Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 13 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve 

Chapter Thirteen – The Battle of Warriors

Varg couldn’t say he was surprised at the verdict. Their so-called trial had lasted little time, and it had consisted of nothing but accusations of their being spies sent by the horde’s enemies. No other details had been provided by Winglog’s sonorous voice, who appeared to serve as a mouthpiece for the Grand Chief, as well. The crowd had been incensed against them from the beginning, and thousands of orcs had cried out, demanding their deaths.

Therefore, their current predicament was nothing else but what he had expected. The three of them were inside an improvised ring of sorts, at the heart of it, back to back, surrounded by the horde getting crazier and crazier with promised bloodshed. Yarag had yet to command the first pack of orcs to attack them, as it appeared that the whole thing served as twisted entertainment.

Claw and Toru were taking in the vile shouts, the opened mouths enraged with bloodlust, the tusks glinting in the sun. There were still hours before the sun would set, but could they survive to witness another moon rising in the sky above them? Varg steeled himself. Although he couldn’t deny the truth in Claw’s words that they were condemned either way, he still nurtured a deep belief that this day they wouldn’t meet their end.

His thoughts were occupied mostly by Toru, his purpose, his meaning for the world. They had gone through incredible adventures together, and it seemed cruel to be stopped in their quest by a bunch of orcs with no discipline and nothing but pure fury coursing through their veins. Their end would not be here, he decided, as he gripped the hilt of his sword. At first, he would only tire his human, allowing the beast inside him to feed on the same bloodlust he could read in the eyes of their soon to be attackers. Then, when his wolf emerged, he would be hungry for orc flesh, and he would not go down without taking hundreds with him.

“Are you still keen on your plan, puppy? They seem to be quite numerous,” Claw commented.

“Keener than ever,” Varg replied.

Claw chuckled. “We’ll use our humans first, right?”

“I know I will.”

“My tiger wants to kill this horde,” Toru growled under his breath.

“Varg is wise, kitty,” Claw said. “Let our beasts have a taste later. And we can alternate between our shapes so that we can rest in-between and kill as many of these bastards as we can.”

“You’re still talking like we cannot win,” Toru growled again. “For Duril, I’ll kill them all.”

“Then I’ll stick by your side just to see us do that,” Claw replied. “Do you think they’ll be gentlemen and come at us one by one?”

Varg’s grip on his sword tightened. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

No matter how seasoned he was in the heat of battle, the first loud war cry made his hair stand on end. From all sides, around a dozen orcs rushed toward them.

***

Duril felt warm heavy tears streaking his cheeks as he pushed Sog aside and stuck his hand into the fire to save the tome in which he had so painstakingly written their adventures during the short reprieve they had had in Shroudharbor. Sog whined and tried to reach for the tome to throw it back into the fire. “No, bad Sog,” Duril shouted at him and pushed him again. “These are my things!”

Elidias’s secret herb must have been the reason why he had suddenly recalled who he truly was. The librarian mustn’t have known that no one other than Duril would have to be saved in that manner and recall who he truly was, and it seemed like such a gloomy thought that instead of saving that precious herb for a dire time, it had had to be wasted like that. It all happened because he had let his heart and mind fall prey to new alluring promises, of belonging to this horde.

He didn’t have time to think what all of that meant. Toru, Varg, and Claw would be on trial soon, as he had heard the others discussing.

“They’re already fighting for their lives.”

That was the talking pendant, the one that looked like a snake. He had pinned it to his shirt so that he could save his belongings from the fire.

“What? But their trial --”

“They fooled you so that you didn’t intervene,” the pendant replied.

Duril stood and wiped his tears. He grabbed Sog and shook him. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Not-Orc is Sog’s friend,” the orc replied but did nothing to release himself.

“Take me there. Take me to them, now.”

All his things were scattered around, the pearl from Shroudharbor, the tome, his herbs, but they were no longer threatened by the fire. They meant nothing without his friends, anyway; without Toru and his beautiful smile, and Varg with his warm and kind heart. Even without Claw, their most recent friend, who had guided them here through his wisdom.

And he had failed them. He had abandoned them, heeding a call that he had heard for the first time in his life, forgetting them like they weren’t truly his heart and destiny.

There was no time to wallow in self-pity and guilt. He grasped Sog with all his strength and dragged him away from the fire, despite the orc’s protests and fighting. “You’ll no longer be my friend if you don’t take me where they are right now.”

It should have struck him as odd that there was so much silence around, but he had been so absorbed with searching for the bag and its contents that he had failed to notice that everyone else appeared to be gone.

“Sog takes you, Sog takes you,” the orc pleaded with him. “Just let me take you there.”

He let go of Sog who rushed in front, making him increase his pace to a full run. “You better not fool me, Sog, or I will cut you down.” As the words left his lips, he knew that he would never be able to act on such a promise, but was that how things still stood?

As the old memories returned, the new ones hadn’t faded. He could still recall the new power surging through his body as he had wielded Winglog’s blade and driven it through enemy after enemy, severing limbs, opening bellies and sending heads flying. A shiver moved through him as he recalled all that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. From someone who had sworn that he would always help others, heal them and soothe their suffering, he had turned into nothing else but a wild beast with bloodlust in his mind and heart.

“I’ll take you, I’ll take you,” Sog repeated like a mantra, as they ran through the deserted camp.

Duril no longer needed Sog’s help to get where he had to be. In the distance, at the edge of the caldera, right before the walls rose as tall as hills, the clamor of battle could be heard, and the vastness of the horde was visible with the naked eye.

Despite the burn in his lungs, he hurried, running faster, and leaving Sog behind.

“Not-Orc!” Sog shouted after him. “Don’t leave Sog alone!”

Despite the obvious plea in the orc’s voice, Duril didn’t stop. How could he? Through his recklessness, he had put his friends in harm’s way, and now they were in mortal danger because of him.

***

Toru didn’t usually use a sword when he fought, but anything that could serve as a means to destroy this enemy that dared to steal his Duril from him fit him like a glove. A broken blade was in his hand now and the surge of bloodlust rushing through his veins was only growing in power. He growled as he grabbed a large orc warrior and buried the broken blade into his chest to the hilt.

Without bothering to pull it back, he grabbed the orc’s long dagger and used it as a spear to send it flying straight into the head of another who was trying to attack Varg from behind. His companions were as deadly as he was, and around them, heaps of bodies began to rise.

The smell of orc blood was a worse enemy than their blades. It fizzled like dragon’s spit as soon as it touched the sand and caused thin smoke to rise, getting in their eyes and making it hard to see.

“Is this the famous horde of Zukh Kalegh?” he shouted, opening his arms wide and taking in the large crowd around them, from which new attackers came like wasps from a nest. “By nighttime, I’ll be done with all of you!”

Mad growls replied to his taunt, and more and more orcs rushed toward him.

“Are you trying to make us look bad, kitty?” Claw laughed as he threw a shiny blade at him, which he caught deftly. “Don’t keep them all to yourself.”

The bearshifter used the force of his large arms to catch his enemies and squeeze them until they were out of breath. Varg had doubled his trustworthy sword with a curved blade in his other hand, and he was wielding both weapons with masterful precision.

They were comparable in strength, and the heaps of bodies around them rose equally high. Toru was in awe of his companions who not only kept up with him but pushed him to do better, too. These orcs were nothing but a bunch of mindless creatures.

Only that they were many, so many, and Toru felt his arms growing weaker, not by much, but getting there. After listening to Claw’s and Varg’s advice of holding back on their beasts until their humans couldn’t take the toll of battle anymore, he realized that he wanted that moment to be as late as possible. The more they lasted, the more of the horde they took out.

And if they reached the point where they needed to confront the big orc that had squeezed Varg and Claw in his arms like they were nothing but a little girl’s dolls, they would need all their strength. He was the only one Toru feared, although he wouldn’t admit it for the world.

Something suddenly changed in the horde’s strategy. Their numbers increased, and he had wanted that, after all. But what was strange about it was how there were no longer only warriors sent against them, but also skinny orcs armed with nothing but small daggers.

Could it be that they had already run through their warrior elites and now were sending the lower ranks against them? That was a refreshing thought, and Toru grinned. Was this truly the great horde they had been so afraid of?

He pushed one small orc with the heel of his foot, sending him flying. The orc tumbled and remained on the ground in a heap of bones. Then two rushed against him.

Then three.

Soon, he was surrounded, and he couldn’t spare a moment, always needing to cut through one, or kick or hit. They were soft-bodied, unlike their armed warriors, and easy to kill, but something about the viciousness in their tiny eyes reminded Toru of the one from earlier that had sunk his only tusk into his leg. They were armed with small daggers and when they managed to prick him with them, they felt like nothing short of bee stings.

He looked at his companions, and it appeared that they were surrounded by similar swarms of small orcs that tried to reach them with their weapons, succeeding only from time to time.

Toru winced as another dagger pricked him. The sting felt deeper now, reaching somewhere well under the skin, and making pain flare. It was an unnatural type of pain, one that didn’t stem from the cut slashing the skin, but something else.

“Their daggers are poisoned,” Claw warned.

“We’ll have to shift!” Varg shouted. “Now!”

Their beasts could handle poison, Toru remembered. So the orcs’ strategy had been to force their beasts out. They weren’t thinking right, anyway; in their beast form, they would be even more dangerous, deadlier. If the Grand Chief of Zukh Kalegh thought he would wear them out faster this way, he was wrong.

Just as they shifted, the swarms of small orcs retreated. For a while, no other orcs were sent their way. Toru closed ranks with Claw and Varg, and examined their enemies. “What do you think they’re planning?” he asked.

“I think we’ll know soon enough,” Claw replied. “They didn’t drag out our beasts for nothing.”

A low deafening roar rose from somewhere behind the crowd surrounding them. Toru felt his hackles rising at the sound and dropped his muzzle down, preparing to fight.

***

A sound like no other made Duril feel his blood curdling in his veins. He couldn’t see the source; was it a wild beast of sorts? What was it?

“Sog,” he asked, “what kind of beast roars like that?”

“It’s Wepir,” Sog replied. He rushed to catch up with Duril and caught him by the arm. “Don’t go there. Wepir doesn’t stop until its belly’s full. It’ll eat everyone!”

“Did they release something like that upon my friends?” Duril didn’t need any more explanations. That roar was enough to tell him everything.

“They must die because they’re spies,” Sog said, more and more agitated and trying to keep Duril from running farther. “They’re shapeshifters; Wepir will love their juicy meat. Nothing will be left for Sog to make a stew,” he added mournfully.

Duril pushed him angrily. “I don’t know how I could believe I was like you! You’re nothing but a mindless, ugly beast!”

Sog stopped fighting against him, and his eyes grew wide. Duril felt almost regret at his words, but he steeled himself. His friends, his lovers, were in mortal danger, and he had nothing left to spare for this pitiful creature that probably didn’t deserve his anger now, but he just couldn’t stop.

If anything happened to Toru, Varg, and Claw, his life was over. He didn’t deserve to live after putting the ones he held the dearest in harm’s way like that. And it wasn’t only because he loved them; he put the entire world’s fate in danger if Toru didn’t live to fulfill his destiny.

That thought alone was enough to make him choke with despair, and his legs started moving faster and faster, while fresh tears flooded his eyes.

***

“Does that answer your question, kitty?” Claw said as a strange creature rushed into the ring, snorting and huffing, and moving its three heads around like a swarm of flies just got in its ears.

Toru froze for a moment. The thing rising on its hind legs, towering above them, could only be made of nightmares. It had hooves like a goat, and dark fur that covered its twisted body, but its heads were nothing like a goat’s. Rich manes the color of the abyss adorned the heads, and in each one, four eyes glinted with malice and thirst for killing. Large muzzles opened to show rows and rows of sharp fangs carved from alabaster.

“Anyone who has any idea what this thing is and what’s the best method to fight it better say something,” Claw said.

“I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,” Varg admitted. “Do you think they thought of giving us a fighting chance by forcing us to turn into our beasts?”

“I wouldn’t hold them in such high esteem,” Claw replied. “Something else must be afoot, and I’m not sure I’m keen on learning what.”

The creature finally spotted them and turned its entire attention on them. The three heads lowered and performed a sweeping motion, trying to scatter them like toys. They were forced into three different directions, and Toru noticed only briefly how Varg and Claw barely evaded the creature’s heads.

He didn’t like this. Orcs might be mindless creatures, but the big orc, the one in charge, had a vicious mind. That meant that Claw was right, and it wasn’t by whim alone that this nightmare creature had been sent against them in their beast forms.

It was more than its appearance that could make anyone freeze in fear; it was also that deafening roar leaving its throat that announced to its prey that a horrendous end was near. Toru had never been prey in his entire life, and he had no intentions of becoming prey now, no matter how frightful this beast was.

As the creature did nothing but swing its heads to and fro, apparently with no aim or purpose, Toru began to walk around it, searching for an opening, something to sink his fangs and claws in. Any beast, no matter how powerful, had to have a weakness. Slowly, taking advantage of how the creature appeared to be interested in chasing his companions, he approached swiftly and bit one of the hooved legs. Unlike Demophios who had been a nasty surprise with his tough scales, this creature had soft flesh and his fangs encountered no resistance as they sank into it.

With as much viciousness as he could muster, he pulled and took with him a chunk of the creature’s flesh. His action didn’t go unnoticed. The beast roared again and all of its three heads turned toward him. By now, however, he was already on the run, circling it, making it turn too fast and fall on one side.

“Good one, kitty!” Claw shouted at him.

For a couple of moments, the beast appeared to have a tough time recovering from Toru’s bite, but soon, it was back on its feet again, swinging its heads menacingly, just like before.

Emboldened by his earlier success, Toru began running around the beast, to bite it again. Claw and Varg were hard at work to draw its attention to them. He searched for a trail of blood; the creature must have felt that bite quite badly, but to his surprise, only a few droplets of blood could be seen on the sand. Much to his dread, when he looked up, he saw that there was no bleeding wound on the creature’s leg where he had bitten it just earlier. The flesh had regrown somehow, and Toru then realized what kind of opponent they were dealing with.

“It heals itself!” he shouted at the others to let them know of his findings.

***

As soon as he heard Toru’s words, Varg understood why that creature had been sent against them, and why they had been forced into their beast form. He had never seen anything like it, indeed, but he knew what sort of creature it was. As a young pup, he had gotten scared many a time when the elders of the pack were telling the youngest stories of a creature so foul, so horrendous, that it fed on nothing but shapeshifters.

All shapeshifters, no matter their beasts, had the ability to heal themselves fast. And this creature that fed on shapeshifters had perfected that ability to the extreme. Feeding on nothing but shapeshifters, it could become invincible. Seeing how fast the one in front of them had healed after Toru had taken such a large bite from its leg, Varg could only assume that it had fed on many shapeshifters throughout its existence.

“I know what this thing is,” he told Claw who was busy, just as he was, trying to tire the creature by forcing it to follow them.

“Do I want to know?” Claw asked.

“No, but you’ll learn of it, anyhow.” Varg stopped for a moment as Toru managed to land another bite and make the creature stumble and fall, giving them a small reprieve. “It’s called a wepir, and it feeds on nothing but shapeshifters.”

“And I was right. I didn’t want to know,” Claw replied. “Don’t worry, puppy. Let’s just make sure that we’re hungrier than it is.”

“Sounds like a great plan.”

Around them, the horde appeared to be having a great time watching their struggle. Varg searched with his eyes for the Grand Chief. Where was Duril? He would have expected to see the healer by Yarag’s side, but during their mock trial, he hadn’t been present, not even for a short while. Varg suspected that he must have been prevented from witnessing their trial and punishment. Could it be that the Grand Chief knew that they told the truth about Duril? Toru’s opinion that the horde wanted to keep Duril for themselves no longer appeared to be a farfetched conclusion.

If that were true, then it also meant that Yarag expected Duril to start remembering once he rested his eyes on them, once friends and lovers, now strangers, for enough time. But had the Grand Chief gone as far as to imprison Duril temporarily just to keep him away?

The time for questions was gone when the creature lunged toward them once more. His memories of those long-forgotten childhood stories were of little importance now.

Except, Varg thought, as something of that mud of reminiscence gave way to a particular event described by one of the elders of having had happened, and not just in someone’s imagination.

“Friends,” he shouted at his companions, “I’m about to do something crazy. Don’t you dare stop me!”

With that, he shifted back into his human. By now, his wolf must have dealt with the poison from the small orcs’ daggers, and he felt strong enough to do what he intended. He rolled on the ground and picked up two curved blades, his trusty sword lost somewhere in that heap of bodies. He began swinging them alternately while he approached the beast cautiously.

“Varg!” Toru shouted at him. “What are you doing?”

It was crazy, it had small chance of success, but only the daring would succeed. He could only hope that the old tale from his childhood told by an elder who had sworn that he had been attacked by such a creature and still lived through it to tell the story, was true.

He waited until the beast lowered its heads and opened its three mouths. Varg only needed one opening. Without hesitating, he jumped high in the air and rolled down a slimy tongue, tumbling down one of the creature’s gorges as if he were on a slide.

***

Toru watched in disbelief and despair as Varg disappeared inside one of the beast’s mouths and got swallowed like a mouse by a giant snake. “Varg!” he shouted and rushed toward the creature, with the intention of slashing open its belly and freeing his friend.

Claw jumped in his path, and they both ended up rolling down on the ground. “Kitty, Varg knows what he’s doing!” the bearshifter yelled at him while struggling to hold him down.

“Let me go! It swallowed him! I’ll lose him, too!”

“Trust your friend,” Claw insisted.

Toru now hated the bearshifter for preventing him from doing what he needed to with all his body and soul. He had already lost Duril; he couldn’t stand the thought of losing Varg, too, and Claw couldn’t understand because he hadn’t been with them while fighting evil so many times. He tried to bite the other, but Claw was stronger and kept him there, making him go mad with fury and helplessness.

***

Duril pushed orcs out of his path, growling and shouting. The sounds of battle were ubiquitous, but he wasn’t getting any closer, or so he felt as he waded through the green sea of bodies. Whenever one orc tried to push him back, he hit him with the fist curled around the pommel of his blade, and soon, he was left alone.

The growls of that horrible creature were getting louder, but Duril, being shorter than most of the orc warriors around him, had yet to see it. His entire body was stretched taut, and his desperation pushed him forward.

And then, he finally saw it. Wepir, as Sog called it, rose three heads above the crowd, and it looked like it was struggling to swallow something. Ominous thoughts seized his mind; he could only hope that his friends were still alive. If not, he would never be able to forgive himself. Worse than that, he didn’t know if he could live if something happened to Toru, Varg, or Claw.

How could he have been so blind? How could he forget? He pushed himself against the mass of orcs until he reached the enclosure formed by their bodies, only to witness a horrendous sight. Heaps and heaps of green corpses lay everywhere, and he could see Toru and Claw engaged in a battle of their own for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

Varg was nowhere to be seen, and Duril’s heart sank. Could it be that he was too late, after all? With a growl he didn’t recognize as his own, he rushed against the creature, his blade drawn, his mind focused on nothing else but saving Varg who, for all that he knew, must have been swallowed by that nightmare.

He sank his blade into the beast’s left flank, drawing blood, but as soon as he pulled it out, the wound began to close under his very eyes.

“Duril!”

That was Toru’s voice, the one he knew and loved so much. “Where is Varg? Did this thing swallow him?” he asked, shouting at the top of his lungs.

Both Toru and Claw rushed toward him. “He jumped inside, saying that he’d do something crazy, and we couldn’t stop him,” the tigershifter explained. “Duril, do you remember me? Us?”

Duril nodded. “Yes, and I’ll spend my life pleading with you to forgive me, but now let’s save Varg. What have I done?”

“You discovered yourself,” Claw said briefly.

Toru turned into his human and embraced Duril tightly, but only for a moment. Then he grabbed another blade from the ground. “Let’s split open this creature and save our mutt!”

Claw helped with his paws and sharp claws, while he and Toru struggled to carve a way inside the beast. The thing tried to bite them, making their actions difficult, but they dodged swiftly, working together and managing to make the thing topple on one side.

“Not-Orc!” Duril heard his name being shouted. “What are you doing?”

That was Winglog, who sat perched on a tall rock, by Yarag’s side.

“I’m saving my friends!” Duril yelled back. He had no time for the Grand Chief or anyone else.

“You’ll die with them!” Winglog shouted again.

“Then I will!” he replied, his hoarse voice carrying over the ruckus of the crowd.

The orcs had all gone wild the moment they had realized who was there, in the ring, fighting the three-headed creature side by side with the strangers. They were strangers to them, the horde, but to Duril, they were the most important people in the world.

Their struggles seemed, however, destined to fail, as each wound they carved into the creature’s soft belly filled with flesh quickly as if it hadn’t been there at all.

“We need to work faster,” Duril said, prey to more and more despair. How much time had passed since Varg had been swallowed? He didn’t dare to ask, but it felt like he had been there, sinking his curved blade into the thing’s belly over and over, for hours.

“You have Demophios!” Toru exclaimed as he brushed the back of his hand against his forehead and looked at Duril with desperation that matched his own.

“What?”

“The wise annoying snake,” Toru said and pointed at the talking pendant. “Demophios, how do we kill this beast?”

“The master wolf knows what he’s doing, and he works from the inside. But you need to help him, and you need more hands to take this wepir apart.”

Duril was no longer surprised to hear the pendant talking, and it looked like some astonishing things must have happened to Toru and his other companions while he had heeded the call of the horde.

“But how are we going to get more hands?” Toru asked. “We’re surrounded by enemies.”

Duril felt his desperation growing. Indeed, because of his recklessness, they were now about to lose everything. And he would lose the new life that had begun for himself the moment Toru had come to Whitekeep.

“Sog helps.”

He was startled by the orc who had somehow made his way to them, although Duril had long left him behind. Without another word, Sog pushed his dagger to the hilt into the wepir’s side.

“Chum, what are you doing?” Winglog shouted from above. “You’re dead to the horde if you side with our enemies.”

Sog pulled his head between his shoulders and just continued to use his small dagger to dig into the wepir’s flesh. At least, because of their concentrated efforts, the creature could no longer attack them, as it looked like it used all its energy to heal its wounds.

And all this time, Varg was there, inside, probably having less and less air to breathe, while they proved useless in their attempts to set him free.

All around them, the crowd was growing delirious with madness. For them, it was a spectacle, something that fed their thirst for suffering and blood. How could he believe for one moment that he was part of this? He could only blame it on the fury in his blood that had rested quietly until now, on the legacy of his father, but above all, he mostly blamed it on himself.

He gave up on cutting the wepir’s tough skin. He walked to the middle of the ring, to make himself visible. Then he raised his blade and shouted, “Yarag, because of me, you are now king! I saved you when you were at death’s door, so save my friends now!”

The crowd’s noise died down. Yarag stood up from where he sat on the tall rock and looked down at him. Then, with a loud growl, he jumped down into the ring.

TBC

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