The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (12 page)

The second orc came in fast, diving down and reaching out with his arms to grapple with Lepkin. Lepkin shot his hips back, bent his knees and grabbed the orc from above around the waist. With all his rage he hoisted the orc off his feet, flipped him over his right shoulder, and then pressed him high over his head while gripping the orc’s waist. Just when he reached the apex, and Lepkin could stretch no more, he brought the orc down hard, planting him down to land on the back of his head and neck. A thunderous
crack
sounded out and the men and orcs all gasped.

The second orc was dead.

The third came in. He offered a closed fist out in front of him to Lepkin. Lepkin knew from his understanding of orc culture that it was a sign of respect. Lepkin extended his left hand, keeping his good arm in reserve to protect against a quick attack. They touched knuckles and the orc backed away two steps. Lepkin couldn’t help but admire the orc. A human may have taken the opportunity to launch a surprise assault.

Lepkin shook out his head and then the two circled around each other. The orc came in, leading with a front snap kick. Lepkin stepped back and then to the side. The orc then shot a left roundhouse. Lepkin ducked under and then struck upward with his fist, catching the orc’s leg in the calf. The orc bounced back a couple of steps. It wasn’t a fatal blow by any means, but Lepkin saw the way the orc shifted his weight now, keeping it off his left leg.

Lepkin stepped in and shot out with a left jab. It was laughably slow, thanks to the wound. The orc swatted it away and countered with a left snap kick. Lepkin blocked it with a downward strike of his right arm, but he wasn’t fast enough to block the orc’s right cross that landed on Lepkin’s left cheek. A series of quick and strong blows pummeled Lepkin’s left side until he managed to quick-step out to the side.

The orc sent another kick, but Lepkin had expected this. He rushed in, hooking the back of the orc’s knee over his shoulder, grabbing the orc’s ankle and forcing the leg up to drive him down to the ground. The two of them thumped down and Lepkin slammed his forehead into the orc’s nose, narrowly missing putting his own eyes out on the orc’s long bottom tusks. The nose cracked and Lepkin quickly recoiled and then punished the orc with a series of three right punches that were so fast and fierce the orc’s head bounced after each one. Then the orc’s arms lost their strength and flopped to the ground. One more strike made sure it was over.

Lepkin jumped up and pointed to the next orc. His own blood covered his left arm and shoulder and the previous orc’s blood streaked across his forehead. The next foe moved in, breathing quick and eyes wide. Lepkin sneered. He charged the orc, ramming his right shoulder into the orc’s gut. He lifted him up and then slammed his onto the dirt. Lepkin twisted around, his arm seizing the orc’s neck. A moment later he jerked to the side and the orc grunted his last breath. Lepkin released the orc and watched the head drop unnaturally far behind the orc’s back before the body gave in to gravity.

The next eight met similarly gruesome fates. Within a matter of minutes all thirteen of the orcish archers were lying dead on the ground. Lepkin walked away from the field wearing nothing but the mixture of blood across his skin. The men hailed and cheered. If any orcs saw the ordeal, none of them came against the men in battle again that day.

*****

Lepkin sat on the edge of a cowhide cot, watching the field surgeon stitch his arm back together. The grunts and moans around him seemed to make his pain seem less than it was. He glanced to his right and saw a man whose leg had been so badly crushed they were preparing to cut it off above the knee. They bound him and gagged him after forcing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey down his gullet. Whatever wasn’t poured into the man’s throat went into the wound. The man howled and screamed.

“Barbarous,” Lepkin commented.

“Well,” the surgeon started as he looked down his nose at the sutures he put into Lepkin’s arm. “If we had more magic around these parts, we might have the luxury of being more humane. We do the best we can with what we have.”

Lepkin nodded and gently pulled the surgeon’s hands away from his shoulder. “I can finish this,” he said. “I have dressed my own wounds before.”

The surgeon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just don’t come whining to me when you get an infection and the fevers take you.”

“You already cleaned it,” Lepkin reminded him. “I’ll be fine with the stitches. Perhaps you can help them.”

The surgeon turned to the man about to become an amputee and shook his head. “He is a lost cause,” he said. A frown crossed his mouth and then he sighed. “I have seen a lot of wounds like this. If he survives the blood loss, the fevers will take him for sure. It’s almost impossible to remove all of the debris, but neither can they take his leg any higher up for it would prevent them from making a proper tourniquet.” He shook his head again and packed his bag. “No, I will move on to someone I can save. As much as you need to win on the battlefield, I could use a win in here tonight too.”

Lepkin nodded his understanding and began pushing the hooked needle through his skin. He pulled each stitch tight, bringing the skin together and squeezing out droplets of blood. He hurried his work and managed to finish and leave the area before the others began their work with the bone saw.

As he walked across the courtyard men stood and cheered. They saluted him and shouted his name in adoration. Soldiers turned from their fires and food and began clapping. Then, he saw Mercer coming toward him. Lepkin offered a simple nod and a wave to the others before making his way to Mercer.

“Quite a show you put on today,” Mercer said. “They are calling you the…”

Lepkin held up a hand and shook his head. “I don’t actually need to know.”

Mercer smiled. “Come, I have something to show you.” Mercer turned and limped along, leading Lepkin to the main keep. They walked in and wound their way into a side chamber off the main hall. Once inside Lepkin smiled big.

“Hi beanpole,” Al said with a great grin.

Lepkin moved in and the two clasped hands with a hearty shake. “I am not going to bow to you,” Lepkin teased.

“That is what Gorin said,” Al groused. “You tall folk simply have no respect.” Al put on a mock scowl and then folded his arms as if he was angry.

“Are you here alone?” Lepkin asked.

“No,” Al said. He looked up to Mercer and the commander nodded.

“I will leave you two alone.” Mercer turned and left the room, closing the doors behind him.

“I have some of my warriors here. I thought you could use the help.”

“How many?” Lepkin asked.

“Five hundred,” Al said beaming ear to ear. “They are being shown to their quarters as we speak. Sorry we didn’t get here in time to fight with you.”

Lepkin frowned. “I had hoped for more.”

Al shrugged. “I have three hundred north with Grand Master Penthal, two hundred in reserve at Roegudok Hall, five hundred with me, and five hundred with Faengoril to hold a new pass from the east that the Tarthuns might use.”

“Why not mobilize the Home Guard?” Lepkin asked.

Al sighed. “The Home Guard is not what it once was. It is mostly comprised of dwarves who are too old to fight on the open fields, or green recruits who have no place on the field against either orc or Tarthun.”

Lepkin nodded. “I understand.”

Al ribbed Lepkin. “Besides my five hundred will give the orcs a good fight. Better than two thousand of the beanpoles I saw hanging around these walls.”

Lepkin moved to let himself sink into a chair and looked at Al intently. “Dimwater is sick.”

Al nodded. “I saw her earlier. Marlin is with her, he will take care of her.”

Lepkin closed his eyes and sighed. “She is pregnant,” he said.

Al whistled through his teeth and tugged on his beard. “That changes things a bit then, doesn’t it?” The dwarf king moved nearby and slid himself up to sit on a table. “Listen, I have some other people here with me.”

Lepkin opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Al. “Who?”

“Lady Arkyn, Master Gorin, and Master Peren.”

Lepkin straightened in his chair and smirked. “Truly?”

Al nodded. “Listen, Gorin, Arkyn, and Peren fought with you at Lokton Manor.”

Lepkin knitted his brow together and started to shake his head, but then he understood what Al meant. “I see. Why not bring them in and let them know what really happened?”

Al shrugged. “It was an intense battle,” the dwarf king said. “Master Orres died there.”

“I know,” Lepkin said. “Erik told me of that.”

“So what do we do?” Al asked. Lepkin shrugged. Al pointed to the door. “My soldiers are sleeping tonight, and then we are going to ram our steel down so many orc throats that we will be free from this place before you know it.”

“How can you be sure?” Lepkin asked. “I have had to use my dragon form several times just to keep the orcs at bay.”

“Bah.” Al said with a wave of his hand. “Marlin told me that Erik slew Tu’luh. That is a huge victory for us. Then, you couple that with a man who faces a slew of orc archers wearing nothing but what his mother gave him and beating them all with his bare hands, and you have the makings of a demoralized army. Now, you go take care of your wife and you let me, Arkyn, Peren, and Gorin handle those pig-faced, green dogs out there.”

“Let’s not tell them about Lokton Manor, not yet,” Lepkin said.

Al nodded. “Alright. I will keep that quiet. Go and see to your wife. Peren and Arkyn are with Marlin now doing what they can.”

Lepkin smiled. “It is good to see you, my friend.” Then he pushed up, grimacing as he put weight on his left shoulder. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

*****

Gorin dropped his gear onto the sturdy bed and looked around. There were four others in the room with him. Each was assigned to a bunk bed. He slowly sat down upon the mattress, hands out and fingers splayed as if he expected to fall through the thing. The wooden beams creaked and popped as they bore the brunt of his weight. Finally sure that it would hold him, he leaned back on the mattress and kicked his legs up. His ankles and feet dangled over the foot of the bed.

Something lumpy poked into his head from under the pillow. He sat up enough to reach back and sweep his massive hand under the pillow. He pulled out a wooden doll no bigger than his pinky finger. One of the other warriors saw him and quickly came over with their hand out.

“No disrespect, sir, but that belonged to Kendral Harbov. I’ll take it.”

“I didn’t mean to take another man’s bed,” Gorin said as he sat up. “I can just as easily sleep on the floor. The mountains never offer me a mattress anyway.”

The soldier shook his head. “No, sir, he won’t be needing the bed anymore. He died today.”

Gorin could see the sadness in the man’s face. There were no tears, but there was a distance in the man’s gaze that showed he had lost someone he had known. The large warrior handed the doll over to the soldier.

“Thanks,” he said with a half-smile.

“Has the fort lost many?” Gorin probed. Some of the other soldiers sighed, others just stared at him. The soldier holding the wooden doll nodded his head.

“We hold our own well enough. The walls protect us from open battle, but for every orc we kill, two or three more arrive the next day. All of the orcs are flocking to Ten Forts. Without reinforcements, we won’t last longer than a month or two at most.”

Gorin scanned the room. It was obvious everyone else felt the same.

“We came in with five hundred dwarves,” Gorin put in quickly. “I am sure that more soldiers are well underway. King Mathias wouldn’t stick Ten Forts out in the wind.”

“I don’t see any nobleman’s sons here with us,” one of the others put in. “Admit it, you are probably only here for that little kid who disappeared.”

Gorin looked at the brown haired man and nodded. “I am here for Lepkin and Erik,” he said.

The soldier with the doll suddenly tossed it back to Gorin. “Kendral carved that to remind him of his son. He had only been with his wife for a year before he was transferred here.” The soldier gestured around the room. “Most of us are sent here for three or four years. There is never a way to say no. Noblemen, however, buy their sons out of service here.”

“Or if they do come here it is as officers,” the brown haired man said.

Gorin looked over the doll and curled his fingers around it. “The officers here are fine,” he said. “You should give this to Kendral’s boy,” Gorin instructed as he tossed the doll back. “None of you have to be here. King Mathias doesn’t compel military service. You all chose this life. So either get over it, or keep your mouth shut so you don’t taint the rest of the army with your sludge.” Gorin walked over and stood in front of the brown haired man, glowering down at him. It wasn’t that the soldier was scrawny, but compared to Gorin he seemed so short and small that a fight between the two would be about as even as a fight between a twenty year old and a twelve year old.

“I have been here for seven years,” the brown haired man said. “I have done back to back rotations here, and am on my third. I have no woman, and I haven’t seen my parents or sisters for nearly a decade. Now, there are orcs out there that wish nothing more than to put my head upon a pike. I saw what they did to some of our men. They cut their heads off and tied them to a horse. One of them they must have flayed, because they wrote a message on human skin. On
human skin!
”