As they rode out Ulka held his breath, still wishing he could see the sun fully. As the grind of the gate closing filled the air Juruz waited for silence to fall.
“Remember we are simply to investigate why silence has fallen, it is more important that we all survive than it is for any of us to be a hero, so keep close, safe and above all us speak only in a whisper.” The group heeded his words and replied solely with nods.
They moved collectively in a slow gallop, the horses had long grown use to the uneven terrain the mountain landscape provided and so rode easily. Each of them kept a sharp look out in every direction but still the source of the silence eluded them. Frustratingly the path ahead of them was considerably wide, allowing hundreds of Orcs to charge side by side and attack the city, there would be no way to force them into a lethal bottleneck. Like the others Ulka was aware of this and still held onto the hope the Orcs had slaughtered each other so badly there weren’t any of them left to bang their drums.
Only silence met their ears when they moved further down the curving path. Yet another sense quickly became enflamed. It was unmistakable; the air was cursed with the smell of death. Orc blood and rot was extremely foul, even by death’s standard and it consumed the air. Orcs had died, but for what reason?
The end of the trail was now in sight; it curved severely behind the girth of a mountain peak. Even Juruz was hesitant to see what lay on the other side of it. Fortunately every one of them had smelled Orc death before and so they were able to keep themselves from coughing or puking, even though the smell was stronger now.
When Juruz passed around the peak he didn’t have to command his horse to stop, it did so by its own accord. Juruz, the captain who had led his troops into a thousand campaigns and who was known for his calm demeanor openly gasped, as his marble eyes flinched.
“What?” Torin gasped, losing control of his own senses as his horse stood alongside Juruz’s. Every single one of them was brought to the most intense silence they had ever felt. What lay before them was a hellish image of death. The Orcs hadn’t been killed they had been butchered; there was not a single corpse that lay intact. Arms, legs, heads, torsos and entrails filled the clearing, combining to make the vilest soup upon the ground.
“Even the Wargs are cut in half?” A woman warrior gasped out. This was even more astonishing for the tough hides of Wargs were denser than steel, even Ebulon axes had difficulty cutting into them. What kind of weapon could possibly have cut them in half? “There must be a hundred dead Orcs here?” Ulka said as each of them searched the bloody landscape for the source. Juruz could see that even the drums had been cut to pieces; whoever had done this had desired obliteration. Juruz checked the sky yet he could see no birds of prey, they weren’t picky, those black birds would have feasted upon Orc flesh without a problem. Was it possible that they had seen what had happened here and even they were so afraid by it that they had fled this place?
“Captain,” a warrior whispered in a trembling voice. Juruz didn’t need any more direction he could see it for himself as they all could. There was movement from the other side of the killing field, a lone figure that couldn’t be missed. There was something about the way he walked, something subtle yet definite that was unlike anything this world had seen before. He was dressed in a black military uniform, one not even Juruz could recognize. The figure’s hair was white yet there was nothing elderly about him. His 6’4 frame was impressive in every way and there was not a single wrinkle or blemish to hinder his flawless skin. Though the figure walked with a large sword in hand and a black cape on his back, none of them could look away from his eyes. They were the most powerful shade of red anyone of them had ever seen. They carried a power within them that could make the entire world tremble in fear.
“A single soldier killed all these Orcs?” A female warrior muttered, like she was convinced she was stuck in the middle of a nightmare.
“It couldn’t have been him,” another soldier pleaded. “There isn’t a speck of blood on him.” This was true, even the figure’s sword was bloodless. Yet this rationale did nothing to put them at ease. This figure was the only thing still living in the field of death, that was enough to make him terrifying.
The figure slowly walked towards them through the blood drenched clearing, taking no notice of the slaughtered around him. He got to about 30 feet away and suddenly the horses began acting up. They screeched and uncomfortably shuffled about and each soldier struggled greatly to keep them under control. This made no sense, these horses were use to the smell of death and blood, and they were extremely well trained. Yet their training couldn’t keep them calm in the presence of such a figure.
He approached and each of them waited with held breaths, as if fearing he would strike them down if they breathed too loudly. The figure looked to each of them and his gaze sent a thousand chills through their souls.
“I am Cada Varl,” his voice was like nothing they had heard, it was powerful, ancient, distant but perfectly clear. In one way it was human and in another it was anything but. Regardless of what else happened today each of them would never forget his voice. When he received no answer Cada Varl spoke again. “I was brought to this place by a voice in my head, it told me a kingdom called Ebulon was in need of my help.” Slowly Cada Varl looked over his shoulder towards the field he had decorated with death. “May I ask what these creatures are?” Fear remained but it was joined with puzzlement for a moment. They then realized that this Cada Varl had come from another world and was not familiar with their eternal enemy.
“Don’t you have Orcs in the world you come from?” Torin forced himself to ask, his bewilderment momentarily overcoming his fear. Cada Varl briefly glanced to him before looking back at the killing field. “No,” he said. “But my world has monsters of its own.”
Through everything he felt Ulka smiled nervously, help had arrived. It didn’t matter that Cada Varl was a single figure, not when he could kill so many Orcs single handily.
“I am grateful that you have come Cada Varl, this feat deserves a fine drop of ale.” Ulka stated. Cada Varl looked towards him and Ulka got the feeling he wasn’t trying to intimidate him but he still felt unnerved by such a gaze. “I thank you for the offer, but this group is nothing compared to the numbers I saw within the mountains.”
These words brought Juruz back to his familiar self, Cada Varl was awe inspiring but there were enemies to be dealt with. “Sir,” he began. “How many did you see?”
Cada Varl looked to Juruz as he said, “I have lived for over 4,000 years. If I had all that time back just to count the Orcs, it still wouldn’t be enough to count them all.”
This revelation chilled each of them far more than the presence of Cada Varl. They had known the enemy number was large but never imagined this many Orcs had been assembled.
“We should head back to….” Torin didn’t finish his thought for a good reason. Across the other side of the clearing more Orcs had appeared, each on top of a giant Warg. It seemed just like Juruz these Orcs had come to see what had happened to the advance party. Clearly Orcs and Men didn’t think all that differently. But the main difference between them was Juruz had brought two dozen troops, while these Orcs had come 500 strong. Instinctually Juruz reached for the horn on his belt, he could blow upon it sending a call for aid. But his troops were safe behind the city walls, it would be foolish to fight these Orcs on open ground. Yet he knew how fast Wargs were, they could easily catch them even upon horseback. And what of Cada Varl? Juruz refused to abandon this man who had come to help his city. Juruz studied the green and black faces of the Orcs, he had never gotten use to their ugliness. His eyes rested upon one in particular and for good reason.