The Eighth God (The Orcslayers Book 1)

by Paul S. Lavender

  What was that last name?

  16: Healing

  Saethryth carried the unconscious woman in his arms as he dashed back to the Melbrugess house as fast as he could. Luckily the streets of Ashen Falls were empty now, except for the odd reveller and a party of watchmen or two. Here and there he would spot a rat or mangy dog scratching through rubbish looking for a morsel of food to eat.

  Blood stained the front of his armour as he finally reached the house and unlocked the door, dashing inside he closed the door behind him.

  The woman groaned as he carried her from the hall to the dining room and placed her upon the table. The sheets he had taken off earlier had been discarded underneath, and he bent to retrieve them.

  When he stood back up, he pressed them to the wound to stem the flow of blood. Sweat was pouring off the woman, and her forehead was hot to the touch.

  Removing the now red sheets he rolled the woman onto her side so that the wound was on the top, he noticed that the blood flow slowed down a small amount, but it allowed Saethryth to get a better look at the wound.

  The wound wasn’t very long, but it was deep and had a greenish-blue tinge to it. Saethryth knew poison when he saw it, and the woman’s only chance was healing magic.

  It would take too long to get a priest so he would have to use one of his father’s scrolls. He hoped they were still where they used to be and that his father hadn’t changed the traps.

  He made his way to his father’s study and opened the door. This room looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in some time, he guessed that his father would have warned whoever was cleaning the house not to enter. Dust lay thick on everything and looking at the floor he could see no footprints or marks anywhere.

  He took a step forward, then two left, one forward and one right. Saethryth listened intently and then he heard it, a soft click as a panel slid away in the floor. In the recess sat a chest of black oak banded with brass strips and hinges. Saethryth thought back to when he had been training, and his father had given him this chest as his first trial. Sighing he reached into his pouch and removed his lock picks.

  It didn’t take him long to hear the familiar clicks as the locks teeth were engaged by his picks and soon the lid of the chest popped open on well-oiled hinges. Inside the chest there were a dozen scrolls, each one was labelled in his father’s neat handwriting.

  Reaching into the chest he took one of the scrolls marked healing, and then his eyes caught a picture. His eyes widened as he realised what he was seeing, this was no picture of his mother and sister, or of anyone he knew. It was a human woman, admittedly a very good looking human woman and she was almost side on to the artist, her hands wrapped around her belly. Her swollen belly, she was pregnant.

  Shaking himself back to the present Saethryth closed the lid on the chest and turning, walked straight back to the study door. Behind him, the panel slid slowly back into place.

  He practically flew as he ran back downstairs to the dining table. As he approached, he broke the seal on the scroll and read its instructions, that had been once again written in his father’s hand.

  “First, the person must have all items of clothing removed.”

  Saethryth looked from the scroll to the woman several times before deciding that he had to do it, or she was dead.

  He placed the scroll on the table, and as gently as he could he removed the clothing from the woman, cutting through the material of the dress with his dagger. He couldn’t help but look at the woman before him, couldn’t help admiring the strong firm lines and the small round breasts that moved slowly up and down as she faintly breathed.

  He tore his gaze from her body and returned to the scroll.

  “Then place your left hand on the wound and your right hand on the person’s head.”

  He placed his hands as instructed and read on.

  “Last, of all say these words out loud Corporeum Absolvo. These words must be spoken thrice to cure a wound, six times to cure poisons and nine times to cure a disease. The effects are cumulative.”

  Saethryth looked at the woman and taking a deep breath he uttered the words nine times, just to be sure.

  Within seconds the wound stopped bleeding and had begun to close, to leave an angry red mark with a blue-grey bloom of bruising in the centre. The poison seemed to lift out of the wound and form a purple ball of maleficence, which pulsed and as it pulsed got smaller and smaller until it was gone.

  As gently as he could, Saethryth picked up the woman and carried her up the stairs to put her in one of the beds. Rising from the side of the bed he looked at his now clean armour and not for the first time thanked Lillithel for the magic that flowed through it.

  17: Rescued

  Ashalone opened one eye and then shut it again quickly as light flooded her senses. Where was she?

  She obviously wasn’t dead, but god’s her side hurt. The last thing she remembered was meeting Ishara...no wait... he’d changed, right in front of her eyes.... bastard. She’d been played like a fool. If she continued to live, she wanted vengeance.

  ‘You gonna lie there all day, Captain?’

  A male voice, not one she recognised. Sounded like he was a little way off, keeping some distance between them.

  ‘Light...Too...Bright...’ She mumbled through gritted teeth.

  ‘Easily solved Captain.’

  A muttered word and the lights dimmed. Ashalone tried to open her eyes again. This time, the light was a lot lower, and after a quick wince caused more by her wound than what residual light remained she managed to keep her eyes open.

  As she looked about her, she realised that she wasn’t in the Battle Mage keep. She was lying in a large bed and sheets covered her; the top one was silk, a violet colour. It must have cost a fortune. The rest of the room was decorated tastefully, yet richly appointed. It was obviously a room of someone with a wealth and good taste. She made to rise, and the sheets slipped off, exposing her nakedness. Rapidly she pulled the sheets up to her chin.

  The elf was still looking out the window. Then he let the curtain he was holding swing shut, and turned around.

  He was, she saw, very handsome in a rugged, wild almost feral kind of way. Even the way he walked was like an animals, his steps that of a predator stalking its prey, totally silent until it was too late. He looked to be still quite young, no more than twenty-five or so in human years. He was wearing a full set of leather armour, but as he moved, she could see flashes of red. He didn’t appear to be armed, and she could see a weapon harness hanging off a stand next to the only exit.

  He smiled at her. ‘Sorry about the state of undress, I had to take your clothing off to treat your wound.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You are in the Melbrugess house, it was closer than the castle, and you were bleeding pretty bad.’

  With one hand, she felt at the wound, there didn’t seem to anything there at all. She stole a quick glance, and gasped, the wound was barely noticeable. Just a deeper pink area showed, and she thought that would disappear in about a week or so.

  ‘You’re the strangest priest I’ve ever seen. You look more like an assassin!’

  The elf smiled again, ‘I’m no priest, Captain. My father keeps a few written words of magic hidden away. Luckily one of them was healing. All I had to do was clean the wound, read the words and here you are.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy, mister mysterious.’

  ‘It was.’

  The elf moved and sat down on a chair beside the bed.

  ‘The question is, what do we do now Captain? My guess is you desire vengeance for what has been done to you. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Replied Ashalone

  The elf tilted his head to one side as if listening to something.

  ‘How much do you want it, Captain? Would you give up your old life?’

  ‘I want it so bad it burns me, whatever your name is, what do you wish me to do to prove myself?’

  The elf looked at Ashalone, his gr
een eyes seemed to see her very soul. When he moved, it was with the speed of a snake striking. He whipped his hand into a pocket and threw something towards her. She reached to grab it, and the sheets slid partly down to expose one of her breasts. This time, she didn’t cover herself, after all, there didn’t seem much point when he had seen all of her, but looked at the brooch. It was made of gold and showed a severed orcs head with crossed sword and lightning motif. Her hand began to tremble.

  ‘By the Seven, isn’t this the emblem of...?'

  ‘…The Orcslayers.’ Finished the elf. ‘Yes, Captain, welcome to the Orcslayers, and now you’re going to have to disappear.’

  18: The Knight of Luck

  He had worked while Ashalone had been unconscious, he had had to take the risk and had returned to where she had been stabbed. He had cleaned all traces of her from the street, and he hoped that he had done enough to stop any mage or priest from being able to detect the Captain.

  He wondered if he had done the right thing, inducting her into the Orcslayers so soon, but then he reflected, he didn’t have much choice. The Orcslayers were practically extinct. Erekose, the warrior, was in the desert lands of the south somewhere. And his father was in the middle of the enemy, smiling and laughing, but inside still hurting after all these years.

  He had left Ashalone back at his father’s house. He could tell she was still in pain. And for some reason, he didn’t want her to see him doing this. She would see more and worse, in the days and weeks ahead. He hoped her anger for vengeance would sustain her.

  Job done he stood up and walking to a nearby storm drain threw the dress into it. The dirty water swiftly carried the dress away. With a bit of luck that would confuse matters even more, he thought.

  He had a half-orc bastard to find. Of course, he could have just waited for Ashalone to regain consciousness and then ask her where the half-orc lived. However, he liked the thrill of the hunt, making the bastards sweat, as he stalked.

  The elf approached the wall of a nearby building and began to climb using the small indents and bumps in the stonework. Once on the roof, he began to use them to head towards the merchant district. He moved silently, like a ghost, when he came to gaps he leapt and spun with confidence.

  He loved the rooftops, there was nothing to constrain him, and he had all the space above him to use the skills he had learned.

  His father was an Orcslayer and had built a training room below the house in Ashen Falls. He had trained for two hours every day, and when his son had become old enough, his son had trained with him. When the king had made his father ambassador to the orcs, his father had been mortified, but his sense of duty had taken precedence, and so he had gone. The Melbugess’s had a hatred of orcs, ever since a small band of orcs had managed to get through the border keeps. Coming across Saethryth’s mother, sister and their maids, they had all pleasured themselves and then slit their throats.

  His father had been distraught, but he had caught the orcs and had killed them all, with magic and blade. After that day, his father had taught his son the darker side of the Orcslayers and his son had loved it.

  A sudden noise broke the elf out of his reverie. A whisper of conversation. From out of the shadows of one of the chimneys two men appeared. They both wore tatty leather jerks and nondescript homespun breeks. One looked older than the other, he was wielding a rusty short sword. The younger one had a dagger.

  ‘What’s this Clip, an unregistered thief using our rooftops? Can’t 'av that now, can we?’

  ‘Knaa Sniffer.’

  The one called Sniffer turned to the Clip.’ It’s Snuffer, you thick shit, Snuffer!’

  ‘Soz, Snuffer.’

  The elf looked at the two men. ‘Sorry, Snapper. Just passing through. Just walk away, and I won’t hurt the two of you.’

  Snuffer smiled, ‘Four.’

  ‘Four what?’

  ‘There are four of us, elf.’

  The elf turned around, and sure enough, another two men stood behind him, both pretty much rough as the first two. They both held wooden clubs in hand. The elf drew his black long sword.

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t advise you to walk away.’

  The men started to advance.

  ‘Fire’, said the elf

  A streak of flame sprang from the sword. Clip and Snuffer caught fire straight away and started to flail about screaming. The two men behind began to run towards him. The elf spun to face them.

  As the first thief brought his club down in a sweep, the elf brought his sword up to counter. The blade sliced straight through the wood, and into the man’s head. It went straight through the skull and passed out the other side. He slumped down, and the top of his skull rolled away, his brain exposed, his jelly pooling around it. He was dead before he knew it. The last man brought his club low, aiming to break the elf’s kneecap. The elf jumped and sliced down cutting the man in half, blood, gore and intestines flew in all directions.

  Saethryth walked up to the two he had burned. Clip was nothing but a charred crisp. Snuffer had been luckier; at least he was still alive. One arm was a blackened stump, half of his face was melted like molten wax, the heat had popped the eye, and yellow glop-covered his cheek. He was cold, so cold. Through trembling lips, he spoke’ who...are...you...?’

  The elf looked at the man, sadness in his eyes. He didn’t like killing anyone other than orcs. Kneeling by the man he whispered, ‘My name is Saethryth. And I am sorry for this, but I did warn you.’

  Snuffer nodded his head, a tear formed in his good eye.

  ‘My family...’

  And then he died.

  Saethryth looked at the corpse. Now why did he have to mention a family, something else to deal with?

  He wiped the sword on what was left of Snuffer’s clothing, and put it back in its sheath. He started walking towards the merchant’s quarter again.

  19: Another Brush with Death

  Bazak arrived at his rented house at a full sprint. The problem with that was, as he hadn't been watching where he was going and had found himself lost in some of the side streets. It hadn't stopped him from keeping up the pace, though. He had stopped once or twice to take in huge gasps of air even as his chest ached from all the running.

  Fuck, who was that elf, he could have killed that stupid bitch and been on his way to his next conquest.

  But no, that elf had come and stopped him. Hopefully, she would have bled out. Should he go back? No, stupid...

  He unlocked the door, and stepped into his house, locking the door behind him he moved quickly through the house, collecting all he needed. It wasn’t much. A few changes of clothing and the small chest he had brought with him. When he was ready, he opened the back door of the house and ran.

  Up on the rooftops, Saethryth saw the door open. It hadn’t been hard to track the half-orc. When he had reached the merchant’s quarters, he had climbed off the rooftops and asked about. The merchant had appeared out of nowhere and had started throwing money about. People had noticed, people always notice money. 'He lives up on Straight Street…' They said, and with a glint of silver, they would add, ‘…the blue house it’s called.'

  And so Saethryth had climbed back up to the rooftops and found a nice place to watch.

  As the door opened, Saethryth drew an object out of a harness on his back. The object was roughly a rectangle about a foot long. Taking the object in the middle he pulled and an arm sprung out, he did the same at the other side. Now in his hand, he held a three-foot long short bow. At each end was a pulley wheel; these wheels give the bow far more power than it should have.

  Taking an arrow out of a quiver, he nocked it to the bow and started to sight at the half-orc as he ran down Straight Street.

  Bazak ran at full pelt along the row of houses that made up Straight Street. Suddenly in an alley to his right, a cat hissed, Bazak jumped to his left just as an arrow bounced off the stone cobbles in front of him. Bazak spun to enter the alley, just as the cat leapt out, a second arrow t
ook the cat in the centre of its side. It screeched as it was flung down the street, dead before it hit the cobbles. Bazak fled down the side alley.

  Saethryth cursed, this fucker had the luck of Shatak. Bazak was thinking pretty much the same thing. As he looked over his shoulder, he saw a black shape appear at the alley mouth, bow in hand. The figure started to raise the bow for another shot. There was a thrum as the bow fired.

  Shatak’s luck was on Bazak again, as he stood in something that made him slip, allowing the arrow to pass harmlessly over his head. Bazak tried to get back up, but as he put his left foot down, a stabbing pain coursed through him.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, twisted my ankle,’ he said through clenched teeth. The shadow at the alley mouth began to advance down the alley, then it stopped, its head cocked, then slowly, reluctantly the shape backed off, leaping back up to the rooftops it disappeared.

  Bazak could now hear the jangle of chain mail as three members of the city watch arrived at the alley mouth. They looked down at the dead cat, scratched their heads, looked down the alley, and then started to walk off.

  Bazak limped off in the other direction. He needed to get out of the city as quickly as possible. He also needed to speak to his father, see if he knew anything about the mysterious elf and his brooch.

  20: Pock and Cock

  Bazak ran towards the one place in Ashen Falls he thought he might get respite from whoever was after him, he needed to get his wits together and to get his breath back before he left the city.

  He stealthily made his way towards the hovel that the two brothers who acted as bouncers lived. He had met them when he had first arrived at the city, and he had made sure to grease their palms with coin every now and then. They had proven to be reliable sources of rumour and gossip and had allowed Bazak to make a profit many a time. As he approached the door of the hovel, he could hear voices inside, and he strained his ears to listen.

  ‘Will yer get yer cock out, man!?’