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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
Talberth and Ivo stood ankle deep in rotting trash, they stared up
up and watched Derue begin his climb.
"I'll need a spell to do anything like that." said Talberth.
"In my youth I went caving and climbed up and down the caverns
beneath my home, but now...." Ivo shrugged.
"I should have gone first." spoke up Harald. "Then I could have
pulled you after me."
"That was what I was planning on." Talberth told him.
Above them Derue reached the ceiling and disappeared up into the
dark vertical tunnel. Below him Gytha held the rope and talked with
Telenstil. The cleric Henri had wandered off, he walked toward the
eastern corner of the room, Talberth always tried to keep an eye on
him, he did not trust the pholtite priest.
Edouard had never felt so alive. He burned inside even as his
blade swam with flame. A tracery of orange followed the weaving tip,
it brushed past the ogres head and set the lank and greasy locks which
grew in ragged spots, aflame.
The stairs were wide, a second ogre game up abreast of its
burning companion. It bore a long iron rod, used to prod the reluctant
orc slaves along, and jabbed it like a spear into Edouard's face.
With a backhand stroke Edouard knocked the rod away and brought
his sword round again, it struck the rod in a explosion of flames and
sparks and clove off the dull head a foot down along its length. The
other ogre beat out its burning hair, Edouard kicked high and hard, he hit
its chin, a smooth powerful blow that split the ogres lip and snapped its
head back on its short thick neck. He followed up his kick with another
slash but his arm was blocked by the iron rod. A jab caught him in the
ribs but the blow did not part the fine mail he wore or do more than
bruise his side.
Edouard sheathed the burning blade within the ogres gut. The
blade hissed like bacon fat on a pan, its point sticking from out the
ogres back, the hilt jammed tight into its hide. A laugh built up within
the mercenary and burst forth in peals of hiccuping mirth as the
ogres body burned and its innards turned to char. The iron rod clanked to
the stone steps, the ogre tried to wrestle the sword free, its hands
wrapped around the hilt and smouldered at the touch. Its companion on the
stairs balled up its fist and struck Edouard soundly in the head, he lost
his grasp and as his hand came free the flames went out.
The ogre stood there dead on its feet. Tendrils of smoke drifted
from its mouth, its hand were blackened clumps that split and showed
deep red between the cracks. Around the now unburning sword the ogres
flesh was cooked clean through, black charcoal-like near the blade and
dry brown meat halfway up its ribs.
It wavered back and forth, then stiff as a statue, it fell back
and tumbled down the long flight of stairs, each giant step like a small
cliff. The orc ran after the falling ogre, the two other brutes turned
their fists against the now swordless scout.
* * *
(To Be Continued)