He had gone north to see if he could find out about the thefts that were taking place.
He stood eating an oatcake. He was busy rubbing down his horse, allowing the tired beast to eat the last few handfuls of oats he carried.
“You hear that too” he whispered to his horse, seeing the beast’s ears flatten.
The distant howling of wolves sent a shiver down his spine. There was something about the howl that seemed wrong.
“I am sorry, boy” he whispered, “let’s go home.”
He would need to be careful he did not lame his horse or he too would perish.
The clouds sailed across the dark sky obscuring the full moon as he crested the rise. Looking into the tree line, he could sense danger emanating from just beyond his vision. This is where they would ambush him; this was where it would end.
Dropping his hand to the hilt of his axe. Guiding his horse he headed towards the danger. He was ready for them; he would show no mercy. Entering the tree line, he allowed his mind to float free, clearing it of all thought as his old weapons master had taught him. Devoid of all thought, his mind clear he found his other senses sharpened. The soft scraping sound of boots on bark caught his attention, drawing his blade he lashed out. Slashing the blade in an upwards arch towards the noise. The night silence was shattered by the most awful howl as his blade sliced through the orc’s leg just above the knee, severing the femoral artery. He did not bother to look, as he knew the orc had sustained a mortal wound. He would bleed out within seconds. Just then, he heard the twang of a bowstring, diving off the horse he landed hard yet managed to roll coming up on a knee. Breathing heavily he scanned the area he was sure the arrows had come from. Taking a quick look he could see the arrow buried in a tree where only moments ago his body had been. Moving to his right he concealed himself in the shadow of the tree. Up ahead of him he could hear the heavy breathing of an orc, he made his way trying not to make too much noise as he walked on the snow-covered ground. Using the shadows as cover, he made his way towards the orcs. There had been no new snow that night yet the air started to get colder as he made his way towards them. Was it his imagination, something was afoot as a heavy fog began to creep in between the trees. Sensing more than seeing he ducked down as a sword flashed through the space his head had occupied mere moments before. Rolling out the way he up on a knee, looking to where his would-be attacker was, his face betraying his emotions as he looked upon a partly armoured orc. The orc stood well over six foot tall and must have weighed at least three hundred pounds as he was buried up to his calves with snow.
The orc advanced on with inhuman speed slashing his long sword down in an overhead strike. He managed to block the weapon, sparks flying. Again, the two attacked each other, slashing and thrusting. Just managing to turn the blade from his gut as it bit into his forearm. Holding back his scream as the blade felt cold slicing through his flesh.
Backing up, his arms burning; he fought to keep his concentration. Knowing one slip up would cost him his life. He sensed he was not going to win. Again the orc attacked, and again he just managed to block the attack that was aimed at his gut and again receiving a slash across his arm. Again, the wound burnt this time he did not hold back, letting out a cry he launched into his riposte. Swinging his axe in an arch, seeing the orc making ready to block he tried to reverse his slash aiming directly for the helmet. The armoured attacker dropped to a knee avoiding the slash that would have removed its head from its shoulders. Sagging against a tree he tried to remain focused on his body as the burning in his arms grew and the pain increased. The orc then darted forward his blade finally finding its mark. Sliding down the trunk of a tree and into a sitting position, he watched as the ground around him began to turn a darker colour. With the pain growing, he closed his eyes. His arms were becoming increasingly heavy, his axe too heavy to hold. Dropping it next to him, he opened his eyes and looked around. The dark of night was slowly giving way to the pale morning in the east.
Sitting against the tree willing his legs to work; they felt heavy like lead. His arms too felt like they were going to drag him down into the earth. The burning had subsided only to be replaced by cold, the cold grip of death.
He had broken all the promises he had made, he promised he would not die, he had promised to take a boy fishing, he had promised to be there, he had promised to say goodbye closing his eyes he let out a sigh.
Soon he would be dead.
