Micky Carre
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Dragon Riders of Etrea—Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2024-07-31 16:59:15 +0000 UTCA large orc wielding a wicked spiked axe saw Henrik standing outside of the wall and booted his horse forward. The orc shouted some kind of battle cry. It sounded pathetic.
Henrik waited for him to draw near. The orc leaned low in his saddle, reaching out with his axe. Henrik dropped and rolled across the ground, his sword taking one of the horse’s legs off at the knee.
The animal screamed in pain and crashed to the ground, and the rider with it. Henrik leaped to his feet and rushed over. The orc’s leg was pinned beneath the screaming horse.
Two more orcs steered their horses toward Henrik. He watched them, then dashed to the side at the last moment. He twisted his sword as it slammed into an orc blade and pulled it from the orc’s hand. At the same time he reached out, grabbing the orc’s wrist. He pulled the bastard from his saddle right as the second orc rode by.
Henrik dropped to the ground and rolled right as the orc swung his sword. It scored a line across Henrik’s back, which only served to further stoke the fires of his anger. The feeling of the sword tip parting his skin added to his strength and granted him lightning speed. He was faster than he had ever been.
The orc he had unseated crashed into the ground. Henrik slammed his boot into the orc’s face, shattering his jaw. He stomped again, twice, three times. The orc wasn’t dead, but he was out of the fight for good.
After that he sprinted toward the other orc, the one that had attacked him. The orc spun his horse around and found Henrik already there, sword ready. Henrik leaped into the air, his supernatural strength taking him high above the ground. He slammed into the surprised orc and grabbed onto him, pulling him to the ground as the horse ran away.
“What are you?” the orc screamed, but his voice was cut off as Henrik grabbed him by the throat.
The orc shouted and punched Henrik in the face, but he ignored the blows and dug his fingers into the orc’s throat. The orc’s screaming became a gurgle as Henrik’s fingers broke the surface. Punches to his face stopped as the orc tried to tear at Henrik’s fingers. With his temper in full swing, there wasn’t a man alive that could break his grip.
Henrik’s fingers dug deeply into the flesh and gristle of the orc’s throat. He tore out a handful of meat and threw it on the ground. Right at that moment another orc rode by and drove his sword into Henrik’s back.
The blade went into his lung, but he ignored it and threw himself to the side. Part of him knew that was a killing wound, but the rest of him didn’t care. He brought his sword up and spun in a circle as eight orcs rode up, weapons ready.
“Who wants to die first?” he shouted, holding his sword in front of him.
He ran to the nearest rider and slammed his shoulder into the horse. No one ever expected that. The animal balked, jerking aside right as the orc tried to fight back. It threw his aim off and Henrik’s sword went right into his armpit. That would kill a man in minutes.
Henrik turned right in time to dodge a sword aimed right for his head. He leaped back and the tip of the blade scored a line across his forehead. Immediately after he thrust his sword into the orc’s lower back. That would bleed him out in time.
Another sword pierced his back, driving him to his knees. Deep in his mind, he knew that he was going to die. He didn’t care. He would take all of them with him. It would be a field of blood and death.
Henrik remained on his knees for a moment as his breathing turned to wheezes. He had to time this just right, and he needed some luck. Didn’t a woman pray for him recently? A priestess or something of that nature. Time to see if the gods favored him.
A stocky orc jumped down from his saddle and moved toward Henrik. He raised his thick-bladed sword over his head, seeking to take Henrik’s life.
At the last moment, Henrik leaped toward the man, slamming into him. He caught the orc completely off guard and used his incredible strength to lift the man into the air. He slammed him onto the ground, hard enough to stun the orc. His sword. Where was his sword? No matter, he still had teeth. He leaped on top of the orc and bit a chunk out of his throat, leaving a mess of blood across the ground.
“Give up, you stupid son of a whore,” an orc shouted.
Henrik leaped to his feet, looking around him. The remaining orcs had him surrounded. He stepped forward and grabbed his sword from the ground. Behind him the orc sniveled as he bled out, so Henrik swung his sword down, taking the top of the orc’s head off.
“Who’s next?” he shouted, but his voice was weak.
“Stop making it worse,” an orc called out.
“You can barely fucking stand. You fought well, we’ll make sure your death is quick,” another orc said.
“And I’ll make sure yours is slow!” Henrik shouted and ran toward the orc.
The orc moved his horse out of the way and swung his sword down, but Henrik was faster. He parried the orc’s attack and ran his blade along the orc’s leg, opening a deep gash in his thigh.
“We’re gonna have to pile onto this fucking bastard,” one of the orcs said.
A hand made of solid dirt and rock suddenly emerged from the ground and grabbed onto a horse’s leg. It startled the animal, causing it to flee in terror. The hand moved to the next horse and did the same. After that, the orcs kept their animals moving.
“Get off your fucking horses and fight me,” Henrik growled. His words were slurred, but he didn’t care. That presence was in his mind again, seeking blood, seeking death. He gave into it and charged the nearest horse.
The rider swung his sword and Henrik parried. The orc attacked again, but Henrik once again deflected.
“Move up behind him and take his fucking head off,” one of the orcs said.
Henrik rushed to the side, moving so none of the orc bastards could get behind him. He faced them down as they all approached him. He was eager for them to try. At that moment, he lived for the slaughter.
Fire suddenly sprouted from a horse’s mane. The animal screamed and bucked, throwing its rider to the ground. It ran away and Henrik rushed in, driving the point of his blade into the orc’s side. He ducked beneath a decapitating blow and rolled to the side, but another sword slashed across his stomach.
Henrik rolled again, but it was hard. His body wasn’t working correctly. He grit his teeth and pushed himself to his feet, staggering toward the wall. His sword was in his hands and that was all that mattered. His breath came in wheezes and his balance was off. But he had his sword. He could still fight. He could still kill.
“Henrik, get out of there!” someone shouted.
It was a woman’s voice, which was strange. Henrik didn’t remember any women being around here. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw an orc woman holding onto a man wearing robes. The man was covered in blood, and didn’t have much time left. Well, he’d be dead soon so he wasn’t a threat.
Henrik turned back to the orcs, who had gathered in front of him. Four of them dismounted and slowly approached Henrik, weapons held ready.
“Who wants to do it?” one of them asked.
“We all attack at once,” another responded. “This fucker is crazy.”
“Too much talking,” Henrik said. He raised his sword to fight, but found it incredibly heavy. Gritting his teeth, he forced the sword up through sheer will. Something tugged at his memories. An egg, belonging to a dragon. He had sworn to protect it. That presence entered his mind again, stronger than ever.
With his rage in full swing, he forced that presence aside. It gave in, but seemed to call out to him. He couldn’t understand it. At that moment he only understood how to kill.
“Come on,” Henrik growled.
The orcs cautiously approached him. If it was four on one, then there would be four bodies.
A horrible sound filled the night, like a harsh scream mixed with the sound of tortured metal tearing. Even through his anger, Henrik shied away from the sound. The noise seemed to pierce his very brain.
“What the fuck!” one of the orcs shouted as he scrambled backward.
That was the only warning Henrik had.
Something massive slammed into the ground next to him. Something massive and scaled, with enormous wings like a bat. Henrik blinked. A dragon? A fucking dragon? And a woman sat at the base of the dragon’s neck, on a saddle. Surprise shattered his anger into a thousand pieces.
The dragon watched at the orcs as they fled. The woman raised her hand and three of the orcs stopped in their tracks. Their screams were filled with fear but suddenly cut off. Henrik blinked. Was he seeing things correctly? Those three orcs were frozen, like they had been in the snows of the north.
The dragon lunged, biting the nearest orc. It lifted him into the air and threw its head back, then bit down. Half of the orc fell to the ground, and the other half went down the dragon’s throat.
Henrik took a step forward so he could help kill the remaining orcs. His body failed him and he sank to his knees. He growled and looked down at himself. He wasn’t out of the fight yet. But his legs barely moved, and he was covered in blood. Well, if he had to fight from his knees, then so be it.
The presence in his mind seemed to recoil when the dragon arrived. Pain blossomed in Henrik’s body. His back felt like it was on fire, and every breath was torture. That fucking arrow was still in his thigh. Each breath was ragged, and he felt like he was drowning. He knew what that meant. This was the end. He was dying.
The dragon raced across the ground, incredibly fast for something so large, and bit one of the orcs along with his horse. It took a moment to tear them apart, then rushed to the next orc. Henrik watched in amazement as the massive creature beat its wings and leaped into the air. In only a matter of seconds, it was gone.
“What is happening?” Henrik asked. He struggled to stay awake. His body seemed to be nothing but pain. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Shel holding onto Rasud. Rasud’s face was pale and she cried as she clutched him.
Out of nowhere the dragon came back, rushing across the ground like a cat going after a mouse. One of the few remaining orcs was trying to flee, but the dragon raced forward and bit him, tearing him from his horse. The dragon took a moment to eat the orc before looking around for more.
After that, the dragon moved straight for Henrik. He didn’t think he was on the dragon’s bad side, but the way it moved suggested otherwise. He tried to firm his grip on his sword. If he was going to die, he was going to die fighting. He lacked the strength, and his sword fell from his hand. With no other options, Henrik dug at the heel of his right boot, drawing the small dagger he hid there. It would have to be enough.
“Are you alright?” Anslie called out from her saddle.
“Help Rasud,” Henrik said. His voice was weak, probably too weak for her to hear. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the witchman. His eyes stayed on the dragon, who fortunately stopped.
Anslie unfastened two straps from her waist as the dragon lowered itself. It placed its neck close to the ground, and she slid down its shoulder. She ran straight to Henrik and reached out, taking his head in her hands.
“I can’t heal this,” she said, her beautiful face creased with worry.
“Rasud can,” Henrik said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. Too much blood in his lungs.
Anslie’s face was a mask of determination. She looked from Henrik to the shamans and hurried toward them. After climbing over the wall, she ran right to Rasud.
“Is it just this?” she asked, pointing to the dagger in his stomach.
“Yes,” Shel said. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“My ancestors are out there,” Rasud said. He sounded even worse than Henrik felt. “They’re chasing an orc. He did it on purpose to draw them away.” He pointed in the direction the orc had run.
“Tossyth,” Anslie said, turning toward her dragon. They locked eyes for a moment as if something passed between them. Then, the dragon turned and raced away into the night. It bounded a few steps, then leaped into the air, its great wings beating and stirring up dust and sand.
“I have to pull the knife out before I can heal you. I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt,” Anslie said. “My magic is different from yours. I will feel some of your pain when I heal you.” She grabbed onto the handle of the knife, nodded at Rasud, then pulled it out. Her face scrunched up and she sucked in her breath between clenched teeth.
Rasud screamed in pain and clutched at his stomach. Shel held him tightly and Anslie immediately began speaking something in the language of magic. She placed her hands over Rasud’s stomach and he calmed down. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Henrik thought the bleeding stopped.
“Can you do anything about Henrik?” Anslie asked.
Rasud took a deep breath. “By the Nine Hells, that fucking hurt. Henrik is supposed to be the one that gets injured, not me.” He took another breath and closed his eyes. “If your dragon can bring back my ancestors, I can heal him. I only have one with me now, and that’s not enough for the wounds he’s taken.”
“I don’t know how he’s still alive,” Anslie said, glancing over at Henrik.
Henrik just knelt there. If he tried to do anything else, he would fall over. He refused to give in, though. He could barely breathe, but his heart still beat. His mind was only partially back in his control, so he focused on remaining himself.
Anslie rushed toward him, her face filled with concern. “I can’t wait on Rasud’s ancestors. I have to try to heal you myself.” She knelt in front of Henrik and took his face in her hands. Her touch was gentle. “I can’t heal you all the way, but at least I can stop the bleeding and keep you from dying.”
“You have beautiful eyes,” Henrik said. Even in the darkness of night they almost seemed to glow with their own light. Everything else was pitch black, but her eyes were bright. It was the most incredible thing.
She smiled, the sort of smile women used when they blushed, but her face quickly grew concerned. “Henrik, stop. You’re dying.”
“I just wanted to tell you that,” he said. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
She looked into his eyes for a moment. “I’m going to do what I can.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Henrik asked.
“Just be still. Let me try to heal you,” she replied.
Anslie closed her eyes and her grip on his face firmed slightly. Henrik felt a warmth flow through his body and Anslie suddenly cried out in pain. She fell onto her back and hit the ground, her entire body shaking.
Henrik pulled himself across the ground to her and grabbed her arm. “Are you alright?”
Her eyes were haunted as she stared at him. “How can you stand so much pain?”
Henrik had no answer for that. He simply took hold of her arm and helped her sit upright. He wasn’t sure if that brief bit of healing had done much, but he didn’t want her to harm herself by trying again.
“I have to heal you. I have to try,” she said. She reached out and took his face in her hands again.
“No,” Henrik said. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll be okay.”
A faint tingle ran through Henrik’s body. It seemed to focus around his wounds. Anslie looked at him, more worried than ever.
“You’re drowning in your own blood, Henrik. If I don’t heal you, you’ll die in a matter of minutes. I’m amazed you’re still alive as is.”
“Just get it over with,” he said. He was tired, and wanted to go to sleep.
She hesitated for a moment, then clutched his face tightly again.
Henrik felt that now-familiar warmth flood his body again. It was like warm water moving through his veins, but it traveled right to his wounds. They were everywhere; his back, his leg, his arms, his face. No part of him seemed to be intact.
Anslie grit her teeth and shivered, then finally cried out and collapsed.
Henrik rushed to her, noting that he didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore. He still felt horrible, but it wasn’t quite as bad.
“There there, now,” he said, helping her sit up. His voice was still weak, but much stronger than before. “Just relax. You saved our lives, you know.”
A tear slid down Anslie’s cheek. “So much pain. How are you still moving?”
“Enough of that,” Henrik said. Exhaustion washed over him, but his breathing was better. He pulled her to him; he wasn’t sure why, it just felt like the right thing to do.
Anslie wrapped her arms around Henrik, not bothered at all by the blood that covered him and got on her silver armor. He held her for a moment, noting the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. He had lost control back there, but the dragon arriving brought him back. Touching Anslie seemed to further bring him back to reality.
“You still need to be healed,” she said. “Once your friend is able to, he has to heal both himself and you. Otherwise, it’ll take you a month to recover from this.” She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Please don’t ever get hurt like this again.”
“Why do you care?” Henrik asked, looking down at her. She raised her head and looked at him, her bright blue eyes staring into his black ones. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound so rude. But why?”
“You are important in ways you don’t yet understand,” she said. “I’ll explain it all to you, but first we need to make sure you don’t bleed out. Just know that I need you.”
Something moved past Henrik and he gasped in pain. It was Rasud’s spirit ancestors, and they weren’t being gentle. He pushed Anslie away as he heaved blood onto the ground. The flesh of his back moved around as the gaping wounds closed. Searing pain filled his thigh as his knitting flesh pushed the arrow out. It tore the wound anew as its barbs hooked into flesh, but the skin closed behind it.
Henrik found himself on his hands and knees, breathing like he had run a mile. “What the fuck was that?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” Rasud said from behind the wall. The witchman still looked half dead, but he was walking. “My ancestors were especially angry that they were led away from me. The presence of the dragon seems to have strengthened them and they were eager to heal the both of us.”
Right then, Tossyth landed next to them. For being so damn big, her clawed feet hit the ground relatively gently. Her massive head swung over to Henrik and she sniffed at him, then nudged him a few times.
“Hold on,” Henrik said. He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and stumbled to the encampment. After being healed from wounds like that, he was absolutely exhausted, but he knew he had to keep moving. He navigated the ditch, then climbed over the wall.
Shel watched him with wary eyes as he walked closer to her. Blood stained the front of her robes from holding onto Rasud, and she still had a deep gash on her shoulder. Rasud was examining her shoulder and preparing to heal it.
“You are possessed,” she said quietly as he walked past her. “I pray I am always in your good graces.”
Henrik just ignored her and walked to the chest containing the dragon egg. He flipped the latches and reached within, pulling out the egg. It was the first time he had actually held it.
The presence that had flooded his mind when he fought the orcs was suddenly there. Henrik looked down at the egg in wonder. Was the dragon trying to push itself into his mind? His indomitable willpower held, and the dragon subsided. But, holding the dragon close, he felt a strange kinship to it. He wanted to protect it.
Still clutching the egg, he walked to the edge of their camp and climbed over the wall. He stumbled through the ditch, but finally made it to Tossyth. When she saw him, he held the egg out to her.
Her huge head went right for the egg, just like a mother protecting her young. Her bright blue eyes, the size of his head, focused on Henrik, then the egg. Henrik expected her to take the egg immediately, but she just watched him for a moment.
“I know,” Anslie said, looking at Tossyth. She turned and looked at Henrik. “I’m afraid as well.”
