Chapter 17 Thoktar
THOKTAR
"Inever thought I'd meet an orc enslaved to the dark elves."
The words crack something behind Rophan's eyes—a flash of recognition, of memory breaking through madness like sunlight through storm clouds. His massive fist, poised to crush my skull, trembles and slowly lowers.
"What... what did you..." He shakes his head violently, as if trying to dislodge something. Then his eyes clear, and for the first time, I see the warrior he used to be. "No. NO MORE!"
The orc explodes off me with a roar that shakes the arena walls. Guards rush toward us, and Rophan meets them like a landslide. Bodies fly, bones crack, and suddenly the sand is painted red with more than gladiator blood.
I roll to my feet as chaos erupts. The crowd screams, not in bloodlust now but in terror as their champion turns on his masters. Spectators trample each other racing for exits while Rophan carves a path of destruction toward Gospar's box.
"THOKTAR!"
Forla appears at the arena entrance, blood splattered across her merchant disguise, Nazim beside her with his claws extended and dripping. "MOVE!"
No time for reunions. Guards are already regrouping, crossbows raised. I sprint toward them as bolts whistle past my head, one so close it burns the air by my ear.
Behind me, Rophan's roar cuts off abruptly—Gospar's death cry following a heartbeat later.
Kresh emerges into the arena holding the head of a dark elf guard, yellow eyes blazing with murderous joy. He hurls the head a guard running toward him, it strikes him on his forehead and the guard drops unto the bloody sand.
"RUN!" I yell and we do. Fast.
We explode into Eelry's streets like a pack of rabid wolves.
"STOP THEM!" The cry goes up behind us—Gospar's lieutenant, his face purple with rage. "FIFTY GOLD FOR THE ORC!"
Rophan emerges beside us, his massive form still dripping with Dark Elf blood. "This way," he rumbles, and charges down the main street like a battering ram. Citizens scatter before him, screaming.
Instantly, the street transforms. Those who don't flee see walking coin purses. A blacksmith lunges at me with his hammer raised, but Rophan's fist takes the man's head clean off. Blood fountains across the cobblestones.
"LEFT!" Nazim hisses, his hood flaring as he spots archers on the rooftops.
Rophan charges ahead, his presence clearing our path of anyone stupid enough to stand in the way.
Arrows rain down like deadly hail. One buries itself in the wall beside my head, another punches through a fleeing woman's shoulder...
One buries itself in the wall beside my head, another punches through a fleeing woman's shoulder. She screams and falls, and the crowd panics, surging in all directions.
A merchant swings a meat cleaver at Forla's back. I catch his wrist and twist until something snaps. He drops, clutching his broken arm and shrieking.
More guards pour from side streets. Steel rings against steel as we fight our way through the press of bodies. The broken orc stumbles, and I haul him upright just as a spear thrust would have taken his head off.
"THERE!" A crossbow bolt punches into Kresh's shoulder, spinning him around. Green blood spatters the stones, but the Naga keeps moving, his claws opening the throat of the shooter as we pass.
The streets narrow, forcing us single file. Behind us, the pursuit sounds like thunder—dozens of boots, shouted orders, the baying of tracking hounds. They're gaining.
A fishmonger tries to trip Forla with his pole. Nazim's tail whips around, catching the man across the temple. He drops like a sack of grain, his skull cracking against the stone.
"FASTER!"
We're running flat out now, lungs burning, legs screaming. The broken orc gasps behind us, but terror keeps him moving. A thrown knife whispers past my ear. Another clangs off Nazim's scales.
A blast comes from above and Kresh suddenly staggers, his yellow eyes going wide. "Something's wrong—"
The bolt of magic takes Kresh center mass, and the Naga's scream cuts off mid-hiss as the spell eats through his scales like acid.
I look up to see a dark elf with crimson hair and a large smile on his face.
"KRESH!"
The proud warrior who survived months in Gospar's hell dies in seconds, his body crumbling to ash that the harbor wind scatters across the cobblestones. When I look up, the crimson-haired Dark Elf has vanished like smoke.
"NO TIME!" Nazim roars, grabbing my arm as I start toward where our friend fell. "HE'S GONE!"
More guards pour into the street. We have to move or we'll all be ash on the wind.
"This way!" Nazim veers sharply into an alley so narrow our shoulders scrape the walls.
Crossbow bolts spark off stone where we were standing seconds ago. Behind us, curses and the sound of men too large for the passage.
But ahead the alley ends in a blank wall.
“I will hold them, once I clear a path of their dead bodies, run.” Rophan says.
"No! Here!" Nazim says as his claws find purchase on seemingly smooth stone, pressing in a sequence I can't follow. "Quickly!"
A section of wall swings inward just as the first crossbow bolt takes flight. We throw ourselves through the opening as quarrels smash into stone where our heads had been.
Nazim slams the door shut. Hidden mechanisms click and grind. Outside, voices explode in fury.
"I swear to the Deceiver I saw them turn in here." a dark elf says.
"If we’ve lost them you will lose your head." A dark elf Captain says.
In the darkness, we huddle together, hearts hammering, lungs burning. The broken orc whimpers. And somewhere above us, angry voices fade as the search moves on.
But all I can think about is Kresh—proud, fierce Kresh—reduced to scattered ash because he helped us escape.
"The harbor," Nazim whispers finally, his voice thick with grief. "This tunnel leads to the boats. But, we will wait until tomorrow."
I reach out in the blackness and find Forla's hand. Her fingers are sticky with someone else's blood, but they're warm and real and alive.