The Bone Orcs (4 page)

And then Hhrolazur would
murder seven children.

Ridmark watched the orcs and
the captives for a little while longer, and the circled back down
the far slope of the hill. Peter waited there, an axe in his hand,
his face hard and tense in the reddish light of the nine moons.

“What now?” said Peter.

“We’ll wait a little while
longer,” said Ridmark.

Peter scowled. “We should act
now.”

“They haven’t started the
ceremony yet,” said Ridmark. “That’s when the interruption will
work the best. If we act now, they’ll simply kill us, and carry on
where they left off.”

Peter let out a long, ragged
breath, his knuckles tight against the axe’s haft, but gave a nod
at last.

“Fine,” he said. “Go and
watch. But let me know the minute we need to act.”

“Be ready to conceal
yourself,” said Ridmark.

Peter gave a sharp nod, and
Ridmark crept back to the top of the hill to watch the
preparations. Hhrolazur and some of the bone orcs continued working
on the circle, casting spell after spell. Other orcs sprinkled
dried blood onto the circle, while others recited chants to
Qazalask as they gestured with old bones or mummified limbs,
repeating their hymns to the Lord of Bones over and over again.
None of the orcs kept watch on the surrounding countryside, and
only a few of them guarded the prisoners. It would have been an
ideal time to launch an attack, and even a few mounted knights
would have been able to scatter the bone orcs. Yet Ridmark did not
have any mounted knights. He had an angry blacksmith, a staff, and
an axe.

He also had his gray
cloak.

Hopefully, that would be
enough.

Midnight drew closer, the
Moon of Blood and the Moon of Souls rising higher. The majority of
the Qazaluuskan orcs took up a wailing, moaning chant, repeating
the same phrases in orcish over and over again. Seven orcs walked
up to the circle, and each orc pricked one of his fingers, letting
a few drops of blood fall. The double lines of blue fire hissed and
flared, seeming to feed off the blood and grow stronger.

The seven orcs took seven
children, carrying them to the circle, while Hhrolazur took his
position before the stone door, the skulls upon his staff rattling
as he began a spell. Ridmark wondered if John and Mary were among
those children.

Hopefully, none of them would
die.

Ridmark hurried down the
hill, back to where Peter waited with the piled kindling.

“Now?” said Peter.

“Now,” said Ridmark.
“Hhrolazur has started his spell. I suspect interruptions would
prove harmful.”

Peter’s teeth flashed in his
beard with a savage grin. “Good.”

He produced a piece of flint
and started striking sparks from the edge of his axe. Several of
the trees had died in this part of the forest, though they remained
standing as brittle husks waiting for a strong wind to knock them
over.

Or a fire to burn them
out.

Ridmark and Peter had
occupied themselves by piling kindling around the base of the dead
trees, and now the kindling took fire with a whooshing sound. At
once the fire climbed up the dry trunk. They had prepared five
trees, and Ridmark and Peter hastened to set them afire. Before
long all five trees would transform into towering torches.

The bone orcs couldn’t help
but notice.

“Get ready to run,” said
Ridmark.

“Are you sure that this is
going to work?” said Peter.

“Not at all,” said
Ridmark.

“Well, at least you’re
honest,” said Peter.

Ridmark heard shouts of alarm
from the other side of the hill.

“Go!” he said.

“Good luck,” said Peter.

“You, too,” said Ridmark, and
he turned and broke into a jog while Peter ran down the side of the
hill. Ridmark sprinted to the base of the hill, circling east
towards the back of the massive, rocky barrow. The barrow seemed to
glow in the gloom, and from time to time Ridmark saw flickers of
blue fire beneath the grass and trees upon the barrow’s surface.
Was the Old One working magic of its own?

He tugged his gray cloak
closer and circled around the base of the barrow.

The gray cloak was his best
hope of the plan working. Years ago, not long after he had become a
Swordbearer, he had undertaken a quest to Urd Morlemoch on behalf
of the high elven archmage Ardrhythain. When Ridmark had returned
successful, Ardrhythain had given him this cloak. It looked like a
simple gray cloak, unremarkable in all respects. Yet it never
needed to be washed or cleaned, and it never tore or frayed, and it
had a remarkable capability for stealth. It didn’t make him
invisible by any means, yet it had a knack for helping him to
remain concealed when necessary.

Though with the bloody light
of the moons overhead and the strange blue glow of the circle, the
resultant maze of shadows meant that Ridmark hardly needed the
cloak to remain unseen.

He followed the curve of the
barrow’s base, and the stone door came into sight. Hhrolazur stood
not ten yards from Ridmark, still casting his spell, blue fire
burning up and down his staff. The seven children, boys and girls
both, stood frozen around the circumference of the burning circle.
Their expressions were empty, slack. Likely Hhrolazur’s magic held
them fast.

Yet most of the orcs were not
watching the spell.

Most of the bone orcs were
running up the slope with weapons in hand, heading towards the
burning trees. For a brief moment Ridmark wondered why Hhrolazur
had not stopped his spell, and then realized that his guess had
been right. The orcish shaman had not stopped his spell because he
could not…or he dared not for fear of the consequences. Ridmark did
not know what it would take to ruin Hhrolazur’s spell. Likely
removing just one of the children would be enough to break the
spell and earn the Old One’s fury.

He stepped forward, intending
to pick up the nearest child from the circle, and a cry of alarm
rang out.

Ridmark whirled just as a
Qazaluuskan orc ran at him, brandishing an axe. Ridmark ducked
under the first sweep of the axe, jumped back to avoid the second,
and thrust his staff before the orc could line up a third blow. The
end of the staff hit the orc in the stomach, and the warrior
stumbled. Ridmark brought his staff down on the orc’s head, and the
Qazaluuskan orc fell motionless to the ground.

He turned to see nearly a
score of bone orcs sprinting towards him, weapons in hand. There
was no way Ridmark could fight them all, no way he could even
escape.

He tried, anyway.

Ridmark charged into the mass
of bone orcs, attacking and blocking. He killed two of his enemies
in rapid succession, but he took a glancing hit across the left
forearm and another upon his upper right arm. A sword slashed
across his chest. His heavy leather jerkin deflected the edge of
the sword, but the power of the blow staggered him.

Yet he forced his way ahead
as the orcs closed around him, and at last Ridmark flung himself
forward.

He hit the nearest child, a
boy of about nine, and knocked him over, moving him out of the
smaller circle. Ridmark fell across the double lines of the larger
circle, and the cold blue fire washed over him, a horrible pain
shooting up his legs and into his chest. He scrambled backwards,
trying to get away, and suddenly a booming roar rose from the
circle, the earth making a grinding noise like the growl of a
furious bear.

“Idiot!” screamed Hhrolazur,
his black eyes wide with fear. “What have you done? Kill him. Kill
him! Kill…”

The bone orcs behind Ridmark
raised their weapons, and then blue fire flared in the darkness of
the stone doorway of the barrow.

The shaman whirled, and the
Old One glided into sight once more, a black-armored shadow
wreathed in blue fire.

“Fool!” roared the Old One,
its voice booming over the valley. The bone orcs froze in terror,
gazing at the undead creature. “You have failed to perform the
rite! You have failed to respect the laws of the Lord of
Bones!”

“It was not my fault, Old
One!” said Hhrolazur, quailing back. “The human, the human
interfered with the…”

“You should have stopped
him!” thundered the Old One, lifting its free hand. “You have
offended the Lord of Bones with your disrespect! You shall explain
your failure before the throne of Qazalask himself!”

The bone orcs around Ridmark
threw down their weapons and fled, terrified of the Old One’s
wrath. Ribbons of blue fire erupted from the Old One’s hand and
wrapped around the screaming Hhrolazur, trapping him like a fly
caught in a spider’s web. The Old One melted back into the darkness
of the barrow, pulling the struggling shaman after him.

The massive stone door
slammed shut, sealing Hhrolazur in the barrow with the Old One.

Ridmark staggered to his feet
as the blue circle sputtered and vanished. He looked around as the
bone orcs fled from the Old One’s tomb, leaving their captives
behind.

It seemed that the plan had
worked after all.

###

The next morning Ridmark
walked with the freed villagers back to the ruins of Toricus. He
still intended to venture into the Qazaluuskan Forest in search of
an Elder Shaman, but he would see the villagers back to their
homes, at least. They would have a great deal of rebuilding before
them, but the people of the Northerland were accustomed to
hardship, and Ridmark had no doubt that they would rebuild.

John walked next to Peter, a
younger, sober-faced version of his father. Peter himself carried
Mary in his arms. The little girl seemed to have come through the
ordeal without much ill effect, and chattered constantly as they
walked.

“And then, Papa,” said Mary,
“the Gray Knight came and knocked over the bone orcs.”

Peter blinked. “Gray
Knight?”

Mary pointed at Ridmark.
“There. That knight, Papa. The knight in the gray cloak.”

Ridmark snorted. “I am not a
knight, child.”

“Yes, you are,” said Mary
with all the innocent impertinence of youth. “You are the Gray
Knight.”

Peter laughed. “A good
name.”

“Perhaps,” said Ridmark.

He still intended to find the
secret of the Frostborn or die in the attempt.

Still, he was glad that he
had been able to help these people upon the way.

THE END

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***

The Demonsouled
Saga

MAZAEL CRAVENLOCK is a
wandering knight, fearless in battle and masterful with a
sword.

Yet he has a dark secret. He
is Demonsouled, the son of the ancient and cruel Old Demon, and his
tainted blood grants him superhuman strength and speed. Yet with
the power comes terrible, inhuman rage, and Mazael must struggle to
keep the fury from devouring him.

But he dare not turn aside
from the strength of his blood, for he will need it to face
terrible foes.

The priests of the San-keth
plot and scheme in the shadows, pulling lords and kingdoms upon
their strings. The serpent priests desire to overthrow the realms
of men and enslave humanity. Unless Mazael stops them, they shall
force all nations to bow before the serpent god.

The Malrag hordes are coming,
vast armies of terrible, inhuman beasts, filled with a lust for
cruelty and torment. The Malrags care nothing for conquest or
treasure, only slaughter. And the human realms are ripe for the
harvest. Only a warrior of Mazael’s power can hope to defeat
them.

The Dominiar Order and the
Justiciar Order were once noble and respected, dedicated to
fighting the powers of dark magic. Now they are corrupt and
cynical, and scheme only for power and glory. They will kill anyone
who stands in their way.

To defeat these foes, Mazael
will need all the strength of his Demonsouled blood.

Yet he faces a far more
terrible foe.

For centuries the Old Demon
has manipulated kings and lords. Now he shall seize the power of
the Demonsouled for himself, and become the a god of torment and
tyranny.

Unless Mazael can stop
him.

Read
Demonsouled
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=880) for free.
Mazael's adventures continue in
Soul of
Tyrants
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=911),
Soul
of Serpents
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1287),
Soul of
Dragons
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1727),
Soul
of Sorcery
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1845),
Soul of
Skulls
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=2808),
and
Soul of
Swords
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=3599),
along with the short stories
The Wandering
Knight
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=3073),
The
Tournament Knight
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=3677), and
The Dragon's
Shadow
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=2635).
Get the first three books bundled together in
Demonsouled
Omnibus One
(http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=4442).