Damn it, thought Haern. Too much I don’t know. We should have taken them out when we had the chance!
“You’re going to get yourself killed trying to save everyone,” Thren said as they climbed their way up one of the hills.
“Thought weakness was what would kill me?”
Thren let out a laugh.
“They’re the same thing, you fool. Now run harder, or must an old man show up a youngster?”
And then he was ahead of Haern, pushing himself on, and to Haern’s shock, there was a smile on his face. Sucking in breaths, cloaks billowing behind them, they both chased the smoke in the distance as the sun settled down behind the trees, and out came the stars. As they neared, Haern realized the smoke came from the same hill as the first ambush, and for a moment, he felt relief. Perhaps it was only the orcs, camping where they had before, and no one was in danger. He mentioned the idea to Thren, who chuckled.
“We’ll still kill them,” he said. “I didn’t run all this way not to get blood on my blades.”
Haern slowed to a walk, and Thren did the same. They were at the base of the hill, and as they climbed, they both needed to recover their breath. His sides were cramping, his legs sore, but Haern knew he could push himself harder if he needed to. There was no limit to his body he’d not been trained to break.
Halfway up the hill, they heard the first shouts over the din of the cicadas. It was the orcs, there was no doubt to that, and they sounded in a jovial mood. Haern drew his sabers, his father his short swords, and together they veered into the trees to ensure no one spotted their approach. Amidst all the hooting and hollering, Haern knew their stomping through the brush would go unnoticed, and he quickened his lead, until at last they reached the crest.
He’d expected the orcs to be feasting, perhaps wrestling and fighting or doing whatever it was they did, but instead he saw two wagons and a fire burning between them. The orcs had formed a circle surrounding the camp, their weapons held up into the air as they mocked those inside. Haern crept closer, baffled.
“Why don’t they attack?” he asked, slipping even closer.
“They have,” Thren said, crouched beside him as together they moved through the trees. He pushed aside a low branch, then pointed. “Look there, by the left wagon.”
Sure enough, he saw two orc bodies crumpled at the entrance. It was odd, for they were clearly dead, yet there were no marks on their skin, no blood pooled beneath them. Haern tried to see if he could spot any survivors, but they were no doubt cowering hidden behind the thick white canvas that covered the wagons.
“Something’s spooked the orcs,” Thren said. “Looks like 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 second he came up alongside, then leaped into the air, twirling as he did. His sabers sliced cleanly through the orc’s throat, and then Haern landed on the opposite side, still running.
Their cries of pain were enough to alert the others, though, and several turned to face him, bringing their weapons to bear. Outnumbered four to one, Haern never even slowed. As their crude swords and axes swung, he leaped into the air, extending his legs to slam his heels into the chest of the leftmost orc. His momentum carried both to the ground, and despite the jarring hit to his knees, Haern immediately dashed away, cloak spread wide to disguise his movement. An ax failed to hit Haern, instead burying itself in the chest of the fallen orc and ceasing his angry protests. Upon landing, Haern tucked his shoulder and rolled once, then exploded back out in a flurry of slashes. The first two batted out wide an orc’s sword, the third slipped between his ribs and into a lung, and the fourth cut across the jugular vein in his throat for good measure.
“Stop him!” one of the orcs screamed, and Haern knew he had to up his pace. Instead of avoiding the remaining two orcs, Haern charged right at them, getting in closer despite their superior strength. One chopped with an ax, and as he sidestepped it, the other thrust with his sword. Twisting again, Haern found himself between the two, each overextended and unable to defend themselves. Spreading his arms out wide, he spun, cutting one orc across the eyes and giving the other a gash across the shoulder that seemed to only infuriate his opponent.