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The leader growls, his eyes narrowing to dangerous yellow slits. The other orc sneers as if he thinks I’m full of bravado, but not much sense.
I spare a glance at the caged humans … and find they’re no longer in the cage. I don’t see what happened to the little one, the child ... I hope I’m not too late ... but the other one, the adult, faces off against the remaining Wyrm.
Brave of her to go against a clearly superior foe, especially with a sword she can barely control. I’m impressed, indeed, but I can’t help her. Not with these two in my way.
I try a feint with the broken sword, but they see it coming and don’t take the bait. They attack in unison, and I parry both of their weapons with my sword and ax.
They try to bowl me over with raw strength. I hold them at bay. Even when they put so much effort into it, their bodies tremble.
“Take him down,” snarls the leader through gritted teeth.
“I’m trying,” the other snarls. “He’s too … strong.”
Strong and smart. I pivot on my back leg and turn my body to the side. The two orcs get in each other’s way, and I manage to take a chunk out of the leader’s shoulder with my ax.
He howls and staggers back, clapping his wounded shoulder with his equally wounded hand. His fellow narrows his gaze and then grins at me.
“I should thank you. No doubt I will be named the new leader of our war band, given that you’ve crippled him.”
“Damn your tongue, Drietak,” snaps the leader. “I’m hardly crippled.”
Out of pride or maybe fear of losing his position, the leader comes in again, ignoring the blood pouring out of the hole in his shoulder. They might be Red Wyrms, but they are orcs. They will continue to fight until they can’t.
I hear a hard blow from the vicinity of the human woman. I still haven’t gotten a look at her face, but I think she’s on the young side, though still an adult. I spare a glance her way and see the woman holding her wrist, her sword flopping to the ground a dozen feet away.
The orc she’d been battling sneers and moves in for the death blow. I’ve no more time to deal with these two. In another moment, the woman will be skewered.
When I was first learning to use weapons, the man at arms told me that there was one cardinal rule of combat. You never, ever, ever let go of your weapon on purpose. Even if you had a spear, you didn’t throw it. That was reserved for javelins.
Yet, that’s exactly what I do. I send the red ax spinning end over end through the air. The leader tries to get his sword up in time to block, but the chaotic flight path of the ax throws him off. The edge buries itself in his face. The leader’s eyes go wide as if in shock. He falls forward to his knees, then collapses but doesn’t land on his belly. The haft of the ax imbeds in the ground, leaving his body grotesquely propped up in an ungainly position.
His fellow orc apparently isn’t as concerned with a promotion as he indicated. He throws himself at me with a rage reserved for mated pairs. I parry his powerful but clumsy strikes, the whole time worried that the woman was already dead.
Then he overextends his thrust, an error he won’t live to regret. While his blade is out and no longer protecting his body, I shove the broken end of the sword right through his heart.
I yank the blade back out, not even bothering to check to see if he’s dead. He’s at least incapacitated for the time being.
I turn toward the last orc, who holds his sword high in the air. The woman stands protectively over the child, holding her arms up as a feeble shield against the blade that is about to spell doom for them both.
I have no time. I throw the short sword, but it’s not as balanced as my ax. It flies crazily off to the side, missing the orc by a few feet. However, it does get his attention, which buys the woman another precious second or two.
He turns toward me just as I reach him. I drop my shoulder to the level of his breadbasket and lunge forward, striking him in the solar plexus. The air whooshes out of his lungs in a ragged gasp, and we both go down. He still has a grip on his sword, but at this close range, it’s not going to do him any good.
There is no grace, no nobility, and no mercy in orc grappling arts. I sink my teeth into his ear and rip off a chunk while he scratches his nails down my face, slashing my eyelid. I hiss, blood flowing into my eye and blinding me on that side. We roll around in the dirt, and he finally gives up the sword. We each seek the advantage, struggling for dominance. I slam my knee into his crotch and wind up straddling him on the blood-soaked ground.
I lift my hands and bring them down in a double-fisted blow across his face. His nose smashes flat, shards of bone shooting out through the skin. I repeat the blow again and again, using his head like a drum until he stops twitching. His chest rises and falls, rises and falls … and then lies still.
I get off the orc and check the others. All dead, save the one with the broken arm, and all he can do is lie on the ground and moan.
I turn to the woman, who scrambles back in the dirt, her eyes wide with fear. My breath catches in my throat. I have seldom seen such a lovely example of a human woman. I never thought I would like a woman without at least a wart or two, but her freckled skin and heart-shaped face have their own appeal.
She has a lovely form, but she’s terrified, and for some reason, that bothers me. I don’t want her to fear me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, holding my hands up. “I’m not even armed.”
“Armed?” she looks at the carnage I have wrought. “You don’t need a weapon; youarea fucking weapon.”
I chuckle softly and shrug.
