Steel Wolf

Prologue

The battle raged around Sergeant Collin Mankerevski. His broadsword hissed through the air as he swung full force at the charging orcs, cleaving several in two and turning to face the rest. One by one, his squad was being cut down. A feminine shriek of terror behind him. Whirling, he saw his true love being beset by the wart-ridden things. Yelling in fury, he roughly shouldered a squadmate aside, throwing off the trooper's aim. He never saw what happened to the trooper. Closing the distance to Queen Jansela Algold, he brought his sword overhead and down, cleaving an orc in half.

Agony coursed through him as an orc fiercely swung his own blade at Collin's right arm. The heavy sword smashed through the steel plate armor and severed the soft arm beneath. As Collin dropped his sword, there was an intense pain in his side as a second orc thrust his sword through the chest piece, its point now sticking out of Collin's back. He felt a spell hit him in the shoulder of his severed arm, instantly stopping the blood loss.

His brain swimming, eyesight seemingly obscured by gauze, he encircled the closest orc's head with his good arm and heaved with all of his might. A satisfying crunch as the orc's neck snapped. With a bastard sword stuck completely through him, he bent painfully to retrieve another dead orc's sword, swinging it with his left hand. The stuff of legends. Five more orcs were felled, their heads and torsos separated from the rest of them.

Cries and screams all around him; male, female, orcish.

Suddenly, there was a huge crashing sound inside his helmet. His head rocked forward on a broken neck. His dim sight saw the ground rushing up towards his face. He was unconscious when he hit the ground.

-o0o-

He passed in and out of consciousness. His eyes opened. His eyes closed. He knew. He didn't know. He opened his eyes. His eyes stayed open, but the rest of him wouldn't move. One eye didn't seem to work. He was lying face down, the dusty ground mere millimeters from his face, which was protected by his faceplate. Something was pressing very hard at the back and one side of his head. He realized that his helm had been bent so severely that it was wedged against his skull.

He breathed in the stench of blood and dust, ears listening for any sound. There was none, save for his own labored breathing. A flash of lightning lit the ground, followed several seconds later by the low rumble of thunder.

A fitting end to a lovestruck dumbass coward, he thought. Do I call out? There may be somebody still alive here. What if the orcs posted a sentry and he's sitting on a rock, looking over the area? If there is, I'm out of luck. Last I knew, we were in a canyon. I hear thunder. That usually means rain. Rain's coming, and I'll drown. Do I smell a cooking fire? Roast lamb, most likely.

Wait, that's not right. No, something to do with the Special Services Branch. What country? That's a dumb question. This one obviously. Yes, I'm with the Special Services Branch of this country. Now, I remember!

My name is the potentate of the land is the Highlord Sheriff under whose beneficence I am Collin Mankerevski sent on a mission of utmost importance to find out where the Highlord Sheriff sent me to seek the enemy's encampments along the canyon road which is about to find itself underwater. I must go to higher ground and be stealthy in my movements so I'm not seen to be Collin Mankerevski who could surely go for a stiff drink about now as soon as I pull out of this fire which is burning my face and a nice swim in the lake would be in order...

And so it went, his jumbled thoughts becoming one long confusing sentence as he lay face down on the ground.

-o0o-

Soft, furtive footsteps on the gravel accompanied by the occasional gruff snort of a bear. The footsteps crunched quietly around him, paused for a moment, then padded a few more steps. A small sound on the back of his helm, as if someone had gently laid a hand on it. A slender feminine hand hove into his view as he laid there. The index finger of the hand was inserted carefully into the eye slit and crooked beneath his nose, probably to check for breathing, the rise and fall of his back wouldn't be discerned through the thick metal torso of his armor. The finger held motionless for a moment then withdrew. A cougar screamed, less than three feet from him.

More soft footsteps crunched the gravel. A low singsong conversation ensued in some language he didn't understand. A small sweet-smelling cloth bag was firmly wedged between his nose and his faceplate. He drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

-o0o-

The gate guards of Goxell-Galbria had been doubled and extra sentries posted along the walls to keep an eye out for orcs. A huge army of them had been sighted in the area. Also, Queen Jansela was due to arrive in a few days before returning to the capital city, and His Honor didn't want to appear slack in his duties.

The thick low-lying clouds overhead threatened to spill their contents at any moment.

A wall sentry, peering through the darkness, spotted the darker shape of what looked to be a horsedrawn cart approaching on the northern road and alerted those below. There didn't appear to be a rider. One of the guards reached a hand to grab the lead of the horse, bringing it to a stop, the others looking into the back of the cart. One ran to bring Gerta, the village healer.

The figure of a man lay on its side, a sword handle protruding from his stomach, the tip extending almost two feet out his back. He was wrapped from head to foot like a mummy in thick leaves used as bandages, only his nose could be seen. More bundles of the thick leaves acted as props to keep him from rolling onto his back or front.

It began to rain. Just a few drops at first. Gerta arrived, laid her hands on the bundled figure to assess the damage, and bade a guardsman bring the man to the clinic. By the time they reached the front door, the rain was so heavy that one had to shout to be heard over the sound. A two-man patrol was wandering by. Together, they carefully picked up the unconscious form and carried him into the warm, dry clinic. As the soldiers left, Gerta unwrapped the leaves, then reached to her journal and dutifully logged what she had found.

-o0o-

MEDICAL ENTRY

Julie 21, NB 604

1 human male, name unknown, approx 23 years of age, 2 meters tall, 14.3 stone weight. Pierced by bastard sword through the left kidney region (possibly can save). Right arm has been amputated at the shoulder and sealed with a healing spell to prevent blood loss. This spell was overridden by severe burns (cauterization) to the shoulder and head. Right side of face has suffered third-degree burns from contact with metal helmet (present). Expect severe scarring of tissue. Right eye cannot be repaired. Neck has been broken, but initial examination shows full regeneration is possible along with eventual total recovery.

SPECIAL NOTE: Subject came to me wrapped in poultice leaves, presumably a healer from the Forest Elves in the northwest mountains. They did a terrific job of stabilizing him and preventing further trauma to his neck and sword wound.

-o0o-

Laying aside the journal, Gerta walked to the door, opened it, and yelled into the raging storm.

"Thank you, my friends!"

She was sure an elf would hear over the storm.

-o0o-

Having no money, he gave his only possessions to Gerta in exchange for her services. The sword removed from his side, the broken armor, and a dagger now belonged to her. Finding a job was next to impossible for a one-armed man. He soon took to slinking down back alleys, rummaging through refuse bins, or using a stick to skewer the odd rat for food. He had found a loose sewer grate behind a small pub and explored it. A few short steps down it, he found an alcove high above the waterline and made it his nest.

The day of the queen's arrival came and went. The mayor of Goxell-Galbria assumed that she been recalled to the capital city and had to bypass this struggling port village. A week after her appointed visitation, a full battalion of over a thousand soldiers arrived at the village inquiring as to the whereabouts of the queen. A door to door search of the village ensued, the wrecked gear being found in Gerta's clinic. The next three days were pure hell for the poor healer. She was grilled mercilessly, given only water, no sleep. Everyone forgot to check the sewers. Using the village as a starting point, four battalions scoured the surrounding terrain.

In a small canyon, evidence of a battle was found. Shattered swords, bent shields, shattered bones; most of the remains had been swept from the canyon by the storm a few nights previously. Animals had taken care of the rest.

Thus it was that Sergeant Collin P. Mankerevski disappeared, becoming a mere notation in a history book.