“Your use of the past tense suggests we no longer need worry about them either,” Merric said tightly.
“You are correct. Oh, and Mortow has one less wizard,” Micah stated matter-of-factly.
“To which wizard do you refer?” Merric asked anxiously.
“It was not Mieka, my friend. I would not have killed her. However, Maklin will no longer be a problem.”
Merric shuddered in relief. “So you took out Maklin and some trolls as well as two Garoliths? Seems you have had a busy day,” Merric said in disbelief.
As they were talking, Mardak came striding up to join them. His interest was piqued when he heard mention of the trolls. “My lord, how many trolls were you able to dispatch?” Mardak interjected into the conversation.
Micah turned to the shaman. “Far too many, and I fear not nearly enough,” Micah answered cryptically.
Mardak cocked his head and looked at Micah with a puzzled expression. “I am sorry, Shaman Mardak. I did not keep track. I just killed until there were none left.”
“When you walk from the battlefield and the enemy does not, that is a good number,” Mardak grinned.
“I did not realize that ogres kept count. I thought only dwarves did that,” Micah commented.
“We take great pride in battle. Kills are tracked so we can judge a warrior's skill. One who departs a battlefield with twenty or more kills is considered a great warrior among my people,” Mardak explained.
“It is the same with my people,” Pace grudgingly acknowledged.
Micah looked from the small dwarf warrior to the tall ogre shaman. “I consider one a great warrior if they leave the battlefield alive. When you have lived as long as I have and seen the number of wars I have seen, the number of dead by your hand becomes a thing to mourn, not to celebrate,” Micah said sadly as he turned away.
Merric shot a stern look in Micah’s direction and followed after him.
Michael sat down once again and gestured for the others to do the same. He could see by the looks on Pace’s and Mardak’s faces that they both felt ashamed. “I hope you will forgive Lord Micah. He lost someone close today,” Michael explained.
“It was not my intention to offend the Avari Lord,” Mardak replied sullenly.
“Nor mine,” Pace added.
“You have not offended Lord Micah. He is simply saddened by the necessity of all the killing that has been done and is yet to come. He does value valor on the battlefield,” Reek said in an attempt to put them at ease.
All of them watched the Avari Lord walk away. Merric seemed to be giving him an earful, judging by the gesticulation of his hands as he kept pace beside Micah.
“His sadness is greater than any I have ever seen. I hope one day he finds peace,” Dain whispered quietly as he watched Micah and Merric round a corner.
“That was not what they needed to hear before a battle, Micah! Especially not from the legendary Avari Lord!” Merric said hotly.
“Should I have lied to them, Merric? Should I have said that the more you kill the greater you become? You know as well as I that is not the case,” Micah replied in an even tone.
“You know what I meant,” Merric snapped.
“I know that when this war is over a lot of the faces we see now will no longer be among the living. They throw their lives away on some misguided ideal of greatness. All are given only one life and to lose it on the point of a sword is the greatest tragedy.”
“Damn it, Micah, I don’t like the killing any more than you do; but we have been given little choice in the matter.”
“I know, old friend. That only makes it more disheartening.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mortow had returned to his tent, but sleep was impossible after the dragon attack. The number of dead had been higher than first thought. The Weres were the hardest hit. He still wasn’t sure of the exact number killed, but last count was over three thousand. The trolls and ogres had only lost a couple of hundred each, which Mortow counted as a blessing considering they were the real warriors. The Weres had done their job before the battle had even begun by taking the brunt of the attack.
All night was spent putting things in the camp back in order and rounding up those that had fled during the attack.
It was near midday when Mortow realized he was hungry. “Hagan,” Mortow called to the troll.
Hagan came running out of Mortow’s tent where he'd been packing things away. There wasn't much to pack, but Hagan was meticulous about making sure nothing was left behind or broken on the march. “Yes, Magika?”
“Bring me some food,” Mortow instructed, then turned to watch a large group coming toward him.
Hagan bowed and took off for the cooking tents.
Mortow frowned as he observed the group. He did not know the troll walking in front, but he had seen him before.
The group stopped a respectful distance away, and the leader bowed before coming nearer. “Magika, we have heard rumors that the enemy is in control of the dragons that attacked us last night. Is this true?” The troll asked.
Mortow regarded him with a displeased look and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. “It is impossible to say. Does the prospect that it is true disturb you?” Mortow asked.
“I am not afraid to say it does, Magika. I have seen one of those beasts destroy an entire village. How can we fight such a thing?”
“The same way you fight any flying thing; you bring it down to the ground and inflict damage upon it until it no longer moves.”
“We have no means to bring one to the ground. Our arrows and spears cannot pierce their hides nor their wings. Even if we could bring one down, it would kill countless numbers before we could even chip a scale.”
“Fear not. I have plans for the dragons, if the need arises,” Mortow said, his voice heavy with condescension as he waved a dismissive hand at the group.
The troll bowed and backed away, clearly unsatisfied with the discussion, yet unwilling to question Mortow further.
As the group left, Hagan came back with a plate in one hand and a cup in the other. He paused until Mortow looked his way. “You wish to eat in your tent, Magika?”
“Yes, just set it on the table then bring Oreg to me,” Mortow commanded. He then turned to survey the army once more.
Hagan bowed and entered the tent. A few moments later, he emerged and walked off to find the ogre chieftain. He, like any troll, was loath to be around an ogre, let alone talk with one; but Hagan had found Oreg to be interesting. Since Mortow had chosen him and his brother to aid the wizard, Hagan had to deal with ogres, humans and Weres. Hagan had discovered that many of the values his people held in high regard were likewise regarded by the humans and ogres.
Oreg was highly respected among his kind for his courage and skill in battle. This was something Hagan could understand. Additionally, the big ogre did not look down on him for his size. It took Hagan over fifteen minutes to find Oreg. The looks the ogres gave him as he moved through their camp made Hagan smile. Here, he was viewed with suspicion, not the contempt he saw on the faces of his own people when he walked among them.
Oreg was talking with two other ogres when Hagan finally found him. He waited a short distance away until Oreg finished speaking and then cleared his throat.
Oreg turned at the sound and frowned slightly at seeing the troll standing there. “Yes, Hagan, what is it?”
“Mortow requests that you meet him at his tent, Chieftain,” Hagan said politely.
Hearing the troll address him in such a respectful way surprised Oreg, and his mouth hung open slightly.
Hagan bowed and gestured for Oreg to follow him.
“Lead on,” Oreg replied.
When they reached Mortow’s tent, Hagan stopped and started to call out, but was cut short by Mortow.
“Show Oreg in, Hagan.”
Hagan held the tent flap aside and bowed to Oreg. Even though Mortow’s tent was very tall, Oreg nearly had to fold himself in half to walk
through the entrance. Once inside, he had to drop to one knee and hunch over to keep from hitting his head on the tent roof.
Mortow was standing off to the side with a huge mound of what appeared to be netting.
“Magika?”
“I have a task for you if the dragons make an appearance,” Mortow replied.
Oreg raised an eyebrow at the statement, but remained silent.
Mortow placed his right hand on the netting and continued. “These nets have been weighted and I have strengthened the fibers to hold against considerable strain. If the dragons are indeed under Merric’s command, have your men throw the nets to entangle the dragon’s wings,” Mortow explained.
“Magika, do you expect us to kill these dragons if your netting brings them down?” Oreg asked trying to hide his surprise.
“Fear not. I am well aware of the difficulty in killing dragons. Just get them out of the sky so they cannot attack us from above, and I will take care of the rest,” Mortow replied with a wicked grin.
“As you command, Magika,” Oreg said, the relief clearly visible in his eyes.
Dragons could snap even his people in half with a single bite. If they showed up again, he would be hard pressed to keep even the most stout hearted of his warriors from fleeing. Knowing Mortow would take care of the dragons should ease their fears. No one doubted Mortow’s power, and Oreg had never known the wizard to boast. If he said he would take care of them, then he would.
“Are your men ready to move out?” Mortow asked as he walked from the tent.
Oreg crawled out behind him and stood up, stretching his back and shoulders. “Aye, ready and eager. They know this is the last time we camp. At the end of the next march, we fight,” Oreg said with a fierce gleam in his eyes. He was as eager as his men.
“Then break camp. We march in an hour. By this time tomorrow, Kantwell and her allies will be kneeling at our feet.”
Rand had left Fire a good distance behind. He had to swing pretty far to the south to keep the wind from giving away his position. Mortow’s army was massive and, not for the first time, he was glad he was a scout and not part of the infantry. This time though, he would fight alongside Salic. The thought made his stomach churn. He was no warrior, but Salic would require every able body if they were to stand a chance.
Rand shook his head. He wasn’t sure they actually had a chance against such vast numbers. He saw increased movement in the camp and saw the tell-tale signs of camp being broken. Rand could not believe they were preparing to march this late in the day. They would only have maybe four or five hours of light before they would have to make camp again. Or would they? Rand shivered and began to carefully make his way back to Fire. Salic needed to know that the attack could come during the night.
There was a loud angry snort from up ahead where Rand had left Fire. It was immediately followed by a bellow from Fire. Rand broke into a run, all thoughts of stealth abandoned in his concern for Fire. As he topped a small rise, he could see three wolves circling Fire. Rand did not even slow. He drew his sword and yelled, trying to draw the wolves' attention away from Fire as he raced down the hill.
One of the wolves did look Rand's way, and it was the last thing it would ever do. Fire reared and struck out with a steel shod hoof, caving in the side of the wolf’s head. One of the others, seeing an opening, jumped onto Fire’s back and sank its fangs into the horse's neck.
Screaming in pain, Fire reared again. Rand could tell that was what the last wolf had been waiting for as it lunged at Fire’s exposed throat. Time seemed to come to a halt. Fire was up on his hind legs, front hooves moving, painfully slow, to strike. The lunging wolf hung in mid-air. It was as if they had all turned to statues.
Then Rand’s vision exploded in red. He was unsure how it happened, but suddenly, he was between the lunging wolf and Fire. His sword was already descending from an overhand swing. The blade hit the wolf’s head so hard it shattered on impact. Rand barely noticed as he turned and grabbed the last wolf’s tail, though it maintained its hold on Fire’s neck. As Fire slowly came back down, Rand yanked the wolf’s tail and pulled himself up, grabbing a handful of skin and fur at the wolf’s throat. Rand twisted his fist full of skin and landed a hammer blow, with the hilt of his shattered sword, on the base of the wolf’s skull.
His vision swam and something heavy was lying on his chest. Rand blinked his eyes several times trying to clear the red haze that obscured his vision. He wiped across his eyes with the back of his hand. While his vision cleared a bit, Rand noticed his hand was covered in blood. He also noticed the hilt of his sword still clasped in his right hand. The blade had been broken a couple inches from the cross guard.
The weight on his chest was making it hard to draw a breath. He looked and saw a naked man draped across him. Rand rolled the body off and climbed shakily to his feet. He staggered, but Fire moved in front of him, allowing him to grab the saddle and steady himself.
Rand took a deep breath and turned his attention to Fire. The bite on the back of Fire’s neck looked bad. Grabbing his water skin, he poured a good amount on the wound and carefully wiped around it. Once the blood was cleaned away, the wound turned out not to be as bad as it had seemed. The bite was deep, but there was no tearing and the blood flowing from it was not extreme. Rand patted the horses neck then reached around and took a hold of the bridle. He coaxed Fire to raise his head and lower it then moved from left to right. The muscle seemed surprisingly intact. Rand pulled Fire’s head down and placed his forehead against his friends.
“I thought I had lost you, boy.”
Fire nickered and nudged Rand away, raising his head once again.
“Yes, I should know better. It will take more than a couple of wolves to best the mighty Fire,” Rand said, chuckling as he poured water once again on the bite.
He had let the blood flow to help clean out the wound, but now he needed to bind it. Rand pulled down his saddle bags and quickly selected a few herbs from one of the pouches. He rubbed one of them on to the bite and held the other one out for Fire to eat. Fire sniffed the leaves then took them and began to chew. Rand cut a strip from his blanket and wrapped it around Fire’s neck, covering the wound, and tied it snugly. He then cut a few smaller pieces and folded them into squares and slid them under the wrap directly over the bite on both sides of Fire’s neck.
“I’m afraid that is the best I can do for now.” Rand stowed his broken sword in his saddle bag and pulled out a small hatchet used for cutting firewood. He looked distastefully at the three bodies and then started the grisly task of severing their heads and he wretched as he swung several times at the nearest one. It took what seemed like an hour to decapitate the three corpses, though in reality it was no more than a few minutes. Rand rose from the last one and averted his eyes from the grizzly scene, trying not to let his stomach rebel.
He took Fire’s reigns and began leading him in the direction of the pass at a steady jog. “This is not going to be fast enough, boy. I am sorry, but we are going to have to run.”
Rand raised himself into the saddle, careful not to disturb the binding and shook the reigns. Fire didn’t seem to need any coaxing to leave the place of the attack. He took off at a dead run so abruptly, Rand almost lost his seat. Rand recovered and leaned over Fire’s neck as the horse lengthened its stride. For a few moments, he smiled, thinking of how lucky they were to have survived the attack. Rand’s smile faded as he tried to recall the actual fight. He remembered nothing except the color red.
Karg was walking among his men giving a nod here or a grunt there, making his presence known. His people viewed leadership differently than the humans. Ogre leaders were expected to do more than the average ogre. They were expected to lead not only by command, but also by action. Karg would be the first into battle and, the Great One willing, the last to leave it. Chieftains were not figureheads. They were examples to follow.
Karg smiled at the thought of the coming battle. He had been born to war and in battle he
found the calm center within himself. Still smiling, Karg looked out onto the swamp. The sun had set behind the mountains, however, it was still light enough to see. The sight of a horseman coming at full speed caught his eye.
“Jurik!” Karg bellowed out.
An ogre about a foot shorter and heavily built came running up.
“Yes, Chieftain?” Jurik questioned.
“A scout approaches. Run and bring Axethane Bran and Commander Salic. Anyone in that big of a hurry has important news,” Karg instructed.
Jurik nodded and bolted for the pass.
Karg continued to watch the scout approach. The horse was running full out, and he could just barely see the rider hunched over the animal’s neck. Karg smiled.
“Ready yourselves! Glory follows yon rider!” Karg bellowed.
The ogres stopped what they were doing and formed up. All watched the approaching rider now.
Rand slowed Fire as he saw the ogres form up into a veritable wall before the pass. Their leader stood in front of them looking in his direction. Rand knew these beasts were supposed to be on their side, but childhood stories and campfire tales dredged feelings of terror from his mind, and he couldn't help but shiver. A few hundred feet out, Rand brought Fire to a walk and slid out of the saddle. He walked Fire to let him cool down.
His faithful horse was blowing hard and a slight froth had formed at his mouth. Rand was immediately afraid he had pushed Fire too hard for too long. He began stroking the horse's neck and talking to him. Fire shook and stumbled, but kept his footing.
Karg, seeing the horse falter and the concern the rider seemed to have for him, turned to Mardak. “The scout and his animal look as if they could use your help brother. It seems they have found some of our glory for themselves.”
Mardak moved instantly forward and bowed to Rand. “I am Mardak, shaman of our tribes. I see that your animal is injured and, by the look, you tended to him and not yourself,” Mardak commented.
Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron) Page 35