The two observed the orcish army crest the hill and charge the diminished army.
“Then believe,” said Gash as he broke into a run. Mara swallowed, hardened her resolve, and followed.
************
Gash’s massive form plowed headlong into the horde. Rolling to his feet, he ducked the attack of a charging orc and then used his momentum to flip him over his shoulder. He could still feel the pain lingering in his limbs from the escape as well as the pain in his side. He ignored the pain as he stopped the swing of another orc by grabbing the haft of his hatchet with one hand, and his wrist with the other. He then swung the smaller orc in a wide arc until he impacted another and his grip on his weapon released. Now armed, Gash turned to where he had seen his axe’s victims fall.
Having reached the horde at a run, he had thrown his weapon into the fray, hoping to injure, kill, or dogpile as many orcs as possible and give him and the knights a fighting chance. The action had not had the success he had hoped, but his weapon did take out a couple orcs before it was knocked to the ground, dogpiling a couple more.
Now, as he looked in its direction, he caught sight of a hulking figure almost on top of him. He swung the hatchet upwards and sliced open the orc from groin to sternum. Dark, red, orc blood splattered across Gash’s body. Inwardly, he cringed. There was a stabbing at his heart and he knew not why. But he knew he would have to wait to figure it out. Now was the time for battle.
He shoved the feeling aside, moved into the open space, and engaged the next oncoming orc. His blade met that one’s head. He released the haft as he ducked another’s swing. He stood and back-fisted the orc, the impact of which caused his enemy to crumple to the earth. Another came from his other side, sword raised high. Gash moved up more swiftly than his attacker had expected and caught his hands in the midst of a downward swing. He kicked hard into the orc’s chest. The move knocked the air out of the orc’s chest and forced his grip to fall away as he fell to the ground. Gash caught the weapon in its fall, ignored the slight cut he received from his action, and righted it.
The knights were well into the thick of the horde and Gash’s enemies became less, the orcs being distracted by their intended and more obvious adversaries. Gash once again moved in the direction of his axe, slaying orcs into whose paths he entered as well as those that entered his. His eyes took note of the orcs and the soldiers. It was fortunate the soldiers were draped in black armor, as he could thus distinguish them from the enemy, even in the heat of battle and in the fading twilight. He avoided them as he could but ultimately was forced to parry the swings of a couple as he fought his way through. Moving quickly from the engagements he held with them, he made sure not to give them a chance at a second swing, knowing they would not distinguish him from the orcs surrounding them.
As he fought his way towards his weapon, he noticed an orc charging at him wielding the object he sought. Gash easily ducked and slew the brute, leaving the sword embedded in the side of his enemy’s face and taking hold of the axe for himself. His weapon re-attained, Gash began to slay the orcs immediately around him. He swung his axe in wide arcs, taking out two, and sometimes three orcs at a time. Able to counter the momentum of his weapon, he would often halt its swing after its last victim, turning and swinging it in a vertical arc, eviscerating a single, charging orc. In between, he changed tactics, using blade, haft, foot, and fist alike to stun, knock back and rend every enemy that came at him. Few came close enough to deliver blows and those that did died quickly thereafter. Still, with all his victory, waves of orcs continued to descend upon him as he moved from engagement to engagement. Gash continued to slay them as they came, the reach of his axe and the quickness with which he reacted being too much for his enemies to counter. But eventually, Gash began to tire. The axe was heavy and with each swing, his limbs screamed louder and louder. And still more orcs surrounded him, forcing him to stand his ground, their massive forms stepping and crawling over the mass of orc bodies in an attempt to overwhelm and kill this new half-blood threat. Gash ignored the pain in his limbs and continued about the slaughter, keeping the horde from accomplishing their task. His mind focused on the battle, he set his will to fight until he was slain and to relent no sooner.
Mara moved at speeds far too quick for the larger, slower orcs to counter. Many took swings, but none connected. Mara shouted as she struck, partly in ferocity, and partly to motivate her through the dullness her cold had brought on. Turning as in a whirlwind she struck blows to orc flesh left and right, her staff gouging eyes, bludgeoning groins, occasionally breaking bones and often inflicting stunning or fatal bludgeoning attacks. She used their own strength against them, drawing on every advantage she could find, deftly holding her own and avoiding all blows. She drew upon her lesson with the rainlures in the forest and did not relent even for an instant, her mind constantly aware of the figures around her, her body in constant movement. But as also with the rainlures, such a pace soon took its toll.
Her head was still thick with her cold. Though her medicine was helping, she still found it difficult to breath as mucus accumulated in her sinuses and oozed down her throat. Her movements were slower than she was fully capable…and slowing. She grew tired and could not see past the massive bodies that surrounded her in the darkening plain. Her mind far too focused on battle, she did not allow it to take notice of her condition until her speed diminished enough for an intended dodge to miss its window and she numbingly received a blow to the back of her head. She tumbled to the ground, rolling to her back. Stunned, she looked up and tried to gain her senses and force her body to respond. A hulking shadow moved over her as her vision grew fuzzy. Inwardly, she screamed at her body to respond. She knew if she didn’t, she would die…or worse. Weakly, her body responded and she managed to raise her staff and block the blow of a weapon. Her leg kicked outward, hoping to find home, which it did with great force upon an orc’s knee. A distant scream echoed in her ears as the dark figure crumpled. As he did, her vision grew dark and her eyelids closed, her soul screaming against impending death, her mind barely managing to form the word, and her mouth merely moving in silence as her consciousness finally collapsed.
**********
Joseph gasped as the large body tumbled from on top of him. The dead orc in its death throes had fallen atop him and would have smothered him were he not able to muster the strength to roll the heavy beast off. His whole body ached from the impact. Nonetheless, he knew he could not rest, not so long as the battle raged around him. But as he sat up painfully, he noticed the odd silence and looked about. The plain was dark. He could see little but the faint glow of cloud in the sky far above him. But for that, the sky was pitch.
Searching in the dark, he found his sword, still lodged in the monster’s gut, and yanked it free. He then planted a foot, stood, and immediately collapsed back to one knee. His ankle screamed with pain. He tested it, and though it pained him, he could still move it. It wasn’t broken. Planting his sword in the ground, he leaned upon it as he pushed himself to his feet. A cold wind blew past him, chilling him through his armor and reminding him of the dried blood upon his hair and face. Once again, he looked about and once again his eyes met only darkness. He strained his ears to listen. The same chill wind blew across the plain. He could hear its whistle, and among it, sounds of movement in different places somewhere off in the darkness.
He licked his lips in nervousness. The battle was over. But who was the victor? He had little doubt of the answer. Yet if he survived, others may have as well. He had to chance it. Taking in a deep breath that pained him, he gave shout.
“Knights of the Realm!” he called, “sound out if ye still stand!”
For a number of heartbeats, he heard nothing but the wind and he prepared to flee.
“Allister here, sir!” came a voice from somewhere off to his left.
“Jopher here, sir! My sword can still swing!” came a voice from behind him away some distance.
“Deluge here, sir!�
� came from far to his right. “Though I don’t rightly know how that’s possible! I think some of them must have fled!”
One by one, the knights called out their names until fourteen in total had called out, some complaining of injuries. When all fell silent again, Joseph’s worry returned and he swallowed before asking the next question with a parched throat.
“Does anyone know of Dolanas?” he called.
There was silence a moment before he heard Allister reply, “I lost sight of him in the battle, sir. But last I saw, he was piling up the orcs pretty well. He must’ve felled twenty orc.”
“It was well more than that.”
The voice was not three feet from Joseph and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to face where the voice had come from.
“Dolanas?” he called into the darkness.
“Captain,” came the calm reply. “Forgive me, sir. I didn’t think it wise to shout. These orcs can still see in the dark. Didn’t want to give away my position-“
“You needn’t lecture me, Dolanas,” Joseph replied, though no irritation was in his voice. “I knew the risk. But I needed to know.”
There was silence.
“I can’t see you if you’re nodding, Dola,” Joseph said.
“Sorry,” came Dola’s reply. “I tend to forget that.”
“What can you see?”
There was a shuffling of feet and shifting of armor as Dolanas’ answer came.
“Looks like everyone is moving in on our position except a few. I’m thinking they can’t walk. And- agh! Gorgalflim!”
Joseph was about to ask what was wrong when he noticed he could see Dolanas’ face. He looked in the direction Dolanas was facing. The darkness was being pulled back as though a curtain, as the shining moon came out from behind the thick clouds, revealing a macabre sea of bodies massed together so closely, Joseph could not even see the ground but for far out beyond the sight of the battle. Amidst everything, he saw his men. Some looked up at the sky, some looked around, and some, like Dolanas, had weapons drawn and were looking in the same direction as he.
Standing scattered like his men were four hulking figures. One held a large sword in one hand, its blade pointed to the earth. Another had a similar sword and was whirling about, taking in its surroundings. A third seemed to be holding two curved blades, something like sickles, one in each hand. This one too looked about, though more casually than the second. The fourth held a polearm, and as the darkness rolled back, the moonlight shone on the large blades of a double-headed axe of a make far too skilled for orc hands.
Joseph opened his mouth to call out Gash’s name when a shout resounded across the battlefield. One of his men, it looked like Deluge, was charging the first hulking figure, which Joseph had no doubt was an orc. Deluge raised his sword to cut the creature down. His actions were slow and clumsy, no doubt from fatigue. The orc caught the blade in his hand and raised his own sword to strike down the knight.
“H’ruk!”
The sound came from the one Joseph supposed to be Gash. It was followed by more guttural sounds. The large orc halted his action at the sound of the first word and, after listening to the rest, lowered his sword and shoved the soldier back, sending him stumbling. After regaining his footing, the soldier began to charge again.
“Deluge, stand down!” Joseph called out.
The soldier instantly halted and looked at him.
“Sir?” he called.
“Stand down, lieutenant,” Joseph replied as he began limping to Gash.
Gash and everyone else stood still as Joseph, leaning on Dolanas’ shoulder, slowly made his way across the body-ridden field to where Gash stood. He looked over the orc bodies strewn about. There were none of his own men anywhere near Gash’s location. He then looked up at Gash who stared down at him with that ever-present scowl. And for not the first time, Joseph saw the humanity in his eyes and the lack of ill-will. He stood there a moment in disbelief at the impossibility of the situation in which he now stood. Yet he could not deny its truth and what must come as a result. On his honor, he could not deny it.
Reluctantly, yet with a sense of doing what was right and honorable, Joseph raised his hand and extended an open palm to Gash. It seemed that all sound and movement halted as his soldiers no doubt stood staring in utter shock. Dolanas was not surprised in the least. At last, Gash reached out and gripped Joseph’s arm and they shook.
“You have proven yourself honorable and selfless,” Joseph said. “You are a better man than I for I would have surely fled. I shall not attempt to make you my captive again. One thing I would ask: that you would forgive my crimes against you, for they are great.”
Gash stared at him. The words came almost unbidden from his lips. But he was pleased to say them.
“There is no blood,” he said.
Joseph smiled and nodded. He then released Gash’s arm and gave orders to his men to gather the wounded and the dead as he turned and began limping away. The soldiers reluctantly did as instructed and Gash turned and looked at the three orcs standing about. They, in turn, stared back at him. At last, the one that had fended off Lieutenant Deluge stuck his sword beneath his belt and marched determinedly towards Gash. The other two followed suit.
“G’uar,” said the leader in the orcish tongue when they had reached him. “We have come to follow you. We saw the orcs fighting the humuns. We saw you killing orcs and helping the humuns. We do not understand this, but we will follow you. We have killed many orcs in your name, and we obeyed when you told us not to touch the humuns. We follow you now. Whatever you tell us to do we will do.”
Gash looked at each of them in turn. He knew them. The speaking one, and largest of the three, even larger than Gash, was H’ruk. The shorter one with the sickles was Grak. And the female was Trogla. Together, they had been the night watch of the clan. Yes, he knew them, perhaps not as well as the other orcs, but he knew them well enough.
“You call me G’uar?” he asked them, speaking in the common tongue. “Why not jut-ka? Why not un-orc? You tired of throwing me in fire and spitting in my wounds?”
Gash could feel his anger rising. He had desired this very thing for some time, to confront those who tortured him and let spill forth all the bitterness in his heart. Yet and still, he wanted them gone. He had gladly left that part of his life behind him. He did not want to be reminded of it, much less have its remnants tagging along, mockingly calling him their leader.
“You treat me as less than nothing, and now you want me accept you? You think you strong cause you kill orc? You think I orc now because I kill Gurak? What difference? Why you come to me? Why I want take you? Tell me!”
All three stood in silence. The female trembled, her face aghast. Finally, H’ruk drew his sword and dropped it at Gash’s feet. He then grabbed an orc corpse that lay nearby and drug it between the three of them and Gash as Grak and Trogla also threw down their weapons. The three then kneeled, slathered their hands in the dead orc’s blood, smeared the blood on their faces, and bowed their heads. H’ruk spoke without looking up.
“We have no G’uar,” he said in common. “You kill Gurak. You strongest in tribe. None can lead but you. We follow you. But we do great evil against you. We beg you forgive and be our G’uar.”
Grak and Trogla repeated the last sentence for themselves, Trogla’s shaking evident in her voice. Gash stood staring down at them, warring within himself. He understood their actions. Placing- no, dropping their weapons at his feet said, “We have no strength. We are weak. You alone are strong.” Dragging the body between them showed they understood they were on the wrong side of his enemies. Smearing the blood on their faces was tantamount to saying they deserved and expected the same fate his enemies had already suffered. They expected to die. It was a bold, and yet humble move for an orc to make. It was rare that Gash had seen it in his tribe. More often he had seen offenders either executed or challenge before they could be accused. But those rare times he had seen it, the offender h
ad always been beheaded. Gash could not deny the honor in their actions, nor their willingness to suffer for their wrongs. Yet the bitterness was not easily beaten back. In the end, Gash knew he had no choice but to accept their plea. To do otherwise would be giving in to bitterness and would make him just as guilty as the orcs from which he had worked so hard to separate himself.
After many, long, lingering moments with the orcs remaining in their poses, Gash relented and said, “No blood.”
The three looked up in surprise, none more so than Trogla. Gash ripped the cloth from an orc’s limited clothing and tossed it to H’ruk.
“Wipe face,” he said calmly. “You not enemies. Help humans gather wounded.”
The three orcs looked at each other in confusion for a brief moment but then did as they were bid. Gash looked out again over the field and the many figures picking through the bodies. Then something occurred to him…and his blood froze. Where was Mara?
X. Honor
Mara found herself riding a stallion on the expanse of land she had once called home. She looked ahead to see a male figure in similar dress riding his own stallion before her. She attempted to call out but found her voice to be lacking. Her hands gripped the reigns in what seemed like the memory of the feeling of leather. Her brow cringed as an ache pulsed in the back of her head. The horse’s movement was strange, slow, the sound of the hooves seeming unreal. A strange pressure was on her stomach. Her arms felt stretched and strangely numb. She looked down at the ground and did not see the horse, nor even her own body, but green flesh moving in sync with the odd movement of the horse. Distant, guttural language sounded somewhere around her. Her head ached. She could feel the warmth of a hand on her back.
Her mind recalled the battle and fear suddenly gripped the young woman. She looked back ahead of her to the male figure. She strained her throat, desperately calling out to him for help, her voice pushing to form the words of her intended fate. But all that came was a quiet squeak, her voice refusing to come forth. She forced her dead limbs to reach out for him, tears forming in her eyes as she cried her helplessness inwardly towards him. Her vision faded to black and despair overtook her as her mouth moved to silently form the words, “Help me.”
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