Hohza’s stomach suffered another smart smack as Bonnelle pushed him away with the head of her hammer.  He winced, catching his breath, and looked down to see the splotchy bruises which showed across his abdomen.  They were a nice complement to those over his ribs, a couple of which were broken.  He saw that Bonnelle was looking along, but with a hungry look on her face.  “So you dwarves are like orcs, are you?”  With shoulders squared he turned to present a narrow target, presenting his left to her, where a round, smooth pauldron rested on his shoulder, above a sleeve of metal slivers layered over each other.  Hohza gripped the hilt of Spark Saber with both hands. “We eat our enemies, too.  But don’t think you’re feasting on me, yet!”

She tilted her head to the side, a slight smile on her big, pink lips.  “Oh, I’m feasting plenty, War Master.  Who knows, maybe if we both survive this we can feast on each other … if you know what I mean.” After flashing a wink she spun around, ready to pulverize his left knee.  He stepped back to avoid the swing and then immediately thrust his sword forward.  She raised the hammer and the edge of the blade nicked the head of her weapon.

One of the benefits of wielding Stormblade was that enemies skilled enough to parry a strike from it still received a terrible shock as its electrical charge passed through their weapon to shock their arm.  Bonnelle seemed to suffer no ill effect as she deftly blocked his attacks with her hammer.  In fact the brick-like head of her hammer bore none of the scorches or cracks that Stormblade left on an enemy’s weapon. 

Most orcs were too superstitious to wield enchanted arms.  Magic was assumed to exclusively be the domain of the Dread Lords they served. There had never been a non-wraith Dread Lord, and wraiths were the most powerful magical beings on The Map.  Some warriors, like Grossum of the Dread Lord Constant Envy, received blessings from their masters which endowed them with greater strength, tougher skin, or remove their need to eat.

Hohza had never earned the right to wield Stormblade.  He’d merely happened upon it and Burnblade while helping Toran catalog the Dread Lord’s hoard of magical items.  This lead to an impromptu lesson about notable magical weapons throughout Yendell’s history and a knowing wink from his instructor to see these weapons were put to good use and the assurance he’d clear up the matter with his old friend, Withering Sorrows.

As this was the first time the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows’ Domain had been invaded by the World of Light in Hohza’s lifetime, it was the first time he’d traded blows with another enchanted weapon.  Or a dwarf.

When his forces caught up with Bonnelle and her ally, Kornin, Bigrummar charged at her while swinging his massive sword. The dwarf’s hammer dented the troll’s sword so hard it turned the weapon into a giant spoon.  Once he retreated, threatening to turn her into jelly and spread her on toast, Hohza resumed their duel from earlier.  It seemed strategically sound to keep the enemy’s strongest fighter occupied than allow her to run through his forces.

They circled each other, weapons poised for another strike as they caught their breath.  She leaned forward.  It seemed an odd posture as it let her chest hang.

“I’ve waged many campaigns in the Land of Darkness, Hohza.  It’s a shame I’ve not met an orc like you until now,” she panted. 

“I suppose so.  Your exploits are known even in these parts.  Bonnelle Rhodian, the slayer of the Sea Beast of the Sunburnt Islands.”

“Joyful Lust’s domain? That was just for fun! You should’ve seen me in a swimsuit there.”  Beneath the array of light grey freckles her cheeks changed color.  Dwarves were pale as alabaster, dark as onyx, or the grey of any stone in between depending on how deep and for how long their ancestors dwelt underground.  However, Hohza had never expected they’d blush pink.

“Liberator of August Frailty’s Blood Harem …”

“That was a tough one.  Mostly because those poor bastards could barely move because they were so weak.  Trust me, it’s not easy evacuating a couple dozen people who can barely walk! Speaking of which…” She slammed the hammer down on the ground. Had Hohza not slipped his foot away she would have crushed it. 

Hohza attempted to chop her arm off as she pulled the hammer’s face from the dirt.  With surprising nimbleness the dwarf sprung off the ground and arced through the air, using the handle to keep her anchored.  As Hohza’s sword struck the ground where she’d been, burning the grass around it, the head of her hammer tore free and knocked Hohza under the chin. He fell back, rubbing his jaw.  Bonnelle stood just on the other side of his sword, smiling at him, waiting for him to make a move for his weapon which now stood up with bright, white flames crackling where it met the ground.

“Anything else you’ve heard about me?”

She’d probably killed 250 orcs and trolls throughout the Land of Darkness and was undoubtedly the most feared invader.  He could see why; they were locked in a life-or-death battle and she grinned at him like they were good friends and asked him to recount her exploits or babbled bizarre taunts and threats.  “I’ve heard that your hair is as white as your skin but it’s just been stained by the blood of your enemies.” 

After setting the hammer down, Bonnelle leaned against the handle and pulled at a tangle of her long, curly crimson hair.  Pinched between her fingers she held it to the tip of her nose to look at the locks cross eyed.  “That’s gross. And I do not dye my hair! Maybe I can show you in bed after this?” She tossed her hair back.  It was a silly thing to leave it flowing like that in combat, and especially silly to leave her weapon down. 

Hohza seized his opportunity by tackling Bonnelle.  Blades of green grass mixed with her hair as they slid along the ground. The orc had his left hand around her thick neck as he punched her belly with his right.  Although struggling for breath, Bonnelle slipped her thumbs under Hohza’s left hand and pinched the sides of his wrist.  A sharp pan shuddered through him and he rolled off her.

Hunched over, the orc massaged his twisted wrist with his other hand and watched the dwarf roll to her feet.

“You know, I thought we had something for a moment.” Bonnelle pointed between the two of them with one hand as she pulled her hair out of her face with the other.  “We were talking about my hair and having a good old time knocking each other about.” She touched at her throat, the soft white skin already showing bruises where his fingers gripped her.  “Most orcs are all ‘grr, argh, I’ll break your bones and eat your marrow,’ which you did, but it almost seemed perfunctory.  I thought you might be a little different, handsome.” The hand she’d used to pull back her hair swept down her side and deftly pulled a stiletto dagger which was hidden on her belt.  “I guess it’s just a life-or-death battle!”

“Indeed it is.” Hohza rushed forward and knocked his forehead against hers.  As he did, he caught a whiff of her brilliant hair.  It certainly didn’t smell like dried blood.  There was fresh sweat  and torn grass, but also a hint of flowers and musty old books.

The dwarf rubbed her brow as she stumbled back.  “Oh! You see? Head knocking … I’m getting some very mixed messages, here!”

Books and messages.  It struck Hohza that the reading Toran subjected him to over the years was going to waste.  There must be something to be gleamed from all those books and excerpts that could help him beat this dwarf. 

“War Master! Do you need help?” Gohta broke away from Kornin, who he’d been fighting alongside Yurzan.  Bigrummar was missing while his War Party dealt with the massive elf.   

“I have this under control!”  His head buzzing, Hohza hobbled toward his sword, now surrounded by smoldering grass, and pulled it from the dirt, stamping flames underfoot.  Bonnelle retrieved her hammer.  As she squared off with Hohza once more, her attention darted between him and the fray behind him, with Yurzan and Gohta trading blows with Kornin.  Was she concerned for her ally or curious why Hohza refused aide?  

There’d been a lengthy account of the Yendell/Deep Shine conflict he’d read while studying military history.  In it was a section about dwarven women, for the edification of elves who’d never met one.  Hohza turned to Toran to better understand some of the new words he found therein: vulgar, lascivious, and snuggly.

In response, Toran assigned excerpts from what he claimed were the great romances of elven literature.  There was one particular piece which Toran insisted, with his cheeks flushed, was the finest example of elven romance.  He claimed it might even give him a sense for women, as there were none in this domain. 

In the years that followed he’d the opportunity to combat women, such as Burhus the Wild, one of Resplendent Craving’s generals.  She’d battled Hohza to a standstill outside her Dread Lord’s fortress.  When a Wraith’s Call went up, announcing the Dread Lord’s retreat, she fled. As she left, she promised to strangle Hohza with his own entrails if they met again.  Given that the battlefield was littered with disemboweled soldiers with their guts wrapped around their throats, it wasn’t an empty threat.

Burhus certainly didn’t match the gentle creatures filled with warmth and kindness written of in those romances.  According to that one author—whose name Hohza couldn’t recall—women were almost irresistible to men. One of her books involved a man’s string of dalliances throughout the city of Yendell, then the dalliances’ affairs, and those affairs’ romances, and how they intersected over five thousand years.  The book ended as the original character began a tryst with a young woman who turned out to be his great granddaughter.  Hohza hadn’t realized they shared blood until Toran helped him map out the characters’ family trees.  As his teacher explained it, the book was banned for its incestuous theme despite its commentary on the aloofness of elven relations which lead to it.

Hohza never grasped what any of that meant. 

Shortly after, Hohza was assigned to clear out the Misty Wails who stalked the southern parts of Withering Sorrows’ domain.  Not yet a War Master, Hohza was merely a foot soldier in the campaign.  Things didn’t go well in those rocky plains choked by dense fog. Once again, the women Hohza met did not match the poetry of his readings.  Lips, which elvish writers wrote of as thin and desiring to kiss, were instead torn and hid gnarled maws where orc flesh rotted between yellowed teeth.  Musical voices were instead ghastly calls which kept his squad shivering in fear all night.

Bonnelle smiled at Hohza and although her lips were stony grey they were plump and almost enticing.

“What?”

“What?”

“You looked … distracted for a moment. You are an odd orc.” They circled each other. 

She had mentioned a bed earlier.  Those had figured prominently in romance.  As he considered that, he realized that many of her taunts had been so baffling because they were more like something from those books than orcish threats of gory cannibalism.  Was this a strategy or something else? 

Hohza sheathed his sword.  He flexed his knuckles.

“Very mixed signals with you.”  She shook her head.  “Almost seems a shame to have to kill you.  It’s nothing personal, though.  Just a job.  I get money and you serve your Dread Lord. We all have our masters.”

She sounded almost like Toran.  She set her hammer down and squatted while spreading her arms out.  She was low, so her best move would be to get under him and flip him.  He could handle that.

“What mis-drawn map are they following,” Yurzan shouted.

The two leaders clashed in a mess of flailing limbs and tried at holds.  The curly hair swept around and either tickled Hohza’s nose or choked him. As they wrestled on the ground, Hohza’s mind wandered to another elven author’s works. 

Its conclusion involved the generals of opposing armies dueling at the end of a long, bloody campaign.  It had the long-winded title of I Await You on the Battlefield and I Know Not Whether I Prefer to be Met by Your Blade or Your Kiss, My Enemy/My Love.  Toran insisted it was one of the greatest works of fiction to come from Yendell, as it weaved its romantic elements with commentary about Yendell’s military-industrial complex and its influence of citizens’ daily lives. It was from the author as that other book.  What was her name?

When pressed, even Hohza had to admit that he felt an unfamiliar exhilaration from reading about the protagonists’ tumultuous relationship as conflict brewed around them.   The family loyalties which compelled them to battle one another reminded Hohza of his ties to his brethren, even if they disagreed with the sanctity of the Dread Lord’s rule and Hohza’s defiance of it.

Had he realized that back then or just now?  Hohza’s back stiffened as he froze, his arms spread out.

Bonnelle roared as she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around the backs of Hohza’s thighs.  Leveraging her short stature, she then leaned back to lift him off the ground.  Sky and ground flipped around as Hohza was slammed headfirst into the dirt. 

Hohza flopped onto his belly.  With his head throbbing he wriggled to face Bonnelle, who had snatched up her hammer and was ready to pound his face.  Hohza raised up one hand to halt her for just a moment, and although she was covered in dirt, her skin marred with bruises, her hair a tangled mess littered with grass, and her arms poised to bring a hammer down on his head that would smash his skull to jelly … the sight struck him as a word he’d seen a hundred times in those books but never understood until this moment. He was grateful to finally recall the author’s name who’d shown him the word.  “Vailran Sain Mayar,” he shouted with a broad smile.  He stared up at Bonnelle, the excitement draining from his expression as he realized she probably didn’t care as much as he that he recalled that author’s name.

The dwarf held the hammer aloft.  She raised one eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.  “You’ve read Vailran Sain Mayar?”  Her lips pulled back, revealing rows of neat little square teeth; much nicer than the jagged ones in the Misty Wails’ maws.  As Hohza gazed up at her, he wondered if he might get to kiss those plump lips. But for now he was happy to see them parted as she let off her tittering laugh.  “I have,” he answered. “Three of her books.” As he pushed off the ground and stood, they kept their eyes locked.  He marveled at the purple there, with flecks of pink.

The dwarf settled her hammer on the ground and showed Hohza a cocky smile.  “Come now.  How does an orc like you find his way to a copy of,” she held that last word in anticipation.

Hohza answered, enumerating them on his right hand. Thankfully orcs only had three fingers to each. “A Bouquet of Hearts Bundled by Loves’ Many Ties,” Hohza began.  That was the one which covered numerous characters’ lives over several millennia.  “Also, ah, Across a Battlefield.” Hohza had heard Toran refer to the other book by this shortened title.  As revered as it may be among elves even they couldn’t bear to say its full title. “And Somewhere Else, Sometime Not Now, We Will Know What it is to Meet.”

She let off a squeal which was she bit her lower lip to squelch.  “I’ve never before met someone who read that!  It was her last book, and after the controversy around Love’s Many Ties, she had trouble finding a publisher.”  She swayed, leaning against the hammer’s handle.  “Tell me how any orc comes across a book like that around here.  Don’t tell me the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows runs a lending library!”

“Oh, no, that was not in the Makers’ designs.” Hohza shook his head.  The fray between Kornin and the others had ceased and the former combatants were wandering over.  While the orcs’ faces were twisted in a mixture of confusion and anger, the big elf seemed amused.   “My teacher had me read them, among many others.” 

“Very interesting officer’s training to have orcs teach elven literature to other orcs.”

“No. Not the Dread Lord’s idea,” Hohza said. “My teacher is an elf.” Bonnelle’s eyes widened.  “Doctor Toran of Yendell.” He moved closer to her. She seemed to welcome it.

He didn’t know the words Bonnelle uttered, but they were definitely dwarven curses.  An impressive string of them, at that, given the way Kornin winced as he heard her utter them throughout his approach.

“What was that about?” The elf looked to Bonnelle.

“You won’t believe what this orc told me!” Bonnelle turned to face Kornin.  She raised up a fist and playfully punched Hohza in the abdomen.  When she accidentally struck one of the many sore spots there, Hohza winced.

“War Master!” Gohta bowled over the elf as he dashed to Hohza, drawing his sword as he did.

“No, you fool,” Hohza thought as he saw the red glow of Burn Blade spill out of the scabbard.  He tossed aside Bonnelle to take her place.  Gohta’s eyes flashed from confusion to anger as he continued his assault. With his sword drawn he stopped just short of Hohza and tried to swing at Bonnelle as she lay sprawled in the grass.  Hohza snagged his underling’s wrist and wrenched the sword from his grip, which he caught with his other hand.

“The fight is over, Gohta,” Hohza growled.

The portly orc dropped to his knees.  “We’re here to defend the Dread Lord!”

“We’re playing a game which we’ve already lost.  There’s no compounding this failure with your death,” said Hohza.  They searched each other’s eyes for a moment, but Gohta was dogged and tried to twist free from his superior.  Hohza tightened his grip on his friend’s wrist, preferring to break it rather than let the killing resume.

Hohza crouched beside his friend and offered his sword back. “You’ve fought admirably.  Better than Bigrummar and his whole war party combined.  The only thing better than dying for your Dread Lord today is living to serve tomorrow,” he pleaded in a soft tone.

“The only thing better than failing today …” Gohta slammed his forehead into Hohza’s.  With his hold on him loosened, Gohta took back his sword and ran for Bonnelle.  “… is winning!”

Giving chase, Hohza reached for the purple velvet bag which hung on his left hip.  He pulled it out of his belt and squeezed the little bag, purple cloth shimmering in the sun, between his fingers and peeled back it’s opening. The shiny black tip of the Eggfinity poked out.  Stretching out his arm, Hohza pushed the enchanted item to the exposed back of Gohta’s neck, peeking out from under his rusted plate armor.   

When the egg tapped against the nape of Gohta’s neck, his pale blue skin rippled and a marbled wave spread across him.  Where once flesh was bouncing and sweating, now a cold, polished stone reflected the sun.  As he was turned to rock mid-stride he was off balance and fell forward, pulling Hohza with him as he kept the Eggfinity in contact.  Hohza cradled their landing and proceeded to turn around the orc statue so his raised arm, and the flaming sword it held, were directed skyward while ensuring the enchanted, egg-shaped stone kept him petrified. 

Once he felt everything was properly positioned, Hohza wormed his way out from under Gohta, leaving the tip of the Eggfinity, the rest of it still in its pouch, nestled against his throat. 

Bonnelle stood up and walked, hips swaying, over to Hohza.  Bigrummar had emerged, holding what appeared to be a metal door as a weapon.  From the Southeast a procession was moving towards them.  Tad and Palical appeared to be in the lead, with an elf in tow. 

“Are we still fighting or what,” Bigrummar asked, standing beside the elf. 

Hohza looked at Bonnelle and felt warmth from her smile.  She nodded at him.

“It’s a stalemate,” Hohza announced.  While Kornin clapped his hands the orcs shrugged and grumbled. The ground shook when Bigrummar dropped his makeshift weapon while rolling his eyes in frustration.

“You could’ve taken him, boss,” Yurzan said.

Pointing at the approaching parade with his club, Korning commented that it “Looks like a frog orgy situation.  I’ll take a stalemate.”

Before he could ask what that meant an ear splitting crack rolled across the sky from the south.  The orcs and trolls looked toward the Wraith’s Call, a column of flame shooting into the sky from the central keep.

“Loyal denizens of the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows! I hereby grant safe passage to the invaders from the World of Light! Any who raise arms against them shall suffer grievously and be gifted with death only after their screams have ceased to amuse me. To the invaders, I welcome you to my lands and extend an invitation dinner at my keep!  War Master Hohza, if you are alive, please escort them to the Central Keep.”

“A Wraith’s Call.  Still not used to those,” Bonnelle said.  She rubbed her ears with her palms.  “Any idea what prompted that?  Was this part of some plan?”

“No.  That was something quite unexpected.  The Dread Lord would be happy for me to battle to my death.”

A heartbeat passed.

“Lieutenant Chrincha,” Bonnelle grumbled.

“Doctor Toran,” Hohza cheered.