Krusk wanted to leap from the tree into the cart and kill the lieutenant right then, but his aching side reminded him that an outnumbered warrior needed a better plan. He remained still until the last guard walked under the tree. The guard whipped stragglers among the slaves and forced them to pay for the humiliation of the day before. The orc was so busy working over the hacks of the unfortunate slaves that he didn't immediately recognize the significance of the noose that dropped around his neck. He was so busy mouthing curses at his charges that he didn't have an opportunity to shout a warning to anyone else before the noose tightened and jerked him off his feet.
Krusk yanked the rope with all his might. He knew that the guard would shout a warning if his air wasn't cut off at once. The orc's body shot upward toward Krusk with surprising ease. Krusk saw the orc's eyes bugging out, but he knew the job wasn't done. If he didn't pull the guard up immediately, the powerful orc would reach up with his hands and loosen the deadly grip. Krusk jerked the guard up, punched the unfortunate into unconsciousness, and finished the job by strangling him. As Krusk squeezed, he remembered the pain inflicted on his mother and transferred his hatred for all orcs into his deadly grip. Krusk crushed the neck of the struggling guard as he watched the caravan move out of sight and felt no pangs of conscience. He nodded with satisfaction over the fact that the slaves hadn't given away the game as soon as the whipping stopped. They were still moving on. Neither was Krusk bothered by hearing the gruesome crunch as he dropped the guard's corpse to the ground and clambered down the bole of the tree. He didn't even look back as he melted into the forest at the side of the road. Dead foes were defeated foes. He looked forward to turning more live foes into dead ones.
Krusk refused to think about the pain in his side as he increased his pace to bypass the slower moving slave train. He focused on each step as though it was a move in his daily martial exercises. Each step represented one of the repetitive maneuvers in that ritual wherein warriors learn moves and countermoves by rote and commit them to their subconscious as a life-saving instinct in battle.
After scores of repetitions, Krusk's sensitive ears picked up the rattling of slave chains. As though it were a magical burst of energy, locating his prey gave Krusk the will to keep churning his legs until he outpaced his target by several minutes. He moved back to the road, crossed it and, once again, climbed a tree. He tied one end of his rope to a high branch and lassoed a bough of the tree across the road.
Next, he dropped to the ground and crossed the road once more. Again, he climbed a tree. This time, however, he shaped a small noose in the end of the rope, looping it around the neck of a small ceramic flask. He placed the flask gently in the small fork of a branch and carefully retraced his steps.
Krusk couldn't believe how closely he had timed his work. He barely caught his breath before hearing the chains rattling in the distance. Watching for the caravan to come into view, he quietly calculated the position at which he could trigger his surprise. He breathed carefully, master of his body. He waited, poised for action.
The first group of slaves passed by, the ones being used by the orcs as road tasters-traveling equivalents of the food tasters in those tales of court Vanisa had once told Krusk in front of the fire at home. The snout of the leader's war boar was directly between the tree with the flask and Krusk's hiding place when Krusk tugged the rope. Freed from its precarious perch, the flask swung downward in a graceful arc. As the leaves of the tree rustled, all eyes turned to the opposite side of the road from Krusk's position.
The deadly pendulum smashed into the boar's neck and its contents splattered across the animal, another guard, and one of the slaves. Already jumpy from Krusk's previous attacks, the guards reflexively hurled a volley of javelins at the tree where they thought the flask originated. Only then did they realize what the contents of the flask were. Alchemist's fire erupted into flame. Boars squealed, slaves screamed, and a flaming guard rolled in the dirt. The boar reared, a mass of flames, as slaves cheered. The leader tried to rein in his skittish mount while slapping uselessly at his burning shoulder. His reins jerked the boar's head around, the boar bit at its tormentor, and Krusk leaped unnoticed from the tree everyone was ignoring.
The half-orc landed beside the fighting boar. His greataxe chopped into the boar rider's back with a force strong enough to slice the orc's spine. The commander fell limply from the saddle. Freed of its burden and control, the boar charged forward and trampled the unfortunate guard who had just managed to quench the flames by rolling on the ground.
Krusk was so pleased with the success of his opening gambit that he almost waited too long to wrench his axe from the commander's corpse. He pulled it free just as the other lieutenant jumped from the cart and came running to engage him. Krusk was barely able to parry the blow, handle to handle as the large orc attacked. Both warriors struck again. Krusk felt the axe blade bite into his own shoulder at the same moment that he watched his own blade hew through leather and orc alike. He winced as he realized how deep the cut was in his shoulder, but he turned to face any other, remaining guards.
At that point, Krusk himself was surprised. He turned to see a guard rushing toward him and he heard a woman's voice shout, "Pergue."
In a glance, he took in a sight he would cherish for the remainder of his life. The slaves had taken advantage of the confusion to spread across the road. As the guard charged toward Krusk, the woman shouted the name of their town. Hearing the name, the slaves reached down and grabbed their chains. They pulled the chains taut and the onrushing guard didn't realize the danger until he sprawled at their feet, tripped by the very chains he had used to hold his captives in check.
It was obvious to Krusk that the woman had planned this. She must have been expecting Krusk to strike again and had prepared her fellow captives to make their move when the opportunity presented itself. Krusk liked that. She was smart enough and brave enough to remind him of his mother. Krusk knew no higher praise than that.
He placed his booted foot on the guard's back and held his axe in readiness with one hand as he stripped the fallen warrior of his weapons with the other. Krusk glanced back to see what had become of the angry boar and was amazed to see the leading slaves with their chains wrapped around the boar's neck and holding it relatively motionless until other slaves could gather fallen weapons and kill it.
"Good meat," he said, tilting his head in the direction of the dead boar before he shifted the axe to his wounded side and picked up the guard with one arm.
"Where go?" demanded the barbarian. The guard didn't answer, so Krusk punctuated his question with a blow from the side of his axe. "Where go?"
The guard looked around and realized that there were no reinforcements to save him.
"Go to mine," answered the guard. "Much gold!" he cried before he dropped to his knees like a supplicant in a temple.
"Good," responded Krusk, "now, you'll die fast!"
The guard's gray skin paled visibly. His square jaw quavered as he searched for the words that would convince Krusk to spare him.
"Please don't," spoke a female voice.
Krusk turned toward the sound of the voice. It belonged to the brave and beautiful woman who had cried out the name of her town and initiated the snare that brought the guard down. Like all the slaves in the caravan, the woman was missing her left eye, but Krusk thought her courage and intelligence made her even more beautiful in spite of her disfiguration. Without trying, she could charm in a way that her deformity accentuated her beauty rather than detracting from it. Again, Krusk thought of his mother as the woman stood straight and looked at Krusk with her one good eye.