WARLORDS IV – STORY

Chapter Three: First Hunters. . .

The four continued disconsolately, half-oblivious to the cold and the rain. Indeed, the wizard seemed once more to be taking pleasure in the discomfort, and not just his own. "We could have been bound for Khalil, for Dwarven spirits and roaring fires. But no, no, you two lovebirds needed to revel in your own chase, and damned be the quest." He paused and looked back at Terrwyn and Daerec, neither of which seemed eager to reply. "Ah, but I can hear your very thoughts. 'There is no worry,' they think. 'Why, this wizard can just conjure a solution from thin air! For surely it was no effort of his to lay the warning lights, or to call forth the wind. Surely not at all.'" Arvad sighed, and seeing that none others would speak, continued with variations on the same theme.

Having missed the Orcs at the pass, there was no easy victory in sight. From all signs, there were a dozen Orcs and the Goblin shaman. The plan no longer called for mind over might. Instead, Arvad would call down such sorcery as to cause chaos and destruction in the Orkish camp, while the others would enter and hack their way through to the shaman. "A plan so simple even your slow wits can grasp it," Arvard had sighed. "No directions to follow! Why, just swing your blade back and forth and give a good grunt."

The wizard assured them that the Orcs were no longer moving. "And why should they? I'm sure there's a pit between here and there that into which you two can leap."

"Enough, Arvad," Kurgen grunted. "Your good cheer is driving me mad." He slipped his battle-axe loose from his back. "How long till battle?"

"Peace, good dwarf," the wizard laughed, smiling at his own irony. "Soon enough."

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They smelled the Orcs before they saw them, and heard their raucous laughter from afar. "What do they have to be so happy about?" Kurgen complained. "Rain falls no kinder on Orkish skin than Dwarven."

Daerec's response was to pull his sword free of its scabbard. Terrwyn did the same. "Fool's rush in," Arvad noted. "Let us at least be half-sensible, and keep some edge over the brutes in camp. Give me a moment."

The wizard spread his arms and began to chant. Daerec, who had heard him cast spells before, and had heard Terrwyn's blessing, nevertheless felt something unsettling about the words Arvad spoke. It seemed as if the wizard was not speaking, but rather the words themselves were crawling from his throat and flinging themselves into the air. They were words whose very sounds Daerec could not catch hold of, not in his mind, not on his tongue. And as the spell continued, so too did the complexity of the alien speech, each word twisting and growing, pulsing with arcane power.

A light was beginning to glow from the openings in Arvad's robes. At first it was almost impossible to notice -- for the light was the same crimson as the robes, and could only be seen at the sleeves and the hood -- but then it grew in baleful intensity, until the wizard seemed almost aflame. His voice rose in volume until Daerec was certain that the Orcs would be alerted, that they were even now drawing their notched iron blades and donning their black armor. But nothing came from the camp, and the words continued to rise in pitch and power. Finally, the light was too much, and Daerec, Kurgen, and Terrwyn covered their eyes.

In that moment, a scalding heat washed over Daerec and a roaring his ears. He opened his eyes and saw a torrent of flames spraying from the wizard's upraised hands. Almost a dozen feet up, the pillar split and lanced downward toward the camp in separate streams.

And then, after that awesome sight, the flames ceased, Arvad slumped down, and the bestial screams and horrid stench of burning Orcs filled the air.

"Come on, lad! For Duernoth and Drak-Dur! For King Duergrim and the Thirteen Citadels!" Kurgen rushed forward bellowing Dwarven war-songs. Beside him, like a streak of lighting, raced Terrwyn, her armor shining despite its filth, despite the gloom.

Daerec ran forward with them. "For Grovium and Lysea!" His father's sword in hand, he pounded through the mud, his eyes blurred by rain and by the lingering corona of the wizard's spell.

There were more than a dozen Orcs. Indeed, the camp seemed swarming with them, though many were aflame and others smoldered on the ground. Kurgen was giving great scything strokes with his battle-axe, driving back three unarmored Orcs. But Daerec's attention quickly was pulled back to himself as he heard an Orkish snarl from beside him.

He spun and brought his sword up just in time, as a the Orc's iron-ringed cudgel crashed downward. The two weapons collided with a spray of sparks. As the Orc braced to swing again, Daerec stepped forward and slammed the pommel of his sword into the creature's jaw. Blood sprayed from its mouth and it staggered back, giving Daerec the space to pull his sword back and stab forward into the Orc's chest. Before the creature's corpse could drag his sword down, Daerec pulled it free, spinning once more to check his surroundings.

Two more Orcs approached, one bearing two axes and the other a barbed spear. Both had hideous smiles stretched across their savage faces. "Human flesh," one grunted. "Eat good!"

Daerec circled warily, knowing that if he did not dispatch these two with haste, more would come and surely overwhelm him. "Lysea!" he shouted, swinging a broad stroke at the spear-wielder. The Orc caught his attack on the spear's haft, but the force of it split the spear in two. Daerec reversed his slash, his weary muscles groaning with the effort, and cleaved his sword into the creature's gut. Dark blood welled forth as he yanked the sword free, barely in time to block the whistling downward stroke of the second Orc's axe.

Even as he parried the first axe, the Orc swung with the second, catching Daerec across his chest and knocking the air from his lungs. The blow had not cut through his armor, but nevertheless his bones rattled with the force of it. The warrior staggered back and shakily held his sword up, every breath its own battle.

"Now eat!" The Orc leapt forward, its arms spread wide but swiftly closing in deadly arcs.

Daerec had not the time to ponder Arvad's remark about mind over muscle; his action was little more than instinctive, the product of years of training -- he stepped back, braced himself, and thrust forward with all his might. The sword impaled the Orc with such force that the creature slid down its length until Daerec could smell the thing's fetid breath. He dropped the sword and pulled one axe from the Orc's dead grip.

He was unfamiliar with the weapon's balance, but knew that if he tried to recover his sword now, it would be his death. Instead, he searched for his companions. Kurgen he saw first, surrounded by three grinning savages, each armed with a curved scimitar.

Daerec rushed to the Dwarf's aid. Before the Orcs knew what was upon them, he swung the light axe into one's unsuspecting back. There was the satisfying crunch of bone and flesh, and the Orc toppled forward. Daerec snatched its sword, more comfortable with the weapon, and cried, "The old vows run strong!" to the Dwarf.

The other two Orcs drew back and regrouped, and Daerec hurried to Kurgen's side. "Ah lad, this is like old times, beside your father in the mines of Drak-Dur!" His one eye was open wide and wild. "Come on you beasts, and go to whatever hell awaits us!" He rushed forward and in a single stroke of his axe, hacked through the leg of one Orc. The creature toppled forward, screaming, with blood gushing from the wound. But as Kurgen swept his axe downward to finish the creature, the other Orc slashed him across the shoulder. Kurgen's stroke went through and killed the fallen Orc, but even as he killed, he staggered backwards and dropped to one knee.

Before the remaining Orc could attack again, Daerec charged forward, swinging furiously. He hardly knew what he did, only that he could feel his scimitar cut flesh again and again. When he was done, the Orc lay dead and its blood was thick on his arms and hands.

Daerec glanced quickly to Kurgen, then to the field of battle. What he saw then made him forget, for a moment, about the danger, about his fallen friend. There seemed to be a singing in the air, perhaps imagined, or perhaps the work of seraphim. For the sight before him was holy indeed.

Terrwyn was dancing. There was no other word for what she did. For though she wounded and killed, and though the agonized screams of the maimed and dying accompanied her strokes, still it was a dance. She moved in martial perfection, with such grace as battle should never have, lest it grow to be loved too much. Her every movement flowed smoothly into the next, flawless and yet natural. Now she spun and swept downward with her glowing blade, now she rose upward and thrust her sword through an Orkish throat. Daerec had never seen anything like it, and from the terror on their inhuman faces, he could see that neither had the Orcs.

And then the battle was over. Eight Orcs lay slaughtered at the paladin's feet. The four that Daerec had killed were scattered across the camp, and half a dozen more were sprawled near where Kurgen had fought. And everywhere were the charred victims of Arvad's pyromancy.

"Terrwyn!" Daerec called out. "Kurgen is wounded."

Terrwyn blinked and shook her head, then hurried to where the Dwarf had fallen. Daerec was already kneeling at Kurgen's side.

"'Tis but a scratch, children," Kurgen coughed. "The arrow that pierced this eye, now that was wound." But the Dwarf's breathing was ragged and his skin was ashen and cold.

"There is poison on Kor blades, Kurgen. You know that." The paladin's voice was uncommonly gentle. "I need to remove your armor." She unfastened the buckles and pulled free the straps. As she lifted the armor off, Terrwyn gasped. For though the wound was shallow, crimson tendrils were spreading beneath the skin, their movement so swift that it could be seen even as they watched. The poison moved like a living thing, grasping toward the Dwarf's heart. "Daerec, find Arvad. Quickly!"

A low mist was gathering across the camp, and Daerec's cries to Arvad received no response. He rushed to where the wizard had cast his spell, but Arvad was gone. Not knowing what to do, Daerec hurried back to Terrwyn's side. The paladin had placed her hands over the wounds and was speaking softly. She did not look up at Daerec's approach.

"Can I help?" he asked. But she did not answer him, and continued working her magic. Daerec could see the spell fighting against the poison; and yet each time the tendrils drew back toward the wound, their will seemed to redouble, and more shot forth.

Kurgen would die. He would die because Daerec had failed three times -- with his foolish leap across the ravine, by being too weak to pull Terrwyn free, and thus wasting her art on him, and lastly by failing to protect his friend in battle.
"Kurgen," he whispered. The Dwarf's bleary eye turned toward Daerec. "Be strong, Dwarf-lord, and endure as your people always have."

The Dwarf's lips, now pale as bone, twitched into a smile and, his voice no more than a breath, Kurgen replied, "I am stronger. . . than I look." Then his eye closed.

Daerec turned desperately to Terrwyn. As he did, the paladin jerked her hand from the wound and tumbled backwards, retching and gasping for air. Daerec gave a wordless cry, but then saw that where the wound had once been red and sickly, now it was the pale pink of new skin. He hurried to Terrwyn's side now, and saw that she was breathing, but with quick, shallow breaths.

"Breath easy, Terrwyn," Daerec said. "Kurgen will live." He reached out to touch her, then stopped -- the sight of his bloodstained hands beside her somehow-clean face repulsed him. He pulled his hand back. "I do not know where the wizard has gone."

"The wizard," came the reply from the mist, "has returned. And brought with him a present." As Arvad emerged from the fog, he tossed forward the shaman, trussed up with a rag shoved into his mouth. "While you played games with the other children, I kept sight of our quarry." He glanced at Kurgen and then at Terrwyn. "I see that I missed some excitement. But all seems well now."

Daerec could not share the wizard's smile.

"We are all alive," Arvad noted, "though some of us more than others." The Dwarf was slowly awakening. "And we have succeeded, despite all adversity. Let us see if the game was worth its prize."

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