Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

Theros turned to the nearly burned-out wagon. He picked up a stick, and began to sift through the remnants of the wagon’s load.

Huluk did the same with his axe. Most of what they sifted through were tools or bits of tools that had been burned, their wooden parts no longer of any use. There was no sight of anything like a bow or an arrow or anything close to being useful.

“I’m sorry sir, this is all there is left,” said Theros. “We had very few bows to begin with. They must have-wait!”

Theros ran out into the roadway to where some elves had fallen. Two horses lay dead in the street beside their riders. Pulling at the underside of one of the horse’s saddles, Theros pried loose an elven short bow. The second yank yielded a full quiver of arrows. He held them up for the minotaur officer to see.

From a distance down the street, a high-pitched voice shouted in Common. “You! Yes, you! You will die for defiling an elf warrior in death!”

Theros turned to see four elf infantrymen running toward him, swords drawn. He looked back at the officer, who had also heard the shout. Huluk ducked down behind the remnants of the still-burning wagon.

Huluk waited, axe at the ready. Theros ran back and knelt beside the officer. He heard the light tread of soft leather boots. Huluk waited. Just as the first elf rounded the corner of the wagon, sword drawn, Huluk swung his axe with a backhanded motion. The exquisitely crafted blade sliced squarely into the elf’s chest, caving it in, and pirouetting the elf onto his back.

Huluk jumped out into the open where he could fight without hindrance. He tossed the axe back and forth between his hands. The second elf rushed the big minotaur. Huluk easily leaned out of the way, tripping the elf as he lunged by, and embedding his axe into the soldier’s helmet. The elf died like a leaf in a fire.

The other two elves circled the minotaur, who was trying to yank his axe from the body of the dead elf. One elf lunged. Huluk twisted as only a trained minotaur could, turning what should have been a deathblow into a painful slice across the side. Blood welled up out of the wound. Huluk went into a rage.

He jerked up violently with his axe, freeing it, and turned to the elf who had just wounded him. The elf blanched. Huluk brought his axe up as if he were going to charge. The elf immediately braced for the impact, hoping to sidestep the huge minotaur’s lunge. Instead, Huluk thrust forward with his arm and let the axe sail forward. The elf never knew what hit him. The axe embedded in the elf’s chest, crushing it.

The fourth elf lost no time. He charged the minotaur while he was off-balance. The hit was good, and the minotaur went sprawling. The elf brought his sword down, but Huluk rolled to one side, avoiding the blow. The elf was too close.

Huluk kicked at the elf’s boots, knocking them out from under him. The minotaur was immediately on top of the elf, pinning him. The minotaur easily outweighed the elf by two to three times. Huluk placed his hands around the elf’s neck, strangled him.

After the death rattle, Huluk rose. His side bled profusely.

Theros ripped off his shirt, pressing it against the side of the minotaur. Holding the cloth in place, Huluk pushed Theros away and retrieved his axe.

“You won’t need that where you’re going, minotaur.”

Both Huluk and Theros turned around to see who spoke. An elf officer in gilt armor with gold fittings stood on the road. With him stood eight elf warriors, each with a bow. Eight arrows pointed at the two.

Huluk moved toward the elf. As he did so, the elf warriors began to circle around the minotaur, surrounding him.

The elf officer laughed. “So it has come to this, eh, warrior? We elves, so small in comparison to you huge beasts, have crushed your army. Our victory is the product of a finely honed military. We are no accidents of the gods like your horrible excuse for a race, or so the old text teaches. We were the firstborn, the pure. You are a race of abominations!”

Huluk breathed slowly, the wound in his side throbbing, but beginning to seal. The wound was not deep, but the blood loss was making him weak.

“What of it, elf?” Huluk sneered.

The elf mocked the warrior. “What of it? I want you to attack me. You are an officer in this once oh-so-mighty army, aren’t you? I want to take the horns of an officer back to my fellow officers as a prize, so I want you to attack me.”

Huluk did not move.

The elf immediately to his rear loosed an arrow right into the minotaur’s buttocks. Huluk jumped straight up at the unexpected pain, howling like a wolf on a full-moon night.

The elves laughed. They were taunting their prey before killing it. They had forgotten about the human slave.

Silently, moving slowly and cautiously, Theros edged over to Hran’s grave. His shovel stood where he’d left it, plunged into the mud. Grabbing the shovel by the handle, he returned to Huluk’s side.

Huluk could barely stand; the pain of the arrow was maddening. He dropped his axe, grabbed the arrow sticking out of his rear and tried to pull it out.

The elf officer was highly amused. “What have we here? A little human slave come to aid his master with a weapon of the ages, the mighty shovel of Palanthas!” The elves laughed, enjoying the show being put on for their benefit.

Theros turned around in a circle, eyeing his foes, assessing his chances. They were zero and none. He turned back to the elf officer. He had not really regarded himself as a slave, even after all these years of captivity. After all, he had asked to come with the minotaurs. If they hadn’t been kind to him, at least they had never tortured him as he was sure these elves would. He wanted to be free, to be sure, but he wanted freedom on his own terms.

Theros stared into the elf officer’s eyes. “You have no honor, elf. If you did, you would fight me like a warrior.”

The elf officer laughed so hard he could barely stand. “Oh, I like this! A human slave is challenging me to personal combat. Very well, I will bring in the horns of a minotaur and the head of a human, too. All right, let him come forward. I will accept your challenge, human slave!”

The other elves backed off, but still kept their arrows trained on the wounded minotaur. Theros held the shovel with two hands and began to circle the elf officer. The elf drew his sword from a jewel-encrusted scabbard, its blade flashing in the day’s sunlight. The elf danced around Theros in a circle. As he circled the second time, he thrust.

The blow was so quick that Theros could not counter, could not parry. A gash opened on his upper arm. The blade gleamed and sang and gave Theros two more such cuts. Theros tried to lash out with the blade of his shovel, but the elf easily eluded him.

The show was most amusing, or so the elves thought. They laughed and jeered as the fight continued.

Theros knew the elf was only playing with him. At any moment, when the elf grew bored with the contest, he would sink his blade into Theros, who could do nothing to stop him.

Outmatched, Theros circled with the elf. He had a plan. The elf faked a chest thrust and sliced across the young man’s hip. Theros ignored the pain.

He lowered the shovel. The elf thought Theros was giving up. Instead, Theros scraped the shovel across the earth and upward, tossing dust and dirt into the elf’s face. The elf gasped, blinded. He dug his fists into his eyes, trying to clear them. Theros brought the butt end of the shovel up and smacked the elf squarely in the face. The elf fell over onto his back. His sword went flying through the air.

Theros stepped back. The sword landed on the roadway just off to his side. The elf sat up and shook his head, holding his broken nose between his fingers. The other elves brought their bows up, preparing to shoot the arrogant human.