The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (11 page)

Lepkin’s chest heaved up and down as he panted. The sweat on his brow ran low and stung his eyes. His shoulders burned and ached. Knots and bruises along his body mixed in with his fatigue and forced him to stand still while he watched the enemy route again.

“If they ever manage to bring that cursed ram to our gates, we are finished,” one of the officers noted.

Lepkin nodded. He raised his right hand and looked at the broken sword he held. The blade was snapped with a jagged edge only inches above the guard. He tossed the junk down and then moved his left arm up to inspect his shield. There were three arrows protruding out the front. A gash, caused at the hands of a massive orc and his angry axe, tore through the shield in the bottom half, but overall the piece was salvageable. He handed it to a young soldier nearby and pointed to the hole.

“I will see that it is fixed, sir.”

At that moment one of the dragon slayers approached Lepkin. “How did you fare?” the man asked.

Lepkin turned to see Virgil Gothbern, the latest in a long line of Gothbern veterans. Lepkin shook his head and indicated out to his men with a wave of his arm. “Haven’t gotten the report yet, but it wasn’t pretty.” The two of them looked out and saw an ocean of bodies, both human and orc, spanning the gulf between the walls of Ten Forts and the edge of the burnt forest. Beyond that stood a large, impervious battering ram of Telarian steel, as if to show them that eventually their efforts would come to naught.

“We lost thirty seven from my group. We managed to push the orcs out beyond the forest and then we were set upon by goargs.”

Lepkin didn’t have to study the field before him to know that he had lost more than Virgil. There were hundreds of corpses before him. It would be well into nightfall before they could make a report, and that was assuming the orcs would let them rest long enough to recover their dead. “What of Eriem Bouth? He was to lead a group of scouts out to find the orc officers.”

Virgil shrugged. “Haven’t seen him return.”

“We should regroup inside the walls,” Lepkin said. He turned to the young officer beside him and pointed to the horn hanging from the man’s belt. “Give the signal.”

The young man pulled the horn up to his lips and gave three short blasts. Scores of warriors turned from the field and made their way back to the gates. Lepkin, the young officer, and Virgil stood in place watching as the battle-weary soldiers filed past them.

“They are tired,” Virgil noted.

“The orcs have been receiving fresh reinforcements to throw at us each day, while we wait for word from the north and do our best to rotate our garrison.” Lepkin sighed. The thought of using his dragon form came back to him. He closed his eyes and tried to calculate whether his mind was conjuring the idea out of desperation, or if there was actually a significant chance that it might succeed.

Virgil stepped in close and thunked Lepkin’s chest. “You aren’t thinking about doing your dragon thing again are you?”

Lepkin opened his eyes and slid his visor back to look at Virgil. He didn’t say anything. He just sighed again and looked back to the field.

“Best we can figure is that the orcs are nestled in the caves in the hills beyond the forest. A dragon is good on an open field, but not in the catacombs. They will swarm you, and hack you down.”

“I know,” Lepkin agreed. “Just, I don’t know how much longer the men here can hold out.”

“They’ll survive longer with you at their head,” Virgil said.

Lepkin shot him a sour look and turned to the young officer. He was about to tell him to go inside with the others when an arrow slammed into the young man’s neck. The officer’s mouth twitched and curled his lips in a macabre display as the spark left his eyes and he fell to the ground. Lepkin and Virgil shielded themselves as they simultaneously called out for others to take cover. A hail of arrows pelted the army, dropping many who were not fast enough to shield themselves.

Lepkin looked to the young officer and his heart sank. “I hadn’t even asked his name,” Lepkin said. The previous lieutenant had only been with him for a day before he was cut down in battle, and the prior three days had seen as many officers fall next to Lepkin. Now, the fifth lieutenant lay in the dirt next to him.

“Goargs!” Virgil shouted out. “Form ranks!”

“No more ranks,” Lepkin said. He reached forward and took the lieutenant’s sword. He slid the visor closed and turned to charge. He ran forward, with the thunder of a thousand boots behind him. Several score of goargs galloped toward him, the riders armed with short recurve bows. Lepkin closed the space between him and the first goarg in seconds. He lashed out, severing the beast’s leg and toppling it to the ground. Next he jumped up and left, letting the blades atop his pauldron bite into the rider and push him over. Lepkin swung around, grabbing the reins and turning the gray beast. It bucked and jumped in protest, but Lepkin’s will was stronger. He slammed his gauntleted fist down into the back of the goarg’s skull and forced it to do his bidding. He turned it and rammed his goarg into the next nearest goarg. He heard the ribs crunch and crack as his goarg slammed its massive, curled horns into the other goarg’s side.

A black spear of Telarian steel flew in front of Lepkin’s face and hit its mark driving through the goarg rider’s chest. The orc fell over backward, sliding off the goarg’s rump and hitting the dirt. Virgil then ran up and drove his greatsword through the goarg’s throat. Lepkin turned his mount to press onward, but he was blindsided by a leaping goarg. The horns connected with Lepkin’s armor with a terrible
thwack!
Lepkin flew backward through the air and all seemed to slow down. Each moment in time appeared as clear and slow as if it were stretched to an hour. Lepkin lost his sword, but he reached out with his hands. He took hold of the goarg’s horns and wrestled with the beast while in air.

From around the mass of fur and horns, an orcish archer leaned into Lepkin’s view. He released his arrow, but even at such a close distance the arrow
pinged
off Lepkin’s armor and ricocheted outward. Lepkin shot his right foot out and rammed the toe of his boot into the orc’s ribs. The orc recoiled away and then they hit the ground.

A heavy weight pressed Lepkin into the dirt, but he hardly noticed it. His muscles tensed and he slid along, with the goarg effectively riding atop his chest with its body perpendicular to the ground. When they finally stopped, the goarg flipped over and flopped onto its side. Still, Lepkin held the horns tight in each hand. When they finally rested on the ground, Lepkin jerked with all his might, twisting and snapping the goarg’s neck. The beast twitched and shuddered, bleating and grunting until the last of its energy left it.

The archer had been flung free by the collision. Lepkin turned to see the orc finishing off one of the human soldiers that had tried to engage him. Lepkin ripped his left gauntlet free and threw it with decent accuracy. The orc caught the heavy piece of armor square in the face and his nose squirted a bit of blood out to the side. The orc dropped its bow and pulled a scimitar out. The two advanced toward each other. Lepkin had no weapon at his disposal, but he didn’t care.

The orc came in with a high, diagonal chop that Lepkin easily avoided. Lepkin expertly snapped his right foot out, caught the top of the scimitar under his boot and thrust down to the ground. The orc jerked forward at the force. Lepkin came in with a hard left cross that cut the orc’s cheek where the bone is most prominent. Then he slipped his left hand back around to grab the orc’s hair. He yanked the orc’s head back and then sent a devastating right punch that shattered the orc’s jaw. Next a knee to the stomach, followed by a heavy hammer fist to the back of the orc’s skull. Lepkin then reached down and wrested the scimitar free and ended the orc quickly.

A wave of soldiers rushed by him, but the goargs were ruthless. They crashed through dozens of warriors at a time. The steel and iron armor worn by the others was not enough to provide them with adequate protection. Lepkin knew what he had to do. He pulled off his armor and then roared terribly. He stretched his great wings over the battle and launched directly into a strike. He crushed two goargs with his tail, bit one in half while it was in mid-jump, and took down two more in his claws before taking to the air.

Arrows pelted his scales. He could feel them, but none were a danger. Virgil organized the human forces and formed them into a defensive line below while Lepkin rained death from above. His flames forced the goargs and their riders back to the hills within seconds. Still, he didn’t let his anger get the better of him. Lepkin knew he had to be careful with how long he used his dragon form. Beyond that, he was not about to chase the goargs over the hills and let himself be led into a trap.

He turned back and landed near Virgil and then changed back to his human form.

Virgil stared at him and shook his head. “Too bad we only have one of you.”

Lepkin snorted and bent down for his armor. A sharp whistle pierced the air and a horrible pain ripped through Lepkin’s left shoulder. The pain drove forward through his flesh and sprayed a nearby soldier in Lepkin’s blood.

“Cover!” Virgil called out. The dragon slayer and several others formed a human wall to fend off several more arrows. Lepkin stumbled forward and fell to his knees. The pain was horrendous. Sharp, stinging heat radiated out from his shoulder and his left arm hung limp.

Murmurs rippled through the ranks of soldiers around him. He could feel their eyes upon him. He knew what they were thinking. The anger roiled up within him and he felt a hot, consuming rage take over.

“Virgil, step aside,” Lepkin said.

“Sir, you aren’t in armor. You aren’t in… anything,” Virgil replied as he looked Lepkin over.

The change had rent the clothes from his body, but that only made what he was about to do all the more compelling. “Step aside,” Lepkin repeated.

Virgil moved away and offered his sword to Lepkin. Lepkin moved by, pushing another warrior out of his way and standing there between his men and the hidden archers that had attacked him. He stepped out and shouted across at the archers.

“Come now, sons of Elshu Appa. Come out from your hiding and fight me with honor!” Lepkin reached back over his left shoulder with his right hand and roughly snapped the arrow off and then held it out before his naked body. The arrowhead hung loosely from the front of his shoulder but he paid it no mind. “Is there not an orc who will fight me? Come! I stand here ready for you.”

Several orc archers came out from their hiding spots. Some stood in the tall grass. Others clambered out from behind the burnt trees. None of them put another arrow to their string. Instead, they dropped their bows and removed their armor. Lepkin knew that their code of honor would not allow them to withdraw from such a brazen challenge.

As the orcs removed their armor and prepared to fight with Lepkin, Virgil stepped forward and whispered to Lepkin. “Wouldn’t you at least care for a pair of pants?”

Lepkin waved him off. “If I leave the world of the living today, then I will be dressed the same as the day my mother brought me in.”

Virgil nodded and moved back and out of the way.

One of the orcs, a large, muscular male with a trio of scars across his left shoulder and pectoral stepped forward. Lepkin nodded to him and the two closed in on each other. The other orcs came in closer as well, but kept about fifty feet of space between them and the pair about to duel.

The orc studied Lepkin’s eyes, then he looked to the wounded shoulder and grunted. Lepkin nodded, reached up, and pulled the protruding arrowhead out from the front of the wound. He then flicked it away.

“Afraid I would jam it through your throat?” Lepkin taunted.

The orc smiled and offered a slight nod of respect.

They watched each other. Eyes locked. No one dared make a sound.

Lepkin charged forward. In his mind he calculated the distance to his enemy. The orc matched the run, advancing quickly. Lepkin watched the way the orc moved. He smiled, knowing by the way the orc shifted his weight exactly which arm the orc would attack with. Lepkin feinted right just long enough to draw the orc into a heavy right hook, then he spun out to the left and shot a devastating kick to the orc’s front knee. The bone snapped and broke inward. Down came a strike with Lepkin’s left hand. His hammer fist connected with the orc’s right eye, but the impact ripped through Lepkin’s shoulder. The orc twisted, trying to counter, but Lepkin ignored his own pain and came in with a fast right-handed uppercut. The orc’s chin popped up. Lepkin sent a roundhouse with his left leg, connect with the orc’s neck and sending him to the ground. Lepkin followed it through by stomping down on the orc’s chest. Ribs gave way and cracked under the pressure. A solid right hand to the throat ended the fight.

One orc down, twelve more to go.

The men behind him cheered.

The next orc cracked its neck and then moved up, rolling its shoulders and sizing Lepkin up.

Lepkin smiled, recalling Erik as he fought the apprentices back at Kuldiga Academy. He wondered what Erik might think now, seeing the tables turned with the master now in the same position the student had been in. Only this was no tournament in a school. This was a battle for the heart and soul of the soldiers of Ten Forts.