The Blessings of Gods

Togoldor was stunned to see the skill with which the peasant fought.

Orcs threw themselves at Kyle without abandon. After all, he was just one man. A single peasant. The first few thought he would be an easy kill. The ones who followed wanted they glory of killing a formidable foe.

Somewhere after the fiftieth of his men slain, Togoldor saw his kin keeping their distance. They almost looked afraid. And not from stepping over the bodies of their brethren.

“Come on!” Kyle shouted. He waved the prongs of his pitchfork at the assembled orcs, who flinched with each movement. “Who’s next?! Come on, your skin might be green but I know your blood’s red like mine!”

Dolona, who had been watching at Togoldor’s side, eyed Kyle with interest. It was her who put words to his thoughts. “He fights like an orc,” she whispered. “How does a lowly human peasant become such a warrior?”

“He’s a champion of the gods,” said Togoldor. “Like I am. He must be given wide berth. You’re fortunate I intervened when I did – he could have killed you.”

“He would have tried,” scoffed Dolona.

Togoldor rolled his eyes. “He did try. And nearly succeeded.” He flinched when he saw Dolona take that in and give the peasant an appraising eye. “Don’t even think about it.” He then started trotting towards Kyle and dismounted.

The other orcs parted and gave Togoldor a clear path to Kyle.

“They’re watching, you know.” Togoldor pulled out a two-handed axe and took another step towards Kyle. “The gods. I wonder which one you were the favorite of.”

Kyle’s pitchfork shook in his hands.

“I can’t imagine why one would choose you,” he continued. “The gods answer the prayers of the powerful. The rich. The ones who are already blessed. And here you stand, a peasant. Your god must be a fool to pick a champion so weak.”

He leapt at Kyle, the edge of his axe biting into the length of the pitchfork.

“Show me! Show me why your pathetic god favors you!”

-----

Kyle would admit he was blessed to have the amulet of wisdom. Because without the combat expertise it shoved into him, he would have been dead three times over already.

Togoldor’s swings were wild but with intent. He had strength that rivalled Fiona’s, enough to cleave the shaft of Kyle’s pitchfork in half and then kick Kyle onto his rear.

The remains of the pitchfork flew out of Kyle’s hand and stuck themselves into the ground a hair shy of his crotch. He brought out the sickle next and scrambled to his feet.

But no matter what angle Kyle brought his weapon down, he could never get a good attack in on Togoldor. He always had a burst of speed at the most inopportune moment. A second wind, a flash of strength, a weapon clanging off his armor in a way that it shouldn’t.

Kyle found himself looking at the bracers on the orc chieftain’s arms, the ones with the single diamond on the outside. His gifts from the goddess resembled those in a way.

His instincts told him to try and slice it off. But Togoldor seemed two steps ahead of him. And taking two steps in, blocking his arm with his own and them delivering a punishing backfist to Kyle’s cheek.

Kyle went to the ground again, head ringing and spitting up blood.

“Clever,” said Togoldor with a mocking clap before showing off the bracers on his arms. “Yes, I was given a boon by my goddess. These are the bracers of Nike, goddess of victory. As long as I wear these, my victory is assured.”

Togoldor picked Kyle up by his tunic and spung him around. Kyle saw orcs of all kinds cheering, watching with baited breath.

“Look at them. They would kill for me. They would die for me. They shall be the wave that crashes upon this land and its people. They are the vanguard in my quest to conquer all the sky touches.” He turned Kyle back to face him. “What hope do you have in the face of your inevitable defeat?”

He threw Kyle to the ground with a chuckle as he tumbled over and over.

“What boon could your god grant you to stand up to me?”

A horn blared in the mountains. Bells began ringing without any object being struck around.

Kyle struggled back to his feet and spat out more blood. It was about time. “You ready to find out?”

Everyone stared in shock as a pair of metal rails extended out from the distance, through the village, around where Togoldor was standing, and kept going.

The horn blared a second time and then it barreled into view.

A train was nearly flying down the side of the mountain on the rails that appeared, with car after car being pulled behind it. This was what Kyle had pushed himself to the breaking point for the past month for. Because he knew trying to defend this land a second time was asking for trouble. Even with the strategy that had gone into repelling their lord, for all Kyle knew he could just get more men and weapons to throw at him.

Peasants weren’t numbers in a strategy game. He couldn’t just replenish them after finishing a map.

The sight of the train spooked the orcs, who Kyle guessed had never seen anything like it before. It even stunned Togoldor enough to have him stumble off the tracks on reflex.

The train careened through the burning town, a familiar blue arm extended out of the engine car. Its owner leaned out of the car with a steely grin.

Benny glared at Kyle. “This is insane!”

“It isn't insane if it works!” Kyle grabbed Benny’s hand as the train plowed past him and through the orcs, being swung into the air and landing with a thud on top. He slid across it, hands grasping at something – anything – to hold onto before finally getting a grip when his legs swung out into the air.

Togoldor stared at the train, car after car rolling down the track full of the peasants he’d laid claim to.

He grit his teeth and hefted his axe. “Follow that steel horse!”