Choices in the Dark
Right and wrong look different in dim light.
This story is my only excursion into fanatsy, so far, and ran in the anthology Shadows & Light II, from Pill Hill Press. I hope you enjoy. might be off the air for the next week or so. I have a couple of items to deal with. See you on the other side.
Choices in the Dark
by Ray Tabler
Shmaldath looked up from the soup he was stirring to see Hrolf, Lars' son, emerge from the forest, carrying his wife's severed head by her long, blond hair. The Norseman strode through the dawn's mist, flung the gruesome trophy to one side as he approached the campfire Hrolf studiously ignored the severed head.
Hrolf cleaned gore from his sword on a patch of dewy grass. A moment's rummaging in his kit brought forth a leather bag containing whetstone, oil, and other accoutrements for the care of blades. With practiced motions Hrolf examined the blade, cleaned it more thoroughly and set about restoring the keen edge. Hacking through vertebrae tends to dull a blade.
"Well, orc, is it still there?" Hrolf asked wearily, testing the new edge with a callused thumb.
Shmaldath looked up from his soup again to where the head had rolled under a scrubby thorn bush. The beautiful, blue eyes were open wide, staring at him in terror.
"Not dawn, yet." Shmaldath replied in halting words. His tongue was not well suited to the language of men.
Shmaldath dipped a cup of soup and set it down in front of his companion. The Norseman, wrapped himself in a cloak made from the pelt of some monstrous north woods bear, and brooded at his breakfast.
While he waited for his own serving of soup to cool, Shmaldath watched the head under the bush. He smelled it too. The aroma of drying blood and still warm flesh awoke old memories; black nights, anguished screams, and hot blood coursing down his chin.
Shmaldath sighed gently. That was in his past now. He'd taken the Vow, for better or worse.
The sun peeked over the horizon, golden and red. Light flooded the meadow and reached the severed head. The blonde hair and the staring, blue eyes dissolved into a swirl of sparkling points of light. And then they were gone, leaving a slight depression in the dew-laden grass.
"Head gone." Shmaldath rumbled in a gravelly voice.
Hrolf drew the cloak about himself tightly and wept tears of bitter relief.
Shmaldath waited for his companion to regain his composure. After a while Shmaldath nodded to the crude earthenware cup in front of Hrolf and reminded. "Eat soup."
Mechanically, the Norseman sipped at his meal without enjoyment. "There are only two left." Hrolf gripped the cup with white knuckles. "What if I choose the wrong one tonight?"
"Chose right last four nights."
"By Thor's beard, it felt like hours standing there trying decide which two were the false Schoenhildas and which one was the real one!"
"Mmm." Shmaldath grunted, obscurely.
Hrolf's face hardened as he looked up at the orc. The Norseman's hand strayed towards the hilt of his sword. "And a fat lot of help you are, sitting out here while I have to trudge into this accursed forest night after night to behead a fair maid that may or may not be my wife!"
Shmaldath shifted uncomfortably at the movement of Hrolf's hand to his weapon. "Shmaldath come if could. Rules-"
"I know the bloody rules, you black-hearted creature! There's been naught else on my mind for the past year, since the night Nehlocroft magicked my beloved away." A chill wind blew across the meadow at the uttering of the dark lord's name. Shmaldath's ears twitched as he barely caught the sound of lilting laughter from the forest.
Hrolf's face grew grimmer still. "'Come fetch her, he taunted me. Aye, I came. I trekked a thousand leagues to this hot, dank land. I consorted with an orc, because he knows the country."
Hrolf drained the last of the soup.
"And I've abided by those thrice damned rules, because if I don't my wife will die. That is, if I don't kill her myself first." The Norseman looked at the rising sun. "If so, she will not die alone. When that sun next rises..." Hrolf blinked with deliberation. He seemed to be having trouble focusing. He raised the cup to stare at it. "This soup...You've drugged me, you foul orc scum-"
Hrolf slumped sideways in a boneless heap. Shmaldath grunted again and tossed his own, untouched portion of the drugged soup out on the ground. With a cat-like grace surprising in one of his immense frame, the orc moved around the fire and went to work on the unconscious Norseman.
The sun was near the western horizon when Hrolf dragged himself from drugged slumber. His mind was still dulled and he wondered what had happened. Then the Norseman's eyes focused on Shmaldath's dark, flat face in front of him and his wits returned with a crisp snap.
"You stinking orc, I'll rip your head off and beat you to death with it!" Hrolf attempted to do just that, and was only prevented by the fact that Shmaldath had bound him hand and foot securely to an oak tree.
After a minute or so of struggling Hrolf started to foam at the mouth. Shmaldath realized the Norseman was going to hurt himself. The orc slapped Hrolf across the face several times to bring him out of the gathering berserker rage. It worked. Hrolf still thrashed and growled, but some measure of rationality had returned to his furious blue eyes.
"Shmaldath not foe." The orc held his hand out in a reassuring gesture. "Shmaldath go get wife. Bring here." He pointed to the ground.
Hrolf stared and then tried to break free again. The ropes holding him to the tree creaked. "No! you won't be able to tell which one she is. You'll pick the wrong one!"
"Shmaldath can tell. Shmaldath bring wife here." The orc carefully leaned Hrolf's battleaxe against the tree, close enough for the Norseman to reach. "Get loose from tree, but no follow. No break rules. Only one in forest, Hrolf or Shmaldath, not both."
Hrolf fixed his orc companion with a bleak stare.
"Shmaldath pick right one. Hrolf get loose. Be ready. Foe not happy when Shmaldath bring Hrolf's wife out."
Hrolf grasped the haft of the axe and awkwardly maneuvered the blade up to begin sawing at the ropes. Shmaldath cast a longing glance at the battleaxe, and then turned to the forest. From the gathering gloom of dusk and the trees the orc heard the Norseman's vow echo.
"You'd better bring her back, orc! Bring her back safe and sound or there won't be realm far enough or hole deep and black enough for you to hide from my wrath!"
Shmaldath loped into the forest. Within a few dozen paces the trees closed in so he couldn't see the camp behind him. Even his orcish eyes, bred for the dark, strained to distinguish shadow from substance in this place.
The orc stopped and dropped to a crouch. The tips of his ears twitched left and right. He drank in the forest scents, paused, and bent to sniff at the mossy earth.
So Shmaldath moved for a short while, bent or on all fours, following the trail of what he sought like a monstrous, shaggy black hound. Presently the hunting orc glimpsed his quarry through the trees and slowed, silently flitting between shadows. With consummate grace he approached from behind and paused.
The small winged form of a pixie, no larger than a sparrow tugged a red berry from a bush. Shmaldath struck like black lightning, snatching the burdened pixie out of mid-air. The berry flew to one side pattering leaves in the gathering darkness.
"Aaah!" The pixie screamed as Shmaldath enclosed him within a cage of sturdy, black fingers.
"Quiet now, screaming makes me nervous. And my fingers get twitchy when I'm nervous." Shmaldath squeezed the pixie slightly to emphasize his warning. He spoke the dark language much more eloquently than the only speech he shared with Hrolf.
"Easy! Easy, big guy. Let's just calm down and talk about this." The pixie recovered quickly, once he realized Shmaldath wasn't going to kill him right away. Shmaldath got a good grip on the pixie's wings between his thumb and index finger and held the little fellow so they could talk face to face.
"What's your name, little one?"
The pixie considered this question and then shrugged. "Faldo."
"Hello Faldo, I'm Shmaldath, pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Wish I could say the same. What do you want?"
"You're a direct one, aren't you Faldo. I can respect that. Very well, I'll come right to the point. I want you to lead me to the lord of this forest."
"What? You want to find Nehlo-" Faldo stopped himself, glanced about and then continued in a whisper. "You actually want to find Nehlocroft?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I want, and you'll lead me to him."
"Oh no! Ohhh no, I am not leading you to him. That would be suicide. He takes being a dark lord very seriously and I do not want to give him an opportunity to come up with some mean and nasty way for me to die."
Shmaldath sighed. "You have a choice to make, my insolent little friend. You can lead me to Nehlocroft, or I can just eat you now and find someone else to do it. Decide. I haven't got all night."
"You're bluffing."
"I think I'll start with your wings." Shmaldath twisted Faldo around to peer at the wings in question. "They look crunchy, and I do love crunchy foods."
Faldo rubbed his forehead with the palm of a hand. "Why did I even get up this evening?"
"You have to take an oath first."
"You don't miss a trick, do you Shmally?"
"I try. Here, hold this while you swear." Shmaldath brought forth a talisman.
Faldo grasped the object. "I, Faldo, swear to lead Shmaldath to Nehlocroft." He whispered the name.
"Before midnight."
"Before midnight."
"On your wings."
Faldo set his teeth and gritted out. "On my wings."
The talisman glowed briefly with the magic of the oath.
"Hey, what is this thing?" Faldo bent to examine the object he'd sworn on.
"It's a ring, woven from my hair." Shmaldath answered.
"But nobody carries that but-" Faldo slapped his forehead. "You're one of those."
Shmaldath chuckled. "Yes, I'm one of those. I've taken the Vow."
Faldo was angry at being tricked. "You were bluffing. You wouldn't have eaten me. You wouldn't even have harmed me."
"Probably not, but your wings do look awfully crunchy."
Shmaldath relaxed his grip. Faldo bobbed up and down for a moment as the circulation returned to his wings. "Let's get this over with."
Faldo buzzed along at eye level. Shmaldath followed him deeper into the forest.
"You're here with that big fellow, the one with horns sticking out of his helmet, aren't you?"
"That's Hrolf."
"He nearly stepped on my cousin Meltan, stomping through here the other night. We thought there was a bull crashing about in the underbrush."
"Sorry, but he probably didn't even notice. Poor guy's had a lot on his mind lately."
"What's his problem?"
Shmaldath shrugged. "I don't have all the details, something about trouble with frost giants, up north. The giants hired Nehlocroft to steal his wife. You can ask him if you'd like."
"No thanks." The pixie flew along, arms crossed sullenly. "So, how did you and Hrolf the giant stomper end up joined at the hip?"
"Oh, I got myself into a little trouble back where I live-"
"You, trouble? Hard to believe."
Shmaldath chuckled. "I... strayed from the Vow. Helping Hrolf is my penance for that."
"You must have strayed pretty far to be saddled with this."
Shmaldath sighed. "There was a... situation. I thought I was doing the right thing to bend the rules. Things didn't work out. People died."
The orc fingered his talisman. "When Hrolf showed up, looking for a guide, the elders of the Vow chose me. This is supposed to teach me some humility."
"Has it?"
"I don't know, but it's trying really hard."
The pair moved on. After a while, Shmaldath realized they were climbing. "I think I can see something at the top of the hill."
"That's Nehlocroft's stronghold."
Shmaldath studied the hilltop edifice briefly and then turned to Faldo. "All right, you got me here. You're released." The talisman glowed faintly.
"Uh, thanks."
"Don't mention it."
"Don't worry, I won't, to anyone."
The moment stretched out, but Faldo didn't fly off.
"Uh, I'm curious about something, and I have to ask now, because you'll be dead soon."
"Ask away."
"Well, how is it that you came to take the Vow? I mean, you look like an ordinary nasty old orc, a little bigger than most and uglier, but normal."
Shmaldath peered at a patch of sky visible through the trees, judging the time remaining until dawn. He sighed.
"It was a night a lot like this one. My litter mates and me were raiding an isolated farm. There was a Human family there. One of them, just a child, begged so hard for us to spare her." The orc absently wiped his hand on his leg. "When we were done, I didn't feel like feasting with my brothers. Everything looked...different. While the others were dancing around the burning house I slipped away, and I didn't come back. It was something that I had been thinking about for a while, without really admitting it to myself."
Shmaldath looked at Faldo, who had perched on a low hanging branch. "I'd heard rumors, all of us had, of a high valley in the western mountains where orcs lived another way. It took a few months of wandering before I realized that the valley was where I needed to go. It took a lot longer to find the place." Shmaldath shrugged. "It's not a perfect place by any measure, but it's where I belong."
Faldo studied Shmaldath in the moonlight. "Good luck, Shmaldath. You're going to need it." With a flutter of wings Faldo was gone.
The orc listened to the night for a short while, and then continued climbing the hill. Near the top the trees thinned out and an open, grassy area surrounded a tumble-down castle, a weed-covered edifice with broad gaps in its crumbling walls. The place looked deserted in the moonlight. Shmaldath knew better. An old, familiar tangle of scents teased his nose, blood and fear and despair.
Yes, this was the place.
The drawbridge spanning a dry moat creaked under his weight. A leaf-carpeted courtyard lay beyond the gate. Shmaldath padded past the rotting oaken doors that hung askew on rusty hinges and stopped in the middle of the open space that must have once resounded with the blacksmith's hammer, horses' hoofs and even children at play. Not even crickets dared chirp in the castle.
Across the courtyard, at the base of the keep, two slender figures were chained to the stone wall. They had both been watching the gate when Shmaldath entered, expecting Hrolf.
To the left, Nehlocroft lounged on the steps up to the castle's great hall. Tonight, it amused the dark lord to wear the form of a ten-year-old boy. His red hair shone in the moonlight, framing an angelic face. Only the heavy-lidded, jade eyes betrayed the innocent disguise.
Nehlocroft threw back his head and giggled. He rolled off the steps and skipped across the courtyard singing.
"Oh where, oh where has Hrolf gone? Oh where, oh where can he be? With his breakfast drugged and his trust betrayed, oh where oh where can he be?"
The dark lord capered about Shmaldath, smirking.
Shmaldath watched him for several circuits. "I'm here to take Schoenhilda back to her husband. I have not violated the rules and I expect you to abide by them as well."
Nehlocroft stopped abruptly and fixed the orc with an icy stare. "Don't quote my own rules to me tall, dark and shaggy. I was a dark lord when you were still fouling yourself. That is, assuming you ever stopped fouling yourself."
Nehlocroft gestured at the gate. "If I hadn't limited that muscle-bound fool Hrolf to one man, he would have dragged half the warriors in the northlands down here with him. Of course, they would plunder every village and farm along the way before they ever arrived to wreak havoc on my pleasant little woods. And there'd be a platoon of morose priests and wild-haired scryers in tow, chanting and gnashing their teeth." He waved a hand airily. "Believe me; it's best to keep this a private matter."
A nasty smile spread across the childish face. "And why would I change things now? This is the most fun I've had in decades. Who knew those stodgy old frost giants could provide such entertainment? Why don't you shamble over and meet the girls?" Nehlocroft jerked his head at the two women and skipped off in that direction. Shmaldath followed.
The two identical women chained to the wall watched with apprehension as Nehlocroft and Shmaldath approached. They clung to each other, though a fiery defiance blazed in both sets of eyes.
"Girls, meet Shmaldath. Shmaldath, meet Schoenhilda." The dark lord swept a hand at the one on the left. "Or maybe this is the real Schoenhilda?" The dark lord pointed at the other woman. He rolled his head back on his shoulder to look sideways at Shmaldath. "To tell the truth, I can't tell which is which myself. She's my best work. I'll be sorry to lose her." Nehlocroft sighed. "One way or the other."
"Where is Hrolf?" Both Schoenhildas demanded in unison. They spoke in the Norse tongue and had not followed the dark lord's and Shmaldath's conversation in the dark language.
"That's spooky, how they speak in unison like that." Nehlocroft leered and winked at the orc. "Makes you wonder what else they could do together, doesn't it?"
Shmaldath snorted and stepped around Nehlocroft to address the women. "Me Shmaldath. Me come from Hrolf. Take you back to Hrolf."
The Schoenhildas looked confused and worried. "What has happened to Hrolf?"
"He drugged him and tied him to a tree." Nehlocroft supplied. Shmaldath and the women looked at him. "A little bird told me." Nehlocroft smiled sweetly.
"Shmaldath friend." The orc tried to sound reassuring.
The women stared at him, wanting to be reassured.
"We believe you." The one on the left began.
"He doesn't like you, which probably means you're on our side." The one on the right concluded.
"You know what Shmaldath must do?"
"We...we know." The Schoenhildas embraced.
"Remember me and the others."
"You remember me and the others." Both sobbed.
Nehlocroft made a show of wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye.
The Schoenhildas parted and squared their shoulders, facing the Orc. "Do what you must."
Shmaldath considered his choice. Visually, the two women were identical. To be sure, there were differences such as smudges of grime and bruises and rips in clothing from their long captivity. These differences did not indicate which one was real and which was a construct of magical energy. They didn't smell the same though. The woman of the left exuded a sour, frightened odor.
"What a dilemma." Nehlocroft sighed. "Which one is the real one? Even they don't know, and if you chose the wrong—”
Without warning Shmaldath reached out his long arms and snapped the neck of the Schoenhilda on the right, a low crunching sound. The dead woman collapsed in a heap, chains clinking softly. The woman left alive sank to hold her twin, groaning and weeping.
Nehlocroft raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was unexpected. How did you decide between the two?"
Shmaldath shrugged. "That one was closer."
The orc bent to rumble softly to Schoenhilda. "Dawn come. Hrolf wait. We go."
The woman nodded, wiped her eyes on the remnant of her sleeve and embraced her dead twin one last time. "I will remember you and the others." Sniffling, she rose and held out her chained wrists to the dark lord.
Nehlocroft began patting his clothing. "Now where did I put that key? I think it might be in my other jerkin."
The court yard echo to the sound of splintering stone as Shmaldath braced a foot against the wall and heaved the bracket free. He gathered up the chain and handed it to Schoenhilda. She staggered slightly at the unexpected weight.
"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a craftsman up here to fix something like that?" Nehlocroft swept a hand at the damaged wall.
Shmaldath just glanced around at the ruins of the courtyard. "We're going now." Shepherding Schoenhilda, Shmaldath headed for the gate.
"Well, I understand. You must be going. Still, I'd hoped you might stay just a little while longer. I've arranged a special surprise, just for you Shmaldath." Nehlocroft paused and Shmaldath glanced back warily.
Two figures stepped from the shadowy maw of the doorway into the keep's great hall. In the moonlight, the pair stalked down the steps. One was tall and bore a falchion with a jagged blade. The other was shorter, a bill hook over one shoulder. Shmaldath recognized them. He started backing towards the gate, a chill up his spine.
"Shmaldath, our brother!" the taller newcomer called from the bottom of the stair. The shorter one had leapt to the hard-packed earth of the courtyard from halfway down the steps, giggling.
"It's a good old fashion family reunion." Nehlocroft spread his arms. "I called up a dragon and bade her fly to your old home. Look what she brought back, Craeznaf," Nhelocroft indicated the taller orc. "And," he snapped his finger a few times, "What is it? Yes, Vralduth. How long has it been since you've seen your litter mates?"
"Oh, there was a terrible fight to see who would come." Vralduth giggled. "The dragon could only carry two, and we won."
Craeznaf sliced the air with his falchion and spoke with menace. "I want his eyes. I want to feel them pop between my teeth."
Vralduth patted his big brother on the arm. "You can have his eyes. You know what part I want."
Somehow, Shmaldath knew Vralduth wasn't talking about short ribs.
The three orcs, the woman and the dark lord all stared at each other in the moonlight for a long moment.
Suddenly Shmaldath spun and about and scooped Schoenhilda up. Schoenhilda shrieked in spite of herself. Shmaldath sprinted for the gate, the woman halfway over his shoulder looking back in surprise. She had dropped the free end of her chain. It bounced along in their wake, clinking and thudding on the drawbridge.
Craeznaf and Vralduth squealed delight and ran after their brother. Nehlocroft clapped his hands, danced about his courtyard and howled.
Shmaldath ran and fell down the hill, somehow managing to keep his feet until the bottom of the slope. He stumbled and rolled into the brush. Schoenhilda leapt free to one side and groaned as she collided with a young maple.
Shmaldath scrambled back to his feet. "Come! We go, fast!"
Halfway up the hill the two hunting orcs howled. That proved to be more than enough incentive to get moving. Schoenhilda and Shmaldath crashed through the underbrush in what they hoped was the right direction.
Some indeterminate time later the pair paused at the bank of a small stream Shmaldath vaguely recalled splashing across on his way to this party. They crouched, panting.
"I know what you're thinking." Nehlocroft startled them with a loud whisper in Norse as he sprawled indolently in the crook of an oak on the opposite bank. "You're wondering if you lost those two nasty old orcs, aren't you?"
In spite of her exhaustion, Schoenhilda spat at the dark lord. "May Hel's hounds feast on your guts, you soulless bastard!"
"Not exactly an original curse, but I'll give you extra points for emotional intensity. Now, as I was about to say, Shmaldath here knows his brothers haven't lost your trail. They're just running you, playing with you. You'll both be nice and winded when they move in to finish things."
Schoenhilda looked at Shmaldath. The orc nodded, reluctantly. The Norse woman stifled a gasp and set her jaw grimly. She coiled her chain around her fist. "I will sell my life at high cost."
Nehlocroft snickered. "Of course, they won’t finish things right away. Oh, they'll kill you tonight, after a bit of fun and games. Shmaldath they'll make last for as long as they can, days maybe. Ought to be interesting to watch."
One of the orcs howled in the distance. Shmaldath rose to his feet and tried to gauge the direction the chilling sound had come from.
"You know, Shmaldath, I like you, and I don't like many people, let me tell you." Nehlocroft leaned forward earnestly. "I could use a fellow like you in my organization, smart, strong, decisive."
Shmaldath's brothers bayed again, closer.
"Of course, I'd have to know I could trust you, first. You understand that you'd have to show me that I could trust you, don't you Shmaldath?"
Shmaldath looked up at the dark lord with anything but trust on his face.
Nehlocroft's seductive voice floated across the stream. "Just kill her, Shmaldath. Just snap her neck, like you did the other one. You don't even have to make her suffer. One little twist and it's over. I'll take care of your brothers and my power will shield you from the consequences of breaking that silly vow." Schoenhilda edged slowly away from Shmaldath. "Come on, what's she to you, except a lot of trouble?"
Nehlocroft hopped down from his perch to stand at the edge of the stream. "Besides, you don't even know if you have the right one. You might have already killed the real woman and shattered your precious vow back at the castle. What will you do if you somehow manage to escape, only to see her vanish with the dawn? I doubt Hrolf will be as understanding as I am."
Shmaldath's face was impassive for a half a dozen heartbeats. He wondered if Nehlocroft would have gone to the trouble of confusing the scents of the two Schoenhildas. Then he waded into the stream. It was knee-deep. He held a large hand out to Schoenhilda. "Come. We wade upstream. Break trail, maybe."
The woman considered this explanation, glanced up at Nehlocroft then came to a decision. She splashed into the water and followed Shmaldath around the upstream bend.
Nehlocroft sighed petulantly. "Such a pity."
The fugitives scrambled up a rocky bank fifty or sixty paces upstream and ran towards the faint glow of an approaching dawn. They followed a game trail that meandered in the desired direction for a few minutes, and then skidded to a halt as a small pale figure flitted out from a tree to block their path. Schoenhilda almost used her chain as a flail on the newcomer, but Shmaldath knocked her hand aside at the last minute.
"Faldo, what are you doing here?"
"Saving you skins, that's what I'm doing. The question is, why? Blondie here nearly cut me in two. She's dangerous."
"Give her a break. She's a little jumpy, what with a pair of orcs chasing us."
"That's the problem, pal. There's just one orc chasing you now. The other one has circled around and is in front of you. The big one is driving you towards him. The little one is waiting a little farther down this trail."
Craeznaf howled from the direction of the stream.
Shmaldath chewed his lip and briefly contemplated a short list of bad options. "Faldo, you need to lead Schoenhilda out of the forest."
"What? Hey, I just came by to warn you. I don't want to get any more involved in this fracas."
"You are involved, Faldo. You need to get out of this forest as much as we do. Otherwise, Nehlocroft will take revenge on you for helping me as much as you have already."
Faldo muttered a curse.
"Take Schoenhilda out and lead her around to my camp. She has to be out of the woods before dawn. Remember that."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Okay, but anymore funny business with that chain and Blondie can find her own way out of here."
Shmaldath explained in Norse to Schoenhilda. "Brothers set trap. Faldo lead you to Hrolf."
Faldo flew into the trees and hovered, waiting. Shmaldath shoved the woman after him before she could protest. She glanced back, hesitated and then bolted after the pixie. Shmaldath watched them for a moment more before turning to the task before, and behind, him.
Shmaldath slipped off the game trail into the woods on the opposite side from where Faldo and Schoenhilda had fled. He ghosted along, climbing the slight rise in ground that the trail skirted. At the crest the curving sweep of the trail was just visible as a slightly less dark line in the trees. Shmaldath's nose snagged a familiar scent from the wind. His ears twitched, just detecting the rasp of Vralduth's breathing on the trail below.
Free of Schoenhilda's noisy companionship, Shmaldath quickly and silently skulked down the other side of the rise. Vralduth was so intent on the trail that he didn't suspect his quarry was slipping around him. Shmaldath was almost free and clear when a sound from over the hill made him stop dead.
It was a high-pitched undulating squeal. Immediately, Shmaldath realized that Craeznaf had found the spot on the game trail where the single scent he'd been following split in two. His bigger brother was calling Vralduth up the trail. This he couldn't allow. If the two hunting orcs met up, they'd likely each follow one of the trails, an unhealthy prospect for both of the fugitives.
Shmaldath acted before he could fully understand what he was doing, which was probably for the best. Even a moment's thought about what he did next would have paralyzed him with fear.
Vralduth was running up the trail towards Craeznaf when he heard a crashing through the brush behind him. He turned in time to see Shmaldath emerge onto the game trail, pause to glance back, then sprint away. Vralduth howled to summon Craeznaf and took off after his hated, treasonous brother, Shmaldath.
Shmaldath raced along the game trail, branches raking his face. Behind him he could hear his smaller brother gaining with each stride. Shmaldath had been on the move since dusk, and his fatigue was beginning to manifest itself as an increasing shortness of breath and a leaden ache in his thighs. Vralduth's feral howls were an excellent incentive to keep pumping his legs with every remaining ounce of energy. Unfortunately, that reserve of strength was burning away with heartbreaking rapidity. Vralduth, fresh from lying in wait, inexorably closed the gap stride by stride.
Suddenly, the trees fell away to either side. Shmaldath was out of the forest. The game trail petered out in a wide, open meadow. Free of the oppressive trees, Shamldath exulted in the open space, for a brief moment. Then, he recognized the location, and realized he'd made a critical error.
Thirty paces from the edge of the forest, the meadow dropped off in a vertical bluff more than tall enough to be fatal were one foolish enough to jump. Shmaldath slid to a stop at the edge of the cliff and spun about to watch Vralduth slow to a walk and then halt in the predawn glow of the eastern sky.
Vralduth emitted a lengthy, nasty chuckle. "Well, brother, you seem to have gotten yourself into a rather tight spot."
Panting, Shmaldath sidled to his right. Vralduth paced him, about five long steps away. Shmaldath glanced over the edge and seriously considered jumping. Not yet, he decided, but realized it might soon become a more reasonable course of action.
Craeznaf burst from the woods and jogged up to stand beside Vralduth. The larger brother fairly quivered with the excitement of the chase and in anticipation of what would come next. "Remember, I want his eyes."
Inspiration struck Vralduth. He tossed his billhook in the grass at Shmaldath's feet. Shmaldath looked down at the weapon, confused.
Craeznaf raised an eyebrow at his brother's action.
"Let's see if he picks it up." Vralduth explained and drew a long, wickedly curved dagger. "Let's see how much his vow means to him now."
"Yeah!" Craeznaf nodded. "Let's just see."
Craeznaf stepped closer to Shmaldath, falchion at the ready. Vralduth circled to the right.
Shmaldath risked a quick look at the pole arm at his feet. His hands ached to reach for it.
Craeznaf halted his advance, silently daring Shmaldath to snatch up the billhook.
With amazing speed, Shmaldath dropped to a crouch and seized the weapon. He was upright again with the billhook at guard before his assailants could react. The red, eastern sky reflected sullenly off the outthrust blade.
Surprised, Vralduth and Craeznaf dropped into defensive stances. For half a dozen heartbeats the trio did not move. The wind stirred Shmaldath's hair like a loving mother's caress.
Shmaldath exhaled in a long breath and then slowly straightened. He held the weapon with one hand. With a casual gesture, as if discarding trash, Shmaldath tossed the billhook over his shoulder. It clattered on the rocks at the foot of the cliff, far below.
"I will not harm you, brothers." Shmaldath's grasped his talisman with both hands.
"So be it, brother." Craeznaf stepped grimly forward.
"Wodin!" Hrolf's battle cry echoed in the crisp predawn air. He ran along the cliff's edge, sword in one hand, battle axe in the other. Craeznaf turned to the left just in time to parry a powerful stroke from Hrolf's double-bladed axe. The Norseman's charge carried him beyond the larger orc towards Vralduth, who, not armed with his billhook, promptly retreated a dozen paces.
Although surprised by Hrolf's unexpected appearance, the orcs recovered quickly. In a few moments of scrambling, they had Hrolf backed up to the edge of the bluff, next to Shmaldath.
"I hope you're hungry, Craeznaf. Here's another pair of eyes for you."
"Another pair of something else for you, Vralduth."
The orcs were accustomed to preying on simple farmers, frightened from sleep in the dead of night. Hrolf was something else entirely. He was a Norse warrior who had spent half his life battling foul creatures. The long night had been hard on Hrolf, unaccustomed to patient waiting while his beloved was in peril. Now, finally, there was a foe before him, a suitable target upon which to focus his berserk rage. Hrolf charged.
Vralduth slipped in as Hrolf headed for Craeznaf and stabbed the Norseman in the arm with his dagger, what should have been a disabling injury. Hrolf didn't even seem to notice the wound. He batted Vralduth's head with the flat of his axe without breaking stride. The blow knocked the small orc head over heels. Vralduth crumpled in the long grass, unconscious.
Craeznaf prepared to meet the Norse juggernaut as best he could. The orc parried a furious series of ringing blows from Hrolf's axe and broadsword attack before one slipped past and the axe took his sword arm off at the elbow. Craeznaf dropped to his knees, clamping the stump of his arm with his remaining hand to staunch the river of black blood coursing from it. He raised his head to beg mercy, just in time to see the sweep of the axe that beheaded him.
Hrolf bellowed rage at Craeznaf's corpse. Vralduth regained his senses and blinked at the scene. The small orc decided he didn't care for the way the way the fight was going, spat at Hrolf, and scurried for the woods without glancing back at his brother.
The Norseman started after Vralduth, but stopped after a few strides. Then he turned and stalked back to Shmaldath.
"Shmaldath thank Hrolf for—” Shmaldath stopped talking because the tip of Hrolf's broadsword was pressing into the flesh under his chin.
"Where is my wife, orc?" Hrolf growled the question out between gritted teeth. His eyes were wide, crazed. A small amount of foam trickled out of one corner of his mouth.
"Wife at camp." Shmaldath fervently hoped that was true.
"I came from the camp! She wasn't there! What have you done with her?" The sword point started to draw drops of blood from the skin of his neck.
"At camp." Shmaldath repeated steadfastly.
Hrolf bellowed and flung his weapons aside. He seized Shmaldath by the neck and squeezed. Shmaldath went to his knees, clutching at Hrolf's forearms.
"Curse your foul, black heart!"
"Hrolf. Hrolf." Shmaldath croaked. The dim, morning light grew dimmer. There was a roaring in Shmaldath's ears.
"Hrolf! Hrolf!"
Distantly, Shmaldath wondered why his voice sounded different. It was higher in pitch. Perhaps this type of thing happened when death was near. Surprising, he actually felt as though he could breathe again.
"Hey pal, wake up!" Tiny hands smacked his cheek. "Don't you die on me now! I do not want to be left here alone with these two Vikings."
"Faldo?" Shmaldath pried open an eye to see Faldo fly a back flip off of his face.
"Whoa, orc breath."
"Happy to see you again too, twinkle wings." Shmaldath levered himself up on one elbow from where he had lain in the grass at the top of the bluff. A few paces away Hrolf and Schoenhilda were locked in a weepy embrace.
"They've been like that since we got here." Faldo commented sourly. "We found the camp, then heard all the commotion and came this way."
The light turned brighter and more yellow as the rim of the sun rose above the horizon. Tiny swirls of sparkling light shimmered about Schoenhilda.
"No!" Hrolf grasped his wife closer, spinning to shield her from the rising sun. "No!"
Slowly the sparkling whorls dissipated, leaving Schoenhilda behind: whole, alive, unharmed and safe in her husband's arms. Now the Norse couple wept for joy with an intensity that dwarfed their initial meeting and Shmaldath flopped back down on his back with an enormous sigh of relief.
Faldo hovered over the drop off. "I will never understand big people."
Later, they broke camp. Schoenhilda bound Hrolf's wound from Vralduth's dagger. After an awkward moment Hrolf offered his massive hand to Shmaldath.
"I never imagined I would be beholden to an orc, but I am."
Shmaldath clasped the Norseman's hand. "Shmaladth only do what had to."
"Still, my kin and my clan owe you a debt of honor. You have but to summon and I will be at your side to face any foe."
"I, too, am in your debt, Shmaldath." Schoenilda bowed. Something in her manner stirred a vague unease in Hrolf.
"Come, wife." The Norseman turned abruptly and strode north. "There are frost giants awaiting revenge."
Schoenhilda tarried a moment and then followed her husband.
Shmaldath and Faldo watched them walk away in the light of the young day.
"Wasn't it shredding a frost giant that landed them in this mess in the first place?" Faldo whispered.
"Yeah, I think so."
"Some people never learn."
From the woods, Shmaldath thought he heard the faint sound of Nehlocroft's laughter.
"Blondie's got the hots for you." Faldo asserted.
"You think so?"
"It's obvious."
"She's not my type."
"You can say that again."
"So, Faldo, what are your plans? You can't go back in there." Shmaldath jerked his great, shaggy head at the forest.
"No, even being this close makes me nervous."
"Why don't you come with me?"
Faldo considered the orc's offer. "What kind of trees do you have in that valley of yours? A pixie has to have trees."
"Pine mostly."
"Pine." Faldo snorted. "My aunt always said I'd end up as pine trash."
"There are some oak and maple, as well."
"Any ash or sycamore?"
"A few."
"Okay." Faldo settled on Shmaldath's shoulder. "Mind if I hitch a ride?"
"I don't know. You're awfully heavy."
"Heavy? You're one to talk."
Faldo made himself comfortable on the orc's shoulder. Shmaldath chuckled, hefted his kit bag and began walking.
END
Check out my website: https://raytabler.com/
I like it!