Several orcs saw Achilles! They pointed with their weapons and shouted in their strange, guttural language!
Achilles turned and sprinted off the path. The orcs’ torch light had taken away some of his night vision, so he stumbled over rocks and branches as he ran.
He clutched his father’s sword to his chest, grateful that it was chained so tightly shut that it couldn’t clank, but wishing desperately that he could draw it.
Achilles almost soiled himself and ran faster in terror.
Achilles stumbled and spun around, looking for who was talking to him.
He could see nobody. There were no orcs close by, nor even any humans.
And the voice that spoke wasn’t one he recognized. It wasn’t even the voice of the man who warned them about the orcs.
But then Achilles heard the strange language of the orcs and realized they were coming through the tree line toward him.
They’d killed all the men of the village who couldn’t get away in time, or who’d maybe fought back after all instead of fleeing to distract the monsters from the women and children.
Now they were going to kill ‘him.’
Though bewildered at this voice, Achilles was quick-thinking enough that he didn’t just stand there, but he continued running away while he was trying to understand what was going on.
“This sword?” he said in a whisper, between heavy breaths. His father’s sword? That made no sense.
Achilles realized he was running back along the path toward the women and children, and he felt sudden horror at the idea he might’ve been leading the orcs toward them.
He veered off the path, running toward the stream in the woods. Since orcs were monsters, they might have a strong sense of smell. Achilles knew that when you hunted a wild animal, your dogs could lose the scent if the animals went into the water.
said the sword, Virgil.
“I ‘borrowed’ you,” said Achilles, “but I am being chased by orcs. They killed all the men of the village!”
“He died a long time ago,” said Achilles.
He felt suddenly, irrationally angry toward his father. If he’d been alive, he could’ve saved everybody! How dare he die a stupid farmer’s death instead of continuing to live as a knight? Surely the gods had punished him for his cowardice!
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Achilles flushed with shame. He couldn’t believe those thoughts had just run through his head. He was a terrible son to think such things. Whatever his father had done, surely it was for a good reason. Achilles couldn’t remember him very well, but he’d always been a kind, hard-working man.
But then he realized the sword had responded to his thoughts.
Achilles kept running. His night vision had returned. Whenever moonlight came down through the trees, it gave Achilles enough of the picture to see where he was going.
But he was still no nocturnal predator, so he kept bumping into things and scraping his arms on thorn bushes.
Achilles cried out as he stepped on a sharp rock that pierced through his leather shoe into his foot.
“I can’t do anything!” said Achilles instinctively, then forced himself to communicate with the sword only through his thoughts. ‘If all the men couldn’t stop them, how could I? Even if I had a proper sword, I don’t even think I could fight “one” of them! I’m not a knight.’
Achilles’s destination, the stream, came into view ahead. Moonlight shone upon it, reflecting an otherworldly silver sheen.
The orcs sounded as though they stumbled through the woods. Not being used to the area, and likely having no better night vision than Achilles did, they weren’t even close to catching up. Their infuriated cries were halfway between screams and roars.
Achilles came to the water’s edge. ‘All right, he thought, ‘how are you supposed to help me? Even if I was a master swordsman, I can’t break the scabbard chains with my bare hands!’
Every chain link shattered like brittle ice!
To his astonishment, Achilles now held a much lighter sword and sheath. They seemed unnaturally light, as easy to carry as a tree branch.
‘I don’t care about that!’ thought Achilles. ‘I just want to save my mother and sister, and the people who’ve taken care of me here all my life. They’re good people!’
“So what do you want for me!?” snapped Achilles, driven to speaking by the terror of the approaching orcs.
Achilles hardly had to consider it.
Of ‘course’ he would take this responsibility.
He would be a hero some day, and that’s what heroes did.
‘Yes,’ he thought.
Achilles drew the eldritch blade.
From his shadow, into the darkness all around him, upon the trees and on the rocks and even across the water, there sprouted one thousand shining eyes.
They revealed to him the truth of the world.