A Tide of Bones

by Ben Stovall

  It was a beginning, a wide-open door of possibilities to help the orcs, but it was also an end. He would no doubt be unable to leave his people to adventure with his friends after this. And the reality of the war being his last adventure with the rest of Red Watch brought tears to his eyes. He sighed deeply as they rolled down his face.

  “Are you alright, brother?” Krolligar asked.

  “I just … need a moment. Get some orcs to dig three graves outside the city walls for the fallen. I’ll be back in the morning, brother,” he answered, and he began walking out of the park.

  “What should I tell them?” Krolligar called.

  “That their warchief had some very important business to attend to,” Inaru said. He stopped by his father’s corpse to take one last look at the sigil of the Bloodmaw on his chest. The painted visage served nothing but to make him scowl as he resumed his path toward the city.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Inaru had been sitting at the table in the Unruly Pony for hours. He fingered every cut and mark scored into it over the years as the sun rose in the window. The waitress set a mug of water down in front of him, and for her hours of service he gave her two crowns.

  Ulthan was the first to wake. He walked out of the hallway the rooms branched from and smiled at the orc. “Hey, Inaru. I didn’t expect you to be awake yet,” he said. The orc’s eyes stayed fixed on the table. Ulthan took notice, and Inaru could hear the worry in his voice. “Is something … are you alright?” he asked.

  “Would you wake the others, Ulthan?” he replied, his gaze remaining on the wooden surface.

  “Of course,” Ulthan answered as he turned back to the hall. The group slowly filled in the room, taking seats at the table in an order Inaru didn’t notice. Tyrdun sat on his right, and out of his peripheral he could see the dwarf staring at him with concern.

  “Everyone’s here,” Ulthan said as he took the seat on Inaru’s left.

  The orc exhaled languidly, his eyes moving left to right over the table. He closed them for a moment, and finally spoke, “Uldrik is dead.” All of them gasped. “I killed him.”

  They exchanged looks quickly, and Tyrdun rose from his seat. Inaru held his hand up to give the dwarf pause. The orc looked up from the table, seeing the uneasiness among his friends and sighed. “He betrayed the other warchiefs. Tied them up and killed Ironjaw and Altokan in Tal’rok. He intended to unite the orc clans under himself and attack Souhal in the dead of night. And I challenged him myself.”

  “Does that mean you’re a warchief now?” Joravyn asked.

  Inaru set his jaw with a grim frown. “Yes.”

  Everyone looked on, nonplussed. Tyrdun looked to Inaru with sad eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, laden with apprehension.

  “No,” Inaru replied. The assembled all looked at the table poignantly. “It means I must give this up … I cannot continue traveling and living in Souhal as … as warchief. But I can change the orcs. I can finally help my people.”

  “It’s not even an option,” Fanrinn observed with regret. “You are already warchief; you cannot refuse.”

  Inaru nodded solemnly.

  Ulthan bit his lip. “And you have an army of over three thousand orcs.”

  Inaru nodded.

  “You will scare the kings,” Lytha added.

  “After Souhal is saved, I will … I will demilitarize the orcs. We will not need so many soldiers if there is only one clan—there will be nothing to fight over,” Inaru said, hoping his words would be true; hoping the orcs—his orcs—would see reason. His head fell into his hands. A sob wracked his whole body, and he heard chairs rub against the floor as some of the assembled stood. Comforting hands were upon him, hugs wrapping around him as he wept. “I never wanted this,” he whispered between his cries.

  “Inaru,” Tyrdun consoled him, “you can do this. There is no one more able.”

  “I agree,” Ulthan said. “And though you may be unable to journey with us, we will always have your back.” He pulled his face away from his hands as tears coursed down his cheeks.

  “You know what the orcs need, Inaru,” Ellaria smiled.

  “Thank you,” he sniffled. “All of you—thank you.”

  Inaru stood and everyone wrapped around him. They remained locked like that for a moment Inaru hoped would never end. But it had to. “I need to return to the camp,” he finally said with anguish. The group released him, and he gave them all one last look, before turning and leaving Red Watch where they stood.

  Fourteen

  Ulthan shifted in his seat. Over the last few years, he’d sat in this chair for hours on end, and it had never been as uncomfortable as it was now. Every few minutes, he looked to Inaru’s old seat, half-expecting the orc to be there as if he’d never left.

  The air was thick with palpable silence, despondency unmasked among his comrades’ faces. Tyrdun hadn’t spoken, eyes transfixed on the doorway since Inaru’s departure. Torvaas sat against the wall, his head resting completely on his chest. Joravyn had a balled-up orange cloth in one hand, caressing the soft material with his thumb, his face rough with consideration. Ellaria’s gaze hadn’t flicked away from an untouched cup of wine that sat on the table before her. Fanrinn had downed a few drinks, but the alcohol didn’t seem to aid him in anyway. Lytha looked on the verge of speaking, but she didn’t; no doubt she couldn’t find the proper words.

  The paladin scratched at the bristles on his jaw. He cleared his throat and said, “Hey, Tyrdun.”

  The dwarf turned toward him, the wetness around his eyes glistening in the light. He said nothing.

  “Remember Kharbrook? The Brokaron cult?”

  “The Shattered Ones,” the dwarf nodded.

  “Brokaron?” Torvaas asked.

  “An older deity,” Ulthan began, “an obscure one. The cultists believed he shaped the whole of Amera—mountains, lakes, rivers, canyons—everything.”

  “They also claim he was locked away by some wizard millennia ago,” Joravyn added, shaking his head.

  “Couldn’t that be possible?” Ellaria questioned.

  “If he was a god, could any prison hold him?” the mage replied.

  The elf shrugged.

  “At any rate,” Joravyn continued, “they considered me an abomination, at best. Never mind the fact that they were led by a mage.”

  “A priest,” Fanrinn amended. “His power was from Brokaron, not the arcane—so they claimed.”

  “Right,” the mage nodded.

  “Why were you guys fighting them?” Lytha asked.

  “They’d been kidnapping people from Kharbrook’s small Abjurer’s Guild,” Ulthan resumed. “There were six mages down there when we found them. They were in cages—starving, dehydrated, beaten. It was horrible. Illyna got them out and we gave them food and water … and things only got worse. The cultists were preparing a ritual to collapse the tunnels under Kharbrook, to plunge the city into the depths.”

  “Liawynn above,” Ellaria gasped.

  “That’s awful,” Lytha agreed.

  Ulthan nodded. “Clayne and Nerokahn helped the mages leave, while the rest of us pressed on.”

  “You’ve mentioned Clayne before, but who is he? And Nerokahn?” Lytha asked.

  “Gregory Clayne,” Tyrdun said, “is the one responsible for this whole outfit. He got us all together in Achor eight years ago. Ulthan, Fanrinn, Illyna, Larik, him, and me. He was with us up until we defended Daralton; he retired and got married, moved to Ithkawyn. Think they’re still there.”

  Fanrinn nodded. “They are. I got a letter from him two days ago, in fact. Gregory is whole and hale, and Elizabeth is expecting a child … as of about two weeks ago, maybe three.”

  “We should find a job in Ulen sometime soon,” Joravyn grinned. “Would love to see them both again.”

  “And Nerokahn was from Freton,” Ulthan resumed. “He was with us for about a year and a half. Then he found some relic he was after and went home. Haven’t heard from him since.”

>   “I don’t miss him,” Fanrinn muttered, taking a quick drink.

  “Fanrinn!” Ellaria shouted.

  “He ran into battle wearing nothing more than a wolf pelt and leather breeches! I barely had enough money to eat after patching him up so much.”

  Ellaria snickered at the outburst.

  “Anyway,” Ulthan interjected, “the rest of us went deeper into the caves, Tyrdun, Inaru, Joravyn, Illyna, Pock, Fanrinn, and me.”

  “Who are Pock and Illyna?” Lytha asked again, then immediately looked apologetic as the paladin’s face soured. “Never mind! Continue!”

  “In the deepest part of the cave,” he continued, “they had built this huge hexagonal temple, but it was sundered. Rocks were falling all around, the ground shifting constantly underfoot. The temple broke apart, sides upheaving and separating. I ended up alone, two of the priests before me. I struck them down, looked over to a side of the temple that had risen into the air—magic exploded at its apex. Fireballs burst around stone, lightning struck the cavern walls, sides of the temple fell away under Joravyn’s feet.”

  “It was awful,” Joravyn added. “Nothing was landing. The stones were just throwing me all around, couldn’t manage to hit him. I was barely awake, Evoras had me on the ropes … then Spot showed up.”

  “He’d climbed the wall. Asked me for a boost,” Tyrdun said, chuckling. “Dropped his axes on the ground to scale it.”

  “When he got to the top, he smacked Evoras in the back of the head and beat him when he fell on the ground,” Joravyn resumed. “Without him leading, the ritual fell apart, everything calmed down. Then, Spot held Evoras up, told me to hit him. Nearly broke my hand.”

  “You whined about it for a week,” Fanrinn beamed.

  “I did! Felt good, though,” the mage grinned.

  “So, you guys saved Kharbrook?” Lytha asked.

  “We did,” Ulthan said with pride. “They threw a feast for us. Beautiful town.” The paladin caught the bard’s intention to return to her earlier question. “Right, Pock and Illyna.”

  “Captain Pock Shorva,” Fanrinn amended, chuckling.

  “Hah! Of course. He’s a gnome, born in Achor. Sailed with a friend of ours for years – Captain Daliya. Joined up with us to get money to buy his own ship. He left a little over a year ago.”

  “Where was he headed?” Ellaria asked.

  “Vokkamar.”

  Joravyn frowned. “Wish he hadn’t. Assuming he actually made it around Kual’apir without him getting raided, enslaved, or sunk, he may have landed in Stronor, sure, but there’s no way he’d have gotten any further.”

  Torvaas coughed. “What are Stronor and Vokkamar?”

  “Sorry,” the mage turned to the scaleskin. “They share an island off the southern coast of Dwallfarr and Ragaan, across the Bay of Might. Northern side is Stronor. Rocky badlands, rife with ridges and such. Vokkamar is often called the Wild Vale, a bunch of druids have dedicated their lives to ensure none enter.”

  “Why did he go there?” Lytha inquired.

  “A story. Nothing more.” Joravyn sighed.

  She frowned but didn’t press any further.

  “Illyna,” Tyrdun began, “met Clayne after stealing his coin purse. And he offered her a job, hah! When he began rounding us up, he made sure she was in. She’s a good lass, just a little misguided. She was with us until we split up … decided she had some stuff to take care of in Kual’apir. Said she’d be back one day.”

  “I’d love to meet them sometime,” Ellaria smiled.

  “You will, lass,” Tyrdun promised. No one spoke for a moment, then the dwarf said, “This … this is going to be different without Inaru.”

  Ulthan nodded. “It is. But we’ll make it work. And … the Lowlands aren’t half as far as Ithkawyn—or Equarik, or Freton, or Vokkamar. We’ll see him again. Often. I swear it by the Sun, Tyrdun.”

  The dwarf nodded. “Thank ye, Ulthan.”

  Before long, the group began to trickle away. The members of Red Watch left one by one to grieve on their own. In time, he was the last left sitting at the round table in the corner of the Unruly Pony. None had come to sit in the tavern, and so he’d been left entirely alone. With tears welling in his eyes, Ulthan rose, and made his way to Abbey Lane.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Ellaria walked the streets of Souhal unaccompanied. No one at all walked the road with her—which was to be expected. The soldiers would still be drilling at this hour … and the civilians weren’t keen on leaving their homes at the moment. Especially with the looming storm overhead. There would be snow tonight, if not a full-blown blizzard. Or, they’d be lucky, and the squall would pass over Souhal entirely to dump its payload further inland.

  She didn’t mind, though. She barely noticed. Ellaria wasn’t even certain where she was anymore. It was at least still the Ironwood District, but, based on the sea spray in the air, the southern fringes of it. She sighed, as she finally rounded a corner to a small alleyway between a store called the Brewer’s Shelf and a guildhall of the Korsen Stonecutters. The former seemed abandoned, while the latter merely looked closed.

  Ellaria sighed, setting her back against the wall, and she slid down the building’s side until she sat on the stone covered ground, exhaling savagely. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose as a sob wracked her to the bone.

  Her mind began racing after she cried for a moment. She thought about running, however, she quickly put that thought down, knowing she’d never be able to live with herself if she’d left everyone in Souhal to die. The city needed her—needed everyone.

  Another sob. I just need … a moment …

  “Ellaria?”

  Her eyes shot up. It was Torvaas. His scales were softened with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “I … It’s nothing, Torvaas,” she responded.

  Torvaas cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow jumping upward a half-inch. Then he shook his head and said, “Va’koris kalihme jal’torvaasi k’orrol. A torvaas must be able to sense a lie as well as they tell one.” He stepped around her, sliding down the wall as she had to sit on her right side. “I will not make you speak if you do not wish, but I am here to listen.”

  Ellaria looked over at the scaleskin and saw his smile of sincerity. She said, “I … Every time I’ve found where I want to be, the people I want to be around, they leave. They’ve abandoned me … They’ve outgrown me.

  “All of the friends I had in Aelindaas had their whole lives planned out.” She paused. “Sarliah wanted to be an astronomer as long as I knew her. Tyralt felt he was destined to be a guard. Alyria worked with her mother and will run their shop one day. They all had it all mapped out, all detailed with their paths. Before I knew it, all of them stopped intersecting with mine.

  “Fanrinn too, for a while. When he left, I knew … I’d always known I wanted to be an adventurer. But when he left he told me I wasn’t old enough. That it was too dangerous for a child, like me. I begged him every time he returned, and he’d always say, ‘maybe next time, little sister.’” She paused, wiping away a tear. “And now, with Inaru, and whatever will happen after the battle, whether we even win? It’s all happening again.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, then Torvaas wrapped his hand around Ellaria’s shoulder. “I can’t say what will happen after the battle. No one can. But I know your pain well,” Torvaas offered. “Only two of my tribesmen hold something other than hate for me. One of which the leader of my people has forbidden me to be with, and the other … it is hard to be around him, right now.

  “If not for you and the others back in the Pony, I would have no one. I would have less than no one—I’d be inside an ogre’s belly … maybe – I almost had that lock open.” He smiled. “I still remember when I was a child. The whole tribe loved me. I was the son of their greatest hero. I remember the sweets Moltra Haran would give me, and the bread, and the trinkets … It all changed after the flood. My father was branded a traitor to our tribe, and everyone
abandoned me. Valan Rivrak began grooming me to become torvaas, and it only fueled their fires. A son of an exile and a thief. Valan Rivrak’s last strike against my father for his insult.

  “I always worried my father would be disappointed in my path. That I didn’t become a warrior like him. I’m not sure if Ulthan told you how we convinced the Torgashin to help …” he said with the hint of awaiting a response.

  “He didn’t, no,” she replied.

  Torvaas nodded. “To convince Valan Rivrak to aid Souhal we tracked my father through the Bloodfens and killed him. He did not fight me. He knew Valan Rivrak would send me for him eventually. He told me he was proud of me. His people, the scaleskin that stuck with him after the flood, helped me bury him,” he said. A moment passed.

  “I think about him every day,” he added. “The memories do not … they do not make me sad. I smile at them. I welcome them. I am glad I ever knew him at all.”

  Ellaria felt tears roll down her face. “Torvaas,” she managed to say, “I can’t believe how horrible they’ve been to you. You deserve better.”

  “It’s funny,” Torvaas smiled. “For the first time in the last twelve years, I agree with that sentiment.” He paused, and they sat together silently. “I’m not going to go back to them. Ever. I have a new tribe now.”

  Ellaria smiled and rested her head on Torvaas’s shoulder. “You’re right. We’re worse than friends. We’re a family. Liawynn above, that’s why this stings so bad, isn’t it? We’ve lost a brother.” She felt Torvaas’s agreeing nod.

  They sat in silence for a time, before the scaleskin said, “We should get back to the tavern.”

  “Wait. Let’s just sit here, for a while longer. I’m comfortable.”

  She felt Torvaas shrug, then shift slightly. “Alright.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Tyrdun switched his clothes out for a jacket of black wool and gray linen breeches. He grabbed his cloak, clasped it on, and pulled the hood overhead. His features were stone all the while. He knew what he needed to do.