As the sword is pulled out, I do the one thing that might bide me some time from whatever danger has approached. I shove her gently backward out the door while I step to the side. Her body falls limply through the doorway and tumbles down the short stair into the dusty street. Through the swinging of the door I can see that I was wrong about the commotion. There are orcs, dressed for battle, slaughtering anyone they come across. It’s time to leave.
I wait to see that the woman’s killer does not venture inside the shop. A scream next door tells me my neighbor stepped out to see what was the clamor. I use this opportunity to make haste for the back room. My quarters are in the back and there is no place to hide. Eventually the orcs will begin sweeping the houses and shops when the easy targets in the streets have been dealt with. Orcs have a hatred of humans I do not entirely understand yet, so it would be unwise to assume they will be taking prisoners. Though the Orc Hordes have not attacked Elysium in force for near on twenty years, it’s rare that they should attack a town even the size of Nodkis. Their usual targets are the undefended farmvilles to the north-west, simply to raid their stores since the Hordelands are situated in highland plains and their society is comprised of nomadic tribes who have no time or interest in farming—only the glory of battle. Actually, it’s a wonder that they do not attack more often.
I strip my spartan room of valuables and return to the front of the shop cautiously. I fill my belt pouches with some coin and essential herbs and remedies, and scoop the remainder of my money and other valuables into a cramped, tin box. Kneeling behind the counter, I pry up the loose floorboard and tuck the tin into the hole I’ve hollowed out there. My book of potions and spells fits awkwardly into my food-and-clothes-stuffed pack but is too valuable to leave behind. Slinging my dusty, old bedroll and pack over my shoulder, I make for the front door. Just before I go, I click my tongue a few times and my owl flies from its perch to my shoulder.
Peeking through the door, I see my opening and step out. My owl takes flight almost immediately—it will find me later. The fighting on the street has moved down toward the bad side of town. Apparently they started where the city was most fortified and are working their way down. Smart. There is an alley that winds down to the canal just two streets away, if I can make it, so I keep to the overhangs and head that way. The only people I encounter are dead, run through or crushed with all manner of weapons. The blood and gore would bother most, but death holds no mystery to me. I have killed men myself, though none lately. All things belong to the Void in the end. Perhaps today Ner Ngal will take me. I do not wish to die but I would not complain either. Death is inevitable. Even though I worship Ner Ngal the Apocalypse, why should I force our meeting? I will die when I die so, for now, I will continue to take advantage of my time on Delkhii. And right now, that means getting out of Nodkis enVoll.
I see a handful of other ragged-looking peasants slinking along the bank of the canal when I slide down. Their faces seem stuck in a perpetual gape and they look at me through fearful eyes, unsure if I am one of them or not. I’m not but, since I am not Hordian, I pass whatever test they had in mind. Feeling certain I am not a threat—a miscalculation on their part—these few who were fortunate enough to avoid the initial slaughter go back to slinking away. The water moves south-east through the city and the lot are creeping along with the current. One man has even grabbed a plank and is floating downstream with his arms hugged tightly around it as though it were his last possession.
If I were an orc attacking the city, I would station a group at the end of the canal to intercept anyone who tried to use it to escape. Therefore, I go upstream. The orcs are sweeping from north to south, so my best chance is to go where they’ve come from. Since orcs love a good battle, it’s unlikely that any would stay behind to hold an area—it would be an insult. There may be a goblin or two but nothing I can’t handle. Either way, my dagger is unsheathed and ready for whatever awaits me. No, I don’t warn the others that their path is folly—that’s their mistake—and the fewer going my direction the better chance I have to remain undetected.
Nodkis enVoll is not large by any stretch. Anyone could stroll across it in a couple hours. Yet my shop is near the center so, moving cautiously, it takes me the better part of the afternoon to make it to the outer wall and pass under and out into the farmland surrounding the city. There are three pillars of smoke on the horizon to the west. I can only assume the nearby farmvilles were hit on the way to the city. Did the orcs really just come directly down through the pass? What of the Duerger then? Had they fallen to the same fate or simply opened the gates and allowed an army through? If the latter, it means the pact has been broken.
There is some movement to the north so I duck down to avoid detection. Between the dip in the canal and the tall grasses on its bank I am easily hidden but can spot the goblin wolf-rider patrol circling the wall. That will make things more difficult. I decide that the best course of action will be to turn south-west and head to Buknar Vull, the fort city of Baron Shil Dramus. Most of Elysium’s military trains there and, once they hear of the attack on Nodkis, will dispatch its regiments to push the orcs back. I hate military cities but the farms clearly aren’t safe and I don’t have the supplies I’d need to shelter in the woodlands.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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