Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  That’s it, come on you little bastard, Jossiah found himself grinning. Keep it up!

  The ogre fell, and it fell hard. Some thousand pounds, it had to weigh.

  But then Jossiah felt a tug at his chest when he realized the elf was still underneath it.

  “Out o’ the way, lad!”

  But the elf was frozen in terror. The massive ogre fell back and crushed him.

  The impact made a tremor in the earth, and Jossiah’s eyes widened from the shock.

  No… No, you stupid little rabbit bastard… The former knight ran towards him, stepping over the ogre’s meaty arm. The elf’s head was still intact and his eyes were open but lifeless. And Jossiah fell to his knees and lifted the lad’s dead chin so as to make sure. Then he fought back the vomit.

  Bloody fucking hells…

  Jossiah panted heavily, his eyes closing for a moment and his arms shivering.

  All around him, bodies were falling. Soldiers, recruits, red raiders, there was no difference.

  Jossiah became lost in a horrified trance, his ears muffling the agonizing screams and desperate cries for help. He tried to stand, but he felt his knees weakening. He stumbled over to the dead ogre’s legs and pulled his blade loose. We should’ve stayed in Val Havyn… We never should’ve left…

  He panicked. His mouth was so dry, he could hardly breathe properly.

  Damn them, he told himself. Damn them all to hells… Let them die for their beliefs if they wish. But they won’t have me. No, they won’t have me…

  He slid his sword back into its scabbard. His feet began to regain some warmth, as he prepared himself to run. Before he could, however, a voice beckoned him back… A muffled voice, shouting his name…

  “Jossiah!”

  At first, the man thought he was hearing things. He thought perhaps he’d gone mad from the panic.

  But then he heard the voice again. This time, it was followed by “Help!”

  He followed the sound, his ears still ringing, deadening the sounds of death all around him.

  And then he spotted his friend… Viktor Crowley’s head was sticking out from a wide pit of quicksand; the rest of his body was hidden, buried, vanished into the earth.

  “Jossiah!!” Viktor shouted again, looking desperate and vulnerable. “Help!!”

  Viktor… Bloody hells, is that… is that you?

  Jossiah took a step forward, his eyes genuinely worried and eager to save his friend.

  Then, however, an ogre stepped towards him… There were red raiders trying to fight it, but the ogre was smashing their heads in one by one, as the Brotherhood captain shouted “Retreat!”

  Jossiah felt a knot in his throat. His eyes moved back and forth, from Viktor to the ogres. And he felt the panic return to his chest, his temples became drenched in sweat, his entire body went cold and numb…

  “Help me!!” Viktor kept shouting.

  But it did not help. Jossiah appeared frightened out of his mind. And the more he glanced around him, the worse it got; heads were being smashed, limbs were being torn, blood was spewing into the air from every direction. It wasn’t just horrifying, it was inhuman.

  To hells with them… to hells with them all…

  And it was in that moment that Jossiah Biggs, former knight of Val Havyn, did something unworthy of knighthood… He fled.

  Cowardly, Jossiah turned and ran as fast as his feet would allow him, further and further away from his longtime friend and brother-in-arms. And as he was trapped in the pit, Viktor had no other option but to watch as his closest friend betrayed him.

  Once, they were allies, fighting side by side in every one of the king’s battles.

  Once, he trusted this man. He called him his brother, in fact.

  And there he was, the same man, hurtling away into the darkness, nothing but a glimmer of silver in the distance, leaving Viktor Crowley for dead.

  The former knight found, unexpectedly, that he was no longer afraid…

  He felt his arms give in as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath…

  His head finally sunk. The sand had swallowed him whole.

  This is it, he thought. This is the end of you… Your last mission, and you couldn’t even finish it… May the gods curse you, you stupid blind fool…

  He felt the air escape his lungs, bit by bit. He opened his mouth and rapidly it filled with wet dirt and muck. He tried opening his eyes but they stung like all hells, and all he saw was darkness. There was a pressure building up throughout his body, a painful pressure as he sunk lower and deeper into the earth.

  He gasped for air, but all he got was more dirt.

  He shivered; the quicksand was crushing the life out of him.

  His mind raced with a million thoughts, as many often said it did just before death.

  He felt everything around him get suddenly cold… An icy cold, in fact…

  His last thought was that his body had died and his mind was still awake somehow. Except he was wrong… The ground was, indeed, freezing…

  A hand reached into the sand and gripped him by the gauntlet on his forearm.

  What is this…?

  Viktor felt a swift pull. And then the pressure began to loosen around his body.

  Pull yourself with it, he thought desperately one last time.

  Today, you live… Come on, you old dog…

  His feet twisted and kicked and his arms reached up for nothing in particular. A pair of hands was pulling him back into the world above. Before he knew it, Viktor was vomiting out mud and sludge, gasping for air.

  A gentle hand was patting his stiff back.

  You’re alive, old dog, he told himself. Today, you lived…

  Viktor crawled away from the quicksand and fell back against firm ground. He breathed hoarsely, his chest throbbing, welcoming the fresh air into his lungs like they had never done before. He wiped his face as best as he could and opened his eyes, the filth dripping down every inch of his skin.

  He felt life coming back to him, his body growing warm again as he gazed into those glimmering purple eyes. Skye, the pale elf from the river, had rescued him… The staff in the elf’s hand was glowing and the dirt beneath them both had a thin layer of ice over it.

  Amidst the chaos, Viktor Crowley did something he didn’t expect to do.

  He smiled.

  Nearby, the Wyrmwood troop was not doing very well. Only about half of the recruits remained, and the rest were struggling to keep their defenses strong. Cedric hid underneath the ale cart, fighting through his own shame as he watched it all happen.

  Somewhere amidst the herd were the blonde twin raiders Gwyn and Daryan. The man was saying something to his sister that Cedric couldn’t quite overhear. And then Gwyn darted unexpectedly towards the cart, dodging an ogre and four red raiders along the way.

  She hopped on top of the cart, not realizing Cedric was trembling underneath.

  “Come on, come on,” she was mumbling to herself, sifting through the supplies. There were clothes and shields and other sorts of rubbish. The satchel full of gold, however, was nowhere to be found.

  Suddenly she spotted a movement. Something was hiding just underneath a cloth in the back of the cart. Gwyn unsheathed one of her knives and carefully moved her other hand towards it. With one swift motion, she pulled the cover off.

  Lying there, scared out of his mind, was Wyll Davenport.

  And in the coward’s hands was the missing satchel she was searching for.

  “Give it ‘ere, you shit! Now!” Gwyn said fiercely, snatching it away from Wyll’s quaking hands. She took a peek inside, as if assuring all the gold was still there.

  Then there was a roar, a ferocious roar, followed by more tremors. An ogre charged at full speed towards the cart. Gwyn wasted no time. She hopped off and crawled through the tall grass, inching her way towards a row of shrubs. Wyll Davenport remained in the back of the cart, shriveled into a fetal position, when he felt a hot sticky fluid drip on his head and neck. Something wa
s standing above him…

  There was a growl, and it was frightening enough that Wyll opened his eyes.

  He stared into a pair of pitch black eyes, wide and bleak and full of hunger.

  Amidst the shrubs, Gwyn finally noticed the figure hiding underneath the cart. The young man was lying face-down, trembling and praying to the gods for salvation.

  Her eyes widened. “Toothpick…?”

  But she noticed far too late. The ogre slammed his fists down and Wyll released one last yelp, before he was crushed like an insect. With the impact, the wooden wheels broke into pieces and the entire cart fell apart. The barrels were smashed open and the ale began to pour down through the rubble.

  The ogre smashed his fist down again, then a third time. And then, upon seeing the lifeless mangled body of what used to be Wyll Davenport, the hulking monster walked off to wreak more havoc.

  “No,” Gwyn muttered with a horrified expression. “Toothpick…”

  And there he remained, the poor inexperienced squire known as Cedric, bloody and unconscious, drenched and buried beneath a pile of wood and mud.

  * * *

  Every room in the Huxley’s cottage turned into a pit of smoke within minutes. Though the flames remained on the outside at first, they were spreading faster than Adelina could devise a plan.

  “What do we do?!” Evellyn asked, coughing through every word.

  There was no response.

  Think, Adelina… Think…

  She would always tell her children to do so, but when the time came to do it herself, she always hesitated. Too many thoughts would race through her mind all at once.

  Margot and Melvyn. Evellyn Amberhill. The orc woman and her child.

  Several lives depended on her. Too many… And if she failed?

  What would happen to Robyn? And John?

  They would come back to Elbon to nothing but a pit of ashes and death.

  If they came back, that is…

  The room grew suddenly hotter. A piece of roof fell into the common room, breaking into pieces as it hit the floor, sparks of ember spattering outward. Evellyn stomped on them so that the floorboards would not catch on fire.

  “To the bedroom window!” Adelina ordered them. “Now!”

  The twins ran in first and they used kitchen knives to pry the nails out.

  Evellyn helped Aevastra to her feet. “This way!” she said to her. “It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see… You’re gonna be fine…”

  Except they weren’t fine.

  Before the last two nails were removed from the windows, the sharp edge of an axe broke through the wood, startling them all. The twins stepped back and Adelina grabbed them by the shoulders and shielded them, hid them behind her dress.

  Outside, there was a deep roar.

  The axe slammed against the wood repeatedly, splintering through it.

  “Go back out!” Adelina pushed them back towards the common room.

  The hole that Okvar made was small, but it was enough for someone smaller to crawl through. “Get ‘em!” he snarled, and Murzol snickered and twisted his way in, splintering his arms along the way.

  When he was halfway inside the room, he saw them. Adelina stared back into those hungry eyes, before she slammed the door shut, caging him inside the bedroom. Murzol growled, his legs slid through the hole, and he fell to the floor. “Get back ‘ere, human scum!”

  Murzol leapt to his feet and walked towards the door. He rattled the knob, but something was bolting it from the other side. And so he began to pound his shoulder against it.

  “Open up, you bitch! I’ll kill all of ya!”

  Outside, Evellyn and the twins were pressed against the door. “We can’t hold it much longer,” the blacksmith grunted, coughing as the black smoke poisoned her lungs. They could hear Murzol yelling and cursing from the other side. He growled one last time before he gave his shoulder a rest and started swinging his axe. The first swing hardly made a dent. The second swing, however, broke through to the other side, and the blade was just inches away from slicing Evellyn’s face.

  “All right…” Adelina said. “Now!”

  Evellyn and the twins scattered out of the way.

  And then Murzol landed a heavy kick against the door and it swung open.

  With a grin, he stepped into the common room. And the first thing he saw was Adelina Huxley holding a black pot in her hand. With a defiant stare, she threw the pot at him and the boiling stew splashed all over his face and neck. Murzol released an animal-like howl of pain. He fell backwards on the bedroom floor, his hands pressed against his seared face as hot steam oozed out of it. And then Adelina slammed the door shut again.

  By then, the bedroom window was destroyed and Okvar peeked his head in.

  “Where are they?!” he growled, ignoring Murzol’s pain.

  Meanwhile in the common room, Adelina and Evellyn moved the heavy cabinet out of the way. It was so massive that the twins had to help. When they pulled it about three feet, the door was able to open slightly, leaving just enough room for everyone to squeeze their way to the outside.

  “To the cart!” Evellyn said. “Go!”

  The twins went through first and ran into the grassy yard, away from the flames, as Margot carried the baby orc in her arms. Then went Adelina, who lent a shoulder to Aevastra. And finally, there was only Evellyn left. She still had a kitchen knife in her hands and she wouldn’t dare leave it behind.

  Suddenly, a piece of roof fell from right above her…

  She took a step back. The flaming wood missed her face by just a few inches.

  With a rush of fear, she leapt over the scorching rubble and squeezed her way out. The hem of her dress caught fire for a moment, but she crawled on the grass and patted herself down until the flames died. She felt the cold night air strike against her face like arrows.

  It was over… They had made it out…

  She got on her knees and took a moment to catch her breath, coughing out dust and smoke, over and over again, her eyes red and swollen with tears due to the heat of the fire. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a massive shadow approaching her. Her eyes widened…

  Nearby, Adelina was helping the orcess and her baby onto the back of Evellyn’s cart, when she turned and saw the blacksmith crawling away from the enormous orc.

  “Ye shoulda listen’d,” Okvar growled. “Now I’m goin’ to crush ye like a rat.”

  Evellyn Amberhill felt her skin crawl as Okvar became bigger and bigger with every step. All she had in her hands was that kitchen knife, and it was nothing compared to the size of the orc’s axe.

  Still, she could not back down… She refused to…

  She leapt to her feet as she heard Adelina shouting “Evellyn!” behind her.

  She ignored it. She knew that if she ran, the orc would only come after her and the Huxleys. If she could slow him down, perhaps the Huxleys could have a chance of surviving.

  “Go!” Evellyn shouted. “Get out of here!”

  With a grin and a roar, Okvar gave his first swing. With the speed of a wildcat, Evellyn darted to the side, her eyes taking in the orc’s massive size and weight. Okvar lifted his axe again and swung it but Evellyn was smaller and therefore faster. The axe cut deep into the wooden fence and Okvar struggled for a moment to pull it back out.

  An idea rushed through Evellyn’s mind all of a sudden… She ran back into the yard, closer to the fire, where there stood the Huxleys’ tool shed. She opened the door. Behind her, she could hear Okvar, grunting as he yanked his axe free from the wooden fence. And then her eyes caught it… the hatchet that Adelina had mentioned before…

  She snatched it and faced the orc valiantly.

  “Ye don’t know when to give up, do ye…”

  He swung again. She toppled back, her knees scraping against the grass for only a second, before she stumbled back to her feet. She took the opportunity to swing, but the orc caught her arm with minor effort and squeezed. She felt her wrist bone crack and the
hatchet slipped from her hands.

  So quickly, it was over… She was defenseless…

  The orc was far too large and powerful.

  They stared into each other’s eyes; hers were anxious and his were hungry.

  Then he lifted his axe high above his head again.

  She closed her eyes, ready to take the hit…

  But then a loud earsplitting scream distracted him. Murzol stumbled out of the front door of the cottage, the bottom half of his clothes on fire. He was squirming and fidgeting about like a madman as the flames swallowed him up.

  “Help!” he cried. “Okvar! Help!!”

  The lanky orc stumbled forward onto the grass. And then, behind him, another large piece of roof fell, the only thing holding the walls of the cottage together. There was a loud creak as the front wall began to sway with the wind.

  Murzol patted himself down, managing to kill the flames on his trousers. Then, however, he looked up, and the last thing he saw was the wall of the cottage looming over him. He screamed, a loud piercing scream, before the wall crushed him completely.

  If the wall didn’t fully kill him, the flames surely would finish the job.

  Realizing Okvar was distracted, Evellyn Amberhill took the opportunity to land a kick. The orc’s grasp loosened and Evellyn snatched her wrist away. She grabbed the hatchet from the grass and darted away, taking backwards steps as she kept her eyes fixed on Okvar.

  With a growl, Okvar charged towards her. And then something unexpected happened. An arrow flew in out of nowhere, piercing Okvar’s arm and causing him to growl with rage.

  Evellyn turned back… Standing in the distance was Old Man Beckwit with a bow in his hands, and his farmhands Larz and Henrik were running towards them with swords and shields.

  “Inside!” Mister Beckwit shouted at Adelina and her children. For a moment, he was stunned to see it was an orcess lying in the back of the cart. With Adelina there, however, he didn’t bat an eye. The twins rushed into the old man’s house. And with a struggling knee, he and Adelina helped Aevastra off gently.

  Meanwhile, in the distance, the farmhands struggled to catch their breath as they ran towards the burning cottage. They could see him, the massive monster known as Okvar, six and a half feet in height and built like a bull. He was everything humans ever feared and more.