Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6) (20 page)

The dwarves fired another volley. This time several
bolts struck Gulgarin, but his armor held true. His goarg, on the other hand,
was not so lucky. The beast collapsed to the ground and threw Gulgarin to the
ground. Heavy boots stomped the ground around him as he rolled to a stop. He
had managed to tuck his hammer with him when he landed, but he had lost all his
momentum.

The orcs and dwarves clashed. Swords and axes rang out
in the night air. Neither side appeared to have the advantage. The orcs were
much larger, but the dwarves were just as fierce and powerful. The battle
turned into a bitter hack-fest. Each side beat on the other, with rows and rows
of eager warriors growling and snarling to get their chance at the line.

Gulgarin waded through the orcs, in some cases
literally throwing his own troops out of his way to get to the line. As he
broke through to the front, he saw a stout dwarf with a dark beard. The short
warrior’s eyes sparkled from the many fires around. Gulgarin brought his hammer
down onto the dwarf’s right shoulder. The dwarf was crushed downward, but the
blow didn’t kill him. He countered with an upward swing of his axe. The blade
was stopped by the mithril armor, but Gulgarin felt the weight of the swing and
was moved to the side a few inches.

The large orc pulled back and rammed the hammer into the
dwarf’s stomach as he was trying to clamber onto his feet. Short arms and legs
kicked out like an overturned beetle. Gulgarin sucked in a breath and brought
the hammer down once more. This time there was a distinct crunch of bones
beneath the armor as the metal gave way and caved in.

There was no time to celebrate the victory. Dwarves
moved in to fill the void almost before Gulgarin could reset his hammer.

The battle turned extremely bitter. The orcs clawed
inch for inch, paying for every step forward with blood of their kin. The
dwarves fought valiantly, slaying many of the larger orcs, but they were
ultimately outnumbered.

The orcs pushed through the ranks until the golden sun
came over the horizon and shed its light on the battlefield. Had Gulgarin not
been embattled with three dwarves at his front and a heap of corpses under his
feet, he might have had the time to see the devastation around him. With the
benefit of the light he would have seen that two catapults had survived thus
far, and they were punishing the orcs. He also would have seen a great ring of
warriors protecting those catapults. He didn’t see any of that. Nor could he
count the thousands of bodies covering the ground. He pressed on, leading his
surviving warriors toward his goal.

As he finished off the three dwarves with the help of
several other orcs that surrounded them, he realized that he had cleared a path
toward the city. He looked back to encourage those around him, but saw only a
couple dozen still standing. There were many other orcs, but the unit that he
had led had been demolished.

Those who still drew breath were covered in so much
blood it was impossible to know whether the blood came from them or from
vanquished foes. For a moment he thought of calling for a retreat, but he knew
that the orcs would all have to cross the chasm again. It would expose them to
the humans in an unacceptable manner. So, he turned to the east and saw Lorik
still fighting along with soldiers from his unit. Gulgarin broke into a run and
his unit followed him.

They made their way over the many corpses as best they
could, but they never reached Lorik.

A wall of fire rose up before them and then turned
eastward to sweep into Lorik’s unit.

“Wizard!”
Gulgarin called out.

“Sorceress!” a woman’s voice answered.

Gulgarin looked up and saw a woman with dark hair
riding upon a cloud over them. “Find a crossbow or something to shoot her
with!” he shouted at his troops.

Something moved a few yards away, but Gulgarin
couldn’t see what it was. A moment later, two of his orcs screamed in pain. He
turned to see a massive wolf tearing into one of the orcs. When the warrior
fell, the wolf moved to the neck and snapped it like a twig. It looked up and
growled with a blood-soaked maw. The other orcs moved in to engage it, but then
another movement caught Gulgarin’s eyes.

The large orc turned just in time to see a man appear
out of thin air. He was a large man with salt and pepper hair. He wore the
black, Telarian steel armor of a dragon slayer, but did not use a helmet. It
was then that Gulgarin remembered seeing this man before, along with that
she-elf that had tried to assassinate him. He took up his hammer and started
for the human.

Before Gulgarin could reach him, the man dropped seven
warriors. Tendrils of fire streaked through the air, catching others that the
wolf wasn’t able to bring down. Gulgarin lifted his hammer to strike and cried
out for Khullan’s blessing.

He swung, but the man dodged underneath and came up
with a hard shoulder, knocking Gulgarin backward three paces. The spikes on the
man’s armor poked into the mithril and dented it, but they did not manage to
pierce Gulgarin. The orc looked down for a moment, shocked that the mithril had
nearly failed. The man lashed out with a stab. Gulgarin moved to parry, but the
man retracted and then spun around backward, gathering momentum to put into a
horizontal swipe at Gulgarin’s neck. The orc ducked and then struck out with a
jab of his hammer. The man kicked the hammer to the side and then came down
hard with an overhead chop.

A flash of burning pain ripped through Gulgarin. He
stumbled back and looked down his arms at two stubs. His hammer now lay upon
the ground, with both hands and forearms still clutching the weapon. The sword,
made of the same hardy metal as the man’s armor, had cut clean through the
chainmail sleeves and severed Gulgarin’s arms just above the elbows.

“You haven’t seen the last me of,” Gulgarin snarled.

“Then let me tell you my name, so we can dance again,”
the man replied as he stepped in slowly. “I am Lepkin, and the orcs stop here.”

Gulgarin felt a rush of ripping run through the front
of his neck, piercing downward through his body. He convulsed and choked as his
life force left him. As his last breath escaped, he whispered Lepkin’s name
over his lips and looked into the man’s eyes.

Everything went dark.

Gulgarin twitched. His eyes opened some time later. No
one was near him. He sat up and looked around. The field was nearly still. His
heart sank when he saw a number of humans combing through the dead, tallying
the numbers. Where were the other orcs? Why had they left him there to die?

Then he looked to his hands. As he saw his arms
intact, that is when he realized the truth of it. He turned around and looked down.
He saw his own face, twisted in a grotesque display of pain and horror. No one
had left him for dead. He
was
dead.

He rose to his feet and looked around again. If he was
dead, then why couldn’t he see other fallen orcs?

Gulgarin froze as a black hole ripped through the air
only three yards away from him. Through the hole stepped an immensely large
figure. His feet were shod with burning coals. Ash fell from his feet as he
walked, but the being showed no sign of pain whatsoever. His legs were massive,
muscular limbs that were each as thick around as Gulgarin’s waist had been in
life. A decaying left hand reached through and grabbed onto the edge of the
hole. Skin hung loosely from the exposed finger bones. The arm itself was still
encased in skin, but it was pale and gray. A hooded vest covered the creature’s
head and torso.

The orc knew who it was. “Khefir,” he said in a
whisper.
“Son of Khullan and collector of the damned and
accursed.”

“I have come for your soul, Gulgarin,” Khefir
announced in a clicking voice. Khefir reached up with his rotting hand and
pulled back his hood. Black orbs looked out from Khefir’s yellowy skull as
long, coarse white hair hung around the sides. The jaw bone moved when Khefir
spoke, but it hitched and clicked with each word. “Hatmul, my brother, will
judge your deeds and see whether you have earned your place among our army in
Hammenfein. If not, then you shall spend eternity in torment along with every
other cursed soul that I collect.”

“I have fought valiantly,” Gulgarin whispered.

Khefir laughed. “You have betrayed your own kin in
order to advance your position in life. You used subterfuge and magic to gain
the advantage over others. You sent two chiefs to die and be sacrificed for a
weapon.”

At that moment, several black tendrils came through
the hole and stretched out for Gulgarin. The orc panicked. The tendrils snaked
around him and started to constrict. He didn’t bother struggling. There was
nothing he could do about it.

A spark of lightning streaked in from the west and
shot through the black tendrils. The appendages shriveled away into nothingness
and Khefir turned to face a pillar of silvery lightning that seemed to stand
still as though it were a tree. Then a voice came out from the lightning.

“Khefir, I have need of this orc,” a large, very deep
voice said. “I cannot let you claim him.”

Khefir waved a bony hand and dispelled the lightning.
“Show me who dares interfere with my duties.”

The lightning morphed into a dragon’s head. There was
no body, but the head spoke as though the whole dragon were there. “You know
me, Khefir,” the voice said. “I mean you no harm.”

Khefir cackled and pointed at the image. “Tu’luh the
Red,” he said. “I thought it was you. Tell me, what does a dead dragon need
with a dead orc?”

The dragon snarled and hissed. “That is for me to
know!” Tu’luh’s voice was so forceful that Khefir winced and shied away. “I
have claim on him, and that is all you need to know.”

Khefir snapped his fingers and a trio of burning,
black dogs appeared next to Gulgarin. “Icadion has not given you dominion over
the dead. Your claim is void.”

Tu’luh turned around and appeared to say something,
but Gulgarin didn’t hear any words.

In the next moment, a small imp appeared in the air,
preceded by a ball of yellow fire.

“My master has sent me as an emissary,” the imp
snarled. “There is a wizard who works with Tu’luh and Gulgarin. This wizard has
the power to resurrect Gulgarin and restore his body.”

“I forbid it,” Khefir said. “The orc is mine.”

The imp smiled wickedly and flew closer to Khefir’s
face. “The power is facilitated by a powerful artifact. Whether you take him
now or not, the wizard can raise him again. You could burn the body and throw
him into Vishnull with your father, and he would still be raised up to life.”

“If that is so, then let me take him, and prove your
power,” Khefir replied.

“Take this imp,” Tu’luh cut in. “He will make a great
addition to your collection.”

“You wish to trade me the soul of an imp for the soul
of an orc?” Khefir asked.
“Hardly an equal trade.”

A bolt of lightning struck out and froze the imp in
the air. “Take the imp. Use him as a familiar, or destroy his soul, whatever
you wish. Consider it not a trade, but a payment for additional time. When the
orc has run his natural course, I will forfeit his soul back to you.”

Khefir reached out and touched the imp. A black spark
leapt from the imp’s head to Khefir’s finger. Khefir waved the imp away and the
still body floated back toward Tu’luh’s head of lightning. “Tell me what you
want with the orc, or else I will destroy his soul.”

Tu’luh laughed. “You have not the power to destroy a
soul such as his. Lesser demons and animals perhaps, but nothing
so
large as an orc. It isn’t a power you can possess unless
Icadion were to grant it to you. Still, so that you may know I strike an honest
bargain with you, listen to the words I will say next. This orc leads the
united tribes. I am using them to cleanse this land in an effort to keep the
four horsemen at bay. You would not wish for your world to be destroyed as mine
was, would you?”

Khefir cackled again. “I am a god,” he said. “Whether
Terramyr remains or passes away, I shall live on so long as I fulfill my duties
to Icadion.”

“So there is nothing I can offer you then?” Tu’luh
asked.

Khefir moved to Gulgarin and bent down to look at the
orc’s soul and body. “I have already collected the other orcs,” he said. “Do
you seek to raise them as well?”

“I am only asking for Gulgarin,” Tu’luh said. “He has
reinforcements coming. If I resurrect him, he will be hailed as a true hero,
and the orcish tribes will unify in a way that has not been known upon this
land. Think of Khullan. Imagine his pride if he knew that one of the races he
created had finally set up a kingdom of their own that would last indefinitely.
They would even be responsible for protecting Terramyr. Perhaps Icadion would
allow the cursed races to earn their way into Volganor.” Tu’luh paused and then
smiled with his crackling lightning-like face. “Maybe I could even convince him
to release Khullan from his prison.”

Khefir stopped and looked back to Tu’luh.

Tu’luh smiled wider. “I have your attention now, do I
not?”