by Sam Ferguson
“If we live, then I am sure we can come to an arrangement,” Erik replied flatly.
Rafe nodded and smiled, apparently satisfied. Lubbok, on the other hand, was still scowling at Erik any time the two happened to be looking at one another.
“He seems pretty upset,” Lady Arkyn whispered as they neared the edge of the town.
“Doesn’t like my magic sword,” Erik replied. He was about to say something else, but he pulled up on the reins and stopped the horse. Everyone else saw him and copied his movement.
“What is it?” Rafe asked.
Erik didn’t answer. He scanned the rooftops, and then checked the walls carefully. When his eyes couldn’t find any sign of danger, he used his power to search the area. He was sure they had approached something very deadly, and very angry.
“Trouble, brother?” Chabba asked.
Erik nodded. “I can’t see anything, it’s just a feeling.”
A black mist rose up from the ground behind them and started to close in. Rafe cursed under his breath and drew his sword. An arrow flew out from the darkness and caught Chabba in the right shoulder.
“Argh!” the orc wailed as he slumped forward and clutched at the wound. He shouted some very nasty curses in orcish and then snapped the protruding shaft off and pushed the head through. Once the missile was out of his body, he drew his sword in his left hand and turned the horse around.
A host of ten men came rushing out of the darkness.
Erik leapt down from his horse, allowing Lady Arkyn to use the steed. She expertly maneuvered the beast to run parallel to the growing wall of black mist and launched arrows at the oncoming warriors. Erik rushed the first one, noting that he was not like the men from last night. Instead, he wore a full set of chainmail over a leather hauberk. He ignited his blade and swung mightily. Chain links shattered and the sword cut deep into the attacker’s chest, killing him instantly.
Rafe charged his horse at the attackers, as did Chabba. The first wave of attackers went down quickly, but they were replaced by a second wave, this time of twenty. Erik held his ground while Lady Arkyn and Chongor fired arrows at the attackers. Rafe and Chabba continued to assault the attackers directly, swinging their weapons and taking the heads from several warriors. Lubbok cried out angrily and then moved to flank the enemy. He came in from the far left and killed two warriors with his first swing. His horse trampled a third, and then a spear stabbed into his horse’s neck, killing the beast and throwing Lubbok to the ground.
Erik rushed in, slicing through one enemy, and then another as he made his way to Lubbok. The mighty orc had lost his weapon, but was currently in the process of pummeling the spearman that had killed his horse with his meaty, green fists. Erik reached Lubbok just as a third wave of attackers came. Erik killed three and wounded another, giving Lubbok enough time to reclaim his weapon and stand beside him. They hacked at the enemy relentlessly, but no matter how many they slew, the enemy kept coming at them.
Bodies piled at their feet. To say that the attackers were not very good fighters would be a massive overstatement. Erik had only needed to deflect a few strikes the entire time, and he was up around fourteen kills. Lubbok was chopping them down as quickly as they ran toward him, and even Chabba was winning easily despite the uselessness of his dominant arm.
Still, no matter how many they killed, the black mist continued to inch forward, spewing out wave after wave of enemy, and driving the party back toward Tarntin. Soon, Lady Arkyn was out of arrows and was using her scimitar. Chongor was likewise down to his warhammer. Erik could hear that Rafe was starting to breathe heavily, and Chabba was leaning to the side from the pain and loss of blood.
“We have to move back!” Erik shouted to Rafe and Lady Arkyn. “There are too many.”
“You retreat?” Lubbok guessed. He shot Erik an angry glare. “You have a burning sword!”
“If the mist reaches us, we will not be able to see,” Erik explained.
“A true warrior can feel his enemies,” Lubbok shouted. As if to prove his point, he continued glowering at Erik while a swordsman charged him from the side. At the last moment before the enemy struck, Lubbok lifted his sword and let the man impale himself, and then tossed the corpse aside. “Let the darkness come, for I will stand against it!”
“As will I!” Chabba shouted as his horse reared up and stove in an enemy’s face.
“I will stand with you, brother!” Chongor pledged.
“Stonebubbles,” Erik muttered, stealing a curse often used by dwarves. He knew that the orcs would rather stay and die than retreat. Lubbok had a point to prove, and he was indirectly challenging Erik’s courage as well. Erik glanced up to Lady Arkyn, and she nodded knowingly.
“Rafe, come with me, we need to find cover,” Lady Arkyn shouted. She and Rafe fled toward the city, and Erik took in a deep breath as the dark, cold mist rolled in around him. As he had feared, the mist was so thick he could only see a couple feet in front of him. The fire on the sword did nothing to pierce it. Whatever it was made of, it was cold and heavy, making it hard to breathe.
Footsteps came charging toward him. Erik closed his eyes. In that moment, he fell into his true self. He was not the dragon, he was not even the Champion of Truth. He was the warrior, taught by Master Lepkin and wielding the fabled flaming sword. Master Lepkin had once defeated three hundred Tarthuns single-handedly. Perhaps this was the battle where he would have the chance to do something similar. This time, there was no opportunity to extend mercy. The beast he fought so hard to cage within himself had to be unleashed in full.
Time seemed to slow as he calmly took in a breath and exhaled. He could hear the boots of an enemy plodding on the ground, coming his way. He could hear the man’s heavy breathing. He pictured him in his mind, with a clenched jaw and wielding a sword up over his shoulders, ready to swing.
Then time sped back to its normal pace and Erik exploded into action. He twisted and swung his sword so quickly that the flames trailed behind it with a great whoosh! The attacker’s head flew from his body and the rest of his corpse flopped to the ground.
A moment later a second came in from the left. Erik deflected the spear and stabbed through the attacker’s chest. A third jumped in from behind. They were getting better now, faster and more adept in their movements. Erik stepped aside, flipped his sword into an upside-down grip and thrust the blade backward to skewer the third man through the abdomen.
Off in the distance, he could hear the battle cries of the orcs and the clattering of steel. Erik hadn’t the time to try to find his allies. He was beset by another pair of attackers. He cut through them and then decided to take the offensive. He charged ahead into the darkness, cutting down every enemy he saw, but there was one enemy he had not seen, who would prove to be the creature the Blacktongue had warned him about.
*****
The sound of battle awakened Seroth’s senses. His muscles tightened and ached for action. His nostrils flared as blood spilled upon the ground. The darkness hid him well enough that he could walk calmly for as long as he wanted, but his body yearned for the thrill, nay, the ecstasy of hunting live prey. He was a creature known by few in these parts of Terramyr, and that is what made him so successful. He stalked among the black mist, fully protected from the burning light of the sun.
He was not a vampire, for vampires were made from humans, and compared with him were about as dull and short sighted as most humans were when compared with the elegant elven races. Seroth, was a Verr’Tai, a twisted and evil undead elf with more power than most mortals could comprehend. More than that, he was a loyal servant of his lord and master, Hatmul, the ruler of Hammenfein. It had taken him centuries to make his journey to this place from his former home beyond the Nahktun Mountains, which stretched across a continent many thousands of miles away from the Heart of Terramyr, a shrouded island continent blocked off from the rest of the world by a ring of impassable mountains. Chasing out the pathetic humans from their cities had been his first v
ictory, but this day would prove to be even more important. He could offer his master the souls of orcs today, and a sahale.
He sneered wickedly as he walked toward an injured orc. The creature was valiant, fighting vigorously and showing no signs of slowing despite his injuries. He would make a good addition to the ranks of those who served in Hammenfein. But first, Seroth was going to enjoy the orc’s life force and strength. Though the mortals could not see him in the mist, he could easily see them. Their bodies appeared as deep red forms with humanoid shape as their blood called out to him through the darkness, glowing and beckoning for him to let it loose.
Three of his thralls attacked the injured orc and then fell by his blade. Seroth smiled and slipped in behind the orc. With his right hand he pierced the orc’s neck with his sharp, elongated fingernails. The orc expectedly tried to lash out with his sword, but Seroth grabbed the orc by the left wrist and squeezed hard enough to break the bones in the joint. The sword fell. Seroth gripped harder with his right hand, letting the blood spill out over his fingers as he sniffed the wonderfully metallic scent. He then lifted the orc up overhead and closed his eyes.
His favorite prey were those mortals who had magical powers, for their essence was always sweeter, but a strong orc was no meager morsel. It was a delectable treat in its own right. As the blood ebbed out from the orc, Seroth opened his mouth and devoured the very essence of the orc’s being. A vampire feasted upon blood, but for Seroth the blood was like the whites of an egg. To be sure, it provided sustenance, but the real flavor was in the yolk, the unseen life force that was contained within a living body.
He consumed the orc’s very aura, leaving a bare soul only to be sent down to Hammenfein. The body would remain with Seroth, though, for he would reanimate that as he had the hundreds and thousands of Northmen he had slain so long ago.
The orc was so delicious that Seroth couldn’t help but roar in delight as he finished the last bit of the creature’s energy. He felt his strength receive a boost, and his hands twitched as the new energy filled his body. He tossed the empty carcass aside and saw another orc, this one still atop a horse and chopping down Seroth’s thralls.
Seroth leapt into the air and twisted about as he flew through the mist. With a tremendous force, he blasted into the large horse, splitting the animal in half and throwing the orc through the air to land in a heap. A host of thralls moved in for the kill, but Seroth issued a mental command to stay their hands. The victory was his, not theirs. The mist around him cleaned his body from the horse’s blood, strengthening the spell of darkness as it absorbed the animal’s life blood. Normally, Seroth would have jealously claimed the horse as well, but not on a day when he had such rare treats before him. He was going to save his appetite for them.
The orc rose to his feet and stood at the ready. He seemed confused when no one came to charge him. The darkness was so thick that Seroth knew the orc wouldn’t be able to see anything. Still, the orc proved resourceful. He put his back to Seroth only to turn at the last moment and run his sword straight through Seroth’s chest. Seroth felt his right lung collapse and his blood oozed out over the blade. The pain only angered him. He reached out and seized the orc’s throat with his left hand. With a powerful squeeze he snapped the orc’s neck. The orc twitched violently, but Seroth knew it was just the final impulses of a dead creature. He pulled the orc in close and devoured the creature’s essence. He then dropped the hollowed body and turned for his final two victims.
The third orc was much stronger than the other two. He was going to provide a great amount of essence, and that was to say nothing of the foolish sahale fighting nearby. Why the sahale refused to change form was perplexing, but Seroth was not going to question his good fortune.
*****
Erik cut down another four enemies and then a wave of terror washed over him. He couldn’t know what it was, exactly, but he could feel an intense presence, as if evil incarnate had descended upon the battle field. Without hesitation, he summoned Silverfang. The wolf would do no better in the darkness with his vision, but with his sense of smell he might be able to help Erik understand where the real threat was going to come from.
The wolf sprang into action, snarling and growling as it took down a pair of men in the darkness. Erik fought on, and then he heard a determined howl. Silverfang had indeed found something. Erik cut down the nearest enemy, and then turned to his right to follow after Silverfang’s howls. He nearly stumbled over a pile of bodies, but managed to stay upright and continued running. Lubbok was nearby, grunting and shouting orcish curses as he continued to drop enemy after enemy.
Silverfang then snarled and there was a shriek that sounded more like the banshees in the Natchy Moors than it did anything around this area. For an instant, the mist dissipated, as if blown out from a central point by a great gust of air. In that moment, Erik saw Silverfang with his teeth sunk into a strange creature. It looked like an elf, except its skin was dead and rotting. It was taller than most elves, and more muscular too. There was also a bloody hole in the creature’s chest. Whatever it was, it was not going down easily. It flung Silverfang aside and then the mist began to close back in. Just before the darkness blinded Erik once more, he saw the creature turn its attention to Lubbok.
Erik called upon his power and tried to pierce the gloomy veil, but nothing happened. The flames on his sword grew hotter as his rage boiled. He ran to intercept the creature. It must have seen him coming, for before Erik could react, it came at him from the side instead of straight ahead. Claws came in furiously fast, too fast for Erik to dodge or deflect the blow successfully.
A blur of gray fur launched through the air and took hold of the creature’s reaching hand. As the wolf’s teeth sank in, the mist dissipated just enough for Erik to see his foe.
Another shriek filled the air. Erik turned and ducked, lashing out with his flaming sword and catching the creature in the thigh. From the lack of resistance against the blade, it wasn’t a deep cut, but it was enough to make the monster recoil back as green blood flowed out from the wound.
Silverfang tore and yanked on the arm, but the creature once again flung the wolf aside.
A sharp yelp followed by a series of short-breathed whimpers told Erik that Silverfang was hurt badly this time. He dismissed his companion back to his plane of existence where he could heal.
The creature came forward and Erik attacked. He pressed the fight, swinging and thrusting his sword. The creature held his hand out and a sword from one of the fallen attackers floated up to meet his palm. The grotesque elf-thing then sneered and counter-attacked. The swords clashed together in a shower of sparks and flames, but Erik had made a mistake. The real attack was a powerful kick that came in just a half second after the swords connected. Erik took the brunt of the assault fully in the chest and flew backward through the air. His sword fell to the ground, and the flames went out.
The mist closed in around him as Erik coughed and choked for breath. He struggled to get to his feet, but his body wouldn’t respond. No air was coming into his lungs, and his legs were void of strength.
“Tell me, why do you not change form?” a voice called in the darkness. “I can smell your blood, I know what you are.”
Erik pushed up to his feet, but his legs quivered and quaked to the point that they failed him, and he fell back to his knees. Never before had he ever been struck so hard by anyone. Had he not feared Vodklyk’s poison, he would have changed form a long time ago, but as it was, he was stuck with his human body.
The mist directly before him parted just enough for the creature to emerge and be seen. The bite marks in his arm and the hole in his chest had closed, but the cut in his leg had not. The creature smiled wickedly and reached out. His claws were coming in quickly, but then there was a flash of green fire. The creature snarled and howled in pain as his forearm fell to the ground with a sickening thump. Erik looked up to see Lubbok, holding the flaming sword.
Green flames enveloped the black, Te
larian steel, and for whatever reason, the weapon was hurting the creature beyond its ability to heal. Lubbok wasted no time in driving the sword through the creature’s heart. The monster threw its head back and howled as the mist fell away.
Erik could see hundreds of warriors circled around them, but instead of charging in to help their master, they fell to the ground, as dead as stones.
Lubbok shouted angrily and jerked the blade upward, sawing through the creature’s ribs and eventually ripping the blade out next to the creature’s neck. The monster’s head flopped to the side, providing an open target for the massive orc to finish the fight. He brought the flaming sword down and hacked the head off, thus ending the creature’s miserable existence.
“Brother…” Erik started as he stood up weakly.
Lubbok nodded and looked at the flaming sword. He then promptly flipped it upside-down and stabbed it into the monster’s corpse for good measure. “I suppose I cannot complain against you, now that I have also used magic.”
Erik smiled and the two clasped hands once more.
The rift was now healed.
CHAPTER 19
Erik and Lubbok searched for Chabba and Chongor, and then took their bodies off to a grassy hill south of Tarntin. Rafe and Lady Arkyn were able to find three shovels in the ruins, and brought those out to help. Lubbok insisted on doing most of the digging himself, but eventually he let Erik help as well. Rafe and Lady Arkyn cleaned Chabba and Chongor’s bodies as best they could and went back to Tarntin to find cloth with which to bury them in.
Lubbok performed their final rights in orcish, while the other three looked on.
“What is he saying?” Rafe asked quietly.
Erik hesitated, and then explained that Lubbok was calling upon Khefir to come and take the valiant warriors back to the halls of Hammenfein where they could serve at Hatmul’s side in guarding the halls of hell.