Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,129
fight.
Thrask took the offensive. “What’s wrong, cave dweller? Haven’t fought a true opponent lately, have you? My sword will slice you apart. Perhaps I’ll have bacon made of your hide and feed it to my troops.”
Silent, Thord shifted balance from his left to right foot. It took incredible discipline to keep from commenting, but he ultimately decided to let his axe speak for him. The time for taunts and petty chicanery was ended. Thrask became frustrated much too quickly and attacked, intending to punish the Dwarf’s silence.
His sword moved fast but recklessly. There was no skill or precision. Thrask was an enraged beast fueled by bloodlust. Driving down from high, he used his minor height advantage to rain hacking blows down that Thord barely managed to parry. The Goblin sensed an end coming quickly. This Dwarf wasn’t as strong or determined as many he’d already killed. No king worthy of the title would allow himself to fall so fast. Thrask renewed his efforts, seeking to humiliate Thord in front of both armies.
Thord let him come. The Dwarf skillfully fended off repeated blows, allowing Thrask to tire himself out. Once the force of the blows weakened, Thord shoved onto the offensive. He dipped his left shoulder beneath Thrask’s swords and came up inside his reach. Shoulder struck chin and the bigger Goblin was driven back. In the same motion he dropped lower and swiped his axe across the tops of Thrask’s thighs. Dark blood immediately spilled from the thin lines and Thrask screamed in agony.
Thord drove the head of his axe into Thrask’s sternum, knocking the breath out of him before he leapt back into a proper defensive stance. Bleeding and angered, the Goblin attacked--exactly how Thord expected. Sword arced down in a wicked, two-handed slash meant to cleave Thord’s skull. The Dwarf Lord sidestepped and swung his axe upwards. The steel bit deeply into Thrask’s stomach with the sickening noise only steel and flesh meeting could make.
Eyes crossed. Blood frothed on his lips, bubbling over his tusks. Thrask dropped his sword. The weapon clanged uselessly on the ground. Thord wasn’t done, knowing it takes more than one blow to kill a foe. He used his body weight to drag the axe through Thrask’s abdomen, ripping organs away in a wash of blood. Ropes of intestines wrapped around the mighty axe as Thord jerked it free.
Thrask collapsed in a twitching mass of flesh. His clawed fingers flexed uncontrollably. His face twisted in that solitary question every fighter who’d ever lost a duel had in those final moments: how? Thord wasn’t one to give in to procrastination. He’d spoken his piece before the duel began. This was all business. The Dwarf Lord gazed down on his defeated opponent one final time before chopping down. Thrask’s head rolled away. Thord dropped his axe and retrieved the head. The Dwarf Lord raised it for all to see and heaved it towards the Goblin ranks.
Thord tilted his head back and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Seeing their king victorious, the Dwarves of Drimmen Delf charged towards the Goblins. They were followed closely by Krek and his Minotaurs.
“My fighters have every right to march alongside them!” Ingrid fumed. She hadn’t come looking for a war but the sight of what Arlevon Gale had become sickened her.
Faeldrin continued walking, eager to get back in the saddle and uphold his part of the battle. The Elf mercenaries weren’t prepared to engage in full-scale combat but could harry any enemy pushing in from the flanks. Hopefully Thord and Krek had enough strength to do what needed to be done. He’d already lost a handful of Elves fighting the Goblins and didn’t relish the prospect of losing more. Ingrid might be infuriated, but that was a personal issue she was going to have to overcome if there was any effectiveness to be found in her people.
“Damn it, stop and listen to me!” she all but shouted.
He paused, slowly turning. Amusement brightened his eyes upon seeing her standing there with hands defiantly thrust on her hips. She was every bit the leader whether she chose to accept it or not. Should they survive, Faeldrin had no doubts that the kingdom of Delranan would be in capable hands.
“Ingrid, this is not a game. Many of us will not be around in the morning. Don’t be in such a rush to meet death. There is no glory to be found on this battlefield.”