Of Blood and Honor (11 page)

The crowd cheered wildly for Barthilas and screamed for the orc’s blood. Tirion marveled that his own people could be so savage and vile. He felt sick and overwhelmed by their smothering, collective hatred.

Barthilas stepped back as the hangman moved Eitrigg into position over the scaffolding’s trap door. The old orc’s stoic mask began to slip as death approached. Eitrigg began to shake and growl and fight against his restraints. The onlookers merely laughed at his futile efforts. They seemed to revel in the old orc’s panic and confusion.

Searching for some type of weapon, Tirion saw an old, rusted sledgehammer leaning against the base of the scaffolding. He pushed his way through the front row of onlookers and dove for the sledgehammer. Time seemed to stand still as Tirion reached out to grasp the unwieldy tool. As if in slow motion, he watched as the hangman placed his hand upon the trap door lever while Barthilas raised his arm, ready to give the signal that would end the orc’s life. Tirion’s hands closed over the sledgehammer’s wooden haft as, in a surge of light and adrenaline, he charged forward.

*    *    *

The assembled knights and footmen yelled in anger at seeing Tirion emerge from the roiling crowd. The former Paladin struck fast and hard, leaving the surprised footmen scattered in his wake. A few alert guards rushed at him, but Tirion swung the old sledgehammer in a wide arc. Careful not to use lethal force, Tirion punched a deep dent in one guard’s breastplate and smashed in another’s helmet-visor. Seeing that he had bought himself a few, precious seconds, Tirion leaped up onto the scaffolding and headed straight for Barthilas.

The young Paladin was shocked at seeing Tirion charging at him. He fumbled awkwardly for his warhammer, but Tirion was too fast. He rammed his shoulder into Barthilas’ gut and sent the young Paladin careening wildly off the platform. Barthilas landed with a loud thud and was nearly trampled by the raging crowd.

The hooded hangman rushed forward to overpower Tirion, but the former Paladin stood his ground. Grabbing the hangman by the arm, Tirion flipped him over his shoulder and sent him tumbling down the scaffolding’s steps. He could hear the knights and footmen charging up the steps behind him.
They would hang him for this,
he thought frantically. Not even the Lightbringer himself could pardon Tirion for this affront.

As quickly as he could, Tirion ran over to Eitrigg and unfastened the noose around the orc’s neck. Left too weak to stand, Eitrigg slumped heavily into Tirion’s arms. The orc barely recognized his savior’s face.

“
Human
?” Eitrigg mumbled questioningly. Tirion smiled down at him.

“Yes, Eitrigg,” Tirion said. “It’s me.” Eitrigg shuddered in pain and exhaustion, but fixed Tirion with his hazy gaze.

“You must be crazy,” the old orc said. Tirion laughed to himself and nodded in agreement. He turned just in time to see Barthilas climbing up over the edge of the scaffolding. Tirion knew that the knights and footmen were only seconds away. Barthilas straightened and glowered at him.

“Traitor! You have damned yourself this day!” the young Paladin screamed. The shocked crowd yelled their assent and began throwing garbage at Tirion and Eitrigg both.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tirion could see Lord Dathrohan looming in the background. Apparently, he hadn’t left after all. The Lord Commander’s face was a mask of grief and revulsion. Tirion wished there was some way to make his old friend understand that what he was doing, he was doing for honor’s sake.

Barthilas yelled for the knights to seize Tirion and the orc. As they approached, Tirion stretched out his hand and commanded them to halt. He had spent his life leading men into battle and his deep voice still carried the weight of command. Many of the knights who had served under him previously found themselves cowed by his presence. Tirion faced them boldly.

“Hear me!” Tirion shouted. His voice boomed out over the crowd and reverberated against the surrounding structures. Many of the onlookers fell strangely silent. “This orc has done you no harm! He is old and infirm. His death would accomplish nothing!” The honorable knights paused for a moment, considering Tirion’s protests.

“But it’s an orc! Are we not at war with its kind?” one of the knights yelled incredulously. Tirion steadied himself and tightened his grip on Eitrigg.

“We may very well be! But this one’s warlike days are over!” Tirion said. “There is no honor in hanging such a defenseless creature.” He saw that a few of the knights nodded reluctantly. The rest of the onlookers remained to be convinced. They continued to jeer and call Tirion an orc-loving traitor.

“You’re not fit to even speak of honor, Tirion,” Barthilas spat angrily. “You’re a traitorous mongrel who deserves to die right beside that inhuman beast!”

Tirion tensed. Barthilas’ words hit him like a slap in the face. “I took a vow, long ago, to protect the weak and defenseless,” Tirion said through gritted teeth, “and I intend to do just that. You see, boy, that’s what it truly means to be a Paladin—knowing the difference between right and wrong and being able to separate justice from vengeance. You’ve never been able to make those distinctions, have you, Barthilas?” Tirion asked. Barthilas nearly choked with rage.

Above the din of the shouting crowd, a single beating drum boomed out loud and clear. Eitrigg’s weary head jerked up suddenly. He scanned the square’s periphery as if he expected to see a familiar sight, then bowed his head again. Tirion looked at the orc questioningly, certain that the orc recognized the strange beat. A few of the onlookers turned to see where the drumming was coming from, but Barthilas paid it no mind. The young Paladin stepped toward Tirion with his fists clenched.

“Have you forgotten so soon, Tirion? You’re no longer a Paladin! You’re a disgrace—an exile! It doesn’t make any difference what you think or believe!” Barthilas yelled.

“Damn it, Barthilas, you’ve got to open your eyes!” Tirion said urgently. “After all the years I ruled over Hearthglen, the one thing I’m absolutely certain of is that war begets only war! If we can’t master our own hatreds, then this senseless conflict will never cease! There will never be a future for our people!”

Barthilas laughed contemptuously in Tirion’s face.

The strange drumming sound grew louder and was joined by newer, stronger drums. At that point most of the onlookers became aware of the ominous beating of the drums as well. They were startled to note that the unnerving sounds were getting closer. The few women and children who were present began to cover their ears and huddle together in fear and confusion. The attendant guards moved to the edges of the square, searching for whatever was causing the incessant drumming.

“The future of our people is no longer your concern,” Barthilas said coldly. “I rule Hearthglen now, Tirion. And as long as I do, I swear that there will never be peace with the orcs! On my parents’ departed souls, I swear that every last orc in Lordaeron will burn for what they’ve done!”

Tirion was shocked by Barthilas’ words. There was no reasoning with the young Paladin. He had given over completely to his rage and grief.

The mighty drums thundered all around the panicked square as Barthilas ordered his troops to strike.

“Kill the orc now! Kill them both!” he yelled in fury. His roar was cut short as a crude, razor-sharp spear tore through his chest. Barthilas’ blood splattered across the gallows as a legion of shadowy shapes leapt down into the square from the surrounding rooftops. Furious, high-pitched war cries filled the air as the savage orcs waded into the unsuspecting defenders of Stratholme. The mighty war-drums thundered through the panic-gripped square.

*    *    *

Tirion sat stunned as Barthilas slumped to the ground in a heap. Instinctively, he reached out to help the young Paladin, but Barthilas spat at him and waved him off.

“You’ve brought this down upon us,” the young Paladin said shakily as blood poured from his mouth. His wild, hate-filled eyes locked on Tirion. “I always knew you’d betray . . .” was all he managed before he fell facedown on the blood-soaked scaffolding. The crude orcish spear stuck up from his back like a ship’s mast.

Tirion immediately snapped to attention. He threw down the sledgehammer and hauled Eitrigg up on his feet. Leaning the heavy orc on his shoulder, Tirion led Eitrigg away from the gallows. Tirion couldn’t imagine how the orcish force had bypassed the city’s outer defenses. Typically, the orcs had always assaulted their targets head-on. Yet, as he watched the battle unfold around him, he saw that the stealthy orcs were using the rooftops and surrounding catwalks to their advantage.

Knights and footmen ran forward to meet the orcish onslaught as all hell erupted in the public square. Tirion kept his head down and headed for the side street he had used earlier. The sounds of clashing steel and the combatants’ furious shouts of rage and pain mixed, creating a maddening din above Stratholme. Tirion tried to shut out the noise and concentrate on staying alive. All around him was a killing ground. Mighty orc warriors hacked at their enemies with great war axes while others hurled long, wicked spears with startling precision. A few orcs, garbed in what looked like wolf furs, charged forward and lifted their hands to the heavens. Before Tirion knew what they were doing, lightning arced down from the darkened sky and struck the front ranks of the human force. Charred human bodies and large chunks of stone flew through the air and rained down upon the chaotic battlefield. Stunned by the savage elemental attack, the remaining human ranks were forced to pull back before the orcs’ awesome wrath.

Tirion was surprised to see that the orcs were working in unison to outmaneuver and flank the frayed human defenders. To his memory, orcs had never been so singularly united in battle. Despite their apparent cunning and skill, the orcs’ numbers were few. Tirion wondered what the orcs were after, recklessly attacking a defended human city with such an insubstantial force. Soon every soldier in Stratholme would be bearing down on the square.
The outnumbered orcs wouldn’t stand a chance against a fully armored garrison,
he thought.

Despite the chaos around him, Tirion managed to reach the edge of the square and escape down a small alley. Hefting Eitrigg’s deadweight up once more, Tirion turned to take a last look at the ensuing carnage. He caught sight of an enormous orc, dressed in a full suit of black plate armor. The orc carried a mighty warhammer that resembled those used by the Paladins—except for the fact that the orc’s hammer seemed to be ignited by living lightning. The dark orc waded his way through the ardent human defenders as if they were harmless children. It smashed and battered everyone that came near it with a calm lethality—all the while shouting sharp commands to its warriors. For a moment, Tirion could only watch in amazement and horror. The mighty orc leader was unlike any he had witnessed before. Tirion snapped out of his daze and hurriedly made his way out of the beleaguered city with Eitrigg in his arms.

*    *    *

With a supreme effort, Tirion succeeded in hauling Eitrigg out of the city and into the surrounding woods. Looking back, he could see that a number of fires had been started in various parts of the city. He could hear screams and clashing weapons even from this distance. Apparently the cunning orcs were attempting to distract and divide the human forces. Tirion noted that whoever the orcs’ leader was, he was far more clever than any chieftain he’d ever heard of.

Wearily, Tirion laid Eitrigg down on the leafy ground and crouched next to him. He tried to calm himself and think clearly about the situation. He couldn’t account for the orcs’ unprecedented attack on the city, and wondered if the creatures had come to free Eitrigg, just as he had. Whatever the case, he was glad that they’d come. He was genuinely sorry to see so many of his brethren fall before the orcs, but at least he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Eitrigg was alive. And, as frayed and thin as it was, Tirion’s precious honor was still intact.

Eitrigg lay silently on the matted forest floor. Tirion bent down to check the orc’s pulse. Hopefully the orc was just exhausted from his trying ordeal, he mused. Gasping in panic, Tirion realized that Eitrigg’s heart had stopped. The beating the humans had given the orc had obviously done serious internal damage. If he didn’t do something quickly, he knew that Eitrigg would die. Instinctively, he placed his hands on Eitrigg’s chest and prayed for the healing powers of the Light to wash over the battered orc.
Surely he was still strong enough to heal even these grievous wounds?

Slowly, a feeling of dread spread through Tirion’s heart. Nothing was happening. He bowed his head in defeat, remembering that he had been excommunicated from the Light.
This can’t be happening,
he thought miserably. He could almost sense Eitrigg’s life ebbing away into nothingness.

“No!” Tirion growled in hopelessness. “You will not die, Eitrigg! Do you hear me? You will not die on me!” he yelled at the comatose orc. Once again he slapped his hands on the orc’s chest and concentrated with all of his will.
“By the grace of the Light, may your brethren be healed.”
The phrase wafted through his mind repeatedly as he reached deep for the power that lurked somewhere within his spirit.
“In its grace he will be made anew.”

The Light could not be taken from him, he insisted. Men could strip him of his armor and titles, they could take away his home and his wealth—but the Light would always been within him.
It had to be.

Slowly, Tirion felt a searing heat rising within his body. It filled his center with strength and light that snaked out toward his limbs. He almost cried out in joy as the familiar energies raced through his hands and engulfed the orc’s ravaged body. Tirion felt as if he were floating on air. The strength and purity of the Light flooded his being and cascaded out through his body like a halo of holy fire. Awed and humbled by the reawakened power, Tirion opened his eyes and saw that a warm, golden glow had enveloped Eitrigg. He watched in amazement as the bruises on the orc’s body healed before his very eyes. Even the infected laceration on the orc’s leg sealed up as if it had never been.