* * *
Time passed, and a massive cave-in at a local silver mine saw the Nannak brought from its dungeon to aid in the clearing of the rubble. I had arrived a few hours earlier with Borgol the Younger, and we watched as a column of two hundred orcs led the Nannak along a dried-out riverbed toward the site of the collapse.
This was the younger Borgol's first real glimpse of the Nannak and he followed its approach with the wide-eyed expression of someone readying himself to sprint in the opposite direction.
"It's huge," he whispered.
Spurred on by a group of foul-mouthed, whip-wielding handlers, the Nannak lumbered down the valley floor to the mine, occasionally biting the head off any orc unlucky enough to fall into its grasp, before it was finally chained to the surrounding rock face.
Both Borgol and I remained as far away as possible, and together we spent the early part of the afternoon watching the Nannak move rocks from the safety of a nearby hill.
The power it displayed was unreal, heaving boulders as though they were sacks of laundry. Unfortunately it was also easily distracted, grabbing orcs and smashing them against the ground for seemingly no reason at all. It made me worried. At least the dungeon was quiet. Here, amid the chaos, the Nannak seemed positively annoyed.
It certainly couldn't have helped the way its handlers were behaving. I would have thought they would try to be a soothing influence, maybe calm the Nannak down before it struck another of their kin. Instead they struck it with whips while calling it a word I'd heard Borgol the Elder call me many times before.
Golo.
"What does that mean?" I asked, turning to Borgol the Younger.
The young orc looked at me and then pointed to his rear.
My face went red. If it was anyone else I probably wouldn't have cared, but I'd grown to respect the elder Borgol. Discovering he'd been calling me an arsehole all this time was a kick to the gut.
"I'm going for a walk," I said, angrily.
Ever since I first arrived at the orcish manor I'd fantasized about escaping. Usually it was something I'd do as I drifted off to sleep, but lately the urge to return home was becoming stronger. The orcs didn't like me, that much was clear, and now with this business with the Nannak, it was only a matter of time before I ended up like one of the poor souls lying lifeless on the valley floor.
The only question was, how to escape? The area surrounding the manor was thick with orcs. And even if I did somehow manage to escape the town, there were still miles of land to cover before reaching the border. I would be a fugitive, and in a land where humans were nonexistent, the chances of remaining unnoticed would be somewhere close to zero.
Frustrated, I climbed the hill to its summit and was surprised to see the remains of an ancient lakebed stretching out before me. I'd never seen anything like it. It was an enormous empty space that extended to the horizon, and without even meaning to I pictured myself running across it, giddy and free.
Thinking about it gave me butterflies, and I looked down the hill to where the Nannak was smashing another orc against the rock face. They would be summoning me soon. I returned my gaze to the lakebed, and in a fit of desperation, asked whatever was watching over me to show me what I should do next.
And that's when I saw it: a golden light flashed brilliantly in the distance.
Could it be? I wondered. A Champion of Sol? Out here?
It was too far away to be certain. Fortunately the orcs were all too busy watching the Nannak to notice me, and with one final glance over my shoulder I hurried down the hillside, never taking my eyes from the light still flashing beneath the early afternoon sky.
Whatever it was, it was moving steadily west, and the moment I hit the lakebed I broke into a sprint. I was a gazelle, running with the long, graceful stride of someone desperate to return home. I felt like I was flying. Arms pumping, I willed myself forward until I was able to make out the very clear image of four knights on horseback, the banners on their lances fluttering in the wind.
It was the lead knight I could see flashing. Filled with renewed vigor, I ran even faster. What were they even doing there? I thought our peoples were working toward some kind of truce. Whatever the answer, I didn't care. All I knew was that I'd found a way out of that horrible place.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I was bombarded with images of my family. It was Sol that was protecting me all this time. Not Morroth. And it was Sol that was about to deliver me home.
I yelled to get their attention, and they brought their horses around to watch as I hurried toward them across the flatness. Those final yards were a blur, and when I finally reached them I fell to my knees where I spent the following moments trying to regain my breath.
I'd always heard being in the presence of a Champion was like being in the presence of Sol himself, and I could see why. There was an energy radiating from him, a power that rendered his companions, powerful warriors in their own right, nearly invisible.
"Thank goodness I found you!" I gasped, gazing up into his golden faceplate. "You need to get me out of here! You need to bring me home!"
But the good knight didn't answer me. He just sat there, looking down at me from high upon his horse.
"Its eyes!" he shouted. "Look at its eyes!"
I watched as he pointed his lance at my chest.
"No, you don't understand," I panted. "These are from a grub! A parasite!"
But it was too late. With a heave of his golden arm, he sent the lance through my chest. How or why I didn't die, I had no idea. I think it surprised the Champion as well, and he was removing his sword from his scabbard when an incredible bellow erupted from the direction of the hills.
It sounded almost like a bull's call, only much, much louder, and all four knights turned in their saddles to see if it would happen again. It did. Louder than the first, it was clear that whatever it was, it was getting closer.
The bellowing continued, and it wasn't long before the creature responsible came into view. It was the Nannak. Faster than any horse, it galloped on all fours across the dried-out lakebed like a character from a fever dream. I don't know if it was bravado, or a failure to recognize the magnitude of the danger hurtling toward them, but rather than escape, the knights simply remained there, stubbornly holding their lances until the Nannak ploughed into them.
The impact was tremendous, sending both warriors and horses flying through the air, killing them instantly. The Nannak, on the other hand, was unhurt, and it stood over me, the shackle from the mine still attached to its ankle.
I knew it meant to take me back to the orcs, and when it picked me up I reflexively grabbed hold of the Champion's golden helmet lying empty on the ground beside me. I think somewhere in my delirium I thought it would save me. Instead I spent the following hours falling in and out of consciousness while the Nannak carried me across the orcish landscape. Rather than return me to the mine, it made the extraordinary decision to bring me back to town, lumbering down street after street right to Borgol's manor.
The old warrior happened to be in his front garden, and when he saw us approaching he stopped and stared, his one good eye practically popping out of his head.
I must have been quite the sight: pale as a sheet and with that lance sticking out of my chest; how I was still alive was a mystery. But I was, and the Nannak placed me gently on the ground right at Borgol's feet, the Champion’s helmet still tucked beneath my arm.
"Fix," it said.
"Lolo Nannak," it said.
Without a word, the elder Borgol carried me to a bedroom. Not mine, though. This one was spacious, with a wide, comfortable bed and luxurious sheets. The doctor arrived soon after, and he immediately set about removing the lance from my body. He’d never seen anything like it, stating that anyone else would have succumbed to the injury long ago. I was blessed, he said. And who was I to argue? Clearly something supernatural had weaved its way into my life. But what?
The orcs said it was Morroth. Perhaps they were righ
t. How else to explain my relationship with a demon like the Nannak? All I knew was that I was no longer the same person who’d arrived at the orcish manor those many weeks ago. Heck, I didn’t even know if I could still truly be considered a human.
My wound taken care of, I fell into a deep sleep. And it was during this time that the elder Borgol took the Champion’s golden helmet and placed it on a pedestal in the manor’s front hall. It was his, now—the crown jewel of an already impressive collection of military spoils. But I didn’t mind. For although that might have been the first Champion of Sol’s helmet I’d collected, I knew it wouldn’t be the last.
The End
Benedict Martin lives in Ottawa with his beautiful wife and two incredible children. He has a dog as well. His name is George, and he might just be the naughtiest thing this side of Alberta. If you would like to contact Benedict, you can send him a psychic message. If that doesn’t work you can always send him an e-mail:
[email protected]. And if you’re on twitter you can follow him @benemartben.
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