The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  “For once, I agree with Walnut Brain,” Reyna told them from her perch by the tree.

  Jared had begun to work his way towards her and paused mid-step. “Reyna!” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Jared!” she mocked back. “I’m not going to cower behind a tree like a scared whelp, not from the likes of them.”

  “Everyone quiet!” Merlin snapped.

  The two Guardians must have been scouting during all of this, because they now stepped through the trees; wary looks on their faces. They could see that their warning was unneeded and took their places by his and Willow’s side.

  The forest went silent, the sound of his breathing louder than the world around him.

  He heard them before they broke from the trees. It wasn’t talking, it was the sound of metal pieces banging together. The air was suddenly heavy with the stench of decay, sweat, and other foul odors that made his stomach want to heave. Whoever it was would never be able to sneak up on anyone unless they were out cold and dead to the world—like Token. Bile scurried up his throat and he almost lost his hastily eaten breakfast on the ferns below.

  One by one they entered the clearing, over thirty in number, all armored and with weapons held ready. He saw only one tall figure amongst them, just a little shorter than Kore, and obviously the orc in the group. Though, this orc wasn’t as heavily armored, wearing leather as well as plate, and had multiple piercings on his face and ears. His skin was tinted red and he had long brown hair with a full beard. He wielded a very large claymore, which he occasionally used to usher a straggler forward.

  The other creatures were green and black, their skin appearing greasy, flies buzzing around them in swarms. They were wearing armor that didn’t quite fit their frames, of different sizes and style. He recognized some of it as human made and his stomach turned over, realizing what that symbolized; each piece of mismatched armor had belonged to their slain victims. They wore them as trophies more than protection.

  There were smaller villages to the North that had recently ceased trade with them and now he had a sinking feeling as to why. His anger began to rise. He was on the verge of drawing his sword and attacking the group head on. Fingers twitching, he bit the side of his cheek and forced himself to remain still. Merlin had told them to try and let them pass, and though every fiber of his being roared to do differently; he had no right to force the encounter on his own.

  As the party began its march, he marked its progress and knew that it would pass at least a hundred paces north of them. As long as they were quiet—Kore sprang from the trees with a bellow, his two-headed axe in one hand; armored legs pumping.

  Well, so much for that.

  “Damn it!” Merlin swore, stepping into view.

  “Smashing! I’ll be damned if I’ll let him have all the fun!” Reyna grinned, then turned and charged after the sprinting orc.

  “Oh, this’ll be good,” Jared moaned, gripping his staff and following slowly after.

  Tuskar sprang forward and Kylee had stepped to the edge of the tree line with her bow in hand; arrows already flying.

  Still swearing, Merlin marched onto the battlefield, his fingers crackling with bits of blue flame.

  He turned to look at Willow, but she was gone. Stunned, he whipped about and saw her and the two Guardians charging behind the others. Well, hell, he wasn’t going to be the only one hiding behind a tree. Drawing his sword, he sprinted after them.

  The scouting party acted instantly to the orc’s challenge and were charging across the clearing, weapons ready, grins abound as they looked forward to hacking up their newfound prey.

  Not today, he swore.

  “Irnittu kašādu!” Kore howled as he came to a sudden halt and brought his axe around, lopping off the head of the first goblin to come in range. With the momentum of the swing, the orc brought it around and back down from over his head, burying it in the body of another.

  Reyna was the opposite of the raging bull to her left, as she side-stepped her first assailant, knocked him on the back with her shield, then impaled them with a precise thrust of her sword before he even reached the ground. She raised her shield and blocked another attack, then wheeled about and decapitated her next assailant; blood spouting from the severed corpse as it crumpled at her feet. With a sneer on her face, she stepped forward to find her next victim.

  Merlin had four converging on him. The mage remained fixed in place, his chanting carrying in the wind. The goblin on the right got struck with an arrow through the neck and fell to the ground, only to be trampled on by his vicious comrades. Merlin, hand outstretched, cast his spell and a large ball of fire materialized from his open palm; blazing straight into the path of the closing goblins. Flames exploded, as the ball struck the three remaining creatures. With flaming hair and melting skin, the goblins were lifted off their feet and thrown twenty paces backwards; the violence of which snapped their necks long before they impacted the ground.

  Tuskar had a goblin’s neck in his maul, his neck twisting as he clamped down and severed the creature’s spine.

  Willow hovered near the rear, shield in hand, mace still hooked to her belt, her right hand clamped on her amulet as she spoke. With a rush, his body was filled with energy and he saw the increased vigor in the other party member’s strikes.

  Two goblins came at Jared, who was standing quietly off to one side, not moving or saying a thing; only his staff in hand.

  He was almost to the conflict and diverted his direction; instantly worried that he would not get there in time.

  The blind man looked in his direction and smiled. Then he whipped his staff around and caught the first goblin under the chin, whipping the creature’s head back and flinging him away with the force of the swing. Stepping aside, the other goblin barely missed his arm; his body overextended. He took advantage of the mistake by whacking the creature on the back, then reached down with his hand and grasped the goblin’s head.

  He watched as white light flared out of the creature’s eyes and mouth; a soundless scream on the goblin’s face. Then it blinked out and the body pitched forward—dead.

  Preik was by Willow’s side, but Windel was with Tristan as he finally entered combat. Giving himself over to instinct and what little training he had, he charged one of the goblin’s trying to hack at Kore’s calves.

  He buried the blade in the creature’s neck, his opponent never realizing he was there. Kore was mid-swing and his elbow knocked him across the chin, temporarily stunning him. A goblin leapt his way, thinking it had an easy kill, but Windel stepped forward and ran his sword through the goblin’s chest mid-flight; impaling it.

  Windel was fighting one of the vermin to his left, Kore was on his right; neither one seeing the goblin charging straight for him. The two met; swords clashing. He felt the jolt of impact vibrate up his arm and he realized how out of shape he was. The running had already winded him, especially with the armor he now wore, and his bicep suddenly felt like jelly as he brought his shield up to block the next blow.

  He dodged the next swing, parried another, and caught a glimpse of an opening in the goblin’s mismatched armor; the result of using armor pieces not meant for each other. He dropped to one knee and drove his sword upward; into the belly of the snarling goblin. The blade slid through flesh eagerly, black sludge gushing forward; hot liquid searing his hand. He yanked it free and the creature howled in fury.

  Intestines were falling free of the goblin’s body, yet it stood there, lunacy in his eyes, teeth bared; as if nothing had happened. The goblin moved to strike him and he once again leaned forward and buried his sword in the creature’s chest. The blade slid through the armor and into the goblin’s ribcage. Breathing heavily, he watched as the dying monster stumbled backward and began to laugh.

  No story he’d ever read, no midnight horror tale, could describe the nightmare before him. Blood spitting from the creature’s mouth, rage in his eyes, the goblin’s hand reached down and pulled the sword deeper, bringing them closer to
gether. He let go and fell hard on his back, his ass striking the ground with a vicious impact. The goblin’s face lit up with triumph as he raised his sword above his head, preparing to bring it down on him.

  He looked for assistance; but there was none to be had. Almost the entire scouting party had been dispatched, his comrades scattered in a half circle as they cut down their attackers effortlessly.

  Kore was pulling his axe out of a dead corpse and was turning to meet the orc commander charging him. A goblin made the mistake of standing between them and received an arrow through his head as a result.

  Windel was busy helping Preik keep two goblins from reaching Willow, who stood behind them; silently chanting.

  Merlin let loose pale blue streams of light from his fingers and tore into a charging goblin; tearing him apart.

  Reyna was busy pulling her sword from yet another fallen corpse; eagerly looking for her next victim.

  Jared and Tuskar were circling another; who apparently had tried to flee and was cut off by the wolf’s attack.

  Helplessly, he looked back at the goblin hovering above and knew that there was no one to help; he was on his own.

  He struggled to get his shield out from under him, to try and block the oncoming blow, but it was wedged in his armor and would not be pulled free. Resigning himself to his fate, he said a silent prayer and prepared to meet the afterlife.

  The goblin stopped mid-swing and stumbled backwards. Unbalanced, barely keeping his feet, he raised a hand to his head and touched the shaft of an arrow protruding from his skull. Bewildered, the goblin rolled his eyes up to look at it. Then the body caught up to what was happening, and the monster fell to his knees, eyes glazing over even before hitting the ground.

  Frantically he looked over his shoulder and saw Kylee standing forty feet to his rear, bow in hand. She nodded at him, then faster than his eyes could follow, drew another arrow, and let it fly.

  He forced himself to his feet, legs shaking, and wobbled his way to the goblin’s corpse. He gripped the hilt of his sword and pulled it free; gore covering every inch of the blade. He wiped it on the grass, then straightened up. While he worked on steadying himself, he glanced around to see where he was needed next.

  “Superextendam!” Willow exclaimed, her hand rising; head thrown back.

  He felt life flow through him, refreshing his energy and strengthening the control over his body. His legs steadied, and he felt pumped up, as if just joining the fight after a full night’s sleep. She was smiling at him as she mouthed, “I love you”.

  He nodded in response; grateful for what she’d done.

  A savage shriek pierced the air.

  A goblin Kore had left behind thinking him dead, had brought himself into a crouch and launched himself at Willow’s back. She was barely turning her head in that direction when the small axe began its arc downward.

  Terror filled his heart; he would never reach her in time.

  Without thinking, he bent down and scooped up a rock. With all his renewed strength, he threw it at the flying goblin. The world slowed, and he watched in horror as the axe struck her, the blade burying itself in her shoulder. The goblin experienced a fleeting moment of victory, then was struck in the head by his rock. Toppling over, the creature let go of his axe.

  “No!” he screamed; charging forward. The goblin was struggling to regain his feet and he quickly buried his sword in the creature’s exposed neck.

  Willow had been standing there in shock, but as she began to fall, he lunged forward and caught her. Gripping the hilt of the axe, he yanked it free and tossed it aside. Tears began to streak down his cheeks, the anguish in her face breaking his heart. Preik was standing next to him, trying to give aid.

  “What can I do?” he asked her; feeling helpless. He had laid her down on the bloodied grass and was gripping her shoulder tightly in an attempt to stop the blood from leaving her body.

  “Hush,” Willow told him between gasps.

  Her left hand gripped his and with a deep breath, she began to chant. White light protruded from their intertwined fingers, spreading evenly over the nasty gash in her flesh. The light was so bright it stung his eyes and he was forced to look away. When it finally faded, he removed his hands to inspect the wound. The flesh had regrown, leaving a bright pink patch not unlike what he now had on his chest. He breathed an audible sigh of relief and held her head against his chest, repeatedly telling her that he loved her.

  “You’re crushing me,” she moaned, then broke into heaving laughs.

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?” he asked incredulously.

  She smiled warmly, “it’s that or go mad, pick one. Oh no! I ruined my brand-new armor,” she cried in horror as she looked at her injured shoulder. The way she said it made him think she was talking about a regal dress, not leather pauldrons.

  He sighed, shook his head, and looked to see what had become of the battle around them. It had been temporarily forgotten in his panic over her welfare, and luckily the two Guardians had been there to protect his exposed back.

  The orc commander was the last of the scouting party still on his feet, and he and Kore were circling each other; both waiting for an opportunity to strike.

  Merlin was off to one side with Jared, both leaning on their staffs; watching the two orcs as they did battle. Kylee was standing behind Willow, Tuskar by her side, arrow notched; her bow held ready. Reyna was busy dispatching goblins, poking their wounds and listening to a few stragglers howl in agony before finally sending them to oblivion. All seemed prepared to let Kore handle this alone; hopefully they wouldn’t regret it later.

  As Kore circled, he flexed his biceps repeatedly, prepared to fight, but the rage had gone from him. His axe was held firmly in his hand, yet he made no move to strike. “No fight, Orc free, run,” he told the other warrior, who sneered in response. “Kore not want fight!” he exclaimed, as he was forced to parry a blow with his axe. He backed off, the heart-felt sorrow plain on his face. “Al nəʊ doUnt wʌnt fait!” Kore exclaimed in a weird sounding language, standing in place, his arms held wide. “Wi ɑɹ ˈbrʌðəɹz!”

  He didn’t understand a word, but the meaning was clear. Kore had wanted to free his people from slavery and did not want to kill one of his own kind; not if there was a chance that his countryman could be free as well.

  Kore’s feelings on the subject didn’t matter; the other orc had only grown more enraged by his statement. Maul opened, spit flying, he bellowed, “parriṣu!” Then lunged at Kore.

  The word had stung the tall warrior, his saddened face wincing. Frustrated, he brought up his axe and blocked the blow as it fell. He thrust it upwards, unbalancing his attacker, and kicked him hard in the belly. The armor the enemy was wearing was heavy and gave the orc commander little in the way of maneuverability. He tried to catch himself, but his foot got tangled in a body and he crashed to the ground.

  Kore stepped forward and hovered over his fallen foe. The bond of race caused the orc to hesitate, and Tristan felt sympathy for the gigantic warrior. He saw the sadness in two brothers killing each other and wondered how often that atrocity would occur before this war was over.

  “Si ju n deθ, ˈbɹʌð.ə,” Kore spoke mournfully as he brought his axe down and ended the battle. Their companion’s shoulders slumped as he watched the other orc die. He then leaned forward, grasped his axe with both hands and yanked it free. He looked at the others and it appeared the large warrior was crying. He shook his head with despair, took a long heavy breath, and stalked away from the carnage. Twenty paces north, Kore fell to one knee, the blade of the axe on the ground, his head on the pommel as if in prayer. “Stupid orc,” he heard the large man mutter; then the world went silent.

  Reyna had gone to check on her brother while Merlin had come to stand with the rest of them. “What did that other one say?” Willow asked, compassionate eyes watching their comrade grieve.

  The mage remained quiet and didn’t appear to hear the question. Then he lo
oked them in the eyes, his face mirroring Kore’s anguish; probably as a result of backlash from their telepathic bond. “He called him a traitor.”

  II

  “Your Majesty!” an aide hollered, as he rushed into the king’s chamber; prepared for the worst.

  Erik pushed aside the drapes hanging from the bed’s canopy. He glared at his aide; his wife still asleep by his side. “You are really against me getting any sleep, aren’t you? What is it now, Jarel?”

  “I apologize, my Lord,” the aide stammered, bowing, “but the Princess is missing. Her horse has come back alone from the grasslands, limping, with a rope hanging off one leg. We have searched for any sign of her and can’t find her anywhere.”

  “What?” the Elven King roared, propelling himself out of bed and onto his feet. He pulled on his clothes from a nearby closet and yanked the cloak off the back of the door. “How the hell did that happen? I gave explicit orders to increase security on the walls, to double her bodyguards, and made it quite clear; she was not to leave the castle grounds for any reason! What was she doing riding Shadowraven outside of the castle in the middle of the night? I want those bodyguards questioned by the druids. Tell Revan I want to know every detail, immediately!”

  Jarel was cowering before the king’s thundering voice. “The magister is already doing that; as well as having the horse checked by one of his druids.” The man’s head was bowed; prepared for further verbal assaults. His king had given him orders to oversee his daughter’s safety and he had failed. He had children of his own and empathized with his Lord’s pain.

  If she had gotten out, then who else could get in?

  “I want the reserves mustered! Mobilize the army; I want every able body combing the countryside. Leave no stone unturned!” the king roared.

  Jarel bowed, “Yes, my Lord.” He retreated, escaping the king’s anger before it got worse. A hurricane was forming, and he feared for any soul that got swept up in its rage. The rope on the horse’s leg had been no accident. She’d been thrown from her horse and could be lying out there even now in pain or dying.