Invasion (5 page)

“Do you have no honour?” she spat at him.

He didn’t reply, only produced the dagger that she had struck him with and threw it down beside her. For a moment she figured he meant for her to finish herself off as she had suggested to him earlier. But then he walked away.

She watched his movement carefully as she retrieved the dagger and started to cut away at the shaft of the arrow. The movement sent waves of pain through her body and for a moment she thought she may lose consciousness but she continued nonetheless. Gilkan reached the edge of the arena and stopped near the archer.

The crowd watched on quietly.

Suddenly he lifted his sword and thrust it right through the orc, looking into his eyes as he did so. Gilkan removed his sword and let the body crumple and then made his way back over to her.

“Can you continue?” he asked as she snapped the shaft of the arrow and tossed it aside.

“I can,” she replied. Her surprise was complete when he reached down and offered her a hand up. She took the offer on good faith.

“I assure you that I did not arrange that,” he said as she stood on wobbly legs.

She nodded her understanding. Hearing the crowd’s reaction to the dishonourable act she didn’t doubt his words. If he had arranged it and let the archer live, he would have lost his right to rule anyway. 

“Will you allow me to use magic to remove the rest of the arrow?” she asked.

“I cannot allow that. The rules stipulate no magic during a Challenge Festival no matter the circumstances. Justice was done to the interfering orc.” Gilkan took a few tentative steps back from her and readied his sword.

Sylestra placed the bloodied dagger back in her belt and held her own sword at the ready, struggling to ignore the crippling pain in her chest. She needed to finish this fight soon or she would lose consciousness which would spell her own doom.

She swung a right-to-left which Gilkan managed to block. The jarring impact of the connecting weapons sent ripples of pain through her body. However, Gilkan grimaced — he had lost a lot of blood and was also likely fighting off unconsciousness. She wondered briefly what would happen if they both passed out, or even died. No conditions had been made for that eventuality.

Putting that thought aside, along with her chest pain, she went into a quick, but basic attack routine — right-to-left, left-to-right and then jab. Gilkan deflected the first, blocked the second but proved too slow to fully retreat from the jab and so suffered another puncture wound to his stomach. He staggered backwards and his eyes went vacant momentarily. Sylestra took advantage of that moment and swung her sword high, slicing Gilkan’s jugular. Blood spewed forth from his mouth moments before he collapsed. Showing a rare moment of mercy, she plunged her sword into his heart.

The crowd gasped as one and dizziness overcame her. She dropped to her knees.

A moment later the orc announcer stood over her with a wrinkled brow.

“Can I use magic now?” she asked weakly.

“Your opponent is dead. The Challenge Festival has been decided. You are now permitted to use magic,” he replied formally.

She summoned all her remaining strength and uttered a quick, silent prayer to Nefari before uttering the words of a spell. The magic flowed through her body as she formed into a black mist to be carried on the gentle breeze. The remainder of the arrow dropped to the ground from her incorporeal form. Silently speaking the word to cancel the spell she took her solid state once again.

The wound in her chest had sealed over, but the exertion of the spell casting had taken its toll. She collapsed and blackness overtook her.

Chapter 4

Escape Plans

Master Pilk awoke.

He listened carefully for any sign of alarm but none could be heard. He felt refreshed as though he had enjoyed a good eight hours sleep, but that didn’t seem to be the case. It had been near to midday when he had gone off to get some sleep so that would make it well into the evening by now. Although the air was cooler, rays of sunlight still filtered into the log constructed building.

When he made his way outside, he soon judged it to be dinner time, as the smells of cooking food assaulted his senses. His stomach grumbled reminding him that he had skipped lunch in an attempt to get to sleep quicker.

He sought out the closest camp fire where a soldier served him a bowl of lamb stew. As he ate he listened to the talk of the soldiers to catch up with anything he may have missed — very little it seemed. No attempt had been made by the Ta’zu to come through the Gate and Major Hillsworth had heeded his counsel and not sent the army to attack them.

Occasionally four dwarves holding tower shields had been sent to keep an eye on the Ta’zu army. They had reported that the army were assembling more ballistae, but otherwise appeared to be preparing for a long stay — cleaning up the camp, fixing buildings, erecting tents.

Something wasn’t making sense to Master Pilk. Why was Sylestra taking so long? She could get her army here, so why wasn’t she sending everything she had? What had held her up?

He finished his stew and hurried off to the Gate. He was delighted to see that it looked to be sky blue. The wizards were hard at work. Whatever delayed Sylestra, Master Pilk hoped it continued. Clearing his mind, he joined his wizard friends and started throwing his magic at the Gate.

Sylestra opened her eyes slowly. They took some time to focus. She lay on a soft bed in a lavishly decorated, but unfamiliar room. The bed looked much smaller than hers and while it had four posts, it had no sliding curtains. The smell was not altogether unpleasant but certainly not feminine.

The room held very little furniture, but what it did have was finely crafted. A desk with a high backed chair sat at the far end of the room and a matching pair of dresser drawers stood on either side of the bed. A solid looking chest with metal banding was positioned on the floor next to the desk.

As she became more conscious she noticed an orc guard standing by the door. Her memory of the fight with Gilkan came flooding back. The orc guard was the captain of those that had escorted her to the arena. She took comfort in the fact that an orc from her tribe stood guard instead of one from the Black Skull.

Realisation struck her then. The Black Skull was now her tribe. She had won the Challenge Festival despite being shot by an arrow. But how long ago had that been? How long had she been unconscious? She got up suddenly and her head swam. The Captain hurried to her side.

“Are you okay, Supreme Mistress?” he asked.

“Yes — yes I’m fine. I just got up a little too quickly. How long have I been out?” Her vision cleared and her head settled.

“Four or five hours, Supreme Mistress,” he replied.

“Where is General Jak’ho?” she asked.

“Still outside the city walls. They wouldn’t open the gates until your condition was known.” He stood back from her as she swung her legs to the side of the bed.

“I imagine that didn’t sit too well with the General?” Sylestra stood up on wobbly legs. The Captain grabbed her by the arm to steady her and then looked at her in horror, obviously worried that he had overstepped his bounds. Sylestra smiled and nodded and he relaxed.

“He threatened to knock down the city gates and let himself in. He even started lining up our remaining siege weapons to back up the threat,” replied the Captain finally.

“I imagine it’s more of a promise from General Jak’ho and no idle threat,” said Sylestra smiling. “Come on, I had better go and sort out this mess and then we have work to do.” The Captain let go of her arm and started heading for the door. Sylestra wobbled and almost collapsed.

“Don’t let go of my arm,” she screamed. The orc sped back to her side with a bowed head and downcast eyes.

The Captain led her from the room and along a short, carpeted hallway and into a dining room. At the large table sat the announcer wearing less colourful clothing — his previous outfit had no doubt been for show. He looked up from his plate of food and rose to his feet.

“It is good to see you on the mend, Supreme Mistress.” The orc bowed his head in respect. He had no doubt already been instructed as to how to address her and he did it with such grace and ease that it gave her a fair indication of his previous position.

“You were the head servant to Gilkan?” she asked, seeking clarification.

“My name is Biv’rak,” replied the orc. “Head servant is an apt title. My responsibilities were many and varied.”

“You are in charge now then?” she asked, testing the orc.

“I believe that is now your role, Supreme Mistress,” replied Biv’rak subjectively.

“Well answered, and don’t you forget it,” she said with a firm voice.

“Indeed I won’t, Supreme Mistress. I didn’t like the Fierce One anyway as he killed my brother and flaunted the fact on a daily basis.” Biv’rak looked up at her with sincerity in his eyes. This orc would cooperate eagerly with her — the slayer of his brother’s killer.

“First things first,” she said, not wanting to waste time, “we must open all the city gates and let the Ta’zu army in. Then I want all the shamans brought to me. Can you arrange that?”

“At once, Supreme Mistress. Although forgive my boldness, but not all of the Black Skull will be so eager to let the Ta’zu into Gnash.” Biv’rak lowered his head.

“Then send all that are not needed to open the gates to the arena. I will speak to them there,” she ordered. “They will soon learn that they are much better off under my leadership.”

“Of course, Supreme Mistress. It will be done.” Biv’rak bowed his head low and then scurried off.

“Now, let’s go to the western gate and meet General Jak’ho,” she said turning to the Captain.

Gerard and Jeff entered the Bathhouse together and searched for Major Isak and Jerzy, with whom they had made arrangements to meet here the night before. The Bathhouse consisted of ten long baths which were fed by a small fountain at one end while the water drained at the other. Gerard figured that the water would be filtered and recycled although looking at the colour of the water he wasn’t sure about the filtering process.

The baths were divided by paved pathways allowing access to them from both sides. At one end of the large room were raised streams where the slaves washed their clothes. Beyond those streams were a number of drying rooms where constantly fed fires dried the hanging clothes. The whole process was quite ingenious and efficient.

It didn’t take long to locate the boisterous dwarves and they made room beside Major Isak. They kept the conversation light while an orc guard stood in earshot, but when he moved on they started discussing escape plans.

“We’re going to need weapons — and armour would be good too,” said Gerard in quiet tones while looking at Jerzy and the dwarf he had been told was Thirak Bomstotter who had been the leader of the captured dwarf squad. “Do you think you can acquire some?”

“Ay, weapons should be easy ‘nough. Armour could be a problem tho’, laddie. Most th’ armour we be makin’ is for orcs, tho’ apparently they ‘ave be’n craftin’ human armour too, but certainly no dwarf armour,” said Thirak.

“Not to mention the time it’d take for us to put on the armour,” added Major Isak. “I doubt we’ll have that sort of time.”

“Good point,” said Jeff. “The sooner we’re on our way the better.”

“Okay. Forget about the armour then, just get weapons. We’ll also need as many water skins as we can carry and food. Jeff and I can arrange the food,” said Gerard.

“I can arrange the skins from the Leatherworkers’ Shop,” said Major Isak.

“Excellent. Other than that we’ll all need to keep an eye out. We need to know everything — the guards’ patrol routes and times, systems, compound and building layouts, locked doors and whatever else you find of interest. We’ll pool our knowledge each day here until we’ve figured out a workable plan.” They all voiced their agreement and went back to talking about mundane things as a guard returned.

Feeling much cleaner, Gerard left the Bathhouse a short while later with Jeff by his side. Both lost in their own thoughts, they talked very little on their way home. Once Gerard had said goodbye to Jeff he went to visit Sarai to see if he could garner any more information from her.

She answered the door in the same black silk night-dress and beckoned him in somewhat hesitantly. Gerard took a seat at the small dining table which looked identical to the one in his own residence and waited for her to sit opposite him before speaking.

“I apologise for leaving you the way I did yesterday, but after hearing what you told me I had to speak with a friend immediately.”

Sarai nodded, “This friend is from your world too?”

“Yes, there were a few of us captured by Sylestra.” Gerard shuffled around in his chair and leant forward.

“You do not use the Supreme Mistress’s title? Is this the custom on your world to so dishonour one of high station?”

Gerard sighed. This would prove to be a very long conversation.

“To me she is my captor, an enemy, and therefore not worthy of my respect. But let me start from the beginning and I’ll tell you of how I ended up here and then you can ask me as many questions as you like.”

After Sarai gave him the go ahead, Gerard explained how a magical gate mysteriously appeared not too far from his farmhouse and how his son and his son’s best friend had discovered it.

He explained about his first confrontation with these orcs and how he and Jeff had killed the two scouts. He fought back tears when he told her about finding his wife and daughter dead after returning from informing the Duke of Arthea. Tears formed in the corner of Sarai’s eyes as she listened intently.

He told her how he had rushed off to confront the murdering orcs with his son at his side. It had been the last time he had seen his son as he ran out with Trent to direct the fleeing soldiers. The Black Skull had captured him and offered the release of himself and all the other captives in exchange for knowledge and that had led to the treacherous release where they had to fight an army of the Red Axe tribe in order to escape alive — many did not.

His story continued with the theft of the river boats and the tending of the wounded as they floated away from danger; their trek south along the Black Skull border where they were finally confronted by Sylestra and her army and once again taken prisoner.

“You must be a mighty warrior to survive all of that,” said Sarai after a moment’s silence.

“A fair degree of luck was involved too,” added Gerard.

“I am sorry for the loss of your wife,” said Sarai sincerely, “while it may not be entirely the same, my breeding partner was recently sacrificed and I cared for him a great deal.”

“And that is why I must escape this place,” said Gerard without thinking.

“Escape? But surely that’s impossible.” Incredulity laced Sarai’s voice and her eyes widened.

“Difficult, but not impossible if we set our minds to it. Any information you can give me about this place would be a great help,” replied Gerard.