The Bridge

[Bamm]

The Bridge

(( Optional dramatic mood musics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0TBY1U8Nlo My apologies for missed grammatical errors))

A Orc stood upon a bridge looking down into the swift water twenty feet below, bodies of several green Orcs hung from it. The Orc's hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a thick cord his face beaten and broken. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knees. Some supporting the metals  of the bridge supplied a footing for him and his executioners two Orcs of the Iron Horde, directed by a older Orc and an Alpha armed with the weapon of his rank. A guard at each end of the bridge stood with his rifle in the position vertical in front of the left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight across the chest a well trained, formal and unnatural position. It did not appear to be the duty of these two Orcs to know what was occurring at the center of the bridge; they merely blockaded the two ends.


Beyond the guards nobody was in sight; the road ran straight away into a  dark inky forest for a hundred yards, then, curving, lost to view. Doubtless there was an iron horde outpost farther along. The other bank of the stream was  a stockade of  tightly spaced sharpened tree trunks, with room for rifles, from a single opening through could be seen the muzzle of a iron cannon. Midway of the slope between the bridge and fort were the spectators a single company of infantry in line the butts of the rifles on the ground, the barrels inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands crossed upon the stock. A Orc of rank stood at the right of the line, the business end of his axe upon the ground, his left hand resting upon his right which rested upon the hilt of his weapon. Not a Orc moved. The warband faced the bridge, staring like stone, emotionless. The guards, facing the banks of the stream, might have been statues to adorn the bridge. The Alpha stood with folded arms, silent, observing the work of his subordinates, but making no sign.


The Orc who was being hanged was  about thirty years of age. He was  dressed in a tattered and torn red robe, the look of a of scholar. His features were  average a straight nose now broken, firm mouth now bloodied, face now swollen , his balding dark hair was combed straight back, falling behind his ears to the collar of his formally well tailored robe now in tatters. He had a pointed beard; his eyes were large and dark red, and had a kindly expression. Evidently this was no warrior.
The preparations being complete. The older Orc turned to the Alpha, saluted and placed himself immediately behind him, who then moved forward. The robed orc was prodded to the edge of the bridge with the Alphas axe hilt His face had not been covered nor his eyes bandaged. He looked a moment around him, then let his gaze wander to the swirling water of the stream racing  beneath his feet.


He closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts upon his home and tribe. The water, turned  to a purplish blue by the midnight sky, the brooding mists under the banks at some distance down the stream, the fort, the soldiers all had distracted him. And now he became conscious of a something new. Striking through the thought of his tribe was a sound which he could neither ignore nor understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of a blacksmith's hammer upon an anvil; it had the same ringing quality. He wondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by it felt like both. Its was regular, as if the tolling of  death itself. He awaited each stroke with impatience and he knew not why. The intervals of silence grew progressively longer, the delays became maddening. With their greater infrequency the sounds increased in strength and pitch. They hurt his ears like the thrust of a dagger; he feared he would scream. What he heard was the ticking of his pocketwatch....

He opened his eyes and saw again the water below him. If I could free myself," he thought, I might throw off the noose and dive into the stream. By diving I could evade the bullets and, swimming, with luck reach the bank, take to the woods and get away. The tribe by now are away far this place.... Free, safe to fight again another day.

As these thoughts, were flashed into the red robed Orc's brain the Alpha nodded to the Older Orc. The Older orc stepped forward giving a single nudge.


The robed Orc fell straight downward through the bridge a blur colour, he lost consciousness from this state he was awakened what felt like only a moment later. Agony shot from his neck  through every inch of his body, his eyes and limbs. They seemed on fire burning him. He was conscious of nothing but a feeling of life  near the edge of death. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a roar all he could hear, and all was cold and all was dark. He knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream. He opened his eyes in the darkness and saw above him a gleam of dark hazy purple light, but  it was fading. He was  sinking, the light became fainter and fainter. Then it began to grow and he knew that he was rising toward the surface. To be hanged and drowned," he thought? "that is not so bad; but I do not wish to be shot. No i refuse to be not today not now to fel with it."

A sharp pain in his wrist saw that he was instinctively  trying to free his hands. He gave the struggle all his strength. The bindings fell away; his arms parted, the hands dimly seen on each side in the light. He watched them  briefly  then the other pounced upon the noose at his neck. Tearing it off in a single motion. His neck ached horribly; his brain was on fire; his heart, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to force itself out at his mouth. His whole body was fire.  His hands beat the water vigorously with quick, downward strokes, forcing him to the surface. He felt his head emerge; his eyes were blinded by the light; his lungs engulfed a great gulp of air, which instantly he expelled in what could only be described by himself as the loudest roar he had ever given. expelling  a cascade of water skyward as he broke the surface.


He was now in fully aware. he was keen and alert.  He felt the ripples upon his face and heard their separate sounds as they struck. He looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, saw the individual trees, the leaves saw the very insects upon them: He noted the prismatic colors in all upon a million blades of purple blue grass.
He had come to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the visible world seemed to wheel slowly round and he saw the bridge, the fort, the soldiers upon the bridge, the older Orc, the alpha, the two guards.... his executioners. They were in silhouette against the purple blue sky. They shouted pointing at him. The Alpha had grabbed a rifle, and fired ; the others were joining him in a panic.

The bullets struck the water within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with spray. The Orc in the water saw the eye of the alpha on the bridge gazing through the scope of the rifle.
The red robed Orc turned round; he was again looking into the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The Alpha roaring behind

"ORCS ! . . Shoulder arms! . . . Ready! . . . Aim! . . . Fire, FIRE, FIRE !"

The red robed Orc dived as deep as he could. The water roared in his ears, yet he heard the dulled thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface.
As he rose to the surface, gasping for breath, he saw that he was farther down stream nearer to safety.  The iron horde fired again, independently and ineffectually in a maddened frenzy.
The red robed Orc saw all this over his shoulder; he was now swimming with all his might
The alpha," he thought, "will not make that  error a second time. It is as easy to dodge a volley as a single shot.  but he has probably already given the command to fire at will. Grom give me haste, I cannot dodge them all"

An appalling splash within two yards of him was followed by a loud, rushing sound, which seemed to travel back through the air to the fort and died in an explosion which stirred the very river to its core.
A rising sheet of water engulfed him. The cannon had joined the hunt.
In a few moments he was flung upon the gravel at the foot of the left bank of the stream. He dug his fingers and feet into the sand. he began to sprint.
A whiz and rattle of gun shot around the branches by his head he sprinted deeper and deeper into the forest, galloping nearly to the point of losing balance though the branches and under growth them whipping and tearing and his face and body.


All that day he traveled, wandered lost. The forest seemed like no other; nowhere did he discover a break in it, not even a single dirt track. There was something odd in this half realized revelation.

By midnight he was near done, but the thought of home and tribe urged him on. At last he found a small  dirt road which led him in what he only hoped to be the right direction. The black, blue bodies of the trees formed a  oddly straight wall on both sides of the path, Overhead, as he looked up, shone stars looking unfamiliar and grouped in strange constellations. He was sure they were arranged in some order which had a secret and evil significance. The woods on either side was full of singular noises, he distinctly heard whispers in an unknown language.. he continued on and on streams of trees and path rushed past his vision as if time itself had abandoned all reason.
He finally came to a clearing...He saw his tribe? He was in Garadar? Home!  Warm smiles greeted him roars of joy The red robed orc stumbled up from knees looking up to greet them.. Mok'......

A blinding white light blazes all about him with a sound like the shock of thunder then all is darkness...

Arkail Blastblade was dead; his body, with a broken neck,  swung gently from side to side beneath the bridge in time with the others.....

Arkail shot up out of his sleeping furs sweating, shaking and in shock, looking about grasping at his bedding.

"What was that!?! What in fels name was that?!" he roared to himself, to anyone to anything.

All was quiet outside all was dark.

Arkail sat quietly in the gloom of his tent.