He would rather die than flee from this battle. Crushaw fortified his resolve and charged into the three green orcs.
***
Molgheon thrust the sword into the chest of the first orc she crashed into, and on either side, her regiment threw themselves into the waiting line. She had rarely been in close quarters hand-to-hand combat, for during the Resistance, her platoon of elite archers had almost always been used as snipers. Most of her expertise was surviving in the wilderness for weeks at a time. They had ambushed units and had then disappeared into the forests and hills, waiting for another opportunity.
Her husband had been a sergeant in an infantry platoon, and for nearly five years they hadn’t seen each other at all. As the Resistance weakened, their separate battalions had been joined, and they had gotten to be together between battles. When he had been mortally wounded and the war practically over, most of the dwarven villages and towns were starving from the cruelty of the Great Empire. His platoon was supposed to raid a supply wagon to steal flour, but they had received poor intelligence about the soldiers guarding it. Instead of a handful, there had been dozens, and his platoon had been spotted as they had tried to abort the attack.
After watching him die at Kwarck’s, Molgheon had left the Resistance and had tried to reach the free lands, but during the winter, starving and nearly frozen, she had been captured outside of Murkdolm. While all dwarves believed in gender equality, the humans of the Great Empire upheld that females were unfit for military service, so she wasn’t suspected of having been part of the war, which saved her from execution. In Murkdolm, she had found friendship with Grussard and his companions, and they had helped her restore and open the tavern.
When Red had first arrived, he had been a celebrity among the humans, but as the bottle took hold and ruined him, more and more closed their doors to him. One night in winter, Molgheon had found him outside the fort where soldiers had left him because they were tired of his cough. While she had no love for humans, she had taken pity on the old man and had nursed him back to life. Over time, she had grown fond of him because, unlike the soldiers who wanted to eradicate them, he was curious about Ghaldeon culture and history. She had tried to help him stop drinking, but the old man hadn’t wanted to quit, so she had tried for years to only let him have enough to keep away the shakes. Then, Roskin showed up with his coins, and Red had bought that whole case of whiskey from someone. She had thought that would be the end of him.
Now, she could barely see him through the two rows of orcs. He had struck down all but one of those upon him, but he was nearing exhaustion. She was almost to him, but the orcs that had survived the initial shock were putting up a valiant fight. She tried to clear a path to Red, but the orcs were moving backwards and pressing closer together, and she couldn’t get through.
***
Vishghu caught the swinging halberd in mid-air and lifted the orc from the ground. It let go and fell back to the hard clods, and she drove the sharp point of the weapon into its chest. Along the flank, her platoon flew into the orcs with a frenzy she had never seen before, and orcs were torn to pieces at the hands of the freed leisure slaves. Vishghu stopped in horror of the scene and vomited on the field.
Moments later, several of the crazed dwarves were struck down by well-armed orcs that had regrouped after being caught off guard. While the freed leisure slaves would not back down, their momentum from the first rush had stalled, and through brute force, the orcs pushed them back. Vishghu rose to her feet and readied the halberd, which looked like a small spear in her hands. Then, she drove into the line and rallied the dwarves around her. Of the original twelve that had charged down the rise, only four remained. Before them, twenty orcs were left trying to hold the flank.
Vishghu had learned well from Crushaw and Molgheon. While she had never wielded a halberd before, the lessons she had learned about balance and leverage served well enough to make short order of three orcs. The freed leisure slaves had also picked up weapons, and the platoon of five regained momentum. Slowly, the flank began to curl backwards, and Vishghu could see Crushaw locked in a grappling match with one orc, but the old man was exhausted. His cheeks were bright red, and his breath came in rapid gulps. Vishghu tried to break through the line to reach him, but the orcs were falling backwards and tightening their formation.
The ogre could tell that Molgheon’s soldiers were overwhelming the main line, for it too was collapsing backwards. Very few orcs remained alive, and the freed slaves were steadily driving them back, but the entire mass was heading straight for Crushaw and his orc. Within seconds the two would be swallowed by the throng. Vishghu tried one last time to clear the line, but before she could, the last of the orcs collided with the duo, and they disappeared from view.
***
Crushaw marshaled his last reserve of energy and struck down the first of the green orcs with a quick horizontal cut at its belly. As he did, the war cries of the freed slaves exploded behind the formation, and the battle began. The one to his left hacked at him clumsily, and its sword bounced off the mail hauberk just above his elbow. While the blade didn’t cut flesh, the blow hurt enough to deaden his arm. The orc to his right was still frozen with fear, so Crushaw focused only on the one to his left. It swung again, and once more its sword bounced off of his mail. Crushaw thrust his blade at it, losing balance as he did and stumbling to the ground. His legs were slabs of stone, and his right arm was too tired to lift the sword, so he dropped the weapon and pulled the second knife from his vambrace. The orc thrust at him, and from his knees, Crushaw rolled with the blow and drove the knife into his foe’s ribs. The orc fell onto him, the knife in its collapsing lung, and Crushaw fell backwards and lay on the ground, gasping for breath.
His left arm was regaining feeling, so he rolled the dying orc off of him and turned to his side, facing the battle. The freed slaves were hammering the orcs, which surprised and pleased him. From his experiences, he hadn’t believed that the slaves would be brave enough to turn on their masters, which was why he hadn’t included them in his plans. He had seen uprisings crushed because the slaves feared the masters’ wrath more than death, but these slaves were a different breed. He smiled as he watched their fury, hacking at the orcs with nothing more than farm tools.
A sharp pain struck his shoulder as the last of the green orcs brought its sword down on him. Luckily, the blade didn’t pierce the hauberk, but the blunt force hurt tremendously. Somehow, Crushaw found the energy to get to his knees, where he blocked a second blow with his right arm. Then, he scrambled to his feet and waited for the orc to swing again, and when it did, he stepped towards the orc and blocked the blow by slamming his body into the orc’s arm. The force knocked the sword from its hand, and it tried to back away from Crushaw, but the old man grabbed the orc’s leather armor with his left arm and held it fast.
He was too tired to fight anymore, so his only hope was to clinch the orc until someone came along to help. Over its shoulder, he could see the line rapidly approaching as the last of the orc battalion held off the surging freed slaves. The mass of bodies rolled towards them like a wave, and when it struck them, the green orc grunted from the force. Crushaw’s feet went from beneath him and he was swept up by the momentum. He was carried for several feet until the w
all of orc bodies toppled and sent him to the ground. His left ankle hit first, twisting and popping as the weight pressed down, and then he landed on his back, knocking his wind out, and the mass of bodies landed on top of him. He struggled for a moment to claw his way out, but the weight proved too much. Then, all went black.
***
Molgheon and Vishghu dug through the pile of dead and wounded dwarves, elves, humans and orcs, trying to find Crushaw. The wounded were moved carefully, even the orcs, but the dead were tossed roughly. If Crushaw had somehow survived the fall, he wouldn’t have much air, so time was critical. Vishghu had never done such work, and her discomfort was palpable as she handled the still warm corpses. Molgheon, on the other hand, worked with the same demeanor as she had helping with the harvest at Kwarck’s. She had seen much worse.
The healthy freed slaves, most of whom were seasoned Tredjards from worse battlefields, tended to the wounded and formed a triage. The mortally wounded were moved to a clear area where they could die in relative peace. The critical received immediate attention, and the seriously injured were told to walk to the big house if they could and to wait if they couldn’t. The handful of slightly injured orcs were tied together and guarded by several elves, but at the center of it all, Molgheon and Vishghu kept moving bodies to reach Crushaw.
When they found him, he looked peaceful, a content and serene expression on his scar-flecked face. Molgheon moved the orc that he had been grappling with from his chest and knelt at his head. She reached down and wiped both his own and orc blood from his cheeks.