Twinsoul, Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Conflict

The road out of Westway was said to be one of the longest, busiest roads in Kayledon; the only trade route to Faarthusia and the only road that could be taken safely to reach the school of Solreth.  It had great significance to the welfare of the western lands, for whenever the road west was impassable, the orcs and gnomes were worse off for it.  It was sometimes referred to as the Path of Pelyphis, the goddess of air, who was said to be able to bring luck with a single breeze.

Varcor hoped that some of that luck would rub off on him, as he seemed to be out of his own.  He sat despondently in the saddle of his horse, playing with the reins and tugging at his glove.  A passing gnomish merchant waved, and he returned the gesture tentatively, all the while shifting uneasily in his seat.  He felt like a trespasser or an invader, and given the nature of his mission, he wasn’t sure that feeling was entirely unjustified.

He had been given four days to do all he had meant to finish before leaving, but it seemed that he would need much more time.  He had wanted to find out more about Reylyn’s connection with the Demon Horde, but his father was using the royal library so much that he could barely begin his search, much less find the books he needed.  Furthermore, he had strict orders to stay inside the castle, so even using the public library wasn’t an option.  The tome that Ganash had given him to investigate was either written in code or a language never seen before by mortal eyes.  Deciphering that would take much more than the few language codices that he owned.

Kronta rode beside him, grumbling every now and then about the mission.  Like Varcor, he had been unhappy with the mission and what it could possibly mean for relations with the elves.  Unlike the soft-spoken prince, he was not afraid to voice his concerns, much more loudly and with twice as much cursing as usual.  He had agreed to follow Varcor only because he wanted to make sure the prince was looked after properly.

He looked behind him, to the six other orcs traveling with them, all from the Silver Guards.  He wondered if they had volunteered, or if they were made to go by his father.  If they had been volunteers, didn’t they know what this mission was about?  After all, they were entitled to know as long as they said nothing to anyone else.  He considered telling them, but figured that if they did know his words were wasted, and if they didn’t know, then perhaps they were better off. 

It was the fifth day out when he talked to Kronta concerning the knowledge the soldiers had of the mission.  “Why would they want to be a part of this?” Varcor asked, after they had distanced themselves from the rest of the group.  “I didn’t ask for a hand in doing this, you should be all the help I need.”

“Then ye forget, we’re supposed ta be goin’ against no less than four adventurers, one a Solreth sorcerer,” Kronta scolded, folding his arms.  “The six what came with me are me closest mates, worth their weight in gold when it comes ta battle.  If that half-elf don’t wanna work with us, we gotta do things the hard way.  There ain’t no way they’d tangle with a group like this, an’ if they do, they be in for a nasty surprise!”

Varcor shook his head.  “I hope it doesn’t come to that.  But I cannot understand why they would want to do this.  Do they know what this whole thing is about?”

“Of course!  I wouldn’t have kept ‘em in the dark,” Kronta claimed.  “I let ‘em know what it was all about ‘fore I even asked ‘em ta come along.”

Varcor looked confused.  “Then why would they come?”

Kronta put a hand on the prince’s shoulder.  “Boy, the only reason they’re here is ‘cause I told ‘em it was you who was in charge of the mission,” Kronta said.  “All they want is to serve their prince.”

Varcor had not considered that.  He turned to the campsite, looking to the six soldiers who were joking and talking around the fire.  “For me?”

“It wouldn’t ‘ave been so three years ago, some of ‘em were glad ta see ye go,” Kronta admitted.  “But they’ve seen how ye’ve grown.  I knew ye was a good kid ‘fore they did, but now they can all see it too; they kin see Flamesoul.  Ye’re our future, and chosen by Faarthus.  Ye’re pretty special.”

Varcor took a moment to digest all the information he just received.  He was not sure what to think at first.  He had been told that he was special for as long as he could remember.  He thought he understood after he found out how he came to be in the world, when he learned he was favored by Faarthus. 

But was this different?  The sincerity in Kronta’s voice and eyes were telling of an admiration not born of wonderment and prophecy, but of real respect.  Reylyn had given him that kind of respect, but she made him earn it first.  Things were much more different now than when he was getting respect without earning it.  He knew now what he owed those who gave him such admiration.  A nation inspired by a respectable leader was a strong nation.

He felt the need to do more for those who looked up to him, to continue giving them a reason to respect him, even if that meant doing something potentially disastrous.

After some time, Varcor nodded.  “I believe I understand, Uncle.  I shall not distress, for the sake of my people.”

Kronta nodded, and rubbed his bald head.  “Well, then ye got a better attitude about th’ mission then meself.”  He yawned loudly.  “Th’ Cave o’ Crystal ain’t far off.  We’ll be there afore tomorrow ends.  Ye should get some sleep.”

Varcor nodded.  For the first time since he came home, he had a feeling that sleep would come easier than it had the entire trip.  He had justification for this mission now.  More than that, he had the strength to do what he must for the sake of the orcan people.

******

           

Evandel had not thought twice about what to do for Zaken’s remains.  Despite questioning looks from Deida and Bargo, he insisted that Zaken’s body was cast into the gorge, with whatever he had been carrying.  He believed that Zaken desired in some way to die and remain in the one dungeon he could not conquer.   

“His path was set before him, we cannot deny him his glory,” Evandel simply stated when they asked him his reasoning.

“Even Zaken knew that there is no glory in death,” Deida argued.

Bargo shook his head.  “That isn’t true, Deida.  What are we gonna do if we take him out?  We’ll end up bringing him home to lay his remains to rest there.  There will be some kind of service, and it’ll make everyone sad.  More than that, we will be holding up our mission.  That’s the last thing he would have wanted.

“If we take Zaken out of here, it will be in our memories.  If we take him out bodily, we will bury him and grieve, and remember that he is dead.  Or, we can tell his tale, of the good he did here today, and remember why he died.  He is a hero, and deserves to be remembered as such.”

“Bargo…” Deida said softly, looking at him in wonder.

The big man gave a half smile.  “You’ve spent a lot of time around elves.  Humans understand that glory after death isn’t just in the hereafter.”

Deida accepted his response with a nod.  With one final prayer to Taelri and Alaron, Evandel and Bargo lifted their old friend from the crystal floor and cast his body into the dark gorge, knowing his rest would be complete in the shadows away from the glowing crystal.

The trek out was a solemn one, made worse to Evandel when he realized that there were five more artifacts left and only two more friends.  He prayed that his unlikely destiny would not get everyone he cared for killed.

No, he told himself.  I can never let that happen.  If it is truly through my power that the world shall be saved, then it will also be through my doing that my friends are kept alive.  If I cannot keep them out of danger, I can at least give them that.  He firmed his resolve by grasping onto the pendant that hung around his neck, the artifact of light that the soul of darkness gave his life for.  Zaken will not have died in vain.  I promise.

Evandel knew something was wrong when he started ascending the tunnel to the hills outside.  He could hear voices outside, could feel the presence of others.  He feared momentarily that it was the gnolls, coming to investigate. 

Cautiously, he stepped out of the tunnel, and surveyed the surroundings.  At first he didn’t notice anything, but then something emerged from the trail, coming toward the abandoned gnoll campsite. 

A young half-orc, with stark white hair and brilliant red eyes, dressed in blood red apprentice’s robes strode down the hillside, one green skinned hand resting on the ruby capped pommel of a longsword, and the other hidden behind his back.  His stride spoke of confidence, and his eyes and expression spoke of wisdom beyond his age.

Behind him came a veritable entourage of orcs, clad in gleaming armor and well-armed at that.  The biggest one among them, a bald headed, brutish looking fellow, toted two heavy looking battle axes, one on each hip, and walked closely behind the red robed figure.

Bargo and Deida came up behind him, and stopped when they saw that company had arrived.  They both instinctually went for their weapons, but Evandel raised his hand, barring them from showing aggression.

The red eyed orc fixed his eyes on Evandel, studying the half-elf intently.  “You are from Tyhal, are you not?”

Evandel spoke not, but nodded cautiously.

The half-orc bowed.  “I am pleased to meet you.  My name is Varcor Voldur, emissary from Cagar-Tugan.  May I ask your names?”

Evandel hesitated, not used to this level of politeness from orcs.  As changed as the race had become, they could still be terrible at first impressions.  “I am Evandel, born of Tyhal,” he said, indicating that he was an orphan.  “These are my friends, Deida Laiken, and Bargo Tramas.”  Deida nodded her head, and Bargo gave a short bow.

Varcor smiled, apparently pleased.  “I come bearing tidings from the royal family,” he said.  “Your presence has been requested by the king, Evandel.  You are to come with me immediately to Faarthusia, to hear the request of Toras Voldur.”

“Voldur?  Are you his son?” Bargo asked.  Varcor nodded, and Bargo smiled.  “I heard that the orcan royalty were really hands on in their work, but I didn’t think it went this far.”

“Why does the king request my presence, highness?” Evandel asked.

Varcor seemed visibly affected by the term used for royalty, and smiled again.  “For an elf to use such a term for an orc is a great honor.  I thank you.” He bowed gracefully, revealing his right, gloved hand.   “But I digress.  You must all come now, our road is long.”

Evandel nearly lost his breath upon seeing the glove.  He instantly recognized it as the Fire Hand, as shown to him by Warrane.  The prince of Faarthusia had the artifact of fire in his possession!

“You did not answer me,” Evandel said firmly, not moving an inch.

Varcor looked up at him curiously.  “What do you mean?”

“Why does Toras Voldur wish to meet with us, mere adventurers?”

“Ye really want ta question th’ words o’ th’ king?” the bald orc growled, but Varcor silenced his burly friend with a wave of his hand. 

“My father is interested in your potential, Evandel,” Varcor explained.  “He summons you in regards to the Prophecy of Unity.”

Evandel narrowed is eyes, and Deida stepped forward.  “If you can permit, your highness, we need to speak of this in private.”  Varcor nodded, and she brought Evandel over to Bargo.

“What do you think?” she asked them.  “I for one see no reason not to trust them.  Some help from the royal family of the kingdom of orcs would be much appreciated right now.”

“I agree,” Bargo said.  “It’s not every day you get asked to meet with someone that important.  And about the very prophecy you’re supposed to fulfill!”

“No,” Evandel said simply.  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“But Ev…” Bargo started.

“Do you remember what Zaken’s last words were?  He found something out about Faarthusia that they don’t want the rest of the world to know.  They might even know that we have the treasure he stole from them.  They are up to something, and it might be best if we avoided the orcs for now.”

Deida and Bargo looked at each other tentatively, but gazed back at their friend and nodded in agreement.  Evandel nodded back, and turned back to the orcs.  “I am sorry, highness.  We are on a very important task right now.  Even for you, we cannot disrupt it.”

Varcor closed his eyes.  “I am sorry too, Master Evandel,” he said, “but my orders were to bring you back to Faarthusia one way or another.”  As he finished speaking, the orcs behind him drew their swords, and the big orc beside him took out both axes from their holsters.  He leveled his gaze on Evandel, his face angry and pleading all at once.  “I don’t want to have to hurt you, sorcerer.  This is eight against three.  Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Evandel’s fists clenched on his staff, and anger drove his next words.  “You underestimate me, highness.  My friend died telling me your people are into something they cannot handle, and you are not going to involve me or my friends in your plans.  I will only go to Faarthusia impaled on an orcan blade!”

Varcor drew his sword slowly, his eyes narrowed.  “As you wish.”

Both sides exploded into action.  The six orcs behind Varcor positioned themselves and charged forward, three on each side.  Bargo also leapt forward, standing defensively in front of Evandel. 

Deida, on the other hand, slipped off to the side, trying to get the best angle for her bow shots.  Two orcs dropped, clutching their knees as arrows from her bow passed right through the joints.  Evandel noted the angles, and made a point of it to ask her if that was a Kathilasi trademark or one of her own tricks.

The four remaining orcs adjusted their formation, and closed in on the only opponent that seemed defenseless.  All four of them seemed to move at once, coordinated and trained as the finest warriors in Faarthusia.  Bargo shook his head, and raised his fists defensively.

Evandel raised his staff to blast away the orcs attacking his friend, but a sudden rise in temperature told him he had a different opponent.  Varcor’s raised right hand seemed to be aflame, and it was all the sorcerer could do to raise a shield of water before one of the largest fireballs he’d ever seen roared toward Bargo.   The shield exploded into steam when the fire struck it, but Bargo remained unaffected.

“That’s right, sorcerer,” Varcor called, “best to keep your eyes on me.”

******

Deida was lucky enough to see the big orc start moving before she fired any more arrows at the six after Bargo.  He was deceptively sneaky for a big guy; he had used the magical distraction to move away from the main fray, and now one axe was raised high over his head, ready to throw.

She adjusted her aim and loosed an arrow, more to draw his attention than do any real harm.  He was too well armored for her arrows to find purchase; she would need to take him down up close.  The arrow bounced off his arm guard, and he twisted around to face her.  The arm came down and the axe flew forward.  She grinned confidently as she guided the weapon away from her, gently pushing with the air currents and deftly twisting away as it rushed by.  In mid stride she dropped her bow and took out her daggers, and burst forward in a breathtaking display of speed.

She knew she had the advantage, since it was one heavy weapon against two lighter ones, made even lighter when she adjusted the air around them.  To her surprise, the axe the big orc had thrown reappeared in his grasp, and he crossed them defensively as she charged.

Mentally shrugging at the inconvenience, she lunged at him with the unflagging relentlessness of a hurricane.  She could tell right away that he was an earth principle, as few others weather her attacks as well as he did.  Again and again she struck out, but he patiently positioned his armor and his weapons to absorb her strikes. 

One thrust slipped, and he pushed her arm out wide.  His axe came in with all force of a boulder rolling down a mountain, straight for her arm.

It crashed right into the ground.

“Wha?” he sputtered before he could recover.  The pommel of her dagger screamed into his chin and he staggered backwards.  “Thrice damned wind witch!”

“Get over it, you missed by a mile,” she taunted.

“Ye made me miss!” he growled.  “How in darkness’ name could ye do that?”

“I take it you’re a part of the silver guard?” she said, and waved a dagger teasingly.  “You still have a long way to go before you can match up to a Kathilasi.”

“Black winds take yer heart,” he roared, and he rushed forward, an avalanche of orc and axe.

Deida managed to dodge the better part of his swings, but suffered a single scratch on her leg before she made it away.  She scowled at him and he grinned.  “Wha’ was that, lil’ lady?”

“Lucky swing,” she muttered, but they both knew the truth.  His swings were much too strong for her to dodge all of them, but her air defense at least minimized damage.  At the same time, her attacks were far too agile for him to even hope to dodge, but his armor prevented her from doing any real harm.

She braced herself for an extended fight as he started forward once again.  This was going to take a while.

******

“Draw your sword, human, or you will die,” one of the orcs snarled at Bargo. 

He shook his head, keeping his defensive position.  “I don’t need a sword to fight you off.”

A series of cuts and stabs came his way, nicking an arm and striking his side, but he managed to swat away or block most of the strikes.

“You have a lot of nerve, defying our prince,” the same orc growled in between swings.  “You don’t understand how much you stand to lose.”

“At least I’m not bullying innocent travelers,” Bargo taunted batting away another blade.  “I don’t know what you guys are after, but it’ll be a bright day on the Darkplane before I let you take Ev.”

At a nod from the orc that was speaking, the other three rushed forward, tackling the big man to the ground.  The leader strode forward, and stepped on his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t strike if I were you,” Bargo warned.  The orc laughed and brought the sword up high, point facing down, then thrust with all his might.

Crunch!

The orc stood for a moment baffled.  Bargo couldn’t see what he was looking at but he had a good idea.  Taking the moment of surprise for all it was worth, the knight pushed up with tremendous strength, knocking all three orcs holding him away.  The orc that struck him backed off, dropping the sword he had tried to put through Bargo’s skull.

The blade was crumpled up to the hilt.

“By the shining flames,” the orc said, awed.  “No wonder you wear no armor.”

Bargo half smiled, and rushed forward, sending a fist into the orc’s chest.  The force of his strike sent the poor orc flying through the air.

The knight errant cracked his knuckles as the other orcs stood up.  “And that’s why I don’t need a sword for the likes of you.”

******

Evandel had kept away from Bargo’s battle, and could see Deida’s struggle from across the campsite.  He would have gone to their aid, or even aided from afar, if his concentration was not focused firmly on the half-orc standing twenty feet away.

“For the last time, Master Evandel: give up,” Varcor warned.  “I bear you no ill will, but I must do as my station demands.”

“And I warn you, Varcor Voldur: I am in a terribly foul mood,” Evandel said through clenched teeth.  “You could not have caught me on a worse day.”

“Do not let that anger drive you,” Varcor yelled with frustration on his features.  “We can be allies!  This whole conflict is pointless.  It will destroy you, me, and our friends.  I don’t know what your mission is, but it cannot be more important than the lives of others!”

“My mission already cost me one friend,” Evandel said in a low tone.  “I’ll be damned if I so easily give up on the mission he gave his life for!”

“You leave me no choice!” Varcor shouted, rage in his eyes.  Flame spouted from the blade of his drawn sword, and leaped off as the half-orc sliced through the air.

Evandel had only a split second to raise his water shield, but when he did, he realized his error.  In order to catch the wave in time, he needed to manifest the defensive magic far too close to his person.  He scrambled away as the fiery wave lashed into the wall of water, creating scalding hot vapor and boiling spray on both sides.  He remained unharmed, but barely got to his feet before another slash of flame screamed towards him.

Instead of creating another shield, he dropped to one knee and set his staff in the ground, as a soldier would set a spear against a charging foe.  He concentrated as hard as he could on the crystal, which began to glow a pale blue.  Once the flames were in reach, the crystal drew them in, sucking them right out of the air. 

Varcor’s eyes widened as the sorcerer thrust the staff forward, converting and channeling his own spell into a speeding pike of ice, leveled right at his throat.  He raised his right hand defensively, and the glove acted on its own, the garnet gleaming brightly.  Orange-red light came from his palm, and engulfed the ominous icicle, vaporizing it on the spot.  Nothing but a cloud was left of the spell, and Varcor silently thanked Reylyn and Faarthus for his gift.

“You aren’t a sorcerer,” Evandel said, more of a statement than anything else.  “I’ve never seen a caster like you.”

“I channel divine power, friend,” Varcor admitted.  “I am favored by Faarthus.”

Evandel had heard of these “favored souls.” They wielded magic much like a sorcerer, but their magic came from a divine source.  Evandel could not counter his spells in the same way he could other sorcerers’, but he could overpower them or convert the raw energies.  But one thing bothered him . . .

“Divine magic is meant for defense and healing,” Evandel said.  “How is it that even as a fire principle you can attack with it?”

Varcor smiled smugly.  “Have you ever met a divine fire principle before?  I would bet my last copper piece that you haven’t.  We are a rare breed, able to attack or defend with our magic.”

“Guess you can’t learn everything in school,” Evandel told himself.

“You’re inquisitive, sorcerer,” Varcor said.  “I like you.  This is not about us, so bear me no ill will for what I am about to do.”  He sheathed his blade and brought his hands close together, and a flame sprung up in the air between them.  Evandel watched that small fire grow as the prince spread his hands.  Evandel had seen a similar technique, called a focus point, used by his teachers.  It was an advanced method of casting that involved storing energy around a single point over time, then releasing it all at once.  It took incredible amounts of stamina and concentration to make it work properly, but Evandel had seen a single focus point lightning bolt shatter an entire boulder, reducing it to sand and rubble.

Unfortunately for Evandel, Varcor seemed to be very good at using a focus point spells.  The half-orc’s arms stretched out almost as far as they would reach.  The flame, nearly two yards in diameter, blazed with focused power. 

Evandel’s mind raced.  He would not have enough time to get out of the way of such a large projectile, and even if he did, he risked it hitting one of his friends.  With no other option, he started to gather the water out of the air as quickly as he could muster.  He did the only thing he could think of, bringing it to bear as a shield of ice.  In moments, he had a curved wall nearly a foot thick, but he knew it would not last long against such a blaze.

In the last moments before his ice wall was formed, he could see Varcor’s eyes through the flames.  No anger, no malice, they appeared calm and almost sad. 

The flames raged forward, carried on the will of the Firelord.  Evandel thought for the briefest moment he could see Zaken’s face, then glaring bright light overpowered his senses as his magical ice and the holy flames collided.

******

Bargo had rendered all but the last orc unconscious, when the bright flare caught his attention.  He glanced over to see a brilliant beam of fire roaring into what appeared to be a continually shifting silvery wall.  Looking more closely, he could see Evandel, his hands pressed up against the ice wall, feeding it with constant cold and keeping it from melting.

“One sec, Ev!” he shouted.  He turned to the last orc, and shrugged apologetically.  “Sorry, but I’m needed elsewhere.”

“You can’t just walk away, human!” the orc cried, swinging for his neck.  Bargo stopped the blade with his arm, and quickly grabbed a hold of it.  The orc tugged at it, futilely trying to break the man’s vice like grasp.

“I said the fight was over,” he replied, reaching for the sword on his back.  The orc’s face blanched, and he let go of his sword, turning to run.

He got about two steps before the flat of Bargo’s sword clipped him in the head.

******

Deida flinched reflexively when the beam from Varcor’s spell blasted into Evandel’s ice wall.  The cringe was poorly timed, and the big orc’s axe clipped her in the shoulder, sending her to her knees.

“Yer slippin’ lass,” the orc said, then he saw what had distracted her.  “By the shinin’ flames!  Tha’s no good!”

“What is he thinking?” Deida shouted.  “He’s going to rip right through the hill with a spell like…” she paused when she noticed the figure on the other side of the wall.  “Evandel!” she cried, and started running for him.

“Don’t even think about it, lass!” the orc warned, catching her wounded shoulder.  “It’ll burn ye afore ye even get close!”

“What do you care,” she hissed through the pain in her shoulder.  “You were about to kill me yourself, orc.”

The big orc shook his head.  “M’lord gave me an’ me lads strict orders not to kill ye if it could be helped.  We only wanted yer sorcerer.”

“Why?  If you needed this so badly, why not kill us all?”

“Methinks it was his way o’ not doin’ any more harm than necessary,” he replied, scratching his bald head.  “He didn’t even wanna do this in th’ first place.”

“Then why do it at all?” she screamed, close to tears.

The big orc closed his eyes.  “He’s doin’ it for ‘is people.  He’s our future.”

******

All around him, fire raged and ice sputtered.  Evandel could no longer feel his hands, which were channeling all the ice magic he could manage.  He knew that he would not be able to hold out much longer against the flames, and he prayed that his opponent’s willpower would not last much longer.

His concentration was beginning to wane, his thoughts distracted by images of this fire burning through the forest, ripping through trees until finally it came to Tyhal.  Consumed by flames he could almost hear the pained screams and dying voices over the flame’s crackle.  He could see then the burnt or burning bodies of his mother and grandfather, of Talhaias, and of Bargo and Deida.  Zaken’s specter loomed over it all, and it was all Evandel could do to keep from crying in outrage.

No matter what happened here, there would be no justice.

White light filled his eyes, and he could feel the Sun Symbol throbbing against his chest.  Feeling returned to his hands; and with it a strong energy the he could not describe.  He redoubled his magical efforts, putting all his energy and then some into a single focused spell.

******

Varcor saw the ice wall crack, and began a prayer to Faarthus for the poor soul he was about to free.

When the wall shattered, Golden white light burst from behind it, and Varcor could only watch in horror as a wave of golden justice tore through his spell and right into him.

******

Bargo was not sure how long he had been unconscious, or even why.  The last thing he remembered was a shining golden light…

“Ev…” he whispered, forcing himself to his feet.  He looked around, seeing no movement from the orcs he had rendered unconscious, and noticed Deida’s fallen form.  He started making his way over to her, when he saw the big orc she was fighting.

“Don’t worry, the lass is fine,” he said.  “She hit ‘er head when th’ spell knocked us back.  Yer sorcerer is out as well, but still breathin’.”

Bargo took a quick appraisal of the soldier.  He grasped his right arm as though nursing a wound, and the orc shrugged.  “I guess I took a little tumble meself.”

“Sorry about your allies,” Bargo said, looking at the orcs sprawled out on the ground.

“They’ll be the ones what are sorry,” the orc assured him, “once I’ve gotten on ‘em about losin’ to one man!  Ye must be a knight errant or summat.”

“Guilty as charged,” Bargo admitted.  “You have impressive skills yourself, if you’re able to stand up to a Kathilasi.  Silver guards?”

“Aye.”

“Thought so.”

Moments passed, and nothing was said between them.  Bargo interrupted the silence, saying, “I wouldn’t want to fight you as you are, there’s no honor in a fight like that.  I only want to get my friends somewhere safe.”

“Likewise,” the orc grunted. 

“What about your mission?” Bargo asked.  “You’ll catch darkfire from your king if you return without him.”

The orc grumbled, and pushed on his arm, making a resounding crack.  He flexed it gingerly, then moved to the spot on the ground where his axes laid.  Bargo watched him carefully, inching closer to his fallen sword, just in case.

The orc picked the weapons up, considered them, and then replaced them in their holsters.  “Yer a nice kid.  What’d you say yer name was?”

“Bargo.  You?”

“Kronta,” the orc replied, and grinned a broad friendly grin.  “If anyone asks ye, I was unconscious when ye woke up, and ye left with yer friends as fast as ye could.”

Bargo grinned as well.  “Thank you.  You don’t realize how important this mission is.”

“I reckon I do,” Kronta said.  “Varcor explained about th’ prophecy as best he could, and it seems to me yer elf buddy has some role in it.”

“That’s for sure,” Bargo said.  “He’s the chosen of Taelri.”

Kronta raised his eyebrow.  “Ye… ye don’t say?”  He cleared his throat and motioned toward the hillside.  “Ye better take yer friends and go.  Me men’ll be up any second.”

Bargo nodded, and collected his unconscious companions.  With one last nod of appreciation to Kronta, he carried his friends up over the hill and made for the forest.

Kronta shook his head.  He had some interesting questions for Iksol and the king for when he returned.  He was especially interested in why his majesty would command the chosen of Faarthus to attack the chosen of Taelri.

******

Bargo had been traveling over the hills for some time, and it was starting to get dark.  Uninjured as he was, the going was still difficult carrying two unconscious bodies.  He had far to go to get to the forest, much further still to be out of the gnolls territory.  If they came upon him like this, he could not fight off a group of gnolls and protect his friends at the same time.  He honestly had no idea how he was going to get out of this.

At least until he felt the strange gust of wind, and a figure that looked like a horse galloping across the sky descending from above.