Chapter XIII
Revelations in Stone
King Slyamal stood looking out over the field and the chaos that reigned. He waited patiently for the sun to be in the correct position signaling his time to attack. Steel upon steel filled his ears as men shouted from wrath. Feelings of doubt crept within him. He buried them. Now was not the time to second guess.
“My king,” said a messenger.
“It is nearly time,” replied King Slyamal.
“My king,” said the messenger again. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”
King Slyamal faced the man. He steeled his features prepared for the worst.
“The princess, I am afraid she is dead.”
The words cut through him, twisting and turning an invisible knife until all he had was a gaping wound. “What?”
“It happened early this morning. I only just received word. She was captured yesterday by the orcs. Galbrok had her killed.”
King Slyamal gripped his sword until the hilt dug into his skin making him bleed. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out. But all he could do was remain still. “Dead?”
“The rumor is, Rybnik killed her upon Galbrok’s orders,” said the messenger.
A furious rage boiled within King Slyamal as his initial shock at the news transformed. He marched to where his contingent of men waited. Mounting his horse, King Slyamal yanked the reins steering the animal toward the battle. He looked about him studying the faces that watched him. Orders be damned.
King Slyamal unsheathed his sword holding it high in the air. “This is the day,” he yelled, “When we decide whether we live or die. This is the day that we destroy those who murdered my daughter. And I swear to you all that I will not rest until Galbrok’s head rests upon a pike!”
Cheers went up from the men mixed with sadness and fortitude.
King Slyamal charged toward the battlefield. He rode his horse hard ignoring the ragged breathing. Whatever anxiety he had was lost to his anger. The roar of thundering hooves pounded behind him as hundreds of men raced into the melee. They trampled the newly sprouted grass. Their yells filled the air drowning the clamor of the field before them.
The orcs faced their new quarry shoving pikes into the ground. They braced themselves for the impact. The hammering of the horses drew nearer instilling fear into them.
King Slyamal jumped his horse over the first row of pikes. He snatched one from the hands of an orc. Driving his beast onward, Slyamal thrust the spear into the back of a niht’anda forcing it to snap in half. Swiftly, he swung the broken handle in his hand clonking an orc on the head before forcing it into another’s neck.
King Slyamal took his sword and blocked a blow from an orc. He slashed and sliced mercilessly allowing the fury at losing his daughter dictate his movements. Tearing through the line of orcs, King Slyamal left a trail of destruction.