The Order of the Trident: Speculum (Eldarlands Book 2)

by Samuel Rikard

  “Your warg may reside in the pins, where it will receive the utmost care. Now, step forward, Sergeant and receive your reward.”

  Several orcs broke through the crowd carrying a litter into the center. They sat the large platform down and disappeared back into the mass of orcs. It had wind breaks on three sides and a huge throne fixed to the center. A moment later they returned carrying a smaller one. They laid it atop the first, beside the throne.

  Krenin looked at the devices. The smaller device was covered in burning embers. Best he could figure it was designed to provide heat in the open cold, though he found one thing odd. He could see the hilt of an unusual dagger sticking from the coal.

  The warchief marched up the fixed steps taking a seat in his heavy chair. His nearly white mane blew in the snowy mixture, blending in with the weather. He wore a black fur over his shoulders and carried a large axe with a spike sticking from each end. It hung from his side, suspended by a single leather strap. The gray of his face and arms was covered in hundreds of scars, displaying his years victories and conquest. Waving the young, green orc to approach, he reached down securing the hilt of the buried dagger. Pulling it free the thin blade glowed a bright orange.

  The orcs grew silent, watching the ritual. Many of them had gone through it several times, though the younger, less experienced orcs stared longingly at the green-skin.

  Krenin stabbed his warvich into the snow, patting his warg's head. The pup sat, happy to return to his treat. Walking toward the warchief he continued up the steps, stopping in front of the venerable warrior. Standing as tall as he could he stared straight ahead, knowing his test was only half over.

  The warchief stood, placing his hand atop the green orc's head. Gently raising the glowing blade he pressed into his face, he followed the contours of his cheekbone.

  Krenin felt the sizzle before it even touched him. The smell of his cooking flesh made him sick, but he had to endure. To show weakness in this moment of honor would bring disgrace upon him. He tensed, feeling the burning edge carve from his nostril and up under his eye. The frozen winds burned the fresh wound like no other, but he felt pride in the status.

  “Behold, Sergeant Krenin, Slayer of Shadowhelm!”

  The orcs erupted in cheer once again.

  The warchief plunged the blade back into the flame and leaned close for the green-skin to hear. “Enjoy tonight. Tomorrow, you and your warg report to Warlord Morrek. You’re being sent on a hunt.”

  Chapter XX

  Ties That Bind Us

  The dim glow of daylight faintly shined upon the elegant skylights mounted in the top of the towering keep of Adariel. The crystalline windows collected and amplified it, sending warm beams down to the polished marble floor below.

  Demetrix marched, listening to his boots echo off the vastly empty walls. Approaching the great hall he watched the towering, white doors open as he drew near. The alfaren guards stood patient, refusing to say a word. Continuing past he entered the chamber, feeling the light upon his face for what seemed the first time in over a year. Despite its feel, he didn't care for visiting the hall. It was too big. Too… empty. The dwindling population made him feel like he was alone in the world. A funny concept considering he'd spent much of his life alone. Perhaps that was the problem. He'd spent too much time alone, he was ready to have company. Setting his feelings aside he marched across the seamless floor and approached the three thrones, perched upon the dais.

  Elalon sat in the far left seat scanning stacks of parchment piled high on a pull about table. Glancing up from her reports, she smiled seeing him. “I'm happy to see you. I was beginning to think you'd never visit me here.” She laid the parchment in such a manner that she could pick up where she left off. Pushing the table away she stood and threw her arms around the young dalari's shoulders, softly kissing him.

  Returning the kiss he looked into her eyes, regretting what he had to say. “I'm afraid I must leave.”

  The pair stood in silence for the briefest moment that lasted an eternity.

  “I know.” Elalon gave a half-hearted smile. “Your brothers should arrive any day now. It's best you await them.”

  “I fear it's more than that. We were searching for a way home. If they're headed this way that means they succeeded, at least enough to have a plan. I don't know what that will entail, but I fear it means I'll be away from you for a long while.” He placed his hands against her sleek hips. “For what it's worth I've enjoyed my time here, getting to know you. I only wish I'd met you sooner, so that we had more time.”

  “Shh.” Pressing a finger to his lips she quieted him. “I'll not have you saying permanent goodbyes. This is a hard land. People die here every day. Most don't have the opportunity for such luxury. I'll see you again. If not tomorrow, then a thousand years from now. But I'm certain I'll see you tomorrow.” Smiling she reached back, grabbing one of the papers she'd set off to the side. Pulling it between them, she turned it so he could see the writing.

  It was encrypted, but she'd shown him how to decipher it. Reading aloud he listened to the details, he was unable to pick up silently. “Two humans near the forest, a day from High Point. One wearing an eye patch, the other, long red hair. Neither appear to be agents of shadow.” Breaking his gaze on the parchment he returned his attention to her. “That describes Gareth and Ravion!”

  “I thought it might. I received that missive early this morning. They should be here just before nightfall. If you'll allow it I'd like to send a unit with you. They'll regard your orders as if they were my own. Collect your friends and return here for the night. If it's my final night with you, I'd like to have you completely. Tomorrow, you set out, supplied and ready to do what you must.”

  “Yes, ma'am!” Demetrix smiled and kissed her.

  ***

  Screams echoed off the wooden barricades. The humans scurried, trying to escape the crude hovels. Bellows of smoke rose from their straw roofs. The easy tinder quickly engulfed in flame.

  Krenin brought his warvich down. The serrated curve along the bottom sank deep into the woman’s skull. Her head popped under the pressure. He felt the blood splatter on his face. Licking his lips he tasted the sweet fluid of victory. He didn't know why he enjoyed it so much. It wasn't wreathed in honor. These people were unarmed and yet he cherished their demise. They were inferior to him, inferior to the orcs. The weak deserved misery. It was their place. He was an orc, strong and worthy of ruling. Glancing over he spotted his pup ripping the innards from one of the lesser beings. Taking pride in the sight he marched over and scratched the young warg behind the ears. He was still smaller than the others, but perfectly sized for him. “That's a good boy, Xarg.”

  The pup wagged his tail in approval, licking his master's blood soaked fingers.

  “Sergeant, this one knows something.” One of the larger, gray orcs approached dragging a human across the dirt road by his shoulder length, brown hair.

  Krenin looked the man over. He was in his later years, though he showed no accumulated muscle mass. It was as if the man had never swung a sword.

  The orc pushed him down, forcing him to his knees. “Tell him.” The orc’s common was severely broken.

  “I… I just run the inn. Didn't know they was wanted for anything!” His lips quivered as tears ran down his face, soaking into his dirty twill tunic.

  The orc smiled letting his guttural orcish words resonate in the half-breed. “It cries like a baby. Perhaps we should end his suffering?” His fingers entwined in the human's hair. He yanked, jerking him off the ground and exposing his neck.

  Krenin knelt down in front of the human. How can these people tolerate being so weak? It's disgusting. “Where’d they go?”

  “Th…They didn't s… say. Tho… Though I think I hea… heard one of ‘em mention Hi… High Point B… Bluff.” He wept openly, unable to ignore the pain. Nearly all of his weight was on his scalp, threatening the tear free.

  Glancing to his commander he saw the nod. Krenin t
hrust the axe-like tip of his sword into the man's throat, shoving through meat and bone. A sickening pop echoed and his head came off, ending his pitiful sobbing. The body hit the dirt, bleeding out through the open would in his neck. Standing to his full height he looked around at the carnage before him.

  The larger orc flung the head, watching it roll toward one of the weak structures. “Give the command, Sergeant!”

  “As you command, Warlord.” Clearing his throat he shouted over the chaos. “Burn the buildings. When they come out, cut them down. Leave none alive who would harbor fugitives!” Grabbing one of the torches he tossed it onto the straw roof beside him, watching it smolder and ignite.

  The entire block was aflame. Soon it would be little more than piled embers remaining. Dead and dying humans littered the streets, left to bleed out where they fell. A light snow drifted from the sky settling on the blood-red streets.

  Krenin watched the last woman fall to his brethren. He didn't understand why a few of them had taken the time to mate with her first, but it didn't matter. She was dead now. With a satisfied smile upon his face he shouted, “People of Tiermoar. This what happens when you shelter enemies of shadow. Next time, we not be so merciful” Sheathing his warvich he gave a low whistle, watching Xarg happliy approach. Grabbing the leather heel mounted to the warg's back, he kicked his leg over and found the comfortable saddle. Turning away from the city he patted the noble beast, signaling he was ready.

  Warlord Morrek rode up beside him. “High Point Bluff, he say?”

  “Yes!”

  The larger orc pointed to the outlined forest in the distance. “It on north face. We reach in few hours.”

  Krenin nodded his understanding. He signaled his mount. They launched, leaping across the dirt and snow mixture in bounds. The pup was happy, running freely. He was faster than the other wargs and didn't sink so deep in the snow due to their lighter weight.

  The other warg riders sprang into action, falling in behind the green-skin.

  ***

  “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Gareth squinted against the blinding snow. It was hard to see anything through the constant furies. He felt the numbness in his toes. It was one thing when they were dry, but the days of walking made them sweat bringing a new misery when they stopped. Pulling his thick cloak tighter around him he hoped it would block out some of the chill.

  Ravion unrolled the tiny scroll, reading the brief message. “This has to be it.” Reaching into his pack he pulled a crude sight glass and checked the landmarks, hoping to get a better idea of where they were. In the distance he could see the faint outline of a huge structure built into the mountain face. Handing the glass to Gareth he continued. “If you look seven degrees left of that tall peak, you can see an archer turret. You think that's Idenfal?”

  Gareth rubbed the scruff growing atop his head, knocking the snow build up free. It offered mild resistance, doing little to block out the cold. Pressing the glass to his eye he found the stonework, scanning as much as he could. “I'm not sure, but it'd make sense. That map shows we should be pretty close. It's hard to tell, but I think that's a training ground to the left. If anything, I'd guess that's where we'll find Krenin. Provided he's still alive.”

  “At this point we can only hope. He’s strong, but we don't know what they've put him through. I seen some pretty gruesome techniques that could make the most resilient of men break.”

  A familiar voice echoed from the trees behind them. “It’s not his wellbeing we have to worry about.” Demetrix stepped into the outcropping.

  They turned, hearing the young dalari. His armor had been modified to withstand the cold north. A thick fur liner poked from around the edges and his shoulder pauldrons had been extended, covering more of his arms. The heavy canvas cloak was pulled around him, clasped in the center by a golden leaf. Most shocking of all was his dark brown hair. It hung near shoulder length, blending into his equally long facial hair. He carried a pack and had his bow and quiver over his shoulder.

  Ravion stepped toward his brother, grabbing his forearm and pulling him into embrace. “It's good to see you. Look at how long your hair's gotten. You look like you've been doing well, particularly in the midsection.” He poked at the slightly bulged belly of his armor.

  Gareth stepped forward, hugging him. Breaking away he gave a playful shove. “Good to see you. I'm glad we got your message.”

  Demetrix chuckled. “I was beginning to fear they’d shot the hawk down before it found you.” Dropping the pack he pulled out two fur hides, nearly emptying it. Tossing one to each of them he slung the pack and continued. “We have lodging for the night. Tomorrow we make for Idenfal.”

  “Lodging? Where?” Ravion questioned, searching his brother's face.

  A collection of alfar and humans stepped into the open, revealing themselves.

  Ravion counted twenty of them. “Resistance?”

  “Yes. Their stronghold isn't far. Though don't trust your eyes in the forest. It has a tendency to play tricks on your mind.”

  Gareth sighed. “Great, another thing to mess with my mind.”

  An ear piercing howl echoed through the air. The humans and elves took defensive positions.

  “Orcs? They were followed!” One of the alfar announced, nocking an arrow.

  Demetrix abandoned the pack, following suit.

  Drawing his sword Ravion shed the fur hide, finding it in his way. He was much colder without it, but lack of mobility was too great a price to pay for comfort.

  Gareth drew his swords, readying himself for the fight.

  A group of warg riders breached the crest, flying over the snow at a remarkable speed.

  Demetrix counted at least thirty of them. “Aim for the wargs. There's better chance to wound the orcs when they fall.”

  Arrows flew through the air disappearing into the approaching horde. The first few wargs toppled end over end, losing their riders in the snow. The dismounted orcs were slow to pick themselves up. Those that did quickly fell to the continuous flow of arrows.

  Ravion took a step back, looking over the drop off. He could barely see the bottom. “Take as many out as you can. Let the second wave through! If they come in fast enough, they'll run right off the edge.”

  Gareth looked back, understanding Ravion's plan. He was too cold to move quickly, but perhaps there was something he could do about that. He closed his eye. Imagining they were dreu he was able to find his rage. Letting it build, he wrapped a barrier around himself. He already felt warmer.

  Forcing their image with all his might he thrust his hand outward, straining against the force he felt flowing from him. He could see the wave of clear energy shoot out, forming a short wall across the snowy hill.

  Many of the wargs tripped over the invisible barrier, face planting in the white powder. Their yelps and cries of pain echoed above all else. Seeing his brethren topple, Krenin urged Xarg faster. Heeling him gently the warg leapt, clearing the unseen wall. Several of the other orcs followed suit. They were nearing their target, ready to end the resistance in this one key attack.

  “Ready spears!” Krenin shouted, pulling one of the wooden poles from the side of his saddle. “Launch!” Rearing back he flung the weapon ahead of him, watching it soar into one of the elves, pinning him against a tree. Several others flew through the air. Some weapons hitting, some missing and disappearing into the trees and snowfall.

  “Krenin?” Ravion stared at the devoted green, half-orc. There was something different about him. A blood lust showed in his eyes unlike any he'd seen before. He wasn't just drawn to it. He enjoyed it. He'd seen a similar look before, though never so strong as to block out the man that was there. “Krenin, stop!” The half-orc was barreling toward him, threatening to trample him.

  Krenin charged toward the human… or elf. He wasn't sure what it was. The face looked familiar, but they were all pretty much the same. At least this one had the courage to carry a weapon. Maybe it would put up a worthy fight bef
ore he let his pup feast on his entrails. Launching another spear he knocked one of the archers off his feet, sending him back and pinning him to one of the trees. Out of spears he drew his warvich, ready to cut into the man.

  Ravion knew it was too late. They were too close. He had to do something now. If he didn't, Krenin would strike. I'm sorry, my friend! Ravion rolled at the last minute, jabbing his sword straight into the air. He felt resistance against the razor sharp weapon and warm blood coat him.

  Xarg howled in pain. Krenin felt the pup go limp. It tripped, burying itself in the snow. He came loose from the saddle, slamming into the ground. Unable to stop himself he slid, seeing the rapidly approaching cliff edge. He was moving too fast. Flying over the ledge, he felt weightless.

  “Krenin!” Ravion charged toward the edge, watching the half-orc disappear from sight. Sliding to a stop, his heart sank. There was no way he could have survived the fall. Yet he couldn't see any bodies in the distance, but that didn't mean anything. Enough snow could have covered the body. Or if it was ice, he could have broken through. Sighing heavily, he picked himself up and spun around. There were still orcs to contend with and they were going to pay for the death of his friend.

  Demetrix dodged one of the spears, watching it impale one of the humans. Side stepping he fired an arrow into the orc's side, knocking it from the saddle. The warg slid, falling over the icy cliff.

  Ravion jumped out of the way and moved closer to the trees. He didn't intend to follow his friend. Coming up behind the archers he leapt from cover, slamming his shoulder into one of the mounted orcs. It toppled into the snow.

  The orc sprang up, drawing one of the serrated swords. It lunged at him. Ravion jumped back and sliced in, deflecting the strike. It almost knocked his sword out of his hand. Preparing for the stronger strike, he watched the orc build up the strength. Shouting in his face it swung as hard as it could hoping to break his smaller weapon.