Chapter 85: Barbarians Vs Orcs

Chapter 85: Chapter 85: Barbarians Vs Orcs

Victor glanced back. The orcs were still chasing. Soon, they had gotten close enough that he could see the glint of Vrok’s tusks.

Ahead lay the trench they had dug, a wide, deep gorge cutting across the valley floor.

"Leap!" Victor commanded, and the Lion cleared it in a single bound, claws scraping stone on the far side.

Vrok’s boar leapt right behind him. It cleared the gap, landing with a thud that shook the dirt. Many of Vrok’s men followed.

Some of them made the jump.

But some others didn’t. The unlucky ones’ boars came up short, scrabbling at the edge before tumbling into the pit, squealing, riders crushed beneath them or impaled on the stakes below.

Victor didn’t slow down. He cupped his hand to his mouth and let loose the War Cry of the Chief, the sound rolling off the valley walls.

"NOW, KIKI!"

On the far ridge, Kiki drew back her bow. Flames flickered along the arrow’s length as she aimed and let it fly.

It landed in the dry brush along the valley wall, right where Victor’s men had buried barrels of tree oil under shallow dirt.

The ridge went up in one roar.

Fire raced through the grass and brush, swallowing the oil-soaked ground in a wall of orange. Orcs screamed. The Boars shrieked and bucked, flinging their riders off and trampling them as they bolted.

Some crashed into the others in a tangle of tusks and flame. About thirty, maybe forty of Vrok’s riders were gone in seconds, burning, trampled, or both.

Vrok whipped his head around and saw it, his eyes widening as black smoke curled up behind him.

He hauled on the reins. His boar skidded, and he nearly turned back.

Skarn rode up beside him. "Young chief, we must go back! Our warriors are dying!"

Vrok stared at the carnage. Then he turned his head toward Victor.

Victor, still riding, looked back at him over his shoulder. And raised his middle finger.

Vrok’s face went purple with rage.

"I don’t care!" he roared. "Until I have that slave, we do not turn back!"

He dug his heels in and drove his boar forward after Victor, the survivors behind him.

Victor faced the front again, riding hard, and a thought drifted through his mind with some surprise.

Everything is going according to plan, should I be worried?...

The thought had barely finished forming when Victor swung the Dire Lion hard to the right, angling for the eastern forest.

Vrok came after him, bone blade raised, the survivors of his warband thundering in his wake. Victor glanced back and let himself smile. They were following exactly where he wanted them.

Then a scream split the air from somewhere off to the side.

Victor turned.

Foto stood in the open grass, waving both arms over her head, shrieking at the orcs. "OVER HERE! HERE!"

Victor’s heart lurched. What the fuck is she doing?

Up on the ridge, Kiki froze with an arrow half drawn. But she was not the only shocked one.

In the hiding places around the village, the tribesmen watching in secret went rigid with shock.

A short distance from Foto, a barbarian lay half buried in a crouch behind a fallen log. It was Popo. He hissed at her. "What are you doing? I thought you said to wait for the opportunity to take back my position. But you are leading them right for the village!"

"Exactly," Foto said, her eyes on Victor, cold and bright. "I want to see what our great chief does when his own people are in danger."

Last night’s memory flashed in her mind. She remembered Victor sitting on that riverbank, and Coco crying against his chest, and then him saying something about throwing himself for his people.

Back then, she had decided. If that was the kind of chief he was, she would use it. This was her upper hand to eliminating him.

And it worked.

Vrok’s head snapped toward her. He raised his blade and pointed, and a good half of the orcs behind him veered off, boars squealing as they wheeled toward Foto.

Victor’s grip tightened on the Lion’s mane. His mind raced. If I stop now, then the entire plan will go up in smoke. But if I don’t, then that idiot will be slaughtered.

Even though she caused this and he knew. Still, he just couldn’t allow it.

He came from a world that had a different set of rules.

And honestly, those rules were too rooted in him. If he could protect his own, then he would.

This was a decision—one of many— that would haunt Victor for a long... time.

He gritted his teeth and stayed on course, but only temporary.

The forest. I have no choice.

The plan was simple. He was to lead them through the forest, where the traps waited in layers. But with half the warband peeled away, he would go only a short distance in, then cut across to the far side.

He plunged into the trees, the Dire Lion weaving between trunks, branches whipping past his face. Vrok and his riders crashed in after him.

"KIKI!" Victor roared. "AGAIN!"

On the ridge, she loosed another arrow. It streaked down through the canopy and struck a taut rope strung between two trees. The rope caught fire and snapped.

Stakes lashed out from the ground. But that was not all. Sharpened logs swung down from above on cords.

Orcs screamed as the spikes punched through their ribs and necks, boars crumpling under the barrage.

Vrok threw himself sideways at the last instant, the swinging timber missing his head by a hair, and the fury in his roar shook the leaves.

"YOU DIE FOR THIS!"

Victor burst out the far side of the trees, then wheeled the Lion around to face the forest edge. Vrok and what remained of his riders tore out after him, the ground shaking beneath them.

Victor filled his lungs with air, and let the War Cry loose across the whole valley.

"SOUTHERN BLOODLINE BARBARIANS, ATTACK!"

As if the earth itself had answered, barbarians surged out of the grass, from behind rocks, out of trenches, axes and spears in hand, tearing into the orcs’ flanks with a roar.

Victor turned the Dire Lion to face Vrok head on and drove his heels into its sides.

The Lion exploded forward.