wondered how the weakened orc could even walk. Apparently the interrogators had taken their time in beating him. Despite his injuries, Eitrigg did his best to keep his head raised. He would not give his tormentors the satisfaction of seeing him broken. Tirion knew that Eitrigg’s orcish spirit was too proud for that.
Tirion’s heart pounded in his chest. Against such a spirited group of warriors, he didn’t stand a chance of saving the old orc.
He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have a weapon of any kind.
He looked down and saw that the hangman was adjusting the tightly wound noose.
Eitrigg was only moments away from death.
Frantically, Tirion leaped down from his perch and pushed his way through the boisterous crowd. In their excitement, no one noticed the disgraced exile passing by them. Their attention was focused on the gallows and the beaten green beast that stood before them.
Tirion watched as Lord Dathrohan gave Barthilas a stiff salute and walked back down toward the holding cell’s gates. Apparently the Lord Commander had no interest in watching the vulgar spectacle so soon after Tirion’s trial. Barthilas was none too concerned to see him go. Smiling broadly, Barthilas ordered the hangman to put the noose around the orc’s throat. Eitrigg scowled as the rope was tightened around his muscular neck. The orc’s dark eyes stared straight forward, as if he were looking into another world that no one else could see. Tirion clawed and shoved his way closer to the scaffolding. Barthilas waved his hand in the air, motioning for silence. Surprisingly, the raucous crowd quieted down.
“My fellow defenders of Lordaeron,” he began proudly, “I am glad to see that so many of you turned out this morning. This loathsome creature that stands before you is an affront to the Light and an enemy of our people. Its cursed race brought war and suffering to our shores and murdered many of our loved ones with little or no remorse. Thus,” Barthilas continued, staring Eitrigg in the eye, “we will extinguish this wretched creature’s life just as remorselessly.” Eitrigg met Barthilas’ fevered gaze with his own. “Blood for blood. Debt for debt,” the young Paladin finished.
The crowd cheered wildly for Barthilas and screamed for the orc’s blood. Tirion marveled that his own people could be so savage and vile. He felt sick and overwhelmed by their smothering, collective hatred.
Barthilas stepped back as the hangman moved Eitrigg into position over the scaffolding’s trap door. The old orc’s stoic mask began to slip as death approached. Eitrigg began to shake and growl and fight against his restraints. The onlookers merely laughed at his futile efforts. They seemed to revel in the old orc’s panic and confusion.
Searching for some type of weapon, Tirion saw an old, rusted sledgehammer leaning against the base of the scaffolding. He pushed his way through the front row of onlookers and dove for the sledgehammer. Time seemed to stand still as Tirion reached out to grasp the unwieldy tool. As if in slow motion, he watched as the hangman placed his hand upon the trap door lever while Barthilas raised his arm, ready to give the signal that would end the orc’s life. Tirion’s hands closed over the sledgehammer’s wooden haft as, in a surge of light and adrenaline, he charged forward.
* * *
The assembled knights and footmen yelled in anger at seeing Tirion emerge from the roiling crowd. The former Paladin struck fast and hard, leaving the surprised footmen scattered in his wake. A few alert guards rushed at him, but Tirion swung the old sledgehammer in a wide arc. Careful not to use lethal force, Tirion punched a deep dent in one guard’s breastplate and smashed in another’s helmet-visor. Seeing that he had bought himself a few, precious seconds, Tirion leaped up onto the scaffolding and headed straight for Barthilas.
The young Paladin was shocked at seeing Tirion charging at him. He
Tirion’s heart pounded in his chest. Against such a spirited group of warriors, he didn’t stand a chance of saving the old orc.
He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have a weapon of any kind.
He looked down and saw that the hangman was adjusting the tightly wound noose.
Eitrigg was only moments away from death.
Frantically, Tirion leaped down from his perch and pushed his way through the boisterous crowd. In their excitement, no one noticed the disgraced exile passing by them. Their attention was focused on the gallows and the beaten green beast that stood before them.
Tirion watched as Lord Dathrohan gave Barthilas a stiff salute and walked back down toward the holding cell’s gates. Apparently the Lord Commander had no interest in watching the vulgar spectacle so soon after Tirion’s trial. Barthilas was none too concerned to see him go. Smiling broadly, Barthilas ordered the hangman to put the noose around the orc’s throat. Eitrigg scowled as the rope was tightened around his muscular neck. The orc’s dark eyes stared straight forward, as if he were looking into another world that no one else could see. Tirion clawed and shoved his way closer to the scaffolding. Barthilas waved his hand in the air, motioning for silence. Surprisingly, the raucous crowd quieted down.
“My fellow defenders of Lordaeron,” he began proudly, “I am glad to see that so many of you turned out this morning. This loathsome creature that stands before you is an affront to the Light and an enemy of our people. Its cursed race brought war and suffering to our shores and murdered many of our loved ones with little or no remorse. Thus,” Barthilas continued, staring Eitrigg in the eye, “we will extinguish this wretched creature’s life just as remorselessly.” Eitrigg met Barthilas’ fevered gaze with his own. “Blood for blood. Debt for debt,” the young Paladin finished.
The crowd cheered wildly for Barthilas and screamed for the orc’s blood. Tirion marveled that his own people could be so savage and vile. He felt sick and overwhelmed by their smothering, collective hatred.
Barthilas stepped back as the hangman moved Eitrigg into position over the scaffolding’s trap door. The old orc’s stoic mask began to slip as death approached. Eitrigg began to shake and growl and fight against his restraints. The onlookers merely laughed at his futile efforts. They seemed to revel in the old orc’s panic and confusion.
Searching for some type of weapon, Tirion saw an old, rusted sledgehammer leaning against the base of the scaffolding. He pushed his way through the front row of onlookers and dove for the sledgehammer. Time seemed to stand still as Tirion reached out to grasp the unwieldy tool. As if in slow motion, he watched as the hangman placed his hand upon the trap door lever while Barthilas raised his arm, ready to give the signal that would end the orc’s life. Tirion’s hands closed over the sledgehammer’s wooden haft as, in a surge of light and adrenaline, he charged forward.
* * *
The assembled knights and footmen yelled in anger at seeing Tirion emerge from the roiling crowd. The former Paladin struck fast and hard, leaving the surprised footmen scattered in his wake. A few alert guards rushed at him, but Tirion swung the old sledgehammer in a wide arc. Careful not to use lethal force, Tirion punched a deep dent in one guard’s breastplate and smashed in another’s helmet-visor. Seeing that he had bought himself a few, precious seconds, Tirion leaped up onto the scaffolding and headed straight for Barthilas.
The young Paladin was shocked at seeing Tirion charging at him. He
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