A Soldier's Life - 291 - Strength of Giants (edited on 6-28-25)

Chapter 291: Strength of Giants

The gatehouse was open, and two orcs in hardened leather armor stood watch. They had long spears, and they became alert as we passed them, studying us. Our clerics did not hide their nature, Glasha’s brilliant red hair on display, and I was sure the guards would report our passing. Glowstones appeared among my companions, giving us a soft halo of light. Blaze and Raelia rode out front, while Benito and Mateo rode in the rear. Maveith rode next to Glasha, while I ended up next to Mynasha.

We rode in silence till the sun cracked the horizon. The glowstones vanished into their small black bags, and I ordered an increase in pace. We passed farmers’ carts heading toward the city’s markets for a while before the road cleared of all traffic.

Mynasha broke our silence—our pair the only quiet ones among the group. “Are you really as capable as Glasha claims, Telhian?”

“You can call me Eryk,” I said evenly. “And I’m not Telhian. I was conscripted into their Legion against my will. But yes, I can handle myself. Your magic during the Varvao invasion fleet was impressive.”

She shifted, visibly bristling. Her sleek black hair snapped as she turned sharply to face me. “Did Glasha tell you that?” Her voice held a wary edge—was she wondering if I cared because I was in the Legion?

Glasha twisted in her saddle to glance back at us, surprise flickering across her face. “I didn’t tell him,” she said, studying me with renewed curiosity. “How did you know Mynasha was with the Supreme’s Annexation Armada?”

I paused, weighing whether it was worth holding back. But really—what harm was there in a little bragging? “I was scouting the fleet as it passed through Kraken Bay. Saw quite a bit of Mynasha... and her handiwork.”

Mynasha’s brow lifted, intrigued. “You were one of the Hounds that harassed our fleet?” she asked, her tone a mix of surprise and curiosity. Either she hadn’t noticed my veiled comment about her nearly being naked—or she simply wasn’t the type to be embarrassed.

I heard the steady trot of Mateo and Benito’s horses drawing closer—they were listening now, too.

“I was a Hound,” I admitted, keeping my voice even. “But I hold no loyalty to the Empire. I did fight a Pathfinder who called himself Rakuh of the Sun Shadow Clan, when they made landfall.”

Mynasha’s expression shifted—first surprise, then a flicker of grief, quickly buried beneath simmering anger. “Your pack of Hounds killed honorable orcs,” she said tersely. “Rakuh was the patriarch of his clan. Well liked among the people and clerics. We didn’t even know he’d fallen until we reached the walls of Varvao.” Mynasha mind was turning as she recalled the events of the attack. “Was your pack also behind the ambush on the Silent Night Clan?” she added, no longer angry, but sounding curious to solve a mystery.

“I don’t know,” I said carefully. “Rakuh was the only orc I spoke with.”

It was a partial truth. I suspected she was referring to the Pathfinders who had discovered my hiding spot—wedged inside a boulder after the fleet sailed up the Varvao River. But I wasn’t ready to give her more. My eagerness to brag, might get me in more trouble than it was worth if Rakuh was as popular as she said.

A silent tension hung thick between us as we continued riding. Eventually, we rotated riding partners. She ended up beside Glasha, and for the next few hours, the two spoke in low, rapid Orcish, too quietly for me to make out their words—but not their mood. Mynasha was clearly troubled. And I suspected I had become the subject of that conversation.

Mynasha and Glasha kept casting glances my way as we rode north—measured, quiet looks that felt like pieces of a conversation I wasn’t invited to. They were plotting, that much was clear. And with each passing mile, my willingness to help them after reaching Becar was starting to erode.

When we stopped for a mid-day meal, Mynasha finally gave voice to the question that had clearly been nagging at her. “How did your Hound Pack bring down Trakor’s roc—Chaostail?”

Glasha, who I knew despised Warlord Trakor, leaned in subtly, her focus sharpening. She wanted the answer just as much as Mynasha. Knowing the truth of what happened behind the fog of war was normal. I kept my response vague. “He was overconfident. Came in too low and too fast. From what I saw, the roc’s wing clipped something during the dive—it spiraled out of control and crashed.” I let the words hang in the air. I didn’t mention I was the one who had crippled the beast. Glasha and Mynasha might not seek revenge—but I had no doubt others would if they learned I was party to it.

Glasha’s response was cool and introspective. “It was Trakor’s death that tipped the balance. With his strongest supporter confirmed dead, it became possible to move against the last Supreme.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted. “How was the Supreme killed? And why would anyone want to become the Supreme, knowing they’re painting a target on their own back?”

Glasha answered for Mynasha again, her Orcish fast, clipped, and sharp-edged. I caught only fragments, but tone gave me clues. “I won’t tell you how the Supreme was removed,” Glasha said finally, in the Telhian. “Even speculation could come back to haunt me. But he was old, arrogant, and blind to how angry he made others when he took credit for others successes, but also blamed others for his failures—much like Warlord Trakor was prone to do.”

Mynasha exhaled, her voice composed. “The Supreme isn’t just a title. They are the spiritual heart of the Caliphate. The Supreme’s word is law. Clerics and warlords alike bow to his judgment. Much like your Telhian Emperor, he believed his authority made him invincible. And like your Emperor, that belief was his downfall.”

Glasha addressed me with respect. “I suggest we continue riding, and Mynasha can assume your language lessons in exchange for you improving her Telhian.” Glasha's obvious ploy was to get me to know Mynasha better. I was fine with additional language lessons, but I did not think I would become swayed by Mynasha. Surprisingly, Mynasha was much less arrogant as a teacher, but she lacked patience. Fortunately, I was a fast learner.

In school, I consistently struggled with learning foreign languages, and even struggled in English classes. Either my consumption of the essences or the dreamscape amulet made the learning process much easier for me than befo. I pushed the group until late evening on the first day, making over fifty miles, according to Glasha, who was watching road markers.

After consulting with Glasha, I opted to stay in the smaller towns along the road. There was no formal inn in these small farming communities, but older farmers had a few extra rooms that they rented out to travelers. Glasha was very persuasive when dealing with these orcs, and we never were required to pay, but I left a few large coppers behind in my room anyway.

Raelia once again showed her displeasure with me for taking lessons from another orc. I got to see her angry countenance during the ride and in the evening, as she no longer had Baldo to distract her. Maveith did the best to serve as an intermediary, and Blaze became her favorite pairing to ride with.

We rode four days without incident before encountering a roadblocked with eleven mounted orcs, tattoos covering their necks and visible parts of their arms. “Warlords?” I asked Glasha as we assessed the situation from afar. They were clearly awaiting us, evidenced by their intense focus and their horses' restless dancing.

Glasha studied them with her spell form before answering. “Warlord Sutra is the warlord among them. The rest are elites that answer to him. Sutra is aligned with one of the Elders. I don’t see any Pathfinders among them, which is a good sign that those clans have not become involved.” Glasha let out a long exhale, “We have a history. I will talk with him; maybe he will let us pass uncontested.” Doubt laced her tone as she kicked her pony forward.

Before she could ride off, I joined her, urging Ginger to follow, but signaled my companions to remain. Coming along side, I asked, “If there is a fight, can we kill them without consequences?”

“Only if they initiate it. And they won’t.” She stated confidently as we rode together. Behind us, Blaze, Maveith, and Raelia readied their bows as the tension started to escalate. Glasha’s white pony pulled up in front of the warriors blocking the road. I studied the orc’s stern, seasoned faces. They did not look happy to be here or happy to see us.

The largest of the group stepped forward—broad-shouldered and imposing, with a heavy gold chain draped around his neck, each link set with colorful stones. His voice was deep and disappointed. “I expected more from you, Glasha Mistborn. A month ago, you told me you wouldn’t get involved. And yet here you are—parading your candidate toward the Choosing.” He looked at me disdainfully.

Glasha’s jaw tightened. Her response was sharp, immediate. “You used to say my mind shifted with the wind. Well, the wind has changed. What I do with my time is none of your concern.”

“Sister,” he said, the word weighted with both admonition and familiarity, “you know better than to defy the will of the Elders. All your efforts will come to nothing. You’re only making more enemies—something you already have no shortage of.” Siblings? I glanced between them but saw no obvious resemblance.

Then he turned his gaze on me, his expression curling into contempt. “And this,” he said, gesturing toward me with visible disdain, “this is who you’ve chosen to stand beside Mynasha?”

Glasha practically laughed, “He can understand you, brother. Perhaps you would be willing to step aside after a contest of honor?”

The large orc laughed thoughtfully, his armor rattling. “Telhians have no honor to contest!”

Glasha gave me an apologetic look before speaking. “He defeated Rakuh of the Sun Shadow Clan,” Glasha challenged. I suddenly felt stupid for revealing my duel to Glasha and Mynasha. Now, she was using the information against me. Sutra’s men obviously knew Rakuh, and they were a mixture of impressed and discontent by their murmurs.

One of the men barked, “I will fight him to regain Rakuh’s honor!” He was the next largest man after Warlord Sutra.

Warlord Sutra snarled at Glasha, and anger flared in his eyes. I could tell he didn’t want to fight today and had been manipulated into it by Glasha. I knew how he felt. “No, I will beat down the Telhian for the Sun Shadow. I, Warlord Sutra of the Mistborn Clan, challenge this—”

“Eryk Marco of Fortuna’s Chosen,” Glasha interjected.

The Warlord growled, “Eryk Marco of Fortuna’s Chosen. Do you stake yourself to an honorable contest for passage?”

“I don’t understand what is happening,” I hissed angrily at Glasha. She would have to answer for this after the fight. “I don’t appreciate you volunteering me for this…”

She moved her pony closer. “It is a combat of skill. The first to yield losses. I am paying you well for circumstances like these,” she reminded me. Damn, she got me there. She explained more softly. “It is a lot less perilous than if our two companies engaged each other.” I had to agree on that point as we were outnumbered two to one but we did have three spell casters.

“Rules?” I conceded her point that I had asked for a large sum to escort Mynasha safely.

“No spell forms, and the first to yield loses. Try not to kill him, or you will lose honor—and our mother would be upset. Remember, I can heal injuries to the flesh, so you do not need to hold back.” She said the last loud enough for the warlord to hear. It didn’t rattle Sutra as he dismounted. The warlord was half a head taller than me and much wider at the shoulder.

I looked at the petite Glasha and then at the Warlord. He had grown in stature, standing on solid ground, and his muscles flexed under his tattooed neck and arms. “You two came from the same mother?” I questioned incredulously.

“Different fathers, but yes, we share a mother. You still need to accept the challenge.” She smiled contentedly as her plan came to fruition.

I suppose this fight was what we were getting paid for. “I accept the honor combat for passage,” I stated loudly for the orcs and my companions to hear. If I lost, did that mean the job was over? Not that I planned to lose.

Glasha got serious, “I will monitor the fight and ensure neither warrior uses aether!” Sutra and his elites seemed to accept the pronouncement, and I had a feeling Glasha would not let me cheat even though I was fighting for her.

The warlord did something I did not expect: he pulled a potion from his belt, popped the wax seal with his thumb, and downed it. I recognized the vial and the lingering smell in the air. It was a Pathfinder’s stamina and alertness brew. He was obviously preparing for a prolonged fight. The rules did not make sense to me. “We can use potions?”

“Yes, runic armor is fine, just no spell forms. It would be best if you stored your aether shield amulet. It is a battle of warriors, not magic,” Glasha responded. I was impressed she realized I had the aether shield amulet from observing me in the dungeon.

I had my own stamina potions, but I also had other potions. I sorted through what I had available in my mind, and only one potion made sense. Warlords were the strongest warriors in the Caliphate, and ending this fight quickly was wise. His greatest strength was his tattoos, which enhanced his physical prowess, but apparently, he would not be able to use them.

A dungeon potion appeared in my hand, and I broke the seal before the warlord could discern its purpose. I had only read up on its effects, and this was my first time using such a potion. I only knew you needed to consume the entire potion or you would get a fraction of its power. I downed the vial and immediately felt my muscles heat and swell under its spreading effects.

My heart thudded as my body suddenly required more blood to fuel my temporarily increased muscle mass. My only miscalculation was that my adventurer’s armor suddenly got very tight, forcing me to loosen a few buckles quickly.

It was the giant’s strength potion I had gotten from the owlbear reward chest in the Shimmering Labyrinth. The potion lasted about ten minutes and would give me the strength equal to a stone giant for that time. After the potion expired, I would be left in a miserable state and require a large amount of food to recover and for my muscles to be healed from the strain. I was not certain if the ring of sustenance would counter this hangover effect, but I guessed I would find out in ten minutes.

My steps felt light, and the dungeon blade felt weightless as I drew it. I removed my shield from Ginger’s saddle bag and tapped her rump to return to the others. She looked at me momentarily before trotting to Maveith. The warlord suddenly appeared less confident as I confidently faced him. The potion and my runic weapon had given him pause. His men remained mounted but formed a large, rough circle around us. At Glasha’s motion, my own companions came forward to join the circle. Benito was already trying to get one of the orc elites to place a bet, navigating through the language barrier. Blaze and Raelia we talking animatedly about my chances. I had other things to focus on.

The strength potion made me feel invincible as I faced the warlord. His weapon was a two-handed bastard sword with tremendous length, its blade reaching five feet. I recognized it as a runic weapon, just not dungeon-forged. “When do we begin?” I asked my opponent, who was studying my footwork carefully. I had been stepping casually so as not to reveal my skill.

“We already have,” he grunted, raising his massive blade in both hands and taking quick, controlled steps forward. I side-stepped to his right, reading his dominant hand as his left. His blade whistled through the air in a horizontal arc at waist height, forcing me to retreat or be bisected. After the blade passed in front of me, I shifted my weight off my back foot and rushed forward.

He only had two choices in my mind. Spin and do a 360-degree turn to bring his heavy blade back around, or retreat himself. Instead, he surprised me, took one hand off his blade, and attempted to block my sword with his bracers. Boris’ blade cut into the greaves, but they were only covered in leather and the blade scraped across metal underneath. The silvery metal I briefly glimpsed told me he was concealing runic armor.

I was surprised only momentarily as I punched out with my shield into his sternum. The blow was solid, thudding loudly on impact, and much stronger than I had anticipated. The warlord stumbled backward to regain his footing. This strength potion almost felt like cheating.

I didn’t let him recover, pursuing his retreat as he interposed his massive blade to give him time to recover. I used my shield to force the blade away before he could regain his footing in defense for leverage. Boris’ dungeon blade stabbed forward as I lunged, pushing power from my hips through the length of the blade, piercing his abdominal armor and penetrating almost all the way through his torso.

I heard Raelia cheer first and some shocked gasps from the orcs, but my focus didn’t leave the fight as I quickly pivoted the blade’s tip inside his body and removed it before stepping back. The warlord was having trouble standing, and blood was leaking rapdily onto his leggings from the wound. He would need to be healed quickly, or the stomach bile would cause extensive damage. The whole engagement had taken about five seconds, and it was already over. If he chose to fight on, he would die from internal bleeding. I was probably just as shocked at the brief fight was but tried not to show it.

Sutra looked at his sister instead of me. I couldn’t read his expression through his pain, and Glasha didn’t look smug. Instead, she pitied him. Maybe their relationship wasn’t as antagonistic as I had perceived. “I concede to Eryk Marco of Fortuna’s Chosen,” he forced out with difficulty while one hand covered the hole in his armor. Glasha immediately dismounted to heal him. I cleaned my blade in the grass and returned to take Ginger’s reins from Maveith.

Raelia looked the most satisfied of my companions. Mynasha had a look of shock on her face at my prowess, her opinion of me elevating. Benito hissed, “You didn’t give me enough time to get a bet in place.” Blaze, Maveith, and Mateo just congratulated me on my victory.

Glasha's healing was weak, so it took her a long time to heal her brother, and they talked quietly while she worked on him. The strength potion wore off, and my incredible feeling of invincibility faded. Every muscle was sore as I directed healing through my spell form. I hadn’t exerted myself, so the damage to my muscles was not terrible.

When she finally finished, he mounted his horse, and his warriors left with the warlord. “Will we have to do that again?” I asked as she joined us.

She looked at me, a little annoyed. “You defeated him too quickly in front of his warriors. You took a lot of honor from him today.” She sighed. “At least if word spreads, others will be hesitant to challenge our progress.”

I didn’t understand orc culture. Was Glasha blaming me for winning? As we rode away, I missed the feeling of power the potion had given me. I yearned to feel it again, and I fantasized of returning to the Shimmering Labyrinth to collect more.

© Copyrighted 2024 by AlwaysRollsAOne

No Permission is given to translate, copy, or repost this original work of fiction. If you are reading this on a site that is not my Patreon it has been stolen without my permission and is a violation of DMCA. Remember, this work is the result of my creative effort and is protected by copyright law. Removal or altering of this notification is an acknowledgment you are aware you are in violation of DMCA.