Have Them Make Such an End (May 3010) - [One-Shot]
Apr 11, 2018 21:10:13 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Apr 11, 2018 21:10:13 GMT -5
“That must be the Entwash,” Adelais remarked, her eyes nervous as they marked the plains and meeting of the Snowbourn, the river that their party had been following since leaving Edoras, and the wide, glassy-sheened river it met ahead. It was visible even in the thick, muggy fog, which meant they were really close.
Runa grunted out an agreement, once more fighting the reins to keep the black mare beneath her staying in one place. It had been days she had been stuck in that saddle astride Ceolmund’s black horse, Tait. How they were still even in the travelling party was amazing to the woman. Tait, as was her custom, had been fighting Runa every step, trot, or gallop of the way. There was only one person in all of Arda the horse wanted to be ridden by, and it was the same person who had insisted that Runa take a seasoned warhorse on the assignment to Aldburg to begin with.
The first day had been smooth and incident free, what with the bag full of apples Ceolmund had packed for her to carry and use as incentive for Tait’s compliance. She had even gone to bed hopeful that perhaps the trip would not be so bad, though such manner of optimism was short lived. Runa had woken in the middle of the night to the sound of crunching, finding the giant nightmare’s head stuck straight into the knapsack of treats, and the apples disappearing one by one. Runa had been unable to fight the heavy horse’s head away, and though her mild panic had roused Grindan from his sleep as well, the damage was done, and the last of the apples were gone. From then on, Tait knew she did not have to obey, and that freedom had frightened her rider, bringing back strings of nausea that reminded the woman of the first three months of her pregnancy, though now it was naught but nerves.
Once more, the horse was stomping her hooves in protest, tossing her head and snorting. She had been cranky since Runa had mounted her in Edoras, even with the apples, and her tantrums were merely growing more prevalent the longer they walked their path to the outlying village in the Riddermark. Tait had wanted to gallop, and was entirely bored now, on top of the fact she hated Runa.
A couple of times, she had defied Runa’s best efforts to keep her under control and taken off at a gallop anyway, and one of the three Eored escorts had to chase her down and grab the reins to help get her to stop. Grindan, the rider of the Eored that Ceolmund had known the best, and a friend even for Runa, had made it a special task to keep an eye on her. The woman, though, was embarrassed by such a thing and wished she did not need his help; secretly, though, she was entirely grateful for it. It was perhaps only his watchful eye that had kept her alive.
Confounded horse.
“What in blazes was Ceolmund thinking?” Grindan had remarked several times already in their two-and-a-half-day trek. Runa could not fathom either. Tait, Runa soon learned, had a far-reaching reputation for her spirit and antics. After the first unbidden gallop, Grindan had insisted that Runa swap Tait for his much gentler Kuno. “Your husband would much prefer that baby of yours not tossed around like that,” he had said to her upon her protests.
He had moved to help her mount Kuno, who Runa surprisingly seemed able to handle much better. But Tait had dug in her heels, and refused to do a thing Grindan was telling her to do. They struggled through the arrangement for a little over two hours before Tait had thrown Grindan completely, splashing him into the waters of the Snowbourn with a whicker the rest of the company was absolutely certain was a laugh.
Runa had nearly leapt from Kuno to wade in and help the man to stand. “I’m so sorry, are you all right?”
Grindan glared at the black mare and seemed determined to try again, but the horse’s spirit was slowing them down, and Captain Ramm trotted up with a grunt. “Swap the mounts back,” he said voice sternly.
“But, Captain, Runa shouldn’t be tossed—” Grindan tried to protest as he stepped from the running waters, Runa close beside.
“She’s only tossing you so far,” Grindan noted stiffly. “She rides that mare, or we lose daylight. We need to keep moving. Swap back, that’s an order.”
“Yes, Captain,” Runa answered before Grindan was able to protest once more. She moved back to Tait’s saddle, and the horse tromped her foot impatiently as she maneuvered her way back up to sitting with a heave and a deep sigh.
So, even though Tait seemed to fight absolutely every command, Runa now knew that the mare did not hate her as much as she did everyone else. When she got back to Edoras, she would have to tell Ceolmund.
As her thoughts turned back to her husband, she sighed to herself. She knew Aldburg needed her, which was why she was saddled up alongside some of the women from the Healing Hall despite the fact she would have much preferred to be home with her husband and Paega, and not riding a monster animal across the plains. Runa was already ravenous even though they had stopped for food not but an hour before, and she was exhausted; the small belly she had beneath her travel cloak and borrowed chainmail was certainly making the traveling harder. Absently, Runa brushed her side and sighed. The sooner she got to the Hall out in the Eastfold, the sooner she could do what she could to help those poor people. And as soon as she got back to Edoras, Ceolmund would not be able to get away from her for a while.
She smiled at the thought.
Ramm, the soldier of the Eored that was leading the small party onward, turned southeast, beginning to head off down the bank. Adelais, Runa, and the others complied to the lead, though Tait was the last of the healer mounts to comply. Grindan stayed at their flank, and another Eored solider, Nodin, was taking up the rear.
The day was eerily still, save for the running water of the river. Though, Runa could not tell if the odd sensation of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach was there because of an overactive imagination, or an actual charge in the air. Tait continued to snort, side step, and aggressively flick her tail, withers shuddering as her muscles desired to take off at a run. “Tait,” Runa grunted. “Eorl’s flaming knickers, just behave!”
The horse snorted, the sound loud like thunder, and the horse stomped her hooves even more aggressively.
“Tait,” Runa growled in frustration. Tugging the reins was doing nothing, though, and the mare tossed her head once more, nostrils flared wide.
“Wait,” Grindan muttered, watching the horse. He had seen her like this before, when the men were in camp and dismounted. When she had wanted Ceolmund to know…“I think—”
Suddenly, a strange whooping sound, shot through the foggy plain with enough electricity that it made the very air alive. A call. Runa held her breath, and Tait stamped the soft earth again pointedly, and trumpeted a call once more as if in challenge. It echoed for a moment in the stillness, and then died away.
“What was that?” Adelais asked nervously, tightening her hold upon the reins. Many of the horses began to shift beneath their riders, and the women of the Hall eyed the plains by the Entwash with suspicion and fear. Runa, though, looked instead to the Eored. The hum of metal being drawn from its sheath sang the only alert she needed. Out in the distance, she could see grey shapes against the fog of the plain; some thirty orc were coming toward them, some astride wargs, the rest on foot with various weapons drawn, waving about in the air like a banner of pain and death.
“Make for Edoras!” Captain Ramm ordered over his shoulder as his red-coated mare paced and trotted in preparation.
The way her heart started slamming against her chest sent a wave of nausea through Runa’s body. There were only three riders of the Eored to stand for seven healers from the Healing Hall. Counting herself, Runa noted only four of the whole company were armed—and the other three were the soliders. Against the party of orcs riding in, those odds were not overly favorable. Three of the Eored, however skilled, were not enough opposition to even give the women time to try and make it back to the city.
The woman reached for the axe that was hanging at her hip, hands tight on Tait’s reins to try and keep her from bolting ahead to the fray just yet.
Adelais had turned her horse, and was about to heel it forward when the young woman had noted Runa’s motion. She frowned. “Don’t you dare, Runa. Not in your state, don’t you dare! Ceolmund would be so angry!”
The orc were coming closer, arrows beginning to whistle through the air, though missing their marks for the fog and wind.
Runa looked to Adelais, blue eyes firm and cool despite the slight trickle of fear she felt beating through her veins. “Three isn’t going to be enough to stall these things. Get back to Edoras, tell them what happened. Tell Ceol I’m sorry.”
“Runa!” Adelais shrieked, her fair face scrunching in panic.
“Go!” Runa screamed in return, brow pinching. Adelais hesitated, looking from Runa to the oncoming orc. “Eorl’s flaming knickers, Adelais! Run! Tell someone what happened here!”
“But,” Adelais started to protest.
Runa ignored her, and with a firm heel, was able to convince Tait to trot to a spot beside the Eored riders, though the horse seemed happy to comply this time, as if brought alive by the promise of blood upon the wind. Runa could hear the sound of hoofbeats beginning to take off.
Ride swiftly, Runa urged her friend, though she could not bring herself to look back. If she did, she was certain, she, too, would run. Adelais could escape; she had to.
Grindan was first to notice Runa pull up to stand abreast the others, and his light eyes immediately turned wide with fear and surprise. “Runa, you shouldn’t—”
“Tell me you three can hold off all those orcs and none of those girls die, and I will turn around and leave,” Runa grunted, eyes like lightning upon the plain in summer. “If you can’t, you need me.”
The soldier did not respond. With a steely expression, she turned back to eye the oncoming orc. Their cries were blood curdling, and her heart leapt into her throat despite the even mask she tried to wear.
“We hold,” Ramm declared to the men, seemingly unfazed by Runa’s presence. His eye marked her if only to include her, but there was no shift, no gleam of pity. His jaw was set tight, his eyes sterner than stone of mountains. “We hold until they can get back to the city! Forth Eorlingas!”
Tait seemed to know the battle call well, and without even waiting for a prompt from Runa took to a gallop. Her long, powerful legs carried Runa easily, and she began to pull the two of them away from the other riders; Tait could carry Ceolmund in a charge in full armor. Likely, carting around Runa, even with the mail, was like nothing for her. Ramm urged his horse faster to try and overtake her, but Tait was making that quite a task, and Runa could already hear the captain’s horse huffing its breaths.
The wargs honed in on her and Ramm almost immediately, and they howled a battle cry that reverberated over the plain. Captain Ramm threw a readied spear as one of the wolves leaped, and it skewered itself with a yelp. Its legs could not catch its body as it crumpled to the ground, throwing its rider face first into the dirt. Ramm pulled a sword from the sheath at his waist, as another warg rider adjusted his direction to go for the captain.
Arrows were flying again, and Runa managed to lean low enough to Tait’s neck to miss one that sought her, but beside her Nodin roared in pain. An orc was coming forward, readying a large, black-iron blade of a make Runa could not recognize. With a yell he sought to bite the blade into Tait’s chest, and Runa pulled the reins to adjust the horse’s direction and swooped in low with a swing of her own as she raced by. The orc’s blood splattered up onto her hand and cheek as its head lopped into the grass. Warm, and foul.
Runa had seen blood before, but this made her feel ill. While she figured the baby had something to do with it, she could not discount the newness of battle either. There was no time for sickness, though. Not now.
Another wolf lurched at Ramm’s horse, and the beast took hold of the red mare’s legs. Ramm shouted, swiping his sword, but the horse was baying and whinnying in terror, and Runa doubted the poor thing was going to make it. She turned, adjusting Tait to see if she could help. “Hold on!” She cried out. She cut down a foot soldier trying to wield an axe of his own, and she urged Tait forward. While the mount tromped in protest of adjusting the course from full charge, she did eventually relent. But they still seemed too far away.
Another hail of arrows. Runa shrieked as something hot and painful tore through her mail, making her left shoulder feel of fire and pain. Her whole body tightened as she gasped, and the horse below her began to hop. Runa felt panic for a moment, trying to remember how to stop the horse from rearing outright, but she was too slow. Tait lifted with an angry whicker, thrashing her forelegs out like weapons, and Runa slipped from her spot on the saddle, tumbling to the ground. Runa did her best to fall lightly, using her knees and arms to try and keep herself from slamming onto her stomach. The impact sent a fire through her whole body, stemming from the wound at her shoulder. She hissed, and cried out, tears burning her eyes.
“Stay with me,” she murmured to her baby, voice strained and tight for the pain. “Stay with me.” Perhaps it was fruitless; perhaps Runa knew she was going to die there, and her child along with her. And yet, she could not stomach resigning herself to such a fate. If Bema willed their flames end there, on the plane, then they would make their end like those of the heroes of old.
Runa was struggling to get up. She could feel the arrow any time she moved her left arm, and the darts of pain were sharper than a blade plucked straight from the forge.
“This one’s mine!” One of the orc laughed as he approached, a spiked mace held in his hand. Runa could feel the blood pounding through her head, but she pressed herself to stand and take her axe into ready again.
I’m so sorry, Ceol, she thought. The creature was close now, and she was barely able to haul herself to her feet. Paega… The little girl was going to lose her mother to orcs for a second time. And a sibling. Runa felt ill; She had already failed at being a mother to a child she had not even held yet.
Runa was finally standing, axe poised in hand, hoping beyond hope she would have the presence of mind to be able to parry and counter. However, the way her arm was feeling, and the way her head was pounding, she doubted it. The mace was being readied for swing, the heavy boots pressing deep and hard into the soil as it leapt forward.
Such an end as the heroes, Runa assured herself. She would make such an end. Her frown hardened, blue eyes like steel and storms.
Something black shot from the side, and with a crunch, snapped the orc’s ribs and sent him flying. Tait snorted and stomped defiantly, looking to Runa as if displeased with her prowess. “Confounded horse,” the woman muttered.
“Runa!” Grindan exclaimed. Runa shifted the haft of her axe in the grip between her fingers, thanking whoever was watching over her that the orc had honed in on her left shoulder with that arrow. For a moment she wondered if maybe she should be concerned it was coated with poison. At this point, though, it was going to make precious little difference.
“I’m fine,” she grunted. Perhaps an exaggeration. She found her stance, and Grindan circled his horse about her.
“Your shoulder—” Grindan sounded horrified. While the man was certainly no stranger to battle, it was likely the first time he had seen such a true battle wound on a woman that was won in returned combat. Let alone one in her state.
“We can worry about it after these orc are gone,” Runa countered. She was being approached from behind; she could hear the heavy footfalls of the orc’s iron boots as they squelched into the soft ground of the bank.
Ceolmund’s lessons at the ring prompted her, and she intrinsically did a cross over turn, catching the foul creature’s sword in the crook of her axe’s beard, and with a feral growl throwing her strength into grounding the weapon and swinging her axe hard enough to bite through the collarbone. With a gargle, the thing crumpled.
A remaining warg howled, a shiver crawling its way up and down Runa’s spine at the sound. “Back you devil!” Nodin bellowed in response. She could not see well beyond Tait’s massive frame. The black mare was stamping impatiently for Runa to remount, and was so incredibly tall. Runa could, however, hear the soldier adjust his ride, for the hooves seemed to be falling away from her.
Grindan cried a wild sound as he swung his blade in a low sweep from his horse, the bay colored Kuno tromping one of the creatures beneath her hooves, as he disarmed another one foolish enough to approach him.
Runa could no longer hear Ramm or the thundering sound of his mount.
More arrows came flying, though the woman had lost track of where they had come from. In the distance behind her, she could hear the sounds of some of the other healing women shrieking and screaming. “No!” Runa grunted. She turned to Tait, forcing herself to ignore the hot bolts of pain as she used her wounded arm to grab hold of the horse’s rein. The woman was unable to get beyond clutching the leather; the horse was too tall for her to mount without the use of her shoulder. She needed quite a heave to pull herself up to the mare’s back, what with the chainmail and the baby she was carrying. Still, she tried, Tait tossing her head in aggravation and fighting every tug Runa was giving.
“Tait, please!” She nearly shrieked in frustration. People were dying. Her friends were dying. She had to protect them. She was the chosen senior healer—she needed to get on this forsaken beast and get to them. “Eorl’s mercy—just stand still!” She tried to haul herself up again, but the hot tearing pain at her shoulder caused her to lose her grip and she fell back to her feet with a yell of her own.
The women’s screams were growing louder, and now Nodin’s war calls had disappeared.
Runa’s chest was clenching, the fear and panic that was ripping through her veins hot and painful. She willed herself to stay in control, to keep the tears she wanted to cry locked away. Those were not going to help anyone.
“We have to fall back!” Grindan called, galloping up carrying a spear he had plucked from something; it was dripping with blood, and Runa could not help but note the liquid was not black like that of an orc.
Runa’s heart was pounding, and she could barely breathe. “I can’t get back up on the horse,” she explained, a bit of fear but also grave resignation in her tone. “Just go! Don’t let them die!”
Grindan frowned and thrust the spear into a scrawny but deft orc as the solider pulled the reins to slow Kuno to a halt. “If you think I’m going to go explain to Ceol I left his wife to orcs, you don’t know me. Or your husband,” he said lowly. He leapt from the back of his horse, and moved to help Runa back up into her saddle. “Up we—”
Grindan’s words morphed into a scream of pain, and Runa turned, dropping Tait’s reins. “Grindan!”
Tait reared once more, the black mare finally tired of waiting, and took off toward the direction of the city, thundering hooves trampling the forms of half-dead orc as she disappeared. Runa did not even bother screaming for her to come back; it was no use. The horse’s only loyalty was to Ceolmund. Kuno quickly fell in trot behind her, Grindan cursing.
The man was doubled over, a spear lodged into his side. Runa turned to eye the orc who had thrown it. He was coming forward, eyes set on her, glittering and red with humor even in the fog. His crooked nose hooked and curled in a sneer. “We’ll have manflesh tonight,” it declared, its voice raspy.
A few other orcs guarded his flank, similar expressions upon their faces. Runa lifted her axe, setting her face in a steely frown. “Try it!” She growled, and she took a swing with her axe, catching the orc’s shield to drop his guard with the beard of her weapon, and quickly swinging around to dig the metal into the creature’s neck.
“This one’s got fire,” one of the remaining raiders hissed. Was it laughing?
“And she’s gotta lot there n’the middle ta munch,” another observed, putrid yellow eyes marking the small swell of the woman’s stomach beneath her mail.
Runa felt her stomach twist, and adjusted the hold of her hand axe. “You won’t live long enough to—”
Before her threat had even left her lips, a spear flew from behind her, and skewered the one with sickly yellow eyes. Runa turned, eyes wide. Grindan stood, barely, hand clutching the open wound on his side where the spear had been. His face was pale and drawn. “Over my dead body,” the man growled. He looked to Runa before his eyes rolled, and the woman rushed to catch him as his knees buckled and gave way.
“That seems nice,” one of the orcs offered. “We have some meat now. Let’s leave these here to keep, Gushnu. We can eat the others first, keep their flesh fresh for when Gruul joins us.” The beast was already licking its lips, ravenous and twisted hunger, in his eyes.
The orcs began to chitter amongst themselves. How many were left? Ten? Fifteen? Runa could barely count them, they were so grouped amidst the fog. She worked to lower Grindan to the ground. “Lie still,” she instructed.
“But they’ze just gon’ run,” another snorted. His face looked as if it had been half-bashed with a club at some point. His eyes were fierce and cold.
“Not if we nibble their legs a bit first,” one hissed. “If we kill ‘em now, they’ll be maggoty and dry before we get a chance to munch.”
Runa needed to find healing supplies. Her eyes wildly swept the field, fighting against the nausea that threatened as she saw the mangled bodies in the grasses about. Surely in the fray one of the packs had fallen—surely…
Gushnu growled. “Fine. We watch ‘em. Set up camp ‘round ‘em.” the one with silver eyes declared. The other orc laughed in agreement. Runa knew she could not challenge all of them at once, not in the state she was in, and not with Grindan needing her attention.
“Get out of here, Runa,” Grindan said quietly.
Runa frowned at the man. “If you think I’m going to leave a patient on the plain, you don’t know me,” she retorted. There. On the ground a few paces away was a half-trampled leather saddlebag. Surely it had the herbs they were meant to cart to the Eastfold. She looked back to Grindan. “I’m going to get you patched. And then we’ll get out of this together,” she murmured.
She began to crawl, seeking to lay hand upon the supplies before the orcs had a chance to spy her.
“Why’re we gonna give ‘em to Gruul? He ain’t don’ a thing! And they look so…delicious. Let’s just kill ‘em now, and crunch their bones! Drink their marrow!”
She felt a cold shudder climb through her body. But she was almost there. The pack was within reach.
“Do you want ‘im to find out we took all the spoils?” Gushnu snapped, pressing his jagged dagger to the other’s neck. “Then you’ll give these two to Gruul to do what he wants to. We can eat the others. Horse meat, manflesh—”
Another orc laughed. “There’s plenty of manflesh here already, Rûm! Some o’ the big meaty ones…some o’ the tender squishy ones,” another chimed. Runa felt her stomach turn and her knees and arms go weak. She stumbled upon her reach, having to catch herself before once more grabbing the knapsack. The orcs did not seem to notice.
Rûm glared at him a moment. “And we keep their stuff?” He asked.
“Gruul would gets those two, nothing else,” Gushnu answered. This seemed to please the other orc and he nodded.
“Fine. I wants a piece of the young one. Fresh meat, without years—always tastes sweet.”
“Monsters,” Grindan spat, even through his paleness appearing furious like a summer storm. “Don’t lay a hand on those women!”
The orc just laughed at him, but their attention had been drawn. “Lookee here! The plump one’s tryna escape,” one of them jeered.
“No,” Runa answered quickly and gravely. “I’m going to save that man. And if you want us not to be maggoty for your captain, you’ll let me.”
“This ‘un’ll taste good,” another remarked. “All that fire makes the meat just right. Shame Gruul’ll get ‘er.”
Still, the orcs did not approach her in threat quite yet, and seemed to be instead spanning out to lay claim to their camping land. Hurriedly Runa crawled back to Grindan, hands quickly working with the knapsack’s clasp to see what she had left to work with.
“You need to go,” the man said in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t live knowing you are going to be eaten. I already failed them, and my brothers. Please, don’t make me fail you and Ceolmund, too.”
“You failed no one,” Runa countered, smiling down at him despite the nausea that was threatening to snake the food she had eaten earlier right back up again. Suddenly, even Runa was not hungry.
Miraculously the contents of the pack seemed in one piece, save for the mortar and pestle. There was a vial of rubbing alcohol, clean cloths and bandages, needle, thread, and pouches of herbs. She took hold of the rag and alcohol and set her mind to cleaning.
“They could not have gotten all of us,” she finished, as if she were also speaking to convince herself. “If anyone can get back to Edoras, someone will be back for us. Perhaps before this Gruul gets here.”
“And if it’s after?” Grindan grunted, wincing as Runa pulled his hand aside and set to work on cleaning the gaping wound at his side. Her heart was pounding.
Runa’s face grimaced. “Then you still failed no one,” Runa said quietly.
“Ceol—”
“Will understand,” Runa interrupted. There was a weight in the pit of her stomach, her eyes threatening tears with a warm sting. “Grindan, I can’t outrun these orcs, not like this.” The Eored had known she was expecting even before they had seen her. Ceolmund had made certain they knew. She squeezed the cloth with the rubbing alcohol tight in her hands to hide the sadness and fear in her expression, and once again set to work. “Now lie still. This is going to sting.”
Runa grunted out an agreement, once more fighting the reins to keep the black mare beneath her staying in one place. It had been days she had been stuck in that saddle astride Ceolmund’s black horse, Tait. How they were still even in the travelling party was amazing to the woman. Tait, as was her custom, had been fighting Runa every step, trot, or gallop of the way. There was only one person in all of Arda the horse wanted to be ridden by, and it was the same person who had insisted that Runa take a seasoned warhorse on the assignment to Aldburg to begin with.
The first day had been smooth and incident free, what with the bag full of apples Ceolmund had packed for her to carry and use as incentive for Tait’s compliance. She had even gone to bed hopeful that perhaps the trip would not be so bad, though such manner of optimism was short lived. Runa had woken in the middle of the night to the sound of crunching, finding the giant nightmare’s head stuck straight into the knapsack of treats, and the apples disappearing one by one. Runa had been unable to fight the heavy horse’s head away, and though her mild panic had roused Grindan from his sleep as well, the damage was done, and the last of the apples were gone. From then on, Tait knew she did not have to obey, and that freedom had frightened her rider, bringing back strings of nausea that reminded the woman of the first three months of her pregnancy, though now it was naught but nerves.
Once more, the horse was stomping her hooves in protest, tossing her head and snorting. She had been cranky since Runa had mounted her in Edoras, even with the apples, and her tantrums were merely growing more prevalent the longer they walked their path to the outlying village in the Riddermark. Tait had wanted to gallop, and was entirely bored now, on top of the fact she hated Runa.
A couple of times, she had defied Runa’s best efforts to keep her under control and taken off at a gallop anyway, and one of the three Eored escorts had to chase her down and grab the reins to help get her to stop. Grindan, the rider of the Eored that Ceolmund had known the best, and a friend even for Runa, had made it a special task to keep an eye on her. The woman, though, was embarrassed by such a thing and wished she did not need his help; secretly, though, she was entirely grateful for it. It was perhaps only his watchful eye that had kept her alive.
Confounded horse.
“What in blazes was Ceolmund thinking?” Grindan had remarked several times already in their two-and-a-half-day trek. Runa could not fathom either. Tait, Runa soon learned, had a far-reaching reputation for her spirit and antics. After the first unbidden gallop, Grindan had insisted that Runa swap Tait for his much gentler Kuno. “Your husband would much prefer that baby of yours not tossed around like that,” he had said to her upon her protests.
He had moved to help her mount Kuno, who Runa surprisingly seemed able to handle much better. But Tait had dug in her heels, and refused to do a thing Grindan was telling her to do. They struggled through the arrangement for a little over two hours before Tait had thrown Grindan completely, splashing him into the waters of the Snowbourn with a whicker the rest of the company was absolutely certain was a laugh.
Runa had nearly leapt from Kuno to wade in and help the man to stand. “I’m so sorry, are you all right?”
Grindan glared at the black mare and seemed determined to try again, but the horse’s spirit was slowing them down, and Captain Ramm trotted up with a grunt. “Swap the mounts back,” he said voice sternly.
“But, Captain, Runa shouldn’t be tossed—” Grindan tried to protest as he stepped from the running waters, Runa close beside.
“She’s only tossing you so far,” Grindan noted stiffly. “She rides that mare, or we lose daylight. We need to keep moving. Swap back, that’s an order.”
“Yes, Captain,” Runa answered before Grindan was able to protest once more. She moved back to Tait’s saddle, and the horse tromped her foot impatiently as she maneuvered her way back up to sitting with a heave and a deep sigh.
So, even though Tait seemed to fight absolutely every command, Runa now knew that the mare did not hate her as much as she did everyone else. When she got back to Edoras, she would have to tell Ceolmund.
As her thoughts turned back to her husband, she sighed to herself. She knew Aldburg needed her, which was why she was saddled up alongside some of the women from the Healing Hall despite the fact she would have much preferred to be home with her husband and Paega, and not riding a monster animal across the plains. Runa was already ravenous even though they had stopped for food not but an hour before, and she was exhausted; the small belly she had beneath her travel cloak and borrowed chainmail was certainly making the traveling harder. Absently, Runa brushed her side and sighed. The sooner she got to the Hall out in the Eastfold, the sooner she could do what she could to help those poor people. And as soon as she got back to Edoras, Ceolmund would not be able to get away from her for a while.
She smiled at the thought.
Ramm, the soldier of the Eored that was leading the small party onward, turned southeast, beginning to head off down the bank. Adelais, Runa, and the others complied to the lead, though Tait was the last of the healer mounts to comply. Grindan stayed at their flank, and another Eored solider, Nodin, was taking up the rear.
The day was eerily still, save for the running water of the river. Though, Runa could not tell if the odd sensation of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach was there because of an overactive imagination, or an actual charge in the air. Tait continued to snort, side step, and aggressively flick her tail, withers shuddering as her muscles desired to take off at a run. “Tait,” Runa grunted. “Eorl’s flaming knickers, just behave!”
The horse snorted, the sound loud like thunder, and the horse stomped her hooves even more aggressively.
“Tait,” Runa growled in frustration. Tugging the reins was doing nothing, though, and the mare tossed her head once more, nostrils flared wide.
“Wait,” Grindan muttered, watching the horse. He had seen her like this before, when the men were in camp and dismounted. When she had wanted Ceolmund to know…“I think—”
Suddenly, a strange whooping sound, shot through the foggy plain with enough electricity that it made the very air alive. A call. Runa held her breath, and Tait stamped the soft earth again pointedly, and trumpeted a call once more as if in challenge. It echoed for a moment in the stillness, and then died away.
“What was that?” Adelais asked nervously, tightening her hold upon the reins. Many of the horses began to shift beneath their riders, and the women of the Hall eyed the plains by the Entwash with suspicion and fear. Runa, though, looked instead to the Eored. The hum of metal being drawn from its sheath sang the only alert she needed. Out in the distance, she could see grey shapes against the fog of the plain; some thirty orc were coming toward them, some astride wargs, the rest on foot with various weapons drawn, waving about in the air like a banner of pain and death.
“Make for Edoras!” Captain Ramm ordered over his shoulder as his red-coated mare paced and trotted in preparation.
The way her heart started slamming against her chest sent a wave of nausea through Runa’s body. There were only three riders of the Eored to stand for seven healers from the Healing Hall. Counting herself, Runa noted only four of the whole company were armed—and the other three were the soliders. Against the party of orcs riding in, those odds were not overly favorable. Three of the Eored, however skilled, were not enough opposition to even give the women time to try and make it back to the city.
The woman reached for the axe that was hanging at her hip, hands tight on Tait’s reins to try and keep her from bolting ahead to the fray just yet.
Adelais had turned her horse, and was about to heel it forward when the young woman had noted Runa’s motion. She frowned. “Don’t you dare, Runa. Not in your state, don’t you dare! Ceolmund would be so angry!”
The orc were coming closer, arrows beginning to whistle through the air, though missing their marks for the fog and wind.
Runa looked to Adelais, blue eyes firm and cool despite the slight trickle of fear she felt beating through her veins. “Three isn’t going to be enough to stall these things. Get back to Edoras, tell them what happened. Tell Ceol I’m sorry.”
“Runa!” Adelais shrieked, her fair face scrunching in panic.
“Go!” Runa screamed in return, brow pinching. Adelais hesitated, looking from Runa to the oncoming orc. “Eorl’s flaming knickers, Adelais! Run! Tell someone what happened here!”
“But,” Adelais started to protest.
Runa ignored her, and with a firm heel, was able to convince Tait to trot to a spot beside the Eored riders, though the horse seemed happy to comply this time, as if brought alive by the promise of blood upon the wind. Runa could hear the sound of hoofbeats beginning to take off.
Ride swiftly, Runa urged her friend, though she could not bring herself to look back. If she did, she was certain, she, too, would run. Adelais could escape; she had to.
Grindan was first to notice Runa pull up to stand abreast the others, and his light eyes immediately turned wide with fear and surprise. “Runa, you shouldn’t—”
“Tell me you three can hold off all those orcs and none of those girls die, and I will turn around and leave,” Runa grunted, eyes like lightning upon the plain in summer. “If you can’t, you need me.”
The soldier did not respond. With a steely expression, she turned back to eye the oncoming orc. Their cries were blood curdling, and her heart leapt into her throat despite the even mask she tried to wear.
“We hold,” Ramm declared to the men, seemingly unfazed by Runa’s presence. His eye marked her if only to include her, but there was no shift, no gleam of pity. His jaw was set tight, his eyes sterner than stone of mountains. “We hold until they can get back to the city! Forth Eorlingas!”
Tait seemed to know the battle call well, and without even waiting for a prompt from Runa took to a gallop. Her long, powerful legs carried Runa easily, and she began to pull the two of them away from the other riders; Tait could carry Ceolmund in a charge in full armor. Likely, carting around Runa, even with the mail, was like nothing for her. Ramm urged his horse faster to try and overtake her, but Tait was making that quite a task, and Runa could already hear the captain’s horse huffing its breaths.
The wargs honed in on her and Ramm almost immediately, and they howled a battle cry that reverberated over the plain. Captain Ramm threw a readied spear as one of the wolves leaped, and it skewered itself with a yelp. Its legs could not catch its body as it crumpled to the ground, throwing its rider face first into the dirt. Ramm pulled a sword from the sheath at his waist, as another warg rider adjusted his direction to go for the captain.
Arrows were flying again, and Runa managed to lean low enough to Tait’s neck to miss one that sought her, but beside her Nodin roared in pain. An orc was coming forward, readying a large, black-iron blade of a make Runa could not recognize. With a yell he sought to bite the blade into Tait’s chest, and Runa pulled the reins to adjust the horse’s direction and swooped in low with a swing of her own as she raced by. The orc’s blood splattered up onto her hand and cheek as its head lopped into the grass. Warm, and foul.
Runa had seen blood before, but this made her feel ill. While she figured the baby had something to do with it, she could not discount the newness of battle either. There was no time for sickness, though. Not now.
Another wolf lurched at Ramm’s horse, and the beast took hold of the red mare’s legs. Ramm shouted, swiping his sword, but the horse was baying and whinnying in terror, and Runa doubted the poor thing was going to make it. She turned, adjusting Tait to see if she could help. “Hold on!” She cried out. She cut down a foot soldier trying to wield an axe of his own, and she urged Tait forward. While the mount tromped in protest of adjusting the course from full charge, she did eventually relent. But they still seemed too far away.
Another hail of arrows. Runa shrieked as something hot and painful tore through her mail, making her left shoulder feel of fire and pain. Her whole body tightened as she gasped, and the horse below her began to hop. Runa felt panic for a moment, trying to remember how to stop the horse from rearing outright, but she was too slow. Tait lifted with an angry whicker, thrashing her forelegs out like weapons, and Runa slipped from her spot on the saddle, tumbling to the ground. Runa did her best to fall lightly, using her knees and arms to try and keep herself from slamming onto her stomach. The impact sent a fire through her whole body, stemming from the wound at her shoulder. She hissed, and cried out, tears burning her eyes.
“Stay with me,” she murmured to her baby, voice strained and tight for the pain. “Stay with me.” Perhaps it was fruitless; perhaps Runa knew she was going to die there, and her child along with her. And yet, she could not stomach resigning herself to such a fate. If Bema willed their flames end there, on the plane, then they would make their end like those of the heroes of old.
Runa was struggling to get up. She could feel the arrow any time she moved her left arm, and the darts of pain were sharper than a blade plucked straight from the forge.
“This one’s mine!” One of the orc laughed as he approached, a spiked mace held in his hand. Runa could feel the blood pounding through her head, but she pressed herself to stand and take her axe into ready again.
I’m so sorry, Ceol, she thought. The creature was close now, and she was barely able to haul herself to her feet. Paega… The little girl was going to lose her mother to orcs for a second time. And a sibling. Runa felt ill; She had already failed at being a mother to a child she had not even held yet.
Runa was finally standing, axe poised in hand, hoping beyond hope she would have the presence of mind to be able to parry and counter. However, the way her arm was feeling, and the way her head was pounding, she doubted it. The mace was being readied for swing, the heavy boots pressing deep and hard into the soil as it leapt forward.
Such an end as the heroes, Runa assured herself. She would make such an end. Her frown hardened, blue eyes like steel and storms.
Something black shot from the side, and with a crunch, snapped the orc’s ribs and sent him flying. Tait snorted and stomped defiantly, looking to Runa as if displeased with her prowess. “Confounded horse,” the woman muttered.
“Runa!” Grindan exclaimed. Runa shifted the haft of her axe in the grip between her fingers, thanking whoever was watching over her that the orc had honed in on her left shoulder with that arrow. For a moment she wondered if maybe she should be concerned it was coated with poison. At this point, though, it was going to make precious little difference.
“I’m fine,” she grunted. Perhaps an exaggeration. She found her stance, and Grindan circled his horse about her.
“Your shoulder—” Grindan sounded horrified. While the man was certainly no stranger to battle, it was likely the first time he had seen such a true battle wound on a woman that was won in returned combat. Let alone one in her state.
“We can worry about it after these orc are gone,” Runa countered. She was being approached from behind; she could hear the heavy footfalls of the orc’s iron boots as they squelched into the soft ground of the bank.
Ceolmund’s lessons at the ring prompted her, and she intrinsically did a cross over turn, catching the foul creature’s sword in the crook of her axe’s beard, and with a feral growl throwing her strength into grounding the weapon and swinging her axe hard enough to bite through the collarbone. With a gargle, the thing crumpled.
A remaining warg howled, a shiver crawling its way up and down Runa’s spine at the sound. “Back you devil!” Nodin bellowed in response. She could not see well beyond Tait’s massive frame. The black mare was stamping impatiently for Runa to remount, and was so incredibly tall. Runa could, however, hear the soldier adjust his ride, for the hooves seemed to be falling away from her.
Grindan cried a wild sound as he swung his blade in a low sweep from his horse, the bay colored Kuno tromping one of the creatures beneath her hooves, as he disarmed another one foolish enough to approach him.
Runa could no longer hear Ramm or the thundering sound of his mount.
More arrows came flying, though the woman had lost track of where they had come from. In the distance behind her, she could hear the sounds of some of the other healing women shrieking and screaming. “No!” Runa grunted. She turned to Tait, forcing herself to ignore the hot bolts of pain as she used her wounded arm to grab hold of the horse’s rein. The woman was unable to get beyond clutching the leather; the horse was too tall for her to mount without the use of her shoulder. She needed quite a heave to pull herself up to the mare’s back, what with the chainmail and the baby she was carrying. Still, she tried, Tait tossing her head in aggravation and fighting every tug Runa was giving.
“Tait, please!” She nearly shrieked in frustration. People were dying. Her friends were dying. She had to protect them. She was the chosen senior healer—she needed to get on this forsaken beast and get to them. “Eorl’s mercy—just stand still!” She tried to haul herself up again, but the hot tearing pain at her shoulder caused her to lose her grip and she fell back to her feet with a yell of her own.
The women’s screams were growing louder, and now Nodin’s war calls had disappeared.
Runa’s chest was clenching, the fear and panic that was ripping through her veins hot and painful. She willed herself to stay in control, to keep the tears she wanted to cry locked away. Those were not going to help anyone.
“We have to fall back!” Grindan called, galloping up carrying a spear he had plucked from something; it was dripping with blood, and Runa could not help but note the liquid was not black like that of an orc.
Runa’s heart was pounding, and she could barely breathe. “I can’t get back up on the horse,” she explained, a bit of fear but also grave resignation in her tone. “Just go! Don’t let them die!”
Grindan frowned and thrust the spear into a scrawny but deft orc as the solider pulled the reins to slow Kuno to a halt. “If you think I’m going to go explain to Ceol I left his wife to orcs, you don’t know me. Or your husband,” he said lowly. He leapt from the back of his horse, and moved to help Runa back up into her saddle. “Up we—”
Grindan’s words morphed into a scream of pain, and Runa turned, dropping Tait’s reins. “Grindan!”
Tait reared once more, the black mare finally tired of waiting, and took off toward the direction of the city, thundering hooves trampling the forms of half-dead orc as she disappeared. Runa did not even bother screaming for her to come back; it was no use. The horse’s only loyalty was to Ceolmund. Kuno quickly fell in trot behind her, Grindan cursing.
The man was doubled over, a spear lodged into his side. Runa turned to eye the orc who had thrown it. He was coming forward, eyes set on her, glittering and red with humor even in the fog. His crooked nose hooked and curled in a sneer. “We’ll have manflesh tonight,” it declared, its voice raspy.
A few other orcs guarded his flank, similar expressions upon their faces. Runa lifted her axe, setting her face in a steely frown. “Try it!” She growled, and she took a swing with her axe, catching the orc’s shield to drop his guard with the beard of her weapon, and quickly swinging around to dig the metal into the creature’s neck.
“This one’s got fire,” one of the remaining raiders hissed. Was it laughing?
“And she’s gotta lot there n’the middle ta munch,” another observed, putrid yellow eyes marking the small swell of the woman’s stomach beneath her mail.
Runa felt her stomach twist, and adjusted the hold of her hand axe. “You won’t live long enough to—”
Before her threat had even left her lips, a spear flew from behind her, and skewered the one with sickly yellow eyes. Runa turned, eyes wide. Grindan stood, barely, hand clutching the open wound on his side where the spear had been. His face was pale and drawn. “Over my dead body,” the man growled. He looked to Runa before his eyes rolled, and the woman rushed to catch him as his knees buckled and gave way.
“That seems nice,” one of the orcs offered. “We have some meat now. Let’s leave these here to keep, Gushnu. We can eat the others first, keep their flesh fresh for when Gruul joins us.” The beast was already licking its lips, ravenous and twisted hunger, in his eyes.
The orcs began to chitter amongst themselves. How many were left? Ten? Fifteen? Runa could barely count them, they were so grouped amidst the fog. She worked to lower Grindan to the ground. “Lie still,” she instructed.
“But they’ze just gon’ run,” another snorted. His face looked as if it had been half-bashed with a club at some point. His eyes were fierce and cold.
“Not if we nibble their legs a bit first,” one hissed. “If we kill ‘em now, they’ll be maggoty and dry before we get a chance to munch.”
Runa needed to find healing supplies. Her eyes wildly swept the field, fighting against the nausea that threatened as she saw the mangled bodies in the grasses about. Surely in the fray one of the packs had fallen—surely…
Gushnu growled. “Fine. We watch ‘em. Set up camp ‘round ‘em.” the one with silver eyes declared. The other orc laughed in agreement. Runa knew she could not challenge all of them at once, not in the state she was in, and not with Grindan needing her attention.
“Get out of here, Runa,” Grindan said quietly.
Runa frowned at the man. “If you think I’m going to leave a patient on the plain, you don’t know me,” she retorted. There. On the ground a few paces away was a half-trampled leather saddlebag. Surely it had the herbs they were meant to cart to the Eastfold. She looked back to Grindan. “I’m going to get you patched. And then we’ll get out of this together,” she murmured.
She began to crawl, seeking to lay hand upon the supplies before the orcs had a chance to spy her.
“Why’re we gonna give ‘em to Gruul? He ain’t don’ a thing! And they look so…delicious. Let’s just kill ‘em now, and crunch their bones! Drink their marrow!”
She felt a cold shudder climb through her body. But she was almost there. The pack was within reach.
“Do you want ‘im to find out we took all the spoils?” Gushnu snapped, pressing his jagged dagger to the other’s neck. “Then you’ll give these two to Gruul to do what he wants to. We can eat the others. Horse meat, manflesh—”
Another orc laughed. “There’s plenty of manflesh here already, Rûm! Some o’ the big meaty ones…some o’ the tender squishy ones,” another chimed. Runa felt her stomach turn and her knees and arms go weak. She stumbled upon her reach, having to catch herself before once more grabbing the knapsack. The orcs did not seem to notice.
Rûm glared at him a moment. “And we keep their stuff?” He asked.
“Gruul would gets those two, nothing else,” Gushnu answered. This seemed to please the other orc and he nodded.
“Fine. I wants a piece of the young one. Fresh meat, without years—always tastes sweet.”
“Monsters,” Grindan spat, even through his paleness appearing furious like a summer storm. “Don’t lay a hand on those women!”
The orc just laughed at him, but their attention had been drawn. “Lookee here! The plump one’s tryna escape,” one of them jeered.
“No,” Runa answered quickly and gravely. “I’m going to save that man. And if you want us not to be maggoty for your captain, you’ll let me.”
“This ‘un’ll taste good,” another remarked. “All that fire makes the meat just right. Shame Gruul’ll get ‘er.”
Still, the orcs did not approach her in threat quite yet, and seemed to be instead spanning out to lay claim to their camping land. Hurriedly Runa crawled back to Grindan, hands quickly working with the knapsack’s clasp to see what she had left to work with.
“You need to go,” the man said in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t live knowing you are going to be eaten. I already failed them, and my brothers. Please, don’t make me fail you and Ceolmund, too.”
“You failed no one,” Runa countered, smiling down at him despite the nausea that was threatening to snake the food she had eaten earlier right back up again. Suddenly, even Runa was not hungry.
Miraculously the contents of the pack seemed in one piece, save for the mortar and pestle. There was a vial of rubbing alcohol, clean cloths and bandages, needle, thread, and pouches of herbs. She took hold of the rag and alcohol and set her mind to cleaning.
“They could not have gotten all of us,” she finished, as if she were also speaking to convince herself. “If anyone can get back to Edoras, someone will be back for us. Perhaps before this Gruul gets here.”
“And if it’s after?” Grindan grunted, wincing as Runa pulled his hand aside and set to work on cleaning the gaping wound at his side. Her heart was pounding.
Runa’s face grimaced. “Then you still failed no one,” Runa said quietly.
“Ceol—”
“Will understand,” Runa interrupted. There was a weight in the pit of her stomach, her eyes threatening tears with a warm sting. “Grindan, I can’t outrun these orcs, not like this.” The Eored had known she was expecting even before they had seen her. Ceolmund had made certain they knew. She squeezed the cloth with the rubbing alcohol tight in her hands to hide the sadness and fear in her expression, and once again set to work. “Now lie still. This is going to sting.”