Skirmish (Bitrayuul): Jagged
Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.
Left, right, three more lefts. Downhill, uphill.
Gods, these tunnels go on forever! Bitrayuul’s arms grew weary as he ascended the ancient iron ladder that the dwarves had placed many years ago. The winding mine twisted and turned in every direction and still the half-orc had not caught up to the senator. Worse, the drops of blood he hounded were growing more and more infrequent, leaving his path up to chance more often.
By then, Bitrayuul did not know for what reason he continued. Perhaps it was honor, or more so because there was no other choice. In truth, the young warrior was lost and had no hopes of finding his path—especially with the way he came sealed beneath the stone.
At the edge of his wits, when all hope seemed lost and no blood caught his sight for a hundred paces, a barely audible noise twitched his ear. What was that? Is that them? Halting his movements entirely, Bitrayuul turned his head to hear more clearly down the tunnel ahead.
Nothing.
He took a step toward the stone wall, placing his ear against it and hoping the sounds of footsteps would be amplified. For many moments, his face lay flat against the cold stone.
Nothing.
He let out a heavy sigh. Why did I do this? he asked himself with great regret, resting his head against the scarred wall. What could you have possibly hoped to achieve?
“Bug off, ye smelly rats!”
Bitrayuul was up in an instant as the sound lightly echoed to him. I knew I heard something! He turned his head again. I’m certain that was a dwarf. It has to be the Senator! Taking off in a dead sprint that denied the aching in his legs, the half-orc was certain he was close. He looked down at his shattered gauntlet in his right hand, then to the crusted wound on his left forearm. Still with no fire, he had no idea what service he may prove to be to the captured dwarf. But he needed to try.
“BAH, get yer damned toe-fingered hands off me!”
The sound is growing, I’m getting closer! Slipping on the stone beneath his feet, Bitrayuul scraped his knee and tore the skin. He growled in pain and frustration at his foolishness as a trickle of blood traveled down his shin. There was no time to pay attention. He could only keep moving.
It was not the angry insults of Theiran that the half-orc heard next, but screams of agony. Bitrayuul could only imagine what horrors the sinister cretins may be doing to the dwarf—and soon to him.
Bitrayuul’s eyes looked ahead and saw the mine shaft growing smaller and smaller, bringing him to a crouch. Then on his knees. Then to crawl along the floor as only a small opening could be seen. He did not think he would fit at first, but if the trolls could have dragged the fully-armored, thrashing dwarf through then he knew he could squeeze by.
As he pulled himself through the suffocatingly tight path, the young half-orc began to panic. He could feel the stones around his shoulders and legs with their jagged embrace. There was no way he could back out of the hole. He would either need to move forward or die there. His heart was pounding in fear. His chest huffed relentlessly, only adding to his terror as his lungs grasped desperately for air.
Tears streaked down Bitrayuul’s face. I may die here . . .. Wiggling frantically, the half-orc only made his situation worse. He held his mouth closed to silence himself; the worst he could do in that moment was summon the trolls. With his lips pursed taut, his air was consumed twice as fast.
Stop! Stop panicking! It was no use, he felt trapped. He tried to pull himself forward even a finger-length but stopped as he felt the sharp stone digging into his abdomen. Even worse was the path that still remained—covered in even more jagged edges. His eyes fell upon those stone thorns in the suffocating tunnel and witnessed the glaze of crimson they had been painted with recently. Dwarf blood!
The knowledge that Theiran had traversed this same path and come out alive served as little warmth to Bitrayuul. Though, it was enough to convince him to keep pulling. Gritting his teeth as the rock beneath his torso tore through his flesh, the half-orc steeled himself and slid onward.
Just keep pulling. Go. You can do this.
The pain was immense as he reached the final squeeze of the tunnel and its set of sharpened stone teeth. He could feel the warmth of his blood gliding across his skin as the rocks cut into him. His shoulders, his arms, his legs. Everywhere his flesh was ripped, leaving a smear of blood in his wake.
Finally, his hands reached the outside of the tunnel and felt it open up. Bitrayuul whimpered as he dragged his large body through the remainder of the hole before rolling out onto the stone in relief.
As he opened his lungs filled with air, the half-orc opened his eyes. He immediately gasped and placed a hand over his mouth. There they were, naught a dozen paces ahead. Six vile trolls were huddled around the dwarf, prodding him with their stone blades and laughing in glee at his torment.