by Alex Aguilar
Viktor stepped backwards and the heel of his boot felt the cold barrier of ice behind him. He felt trapped all of a sudden. He had been in combat many times in the 46 years that he’d been alive, and after fighting countless men of skill far below his, he seldom became worried about losing his life. On this night, however, the former knight had grown worried.
Malekai was not only agile, he was remarkably vicious. And Viktor’s arms were starting to get tired and numb. Malekai, on the other hand, seemed to not sweat a single drop. The captain only kept his eyes locked on Viktor’s face, as if being able to read his next move and blocking it by instinct without having to look down at their weapons. Viktor, however, took this to his advantage and tricked the captain, making a swinging motion but not landing a blow. And then Malekai jabbed forward and Viktor darted to the side. And the captain’s blade sunk into the ice and became stuck there; he was suddenly unarmed.
Viktor charged at him with his longsword. But Malekai left his blade on the ice and rolled away on the dirt, and then three of his red raiders came to his defense.
Viktor was angry. For a moment, he nearly admired Malekai’s skill. However as he gazed upon the captain now, grinning behind a wall of his own men, Viktor realized he’d been fighting a crooked coward.
The Golden Eagle was now surrounded, his sword held up at the ready as the three red raiders paced around him and two more ran in from around the wall of ice.
“Look here,” one of them snorted. “Such shiny armor, there. I get it.”
“Whoever kills the bloke gets it,” said another.
Viktor glared at each one of them with a heated rage, turning as quickly as he could without keeping his back to a single one for too long.
Come on, you bastards. One of you make a move… I dare you…
Except they didn’t. They simply mocked and taunted him.
Move, you cowards… Try and strike me…
And then one did. He jabbed, but Viktor darted out of the way just in time.
Then, however, he felt a sting in his calf. A rogue raider behind him landed a kick that bent Viktor’s knee. And the Golden Eagle fell forward, tasting the bitter earth as he splashed onto a puddle of mud. He could hear the rogue raiders laughing at him, snickering through their yellow teeth.
“That it? I thought he had a pair on ‘im.”
“Go easy on ‘im. He’s just an old bloke tryin’ to play hero.”
Viktor felt the rage grow in his chest. He gripped the mud with his nails and began to hoist himself up. They kicked him… The blows were softened by his steel armor, but they bruised him all the same. He tried to stand up again, but they simply kept kicking, cowardly and in a pack.
Just then, however, Viktor felt a sudden rumble that petrified him…
The earth was cold beneath his palms but there was a mild quiver there, like that of a heavy footstep. Viktor held an ear out… Through the rogue raiders’ nasty chuckles, he was able to hear them… The footsteps were heavy and deep…
Whatever was approaching was large. Quite large.
“What’s wrong with ‘im? Looks like he’s seen a ghost!”
Suddenly a massive shadow emerged from the trees…
“Oh damn it all to hells…”
A thick branch snapped, as if something had pushed it off the tree with minor effort. And then a piercing roar echoed all around.
Viktor Crowley’s mouth dropped… All of their necks craned towards the sound…
A massive foot, as big as an elephant’s, stepped out of the darkness. Then another.
And then a loud shout came from one of the watchmen… “Ogres!!”
Another roar, this one louder and far more fierce. The large humanlike beast, some ten to twelve feet in height, began charging towards the battle. The red raiders turned and faced it in horror.
Viktor Crowley chose to follow his instinct. One leap and he was on his feet, running and snatching his longsword from the mud along the way. The rogue raiders tried to fight back, but within seconds the gigantic ogre had killed all five of them.
“Retreat!!” Captain Malekai Pahrvus shouted from afar.
And at that moment, three more ogres charged into the battlefield and began swinging their wooden clubs at the men as if swinging at rodents.
It was then that Viktor realized just how fast ogres could catch up. He found himself dodging them and darting left and right, running away as the massive beasts stepped around him.
It’s nothing, Viktor kept telling himself. Nothing. Nothing at all. They’re just practice posts…
Over three decades of experience were able to save the man.
He sprinted, hopped between trees, ducked beneath brushwood…
He dipped, ducked, rolled away… He ran, swung his sword at incoming red raiders, threw them at the ogres as bait, and then ran some more…
Nothing at all, he told himself. They’re all in your mind… Your mission’s not over. This is not how you go… Today you live, Viktor… Today, you fucking live, you understand?
And then, Viktor had a moment of hesitation…
One brief stupid moment of hesitation in which he chose to look back…
There it was, the massive beast charging after him, crushing raiders along the way.
Had he been paying attention in front of him, he would have seen the tree root. A large root, rising about a half-foot from the ground, just high enough for Viktor’s boot to bump and snatch his balance away.
Viktor skipped a step and fell forward, and there was a moment of horror in which he realized what he was falling into…
There was a pit of quicksand there. In a matter of seconds, Viktor was swallowed nearly full. The ground rose higher than he had expected. Some pits were thick like mud, but this one was brutally thin and deep. And instantly, Viktor felt his body grow cold and wet and stiff.
He groaned with panic as, all around him, raiders and soldiers were fleeing.
“H-Help!” he shouted, but it was no use. Viktor may as well have been invisible.
He tried to swing his arms around but they were only making him sink faster.
His heart raced…
No... No, no, no, he told himself.
This is not how you go, Viktor… Today you live…
He felt the cold sand swallow him bit by bit, until the wetness reached his neck.
You can’t… Not like this… For fuck’s sake, fight back…
But the more he moved, the faster he sunk. And the faster he sunk, the less anyone around him even noticed he was there.
And so, bit by bit, his arms began to give in.
His stiff body stopped moving and his breathing slowed.
Viktor Crowley could taste the wet mud between his dry lips.
Fight back, you old dog… f-fight… back…
* * *
Breathe, she told herself, but her stubborn lungs could only manage was a tense wheezing. Fate hadn’t been too kind to Adelina Huxley, and it was about to get a lot worse.
She glanced back, at the weak orcess limping down the hill. She didn’t know what it was that kept her from lending a hand. Her mistrust was too ingrained, too deeply rooted within her, and she was tired of living a life in which all she did was give, and yet she never received anything in return. But none of this was Aevastra’s fault, and Adelina was aware of that, and it was tearing at her insides.
Move it, damn you… Move it!
But she couldn’t fight a wound. Aevastra was weak and slow, even with the blacksmith Evellyn Amberhill lending her a shoulder. Margot was still carrying the child, unworried and unafraid, confused as to why her mother was refusing to help, after all of her years of careful advice.
But family came first for Adelina Huxley, always.
You never abandon family, she’d tell her children. However bad it may be, family is everything.
And Margot’s innocent mind couldn’t help but question, ‘what about those who don’t have family?’
It had been years
since Adelina felt that pressure in her chest, that feeling of dread, remnants of that fateful night 10 years back… That cold winter’s night in which she went from being the Huxley Widow to Adelina Huxley. She’d made the mistake back then of locking herself inside her cottage without sending for help. But it hadn’t been an option then and it wasn’t an option now.
She had the twins to think of… She couldn’t leave them…
And she couldn’t take the risk of sending one of them to Val Havyn on their own.
Perhaps if John and Robyn hadn’t left her, hadn’t abandoned her, they would’ve had a better chance. Perhaps then, nobody would’ve died…
“Run ahead!” she yelled at her children. “Go!”
And the twins darted towards the farm.
Adelina glanced back, again and again. She saw them… The two orcs were running down the hill towards them. Great big shadows they were, unmistakably inhuman, armed and covered in hunting furs from neck to toe, their skin tone rich green like olives.
Adelina was never one to hide her fear. Better to be frightened and careful than smug and careless, she would always tell her children. And in that moment, she was horrified. After several moments of hesitation, she finally lent her own shoulder to Aevastra, and together with Evellyn they dragged her across the field towards the farm, as the blood from the wound oozed over all three of them.
They reached the safety of the cottage, and Adelina slammed the door shut behind them and locked it. “Margot!” she said. “Take the babe into my bedroom! Melvyn, fetch the nails and start hammering every window shut!”
The twins did as they were told.
Adelina was panting and sweating by then, trying desperately to keep calm.
You can do this, she told herself. Gods know it wouldn’t be the first time…
There was a look of desperation in Aevastra’s eyes. “He’ll be safe,” Evellyn assured her. “I promise you.” But the orcess looked exhausted and unconvinced, drained of all her hope. She shuddered and winced as the loud creaks and thumps resonated all around her. Adelina pushed a hefty oversized cabinet in front of the door, the twins were hammering nails against the windowsills, one after the other, until they were fixed shut. Adelina grabbed pieces of old wood from the corner near the fireplace for additional support against the windows. She had forgotten all about the pot of boiling stew that was still hanging over the fire.
Evellyn handed Aevastra a wet cloth. “Press this against yourself!”
The orcess obeyed, recoiling from the pain as she applied pressure.
“Keep your hand there,” Evellyn said. “I have to help them…”
Wiping the sweat from her twitching brow, the blacksmith approached Adelina, wary and nervous with every step. “Have you any weapons?”
“Only kitchen knives. There’s a hatchet out in the shed, but…”
Then there was a loud thump and a violent rattle.
Someone was trying to open one of the windows from the outside.
Adelina and Evellyn stood shoulder to shoulder, firm and determined, like two soldiers standing guard. They looked at the rattling window, at the dust clouds forming at the edges, both of them preparing for the worst. Then came the snickering voices, angry and hoarse, like men deathly sick with the plague.
“Find a way in! I’ll go ‘round the front!”
The orcess Aevastra began heaving and panicking, viciously and beastlike. She hadn’t heard Okvar’s voice in days, and it was as haunting as she remembered it. “It’s all going to be fine,” Evellyn assured her again.
Adelina seemed more concerned about the invaders than she did about the orcess. She knew the only way to survive was to outsmart them; sitting and crying would be of no help. And so she emptied her shelves of anything sharp and brought it all over to the kitchen table.
There was a grunt and an eerie snigger just outside. “We knows you’re in there, my pet!” Murzol shouted through the cracks in the wood. “I can smell ya!” Snort.
The front door began rattling too. The entire room fell silent, every pair of eyes gawking at the creaking wood, as a heavy fist began pounding against it from the outside. And then they heard a brash thundering voice that petrified them all. “Open the door, scum…”
Okvar was standing on the outside, glancing over his shoulder, making sure no Elbon farmers were in sight. “Listen ‘ere,” he said. “We don’t knows ye… We just want the bitch ‘n’ the babe. Ye give ‘em to us ‘n’ ye won’t ever see us again…”
Adelina turned to the orcess, who sat there rocking back and forth, startled and restless.
She couldn’t do it… As much as she was thinking of her children, Adelina simply could not allow it. She couldn’t live with herself knowing she could have done something to stop it.
“Leave my farm immediately!” she shouted.
Outside, Okvar was growing more heated by the second. He rolled his eyes and chuckled, as his companion came stumbling from around the corner of the cottage.
“They nailed ‘em all shut!” Murzol said. “There’s no way in.” Snort.
Okvar sighed heavily, the rage in his chest growing.
“This here’s yer last chance, human scum,” he said, and Adelina knew that he was speaking directly to her. “I’m gonna say it one more time… I don’t want yer wee ones. I don’t want yer farm. I just… want… the bitch.”
Inside the cottage, every pair of eyes turned to one another in turns.
Damn it all to hells, Adelina shivered internally. The longer the silence lingered, the more dread she felt and the more horrifying consequences her mind would conjure. She had to say something.
Stand your ground, Adelina… Don’t give in…
She opened her lips, without the slightest idea of what to shout back.
But before any words came out, something quite unexpected happened.
“Leave my child,” Aevastra said suddenly, rising gently to her feet, legs quivering, face drenched in sweat. “Let him live,” she said, tears swelling up in her eyes. “And you can have me…”
Adelina’s eyes widened. What the bloody hells are you doing…?
There was a chuckle just outside. “Fine,” Okvar said. “Now open the damn door.”
Aevastra closed her eyes and sighed for a moment. A tear escaped her face as she took a step towards the door. This was it… She wouldn’t live to see another day and she knew it… If the orcs didn’t take her life, she might have ended up taking it herself. One thing she knew for certain was she was tired of running. She would not run again. Never again.
She took another step towards the door.
“No!” Adelina placed a hand on Aevastra’s shoulder. “She stays… They both stay…”
Evellyn dragged the chair closer and helped a stunned Aevastra back to her seat.
“Now, leave my farm immediately, I will not ask again…”
Aevastra shared a look with Adelina Huxley. Since they met, not a single word had been exchanged between the two, and yet that one look said it all. Aevastra felt something she’d forgotten she could feel. Something like trust.
The silence lingered. Adelina fought through the nervous breathing, clenching her shivering jaw as she kept her eyes on the door. Outside, Okvar was no longer angry. He was far beyond that, his mind crawling to its darkest corners. He craned his neck towards Murzol, who appeared somewhat frightened by him.
“Torch it…”
Murzol was slightly baffled. In the distance he could see the trails of smoke rising from the chimneys of Elbon. “B-But… won’t the human filth see the flam-”
“Torch it, I says!” Okvar growled.
Adelina Huxley felt her skin crawl upon hearing the orc’s words…
“Torch it all,” he said. “They won’t let us in? We’ll force ‘em out… TORCH IT!!”
* * *
The ogres had caught them all by surprise. For creatures so large their stealth was rather impressive; they used the trees to their advantage, their ro
ugh brown skin blending in with the wood. Four ogres, they were, and yet within minutes they had killed dozens, soldiers and rogue raiders alike.
Jossiah Biggs may have once been a brave knight of Val Havyn… But bravery in a human civilization meant nothing compared to the nerve necessary to survive in a place like the Woodlands. And so Jossiah found himself hiding behind trees and shrubs, shielding himself, cowering like an old hare as he gawked with terror at the ogres trampling over everyone.
Leave it to the big bastards to fight for the sake of fighting, he thought.
At that very moment, the man wanted nothing more than to be far, far away, drinking his weight in ale in some smelly old tavern. Still, he didn’t run, he refused to be that person. It wasn’t exactly bravery he felt, more like stubbornness, a last attempt to save some face. He wiped the sweat from his brow and blinked repeatedly, as if trying to snap himself back into reality.
As his eyes glanced all around, he realized just how alone he was.
The only men near him were dressed in red leathers. Those that were alive, that was.
It wasn’t until he spotted an elf hiding nearby that he felt somewhat relieved. The elf wasn’t wearing red leathers, just dirty brown rags and silver gauntlets. A Wyrmwood recruit, he had to be.
Cursed be these lands, Jossiah hesitated. He then sighed and stepped towards the elf.
“Oi! You!” he shouted, and felt a rush of adrenaline run through his spine.
The elf flinched; he looked so young, so afraid and alone, Jossiah almost felt pity for him.
Damn it all to hells, the man thought, suddenly trying to fight the hostile voice in his mind.
“With me now, lad,” he said to the elf. “Watch my back, I’ll watch yours. Ready?”
“Y-Yes…”
Jossiah gave him a heavy smack on the shoulder as they stepped forward together.
Come on, you damn rabbit… Don’t you dare let me down…
The ogre was massive, but that was where Jossiah and the elf had the advantage. They danced between those hulking elephantine legs, swinging their blades left and right. Jossiah’s blade sunk into a piece of bone and got stuck there, and he had no choice but to let go of it and dart to the side. And meanwhile, the elf was moving so fast that his arms were a blur, a rapid shadow as he sliced at the ogre’s ankles again and again. The ogre roared ferociously.