Lost in Glory

  Arthaxiom didn't fare all that well. He and Aghaghagh were evenly matched. They circled around each other trading blows, but so far they didn't even manage to draw blood. The paladin occasionally tried to attack with a Heroic speech, but his opponent countered with bloodcurdling screams.

  ***

  "Yo, Hraaagr, wai dey fite?" an orc asked another orc.

  "They orcs, duh!"

  "Aye. But we orcs too, no? Wai we dun fite?"

  "We, like... like..." Hraaagr was actually uncertain why, but it felt some strange need to explain. "We, like, wait for... them to end fite?"

  "Trufax. But wai?"

  "They do duel!" another orc shouted. "Duduel!"

  "Quaduel," an educated orc corrected. "Tis thra-dush-uh-nhaaaal!"

  One of the orcs was still unconvinced. "Dunno but thradushunhaaaal quaduel. Let's slaughter us some peasant! Wat ye say?"

  They said nothing. Instead they beat up the overzealous orc and went back to screaming at the quaduelists.

  ***

  As the fight went on, the Baron's advantage was getting more and more visible. His opponent was already bleeding from quite a few wounds. Nothing critical so far, but definitely unpleasant. Especially that the orc was more used to being the one inflicting the wounds.

  "I'll beat you like a green-furred alpaca! You will be eating berries from below!"

  Braaagh couldn't help but wonder what did the human mean. What exactly was a "green-furred alpaca" and how is one beaten? Of course, it was the least of its worries at the moment, with the biggest one being dangerously close to getting killed. Thinking about Oxrabbit's random gibberish was probably an unfortunate side effect of having its face bashed repeatedly with a steel shield.

  The other half of the duel wasn't going that well for the human side. Arthaxiom had hoped to fight a Heroic duel all his life, or at least since he had been hit on the head, but now that he was fighting one, he didn't really know what to do. He expected that they would dramatically exchange blows for some time and then the orc would falter and die, and maybe do a defeated villain's speech too. It would be quite fitting. Too bad the villain was an orc, and not a very articulate one at that. Unlikely to do a decent speech. Unless... he had one prepared. Every major villain should have a speech prepared in case of meeting demise by the hands of a Hero!

  The paladin got so engrossed in wondering whether the orc would make a speech or not that he somewhat forgot that he still had to win the duel. He continued to fight, but in his mind he was already victorious. He didn't consider that Aghaghagh could actually hurt him. Or that he could stumble on something. Like, for example, a small rock that had just appeared out of nowhere.

  Arthaxiom fell on his back. Both crowds held their collective breaths and for a few seconds only the deer chewing grass could be heard. Then the orcish war-cries redoubled. Aghaghagh wasn't one to pass such a chance. After all, all the Hero could do was trying to hide behind his shield.

  The orc leader threw away its shield, held its sword in both hands and tried to overwhelm the paladin's defences. It could have gone for the legs, in which case Arthaxiom would be unable to do anything. Apart from screaming and bleeding profusely. Instead, for no good reason, Aghaghagh started hacking at the paladin's shield. With each hit the shield was lower and lower, but it wasn't the best approach. It gave the Hero a moment to do something. Giving a Hero a moment to do something is always a bad idea. Very often the last idea ever.

  Arthaxiom looked towards the Baron. He was winning, but not quickly enough to help. The paladin was on his own. The situation was desperate. He did the only thing he could. He prayed. He prayed to Rainbow Sturgeon and to the Joyous Beige Dragon and even to the Mythical Archpegasus, but it was neither of those that answered his plead for help.

  "Look how useless you are!" a voice boomed in his head. It was somewhat... fishy. And somewhat irritated. "You were given the shield, you were given the armour, and now you lie in the dirt like a worm! Shame!"

  "Please help me in this hour of trial," the paladin whispered.

  "More like the minute of fail!"

  "I am sorry!"

  "You should be, not that it changes anything. Do I really need to perform an inexplicable act of higher power to save your sorry butt?"

  "I would appreciate it very much," the Hero replied as yet another strike hit his shield.

  "You are a disappointment, but unfortunately it is necessary for you to survive. I, Flaming Fish of Fury, will show you how it's done!"

  Meanwhile Aghaghagh was being the angry orc of fury and kept trying to break through Arthaxiom's defence. It didn't even notice that the eyes of the fish sigil started glowing. On the other hand, it most certainly noticed when flames erupted from the fishes' mouth and hit it straight in its face. The orc leader dropped its sword and covered its eyes. It was a bit too late for that. It stumbled around, shouting and screaming in pain. Arthaxiom quickly got up and put it out of its misery. The orcs fell silent, the peasants started cheering again.

  The Baron saw the orc leader fall. He thought that it would be rude to keep the Hero waiting, so he redoubled his efforts. The giant orc simply couldn't keep up parrying the sword strikes, while being bashed with the shield at the same time, not to mention being compared to a giant mouldy peach. Finally it fumbled and got killed without any further drama. Nobody was paying attention to this sideshow anyway.

  ***

  The fight was over, the human side stood victorious. The peasants cheered. And sounded their horns, because for some inexplicable reason at least one in ten peasants had a horn with him. They also had pieces of paper to throw, funny hats and drums. Only the raisins were missing. Arthaxiom had always wanted to have raisins thrown at him, but no luck yet again.

  The orcish horde on the other hand was in shock. Their leader had fallen. A great big orc like that wasn't supposed to die. Not in a fight against some puny human. A great big orc was only supposed to be killed by an even greater and bigger orc in a dispute about the leadership. Or by some sort of freak accident caused by doing something stupid. Stupidity was a common cause of death among the orcs since, like, forever. It was as if evolution had given up on them.

  Faced with an unusual situation, the orcs didn't know what to do. Basic instincts took over. Fight or flee. So they fought or fled. The smaller orcs tried to flee. The bigger ones wanted to fight. At this point they didn't really mind who they were fighting, orcs or humans. Deer were fine too.

  ***

  The General was pleased so far. The Hero proved to be Heroic indeed, almost dying before his shield breathed fire at the very last second. Just like in fairy tales. Still, two dead orcs didn't change matters much. Even if these were the biggest two of the bunch.

  The horde split up. Some of the orcs were running away from the battlefield. Some were running towards the peasant army. Some weren't running anywhere, instead they remained in place and attempted to beat the carp out of each other. It wasn't exactly like in fairy tales. They were all supposed to run away. Maybe they only needed some encouragement?

  "Forward!" he shouted. "Do your magic," he told the mage.

  ***

  Rhugh the orc was having a bad day. And it had started so well. There was some slaughtering to be done. Slaughtering at that point was more of a long-term plan. They didn't expect to meet a lot of humans that early. But then again, they weren't doing much expecting. Go, slaughter, eat brains. Rhugh wasn't entirely sold on that brain-eating idea. Couldn't hurt to try, yes, but good old-fashioned slaughtering was more its thing. And then, suddenly, it appeared that there was an army in their way. A small one. Orcs weren't good at counting, but the difference between very many and not so very many was glaring. Hooray for unexpected slaughter! Or more like GHRRRAAAGH! for unexpected slaughter.

  Then that idiotic duel happened. Rhugh had no idea why the leader had agreed to that. Just killing them would have been simpler. It didn't protest though, it didn't want to end up hit in the face like poor Groogl there,
and like countless other orcs throughout the ages who had dared to disagree with a bigger orc. Anyway, two on one should have been easy. The small gnome thingie was just a snack. Then that screaming maniac appeared out of nowhere. And now both Aghaghagh and Braaagh were dead.

  Now the humans were cheering. Infuriating. Stupid. Very many minus two is still very many! Stupid stupid humans not knowing their math. Rhugh wanted to point out the errors of their ways. By slaughtering them, of course. "KILL THEM ALL!" it roared. And got hit in the head.

  "Run away! Dark magic!" the one who hit it shouted. It was Jhagh, the snivelling coward. It saw dark magic everywhere! Rhugh knew only one way of dealing with both snivelling cowards and dark magic. It hit Jhagh back.

  ***

  Arthaxiom was elated. Defeating a great big orc in a single combat was the fulfilment of his dreams. Perhaps not all of them, but some at least. Pure Heroism. Maybe not including the part where he had been lying on his back requesting a divine intervention to save him, but still, challenging that orc was definitely Heroic. Now, there still was the rest of the orcs... The paladin didn't really think about them earlier. Somehow he had expected them to simply vanish as soon as the duel was over. That obviously didn't happen.

  Well, if they didn't vanish... He knew only one way to deal with orcs that refused to vanish. "For glory of the Joyous Beige Dragon, forward!" And he ran towards the nearest orc.

  The peasants stood still, not knowing what to do. Glory of the Joyous Beige Dragon didn't concern them much. On the other hand, it confused them quite a bit.

  "CHAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!" the Baron screamed and ran after the Hero.

  This was a much more reasonable battle cry. Quite an impressive one, too. Oxrabbit had a voice like a seven waterfalls, or possibly some other silly metaphor. Still, the peasants weren't really used to charging into battles. But then the bravest of the bunch, or maybe the stupidest, decided. "Huzzah!" he shouted, for no good reason, and rushed forward while waving his rake wildly. The others followed a bit behind, so that they wouldn't get raked in the face, shouting nonsenses of their own.

  "Timber!"

  "Banzai!"

  "I have a flu!"

  "Death to the stinkers!"

  "I wish your cows stop giving milk and your sheep get bald and your asses bite you in the asses!"

  Only one elderly peasant stayed behind. "Are you sure this is a good idea? There's an awful lot of them," he said to nobody in particular, because all the other peasants were way ahead of him. Realising that, he shrugged, grabbed his scythe and ran after them.

  "It's harvest time!"

  ***

  Alexander the dwarf felt a bit left out. With all of this fighting going around he wasn't really needed or useful. He just stood there. He saw Arthaxiom and his new friend going into the thick of it and slaughtering orcs, but they were big and strong, and, well, Heroic. He wasn't. Then he saw deer entering combat and it gave him an idea. He waved at them.

  A moment later a squad of deer led by a dwarf on deerback started wreaking havoc among the orcs. That was more like it. Alexander felt tall now. The orcs were so short. And so impaled on his trident.

  "Keep it up, gnomey!" the Baron cheered him on.

  "I'm not a gnomey!" he shouted back, but unlike the Baron, he didn't have a powerful voice. He couldn't be heard over the sounds of dying orcs, so he just shrugged and returned to impaling. He also admired the various ways the deer had for killing orcs. Trampling, kicking in the face, stabbing with antlers... He decided that he should never ever annoy a deer.

  ***

  The victory was total, unquestionable and utterly ridiculous. The General had no doubt that the battle should have been lost. Mostly because the orcs were numerous enough to slaughter every human and deer on the battlefield. The duel was simply silly, and the orcs running away from his horsemen... Horsemen, most of whom were awfully foggy and a bit transparent. Mainly because they were illusions, and poor ones at that. There also wasn't really that much of them, they were just spread out nicely. Overall, it was like the silliest strategy ever. But it worked, that was the important part. Enough of the orcs got fooled and started a stampede. Those who tried to stay and fight got killed by friendly-trample.

  Ridiculous or not, Roseduck wasn't complaining. A bit of ridiculousness sure beat getting slaughtered. And now it was time to talk to the Hero. Well, as soon as he'd get back from wiping out the unfortunate orcs that weren't running away fast enough, that is. Roseduck remembered that the paladin's supposed quest was to defeat the Empire of Evil. The orcs most likely weren't the Empire of Evil. Most likely the Glorious Empire of the Falling Star of Questionable Smell was. Not that many Empires around after all. He couldn't help but notice that he was in command of the army of this particular Empire. He needed to persuade the Hero that he wasn't 'evil'. A failure to do that would end very badly. Alternatively, he could run away. Still, running away from Heroes... If fairy tales were any indicator, it was a hopeless endeavour.

  And there he was, accompanied by the gnome and some girl. Now, how to start a conversation with that sort of person?

  "Hail and well met! The day is ours!"

  "The day is ours indeed! A glorious victory worthy of a song!"

  "And who will they sing about?"

  "Ah, my friend, you're speaking to paladin Arthaxiom the Great..."

  Roseduck had already heard these titles. He didn't need to hear them again, but he didn't have much choice in this matter.

  "...Turquoise Spearman of Heavens, Sword of Justice in the Gloom of Uncertainty! And you, friend?"

  "I am General Eneumerius Roseduck, High Lord Commander of the Awesome Army of the Glorious Empire of the Falling Star of Questionable Smell."

  This declaration somewhat dampened the paladin's mood, but not exactly because of too many ofs. "The Empire of Evil?" he inquired with suspicion.

  "Not really, no."

  "But you just said you are from the Empire!"

  "Well, yes, but it isn't evil."

  "They fought the orcs, didn't they?" Alexander pointed out.

  The paladin scratched his helmet with his gauntlet.

  Roseduck saw his chance. "Exactly! If we were evil, we would ally with the orcs!"

  Arthaxiom appeared to be considering that. "Very well. I believe you. You have an honest face."

  "WHAT?!" Gaduria scowled. "You believe him just because you like his face?!"

  "I do indeed."

  "And what kind of face you wouldn't believe?!"

  "Many types are evil. A goatee, for example. I would never trust a man with a goatee."

  Roseduck quietly thanked all the supernatural entities he didn't really believe in for the inspiration to shave off his goatee. Had this all happened a year ago, he'd end up killed because of facial hair.

  "Very well. So what happens now?"

  The Baron had the answer to that. "He's a true Hero! He saved us all! We should declare him our new Emperor! He won't fall into a moat with lions!"

  The peasants cheered. The soldiers cheered too. Roseduck actually cringed at Oxrabbit's words. No better way to start infighting in the troops. But no. Not even one voice of dissent could be heard. The General was stunned. This must have been part of this whole Heroism thing. No other option really.

  "Wait! Wait! I cannot become an Emperor. Being an Emperor is evil!"

  This time the crowd booed. All the euphoria died down. They really wanted the paladin as their Emperor.

  "So become a King instead!" the Baron shouted. The cheers started again.

  "King Arthaxiom! King Arthaxiom! King Arthaxiom!"

  "Are they mad?!" Roseduck whispered.

  "Are you asking me?" the Marquis replied and smiled. "If so, I say yes. And I wouldn't worry."

  "That sort of thing is perfectly normal around him," Alexander said.

  "What, he drives people mad?"

  "Yes. And dwarves too."

  ***

  The peasants went back to their villages, the deer w
ent back to their forests, and the army, with the addition of Arthaxiom, Gaduria and Alexander, was returning to the capital. Scouts were still following the remainder of the orcish army, but it seemed that the orcs had absolutely no intention on turning back. Roseduck was very happy about that. Some of the dumber soldiers weren't, but it was their problem. If they wished to get themselves killed there were many other ways, most of them more fun. The orcs were no longer a problem, but there were more problems at hand. The most immediate one was Arthaxiom the paladin and Baron Oxrabbit trading Heroic stories.

  "...and I tried to wear this helmet, but lo! and behold! There was a possum inside!"

  The General sighed. He had no idea if crowning Arthaxiom was a good idea. Surely he couldn't be worse than Mevrin, but would he be any better? In some of the stories he had read the Hero indeed became a king, but none of them said anything about what happened next. 'They lived happily ever after' and that was it. What did that mean exactly? Were they good rulers? He would most likely find out quite soon.

  His other worry was whether the people would accept Arthaxiom as their King or not, but it wasn't a big worry. This paladin seemed to have a way with people. People were willing to follow him for some reason. The army was the first test. Not a single soldier expressed any dissent. And soldiers complained just about anything. Some thought they were going too fast, some thought they were going too slow, some didn't like the food... but everyone liked the Hero. Everyone. Absolutely nothing negative was being said about him. They were talking about how brave he was and how strong he was and so on and so on... Nobody even mentioned that he would have been killed if not for that flame-breathing shield of his, whereas Oxrabbit simply bashed that other huge orc to death. Yet everybody talked about Arthaxiom, and nobody about the Baron.

  He needed to speak to someone about the situation. The only reasonable candidate was the Marquis. He rode next to him. "So, what do you think about our new King?" he asked.

  The Marquis appeared somewhat absent as usual, but this time it wasn't the case. "Seems like a decent lad, doesn't he?"