Suddenly Eric threw a knife over the heads of the elves, but the blade missed when the beast happened to move. The knife distracted the ogre long enough for Lorian to kill it. Eric’s next knife flew true into another’s throat, killing it instantly. As the corpse toppled backward, Ryan felt no regret, just relief. What did that mean about him?
A roar to one side startled him. An ogre had come around the thick brush and trees unseen. Its club hurtled toward his head and he barely ducked as it whooshed by. He retreated, eyes wide, forgetting everything Lorian had taught him. As the club came down like a hammer, he sidestepped and stumbled on a tree root. By the time he recovered, there was no dodging the coming blow. He raised the sword and met the club with a clang, nearly losing his grip. The ogre raised the club with both hands, lust for death on its face. Did it sense what Ryan did, that the knight stood dead center, too close to dodge, and had little idea how to use that sword? Realizing his peril, Ryan lunged and stabbed it through the stomach. The ogre squealed hideously and slid back off the blade, sickly red blood oozing out. Ryan blanched at what he’d done. His self-preservation instinct had overridden his dispositions as if they were nothing.
The ogre’s expression promised such death and personal hatred that Ryan snapped out of it. It was still going to kill him, but he didn’t have to do the same. With a grimace of resignation, he punched the ogre in the wound and it doubled over, screeching awfully. Then Ryan clobbered it in the jaw. The ogre toppled backwards and lay stunned and unmoving.
A moment passed before Ryan realized he’d done it. He’d stopped it, and without killing it. Or at least he thought so. Suddenly worried he ended a life, he looked at the Trinity Ring on one hand. Rognir had told him how to use it, so he put one hand on the ogre and focused his will on the middle stone. Tingling warmth spread from his hand, which glowed softly as the belly wound all but disappeared. He’d never seen magical healing or experienced it, feeling like an affirmation of God’s power had occurred. Sighing in relief, he rose and moved over by Anna and Matt. Maybe he could do this champion stuff after all.
He saw that another three ogres lay dead, despite Lorian’s comments that elves held all life sacred. Maybe elves weren’t so pious after all. Or maybe they just understood something that he didn’t. Rognir had meanwhile healed several elves and Ryan could tell that Anna hadn’t moved from where he’d last seen her, far from the action. He couldn’t blame her, but it meant she wasn’t even trying. Even he was.
Anna had watched Rognir leaning over one injured elf after another as if helping them, but she hadn’t seen anything happen. No glow of godly power. No wounds closing. Nothing. She wasn’t even sure he’d helped them in any way, not to mention by laying on hands. His back had been turned each time. Part of her felt annoyed by that, but part of her was relieved that no proof she was wrong about gods had shown up. The medical student in her couldn’t help thinking of how one wound or another would be treated back on Earth.
Ryan’s fight with the ogre had surprised her a little, that he could fight back so well despite the whole non-violence thing. If she wasn’t so consumed by fear she might’ve almost felt proud of him. She had no idea why he’d leaned over the ogre after. Still waiting beside Matt, she now watched Eric standing ready for another knife throw, when something caught her eye. The ogre Ryan had fought rose to its feet. Her eyes darted to its belly, wondering how that could be, and she stared uncomprehending at the belly wound that was now gone. For a moment, this distracted her into not realizing it was raising its club and swinging at the nearest target.
“Eric!” she screamed as the club flew toward his shoulder.
The martial artist was already turning, but Anna saw it wouldn’t be fast enough. With a sickening crunch of shattered bones, the blow flung him five feet away, where he landed screaming and writhing in pain, the knife from his other hand sticking out of his thigh. Without thinking, Anna ran over to him, putting herself in danger as she knelt and tried to stop him from rolling back in forth in agony. Behind her, she heard Matt’s voice speaking words that sounded like magic.
“Kertemor iafiirlompu terteli, uapiiltoko nukoorkel naakli.” Shards of ice like darts be thrown, strike my foe down to the bone.
Anna looked up at the ogre, only now realizing her peril. She’d seen enough men ogle her to be surprised by a similar expression on its disgusting face. If Matt’s spell had worked, there was no sign of it. She heard him saying it again, faster, more nervously she thought, and realized it hadn’t worked. Then another voice spoke similar yet different words and she glanced over to see Lorian crumbling a piece of stone in one outstretched hand, toward the ogre. She looked up again. The ogre’s face twisted
