Black Metal: The Orc Wars (3 page)

When he turned back he could see that Ghalik appeared to have completed his ritual, and was now standing before the gate with his feet planted and his shimmering axe held high. The shouts of the guards on the other side of the gate could be heard, drawn no doubt by the Ghalik’s incessant bellowing. The orc horde tensed as Ghalik slammed the blazing waraxe against the sturdy gate. The blast of energy was amazing as the enchanted weapon hit home. The entire gate blew apart with the sound of a thunderclap, all of the splintered wood and twisted metal bursting into flames as they flew in all directions.

The older orcs paused a moment before rushing to battle, causing the younger warriors to look about in confusion. Then an earth-shaking roar sounded from behind them. Some of the younger orcs turned to witness Lorak, or more precisely something that used to be Lorak, launch itself from its crouched position towards the smoldering gate. It still bore Lorak’s face, though its body had almost doubled in size and strength. Its nails had turned to claws and its lower teeth into tusks. Even the Ghalik hurried out of its way as it lopped past, easily covering the distance in a few strides.

Most of the guards who had gathered at the gate were dead or stunned and offered no resistance as the Lorak creature strode past them, its hungry gaze falling upon the town as alarms were raised an the townspeople began to wake. As its hulking form disappeared down the main street of town the two orcish forces moved in on either side. Now Ghalik’s plan went into action. As he had hoped, one of his warriors had been mortally wounded during the ambush, giving him a body into which he could summon the tribe’s killing spirit, the Gor-Angir. Now he wouldn’t have to sacrifice one of the orcs himself. Leadership wasn’t always about brute force alone. Fear of the Gor-Angir would keep the two raiding parties on separate sides of the city. The killing spirit would undoubtedly perish, but it would throw into chaos what defenses this port town could muster, leaving the orcs free to pillage the town without being set upon by large groups of organized troops. Ghalik smiled, this was shaping up to be a rather enjoyable evening.

The two groups of orcs headed in their respective directions, organized in that they did not stray towards the central street but otherwise moving as a seething horde of muscle and steel. The defenseless gate guards were the first to die, lying in helpless heaps as the orcs butchered them without breaking stride. Soon the gate complex was empty save for the soft moans of the dying and the sounds of battle coming from inside the town as the orc menace spread out to plunder and kill.

Ma-Gur stepped out into the main street, the smoldering creak of the blasted gateway filling the air as a wind blew up from the shore. The young orc barely noticed the icy breeze as he stare down the main street of town, after Lorak, or the Gor-Angir as Ghalik had told them. They were all to stay out of its path, skirting the edges so that the town’s defenders would be occupied with dispatching the berserk monster and not be able to mount a formidable resistance as the night wore on. Ghalik had gone with one of the groups, even the mighty wizard shied away from the killing spirit.

But they had not gazed into its eyes, thought Ma-Gur. They did not see the truth about what Lorak had become. Those eyes said ‘let the world burn’, so honest and so brutal. The young orc was mystified, desiring nothing more greatly than to witness the Gor-Angir in action. He wanted to see what it was capable of, and in many ways, what he was capable of in comparison. Ma-Gur tightened his grip on the bloody sword in his hand, slung his shield onto his arm, and took his first steps down the town’s main street.

It seemed to him as if he had been creeping along forever. All about him were burning buildings and corpses of the slain. Most of them were townsfolk, mostly women and children. Awakened from their beds no doubt. Judging from the sorts of wounds on the bodies Ma-Gur found that he was not only able to track the progress of the Gor-Angir, but could move at speed because of how messy and obvious the killing spirit’s victims were. Bodies rent to pieces were not the work of fast moving raiders with blades, but by the taloned hands of a creature from beyond the pale.

He carefully picked his way along as possible, avoiding the rampaging orcs as they glutted themselves on the vulnerable city and its inhabitants. As the young orc quickened his pace an old woman ran around the corner in panic. Almost before he realized what he was doing he had rammed his meaty fist into her jaw, snapping her head back and breaking her neck. The poor woman’s knees buckled and she collapsed as Ma-Gur continued on his way without further pause.

His blood screamed with battle lust as he heard the freakish bellowing of the killing spirit just up ahead. He broke into a dead run uphill towards what appeared to be the town square. The sounds of intense fighting could be heard coming from the square. Ma-Gur slowed his pace and peered out into the square from behind a corner.

His eyes widened at what he saw. The Gor-Angir was covered from head to foot in wounds, arrows, and broken spear tips. It was visibly weakened and appeared to be losing much of its power. Yet strewn all about the square were the broken bodies of more than a dozen men at arms and pikemen. There was still that same number standing, fighting a desperate battle with the monster.

Their strategy was simple, after losing half of their number so quickly simple tactics were all that remained for the hard-pressed survivors. They had surrounded the creature and were barely managing to keep it at bay with the combined might of their spears. As Ma-Gur watched several archers came from the vantage points of doorways and alleys to get closer to the beast for easier shots.

The young orc suddenly realized that if nothing was done the Gor-Angir was about to perish. Ma-Gur realized that the creature was meant to die, but it seemed almost an affront to the killing spirit for it to die not in battle but pin cushioned by the arrows of cowards. Summoning up all his fury and courage Ma-Gur rushed out from his hiding place.

He kept his wits about him, and instead of uttering a battle cry he allowed the crouching sound of the nearest pikeman’s head speak for him. It was only when the eyes of all the men went to him, as well as those of the Gor-Angir, that he realized how foolish he had been.

With a bestial roar the Gor-Angir lashed out and caved in the chest of a nearby man at arms. Then, with surprising agility for such a wounded and hulking creature, it spun on its heel to avoid the sword swipe of another man at arms. With a furious howl it raked its talons across the man’s midsection, spilling his steaming guts into the cold streets.

Ma-Gur tore his attention away from the creature as he suddenly found every bit of sword and shield training he had ever received tested by two men at arms intent on ending his life. He backed towards the center of the square as he gave ground to his attackers. He took a chance move and allowed a strike past his guard, catching the oncoming blade at the last moment in the shield’s sword-breaking grove. His luck held as he turned the shield aside, both breaking the blade and leaving the man at arms unable to parry the blow that separated his head from his shoulders.

Before the young orc could recover from his strike the other man at arms closed in for a vicious stab at his midsection. Ma-Gur did not try to parry the attack, but instead closed distance himself and twisted his body away from the blow. The sharp blade passed right by as Ma-Gur pirouetted and brought his shield around to bash in the back of the human’s skull. Ma-Gur smiled savagely at the sound of breaking bone and crushed metal as the man at arms flew forwards and to the ground.

His reverie was interrupted by a deep rumbling sound with filled him with its menace. He turned towards the source of the sounds and his blood run cold as he found himself face to face with the Gor-Angir. It paused for a moment, the din of battle seeming to melt away for that one instant that the two locked eyes.

Ma-Gur knew he was about to die. The look in the killing spirit’s eyes made it plain enough. He suddenly shook his head violently, clearing away the lethargy that the maddening gaze had set upon him. The Gor-Angir’s keen senses picked up on Ma-Gur’s return to awareness, it roared in its un-slakeable bloodlust as it dashed towards the young orc.

All the while the two creatures had been staring each other down the human warriors had not been idle. They had reformed their shattered circle and were closing in for the kill, the heads of their pikes glittering in the firelight.

Ma-Gur jumped back away from the killing spirit, and was about to turn and run when a sudden pain in his shoulder flooded his perception. Maybe the spell was real after all he thought as he reached up to grasp the spear point that was protruding from underneath his left collarbone. As an orc he was relatively capable of withstanding pain, yet as a flesh and blood creature he realized that he was not without his limits.

The Gor-Angir had nearly reached the young orc as Ma-Gur spun on his heel to face the spearman. In the process of turning around Ma-Gur was able to break the shaft of the spear, thus regaining control over his movements. As the human reeled in surprise the orc roughly grabbed the man underneath the armpits, and with a desperate snarl turned and hurled him towards the oncoming monster.

The killing spirit was distracted by the spearman flying through the air towards it. Though only for a moment as it swatted the poor man savagely in mid-air as if it were batting away meddlesome insects. Ma-Gur gaped in disbelief as the power and strength of the creature, even as it bore down on him, surely to end his life.

Again Ma-Gur forced him to snap out of the mental stasis that the presence of the creature seemed to cause. He turned once more to flee only to find his way barred by several of the surviving pikemen. Ma-Gur put on a burst of speed as he let out a war cry and raised his sword in a suicidal charge. The pikemen resolutely set their weapons to meet his charge, their faces masks of determination tinged with a fear of not only Ma-Gur, but also the abomination that swept along just behind the muscular young orc.

As the distance between Ma-Gur and the sharp points of the human’s pikes shortened the Gor-Angir was beginning to stretch out its massive taloned hands. At the last instant Ma-Gur lowered his sword and ducked into a roll, his body careening across the ground in a somersault and through the legs of the center pikeman. The orc’s momentum carried him through the pikemen’s line, knocking the luckless human to the ground. Ma-Gur rose from his tumble at a dead run, making for the raised edge of the town square. If he could just clear the wall he would be able to escape the monster, perhaps even survive to join his blood brothers in battle elsewhere.

The fallen pikeman rose to his knees just in time to see the taloned hand that swooped down to rend his throat. The other two humans made a valiant attempt to save their comrade. One took a step forward and plunged his weapon’s point deep into the creature’s thigh. While he was attacking the other warrior made a jab at the Gor-Angir’s misshapen skull.

The enraged killing spirit lashed out with its talons, and the warrior striking at its head disappeared in a spray of blood and bone. The warrior who had managed to wound it found himself lifted up brutally by the jaw. He was unconscious from the pressure of the creature’s grip almost instantly, so did not notice as his neck snapped as his body was flung through the air.

Ma-Gur reached the wall in a panic. He knew the thing was behind him, and it did not sound like the spearmen had stalled it for very long. He dared not look back however, preferring to keep his eyes on the wall that would help him survive this mess. The young orc barely paused to check what was on the other side or how far the drop was as he vaulted the high wall.

In midair he was struck with the corpse of a human warrior, the blow knocking him nearly senseless. He crumpled to the ground after a short fall, which hurt only because he failed to land his feet.

The Gor-Angir was preparing to leap off the wall after the young orc when several arrows thudded into its back. It turned quickly to meet the new threat, and found itself faced with half a dozen human warriors, battered but not broken, and charged.

Ma-Gur quickly climbed to his feet. The blow from the corpse had winded him, but not enough to cool the fires of fear. He snatched up his sword and fled deeper into the village.

For many long hours the town burned. The cold night was warmed by the blazing of fire and the steam of spilt blood. Many dramas and tragedies were played out under the unblinking gaze of the stars. It was a long time before the clash of steel ceased or the keening of the wounded and grieving grew silent.

As the first light of dawn crept over the mountains the kiss of the sun fell upon a burned husk of a town, a shadow of what it once was. Where there were once longhouses and meadhalls there were smoldering ruins and piles of ash. Where there were once people conducting their morning business now there were only orcs.

They moved silently about the dead city, plundering the area for what booty could be salvaged. Most of them had been to intent upon battle and murder to concern themselves with wealth. So it was with their kind, setting fire to the corpses of both man and orc, even the mutilated corpse of the Gor-Angir after it had finally fallen to the desperate might of the defenders. As dawn became morning the orcs waded back to their boats and set off for home. The older warriors were stoic and proud, Ghalik had once again delivered the enemy into their hands, another victory for the living legend. The younger warriors acted as if in a daze, still intoxicated by the rush of battle and pain.