Vurl's Dark Pack
A Korst Short Story
By
Robert J. Morrison
The heavy sound of hoof on stone tore through the still evening air, it was a sound the native humans of the region of Kalmon had learned to dread. Bestial snorts and the soft metallic chink of mail and weapons were almost drowned out by the cloven feet on earth.
"Swyfa yaa lessylsa placi," Silence you drunken fool, hissed the imposing figure of Warmaster Vurl Elfcleaver. The order was followed by the low growls of his twin chaos hounds Raveger and Render. But the menace of the alien dogs was unneeded as the Dark Pack's lone predilorn gathered himself and bowed in deference to the mighty one-time general. Shaking his goat-like head Vurl looked up to scan the tree line, his more controllable warriors were were even now spreading out to encircle the small village. Less than two score warriors were under his present command, but they would be enough he knew. These khurl, be they lesser, greater or predilorn were the best, the cream of the crop of a race that valued nothing so highly as warfare.
Suddenly Vurl was forced to reach down and grab the support of the side frame of his war chariot. He threw an angry growl at his aide and charioteer Kurstag Splithoof. With a great show of strength, Kurstag yanked hard on the thick leather reins. The chariot buck again as the war boars struggled against his tentative control.
"Min pizzor wo thaas da shysh!" Be Still or feel the lash! He snarled quietly at the pair of bucking beasts. Within a heart beat the two creatures relaxed and merely tore at the rocky ground with their heavy cloven hooves, they knew the threat and had felt the burning touch of the lash far too often for their liking. The smaller khurl, as with all of his lesser kinfolk, stood only sic feet in height, discounting his slightly curved horns. He followed Vurl's gaze to dark shrouded woodland that secretly held the excited warband.
"Kurstag, Gorbonn min negib. Render, Ravager mezzic erg fee fosora." Kurstag, Gorbonn be ready. Render, Ravager call out my pets. The Warmaster's order was swiftly followed and the pair of chaos hounds bellowed out a baleful howl, the signal to begin the night's assault.
"Husband, husband," Felicia Meloncamp shook her sleeping mate. "Husband!"
"By Kkrassk's black balls woman, what are you..."his question trailed off as he heard what had made his beloved Felicia so animated. It was not a sound he had personally heard before but he knew it well none the less. "Get me my blade, then take the children to Kevel's barn, you shall be safe as anywhere in the village in his cellar." Beren Meloncamp grabbed his boots and hurriedly stuffed his unclad feet into their cold depths.
"My axe Felicia, be quick," he called as she ran full pelt down the hallway to gather the great weapon from above the ember-filled hearth. When she returned, the massive double headed blade was weighing her down and slowing her steps. "My thanks, now go!"
"Beren my love," she said as she grabbed his arm, "your mail?"
"No time for that," he pulled her close planting a passionate kiss on her mouth, startling her with its strength. "Go my love, the barn, and take the bairns." With that he charged through the small farm house, shouldering his way past the kitchen door. The sight that he beheld once he got outside stole his breath.
"Kelladorn save us!"
His words were lost in the cries from all over Sackhaven, "Khurl! Khurl!"
Warmaster Vurl Elfcleaver would have been thrown from his chariot more than a score of times if not for his sure grip on the wooden railing. The wind blew through his thick fur and his left hand clutched tightly to the haft of his great war axe. He watched proudly as his Dark Pack tore their way through the defences of the small village, Sackhaven, he believed he had heard it called. Its name mattered for little now though, by the time his Pack had finished their havoc in this isolated town there would be nothing left but stinking corpses and burning ruins. That thought brought a toothy smile to his bestial face. He watched with glee as farmers and woodsmen were trampled beneath the cloven hooves of his warriors. This, he thought, is what we were born to do.
"Fiss ressif kraw kel ack ut ka rect daalonta. Ril fin rak jimyst Kurstag, florr mybita kraw fasa Korst." This world will fall in but a few decades. If we are lucky Kurstag, our sons will rule Korst. He growled through the wind to his charioteer. No reply was forth coming as the lesser khurl had his hands full with the twin boars.
"Fiss kaarst fin krawn grund duu da saka van menn!" This night we shall feast on the flesh of men! This received a black-toothed smile from his charioteer, it was rare that the Warmaster allowed his Pack to feed on the sweet flesh of humans.
Blood ran down Beren's arms, his trusty axe had tasted the flesh of more than one khurlish warrior, but before he could fell the wounded another of the monsters just stepped into the fray. A flicker of light caught his eye as he turned to see flames licking up the side of the fortified barn, the refuge of the young, old, and weak.
"No!" His fury came on, a bloodlust filling his mind and a new strength entering his tiring arms. His axe came in high, aiming for the skull of a khurl that stood toe to hoof with him. Up went the khurl's vicious mace, but before he could parry the blow Beren's new found strength gave him the brute force needed to change its deadly course. The axe blade entered the khurl's ribs, slicing between the thick bones, right down into his vitals. With a hiss of blood the khurl's eyes rolled back, his heart sliced in twain.
"Who's next?" He screamed as he kicked the fallen monster away, he dearly wanted to rush to the flaming barn but he knew he was done for. As was Sackhaven. As was his beloved wife. As were his dear children. Now all Beren craved was to drop as many of the invaders before he went to meet his wife and children in Kelladorn's White Plains. "Come on you bastards!" He saw a reaction from the largest of the deadly khurl, predilorn he had heard them named, and this seemed to be the only one in the raiding party.
"If you fall you monstrous bastard," he screamed, "how many more men and women will have a chance at life in Grendale and Firestag?"
"Raag!" The massive monster growled as he charged the lone human. The strange word meant nothing to Beren Meloncamp and he prepared to meet the monster's charge.
"Hena Gorbonn!" Came a call that froze the great half bull half khurl dead in his tracks. Only feet from Beren he towered more than nine feet in height, he appeared like some evil relative of Korst's well known centaurs. But Beren knew this was not the case, these invaders were not merely from another land or nation, these invaders came from a world a greater distance away than any man's mind can handle. A world called Grigia, thousands of times the size of Korst it was said. A world that the khurl had stripped and destroyed. Now Korst was to become their new domain, until they destroyed this world and moced on to the next.
"Come on!" There was no response from the predilorn. He stood as still as a statue, his gaze turning off to the right. Beren turned his head to see a powerful khurl step from the back of a barely controlled chariot. Beren's own war axe looked like a child's toy when compared to the weapon the mighty khurl carried with but a single taloned hand. The human licked his lips, throwing a glance to the bar, trying to block out the dreadful screams of the dying farmer's family and friends. "Come on then ugly, you'll do!"
"Hena Gorbonn!" Stop Gorbonn! Vurl called as he leisurely stepped from the back of his still moving chariot. Unlike any of his Pack, Vurl spoke the tongue of this world and he highly resented the slurs to his ancestry. And Ugly? That he could live with, he was proud of his accumulated scars, they showed his battle experience for all to see.
"Oorse kraw dracap fiss man," I will take this man. "Come human, show me your anger!" With a feral growl Beren obliged the taunting monster. Vurl swatted aside the first two wild blows the human threw at him, the strength behind those deadly if ill aimed strikes impressed the khurl.
"You have strength, this is good," his accent when speaking the common tongue of Korst was thick, he saw temporary contemplation on the human's face as he deciphered the words.
"Twenty nine summers I have worked these fields, now it is gone! All of it gone! You'll feel my anger you filthy son of a goat," Beren raged as he hacked first high then low then high again, but every strength draining attack was met with softly glowing, damn if he hadn't noticed it before but yes it was glowing, axe of Vurl.
"Ha, I like you little man, you have spirit. But as much as I like you all hu-mans with spirit will be crushed. You must learn Hu-man, this is our world now, you stand on Grigor!"
"I'll die," Beren spat, "but you will never win monster! You can burn every village you like but we will not die! We will fight! Every man, every woman, everyone wirth a keen blade will blood your kind. You and your scum will be nothing but ugly rugs! For Korst!"
The khurl continued to deflect the strikes, only once did the human make it through, a thin wound slicing across the khurl's thigh. With a slight limp the Warmaster decided this show had continued for long enough. Vurl went on the offensive. The Warmaster was a veteran of more battles than he could count but all of his well honed finesse was left unused, brute strength would suffice for this fight. Down came his glowing axe, with the force of a thunderbolt it slammed into the human's own weapon. The impact forced the man to one knee, but as Vurl drew his axe for another strike the human rolled forward. The somersault surprised the invader and he was not prepared for the stinging wound, deep wound, on his lower back. If not for his thick hide the blow would have ended his life. This stole the mirth from the situation to the khurl's mind.
"Enough," Vurl growled, "nice move but this ends now!" In came the enchanted axe, once, twice thrice it hammered into the axe of Beren, each blow knocking him back with their sheer power. But it was the forth blow that was the pivotal attack. The steel blade of Beren's war axe shattered like glass, shrapnel wounding both khurl and farmer alike. Then came the fifth and final blow. The axe entered at Beren's left collar bone and came free of him by his right hip. Coughing a gout of blood Beren fell to the ground, his eyes losing focus as he watched the wall of the burning barn collapse, unseen tears blended with his blood as he drifted off to the fabled White Plains of Kelladorn.
"Gorbonn, fech-wa da seraph kat toshap da grund," Gorbonn, gather the dead and prepare the feats, Vurl said as he placed his axe, Korg's Blade, back into its sheath. He grunted with discomfort as he placed his hand over the deep wound on his back, he'd live, just another scar to prove his worth.
"Grigor." He hissed to the fallen human. "No more Korst, it is Grigor!"