T Lain - The Bloody Eye

Satisfied that she had helped throw the orc infantry squad into confusion, Yddith glanced quickly at the rest of the battle. She saw Lovan, the miller, joining in the melee alongside Krusk. The orc warrior they fought was shouting something in its own guttural language just as Lovan swung a rusty axe at the war boar and struck the orc’s knee by mistake. The cut wasn’t deep, but it got the attention of both the orc and the boar. The tusked mount shifted to slash at Lovan. The boar missed, but only because its tusk was partially broken off. Unfortunately, as Lovan stumbled backward, the animal sank its teeth into the miller’s leg and ripped away a large gouge of flesh and muscle.

Yddith winced as she saw the boar fear at Lovan’s leg, but she also recognized that the maneuver had brought the orc within range of Krusk’s axe. Krusk smashed the side of his weapon like a hammer across the orc’s shoulder blade, toppling the warrior backward. From this distance, Yddith couldn’t hear the bones cracking like dry firewood over the sounds of battle, but she saw the stain of blood splashing down the warrior’s weapon arm like ale pouring down a drunkard’s shirt. The orc’s shattered arm dropped but he kept his grip on his weapon. With the grit and concentrated effort of an experienced veteran, he reached across the saddle with his good arm and reclaimed the axe from the useless, blood-slickened right hand. In a moment he was trading blows with the half-orc, his handicap offset by the advantage of being seated on the giant boar.

Yddith’s attention was riveted on Krusk’s challenge. She didn’t see the eagle dive at Dyffid again and again, clawing and pecking until the poor wine merchant covered his remaining eye and fell exhausted and bleeding to the ground. She missed the brave intervention of Kix, the stable boy, as he impaled the bird on his pitchfork, saving Dyffid from further clawing and biting.

She was vaguely aware of the orc and war boar charging Alhandra but Yddith failed to see the paladin fall under the swine’s ferocious charge or Riedel, the blacksmith, hacking at the orc as he rode by. Riedel pounded the greataxe into the monster’s body with all the strength in his body, born of years spent pounding a hammer onto the anvil. Riedel’s blow was strong enough to split the orc’s armor, even as the orc’s own blow was deflected by the paladin’s enchanted armor.

Yddith did hear the piercing cry of the war boar as Alhandra slashed the boar’s underbelly with the tip of her long sword, but she couldn’t pinpoint the sound because the entire street was filled with blood and confusion. She saw the druid drive his cart through the midst of the armed townspeople, trying to slash them with the spikes on the wheels. She watched the townspeople wave their unfamiliar weapons valiantly at the onrushing cart, but sadly realized that none were able to score any damage on wolf, druid, or cart. The worst sight was Bisfel, the baker. His leg was sliced by one of the spikes and instantly he was paralyzed. The spikes were tipped with poison and it was readily apparent to anyone watching that the druid only needed to scratch his victims in order to incapacitate them.

Fortunately, Yddith was heartened to see that Krusk was winning his battle. Bleeding profusely and weakening by the moment, the ferocious orc simultaneously shouted syllables of praise to Gruumsh and tried to turn his mount and retreat. The boar refused, happily feasting on the poor miller’s leg as the miller struggled to slice through the boar’s hide with his axe. The distraction gave Krusk the opening he needed, and his greataxe sliced through the orc’s flesh and spine. The broken body toppled from the boar’s back in a spray of blood.

Yddith smiled coldly as Krusk pulled the huge axe free of the orc’s ribcage and smashed it like a hammer against the boar’s brainpan. The monster dropped in its tracks. The smile froze, however, as she saw the druid cut the harness from the dire wolf and order it to attack Krusk. Yellow fangs ripped away a hunk of both Krusk’s armor and thigh.

Yddith winced as the wolf ripped into Krusk. She knew she needed to do something, but she learned only two tricks from the traveling sorceress and she had already used one. Frantically she looked for anything on the street that she could levitate to distract the beast. She saw no weapon light enough and no debris that looked useful. Then a bizarre inspiration took hold. Yddith breathed a soft prayer to Pelor and pointed her finger at a wet pile of road apples left on the street by Jozan’s incontinent mule. She watched the lumps of manure rise into the air, then she waved her finger toward the wolf. Even Riedel sidestepped the floating stench with amazement as he advanced behind the other orc.

As Riedel maneuvered behind his enemy, Yddith dropped the mess on the wolf’s head. She had heard that even blind wolves could fight by scent alone, but she hoped that this trick would both temporarily blind Krusk’s foe and block its sense of smell. The manure plopped onto the wolf at the very moment that she saw the blacksmith bury his axe in the orc’s back and Jozan unleash another spell.

Jozan was furious. Not only had they knocked Alhandra onto the ground in an unchivalrous charge, but the orc druid was obviously using some kind of poison on his cart’s spikes. The cleric pulled a short, straight piece of iron from his pouch and lifted it toward the sun. He invoked the name of Pelor and brought the metal back down. Turning the iron piece horizontally, he grasped an end in both hands and thrust it in the direction of the last remaining orc warrior. The ceremonial gestures caused the orc to look up from his relentless hacking at the paladin and, for a moment, his eyes locked with Jozan’s. A blinding flash as brilliant as sunlight erupted from the iron piece. The illumination engulfed the orc’s sensitive eyes and snout, rendering the warrior helpless and unable to move.

Jozan was mesmerized by a combination of events. His flash held the monster, Riedel’s fierce assault caused the orc to topple, and Alhandra thrust upward from underneath the boar. The orc’s limp body landed face down in the street at the same moment as the boar’s stomach opened above the paladin, dumping a mixture of blood, bile, and partially digested food onto her. Jozan ran to help the paladin, but Alhandra proved his aid unnecessary. She rolled out from under the still biting, snorting boar and managed to shove the beast’s legs and throw it off-balance just as its tusks and snout burrowed into the spot where her head had been a moment before.

The rest of the townsfolk converged on the remaining orc soldiers. Though not very intelligent, the orcs were smart enough to realize that their leaders were dead. They were perceptive enough to know that their drummer no longer played the rhythm that made their blows effective. They were observant enough to see that one compatriot was retreating with a blade in his back and to realize that it wouldn’t be long before it was the druid and the animals against half of the town. Simultaneously, they made a tactical decision far beyond their military experience. When the first orc moved, the others followed—each trying to catch up with the fast retreating drummer and mortally wounded fellow before the others could.

Had the orcs remained a moment longer, they would have seen what might have been an amazing reversal of fortune. Though it was the last thing Jozan wanted to see, he watched in amazement as the druid waved his hands in a circle and the branches of trees swayed with his motion. The wind began circling with the same motion and, quickly, a dense mass of gray cloud descended on the half-orc.

Krusk felt beads of grease forming on his skin, armor, and weapon as though he had worked in a charnel house for days without bathing. The cloud’s sickening smell of mold and decay filled the barbarian’s nostrils and nearly choked him before he could respond to the druid’s approach. He doubled over briefly from the power of the stench and sensed that the presence of the greasy gray cloud had weakened him with some type of supernatural blight. Fortunately for the half-orc, the cloud’s nasty effect weakened the dire wolf as well. Its coat was beaded with the sickening mist and it also coughed up some of the foul cloud. The barbarian used all of his concentration to connect, albeit somewhat weakly, with his target. He injured the wolf slightly, but he didn’t kill it outright with one slice of the axe the way he expected to do. The partially blind wolf snapped at the air. The druid laughed.