They had been tracking the she-orc through the dark passages surrounding their city for several days. Zakial knew these tunnels like the back of his hand, but always she seemed to be one step ahead, darting through side passages and avoiding terrible pitfalls and the sorts of horrors only one who lived in the deep could believe. Only once had they seen her, only for an instant, before one of his soldiers (Maklian, the fool) sprung a trap that cost him his life and nearly killed them all.
She had been striking at their patrols for some time now. She started off attacking slave caravans, likely out of some foolish notion of freeing her “people” from bondage. It was more likely that any who escaped were killed by the other dangers that called these caverns home. And yet she remained, even became bolder. She killed an entire patrol only a week before, which had in turn triggered this little expedition.
Zakial would not be so easily perturbed, however. The savage woman was feared by many of his brethren, called a monster, but he knew she was mortal. She would die like any other of a hundred lesser beings he had spitted on his blade.
Another day. More dangers. Jarelial, Maklian’s cousin, nearly stumbled headlong into a fungal bloom. Stupidity must run in the family, Zakial thought. No matter. The deep would claim the weak, the infirm, the foolish. And only the strong, capable, and ingenious would remain.
More hours passed. Zakial lost the trail. Actually, the trail was simply gone. He went over it several times. It was as if she’d disappeared. Then he saw something up ahead. Movement. Light.
A tiny fire, little more than a single ember burned on the ground. A sign? He led the group forward, only to realize his mistake too late.
The flame exploded into a brilliant flash. The denizens of the dark, unaccustomed to such bright lights, clutched their eyes. They had fallen into her web, Zakial thought. He heard the flash of blades, a scream of pain, and a body drop. When he could see again, he saw Carvian with a deep gash across his chest and Jarelial’s head laying several paces from his body. The she-orc was nowhere to be found.
“Spread out! Eyes open!” he shouted, realizing that his force would quickly be half what it was starting out but nonetheless refusing to retreat. He couldn’t retreat. In the eyes of the Matrons, retreat was failure, and failure would mean death.
At least here he had a chance.
To his left he heard the snap of a crossbow. Carvian fell, the bolt striking directly into the gash that had been left by her sword.
Though he still couldn’t see her, one of his men shouted “There!” and let loose his own crossbow bolt, which clinked off the cavern wall.
She jumped into battle, driving one of her swords into the crossbowman’s shoulder. She reflexively spun, bringing her other blade around her body and cut across his final soldier’s leg. Without changing direction, she let her momentum carry her blade out of the crossbowman’s shoulder, who fell to the ground, and straight at Zakial.
He cumbersomely dodged the blade, practically throwing himself at the wall to get away from certain death and try to get his bearings. His other man, apparently unable to get to his sword as he struggled to keep himself upright, struck out with the dagger he kept in his belt. He stuck it into her armor, but apparently was unable to force the blade through, because she didn’t even acknowledge its presence. She sliced downward, nearly cleaving his torso in two. She threw her other sword, overhead, straight at him.
It stuck in his chest. The pain was unbearable. It might have missed his heart, but surely broke his ribs and pierced his lung. As he lay there, bleeding on the stone behind and below him, he considered how it all went terribly wrong. It had been over in seconds.
He looked at her, examining his soldier’s corpses and retrieving everything useful they’d carried. Food. Water. Crossbow bolts. Several vials of poison, meant for her. She looked over at him, saw him still breathing. She stood up, walked over to him.
He looked at her as she approached, dagger in hand. She almost looked…Like him. Certainly she was larger, broader, had a different skin color, different hair. She was matted with filth and covered in the blood of his brethren, but she was a living, thinking, breathing person. A normal person, but stronger, more capable, more ingenious…Than he. And that scared him more than any monster would. She was over him. He saw the dagger plunging downward…
And all was black.
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