The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition

by C. Craig Coleman

  Socockensmek flicked his hand to motion the others forward. Without speaking, he pointed to the ground to indicate they should be careful not to disturb the wiry clumps of sedge. His weathered finger, pointing above, directed them to a ledge on an unusual rock outcrop.

  No sooner had they hidden, than along the ravine came the moldy, mottled gray fur of a hairy orc almost disguised against the silvery sedge foliage around him. The orc sniffed the air. He squinted, scanning the streambed ahead, accentuating his protruding boney brow.

  “A hairy orc, maybe?” Saxthor asked.

  “A hairy orc for sure,” Socockensmek said. “The long fur keeps out cold in the northern mountains. The thick coat differentiates them from their plains orc cousins. I suspected the rock-dwarves were in the far highlands, but no one has reported seeing hairy orcs since the end of the Wizard Wars in the Ice Mountains of Dreaddrac.”

  “What’re they doing here?” Tournak asked.

  “I don’t know. The orc has followed us up the streambed. He’ll be puzzled when the trail runs cold. Keep quiet; he’s getting close.”

  The orc stopped right under them to scratch. After a forever moment, the orc inspected its grubby fingernail for a parasite, then again followed the stream past them and out of sight.

  “Someone needs to make Memlatec aware the Dark Lord’s monsters are on the move. Neither Tournak nor I want to leave you lads in this dangerous environment,” the general said after the orc passed. He took a deep breath. “I’ll accompany the boys on to well…where Saxthor leads us. Tournak, return to my place. Send my adjutant with a message to Memlatec. As soon as you can, come back and help me guard these boys on their quest.”

  “I don’t like leaving them now,” Tournak said.

  “Someone’s got to warn Memlatec. I’m familiar with Tixos, you’re not, and I’m better at military situations. Now go and hurry back.”

  “I think it’s safe to get underway,” Socockensmek said when Tournak was out of earshot. “We’ll need to detour in case that orc backtracks.”

  Bodrin’s face pinched. “What’s that foul smell?”

  “Cripes!” Socockensmek barked.

  His hand jerked Bodrin back under the overhang. Stunned, Bodrin stumbled back against the rock.

  “What did I say?”

  The sound of metal ringing as the general’s sword flew out of his scabbard surprised the boys. Socockensmek was leering up at the hairy orc peering down from the overhanging outcrop, sizing them up. Its foul stench drifted over them as the beast knelt and raised his club over his head. A sinister grin emerged as he selected his victim.

  “Phew,” Saxthor said before he realized the source.

  A thought popped into the general’s head: Hairy orcs’ simple minds focus on killing anything human. In a second, he’ll swing that club, smashing one of us.

  The setting sun’s rays flashed off the general’s sword as it arced and missed the ducking orc. The swishing sound jolted Saxthor and Bodrin. Both dropped, crouched, and looked up following the sword’s arc.

  “Watch out for the club!” Bodrin said. The club smashed into the rock and just missed Saxthor as he jerked to the side.

  Socockensmek recovered and drew back his sword. The orc hopped down on the ledge. His sword raised, the old general stood between the shocked boys and the advancing orc. Again, the sword sliced the air but deflected off the club into the rock wall. Chips and sparks flew. He heard Saxthor and Bodrin draw their swords behind him.

  Seeing the general’s exposed flank, the orc swung his weapon around from the side, but the general dodged the blow. Undaunted, the grinning orc swung again, arcing the cudgel down then up. Trapped against the ledge wall, the general couldn’t outmaneuver the second attack. It smashed into Socockensmek’s exposed leg before he could raise his sword. Crunching bone halted them all when the leg snapped. Socockensmek collapsed and lay wounded and vulnerable to attack.

  With a triumphant smirk, the orc raised his club to finish his agonized victim. He rose on his toes, arched forward as the club swung down toward the general’s head. The general shuffled and lifted his blade to deflect the blow.

  Shaking, Saxthor lunged over the stunned old man and thrust Sorblade deep into the orc’s unguarded chest, then shrank back. The shocked orc and he stood staring at each other. One bone-chilling shriek and the bloody orc clutched his ribcage. He fell forward, rolled off the general, and tumbled from the ledge to plunge in the stream below.

  “Is he dead?” Bodrin asked.

  “I don’t know,” Saxthor said.

  Stunned and trembling, Saxthor stood up and moved with Bodrin to the outcrop’s edge. The general dragged himself over to the rim too. They stared down at the orc lying prostrate in the bloody water. The orc’s head rose a bit, then smacked into the stream and moved no more.

  Sorblade’s runes glowed, exposing the dying orc’s blood flowing downstream in the eerie light of dusk. The green glow faded with the orc’s life as darkness intensified. No one said a word, not even Socockensmek, with his throbbing leg lying useless. A moment to recover and Saxthor sat beside the general, who’d propped himself up. Bodrin stood next to Saxthor, his lowered head shaking.

  “How can I choose; both choices are horrible,” Saxthor said later. He was wringing his hands. “If I leave you here, General, you’ll be exposed and helpless in these open hills. If I take you back home, I probably won’t do what Memlatec expects me to do, whatever that is. If I fail in that mission, it could result in more trouble for all the kingdoms. There’s no good choice?”

  “Saxthor, you don’t need to make a decision. No general worth his mettle would fuss over one old man when kingdoms are at stake. Generals must sacrifice men to achieve objectives in war, and this is war, my boy. You must press on.”

  “I’m not a general, sir,” Saxthor said. His foot fumbled with a pebble. “I don’t mean to contradict a famous war hero and family friend, but I’ve just turned thirteen.”

  “Prince Saxthor Claremendak Calimon de Chatronier, you’re a Neuyokkasinian prince, son of Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin and Prince Consort Augusteros; you command generals.” Socockensmek reached his hand forward, lifted Saxthor’s head, and held him in a stare. Saxthor jerked up straight and faced the old man.

  “Your great-grandfather forged the wandering, bickering Neuyokkasinian tribes into one nation. Your grandfather commanded the Neuyokkasinian army and saved the emperor of Powteros, who made him a duke of the empire for it. He proclaimed himself king and defended the title. Your mother has restored the kingdom from the brink of collapse. Will you tell me you, their heir, cannot make the hard decisions of a general?”

  Socockensmek allowed no possibility of retreat. He grabbed a handful of sand and threw it over the ledge.

  “Augusteros is the crown prince. He has the dynastic responsibilities, sir,” Saxthor stood up straight, defiant, though the general noted a slight tremor. “How can I ever live up to such accomplishments from so many before me?”

  He held the general’s stare. Saxthor broke first, looked down, and kicked sand off the ledge.

  “We can do it, Saxthor,” Bodrin said, his hand on Saxthor’s shoulder.

  “Whatever Memlatec fears and whatever he expects me to do, the wizard has bet everything on me,” Saxthor said. “Yes, whatever this mission is, it’s critical to my part in Memlatec’s plan. I’ll go on.”

  “We’ve come this far,” Bodrin said.

  “You stay here with the general, Bodrin.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “You boys will have to go on alone.” The general poked Saxthor with his sword. “There’s no time to waste. Other things may follow that orc. Keep Bodrin with you. He’ll be good protection. Tournak will return and aid me.”

  The general’s tone softened. “You must try your best to do what is necessary, son. It’s too heavy a burden to ask of you at your age, but you must continue. Memlatec said you’ve been given the strength to accomplish your mission. To try and fail is n
o shame, but not to try guarantees failure. What would your ancestors say?”

  Saxthor hesitated then looked up, grinning. “They’d say to run now and live to fight some other time?”

  “Think so?” the general challenged. He held the relentless stare, but reached over and shook Saxthor’s hair.

  “I’ll go on alone.” Saxthor stood erect, the trembling gone. His hand clutched Sorblade’s hilt. “I’ll take responsibility for this mission as my parents would expect.” His face sharpened, reflecting generations of determination the general recognized at once. This time the boy held the stare.

  “At least I can guard this path and prevent others from following you past this point,” Socockensmek said. “Leave me in a protected spot with food and water, and press on with your objective. I’ll be fine until Tournak returns.”

  “Bodrin, you stay with the general until Tournak comes back.” Saxthor pointed his finger at his friend as if training Battara to stay. “I’ll come back and meet you all at the general’s house when I’ve done whatever it is I’m supposed to do.”

  “I don’t think so. I go where you go. No offense, General,” Bodrin said.

  He’d been leaning against the rock overhang while Saxthor and Socockensmek fought the battle of wills. He stood up and crossed his arms, deflecting the order.

  “Don’t be stubborn, Bodrin. There’s no need to get yourself killed by some hairy orc. Stay here and take care of the general.”

  “You’ll be all right, won’t you, General?” Bodrin asked.

  “Of course I will, son.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I think Saxthor needs looking after more,” Bodrin said. “I think I’d better go with him.”

  “Now, Bodrin, don’t get stubborn on me.”

  “Don’t ‘now Bodrin’ me, Saxthor. I’m going with you, and that’s the end of it.”

  “You’re so obstinate. Your mother’s going to kill me if you get eaten by a bird-man or beaten to a pulp by a hairy orc,” Saxthor said, his order now a plea.

  “Spare me the guilt trip.”

  “Trying to change your mind when it’s made up is like slipping on a wet, algae-covered rock. All my flailing and jerking for nothing, I'm going in the water. The rock never gives way.”

  “Yeah, well, I learned stubborn from a pigheaded friend of mine,” Bodrin turned to wink at the general, who watched the match and already knew the outcome.

  “If you two can stop arguing for a bit, do you think you can bury that hairy thing down below and cover our trail? I don’t want others right under me to find him there and know something’s amiss above.”

  Saxthor gripped Sorblade’s hilt and looked down again at the orc. He steadied himself to stop his shaking.

  “I’ve killed a real beast, and I’m only a boy. Good thing we practiced with the swords on board the ship. Come on, Bodrin, we’ve got to dig a big hole for that thing.”

  “Yes, and hurry back. I’ll need you to help set my leg before you go.”

  “Say what?” Saxthor and Bodrin asked in unison. They looked at each other.

  “While you’re down burying the orc, look about for two sticks to set my leg. Do hurry, before something comes looking for its comrade.”

  “But, General, we don’t know anything about setting a broken bone,” Bodrin said.

  Saxthor slumped. “I think this may be the worst day of my life. There’s no one else, Bodrin. The general’s leg needs to be set so it’ll heal right. One of us is going to have to help with that. Since you two are my responsibility, I’ll be the one to do it. You’ll have to tell me what to do, sir.”

  “Good. Hurry and bury that orc. Let’s get this over with.”

  “That old man always wins,” Bodrin said.

  Back behind them, Socockensmek grinned.

  “Not every time,” Saxthor said as he led Bodrin down the ledge.

  -

  They located a spot with soft ground behind the rocks that bordered the stream and dug a shallow grave.

  “Most of the blood’s gone, but we need to stuff something in the hole, so we don’t leave a bloody trail to the grave,” Saxthor said.

  “Yuck!”

  “I killed him; I guess it’s up to me to handle it.”

  Saxthor took off his tunic and grimaced as he stuffed it into the sword hole. With the bleeding stopped, they dragged the body to the grave and buried it. Backtracking, they swept the sand and straightened up weeds mashed by the corpse. Finally, they splashed water on the remaining blood they could make out in the moonlight.

  “See if you can find a couple of sticks, Bodrin, straight ones for the general’s leg.”

  Saxthor finished cleaning up the streambed and washed the blood off his shirt as best he could. He searched with Bodrin for sticks, and when found, they went back up on the ledge.

  “Will these do?” Saxthor asked. He displayed the rods for the general.

  “They’ll do. Saxthor, this won’t be fun for either of us, so let’s work together to get through it. I’ve torn some strips of cloth while you boys – young men – buried the orc. I’ll bite down on this piece of leather. I want you to take my foot, and when I nod, pull my leg as hard as you can, straight out. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir. You want me to pull it out straight.”

  “Exactly, I may faint, but pull it until it’s straight. When it is, put the sticks on either side of the leg and tie them snuggly with these cloth strips. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If I pass out, feel my leg bone to be sure the pieces line up. If not, pull my leg again until they do. Bodrin, hold me, so the leg straightens out. You got all that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bodrin nodded.

  “Okay, get down on either side of my foot. When I nod, pull as hard and fast as you can.”

  “I hope I do it right.”

  “Get hold of yourself,” the general commanded. “I’m counting on you.”

  “Someone’s always counting on me to do the impossible.”

  Positioned over the general’s foot, with both hands tight on his boot, Saxthor looked up at the general and nodded. Bodrin was green. The general stuck the leather in his mouth, bit down, and looked straight at Saxthor. He nodded.

  Saxthor took a deep breath, checked his footing, and tugged back on Socockensmek’s foot. He saw the old man grimaced. His body jerked rigid as he bit into the leather. With a muffled groan, his eyes fluttered, and he slumped back unconscious.

  Saxthor was gentle when he laid down the leg and moved up beside it checking the alignment. His stomach turning, Saxthor felt the broken bone.

  “Is it right?” Bodrin asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Saxthor put the sticks on either side of the leg and tied them tight.

  Bodrin brought a wet piece of cloth from the stream and wiped the sweat from the general’s brow. Socockensmek began to regain consciousness amid deep, labored breathing. He exhaled and moaned. After a few strained breaths, he coughed and cleared his throat. The resulting tremors passed through his body, making him wince, but then he began to recover his composure.

  “Thank you, men. Sorry, such a task falls on you so young.”

  “Glad we could do it, sir,” Saxthor said. “It’s because of me that it was broken in the first place.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, boy – no, Your Highness,” Socockensmek said. “Killing a hairy orc and setting a broken leg, you’ve been quite the man today. You’ve come of age in my book.”

  Saxthor smiled. “You have everything you need, sir? We’ll need to press on tonight to avoid something spotting us out in the open again.”

  “Stay hidden back under the overhang where they won’t find you, General,” Bodrin said. “At least you can defend yourself from here until Tournak comes back.”

  “Let’s go,” Saxthor said, his voice authoritative.

  “Stay in the stream so you won’t leave tracks on the ground searchers can pick up.” The general saluted
Saxthor, who hesitated at the implication, then stood tall and saluted back.

  *

  Miles upstream and near dawn, Saxthor and Bodrin’s pace slowed. By following the stream, they’d hiked out from the barren, repeating ridges to the edge where scrub brush grew closer to the coast. There were still no trees, but the undergrowth could at least hide them if they lay down.

  “You look rough,” Bodrin said when Saxthor looked back.

  “I’m tired. We’ll lay down under the bushes behind those rocks up there and sleep for a while. I think I’m getting old.”

  “Yeah, I’m worn out, too,” Bodrin noted Saxthor’s labored movements and strained voice.

  “At least we’ll be out of sight in case someone’s looking for us,” Saxthor said. He searched through the scrub for a suitable site. “How about here between the rocks and bushes? We can see anyone approaching before they spot us.”

  “Good idea.”

  An hour before noon, the sun’s rays slipped through their cover and warmed Bodrin’s face. He turned a bit when something lapped water below at the stream and jolted him into consciousness. His heart skipped, then did a power beat. His eyes peeking through a bush landed on an enormous, strange wolf as big as a small pony with monstrous front quarters. It sniffed the air after it drank, scanned the streambed ahead then stood transfixed looking in Bodrin’s direction. A snarl revealed seven-inch saber-like fangs. Bodrin feared to breathe.

  Please don’t wake up now, Saxthor, he thought. My knife is beside me, but I’ll have to jump up to draw my sword.

  The saber-wolf’s head sniffed side to side, zeroing in on some scent. The piercing yellow eyes came to focus on the underbrush where Bodrin and Saxthor lay hidden. To Bodrin, it seemed the saber-wolf stopped and stared straight at him. His stomach turned. Heart pounding, he wondered if the wolf could hear the heavy beating. He gripped the knife beside him but dared not move.

  “Come on you beast,” he mouthed to himself. “Let’s have at it if you’re going to attack.” The wolf’s piercing stare fixed as the lips wiggled, exposing more fangs. It tasted the air — the scent of wet fur caught in Bodrin’s nose. His fingers squeezed the knife hilt; the blade began to slip from the sheath. He drew a deep preparatory breath. His free hand crushed a dry leaf, and it crinkled.