Fleas - Songs of the Gnolls I

WORLDS COLLIDE 8.11

Those damned traitors! The Red Moon Empire had come too far to be stopped by cowardly bastards. Zanarah didn't know what the humans had offered them or when they had contacted them, but she didn't care. He would kill them all herself. And so the circular dance of blood, drawn by her sharp axe, watered the beautiful flowering fields. Though the betrayal had come as a surprise at first, causing a few casualties, the other species soon rearmed and began a counteroffensive.

"Helirah, protect the defenseless!" She shouted as he severed an female orc's head from the rest of her body.

"We've already pushed them into the center!" Her mother answered. "Let's form a barrier."

Little by little, they gave way as they squeezed together. Though their expansive and wide-ranging style of fighting made the three of them dangerous to allies and enemies alike, they understood each other and complemented each other's movements, creating a whirlwind of sword, axe, and mace that cut and smash everyone around them to pieces. Meanwhile, behind the orcs' backs, the Distant Teeth encircled them, slowly reducing their numbers.

Zanarah had noticed that their movements were wild and without strategy. It was as if the rational part of their being had been consumed by a rapacious savagery. Under normal circumstances, such enemies would be easy prey; but these poisoned weapons left no room for error. Already, several of the Iron Claws had been wounded and had fainted from the poison. Handless among them. If they were not treated soon, they would die.

From one moment to the next, the orcs came to their senses and began to group together and act in a coordinated manner, like a bee's nest after the chaos of throwing out its honeycomb.

Suddenly, a rumbling sound came from behind them. Zanarah plunged the blade into the chest of the nearest one, holding it like a pig's shield to analyze its back. Dust from the rumbling rushed down like an opaque rain, revealing a hollow crowned by a huge boulder. It was the humans. They knew this would happen, and they didn't mind taking their own allies with them. Were they really allies? Because right now the orcs didn't seem to be able to tell friend from foe.

"Trols!" Shouted Scourge, who was far away, but his voice echoed overhead.

Zeppel turned away, stepped into the orc stream, and let out her scream, which changed the density of the air. She could stop the arrows, but not the rocks. That was the job of the trolls. Zanarah did not know where the stone creatures were. She understood that being trapped in that small circle was dangerous, even more dangerous than the poison, so she let out her own scream. With a fist full of unearthly strength, she attacked the orcs. An axe here, an orc split in two. Her fingers dug violently into the eyes of another and used his corpse as an obstacle to trip a third. Then she finished him off before continuing his dance of death. An arrow struck her shoulder pad, going through and into her left shoulder, but the wound was too shallow. In the distance she could see the orcs flying like birds thanks to her mother's powerful swings.

In the symphony of agonizing screams, she was unable to hear one in particular until it was not too late. She felt a strong pressure behind her back. The pressure of warm hands, familiar hands. Then the crash. Fragments of dirt and dust flying, a few small stones hitting her body. The smell of blood... She shook off the three orcs in front of her and turned around. The giant projectile had embedded itself, like so many others. But this one had fallen on Helirah. Soon the other warriors surrounded them. Zanarah dropped her axe and ran to her. She was lying upside down. The lower half of her body was buried beneath the rock. The smell of blood was so strong.

"Helirah! Sister!"

Zanarah grabbed her hand. She squeezed it.

"Are you deaf? I warned you... Bah, it doesn't matter now."

"Why?·

Helirah smiled, as Kkale had taught her. She squeezed her hand a little tighter. Zanarah felt it tremble.

"You saved me from being stoned once. It was time to return the favor," her eyes wandered for a moment to her sword, which had flown a few steps away. "It is said that the giants forged that weapon and that they were the greatest warriors ever seen. Use it, be more fearsome than they. Become the greatest hyaenid the world has ever seen"

Helirah's hand slid through her fingers like sand. Zanarah stroked her head. She tried to smile, as she would have liked to, but she could not. She picked up the sword and looked at the few remaining orcs. They were doomed, for Zanarah was now the Grim Reaper, and she felt the eerie taste of the afterlife in her fangs. The sword in her hands felt heavy, even heavier than the axe, though the upper half of the blade was missing. It felt heavy because it was a legacy, one she would protect until death.

"Helirah, I love you so much."

Zanarah inflated her lungs with the scent of earth and blood and let out a scream. Not hers, not Helirah's, not her mother's. She leaned forward, legs apart, sword back. The air gradually compressed at her back, like Helirah's hand that had saved her, and it burst. She felt that she had mastered the wind, that the earth was her subject and the storm her guide. In an instant, she had moved eight paces away, leaving a trail of death and dust that could not reach her, no matter how hard it tried. She kicked again, creating another river of blood. She was able to make the same leap five more times, like a horizontal thunderclap that destroyed everyone it touched. But it was not enough. All those deaths were not enough to soothe her sad heart, her heart that had beaten again when she got Helirah back, and that had just broken when she lost her forever.

As the trolls began to destroy the projectiles, the humans stopped throwing them. There was not a single orc left from those who had gone to war. They did not stop to count the dead of their allies. They did not send Helirah away as a warrior, as a hyaenid, even after she had regained her honor and the love of her family. In Zanarah's hands remained an old sword and a legacy she could not respect, for she could not smile at her dead body.

Of those wounded by the poison, most were saved by the Voices of Rock. Many gnomes had fled, but seeing the human dishonor, others were convinced that extermination was necessary.

As the wounded were treated, Scourge stood before the bridge and gazed at the barrier that separated them. There was an idea in his mind, the steely and determined gaze betraying it. Kkelea, Zeppel and herself approached.

"If what Éwik says is true," Kkelea said, "a new army will soon be coming for us. We must retreat."

"Or advance," Scourge replied, still staring at the barrier. "Tell me, Zeppel, do you want revenge on the humans for what they did to Helirah?"

"You know I do."

"What I'm about to ask you is risky."

"I don't care."

The voices of Rock gathered. They all sang to give strength to both Scourge and Zeppel. Her mother put down one of her hammers and took the other in both hands.

"Now, Kkelea," Zeppel ordered.

"I don't know how long the effect will last, I don't think for long."

"It doesn't matter, just do it!"

Kkelea let out a cry of protection. Then Scourge picked Zeppel up and, thanks to the extra strength the Voices had given him, hurled her forward like a giant, muscular spear. Zeppel added her own scream, propelling it like a shooting star. It slammed into the drawbridge and passed through with a meteoric roar. The impact had been even more powerful than that of the pitiful human stones against the ground. Splinters flew like dandelion seeds. A trumpet sounded inside, but it was too late. Late for men and their cowardice. Late for betrayal, for prayers and prayers.

Like the human world, the drawbridge had just fallen. At last, Zanarah could smile. "This is for you, sister of my soul."