Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

Orcs

The stinging scent of dry grass on fire permeated the air. When Illeandir looked up he saw a column of black smoke rising in the direction of the village. Panic rose in his chest but he quickly repressed it. The orcs were closing in quickly, in seconds he could be dead. A hundred scenarios ran through his head, each ending in a horrible, bloody death unless he attacked first.

The bow in his hand, tall as a man when unstrung, was useless without the use of his left arm. In an instant he rolled, discarding his bow and sword, drawing the attention of the foul orcs. Before they could react he threw a short dagger into the forehead of the largest orc. The blade hadn't even struck before Illeandir attacked the other two, drawing a second, larger, dagger. They screamed when he ripped the life from their throats with two quick and clean slashes, blood sprayed from the wounds in wide arcs that glittered darkly in the sunlight.

Illeandir wiped droplets of hot black blood from his face and stepped back from the bodies in disgust. Each encounter with the filthy beasts left him feeling vile and filthy beyond all hope of cleansing. He traced a scar that ran the length of his shoulder blade, a scar felt even through the thick leather he wore as protection, remembering long ago to another surprise attack that left him nearly dead and a friend gone forever. Shaking aside the memory Illeandir sped through the tall dry grass to the village wreathed in flames, pausing for a moment to snatch his bow and sword from where they lay in the grass.

Women screamed, children cried, and the men shouted for more water. But the only water source was a well one hundred feet from the town's edge. Orcs ran through the throngs of people cutting and hacking them to the ground while the fire raged. More than half the village was alight with the hungry inferno that tore at the thatched roofs and charred the sod walls. The people had given up on the houses and were fleeing for their lives. Even as they ran, orcs pitilessly cut them down.

Illeandir pulled his black mask over his mouth and nose to filter out the smoke that choked the air. In an instant he had strung his bow, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. It hit an orc in the neck and continued through his neck embedding itself deep into the head of another. Both orcs toppled over onto their victim; a young woman, who screamed when they fell forward. Three more orcs followed suit, though they each received their respective arrows. Illeandir spun on his heel and shot five more down as he spun. His right arm screamed with pain each time he drew and fired. The wound had opened further and now pumped a steady stream of red blood.

Just as he was about to release another arrow his arm spasmed throwing his aim off. The arrow flew off into the grass. Illeandir gave a cry of pain and fell to his knees fighting a wave of burning pain. The orcs saw this and, as one, charged. Eyes watering from the smoke as well as pain, Illeandir staggered to his feet and drew his sword just as the first orc rammed into it. The beast gave a grunt of surprise and died, the light fading from its black eyes. Illeandir pulled his sword free with a sickening squelch and sliced the second orc nearly half. The thing squealed as it tried to hold its guts inside its sliced belly and crumpled to the ground. The third sprang over the dying orc and Illeandir, using the flat of his blade, knocked its head off before he even landed. Without pause he charged a fourth orc and lost himself to the battle until every single orc lay dead at his feet.

Illeandir leaned heavily against a nearby building to clear his mind and ease his ragged breath. A child screamed from a nearby house. Illeandir pushed himself off the building and ran between the houses searching for the source of the scream. He nearly ran into a crowd of ash streaked people standing in front of the largest building in the village which stood three stories high engulfed in flames. Through the roar of the fire Illeandir could hear a child crying.

"My baby!" A woman was screaming. Illeandir spun around and saw a woman crying and clinging to a man who held a sword in his hand. "She's still in there!" she screamed and buried her head in the man's chest. Illeandir looked to the building. The first and second floors were on fire but the third was untouched, but even as he looked flames licked at it. The woman screamed again. The child was crying now, the sound coming from the third floor. Dropping his weapons, Illeandir dashed inside the inn, into the raging furnace.

Smoke filled his lungs and he coughed violently. A tongue of fire reached for him and he jumped away tripping over a charred chair which crumbled to ash. The room was a wide open space with a dozen tables scattered throughout, most of which where in flames. Toward the back of the room Illeandir saw a set of stairs leading to the second floor. He ran across the room, the red hot wood burning through his soft soled shoes. The stairs disintegrated underneath his feet, there would be no coming back that way.

The second floor was even worse than the first. Three times he nearly fell through the floor and into certain death. When he finally reached the second set of stairs on the other side of the building the flames had reached the third floor. His lungs were raw from inhaling smoke and then coughing it out again. Blisters were forming on his leg where he had brushed against burning embers. Flames exploded from the stairwell rapidly eating the dry wood. Illeandir jumped away and landed roughly on his good arm, jarring the bone. He paused for a moment and listened past the crackling fire and groaning wood and heard sobbing three rooms down. Outside he could hear people screaming and crying. Flames licked at his feet forcing him to move. Using his uninjured shoulder, Illeandir rammed into the door. It flew open with a bang and Illeandir stumbled into the room. The child, no more than seven years of age, huddled against the far wall surrounded by flames that reached the ceiling.

Illeandir took three running leaps and leapt through the fire. For an instant he felt the intense heat and then it was gone, replaced by a smouldering heat that slowly cooked him alive. He knelt next to the little girl and scooped her up in his arms. Her long brown hair was smoking at the ends and her ash covered face was streaked with tears.

"It's all right." Illeandir tried to say but the words came out as a raspy croak. Suddenly the flames intensified. The building shuddered. And collapsed.

******************************

Very intense first chapter, if I do say so myself.

Vote and comment! I do enjoy constructive feedback and suggestions and how you like it so far and what you think will happen. Took me almost a month to write this chapter but it should go much faster from here on out. I can't guarantee an update every week as I do with Dragon Nymph but I will do my best.

Yours truly and fiercely,

Illeandir