they might be doing a bit of yelling and screaming to prepare themselves for another charge.”
Haern took another step, putting him almost to the edge of the clearing. To his left and right were two orcs, both holding large axes above their heads and screaming out profane things they planned to do to the bodies of whoever was inside the wagons. He put his blades to the ground, felt the cold grass bunch beneath his knuckles.
“If we hit hard, we can scatter them before they know we’re here,” he said.
“Better to kill them all now and leave no chance for them to escape,” Thren said. “I’ll sneak over to the other side, find where they seem most careless. Once there, I’ll wait for your signal.”
“My signal?” Haern asked. “I thought you said all this was folly?”
“It is,” Thren said. “And it’s your folly, so you can choose when we strike. I trust you to know when the time is right.”
Haern opened his mouth, closed it, then remained crouched beneath one of the low-hanging branches as his father hurried away, fading into a gray blur in the night.
Later,
he told himself, turning his attention back to the clearing. The circle around the two wagons was slowly tightening, the shouting intensifying. Haern spotted their leader, Gremm, near the middle of the path, clanging together two swords above his head in a bid to gain their attention.
“No devil magic will keep us back!” Gremm hollered. “No pitiful human trickery will keep us from dragging you screaming from those wagons! We’ll cook you over your own fire, won’t we? Won’t we!”
The orcs cheered in affirmative.
“Come on out,” Gremm continued. “Fall down on your knees, and we’ll make all you die quick instead of slow. Quick now, or slow later. I’ll make you watch us eat you, I fucking swear it by the spirit of the Scorpion!”
Haern saw movement from one of the wagons, and he rose to his feet knowing he had to strike before anyone threw away their lives. He looked to the orc on his left, then right, to decide who he would strike first, and that’s when the blinding white light hit. It came from the wagon, a great flash that burned into his eyes and made it seem like the brightest of days had descended upon the hill. Turning away and jamming his eyes shut, Haern let out a cry from the pain.
A priest of Ashhur?
he wondered. That explained why they were not yet overrun. He opened his eyes, saw spots swimming in his vision, but he knew the orcs would be suffering far worse than he. Already one of them fell dead, a golden sword materializing in the air and slashing through his body. The others groaned, stumbling and crying out their fury. Haern took in a breath, gripped his sabers tight. The time to attack was now.
He gave no war cry, no challenge to frighten the orcs, nor a signal to alert his father. Their deaths would be enough to send Thren into action. He sprang to his feet, leaping toward the orc on his right. His right arm extended, thrusting the tip of his blade through the side of the orc’s neck, and then he turned to the left, yanking free his sword so that blood and gore flew through the air. Both weapons, one clean, one smeared red, crashed down atop the orc’s back and shoulder, catching him in mid-turn after hearing the first’s gargled cry of pain.
As the orc fell, Haern looked to the far side of the camp, and he saw two more drop, his father appearing behind them like a specter. Meanwhile, the rest let out cries of fury, and Gremm led the charge toward the two wagons. Haern caught Thren’s eye for only the briefest moment, but he saw his nod and the implied strategy. Thren would guard the wagon nearest him, while Haern would go for the one where the flash originated. Breaking into a run, Haern charged after the battle-raging orcs, needing to kill more before they could realize his arrival and turn. The first one he caught he sliced through the hamstring, then danced over the body as it rolled. The
Haern took another step, putting him almost to the edge of the clearing. To his left and right were two orcs, both holding large axes above their heads and screaming out profane things they planned to do to the bodies of whoever was inside the wagons. He put his blades to the ground, felt the cold grass bunch beneath his knuckles.
“If we hit hard, we can scatter them before they know we’re here,” he said.
“Better to kill them all now and leave no chance for them to escape,” Thren said. “I’ll sneak over to the other side, find where they seem most careless. Once there, I’ll wait for your signal.”
“My signal?” Haern asked. “I thought you said all this was folly?”
“It is,” Thren said. “And it’s your folly, so you can choose when we strike. I trust you to know when the time is right.”
Haern opened his mouth, closed it, then remained crouched beneath one of the low-hanging branches as his father hurried away, fading into a gray blur in the night.
Later,
he told himself, turning his attention back to the clearing. The circle around the two wagons was slowly tightening, the shouting intensifying. Haern spotted their leader, Gremm, near the middle of the path, clanging together two swords above his head in a bid to gain their attention.
“No devil magic will keep us back!” Gremm hollered. “No pitiful human trickery will keep us from dragging you screaming from those wagons! We’ll cook you over your own fire, won’t we? Won’t we!”
The orcs cheered in affirmative.
“Come on out,” Gremm continued. “Fall down on your knees, and we’ll make all you die quick instead of slow. Quick now, or slow later. I’ll make you watch us eat you, I fucking swear it by the spirit of the Scorpion!”
Haern saw movement from one of the wagons, and he rose to his feet knowing he had to strike before anyone threw away their lives. He looked to the orc on his left, then right, to decide who he would strike first, and that’s when the blinding white light hit. It came from the wagon, a great flash that burned into his eyes and made it seem like the brightest of days had descended upon the hill. Turning away and jamming his eyes shut, Haern let out a cry from the pain.
A priest of Ashhur?
he wondered. That explained why they were not yet overrun. He opened his eyes, saw spots swimming in his vision, but he knew the orcs would be suffering far worse than he. Already one of them fell dead, a golden sword materializing in the air and slashing through his body. The others groaned, stumbling and crying out their fury. Haern took in a breath, gripped his sabers tight. The time to attack was now.
He gave no war cry, no challenge to frighten the orcs, nor a signal to alert his father. Their deaths would be enough to send Thren into action. He sprang to his feet, leaping toward the orc on his right. His right arm extended, thrusting the tip of his blade through the side of the orc’s neck, and then he turned to the left, yanking free his sword so that blood and gore flew through the air. Both weapons, one clean, one smeared red, crashed down atop the orc’s back and shoulder, catching him in mid-turn after hearing the first’s gargled cry of pain.
As the orc fell, Haern looked to the far side of the camp, and he saw two more drop, his father appearing behind them like a specter. Meanwhile, the rest let out cries of fury, and Gremm led the charge toward the two wagons. Haern caught Thren’s eye for only the briefest moment, but he saw his nod and the implied strategy. Thren would guard the wagon nearest him, while Haern would go for the one where the flash originated. Breaking into a run, Haern charged after the battle-raging orcs, needing to kill more before they could realize his arrival and turn. The first one he caught he sliced through the hamstring, then danced over the body as it rolled. The
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