Roderick and Gorlana Pt. 02

"If they take offence they may eat the sod between their toes," Korboq said with a flat face.

Roderick nodded and they set off.

10 minutes later,

The other commanders' offence at the orc being invited in had only involved about 5 minutes of gradually dwindling shouting, and so Roderick was honestly impressed at their agreeability. Now they had finally brought Korboq up to speed and he thankfully was maintaining his decorum and taking it seriously.

Korb moved his yellow eyes over the map and moved his mouth in silence as he thought.

"These archers stationed over here. Will they be able to hold off an assault hand-to-hand?" the orc asked.

The other commanders gave silent uncomfortable glances.

Roderick finally answered honestly, "No. No they won''t."

Korb shook his head, "Then they will break through on that side. They will scale that hill quickly and eagerly."

"Then we would be routed. Dammit!"

One of the commanders asked, "Are there certain orcs we can take out? Certain squadrons we can pick off with the archers that would make them lose confidence and retreat?"

Korboq scoffed.

Roderick spared him the response, "No. You've seen enough battle with these orcs to know they'll fight almost to the death, and only retreat if defeat is completely obvious." He sighed again. "I need SOMETHING Korb. These men are going to die. Is there ANY way we could convince them into some sort of parlay? A deal? I know they don't respect surrender per se... but at this point I'd sacrifice almost anything. Myself even if it meant sparing everyone else." he said, fear rising in his chest, but knowing it would be the right thing to do, if he was going to die anyway.

Korboq's head rose and he looked at him for a long time before speaking. "Talbidagar," he said.

The others looked as confused as Roderick.

"Honour combat. What you humans sometimes call a 'duel'" Korboq clarified.

"Other commanders tried that in the past when we learned of it, it's always been refused. They say it's sacred, for orcs only," one of the commanders explained.

Korboq seemed to choose his words carefully. "Other times I know of, the human's army was already failed and ready for defeat. We may be like that now, but we have stayed far enough ahead of our pursuers that they don't know our numbers or lack of advantage, as you've said."

The others nodded, seeming to understand.

"And, though it IS ... similar to what you call 'sacred' for our orcish clans. I have faith that Roderick ... Lightbrew, has enough ...honour among us for it to be considered acceptable."

Korboq took a long breath into his nose after he said it and smiled a knowing smile.

Roderick met his eyes, with none of the excitement and pride that Korb seemed to be showing, but despite his doubts, he knew it was the best chance to save his men.

"Okay. It's worth a try," he agreed.

"You'll die!"

"Yes I might. But it's still our best shot. If I lose, what will they do to the rest?"

"They will win whatever we were fighting over, which would be this region, but the troops would be allowed safe retreat."

Rod nodded, "That's what we'll do then."

Korb spoke up again, "For them to have any chance to accept... you must not set up your troops for battle."

"What?!" a commander blurted out.

"They will have trouble trusting you to begin with. And it is custom to have the troops lined up in respect. NOT in battle formations, and all but the highest ranks from a distance, so that they will not attack in dishonour if their fighter loses."

The others looked around uneasily, and Roderick shared their trepidation at first, but eventually realized they had no choice. "We'll do what we have to do. It's still our best hope."

He tried to believe his words. But hope, at least for himself, was slipping away fast.

...

The next morning, Steelfist, the Orcish chief of the enemy forces, stared below thick furrowed brows, with intense purple eyes as if trying to see through every inch of Roderick's much smaller body. Finally he gave a nod.

"We accept," the chief rumbled.

Roderick nodded back, continuing to stand straight and silent, and trying not to visibly tremble.

"...I accept," Steelfist clarified.

Roderick stiffened, as low mutters sounded from all around. The chief was missing his left hand, but that fact held no reassurance standing before the huge brawny orc. He was starting to show greying hairs, but did not look as though age yet slowed him down at all. Roderick knew he had not become chief through political savvy.

Korboq had already been doting over Roderick all morning, telling him how to dress and how to stand and what to say exactly, and when. He seemed to have a nervousness about him, despite this being his idea, as he tried to guide Roderick through the protocol. Now Korboq stepped forward, a wild look in his eyes, though he stood straight and defiant against his rivals.

"You face him. As chief. In Talbidagar. Knowing the challenge has been made true to our customs, and in full orcish honour, to a rival..." Korboq said, his voice seeming to drip with implication that Roderick wasn't sure he fully understood.

Steelfist looked Roderick over again with another derogatory scowl and nodded, "I will let no other steal the glory today."

They started to turn away to prepare but Roderick spoke up, despite knowing it likely broke protocol, "If I lose, my men will be given safe retreat? You give your word?"

The orc snarled, "This has already been said. Do not insult my honour further or this fight will start before it's time. When you die, they will be allowed to flee as cowards. And this land will be ours, without question or denial by your human lords."

Roderick gave a curt nod, not sure what his King would think of that, but he supposed it wouldn't be his problem at that point.

Minutes later, the area was set, a circle on onlookers from both sides around a flat grassy battle area. Each 'clan' chose 3 weapons to toss in a pile, and each fighter chose up to 2. Roderick was the challenger, so Steelfist chose first, but it was no doubt to him which weapons they would each choose. Steelfist took his personal long curved orcish sword, and a short thick blade that strapped on to his left wrist stump; Roderick chose a shield and a long double-bladed spear. He ignored mutters and scoffs from the orcish side, knowing how much they stubbornly held to swords as the only true weapon of honour.

The area was cleared and suddenly Roderick realized there was no more waiting. His heart started to pound, almost in time with an orcish drum that started to thud with equal ferocity.

"Talbidagar!" One of them shouted.

"Talbidagar!!" the rest intoned loudly.

The drum stopped.

Steelfist roared and looked up to the sky with both arms raised, then lowered his gaze down at his far smaller opponent.

Roderick had filled out considerably since his days as a rookie private, more meat on his bones, broader shoulders. Not huge, but well-toned and solid. Through his height alone he could stand imposing above most of his men, but this green menace before him made him feel smaller than he ever did when he had first dreamed of joining the forces.

Roderick planted himself on the balls of his feet and adjusted his grips on his spear and shield, familiarizing himself with the weight and balance. He cleared his mind of the emotions of the situation, the insanity of it all. It was just him, and his weapons. A problem of physical movements and maneuvers. No right or wrong. No past or future. No-...

Steelfirst darted forward with sudden speed and Roderick couldn't help taking an instinctive step back before stopping himself and darting two steps towards his charging foe before bouncing quickly to the orc's short side.

The orc's stump-blade likely wouldn't have reached him but Roderick deflected it off his shield almost to test it, as he thrust out with his spear and managed to taste Steelfist's shoulder with it's tip, to his surprise.

The orc stopped and turned, rolling back his shoulders in a snarl, trying to gloat at how little it affected him. He feigned a charge and veered to the left. Keeping Roderick on his sword-side. Roderick almost took the bait but was quick to readjust. He was faster than this orc but not by much. Steelfist made a stabbing lunge at him and he deflected it at an angle but was still jarred by the power of it, his arm throbbing in pain immediately. He stabbed again with his spear and again reached the orc easily, into his armpit this time and sinking deeper than the last, coming away with more fresh blood.

The Orc roared louder, but wasn't crippled in any way by the wound. Facing him again unperturbed. Rod expected an immediate retaliation but the green brute planted his feet in a taunting hateful snarl.

Roderick waited and faked to his right, succeeding in making the orc pivot. Then thrust forward to the orc's sword arm. Steelfist swung to easily bat the spear away but Roderick had expected as much. The orc still seemed not to take the spear's range seriously, and Roderick used the momentum to spin the double-pointed weapon around and slice his face.

He had hoped to hit his throat but instead slashed from the top of one tusk to the bottom of the other, through his cheek and jaw.

Blood spattered from the orc's mouth as he roared and stabbed out with his stump-blade. Roderick had found himself in a vulnerable stance after his slash and had to jerk to the side, the blade just catching him along his torso and slicing along the skin under his ribs. It was his turn to let out a yell, and he only just caught his stumble in time to parry off the orc's furious counter attack.

Steelfist spun and slashed with wild abandon now, clearly insulted at the amount of blood he spilled. Roderick's arm buzzed in pain as the shield clanged and dented against the large curved blade. Roderick kept stabbing forward with the spear and hitting home more often than not as he circled and retreated from this green monstrous foe, but never able to sink more than a few inches into his flesh. Any human would have been stumbling and near defeat from the wounds, but this chief wasn't backing down and only seemed to have his anger boil more intensely at each poke and prod.

Finally though, the orc seemed to settle himself and huffed in laboured breath after his berserker attack had failed to kill his puny opponent. Roderick took what solace he could in that, and quickly got his bearings again.

This time he was more ready for the attack, and when Steelfist swung his stump-blade left and then wheeled his arms for an overhead sword swing from the right, Roderick read it correctly and was able to dodge past it without using his shield, and without being touched, was able stab accurately into the orc's eye.

He felt it sink in, but resisted trying to thrust it further, so that he had time to jump back away from the quick counter swing, and still nearly had the wind knocked out of him when his shield vibrated and felt like it would break.

Steelfist's good hand went to his mangled eye and he almost dropped his sword, yelling in agony now, as much as anger. Roderick didn't waste time and lunged forward immediately again to hit the orcs arm that was cradling his eye. He felt the resistance of bone but had to pull away again or else it would be ripped from his grasp from the orc's flailing response. He had hoped he had hit the joint but the orc's wide strong swings against him told him he hadn't. Steelfist roared and swung as wide and far reaching as he could. They were less powerful blows as a result, but Roderick still stumbled at each that struck his shield, his arm feeling like it would break from any one of them.

Steelfist swung and then spun his body around and Roderick tried to use the opening to thrust forward his own attack. He did succeed in sinking shallowly into the back of the orc's neck, but the chief continued to spin as Roderick was exposed in his reaching lunge and the stump-blade caught him square in the side.

It felt like it should have sliced him in two, but it didn't hit him clean on the blade-edge, and instead simply sent his body careening to the side, still having sliced past his skin into the muscle near his ribs and possibly breaking one or two of them. He rolled along the ground helpless in his tumbling momentum, and reeling from the pain. He finally came to a stop in a dazed heap with his spear at his feet, and looked up to see Steelfist planting his feat and then leaping into the air for the deathblow.

The green mass launched into the air, yelling out from a bloody grinning mouth, and showing off in his glory, to raise both his sword and stump-blade in outstretched arms as he reached his zenith, flying like a hero from an orcish warsong, about to descend on his doomed enemy.

Roderick simply lifted his spear.

One motion was all he had time for, and all he needed. The rear-point planted in the ground by his side, and the other swinging up just in time to align with the orc's torso as his weight descended down.

Steelfist was impaled through his middle in a sickening wet thump and his descent was slowed as he sunk along the shaft and the spear fell with him to the ground.

The orc was not dead though. His yell had switched to one of pain, but he landed on his feet, looked down in offence and then back up at Roderick. He dropped his sword, but not out of defeat. Instead he grasped the spear-shaft and pulled it towards him, jerking Roderick's whole body forwards and stabbing at him with his stump-blade.

Roderick barely lurched away in time, pushing away from the spear, as the blade just caught the edge of his scalp in a painful grazing slice. He rolled away on the ground, now helmet-less with only his shield, and jumped in desperation to reach for the orc's discarded sword.

Steelfist turned, and the impaled spear spun with him to knock Roderick in the back and send him flying over top of the sword that escaped his grasp.

Steelfist went for the kill again and Roderick met his stump-blade head on, crying out in pain from his shield arm, meeting it pound for pound, wondering if his arm had finally broken.

Steelfist turned to go back for his sword and Roderick scrambled after. The orc would have reached it first but for the spear still skewered through him. Roderick was able to at least reach the spear-shaft ahead of him, and push it into the ground, stopping the orc in his tracks. He grasped the spear under his arm to hold it into the ground as the roaring orc flinched from the torsion on his wound. Roderick stretched out desperately and finally wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the orcish sword just before Steelfist arched his body violently backwards.

The spear dislodged from the ground, and arced upwards with Roderick's arm still hooked around it. He was catapulted into the air above the clan-chief, flying free from the spear and flailing with his shield and the orcish sword still in his hands.

Though it mimicked Steelfist's previous flying attack, Roderick felt like no hero, but rather a helpless rag doll descending to his doom. As he reached the top of his ascent he fought to control his body and gripped the weapons to draw back the sword and hold the shield underneath him.

As Roderick fell, Steelfist roared and stabbed upwards with his stump-blade while Roderick thrust downwards with the sword. The stump-blade hit his shield straight on and the weight of him made it pierce straight through the metal, screeching upwards towards his throat. As this happened, Roderick plunged the orc's own sword straight down into his roaring gullet. It sunk through Steelfist's throat and into his spine, the fleshy resistance stopping Roderick's fall along with his impaled shield beneath him. His descent stopped just as the stump-blade nicked the skin of his throat. The two seemed to hang in a gruesome stacked pillar until Steelfist's dying body finally tipped to the side and they toppled to the ground as one.

Roderick rolled away, grasping at the shallow slit in his throat and backing away from the death-spasms of the orcish chief, impaled through the mouth by his own sword.

He knelt and his hands went to the wound on his side, which was deeper, with blood still oozing forth, but not enough to be deadly. He realized he would live, just as the orc's body finally lay limp in death, and an eerie hush stretched on as he finally looked to the crowd, suddenly remembering they were all there watching.

The humans cheered and the orcs wailed in a sudden unison cacophony. The sound hit him in concert with the insane realization of what he had just done. Korb and his commanders rushed to him and helped him to his feet. When it was clear that no one was breaking honour and attacking, they began to celebrate in earnest and Roderick's arms were lifted high. It was hard to feel pride in his battered exhausted state. He was simply amazed to still be breathing; to still, somehow, be clinging to his life. Though it would never be the same again.

*****

Roderick stood in front of the King and his high-nobleman and wondered why he couldn't achieve a success without feeling like his life was on the line. Though this one was a far different flavour than winning the Orcish chiefdom 3 years ago, the adrenaline was still the same. He looked again at Professor Beleros, the Sage no longer willing to meet his eyes, but the stare of recognition they had shared when Roderick entered the chamber had sent his heart racing and it had yet to stop. This small spectacled man, with the secret he now knew, held his fate in his hands more dangerously than any foe he had faced on the battlefield.

He's not your foe. Roderick told himself. He seemed to have a liking for you once your initial blunder wore off. He said he wouldn't tell anyone you were part orc... That was before he knew who Roderick was though. He kicked himself internally for not having predicted this situation, though he didn't think Beleros would be here, and wasn't quite sure why the Sage needed to be present. He supposed he could ask the same of many of the attendees who were there.

The throne room was full of the highest rank noble men and women, a few top military officers and a few others that Roderick couldn't pin down, besides the professor. The King sat on the grand throne in the center but the stroke-addled man was hunched and drooling, looking even older than he was. An occasional inaudible muttering to his servant who would announce his agreement or disagreement was his only contribution. Otherwise, the session was lead and controlled with no question, by Princess Valessa, who's presence commanded even more respect and obedience than Roderick had experienced in their meeting the day before. Despite the distraction of the Sage and his secret, Roderick was fairly sure he performed exactly how Valessa had wanted him to. Or, perhaps it was because of it, and that distraction stopped him from feeling any residual nervousness about the rest of it. Either way, she seemed to eye him with approving glances between her sternly professional addresses to the court. She had seemed to do a double-take when she saw him walk in, and not in a negative way, he was fairly sure. He felt strange after being pampered by her servants with a fresh shave, haircut and the smell of some type of flower permeating his skin after the longest and hottest bath he'd ever had. If it helped this meeting to be a success then he was fine with it, though he couldn't imagine ever getting used to the feeling.

The meeting seemed to go by in a blur, as Roderick tried to ignore his thoughts and focus. Valessa had just finished undressing a retort from one of the nobleman arguing finances related to the war and the man had slunk back in his chair in either defeat or appeasement, Roderick wasn't even sure.