Zygurd peered up over the arm of his lieutenant as the lances passed... his breath low but ragged as he kept concealed under the corpses. His face was caked with blood and sweat and dirt and all the gruesome bits that remained of his fallen comrades. His body lay flat against the ground , a jagged rock digging into the bottom of his ribcage, but he did not mind or care so much about that. His body had experienced, and currently was experiencing much greater discomfort. He stared out of the bodies, peering through the armpit of his fallen Orcish brother in arms, as the pale faced lances scoured the area for signs of life.
It had been hours before... and he could remember the last time he'd seen his brothers alive... back near the base of the hill, in the woods where they made camp last evening. He had been strapping his boots up when Bargos and Lotar found him. Zygurd looked up at the two other Orcs with a nod of consideration.
"What is it?" he'd said offhandedly, banding off the boots and tying the knot off.
"Levtenan' come by, tell us you got the only good rubstone." Bargos said, brushing a wasp from his bare shoulder. The wasp however, did not yield and simply dug it's barb into him. Bargos merely gave an indifferent grunt, killed the buzzing insect and began picking the stinger of the callous it was buried in. Zygurd nodded, reaching for his whetstone to his companions. They'd sat down next to him on either side, taking turns with the stone and running I down the length of their axe heads and spear points.
"What news from the Levtenant?" Zygurd had inquired. Bargos shrugged.
"Bad shit going down today... the Imperials are marching towards the Fynne River... they ran into clan Grundyll last night while they were scouting around... bad scrap... take thirty.... Fo'ty maybe ... small fight.. But the humans routed... they know we're here and are going to try and shake out our ambush... like rattlin' birds outa der bush. " Bargos said, giving his axe a few good strokes and handing the stone off to Lotar. Zygurd looked back towards where the Lieutenant stood on post , peering into the surrounding woods.
"What word of Reinforcements then?" Zygurd asked. This time it had been Lotar who'd answered.
"A few pale skin humans... barbarians from the marshes and the woods... Picts mostly.... A few Highland an' Vanir but mostly Picts." Lotar muttered. "That's about it though... the goblins are tied up in a fuck over on the other side of the mountains...No one wants to get involved wit dem Imperials..."
"Picts aren't that bad." Zygard replied. "Scrappy and they know how to fight in the woods...they wont be too bad as long as they can follow fuckin' orders...they got no love of Imperials."
"They're brash and wild... " Bargos had grumbled.
"So are we... when y' get down to it."
"Got a point... " Bargos laughed. "But do that again and I clout your fuckin' nose off . "
They had laughed and passed the stone back to Zygurd who glanced back at the Lieutenant.
And here he was once again staring at the Lieutenant, his now dead left arm covering Zygurd's gaze as he watched the Imperial Lancers move away. Zygurd got up once they were out of sight and ran at a crouch back towards the tree line, his hand clutched to his shoulder as he struggled through the underbrush. He had made it... the flight from the battlefield was sure to have been seen... but he made it in one piece.
Or so he'd thought.
As soon as he stepped foot past the tree line he heard a sharp whistling. He turned in time to spot the arrow as it embedded itself in a nearby tree. He turned and saw them now, a small band of them descending from the hill after him, aided by a quiet hail of arrows from their archers. Zygurd ducked through the brush as the arrows hissed through the air after him, hitting logs and tree stumps with sickening 'thunk" sounds. He ran, his feet flailing about as he staggered through the mud and brush until he made his way to one of the shallow creeks that ran through he forest. He flopped down in the water, dropping down into the ditch it had cut through the ground over centuries, and lay down in the mud near the creek bank. He lay there for some time, hiding behind the ridge of the creek bank and waiting for the sounding approach of feet. He peered up over the ridge and looked across the forest floor and the fallen leaves about him. He could only see vague figures approaching through the forest. He looked around for signs of escape... that was when he saw her.
She was crouched behind one of the trees; her hand gripping a mace, an empire made mace. She was not of their faction though, Zygurd could tell she was one of the barbarians that had come to their aid. Much good they had done. He watched her as she waited for them to approach... peering venomously out of her dark locks of tangled hair. Her face was painted with the tattoos of her clan, her body clad in strips of metal pieced together with leather and fur... made more for mobility than for protection. She was fierce, like a cornered animal. Zygurd ducked back down under the ridge and found his curved hunting knife... the only weapon he had on his person.
He concentrated... forgetting now his wounded shoulder and how the blood was caking with the sweat to form a bitter scab where the sword had bit him. He forgot the pain and the sorrow and the agony that surged through his body and found the warrior buried within the raw emotion that made up his conscious mind. He clenched his teeth, his gaze becoming cold and his eyes loosing emotion bit by bit... He found the killer, and the hunter and the fighter and became him, feeling that mentality overcome him... He stood up and saw the exposed backs of the Human soldiers.... And he saw the angry frightened grimace of the woman as she leapt from her cover, seizing one by the neck.
Zygurd watched as she moved, angry, scared, vicious... sloppy. She was not fighting as a soldier, but as a caged animal fighting at the bars of her cell. The men reacted quickly.. But not nearly quickly enough... One went down... there was a growl... a guttural moan of pain a crunch and a scuffle. Zygurd could not see clearly who was winning and who as being hurt where... it was gruesome and dirty... the way people really fought. He climbed out of the riverbed and moved in as the iron shirted men began to draw their weapons on the woman... She stared up with wild eyes as they readied themselves and began to move in.
Perhaps in a different world they would have made an attempt to kill her... in a different world they would have succeeded. But they never made it past the raising of their blades. The woman could see nothing of their deaths but the sudden shocked look, a jerking of the body and a small steel point protruding from one of their chests. Zygurd drew his knife from the man's back and threw him to the ground to die on his back. With the other he had seized him by the neck and dug his sharp thumbnail into the vein below his chin... causing the man to cringe in pain. Zygurd slid his dagger home into the man's stomach, feeling the flesh part and the blood spill down the hilt of the blade as the man's eyes went wide and terrified. The Orc watched, feeling no remorse or sympathy for the man as he twisted the blade and felt the muscles in his stomach contract, vainly trying to stop the further agony of his wound. Zygurd looked on... cold ... unfeeling. He withdrew the dagger letting the man slump to the forest floor like a sack of potatoes, then curl up, clutching his abdomen and shuddering violently, spitting up blood and breathing heavily. The Orc knelt now and slowly crushed the human's throat.... And held his hand there , thumb on the jugular vein.... Slowly feeling the life leave him bit by bit as he died in his hand....
It all came back in a rush... he felt tired... drained from the exertion and from the brief reminder of just how much of his innocence had been lost up until that point. He sat there on his knees... taking a moment to breathe and to gaze upwards. The canopy lay above him... shafts of pure golden edged white light breaking through the foliage and casting it's purity in halos on the dark forest floor. All around these pools of light sat.... save for that spot where Zygurd sat with the bodies of two of the pale faced men. A moment of reflection now overtook him. They were men... with families and lives and hopes and dreams... and they were dead now. He had killed them. Such things entered the minds of every Orc, following the battle... it was a philosophy of compassion to those who suffered the burden of life and the agony of death along side you. They fought well... and died honorably... and in the end it was all he could say for them.
Zygurd bowed his head in Respect... but his thoughts were soon roused by the presence of the woman beside him. Zygurd turned to her and looked her over. Palefaced, creamy skinned like the men he'd killed... a grim tattered woman but one who returned his deep respectful gaze with one of her own. Zygurd stood and looked towards the retreat, remembering his orders. Should the line rout, they would regroup at the far edge of the forest. He looked down at the barbarian woman and helped her to her feet.
