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They'd ridden through the dark of night and pressed on, though day had broken across the land. The night's wet storm had passed before the rising of the sun, already the muddy track was drying out. Sometime during the night their trail had taken them north and now they rode with a forest at their right.
"Yes, better than in our eyes." Emiel agreed.
"I would rather be riding into the sun." Ted spoke up. "I would rather be leaving this land. I'd like to ride east and never stop."
"Thaddeus..." Emiel began to say, and turned his head to face the trailing man. A whistling sound interrupted him, his horse reared and Ragnar saw that from its side a black fletched arrow had appeared.
From the edge of the wood on their right a pack of wolfriders disengaged. Behind them a band of orcs appeared, then, first one, then another brutish ogre. Nearer at hand, a score of goblin archers stood, rising from the field of weeds and brush upon their left. They loosed another volley, ragged but close.
Ted sprouted three wooden shafts. One pierced his neck, two others in his back. His horse took the greater wounds. It ran, streaming blood down its flank, and charged the goblins on their wolves. An ogre struck it down using a massive wooden club and Ted fell among the orcish band. Ragnar watched with helpless rage as they circled the fallen man, swords and axes flashing in the sun.
Emiel rode through the group of archers, trampling them under hoof and spearing them with his sword. They ran, and for a brief moment Emiel hunted them and sent them running, but the goblins, mounted on their wolves, caught him from behind.
An axe was no riders toy. Ragnar reined in his horse and swung a leg free, but as he did his horse began to fall. He yelled and tried to jump away but his foot was caught. He slipped, his ankle turned and twisted in the stirrup and then his lifeless horse came crashing down. He sank into the muddy road. It saved his leg, but he could not pull it free.
***
Emiel's horse stamped at the wolves which harried at its legs. A hoof lashed out and crushed a canine skull and sent its goblin rider spinning off like a tumbling circus clown.
Eight wolves remained. Their riders cut and stabbed at the horse's belly. It bled from a dozen shallow wounds and mad with fear it bucked and pulled the reins from Emiel's grasp. He jumped away and rolled, the horse ran off, the pack of wolves smelled blood, and fear, and followed in pursuit. Emiel could hear the goblinriders curse and saw them strain to turn their hairy mounts, but to no avail.
The band of orcs, their swords dripping red with Ted's lifeblood, ran ahead of the ogre pair. They passed around Ragnar, thinking him dead or stunned, and charged Emiel, screaming with swords upraised.
"Sunne! Kakar-lux!" Emiel shouted, pointing his golden blade at the charging band. A blinding flash pulsed out and the orcs' cries changed to screams of fear.
Ragnar had not lain idle, though as the orcs passed he did hold still his axe at hand, ready to make some last, hopeless strike. As they went by he sat up again and used a knife kept at his belt to cut the saddle strap. With the extra slack he pulled his foot from beneath the dead horse's weighty side and cut his ankle free.
"What's this?" a rocky voice declared. Above him, standing just beyond the horse's body, was a bull-necked ogre. It turned and called to another of its kind, bull-necked as well and helmed with a roughbeaten iron pot.
"Another bag of flesh for us to pound into a pulp." its partner laughed. One walked around the left, the other to the right.
Ragnar scrabbled in the muddy track then pulled himself to his feet, his dagger in his left hand and his axe hanging from his right. He blinked, a wave of red flashed by his closed eyes. An ogre screamed and the other charged straight for Ragnar, its wooden club drawn back to strike the northman down.
***
Emiel glowed softly with a golden light. He ran and killed, his sword controlled his hand. The helpless orcs had no chance. They could not see. Blinded by the flash, they fell with mortal wounds, a swordthrust through the heart, a head lopped off, no fight this but murder, executions one after another.
***
Ragnar ducked beneath the wooden club, and in return he stabbed and drove the topspike of his axe through leatherarmored chest and deep into a lung. The ogre cursed and pulled away, a bloody bubble popped atop the wound, then frothed with a pale-red foam. Ragnar struck again but cut away only chain and hide that were wrapped around a thick forearm.
The ogre buffeted him with a backhand blow that grazed his chin. The wood passed just beneath and barely touched, but it knocked Ragnar from his feet and nearly broke his jaw. He landed sitting hard upon the ground, the knife dropped from his hand. Ragnar took the axe in a double fist and swung out ankle high. Into a thick boot it went, then into the flesh beneath. The ogre hopped away, not crippled but with a stinging wound.
***
A score of orcs had charged Emiel, half now lay slain beneath his blade, but the blinding flash had worn away. As Emiel stabbed, the orc moved aside, the sword cut flesh and scored a shoulder-bone but did not kill. It took a second slash to fell the orc and then nine angry swords faced his single golden blade.
***
The ogre bled and Ragnar did not. He laughed as it limped on a wounded leg, then turned his back and ran. The ogre roared behind him. Its partner stood, club beneath an arm, both hands rubbed at smarting eyes. It did not see Ragnar's approach. He struck it with the full strength of arms and shoulders. The curved edge went home, cut through a thick, hide vest and deep into its vitals. The ogre woofed, he'd struck at solar plexus and knocked out its wind as well as causing a deadly wound. It doubled up and sucked in air, the club fell from its arms as it wrapped itself in pain. Ragnar turned to face the other of the ogre pair.
***
Emiel felt the sword go in, felt it slide past ribs and scrape on the monster's spine. The thrust had brought the orc close in, he grabbed it by its throat and squeezed, and a wild surge ran through him. His claws cut veins and arterys. The orc fell back and fountained blood, then collapsed, its blade stuck out unnoticed from Emiel's chest.
Seven orcs remained, but wary now, they spread out and formed a circle around Emiel. He closed and felt a blade cut him from behind. It opened him from neck to waist, but did not slow him down. His golden blade took another life and only six orcs now stood to fight him.
***
Axeblade chopped but was stopped by wooden club. It stuck a moment and the ogre threw Ragnar aside like a child's ragged doll. He was soaked with mud, but still unhurt, and he laughed as he pulled himself to his feet.
In reply the ogre bellowed and ran stiff-legged at Ragnar. The road was slick, Ragnar used it to his advantage. He let the ogre stumble on, then jumped aside and slashed it from behind. It swung at him, a desperate lunge. With its balance lost, the blow helped to send it headlong, face down across the muddy road.
The ogre pushed itself up on hands and knees but turned as Ragnar charged. Its club lashed out and caught him in the side, 'those ribs again' he thought, but his axe came down and took the ogre's arm away.
***
A rush of bodies buried Emiel, four desperate forms, their numbers thinned. Why would this man not die?.
His sword was torn away as a dying orc sheathed it in its chest wedging the golden blade between its ribs. The golden glow surrounding Emiel disappeared like a candleflame snuffed out.
A sword came down and Emiel raised his arm to block it. There was a meaty thud and a sudden numbness, the orc's blade had cut his arm away. Three pig-like faces grinned at him, he smiled back at them.
With his one good hand Emiel reached out and sunk sharp claws into a hairy calf, the orc howled in pain. He pulled the monster from its feet and in a single, twisting leap, sprang up. Emiel sank his teeth into an orcish throat, then let the body drop. A single standing orc looked on in shock, then turned to run away.
***
The ogre rose and reached down for the wooden club, but it found it held its severed arm instead. It blanched and tossed the limb away and as it reached again, Ragnar struck. He tried to strike it low but still notched his blade on the ogre's iron helm. He cracked the skull and the ogre dropped like a slaughtered cow, lifeless, in a heap.
***
The orc could not escape so it turned and fought. Its sword slashed into Emiel's side, one more awful wound that he ignored. He killed it with tooth and claw, but as he did a shadow crept up over him. With a blood-stained mouth he looked up, and as he did a wooden club smashed down. Emiel's shoulder broke as the club knocked him flat, face forward into the oerth.
Blood poured over him as he lay stunned, a great, unstoppable flow. Ragnar's axe had opened the ogre's chest, but it used what strength and life it still possessed to strike and strike again at Emiel as he lay stunned and helpless on the ground.
* * *
(To Be Continued)