David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

Haern looked once more to the northeast and the path the orcs had taken. It felt wrong to leave them be, but they were already pressed for time …

“They are but thirty,” Thren said, as if able to read his mind. “And by finding Luther and discovering his plans for our city, we may spare the lives of thousands. Don’t be foolish, and learn to control your emotions. The goal must always be weighed against the cost, and right now, those orcs mean little more than shit to you.”

Haern clenched his jaw, and with a sickening feeling in his stomach, he turned away and resumed their travel. He said nothing, and with his decision obvious, Thren let the matter drop. They continued on, an hour passing by as the midday sun began its slow descent. With every step, Haern felt worse. If he’d been on his own, he’d have avoided the orcs no differently from how he had with Thren. But something about using Thren’s reasoning made him uncomfortable. In some ways, he agreed with it. The people of Veldaren were more important, the risks to the city far greater than what a few wretched remnants of an ancient war between the gods could do.

But still it bothered him, and when he glanced back and saw the fire, he froze.

“What is it?” Thren asked, and then he too saw the trail of smoke rising above the forest. “That fire may only be the orcs setting up camp.”

Haern stared at it. It was a campfire, all right, and several miles behind them on the path.

“What if it’s not?” he asked.

Thren shrugged.

“Then we’re too late. They’ll have to fend for themselves.”

“No,” Haern said, and this time Thren’s answer would not suffice. “No, they won’t.”

Boots thudding upon the packed dirt, he raced along the road. After a moment, his sprint settled into a jog, and he focused on keeping his breathing steady. He kept his eyes straight ahead, staring at the smoke, trying a hundred times to decide its meaning. Was it just a campfire? A message? Was it only the orcs and he was acting like a fool?

He looked back only once, and when he did, he saw his father following.

Thren caught up to him after the first mile. Both of them were winded, but Haern pushed on, knowing if the camp was not yet under attack, it would be soon. The sun continued to set, and in his gut he knew that if the orcs were to attack, they’d do so after nightfall, perhaps several hours after to ensure all were asleep. Assuming whoever built the campfire wasn’t alone and easy prey.

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.