by Ethan Spears
Gurrik looked between the two of them. “I do not know what sort of test or joke this is supposed to be, but I can tell it is no common training.”
“It’s neither joke nor test,” assured Gavi.
“And to ask me not to speak our Father’s name—”
“We merely do not want our Father to turn His ear on us while we speak of things He might not wish to hear.”
The boy looked ready to faint. “Gavi, stop teasing the lad,” the D’ghali admonished. “Come, Gurrik, sit. We will talk. You only need to listen.”
Despite his clear discomfort, the young man returned to his seat, though he sat on the edge, ready to spring from it at a moment’s notice.
“Anyway,” said the Tullok, returning his attention to the other aged orc, “I suppose you wish to tell me of your most recent visions.”
The D’ghali likewise focused on his brother. “Yes. They are much like the other visions I’ve been having over the years, but they’re becoming more frequent. Clearer. Bleaker. Besides yourself, few know of these visions, for to even speak of them would be considered dire blasphemies by most. But they cannot be ignored, for they show a grave future.”
Gavi knew all this and understood this conversation was more for the boy’s benefit than his own. “Say on. What do they show?”
“Tragedy of the highest order: cities rendered lifeless; whole continents without so much as a blade of grass; Extinction.”
“Extinction?” Gavi prompted. “Of what?”
“Orcs.” At this, Gurrik’s fidgeting stilled. He looked scarcely able to believe what he had heard. After a sustained pause, Pavi continued. “Humans. Elves. Dwarves. Gnomes. Honestly, I’m not sure what survives, but it won’t be much.”
“I see. How reliable would you count your visions?”
“Very. I’ve rarely been wrong with small visions. For grand predictions like these? Never.” At this, Gurrik paled. “But the future is never set in stone. It can always be altered, if one knows how.”
“Which we don’t,” Gavi supplied.
“Sadly, no,” the D’ghali agreed. “We need to reach into the dark and hope for the best.” He looked at the boy. “You look like you have a question.”
Gurrik hesitated, cautious of doing as instructed as everything about this conversation was surreal. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “But… how? What could cause our people to die? We are millions!”
“Ah,” said Pavi. “That is where we delve into the blasphemies.”
“And why we mustn’t speak our Father’s name,” added Gavi.
The two old men paused to give the boy a moment to piece it together. His face told them when the parts clicked. “Because our Father will cause it,” Gurrik said. He looked surprised at the madness that had come out of his own mouth.
“He is, after all, the god of murder,” Gavi said. “And sometimes rage gets the better of him.”
Pavi said, “Our Father, as with all gods, does not allow us to gaze upon him. Even in visions, I cannot see him or his actions. But I can see the results. Our people will perish.” He caught himself. “I want to be clear. When I say ‘our people,’ I mean all our people, not merely our clan. Not just The Unerringly Devoted, but the Windrunners, the Angry Waves, the Dark Vows, the Cherished Soils of the Sun Hills, everyone.”
“And by ‘will perish,’” Gavi hastened to add, “you mean if we do nothing.”
Gavi smiled. “Yes. I often forget to add that part.”
Gurrik fell back in his seat. “I cannot believe our Father would allow such a thing to happen, much less cause it. He loves His children more than he loves his brother and sister gods.”
Pavi folded his hands. “Tell me, Gurrik. Does a mother love her child?”
The question was so basic, Gurrik had to consider it a moment to make sure he wasn’t missing something. Tentatively, he answered, “Yes.”
“Can a mother still love her child if she lets it starve?”
Another pause. “I suppose she could. Sometimes she simply has no food.”
“Well, what if that mother is immortal and powerful beyond reckoning, a being for whom time is rendered meaningless by her long life that days can seem but moments? If she lets her child starve because the time between feeding can seem arbitrary, near instantaneous, does that mean she doesn’t love that child?”
Gurrik again considered. “You mean that our Father may hurt us because he doesn’t realize he’s hurting us, even to the point of annihilation?”
“It’s a simple way of looking at it,” said Gavi, “but yes, in essence. We need to show our Father that he’s making us suffer. We must make him see the damage of his tantrum.”
“And we must do so without him knowing we are doing so,” said Gurrik. “To chastise our Father for being childish would only invite that wrath, just as when a child whines to its mother that it is hungry.” Gavi gave Pavi a look that seemed to say, ‘he is quick.’ “But then what can we do? And why are you telling me this?”
The D’ghali said, “Because we need people we can trust to carry out our orders who know the risks. We will be asking you to act against our Father’s wishes for our Father’s best interests, for in his anger he may destroy that which he loves most.”
Gurrik looked dizzy at the implications. He looked at the two old men. “What is your plan?”
“There’s only one thing we can think to do. The end of the Restraint will draw our father into the human lands. That excursion will lead to our extinction, that much we know. Therefore, we must save our Father from himself. We must do everything in our power to stop our Father’s second Fury.”
“But how?
The D’ghali and the Tullok looked at each other. Assassins, leaders, and elders, they nonetheless looked like inexperienced schoolchildren as they said, “If you have any ideas, we’re all ears.”
Part II
Together
Chapter 13b
…and Failure
Mergau’s head ached.
She was aware that she had lost and regained consciousness but couldn’t focus on those events. She tried to roll over in the bed—why was she in a bed?—but her muscles burned in protest. She contented herself with lying on her back.
Something trickled down her face into her mouth; a moist cloth rag rested on her forehead, its water cold against her skin.
She could hear something, too. She could barely open her eyes, so she merely listened. Two voices were conversing in Krik. Had she been captured? She felt no restraints on her ankles or wrists.
What had happened again?
There was an argument between the voices, but the words echoed distantly. She screwed up her face in concentration.
“…hell of a find this far from the mountains,” chattered one excitedly. He stopped to take a deep breath as if he had been talking for a while.
“It was stupid on your part to bring her here,” said another, familiar voice. “What if someone saw through the illusion? Or one of the bystanders told the guards she was actually an orc? It was far too dangerous.”
“Says the one who took on an enraged orc to save her life,” the other noted.
“Ignoring that she’s an orc—though honestly, how could I?—I was stopping a murder, as is the duty of any capable person. Bringing her here and not telling anyone about her is something else entirely.”
“And what would you have had me do, let her lay in the street to bleed to death? Let her be taken by the town guard, who, if they didn’t kill her outright, would probably let her bleed to death?”
“I don’t know, Reggy, but if someone catches us with her, we’re in serious trouble. We could wind up in prison.”
“For what crime, exactly?” asked the one called Reggy. “Harboring orcs is technically not illegal.”
“Good luck with that defense.” The familiar voice put on a falsetto. “‘Oh, most honorable judge, it’s not technically illegal to house murderous monsters in our homes, nurse them to health,
and release them on the public. I don’t see what the big deal is.’”
“I don’t sound like that. And she’s not a murderous monster: she was the one being murdered if you’ll recall. And I’m not going to just release her into town. Obviously, that will do no one any good. She needs to be let go somewhere safe.”
“Somewhere safe? Are you crazy? Are you going to carry her back to Astran yourself? You won’t be able to, mind you: she’s about two hundred pounds of pure muscle. I nearly threw my back out with her bouncing on my shoulder.”
“I doubt her lands are safe,” the other retorted irritably. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why this girl came all the way out here, so far from her people’s lands, only to be attacked by another orc?”
“Vaguely,” said the familiar voice, a poor attempt to conceal his interest. “It doesn’t matter though, does it?”
“It doesn’t matter? I think you’re the crazy one here. She would need a good reason to come here and risk being killed on sight and running from an attempt on her life seems like a pretty good reason to me. She was desperate enough to hide from an enemy among enemies. How does that not pique your interest?”
“Reggy, you can’t put people at risk to sate your curiosity.”
“I’ll make sure everyone is perfectly safe, I promise. But come on, Aoden. An orc hiding in halfling lands with some sort of bounty hunter after her? How does that not grip you?”
“Fantastic. Not just an orc, but some sort of orcish criminal. And she is a murderous monster, at least according to her assassin. Though she doesn’t have the look of a murderer.”
That mocking tone. It broke through her semi-conscious daze, and she finally recognized his voice.
Ignoring every screaming muscle and the overwhelming dizziness and nausea, she forced herself to sit up. She opened her eyes as best she could and found them swollen almost completely shut. Nonetheless, she could see them, a halfling and the Elf, staring at her in blurry surprise. She had the advantage.
She lifted a hand to craft a spell—her mind worked to think of a good one, something from Larna’s spellbooks for added irony, but all she could think of was fire. She wouldn’t have the time to meticulously pull him apart like she wanted, but she would have to content herself with a quick kill. She began to focus energy in her hand.
Pain radiated down the back of her head like she’d been struck by a hammer. It trailed down her spine and spread to every inch of her body like fire in her veins. Her back arched and her jaw fell open, but she couldn’t make a sound. A hand pushed her down. A soothing sensation spread from the fingers, the pain lessening until her body merely throbbed.
“Our voices must’ve spooked her,” said the halfling.
“Yeah, well, not like she can understand us.”
“Not unless someone here who speaks Orcish were willing to translate,” the halfling said pointedly.
Mergau, still shaking from pain, lifted her head an inch off her pillow and met the Elf’s eyes. “I understand just fine,” she growled in Krik. Her strength gave out and her head fell back.
The elf and the halfling exchanged surprised looks.
“Alright,” said the elf. “I’m pretty sure they don’t teach Krik in orcish schools. I’ll admit I’m curious now.”
The halfling laughed so excitedly he practically cackled. “This is one hell of a find!” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. At Aoden’s look, he cleared his throat. “I mean, this is most fascinating.”
Aoden moved towards the orc’s bed. “How well do you speak?”
Mergau turned away. For a moment, she was resolute in not answering. But then he would think her an idiot, wouldn’t he? She wouldn’t give him the pleasure.
“Well enough,” she said.
“Oh-ho,” laughed the halfling. “She doesn’t like you.”
Aoden gave him an annoyed look before turning back to the orc. “You could at least show a little gratitude. We saved your life.”
“The tactful words of a diplomat,” the halfling mocked.
Mergau lurched forward, trying to headbutt the Elf, bite him, anything, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her neck wobbled unsteadily, and she gave up, letting her head rest on her pillow.
“My name is Reginald Bluecorn,” said the halfling, not recognizing the pathetic attempt for what it was. “Call me Reggy. And this is Aoden.” There was a pause. “This is the part where you say your name.”
She didn’t have much choice. “Mergau,” she said, “of Pon Gundruc.”
“Hello there, Mergau,” the halfling said brightly. “You don’t need to be afraid, we’re all friends here, right?”
“We’re not friends,” Mergau said angrily.
“Well, no,” conceded Reggy. “I suppose if we go by the dictionary definition, we’re not literally friends, but no one here means anyone harm, right?” Mergau’s eyes rolled to Aoden. “Right,” the halfling answered himself. He picked the orc assassin’s jagged black knife off a nearby table, causing Mergau’s eyes to go wide. “Now, now,” Reggy reassured, putting up a hand, “I just told you that I mean you no harm. I just wish to show it to you. Do you recognize this?”
Mergau stared a moment. “It’s a knife,” she offered.
“Good, but you could do better. Two points out of a possible five. It’s a Gelta blade. Do you know of Gelta blades?”
The orc seemed uninterested in the question.
“Well, you should know of Gelta blades. They’re designed specifically to kill people like us. Magic users, you see.”
Mergau eyed the halfling. He didn’t look like a mage as Mergau imagined them. Ezma had been tall, imposing, had an air of intelligence and wisdom, and wore a long robe, a style Mergau understood to be common among human mages, whereas orcish shaman and medicine men preferred grass skirts, decorative animal skulls, and body paint. The halfling, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and brown trousers, the only outside-the-ordinary accessories being a thin necklace of gold and an unadorned silver ring. While foreign compared to what Mergau was used to, it was also quite plain. Any air of wisdom he might have had was ruined by his messy dark hair and his wide and foolish smile. He was nowhere near fitting any of those other attributes, either.
“So, she’s a witch?” asked Aoden.
“Such an Elvish term,” Reggy scoffed, waving away the comment. “She’s a mage. And as a mage, she has good reason to fear Gelta blades.”
“Fine, have your semantic victory. So why are Gelta blades dangerous to mages?”
“You mean besides the stabbing?” He waited for Aoden to finish sighing before continuing. “They’re devious things, coated in special poisons derived from desert plants found deep within Astran. The poison isn’t created to directly kill the affected party, but rather temporarily nullify their magical abilities.” He stood on the tips of his toes and poked a finger at the back of Aoden’s skull. “The poison affects the cerebellum, causing it to function incorrectly. Not only does that make it a short-term paralytic agent, because the cerebellum is the nexus for all magical confluence, it also ceases the flow of energy throughout the body.”
“I understood exactly none of that.”
“Oh, please. It means,” the halfling insisted, “that on top of paralyzing the victim, it prevents spell casting by affecting the part of the brain that handles magic.”
“Why don’t they just use a fatal poison instead? Sounds like a more effective method.”
“When that mage turns around and incinerates you before the poison takes hold, you’ll have your answer. The Gelta poison will weaken a mage almost instantly, then lock away the rest of their power over time. Even if they survive as our friend here has, their powers are stymied. Insult to injury and all that.”
“Fantastic. She survived because orcs are petty.” He tilted his head towards the woman. “Lucky you.”
Mergau tried to raise herself up again, but Reggy stopped her.
“No, no, no, you mustn’t try to ca
st any more magic, no matter what things my rude cohort says about your people. It causes magical energy to get trapped in your brain, which then tends to explode. A messy business.”
The orc looked hysterical. “I need my magic! I need it now!” She struggled against his tiny hand but was so weak that he easily pushed her down again.
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it. Your body will eventually filter the poison out, but it’s a tenacious sort. It will take two or three weeks.”
“I can’t stay here for three weeks!” She pushed his hand away and sat up, sweaty and panting. She looked at Aoden. “I have important things to do.”
“You’ll do nothing dead,” said Aoden. She made a noise like a growl. “Push yourself before you recover and you’ll probably die. Why am I recommending health tips to an orc again?”
“Ah!” piped Reggy. “Yes, well, little lady, would you mind explaining what brings you out here, and why you had one of your kin trying to kill you? We’re ever so curious, as you might imagine.”
Her expression melted into confusion, the first time since regaining consciousness that she looked something other than angry. “I do not know why he had been sent to kill me,” she said in a soft voice, more thinking aloud than answering the question. “Female magic users are considered abominations by my and most tribes. Having fled my home, however, I should have been ignored, but I can think of no other reason to be wanted dead.”
“Probably because you’re a murderer,” suggested Aoden. “The assassin claimed you killed a clansman.”
Her eyes flared once more as they met his. “I am no murderer,” she said with such disgust that it was almost as if it hadn’t been her plan to be one right now. “And if I were to kill someone, it would never be of my own kind.”
“Don’t be angry at me. I’m just repeating what I heard.”
“Well, you misheard, Elf.”
Aoden scoffed. “With these ears?” he said, flicking a fleshy lobe. “I highly doubt that. He called you a traitor to your people, a murderer, and a thief.”
