Behrogar's Sunset

They were coming, it wouldn’t be long now.


Behrogar paced in front of the massive iron door at the rear of his lair. The one he’d tried to open ever since childhood, the one that neither he, nor anyone else for that matter had ever successfully opened, the same one that he in recent weeks didn’t even see anymore. It didn’t even exist to him, although it was right there, only feet away.


The only thing that existed to Behrogar these last weeks was his rage. He couldn’t focus it, but it was there. Enhanced by the Stranger and stronger with every meeting with him but he knew it didn’t originate with the Stranger. No it came from somewhere else. Somewhere deep inside of his soul, somewhere no one dared to look. Somewhere most people didn’t even believe existed in men like Behrogar.


Oh, but it was there. It was inside of him and inside this room and everywhere in between… If he could only focus it. Ah, Gods be damned! It was hard to think these days. Now, with these damned intruders, coming nearer with each passing second it was impossible.


Focus Behrogar.


The girl. Yes, the girl, Anna, the one who spurned him for that outsider. The enemy himself. The son of the leader of the enemy, no less. Didn’t it always start with a woman? Yes, of course it did.
She loved him once, at least he thought she did. Behrogar, even in his befuddled state was certain that he had loved her, still did in fact. Wasn’t that what this was really about?


No. It was the Stranger’s idea. He wants me to do it. Swears no real harm will come to her. It will be swift, painless and then she will be good as new. As though nothing ever happened. Besides even if there is pain, she’s a witch right? That’s what he said, “a witch deserves pain”. Do not let the fact that you lust for this witch cloud your judgment Behrogar, he said. Besides, he continued, she’ll never lie with you again, she lies with that McDunugh! You are no concern of hers. She was always going to end up with a man of higher standing anyway. You are beneath her in their eyes. You are doing this for the glory of your tribe boy, be strong. Be a warrior.


Be strong, yes that helps the focus. Be strong. Focus on that: Strength.


“Behrogar!” Anna screamed from the floor, lying in front of the invisible iron door upon what seemed like an endless flow of silken pillows of various pastel colors. She was bound at the hands and feet with rope. He couldn’t bring himself to gag her.


“Behrogar stop this! My father’s men will be here in minutes. They will kill you. They will kill the rest of your men.” She screamed. “Untie me, let me try and heal your wounded mind…”
“Shut up!” He yelled. “Keep your witchery, I can take care of myself.”
“But,”
“Enough, I’ll not hear anymore from you witch! You confuse me further with each breath. One more word and I’ll…” He looked away from her without finishing the sentence.


The approaching sound of the intruders was becoming ever louder. They were just around the corner now. Less than a hundred feet maybe.


Behrogar looked toward the three remaining men at his disposal, with one hand he waved toward them and they marched quickly toward the opposite end of the lair. Toward the narrow corridor that would lead them to the intruders (he thought there were four or five of them), that had killed so many of his men to this point. “Kill them! Do it quickly.” He yelled as they moved away from him. These last three were his strongest, most competent warriors but inside Behrogar knew they would fall like the rest. Piter had sent men before. Behrogar and his lot had turned them all away with ease but this time Piter had sent his best barbarian tribesmen, probably his own sons led by that whelp, Ryan. Behrogar thought that at least maybe he could kill Ryan before his own time would come, that would bring him sweet release before meeting death in the glory of battle.


This fantasy left him as, after less than a minute the clang of swords could no longer be heard and instead was replaced by the heavy footfalls of boot upon stone. He knew his men had fallen. The sound of the footsteps was deliberate, careful, stalking, waiting for the ambush they thought might be coming. The footsteps of his men would sound quick, triumphant. There would be no hesitation. The intruders had won. They were coming to finish the job. They were coming for Anna, and for Behrogar.


He drew his great sword, the weight of it felt good in his hands, he felt secure, he felt purpose. His head cleared for the first time in ages. He closed his eyes and waited.


The first one through the corridor was not as he expected. In fact, he did not believe this one to be a man at all. Perhaps half-man, but the other half was clearly beast. Orc perhaps, clearly though he was a barbarian. Make no mistake about that, Behrogar would be fighting one of his own in some strange way. The other two who followed close behind were obviously not human, and had no part of a human in either of them. No, Behrogar knew them to be elves. He’d never seen elves, but had heard Fengis tell enough stories about them to recognize them on sight. They were distinctly different from one another in appearance, one of them pale and sophisticated looking, the other deeply tanned and wild. The tanned one had a wolf at his side. The second one, the pale one, had a bow in his hand, he kneeled in the doorway and nocked an arrow. Behrogar awaited the rest of Piter’s men through the door, when no more came he laughed to himself. Two elves and half a man? The idea was ludicrous. He forgot about this quickly as the battle-rage began to swell inside of him.


The barbarian half-man attacked first, raising a great sword he wielded with ease. He brought it down upon the skilled Behrogar who deftly turned the blade away. Behrogar raised his own sword with both hands slashing violently, a wicked sneer crossed his lips, exposing gritted yellow teeth between his tousled black beard. His blade struck true, blood gushed from the shoulder wound that Behrogar’s sword had opened up. The half-man’s face lit up in surprise and agony, his already apparent battle-rage increasing in verocity. The mad, twisted expression of his enemy’s face solidified what Behrogar already suspected: This half-man was indeed half-orc. He’d killed enough orcs in the Pinefore, seen the same wild, animal-like expression on those he ran through as he now saw on the one before him. He was a barbarian, but an abomination. An insult to the gods themselves.


Behrogar pulled his sword from the wound not expecting his barbarian brethren to succumb so easily and heard an arrow whizz by his ear, he knew it came from the kneeling elf and hoped his next strike would befall the half-man, suspecting he would not be so lucky to experience a second miss from the elf’s bow. Behrogar stole a look away from the half-orc and saw the second elf approach behind, attempting to flank. Feigning ignorance of the second elf’s presence, Behrogar waited, deftly dodged a desperate attack from the badly wounded barbarian and kicked at the half-orc, landing the blow just above the right kneecap knocking him backward a step. This gave Behrogar an open shot and he took this opportunity to attack, now able to reach the sneaking elf.


Behrogar swung hard horizontally after his kicking foot touched ground, knowing before striking that his sword would bite elven flesh, and it did. It slashed the bark armor the elf wore tearing the tanned flesh beneath, shearing a foot wide gash across his chest. The elf sprayed blood toward his attacker, a look of horror and disbelief came over his face as he stumbled away. Backing harmlessly toward the far wall near the opening they’d just come through. Behrogar relished this blow too long, watching the elf’s agony he’d forgotten momentarily about his initial attacker; the half-orc had recovered from the shot to the knee and had thrusted his sword. Behrogar hadn’t realized this until he felt cold steel penetrate his armor of cured bear-hide.


The half-orc had lunged at him, piercing the hide armor just below his left shoulder, the wound was deep and Behrogar knew it. He backed away a step, loosening the sword’s grip on his chest, then swung, with one mighty hand, upward with his own sword, completely dislodging it, but widening the gash in the process. Impressed by the show of both strength and will the half-orc hesitated and Behrogar used the momentum from his upward swing to grab the pommel with his free hand and bring the now falling sword down upon his enemy’s head.


The pommel-end of the sword struck the half-orc in the face, opening a gash over his left eyebrow, both combatants were surprised at how quickly the eye socket filled with blood. Stunned, the half-orc backed away again and Behrogar felt euphoric, hope filled his glazed eyes as he thought he might actually stand a chance, outnumbered as he was in these seemingly hopeless odds.


He heard a second arrow fly by and strike the wall to his right, shattering into splinters. Yes, he dared continue to think, there might be a chance here. The half-orc recovered and surged forward again, blood ran down one side of his face and the front of his torso. Behrogar thought for a moment about how valuable this half-orc could've been to him. What a brave and valiant, if not terribly bright to keep coming forward like this, warrior this half-man was indeed.



Behrogar sidestepped and undercut his massive sword to deflect away the attack of the half-orc. Sparks flew from the clanging steel and pain laced through Behrogar's arm from where the half-orc had wounded him. Overbalanced now as the half-orc was, Behrogar knew his recovery time would be slow. He used his position, with his sword low and on the inside of his enemies defense to thrust upward. The half-orc attempted to dodge but could not, Behrogar's sword penetrated underneath the lower half of his armor and tore through the flesh of his abdomen. The upward momentum of the sword coupled with the half-orc's forward motion carried the blade deep within his chest cavity beneath his rib cage. The half-orc could feel cold steel inside of him. Both men knew the blow to be fatal. Blood filled the half-orcs mouth and oozed out at the corner of his lips. His eyes, at first wide with surprise and pain, faded quickly, rolling into the back of his head as all life began to leave them. Behrogar pulled the sword away and the half-orc fell limply to the side, only a few feet from Anna, who had risen to her knees to plead with Behrogar.



"Behrogar, no!" she screamed as she watched the half-orc fall in front of her, just off the pile of ridiculously out of place pillows. His front side faced her just slightly, she could see the blood pooling beneath his face and midsection. Without thinking, she crawled to the half-orc's side, unnoticed by Behrogar who had turned his attention to the refocused elf who had regained his composure and began to return to the fight. Anna lay her hands upon the back of the half-orc upon reaching him, closed her eyes, and prayed to Alahnna that her would-be rescuer be restored, if it weren't already too late.



The wild elf raised a sword, not daring even a stolen glance at his fallen comrade. The slightest pang of grief touched his face, so slight in fact that Behrogar didn't even notice it. Behrogar raised his own sword in anticipation and both swords clanged harmlessly together. Behrogar winced as his wounded shoulder reminded him of his just-defeated adversary.



Seeing an opening as the wild elf was forced back a step by the weight of Behrogars sword the pale elf loosed another arrow. This one struck true, punching through the bear hide armor and thudding into the flesh of Behrogar's left breast, just beneath the wound the half-orc had opened up. Behind him, as he stumbled back a half-step, though no one noticed, Anna became engulfed momentarily in a halo of light. Peace and calm flowed through her body as the energy within her transferred from her soul to her arms, through her hands and into the fallen rescuer. The pale, yellow glow engulfed the whole of the half-orc at first, then a second later flowed to the wounded areas of his body. Although she could not see it, Anna could sense the wounds closing, could feel his heartbeat grow rapid. She knew he would rise. She knew he would live.



Steadying himself, Behrogar could tell that the wild elf knew he was outmatched, but he moved forward again anyway. Having the pale one firing arrows from the open doorway at him gave the wild elf a distinct advantage though, and Behrogar knew he had to make quick work of the wild one if he were to survive this. Curiously Behrogar glanced at the wound he had opened earlier on the wild elf, saw it to be completely closed, only a pink, foot long scar remained.



More witchery, Behrogar thought to himself. No wonder they're here. They're witches like her! It didn't explain the half-orc barbarian though, perhaps he was their slave? No matter, the two met each other again with steel, Behrogar's wounds evening the odds though he did his best to ignore the sting of the elf's arrow, their swords clashed several times, neither gaining an advantage for several seconds. The elf, growing more confident, attempted to slide to his left, giving his arrow-slinging ally an open shot at the wounded barbarian, however lessening the chance of his own successful retreat if he were to sustain another life-threatening blow.

Another arrow from the pale elf thudded into the barbarians thigh. Behrogar chanced a look at the wound and the tanned elf struck. He lunged forward with his longsword, Behrogar attempted to beat it away but was too slow, the blood loss he had experienced to this point taking its toll. The longsword punched through his armor just left of his sternum, the wound wasn't deep but all hope at that time left Behrogar as he knew he no longer had the strength to defeat these intruders. No, he thought to himself they would take their witch back this day.

In desperation Behrogar slashed at the elf as he pulled the sword from Behrogar's midsection. The blade did not strike flesh but the force of the blow knocked the elf backwards, crashing to the granite floor. Behrogar raised his sword to finish the elf, but heard him speak a word in what must have been the language of the elves. As he lay on his back the elf raised a finger, pointed it toward Behrogar and repeated the word. Behrogar saw with horror the wolf, who until this point had remained near the doorway, seemingly protecting the pale elf, burst forward scaling the short distance of twenty or so feet in a blue-gray blur. The wolf jumped at Behrogar, teeth bared and gnashing at his throat, Behrogar dropped his sword and raised both hands to catch the wolf which he did successfully. He kept the wolf away from his face and tossed the heavy beast aside into the near wall, however the momentum of the wolf's onrush took the now unarmed barbarian to the floor. As he fell, he did not see, as his enemies did, the half-orc rise behind him.

Anna scampered backward as Behrogar nearly fell into the space she occupied. In wonder of her own power she looked in awe as the half-orc, whom she seemingly brought back from certain death rose deliberately, his own sword in hand. Behrogar recovered quickly, came to one knee and reached for his sword only a few feet in front of him. He took it in one hand and stood. Watching the tanned elf rise himself several feet in front of him, he put his other hand to his sword, expecting to meet the tanned elf again in mortal combat he was surprised when the elf did not move forward. In fact he noticed that the elf was no longer looking at him, instead, he seemed to look through him. He glanced at the pale elf near the door, he too had ceased his attack, his bow hung limply, held below the knee in his left hand, no arrow in his right. Behrogar noticed that he too seemed to no longer focus on him, instead seemed to look, in mild wonder, behind him.

Behrogar saw the blade before he felt the pain of it as its tip punched through his sternum. For a split second, before he lost all feeling below his chest he felt the severing of his spine. Pain at first, followed by tingling numbness, followed by nothing at all. Realizing too late, now upon his last moments that the half-orc had risen behind him thrusting his sword into his back and out the front of his chest. The tip of the blade, (at the end of the half-orc's attack nearly a foot of it exposed and visible by the barbarian) disappeared as quickly as it had come into view as it was pulled away. Behrogar half-spun as the blade was pulled free, helpless as he was now paralyzed from the chest down, faced the half-orc for barely a moment before he fell forward, crashing down violently upon the pile of pillows that did not belong. He looked helplessly into the eyes of Anna and felt fortunate that the pillows were there to break his fall. Peacefully, Behrogar slipped the grasp of mortality as his life fell away from him, he saw Anna's eyes well with tears and this made him happy. Though his last days with her had brought her much terror she still felt remorse at his passing. Behrogar loved her, as much now as the day he first saw her. He imagined he would love her long after he passed on to Valhalla. Behrogar hoped his pyre would burn bright enough for all who knew and feared him to see. He hoped Anna would be there when he burned, hoped she would weep there as well.

He smiled and closed his eyes a final time.