Beyond the Dragon’s Teeth
Copyright© 2026 by Asa Strong
Chapter 12
The orcs charged as an unruly mass. There was no type of organized formation or cohesion in their charge. It was little more than a mad rush.
“Donta,” Gait hollered, over the rising sound of the orcs’ battle cry, “we need to break up their charge.”
Dan’ar didn’t wait; he spurred his horse and took off, with Gait following closely behind. I took up the charge as well and quickly pulled even with Gait.
We watched as Dan’ar met the first of the orcs. His horse plowed through the head of the wild formation, his war hammer swinging like a mad clock pendulum. We could see the orcs fall to the charge of his horse and the deadly hammer he wielded.
By the time we reached the orcs, Dan’ar had turned his mount and was working his way to our right.
Gait and I cut a wider swath through the orcs and followed the general path that Dan’ar had cleared. By the time we cleared the mass of orcs, many lay on the ground either dead or dying.
We wheeled our mounts at the edge of the canyon and found that the orcs had split into two groups. The largest group was moving in our direction, while a smaller group of about fifteen headed towards the top of the hill, where Saraid and Torg stood.
As the three of us again urged our mounts into a gallop towards the orcs in front of us, I could see that Torg had picked up a large rock and hurled it into the middle of the band of orcs trying to reach the hill. The impact tore through the mass of orcs and left several on the ground.
I switched my attention to the mass in front of us. The orcs were tightly packed in a group and when we hit them, all three abreast, we again cut a swath through them that left a tangled, bloody mess of orcs on the ground.
As we readied our mounts for another charge, the group in front of us broke for the south, the direction they had come from. Clearly, they were a rabble in retreat.
Gait quickly turned his charger and galloped towards the hill where Torg and Saraid were facing a number of the green monsters. Torg’s battle cry could clearly be heard over the sound of ringing swords. He tossed the mangled bodies of orcs as if they were twigs in a windstorm.
Gait quickly reached the orcs, and his great sword ran red with the blood of those in the rear. In short order, the remaining enemy lay on the ground, dead or dying.
I took a quick assessment of our situation when we reached the top of the hill. Our mules were still tethered to a small tree, where Saraid had tied them before the battle. I could see no visible wounds on Gait. Saraid had a small cut on her right arm, but it didn’t look serious. Torg also showed no signs of the battle on his huge body. Dan’ar, however, had a long slice on his left arm.
Dan’ar dismounted, and Saraid quickly ministered to his wound, while Gait and Torg gathered the mules.
When I walked over to check on Dan’ar, Saraid said, “We need to move. The orcs will surely come back in even greater numbers.”
I nodded my head and then went to see how Gait and Torg were doing with the mules.
When we returned with the mules, Saraid was just finishing with the bandage on Dan’ar’s arm.
“Is he going to be OK?” I asked.
“Yes, he has lost some blood, but the wound is not as bad as it looks. He will be fine.”
Without another word, we mounted our horses. Saraid grabbed Gait’s left arm and swung up on the saddle behind him, and Torg helped Dan’ar into his saddle.
The sun was low in the west as we dropped down into the narrow canyon below. It was my hope that full darkness would arrive before the orcs could regroup and return with a larger force.
For the next two hours, we traversed the twisted route of the canyon, keeping one eye to our rear looking for any sign of our enemy. There were none, and with the moon high in the night sky, we found our way up the canyon wall on the north side without a problem.
Torg took his accustomed spot in the lead, and we continued traveling north. During the night, we crossed several more small gullies, and by the time the morning sun shed enough light to see, the great forest was in front of us.
All of us were tired and hungry. We had very little sleep the past few days, and it showed in the way we moved. Somehow, we managed to make it into the forest and work our way deep into a dense copse of trees. I was amazed at the size of them. They towered above us to a majestic height.
We stumbled through the process of unloading the mules and taking care of the horses. Somehow, Saraid also managed to prepare a cold, but much-needed meal. Once fed, all of us found a spot to lie down and were quickly asleep.
The moon was midway through the night sky when I awoke. A quick check told me that the rest of the group was still asleep.
I forced myself from the warmth and comfort of my blankets. Somehow, I felt a need to be up and about.
I checked on the mules and horses and found nothing amiss. For a few minutes, I wandered around the campsite, really not knowing why. Finally, I decided to take a closer look at the area around the camp.
The moon was shedding more than enough light to make my way through the trees around the camp. I walked past where the horses and mules were hobbled, and found my way down a small hill to a stream. For some reason, I was in an introspective mood. I found a small ledge, jutting from the stream bank, and sat down to look at the stream.
My mind flowed as I sat there, focusing on just why I was here, in this place. It felt right for me, but I had no idea why. As I sat there, I felt a presence near me. When I looked around, I could see no one near, but still the feeling that I was not alone persisted.
“You worry about too many things, young Donta.”
I turned to where I heard the voice coming from and found an old man, standing behind me. He stood there with a staff in his hand, and the night breeze ruffled his long gray hair.
“Who are you?” I asked.
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