It had none, but answered with a quick rush leading with the curved blade overhead to chop the brown in half. Saberrak ducked the rapid swing of the deadly shield, a shield as tall as he was, bladed outer edges grazing his mane of black hair as it passed. Chalas rolled away from the cut, back up in time to parry another chop, taking two hands to hold the strength of one from the ogre.
Saberrak charged, two greataxes slashing toward the legs of Mafahann, unable to do anything but echo steel on steel from the massive shield. The gray shoved with all his muscle and weight, axes locked with spikes, the ogre did not move. The arm of the ogre pushed back, then lifted, sending the gray airborne. He landed on his back, axes held tight, scrambling back as the bladed shield slammed down to where his legs would have been and cracked the stone floor instead.
The clang of blades continued, Chalas using his greatblade two handed against the one handed sword of Mafahann. Rage took hold, the brown pushing back each attack, blow by blow getting closer to the body of his opponent. The shield swung across and Chalas turned inside, blade ready to cut the legs of this beast. His head snapped back and blood sprayed as the armored fist of the ogre hooked inside simultaneously, knocking the brown to the floor.
Gray muscle and horns thudded into the thigh of Mafahann as it went to finish Chalas with the shield blades. Stumbling back, blood trickling down its leg, it hunched down closer to the gray.
“Flank it, it sees too fast from the front!” Saberrak roared to Chalas, both minotaurs now circling the two headed warrior. They taunted, stalked, twirled their weapons and growled. It was hard to tell if they hunted each other or Mafahann.
A snarling roar returned from Chalas, to Saberrak or the ogre, the gray was not sure. Yet the necks stretched as Chalas took the other side. It was looking at each opponent, circling and backing, keeping distance as did the horned ones. Step to step they moved, then Mafahann lunged at Chalas until he dodged and rolled back, then turned at the last moment to Saberrak.
Axes parried and deflected blows, the gray gladiator backed up faster than the ogre could move, yet its reach was great indeed. It dove, lunged, swinging shield and sword high and low, until Saberrak fell backward with the onslaught. The shield pressed over crossed greataxes, spikes getting closer by the heartbeat. Spittle from labored breaths dripped off the blades and steel as Mafahann leaned his weight on his shield that was pinning the gray minotaur to the ground. Two sets of eyes squinted with the exertion of muscle and hate.
Saberrak held his breath, arms out and locked, looking at the spikes, feeling his chest burn with the strain. He roared as two, then three, six spikes penetrated his flesh. His rage gave him adrenalin, pushing the ogre back half a foot, the six holes now seeping hot blood from his arms, chest, and legs. A moment of unexpected release from the deadly pin of Mafahann and Saberrak was rolling out and away toward a pillar of onyx.
Two heads screamed as one as the blade of Chalas Kalaza butchered through the calf muscle of the ogre. Then a second slash hit near the knee, and the third was blocked with shield and sword. Chalas pushed on, the kneeling ogre trying to regain its footing and stand. Chopping at the swordarm, then the shield, then trying for the other leg, yet the ogre defended well. Mafahann got to his feet and began to attack in return, forcing Chalas to backpeddle near the wall covered in spikes.
The crowd cheered as Mafahann began twirling his blade playfully, having one of his opponents trapped. Nowhere to run, no way to get past the reach, Chalas waited for the right moment to lunge in and strike even though he knew it had the advantage. The ogre watched his every move with both heads, limping on the right side, waiting for the attack it knew would come if it kept pressuring the brown into the spiked wall.
Another step, spikes touching the back of Chalas, he feinted a lunge, then backed up, and chopped down at the incoming blade. The sword loosened from the ogre grip and Chalas hit again, knocking the blade free and to the stone. He reared for another blow, but was punched square in the chest first, knocking him into the spikes.
The roar of pain invigorated the crowd as Chalas pulled himself from the spikes, blood pouring from his back. He hit his knees from the sudden pain and release, his sword dropped as he closed his eyes for a moment forcing out the pain. The thousands shouted and screamed, “Mafahann, Mafahann, Mafaha---“
Sppllgrrchhh!
The masses hushed as the hairy head snapped to the side, a greataxe from nowhere embedded into it. Blood ran black and red down the necks, splattered across the bald head and the stone floor, and more spurted into the air. A second throw, and another axe landed into the ribs on the same side, the shield arm twitching now. The beast reached up and pulled the axe out of its lifeless head, the bald head aghast and roaring for its other half to wake up. It threw the axe back toward Saberrak, now glistening with his own blood down the front. It missed. Mafahann pulled the second from its ribs and tried again, hurling it back at a now charging gray horned warrior. Another axe skittered across the stone floor, Saberrak sidestepping with ease, horns low.
Chalas picked up his blade from among the puddles of his own blood on the floor. He looked up in time to see Saberrak take a suicide lunge from his dead run at the shield of Mafahann. He smiled, until he saw the shield not raise but a half foot, the gray grabbing two spikes by the hands and starting to climb up the staggering beast. Saberrak grabbed onto the dead head by the hair just as the free hand of the ogre grabbed him by the waist. A momentary tug of war began, enough for Chalas to charge in.
Blood sprayed from the head as hair and scalp tore from the pull of Mafahann on the gray gladiator. Saberrak kept reaching for more, hand after hand, keeping his grip and trying to get onto the shoulders of his opponent. His footing slipped as the ogre shuddered, then again. Saberrak heard the crowd reach deafening euphoria in their bloodlust as he saw the shield arm of the ogre hit the floor, cut off from Chalas and then the disemboweling slice of greatsword into the abdomen.
Wasting no time, his body aching from being crushed by the hand of the two headed beast, Saberrak reached for the ear of the misshapen head, and the nose. He gripped until blood perspired out from between his fingers, and the living head began to shake in reflex to the pain. He scrambled, hearing another fatal cut into the midsection from Chalas. He reached the head, grabbed with both arms atop the thrashing ogre, dove his horns into its face, and twisted with all that his body had left.
“Snap, crack, snap.”
The gray leaned off of the front, pulling the weight of his kill overtop of Chalas Kalaza. He landed and rolled, not even turning back, he did not need to. The spasming bald head poured blood out the mouth and down its back as the eyes closed, the neck was broken, head facing the wrong way. The crowd roared, the brown minotaur was crushed under the ogre Mafahann, whose body lay bleeding and twitching in the throes of death. The gray picked up one axe as he ran, then the other, skidded, and turned just in time to see Chalas get to his feet out from under their dead opponent.
Thousands began chanting their names, cheering their impossible victory, and coins of uncountable number changed purses. One of the lords of Devonmir looked to the other two, nodded, and hovered away down the corridors.
Confusion quieted the chaos, bringing focus back to the arena, as the two bloodied minotaurs did not roar in triumph, and threw nothing to them of the blood and spoils they dearly craved. They watched in amazement as the savage victors charged one another, horns lowered, each intent in killing the other.
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Koyd turned from his menial paperwork of logging new slaves into his quarters, something stirred. That something now seemed curious, hearing mass whispering in the low light of the barracks and cages.
“Ccrreeenn, clank, clank…”
“Guards on your feet, cages are open!” He grabbed a rapier from the wall and dropped his quill and ledger as he stood from the wooden desk covered in dust.
Grunting, shouting, torches passed and sconces came ablaze revealing to ten
ogre and twenty hired guards that three cages had been opened and a Harlian man was working on a fourth, broken dagger blade in hand prying quickly as he glanced at Koyd.
“Get them!” Koyd’s slavers went to motion, as did the dwarves, a centaur, and three husky bearded men from Shanador. To the weapon rack they scrambled, hoping to get their hands on something before their pursuers were upon them. Desperate cries of fear and adrenalin set in, as but six starving slaves were soon to be surrounded by more than thirty guards. Norrice took a breath, realizing now that he should have waited to see if Saberrak survived the match. He fought the tears welling, accepting his last moments would be to the sound of battle with cheers in the background, yet not for him, for no one would ever know his fate.
“Backs to the doors men, stand hard!” Norrice issued his last command to a dwarf with an axe, a centaur with a spear, and three men who looked to be purchased prisoners now holding greatswords. He raised his saber, and gave the meanest look of intimidation to the largest ogre of the ten fast approaching.
Koyd shook his head in disbelief. “Surrender and I will not have you executed, you will only be---ggrrgglll, thump.” Koyd looked to the blade that had just pierced through his spine and out his throat, saw it withdraw, then all went dark and numb.
Kaya T’Vellon kept moving, behind cages in the rows before her. Another target turned, and another throat was cut before he could get his guard up. She glanced to her right, seeing Shinayne gracefully rush in silence up behind an ogre. Two inhuman flashes of elven steel and it fell to its knees, another slice and she was moving past it before the corpse hit stone.
“Orfullumar Vundren da Vun!” Azenairk, fighting to keep up with his taller companions, had enough darkness. He prayed to Vundren for light from stone, warhammer in hand, knowing that behind them was more than they cared to deal with. He had counted forty in the tunnels chasing them, and even Kaya had not stopped running for nearly a quarter hour.
James ran past Zen, broadsword in hand, as light of the sun seemed to cast from the cavernous ceiling illuminating the whole slave quarter. Hundreds of cages, most every one occupied, and the smell of old sweat and blood hung in the oily air. He readied his enchanted shield, and marched toward the ogre on instinct.
“Ogre! Face me! Gwenneth, free the slaves!” James yelled, he felt he was back in Arouland, back in some war or lost battlefield. All he knew was that the ogre had to die by his blade before someone got killed again.
Gwenneth looked ahead, seeing the heads of ogre turn toward James Andellis. Many men turned and saw Kaya, Zen, and Shinayne fast approaching. She noticed a small odd group at a set of giant doors that also looked to James, confused for certain. The staff of Imoch glowed as she walked with it, letting her subconscious know it could be of assistance.
She looked to the lock on the end cage, a troll, fat one missing an arm, sat inside glaring back at the wizard. “Play nice now. Jiliath uul.” Gwenneth whispered, held the staff tight, clenched her right hand, and the metal lock bent and twisted making an ear-piercing screech and pop, then fell off and dissolved to dust. She opened her eyes, then smiled and moved to the next cage. The troll scrambled out, and ran out the back away from all of the chaos without a sound.
“Cowardly beast.” Gwenneth continued unlocking with the arcane.
Blades danced in and out of the tight spaces between cages, bodies fell, men screamed, and Shinayne continued forward. An ogre charged her, huge mace overhead, she slid on her knees between his legs, turning and cutting it down from the hamstrings and then the neck. Completing her turn, rising to her feet, she disarmed a guard and thrust Carice into his chest. To her left, Elicras shot out and plunged into the ribs of another.
Kaya feinted a lunge, fell short, then swung her bladed buckler across a guards throat as he came for her. She threw her shortblade end over end, it landed into the back of an ogre stalking for the elf. As it turned and reached, Jade of the West grabbed it, jumped up and grabbed a handful of hair, pulled herself up and carved the edge through its windpipe. She rode it to the ground, and two quick cuts later, another two surprised guards fell clutching their chests. Neither her or Shinayne stopped moving.
James blocked an axe with his shield, thrust ahead with the blade into the gut of an ogre warrior. Another parry with the enchanted shield, and he stepped in and slashed upward twice dropping another beast. A third and a fourth flanked him and he ducked both blows and took the foot off of one at the ankle, then turned and stabbed the griffon pommeled blade of Arlinne through the thigh of the other. They reached for him, each feeling the cold steel run them through before they got hold. His shield arm was numb from taking blow after blow, yet he did not care. A fifth ogre charged from the doors where his brethren were killing a centaur. James saluted the bloody blade to his face and kept his march, hearing the thud of a warhammer finishing his work behind him. Without a blink, the knight of Chazzrynn sidestepped the beast, split his flank wide open, stabbed the blade behind him through the ogres spine, and continued forward to save the others fighting for freedom.
Eight guards surrounded Shinayne, Kaya, and Zen as the cages gave way to open ground and there was nowhere left to hide their lesser numbers. The last ogre fell with a guttural roar, and James turned to the two men standing at the door, one he recognized.
“Sir James? Sir James of Chazzrynn! Alden be praised!” Norrice fell to a knee, weak and bloody. He looked to the men beside him, all dead but one. The crowd cheering behind the door brought him back to the urgency at hand.
“Capitan Norrice, where is Saberrak?” James breathed out, letting go his hatred for the ogre that lay dead around him. He turned to see his friends surrounded by eight guards of the former slavemaster. He smiled.
“Gentlemen, drop your swords.” The voice of Gwenneth Lazlette carried over the fight about to ensue. She was levitating five feet off the ground, staff and eyes glowing green as electricity danced between her fingertips. More than fifty men and beasts below her moved to surround their former captors, snagging weapons from walls and the bloody stone floor as they did.
“Restrain them, painfully, but do not kill them.” Shinayne wiped her blades clean across her cloak. The men that understood her, did as they were asked, having just seen these five cut through four times their number without a scratch and set them free. Most were agaze at the women, astonished at the carnage, and in too much awe to hear the sound of the crowd and the flooding footsteps behind them at the entrance to the slavequarters.
“Saberrak is fighting, in there!” Norrice pointed to the doors, barred shut from their side by an immense iron slab.
The agents of the White Spider, Devonmir guards, arena mercenaries, ogre, and even Rinicus Three-Blades marched into the cavernous room. Forty, fifty, now over seventy on but seven. James looked to Gwenneth as their pursuers took formation, three dozen crossbowmen aiming, and fifteen armored ogre readying a charge at the commanding word of the domenarch. Rinicus stroked his stubbled face and flicked his dark brown locks, drew his blade, then another in his other hand, and waited.
Gwenne concentrated, murmuring some arcane words, and a barely visible barrier spread out across the cavern, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. It flashed with crackling electricity, and she smirked knowing not only the bolts would be useless, but anyone passing through would get quite a shock. The prodigal daughter of Lazlette focused on holding the spell in place. “We have a moment, make it quick.”
“Men, you are free. However, to escape, we need to rescue Saberrak the gray. I have a plan, once we get the door open, follow my lead and ---“ Shinayne looked up from the men, sensing something unnatural, evil, it stopped her thoughts and turned her stomach. Following her pause, then her aquamarine eyes, everyone looked to the far end as Rinicus bowed to a robed figure.
“Run, get it open, now, now, now, hurry!” Kaya moved in with the freed slaves, assisting in lifting the two ton iron slab meant for ogre to heave.
Shinayne trembled, though she had not mean
t to, her eyes were fixed on this hovering robed figure. “Why, who is it?”
Trehad
Die now you will, Lady Shinayne
How can you speak to me like this?
I am inside you now
Lord Trehad lowered his hood, revealing a reddish skin, shimmering as if it were oiled with blood, a mouth of fangs, and pointed ears. The top of his head shimmered white, as it was bare bone, and his eyes were as circles of black then red, then black that Shinayne seemed drawn to.
“Who is that, Kaya?” James heaved again, with so little room to get enough hands on the bar, it seemed futile in hurried fashion.
“One of the Lords of Devonmir, a sorcerer that is part dead, part demon, and no longer of the living world. We have to get out!” Kaya heaved again, yet the left side was not ready and the bar slid back into its rest.
“He is in my head, I can hear him.” Shinayne looked at her hands, she had her blades up to the throats of two of the slaves without realizing it. She struggled, something making her want to kill, against her will, her arms shook to not do it. “Hurry!”
Gwenneth concentrated, yet the sinister sorcerer looked to her magical barrier and it began to diminish in size. Gwenneth held the staff, the emerald glowing, sweat running down her temples onto her neck from the force of the battle of arcane wills. “I cannot hold… the barrier, he is too… powerful… the crossbows… hurry!”
Zen grasped his hammer and moons symbol and walked forward in front of Gwenneth. He chanted an old passage of demonic banishment. “Demonia das demoni inferallu, Vundren gris gan tathe!”
Lord Trehad stared at the dwarf. The demonic laughter sent chills up the spines of all as they heaved on the iron bars to the Arena of Ajastaphan, and whatever remained on the other side.
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Nose to nose, horn to horn, the crowd amazed and bellowing for more blood despite receiving two fights instead of one, as Saberrak turned his head to try and overpower Chalas Kalaza. The brown lifted his greatsword, pinned between two greataxes of the gray, only managing to lift his enemy off his feet an inch and then back down. Saberrak regained his footing, legs poised ahead with all his weight and force against a similar Chalas. Sweat dripped into the blood then dripped to the stone floor from them both. A quick turn, then another, a raging jerk of bovine neck muscle and then another and again. Nothing. The brown minotaur would not give, they were locked.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 10