With the death of the Ogre the Orcs lost their advantage and
gave up what little headway they had made into the barn. In less than thirty
seconds the fight had moved outside into open field and the orcs scattered for the
safety of houses.
Brandon looked at Trent in both awe and annoyance. “I don’t
know if I’m more pissed off or impressed.”
Trent shook his head. “Either way, be it later, teams of
two. Search the houses. Hopefully we scare
them off, I don’t want to ruin this
village any more than we already have.” He said as the rest of the soldiers
grouped up into teams of two, leaving a pair to guard the barn. The other pairs
quickly headed for the closest houses leaving the furthest building for Trent
and Brandon.
The Building furthest from the barn was also the biggest. The
village gathering hall. It only had a few rooms but they were spread out on two
floors. They approached the front door which was hanging loosely open, moving
back and forth a few inches on its damaged hinges. Trent and Brandon stood to
the sides of the door and Trent pushed the door open with the scabbard of his
sword. Nothing moved inside the building in response. The pair moved into the
building covering each other’s backs. Far in the distance they heard the faint
sounds of combat and then silence.
Brandon moved off to the left toward a door that would take
him to the room where the stairs to the second floor were. Trent moved to
follow but Brandon reached the doorway first. He stopped in the doorway for a
moment and Trent moved to join him. As he got closer Brandon dropped his sword
and Trent saw the back of his tunic turn dark with blood. The Orc kicked Brandon
off his rustic blade and Trent blocked the Orc’s first swing and with a flash,
severed his head from his body. The head went rolling across the floor and the
body dropped lifelessly to the ground. Trent knelt to check on his friend.
He was already fading. His midsection a sloppy mess. “Look
Trent, I come with a convenient carrying handle now. Lisa should like that.” His
humor did not stop tears from coming to his eyes.
Trent was filled with equal parts fury and utter
helplessness. “You are the dumbest bastard I know.” He said.
Brandon gave a bloody smile. “Don’t say it unless you mean
it buddy.”
Trent. “What the hell do I tell her Brandon?” He asked.
Brandon was fading out, unable to focus. “Take me to her...tell her myself. Don’t take too long though, you’ve always been, the slow, one”
His body didn’t go limp, He didn’t close his eyes, and there was no last gasp.
Everything thing that Brandon was just silently vacated the bloody mess that
used to be his body.
If Trent had any actual memory of what happened next he had never admitted it. The other members of the unit all swore that he alone killed
the rest of the Orcs, even the ones that tried to run were chased down and
ended without mercy.
By sunrise the rest of the unit had policed the orcs and the Troll a few
hundred feet away from the village. The fire stank of burning flesh and moldy
clothing. On the opposite side of the village Trent built a funeral pyre for
Brandon. He watched over the fire alone until there was nothing but ash. He took
Brandon’s sword and using the only anvil and hammer in the village, broke the
blade off the handle. Filled his scabbard with his ashes and tied the handle
into the scabbard, sealing the twine with enough tree sap to settle his fears
of it popping open.
The raiding party had slaughtered the livestock and horses,
the village was still standing but the next few months of their lives would be
hard. He combined his and Brandon’s things into one pack, created a shoulder strap for Brandon's scabbard, and got ready to leave the front lines.
The eldest member of the unit approached him as he was
getting ready to leave. “The war isn’t over.” He stated.
Trent didn’t even take his eyes off the horizon. “It is for me.” He said with finality, before taking off on foot,
