Phantom of the North
Chapter 3 Fortunes of War
Bryon ran through the woods, blood staining his back and arms. His hands were covered with the black and green colors of dirt and orc blood. His hair was ruffled, unruly, and his body was rank with the smell of death; just like everything else in the area. All together, if he lay still, h looked almost like blood-stained vegetation.
Bryon drew his scathing knife and charged at an unsuspecting orc. With one hand, he jerked the orc's neck back, and drew a dark line across the orc's neck.
The Arm. yes, that was it, the Arm of Revan. Looting, pillaging, murdering, committing crimes of war no one could stop; except, he thought, maybe him. Well, not stop, but certainly, he could make a difference. Scores of them had already fallen beneath his stealthy blade. Scouts, wounded, or unlucky, orcs were all his knife could find, but Bryon swore he'd get more of them.
A snap behind him. Orc? No time! Bryon darted behind a tree, and chanced a look; orc. And it suspected something. The orc's curved, and razored blade swung left, then right, searching for a warm body to bury itself in.
I've got to hide! The tree? Bushes? Tree... Bryon went over ideas in his mind, tree..., TREE!
* * *
Bryon awoke from the dream, the nightmare fading from his memory even at that moment.
"I'm sorry, Drekas, but there's no way of knowing if he'll make it through the night."
Bryon heard that woman again. He opened his eyes, and remarkably, they were fine. It was a little dark, but he could see clearly. He slowly rose, and felt the wound on his arm complain again. He walked over to a curtain, separating one bunk from the others. A candle lit the inside of the cloth sheet 'wall'.
"Such an end for the boy." Drekas said, his voice deep with sympathy.
Bryon parted the curtain, and looked inside. Drekas and the woman were inside, standing over. a ten year old boy. His neck was gnawed, and his body was bruised and beaten. Bryon knew, that the boy was going to die, or he would live again, only to be food for the orc army.
Bryon's eyes closed, and a single tear rolled down his face.
"Personally, I don't think he'll make it. Don't you see, Drekas? THIS is war. There is collateral damage, and no one can protect them," the woman laid her hand on the half-orc's shoulder.
Drekas's hand brushed the boy's hair, the child's face finally becoming visible. Bryon couldn't look on any more. He returned to his bunk, cautious not to alert Drekas's sharp ears.
* * *
"War takes no prisoners, Drekas," Drekas whispered to himself, too low for the nurse to hear. What if he lives, Janis?" Drekas asked.
"Then, he'll be the luckiest kid I've ever seen. Yet, miracles happen," Janis shrugged.
Drekas rubbed his eyes, invisible tears disappearing. He stood, his knees quaking, and hands trembling, "I need to rest, Janis."
Janis placed her hands on her hips, both stained with human blood. She did most of the surgery in the House of Healing. Few went without care, there, "There aren't any free cots-"
"I have a bedroll, Drekas interjected. He parted the curtain, and looked Bryon's way. The sheets were shifted...most off the bed. Drekas shrugged, and opened his pack. Inside was his life, including his message; message to warn of this attack. He hadn't made it in time. If only those Blade men would've allowed him to see the President, maybe this could've been averted. Maybe the boy.
Drekas lay onto the ground, not even bothering to open up his bedroll, and collapsed in rest, the sounds of battle still close by.
* * *
"Hey! Hey, wake up!" Janis poked Bryon's shoulder, then shoved him. With the motion, he rolled forward, grabbed a knife he'd hidden in the mattress, and brought it toward her. He stopped right at the base of her neck, and Janis froze, didn't even breath. His had drooped down, and he sighed, "By the Gods, don't scare me like that! I coulda killed you!"
"I noticed," Janis said, color returning to her face. A drop of sweat dribbled down her neck, and she wiped at her forehead.
"What is it, nurse?" Bryon asked, stretching his wounded arm. He stopped and looked at it. There... was no wound. Bryon's face darkened with slight confusion, then dropped the idea.
"It's..." Janis watched him peer at the injury and she smirked, "It's the President. She wants to see you and Drekas in twenty minutes."
"Why?" Bryon asked, rubbing the sand from his eyes and yawning.
"How should I know? She calls you, you go!" Janis lifted his cot, threatening to dump him. He stood up sharply, before she could continue lifting the cot. Smiling, she then turned to Drekas, "Come on, lug. Up an' at 'em!"
Chapter 3 Fortunes of War
Bryon ran through the woods, blood staining his back and arms. His hands were covered with the black and green colors of dirt and orc blood. His hair was ruffled, unruly, and his body was rank with the smell of death; just like everything else in the area. All together, if he lay still, h looked almost like blood-stained vegetation.
Bryon drew his scathing knife and charged at an unsuspecting orc. With one hand, he jerked the orc's neck back, and drew a dark line across the orc's neck.
The Arm. yes, that was it, the Arm of Revan. Looting, pillaging, murdering, committing crimes of war no one could stop; except, he thought, maybe him. Well, not stop, but certainly, he could make a difference. Scores of them had already fallen beneath his stealthy blade. Scouts, wounded, or unlucky, orcs were all his knife could find, but Bryon swore he'd get more of them.
A snap behind him. Orc? No time! Bryon darted behind a tree, and chanced a look; orc. And it suspected something. The orc's curved, and razored blade swung left, then right, searching for a warm body to bury itself in.
I've got to hide! The tree? Bushes? Tree... Bryon went over ideas in his mind, tree..., TREE!
* * *
Bryon awoke from the dream, the nightmare fading from his memory even at that moment.
"I'm sorry, Drekas, but there's no way of knowing if he'll make it through the night."
Bryon heard that woman again. He opened his eyes, and remarkably, they were fine. It was a little dark, but he could see clearly. He slowly rose, and felt the wound on his arm complain again. He walked over to a curtain, separating one bunk from the others. A candle lit the inside of the cloth sheet 'wall'.
"Such an end for the boy." Drekas said, his voice deep with sympathy.
Bryon parted the curtain, and looked inside. Drekas and the woman were inside, standing over. a ten year old boy. His neck was gnawed, and his body was bruised and beaten. Bryon knew, that the boy was going to die, or he would live again, only to be food for the orc army.
Bryon's eyes closed, and a single tear rolled down his face.
"Personally, I don't think he'll make it. Don't you see, Drekas? THIS is war. There is collateral damage, and no one can protect them," the woman laid her hand on the half-orc's shoulder.
Drekas's hand brushed the boy's hair, the child's face finally becoming visible. Bryon couldn't look on any more. He returned to his bunk, cautious not to alert Drekas's sharp ears.
* * *
"War takes no prisoners, Drekas," Drekas whispered to himself, too low for the nurse to hear. What if he lives, Janis?" Drekas asked.
"Then, he'll be the luckiest kid I've ever seen. Yet, miracles happen," Janis shrugged.
Drekas rubbed his eyes, invisible tears disappearing. He stood, his knees quaking, and hands trembling, "I need to rest, Janis."
Janis placed her hands on her hips, both stained with human blood. She did most of the surgery in the House of Healing. Few went without care, there, "There aren't any free cots-"
"I have a bedroll, Drekas interjected. He parted the curtain, and looked Bryon's way. The sheets were shifted...most off the bed. Drekas shrugged, and opened his pack. Inside was his life, including his message; message to warn of this attack. He hadn't made it in time. If only those Blade men would've allowed him to see the President, maybe this could've been averted. Maybe the boy.
Drekas lay onto the ground, not even bothering to open up his bedroll, and collapsed in rest, the sounds of battle still close by.
* * *
"Hey! Hey, wake up!" Janis poked Bryon's shoulder, then shoved him. With the motion, he rolled forward, grabbed a knife he'd hidden in the mattress, and brought it toward her. He stopped right at the base of her neck, and Janis froze, didn't even breath. His had drooped down, and he sighed, "By the Gods, don't scare me like that! I coulda killed you!"
"I noticed," Janis said, color returning to her face. A drop of sweat dribbled down her neck, and she wiped at her forehead.
"What is it, nurse?" Bryon asked, stretching his wounded arm. He stopped and looked at it. There... was no wound. Bryon's face darkened with slight confusion, then dropped the idea.
"It's..." Janis watched him peer at the injury and she smirked, "It's the President. She wants to see you and Drekas in twenty minutes."
"Why?" Bryon asked, rubbing the sand from his eyes and yawning.
"How should I know? She calls you, you go!" Janis lifted his cot, threatening to dump him. He stood up sharply, before she could continue lifting the cot. Smiling, she then turned to Drekas, "Come on, lug. Up an' at 'em!"