Into the heart of evil, p.11
Into the Heart of Evil, page 11
part #2 of Paladin of a Hidden God Series
“Kamuril.”
Moments after the vision had closed and Durik had started walking again, a deep sense of power and strength still remained with him. With the close of the vision came the same doubts as before. Soon, he found himself wondering if what had just happened had really happened or if it was all the result of an overactive imagination. Never being one to let his emotions take over, Durik kept his head about him. The power and strength, however, were more than feelings. His mind was clear and his muscles flowed with energy as if after a good rest. Focusing on the task at hand was easy as he scanned the forest ahead of him for the slightest sign of any danger.
Section II – Desperate Choices
Chapter 9 – First Blood
The company had continued much as before, with only slight modifications. Durik had ordered Gorgon’s team to provide a rear watch, and so Trallik was sent to the rear of the column and told to stay back ‘about a hundred paces, to make sure no one is following us.’ Trallik had happily complied. He’d never had much of a taste for walking along in a big group, lined up like ducks in a row just begging for someone to attack them. He always felt much safer by himself.
So Trallik had passed most of the morning, watching the wide trail as it wound steadily through the dense broomweed underbrush that seemed to have mostly choked out lesser plants, passing from time to time through an open meadow or two under an empty sky of brilliant blue. He was unusually happy this morning. The events of the previous night had lifted his spirits tremendously. In fact, he spent much of the morning mulling over the entire experience and imagining the praise he’d get once his mission was complete. Such an important mission, he’d thought as he walked along. Well, they certainly picked the right kobold for the job. He wondered about how many others would die, and if any of the council members would be killed in the uprising that was sure to ensue while he was gone. By the time for the noon meal, Trallik had almost convinced himself that, if he played it right, he’d be a leader caste before the whole thing was done.
As the morning wore on and he began to feel more and more hungry, Trallik watched the leadership of the company more than the trail behind, soon trying to will them to stop the company so he could eat. Eventually, but certainly not soon enough for his liking, he got his wish. As they approached a sunken dell in the side of a particularly high hill, he saw Durik looking at it, gauging whether it was adequate for their group, and at least somewhat defensible. A small streamlet ran out of it, cleaving the path through, then disappeared into the rocks and plants on the other side. Trallik longed to soak his sore feet in the water.
Then, as if he’d willed it, Durik raised up his hand to halt the company and, with his wolf trailing behind him, led the company into the dell. As Trallik entered, however, Gorgon told him to ‘get up to the top of this hill, and keep a lookout.’
“Figures,” Trallik muttered to himself as he climbed, looking back longingly at the cool trickle of water. He and Arbelk had had a bet going about whether or not Kiria would ride that morning. Trallik had won, but now he’d have to wait to enjoy the chunk of roast boar shank that Arbelk owed him. For now, it was a mushroom cap and salted strips of squirrel.
After a bit of climbing, Trallik found a rock near the top of the hill and sat down next to it. He had a good view of the group down below as well as the trail ahead. Taking his pack off and throwing it down next to him, Trallik examined his feet for a second. Satisfied with what he saw, he unfastened the top of his pack and began digging in his food sack, eventually pulling out a mushroom cap and, taking it in both hands, began chewing.
As he ate, Trallik stared off into the distance. All around the great valley that his gen and the Krall Gen inhabited was a large ring of tall mountains. Most of them had no abnormal features, having obviously been formed by the forces of nature over the eons. However, one long ridge stood out as definitely not normal. It was called the Chop by the Wolf Riders, from its distinctive shape. It literally looked like some great titan of ancient lore had taken a huge axe and sunk it deep into the ground, then, in pulling it out, had left a huge scar deep in the earth, ringed on either side by tall, almost vertical cliffs that connected the two ridges on either side of the Chop, suddenly summiting and falling off to either side at sharp angles.
If the Chop had not been there, then the place where it now stood would have been a northern pass through an otherwise unbroken ridge of mountains. As it was, however, the Chop stood like an almost impenetrable wall in the middle of this ridge, sealing the Kale and Krall Gens’ home valley off from the rest of the world to the north. Legend had it that The Sorcerer had created this as a barrier to keep the other races out of the valley after the War of the Races. Trallik had heard the Krall Gen traders who came to his gen from time to time call it the Wall. He agreed more with that name.
Whatever its origin or name, Trallik was sure that they would be crossing it, as the Hall of the Mountain King was located in a mountain on the far side. As he stared, he could just make out the winding path that led straight up the near side of the Chop to the pass that contained the only bridge across the great chasm. He shook his head in anticipation of the climb. He was sure he would not enjoy it.
Letting his eyes focus a bit closer as he munched on the mushroom cap, Trallik looked at the path ahead. The closer they got to the Chop and the Krall Gen that he’d heard lived somewhere near it, the more level the terrain got. The hill he sat on marked the end of these rough hills. From this point forward, the hills became much more gradual and gentle as the valley floor eventually flattened out. Not too far in the distance, the great trees that marked the perimeter of the Krall Gen could be seen. They were quite a sight, from what everyone he had talked to had said, and Trallik was looking forward to seeing them close up.
Continuing his vigil, Trallik thought he saw something out of place a few hundred paces further along the trail. Putting down what was left of his mushroom, Trallik stood. He shaded his eyes as he squinted, trying to see what it could be, his tail whipping side to side in his attentiveness. Then, as he watched, whatever it was moved. Trallik started at the unexpected movement and, stooping down, grabbed his pack and bow. Moving forward a few paces, he now saw it clearly. With a sense of high urgency, Trallik took off down the hill toward the others.
Manebrow had been watching Trallik for some time when he stood and peered at the trail ahead of them, then started running toward them as if he was being chased by wasps. Throwing the meat strip he was working on into his pack, Manebrow grabbed his axe and slung his pack over his back.
“Get your gear, warriors. I think our lookout has spotted something!” he called out, jolting the resting company into action.
Durik turned and looked where Manebrow was watching. Trallik was already a quarter of the way down the hill and accelerating. Gathering his things and strapping them over Firepaw’s back, Durik grabbed his spear. Trallik was almost to them now, heading straight for where Durik, Manebrow, and Gorgon were assembling.
“Orcs!” he called out as he came to a stop in front of the three leaders. “At first, I saw one of them coming through the trees toward the hill, then as I was coming down I saw at least one more with him!”
The company started packing faster.
Durik turned to look into Gorgon’s eyes. “Gorgon, I want you to take your warriors up to the other ridge of the dell,” he commanded, pointing to the far side of the dell from where the orcs had been spotted. “Ready your bows and prepare to support Manebrow’s team.” Gorgon opened his mouth to protest being put in a supporting roll, then, seeing Manebrow’s sharp gaze, he turned without a word to gather his warriors.
“Manebrow,” Durik started, “I need you and your team to hold the line. I don’t know if these two are it, or if they’re only the advanced guard of a larger group, so I’m going up the hill to see for myself. Whatever the case, I need you and your team to keep them from the animals.”
“Got it,” Manebrow responded. “I’ll have Terrim stay with the animals to keep them from panicking once they smell orc.” He turned and stepped toward his already assembled group of warriors and started giving orders.
Durik’s adrenalin had already kicked in, and now his senses were in high gear. Around him the sound of running feet and clanking equipment filled his awareness, as the smell of his warriors’ nervous sweat filled his nostrils. Turning, he saw Kabbak trying to help Terrim get the dogs to the far side of the dell and behind a large stand of broomweed. Looking toward his own mount, he saw Kiria struggling to put something in her saddlebags.
“Kiria!” he called urgently. She turned her head slightly as she continued to pack. “Whatever it is, it can wait. Get to the far side of the dell with Terrim and Kabbak!”
Kiria turned quickly, holding a scroll in one hand and trying to lead Starshine by the reins with the other.
Behind him, Manebrow and his warriors were already poised at the bottom of the slope closest to where the orcs had been sighted, waiting with weapons at the ready. On the far side of the dell from them, Gorgon was lining up his five warriors and had them draw their arrows and prepare to fire over the heads of Manebrow’s team to the top of the slope beyond them. Durik, seeing that the others were already in place, grabbed his spear and hopped onto Firepaw’s back. Nudging the great beast gently, he began to make his way up the slope to see what was coming their way.
Moments passed slowly in anxious anticipation. The fear among the members of the company was almost palpable. For all but Manebrow and the two scouts, this would be the first time they would see real combat. In their eyes was the fear of wondering whether their skills would be up to the test. For orcs were fearsome foes, all savagery and strength, and easily a head or two taller than any of the kobolds in this company.
Though Manebrow was a veteran of several skirmishes with orcs and had fought several in hand to hand combat himself, there was always fear before a battle; fear of the known. Though he had trained all of these warriors well, war was not just a matter of skill. War was a bloody business, full of chance, and many times the Fates cast their lots with reckless abandon on the life of the individual warrior.
Manebrow turned to see where the rest of the group was. Gorgon’s team was lined up, prepared to fire. He saw the packdogs and those that were with them. Durik rode his wolf up the side of the hill to get a better view, but not yet in place where his view could help them much. Turning back to his team, Manebrow commanded the two scouts, Ardan and Arloch, to go up the hill and peer over the edge to see what was happening on the other side. Ardan took off at an angle to the left, and Arloch at an angle to the right. Soon, both of them had reached the lip of the dell and were hiding behind rocks, peering out cautiously, straining to see anything on the far side. After a moment, Ardan stood up, drawing his bow back to his ear, and fired a single arrow. Crouching back behind the rock, he watched intently to the front as he drew another arrow.
Off to the right, Arloch pulled back behind the cover of his rock as a long, black-feathered arrow bounced off the boulder he was hiding behind, snapping in half as it struck. Drawing his bow back, he stood up and quickly fired an arrow back in the direction the black-feathered arrow had come from before taking cover again.
Ardan also fired again. As he took cover behind his rock, he held his hand up with four fingers showing then pointed over the lip of the dell. Manebrow nodded and turned to look at Durik. He didn’t want to pull them back if Durik was not under cover. Catching sight of Durik dismounted and taking cover with his wolf behind a large row of rocks, Manebrow decided to see if the orcs would give chase. The next time the scouts looked back, Manebrow caught their eyes and beckoned for both of them to return. Moments later, Ardan and Arloch were back with Manebrow. The entire team now got down behind a thick patch of broomweed for concealment as Manebrow signaled to Gorgon to get ready.
A few moments later, two orcs dressed in patchwork hide and iron armor, holding bows at the ready, appeared over the lip of the dell. On Gorgon’s command, five arrows flew. Both orcs staggered as multiple arrows struck each. One of them fell to the ground, dead before he hit the dirt. The other fell to his knees, grasping at the arrow shafts, then to his hands as his life blood poured out of holes in his chest and back. Within moments, he too was on the ground, lifeless.
In the adrenalin rush of it all, Gorgon’s team was slow to reload, however, and when a third orc, who had approached more cautiously, appeared from behind an outcropping of rock running down the other side of the dell, they were forced to watch him disappear as they reached for arrows.
Manebrow, seeing Gorgon’s team rejoicing, put his axe over his back, took his bow in hand, and yelled for his warriors to follow him. Standing up from behind the broomweed, he ran quickly toward the lip of the dell. As they reached the top, he led them behind the cover of a stand of trees to an outcropping of rock where they could get a view of the forest on the other side of the dell. From their viewpoint, the five of them had a great view of the forest beyond, and of the two carcasses of the orcs who had already been slain, but they saw nothing of the third or the fourth orc. Not wanting to fall prey to the same trap they had just sprung on the orcs, Manebrow’s team stayed put for now.
Durik, looking down at the three groups of kobolds, was very happy at how it had gone so far. He’d seen the group of four orcs heading up the hill, and had seen Gorgon’s group fell two of them. He’d also seen Manebrow’s group take advantage of the confusion to gain a bit of ground on the two fleeing orcs. Durik figured that Manebrow’s group must not have seen the two orcs running away from them. Jumping onto Firepaw’s back, Durik grabbed his spear and headed down toward Manebrow’s team to help guide them toward the orcs.
As Durik reached the ridgeline, a large orc, easily two heads taller than Durik, ran out from behind the cover of a boulder. With his orc cleaver in both hands, he swung at Durik, who barely had time to bring his shield around in front to deflect the blow. The cleaver bit deep into the side of the shield, breaking the metal rim and sending splinters in all directions. Durik dropped his upright spear and reached for his sword, drawing it from its wooden scabbard. As the orc pulled the cleaver back to strike again, Durik thrust his sword into the orc’s exposed side. He was amazed at how easily he was able to puncture the orc’s thick hide armor, driving his sword easily into the orc’s belly.
With a scream of pain, the orc staggered back. Feeling more confident on the ground than on wolfback, Durik leapt off Firepaw and came at the orc, his sword and shield at the ready. But Durik’s strike had taken the fight out of the orc and, clutching his bleeding side with one hand, he took off at a slow run, glancing behind him with a desperate look in his eyes.
Durik sheathed his sword and grabbed his spear. Hopping onto Firepaw’s back, he urged his mount forward at a run. As Durik raised his spear to the side and aimed it, the orc turned to face him at exactly the wrong time and received Durik’s spear in the chest for his efforts. Thrusting with all his newfound strength, Durik stuck the spear straight through the orc’s sternum and out his back, stopping only when his hand struck the orc’s chest, still wrapped around the haft of his spear. With all the adrenalin and strength he found himself possessed of, Durik dragged the orc backpedalling with him for a pace or two before Firepaw could hold the added weight no longer and Durik had to drop the orc or end up taking Firepaw to the ground.
As he reined in Firepaw and dismounted to go back for his spear, Durik stopped to look at the blood that covered his right hand. It was dark and foul, and smelled repulsive to him, yet he stared in wonder at it as it dripped down his arm. Lifting his gaze, he looked at the orc lying dead on the ground in front of him, its face contorted with the surprise and pain of its last few moments of life. Durik began to feel revulsion. As he stood there, the adrenaline began to wear off and the realization that he had taken another’s life began to set in.
His oaths as a warrior, to hunt and kill enemies of the gen, and his own deeply held value of life, which had fought within him for some time, resurfaced. It had been easier to deal with this conflict of values during training where ‘killing’ had meant taking someone out of a tournament. Now death was a permanent thing, and the conflict between Durik’s deeply held beliefs and the course of action he was committed to caused great amounts of turmoil inside him. Turning to lean against a boulder, out of sight of the rest of the company, Durik vomited.
After a few moments, he recovered and, trying to put the incident behind him, he looked down toward where the rest of his company had been a few moments before. Most of the company was now on the ridge below him. Among them, he saw Jerrig pulling back his bow. As he watched, Jerrig fired at some target far off in the trees below. Almost as if the arrow had a will of its own, or as if Jerrig were guiding it with the hand motions he was making, the arrow flew unnaturally far, straightening out its arc as it approached its target. Shortly, the cheering of the other warriors announced the hit. As long as Ardan’s report was accurate, the last of the orcs had been dealt with.
Chapter 10 – Surprises
Arbelk had found very little of interest among the equipment of the four orcs that they had killed. Almost all of it was dirty, poorly maintained, and reeked of orc. As he stood there looking at the equipment he had just finished sorting, he got the distinct feeling that he’d just wasted his time. Their weapons were pretty much useless; rusty swords and weak bows that had lost much of their spring from having been left strung, with arrows that were entirely too long for the kobolds to use. Their armor was foul, as was their other personal gear. The only item of interest that Arbelk found in the entire mess was a leather tube. Grabbing it by its shoulder strap, he pulled it out of the pile of gear it lay in and undid the latch that kept the top on. Inside the leather tube was a sheaf of parchment, probably six or seven sheets. He pulled the parchments carefully out of the tube and thumbed through them. Putting them back in and capping the tube again, he walked over to Gorgon.
