* * *
Groth wasn't exactly sure how he'd fooled Respin into believing he was under his control when he came to 'escort' him and the sword to his work chambers. Respin had waved his hands around in front of Groth's face, and seemed pleased when his eyes took on a look of vacancy. He had Groth lay the sword on a rough wooden table, and ordered him to wait outside. What seemed like hours passed before Respin opened his stone door with the odd symbols carved over its entire surface, and ordered Groth to enter. The sword lay on the table, imbued with a disturbing blue glow. When the glow faded, Respin smiled, and turned his attention to Groth.
He said with his silk lilt, “Little orc, little orc, with the dark clouds in his eyes, doesn't know with the sword he's forged, that the orken kingdoms die.” He looked hard into Groth's eyes for what seemed like forever, studying, calculating. For Groth it was the hardest time keeping a straight face he'd ever been blasted with in his entire life. His heart was beating like war drums reaching their climax, and he hoped with his soul Respin couldn't hear it. Doesn't know with the sword he's forged, that the orken kingdoms die.
With a dramatic roll of his head Respin returned his attention to the sword. “I told you, little orc, that I would show you the power of dreams. And only a small part of me had to be there to do it. Orcs are so weak, it sickens me.”
As soon as Respin had turned his head, a brief look of total horror crossed Groth's visage. The orken kingdoms die. The orken kingdoms die. The orken kingdoms die.
“You will remember nothing little orc, and you will awake from your stupor (waves his hands dramatically). . .now.”
Groth's acting was near perfect. “I. . . I. . .damn. I feel strange. Where did you say you needed me to take this?”
Respin looked at him for a moment with a quizzical turn to his head, shook his head and motioned vaguely toward the sword and walked past Groth, his footsteps in the hallway making no sound to proclaim his passage. Groth grabbed the sword and followed Respin down many twists and turns of the tall, smooth cut labyrinthine corridors of Grathulus's fortress palace, to the entrance of the old throne room in the sparsely-decorated audience hall. Respin instructed Groth to stand behind him in front of the massive iron doors. Respin rapped on one of the double doors with its large brass knocker, and the doors parted inward in time with a victorious fanfare; trumpets blazing, tubas omphing, strings trilling evilly. When the doors locked into place in their clasps, the music crashed and slowed to a simmering sibilant hiss, thrumming, bass drums quiet, pulsing with disturbing rhythm.
There was no one in the old throne room except the musicians who filed away, a guard who stood in front of each statue, and Grathulus standing behind a makeshift pit of fire -- the only light in the room -- that had been carved out of the marble floor. The broken stone made a disheveled ring around the pit. Grathulus's beatific face was a depiction of devilry to Groth, and it seemed to him as if even the soldiers' eyes stared with complete madness. As Groth studied the room he lost sight of Respin, but as soon as he began to believe the wizard had left, the mage almost seemed to pop in front of him, a goblet of water in his hand.
The iron doors that led to the antechamber closed behind the last of the musicians ominously.
“Would you care for a drink? You've been slaving away all day at that nastily hot forge. Surely you need something to quench your thirst, hmn?”
“That's quite kind of you, Respin, but no thank you, I'm not thirsty.”
Respin tried to look deep into Groth's eyes, but Groth somehow managed to avoid his mesmeric gaze.
Groth said under his breath, just loud enough for Respin to hear, “I'm not thirsty. You gonna force it down my throat, oh he who bends over and takes it like a woman? Move out of my way, devil puppet. I have business with your king.”
“Why do you impair the progress of the orc, my magician?” Grathulus's voice boomed questioningly, sing-song oration in every word. “Get out of his way so the ceremony can begin.”
“Of course, my master.” Grathulus either didn't hear or care for the waver of fear in Respin's voice. His heart and mind were on fire with visions of dead orcs writhing at his feet, with a glazed look of longing and peaceful release in their empty eyes.
“Grathulus. . .Grathulus. . .” Respin said feebly.
“Silence damn you Respin, shut the fuck up! Now, at once, not another word or you will taste the pain of my will. Another word and I will unlock your demons with the word.” Grathulus knew he need say nothing more. He imagined the sweat beads popping up on Respin's forehead, the nervous twitch he remembered him having the times he could see.
Respin's face was a grim granite mask of hatred. If his master would not listen to him, when it was vitally important he know that the orc might no longer be under his control, then any problems that might develop would be on his head. It was possible Grathulus's control of the orc was still intact, and even if it wasn't, what real damage could the little ignorant orc do? The thought crossed his mind that it might be possible the orc had been fooling him, part of the time or all of it, but his arrogance of his power could never really admit the orc was out of control. It might be mildly amusing if he is, though.
“Come here, Groth, and help me to perform the last rites of the ceremony that will be a final and binding peace between our peoples. Walk around the fire that blocks your path, and come present me with the symbol of peace you've forged. The symbol that, together, we will complete, which in itself will be symbolic of the peace that will exist between orc and man.”
Groth walked to the side of the fire opposite of Grathulus, the huge sword resting on his shoulder. “Where is the representative of Gogalath? Are you to tell me that I am to go to Gogalath myself, a simple orc smith, and proclaim to my mighty leader that I have made peace with the humans, and that we will fight together with the humans, side by side against the dwarves? That with the help of the orcs you will wipe dwarven-kind from the face of the world? What kind of foolishness is that? Assuming I could even arrange an audience with one so powerful, how is it that I would get even a fourth the way through such a fanciful tale, without him asking me if I am some jester, arranged by a friend or general of his for his amusement?
“How am I to tell him I am serious and still walk out of his tent alive? My people don't tolerate madmen and give them respect as you humans do. Tell me, how would I even begin to go about such an impossible task?” Groth's look was incredulous, clearly expecting an answer.
For a moment, Grathulus said nothing. His mind was blank. His silence wasn't exactly stunned, but he wondered.
“Everything has been arranged,” he said smoothly. “The part you play in all this has always been a simple one, but also the most important. You have done what no other orc would ever dream of doing. You have broken your chains of ignorance. You have forged a sword that will make history. Bring it to me, and your mind will be at ease. Your part in this is almost over. Besides, forging the sword was your idea, remember? I simply wish to make peace with your people. It was you who decided that the best thing to do would be to make a sword. I did wonder about that. A sword of all things as a symbol for peace? But you know your people far better than I, so I took it upon myself to assume you would know best.
“Why do you now doubt, Groth? Look into my eyes, and you will know that I am deadly serious about making peace with your people. Look into my eyes, and you will know the truth.”
“You have no eyes,” said Groth with a sneer.
Grathulus began to untie the red rag. “Look again orc, for you are mistaken.”
Groth still had contempt in his face until the rag fell to the floor. His mouth made a disgusted O. Even some of Grathulus's own men flinched at the oddity. He could not avoid looking into those bug-eyes that seemed to set impossibly in the scarred tissue of Grathulus's sockets. He could have looked away from the blind king at any time, but he'd made it this far. He could not, would not fail now. The laughter in that small corner of his mind was r
aving without relent. It was hard to keep it from rushing to the surface, and making him as mad as it was. He finally noticed that Grathulus was droning on with his, “Look into my eyes, look deep into my eyes,” crap. He'd better pay more attention. Nothing could be missed.
“Groth. . .Groth. . .I have him now, Respin. Bring the water. We must be certain. Certain. Hurry!”
Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I will not bend. I will not be broken. I am an orc. I will not be broken. Shit shit shit!!!
“Drink the water, little orc,” Respin commanded with the harshest voice he could manage. Groth obeyed without flinching. He downed the water and swayed, seeming to almost drop the sword.
“Stand still orc!”Grathulus roared with more hatred and misery than even most men could stand to hear without cringing.
“Bring me the sword! At last! At last!” My vengeance will be more complete than any being could ever dare to imagine! Oh, little orc, little disgusting, rat-raping thing that you are, once the sword is brought to a nice hot yellow, it shall be tempered in your maggot guts, and all of hell will open to bring your people along after you!” Groth went to hand the sword to Grathulus, and his hand reached down to receive it.
“No, my lord!” Respin yelled, with true emotion showing in his voice.
It was the first time Grathulus had ever heard Respin give a strong emotional response to anything. His hand jerked back as if the sword were a snake. Then he remembered. “Oh, right. The orc must do it. I almost forgot. Would it really make that much of a difference?”
“One can never be truly certain, my lord. If the sword were to come in contact with your human hand before the tempering, who knows?” He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a condescending way, a look of mock surprise on his face.
Grathulus didn't have time to care. He motioned for a guard to bring him a pair of ornately embossed tongs, and handed them to Groth. “Prepare the sword for tempering, orc.”
“I'll need a wet cloth,” he said with stupor.
Though it was a difficult task to temper a sword with the hilt already attached without doing damage, Groth was a master of his craft. Being almost immune to fire, his thick skin and years of exposure to the heat of the forge did its part to help. It seemed like only a small moment until the sword was first red, then yellow. Tossing the cloth aside, he turned and smiled at Grathulus.
Without the slightest hint, Groth leaped at Grathulus, laughing manically. He grabbed Grathulus in the air with his free hand and swung around to his back. He gripped the king's neck tightly, holding the sword in his face. Grathulus swung Groth around with all the might that could be mustered with his hard, muscular frame, but Groth would not be shaken.
“Remember what I said to you the day we met, Grathulus?” Groth screamed through tears and body-rocking laughter. “If only I had a sword.” He maneuvered himself to the front of Grathulus with one fluid motion, still dangling, and the force of the burning sword glided through Grathulus's flesh like butter. The sword cut downward along Grathulus's spine, with Groth gripping the hilt with both hands. The sword's tip bent slightly when it smashed with Groth's weight to the stone floor.
Groth tried to throw the sword into the pit, but his hands were somehow fused to it at odd angles. The blood on the blade sizzled. Grathulus mouth made words without sound as he tried to hold his guts in his ruined abdomen. He went to his knees in a thick pool of smoking blood. His body shook, and his eyes burst to spray Groth with bloody, watery pulp. The blind king's head splashed blood when it crashed into the puddle.
Respin was dancing in the air. The guards were stunned. Only Groth seemed to notice as the sword began to slowly vibrate. Perhaps they thought the orc shook with fear. An odd, burning feeling began to well up in the pit of his belly. He hoped he didn't have gas.
“He's dead! He's dead! The wicked king is dead! I'm free! I'm free! And the first thing I'll do, I think, is to kill the killer's killer.” Respin floated down from the dark shadows of the ceiling, and floated directly above Groth's head. His smile looked odd on a face long unused to real emotion.
“Put that sword down. It's useless now. The spell is broken. The sword was to be the Orcslayer, the destroyer of all orken-kind, but I guess I'll just have to settle with killing you. Such a beautiful sword. He shook his head to clear it of its slowly growing cobwebs.
“Grathulus is dead! Grath-eu-lus is dead! I will be the king now! Bow down to me!” He looked to the guards. Their eyes were vacant.
The pitiful remnant of king Grathulus III labored himself up onto his elbow. Respin looked at his king, and a look of dread horror slowly pulled on his features. Grathulus was smiling. The word he uttered came out a hoarse whisper that no one else could hear. Respin knew the word.
“No no no no no no no no. No. . .no. . .no. . .I've. . .my gods. I've nothing to fear from demons, do I? He didn't say. . .maybe. . .incorrect. Incorrect! Incorrect!”
In the air above his head, a current of air blew that Respin knew could not possibly be so strong in the closed-off chamber he floated in. A deep, low, rolling groan mixed with the whistle of the wind, and in his haste to run -- from something he knew he could never escape -- he smashed his head into the ceiling, and barely managed to catch himself as he fell head-first to the floor. He looked up at a long yellow cloud that began to form and be pulled along by the fierce breeze. He heard a shocked gasp behind him, but the awestruck simpleton orc was the least of his worries. . .
Something. . .something urged him to turn around. It began as a gentle pulling, and grew to a feeling of delightful wonder. He turned around, and the demons forming in the air above him, for all the horrible dread they caused him, were no longer important. Even the sight of dead smiling guards lying in a blood-soaked heap was no longer important. Even the frozen, terror-bound face of the stiff dead orc that moved like a toy in the hand of an invisible child, that felled guards that almost fought one another to be the next to die on the blade of a blue-glowing, tip-bent sword, was not important.
Respin felt love, the dull longing ache of a love like he hadn't felt since he was a young, young man. Why, this love he felt now was even stronger! He held in his heart a love far more powerful than any he thought would ever be possible for one such as himself to experience. Love. Love! No demons would drag him to hell with them! No simple guards would get in his way! He levitated the orc and sword into the air, and rose to meet them above the fiery pit.
The demons began to fade, for their prey had eluded them, or so it thought. He was bound to them with chains greater than mortal flesh. He would soon learn.
Respin fell to the fire. A distant scream began, but was cut off, as it would be if a door had been slammed shut. Groth's stiff body floated away from the flames and settled softly to the ground, just as the doors to the antechamber of the old throne room opened to a rushing horde of glaze-eyed humans, singing songs of rapture and glorious, heavenly lands.
* * *
Two dwarves were guiding their goods-laden donkeys down a dusty road, when a sound came to them in the distance. The sound grew steadily louder, and soon the dwarves saw -- through the blinding glare of the fresh-risen morning sun -- what seemed like thousands upon thousands of humans pouring over a long line of hills, headed to the northwest.
“We'd better get off this road, Jorb, before we're trampled by a herd of stampedin' humans. I wonder what they're in a so hell-fired hurry for.” The tall dwarf scratched his head, his expression clearly amazed.
“Quit yer gawkin'. They'll be here sooner than you think. They're movin' pretty fast,” said Jorb, the shorter dwarf.
“Yep, that horde's stretched pretty long and wide. We might even hafta ride these donkeys to steer clear of 'em. They're yellin' and singin' like a bunch of temple folk.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, well, I've seen stranger things.”
“Me too.” The dwarves veered off the east-west road, and headed for the southwest.
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The Tempering Page 7
