Becoming the Orc Chieftain

by E. M. Hardy

  That was until Kurdan shoved the priest, sending him sprawling to the ground along with the two humans closest to him in the line.

  “This is why,” Kurdan continued in the same bored tone, “I will give these humans sleep. I will give them the food and water I had you all gather earlier.” Kurdan nodded to the foodstuffs that his raiders had collected earlier. “I will let them sleep beside a fire to warm up their bodies. I will have us march at a pace that these humans will be able to keep up with—manlings and oldlings included. I want them nice and healthy.”

  He leered back at the he-priest with a wide grin as the man rubbed his sore jaw and glared back at Kurdan with as much venom as he could manage. “They will need all their strength once we reach the village.”

  Chapter 07

  This vulnerability that was, justifiably, felt by slave owners would often manifest itself not just in paranoia but also in overly violent reactions to any suspected encroachments on their power and authority. It became a matter of self-preservation for slave owners to mete out formal executions and brutalization for even the most trivial of offences. Without the complicity of slaves, which would not have occurred without violence, it is highly unlikely that there would have been a slavery system at all, least of all one which lasted for such a long period of time. It became necessary then for slave owners to use this violence as a way of assuring and maintaining their own position. The irony that those who appear to possess ultimate power were reliant completely on those who they were in charge of cannot be missed.

  “No,” Isiah murmured to himself as he flicked away from the essay he was reading. “That’s not the case with your people, is it? You see your slaves as toys to play with, to use up until they break. It’s not fear that drives your kind to brutality; it’s arrogance. Hell, you don’t even see your slaves as being able to contribute to the tribe. You orcs think you’re so great, so above everyone else, that you get your kicks out of torturing any poor schmuck that’s unlucky enough to get caught.”

  Kurdan did not answer, and Isiah didn’t notice. The boy wasn’t actually talking to the orcish chieftain. No, he was mumbling to himself and focusing his thoughts on the topic at hand: Kurdan’s newly-acquired slaves.

  “Okay,” Isiah thought to Kurdan as he closed the document and moved to the next one on his list. “So we’ve got to work around that arrogance. The issue is, how can we make your orcs look at the humans as resources to value instead of toys to break?”

  Kurdan snorted before replying within Isiah’s mind. “They will obey; I will make sure of that.”

  “Sure, you can bully the other orcs into not hurting your new slaves, but you won’t be able to keep it up forever. You won’t be able to watch over your captives every single day of the week. This is why we’ve got to find some way of explaining things to your orcs, or at least passing the message along, without leaving you looking weak.”

  Kurdan bristled at what Isiah suggested, but the teen was quick to rectify his mistake. “Hold your horses, big guy. I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just saying that we need some way for your tribemates to accept these new changes you’re going to implement.”

  “They will accept. Those who do not, will die,” repeated the chieftain, to Isiah’s growing annoyance.

  Isiah was just about to think back a snarky remark to the stubborn chieftain when a heavy hand clamped on his shoulder. Isiah jumped up with a high-pitched ‘eep’ escaping his lips. He stood up too quickly, losing his balance on the stool he was sitting on. Luckily for him, the hand clamping his shoulder was joined in by a few other hands that held him up before he could fall face-first into the ground.

  “Woah!” barked out a familiar voice. “Easy there, man. It’s just us.”

  Eddy chuckled and nodded apologetically to the others in the library, who were glaring at him and the rest of the gang. Abigail pulled up a chair and adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose before leaning in to get a better look at the tablet Isiah was using to do his research.

  “A brief history of slavery around the world, the relationship between slave and slave owner, the economic foundations of slavery…” Abigail nearly choked when she discovered what Isiah had tapped into the search bar. “How to be a responsible slave owner!?” The girl pushed herself away from Isiah then, her worried frown morphing into a deep grimace. “Dude, what the hell?”

  Isiah fumbled with his tablet then, turning off the screen before sheepishly returning it to its cradle in the library. “It’s for a history project.”

  “The hell it is,” Bernabé said, moving in closer and crossing his arms. “Mister Mac-Dee’s just started on contemporary history this week, and he mentioned nothing about the kind of project you’re working on. You’ve been dodging us for a week now, either cooping up at your place or lurking around in the library.” He shook his head as he continued. “What’s up with you, amigo? You’re so into this ‘project’ of yours that you’re starting to look like crap.”

  Isiah widened his eyes in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  Bernabé rolled his eyes and glared at him. “Seriously, have you looked into a mirror? Hey, Livy, mind if I borrow your mirror? Just need to show mister estúpido here what I’m talking about.”

  Olivia hesitated at first, glancing at both Isiah and Bernabé. She sighed before reaching into her purse and pulling out a pocket mirror. “Bear has a point, you know. You do look like crap.”

  She opened the clamshell mirror and pointed it at him. Isiah recoiled as he saw deep eyebags, bloodshot eyes, stress-pimples popping up here and there, and a cloud of dark fatigue that seemed to hang from his shoulders. Strangely enough, his normally pale, yellowish complexion had darkened somewhat—like he’d been out in the sun for too long.

  He touched his eyes and frowned at what he saw. “Jeez. I look like hell.”

  “That’s an understatement,” murmured Eddy, also shaking his head. “What’s the deal, brother? I mean, exams are a month away and I really don’t think we’re going to cover slavery this time around. So… what gives?”

  Isiah looked around and noticed something off about the group. “Hey,” he said. “Where’s Haz?”

  Eddy stared at him for a few moments, then sighed. He seemed to have taken the hint that Isiah didn’t want to talk about the whole thing, so he did what best friends do: he played along. “Family issue, some problem with his dad I think.”

  “Yeah,” injected Abigail, heat entering her voice. “You were so busy with this project of yours that you didn’t even realize what’s happening with your friends.”

  “Hey,” retorted Isiah as he matched the tone of Abigail’s voice. “It’s not like that. C’mon, man, you know I don’t roll like that.”

  Abigail just crossed her arms and stared at him. “Who are you calling man?”

  Isiah sighed in exasperation. He looked to Bernabé, who cocked his head to the side and shrugged. Olivia’s eyes were creased in concern, but he could see that she agreed with Abigail. Eddison looked everywhere but at Isiah, obviously not wanting to get between his best friend and his girlfriend—the coward.

  He wanted to drop everything right then and there. He wanted to tell his friends to go grab a pizza and see what they could do to help Hasan out with his problem. He wanted to prove to them all that he was still very much a part of the gang, that he’d let nothing get between them.

  Instead, he got up from his stool and pulled his backpack up over a shoulder. “I’ll… I’ll message Hasan, ask him what’s up. In the meantime, I… sorry, guys. I just gotta go and finish this up.” He turned around and left, ignoring the suspicious glares that his four friends shot at his retreating back.

  Three weeks had already passed in Kurdan’s world while only a single week passed by for Isiah. The relative difference in time meant that he only had two more days until the slaves reached the village—two days left to find some way to help Kurdan convince the other orcs to treat the human
s as more than disposable toys to break as soon as possible.

  It hurt him to the very core, what he was doing to his friends. Yet he couldn’t just give up now… not with so much at stake.

  ***

  “Why do they concern you so?”

  Isiah blinked, tearing his eyes away from his laptop. He felt pinpricks at the back of his eyes, which was why he rubbed at them with the heel of his palm. He realized why they were so sore when he opened his eyes and realized he was up way past his bedtime.

  “Whuh? What are you talking about?”

  “The slaves,” continued Kurdan within Isiah’s mind. “Did you know them? Are they your kin? Maybe they’re these adopted tribemates of yours—these ‘friends’ you are so loyal to?”

  Isiah groaned as he saved his work, committing the contents to memory and vowing to review them when he came back from hitchhiking in Kurdan’s mind. “It’s a human thing; you wouldn’t get it.”

  Kurdan bristled at that, which caused Isiah to groan because he knew the orc would get all prickly about it. “Yes,” snapped Kurdan, “it is indeed a human thing, yet I wish to understand why you’re doing all this for them.” Kurdan went quiet then, abruptly sinking into a contemplative mood that surprised Isiah. “And for me… for the rest of my tribe. Why are you doing this?”

  “You mean, aside from the really cool ways you’ve been teaching me to control my blood?” At that thought, Isiah reached inside of himself to pull at the blood flowing within his body. He brought some of the fresher blood to his brain, which helped clear out his mind and make him think straight. A few hard breaths later, and his drained blood was fully oxygenated and ready to circulate once more through his gray matter. Not enough to completely wipe out the fatigue of overworked neurons, but enough to give him a nice jolt of freshness.

  “No,” said Kurdan quietly within Isiah’s mind. “It is more than that. I can sense it, you know… this strange feeling inside you. It is the same as my desires, my ambitions. And yet it is not quite the same.” Kurdan grunted, going over his words before thinking them to Isiah. “My ambitions burn hot with a naked desire for power, which is what every orc aspires to. You? Your ambitions run just as deep, yet I do not know exactly what feeds you.”

  Isiah shrugged as he got up from his chair, closing his laptop’s lid and setting aside the tablet he used as a second screen. “You don’t ever get that feeling? Like, you see some random dude in pain and you just want to help out?”

  “No.” Isiah sighed, not surprised by Kurdan’s answer.

  “Look, I’ll admit that not all of us humans are saints. We lie, cheat, steal, and do douchebag things all the time. Don’t need to go further than those Golden Sword a-holes that are tossing bombs here, gunning down people there. I’d like to think, however, that there are more of us do-gooders around the world than we’d like to admit. And with everyone just doing what we can to help each other out, I’d like to think that we can build a better world for ourselves.” Isiah paused, giving himself time to think over what he should say to Kurdan. “I don’t know how and why we’re stuck together, but the least I can do is help your people out. If it makes you feel better, you can just say that it’s a human thing and leave it at that.”

  Kurdan said nothing more as Isiah flopped down face-first unto his bed and started snoring a few minutes later.

  Chapter 08

  Kurdan stood in front of his tribe, orcs and orclings looking on with flat, neutral expressions on their faces. Not one among them murmured as they laid their eyes on the 36 bound slaves kneeling on the ground. This was normally a raucous event, with cheering and howling to match the beatings of freshly-caught slaves. Their new chieftain, however, had forbidden the ritual beatings that they usually inflicted upon their new captures—much to the chagrin of the tribe.

  Kurdan saw that the ever-rebellious Urgan wanted to say something. The orc could barely control himself, his jaw twitching with frustration as he wondered why he couldn’t start smacking the humans around and tossing them to the ground for his pleasure. And yet Kurdan’s threat still hung fresh in the mind of the orc, which was the reason why the orc quickly looked away and just ground his tusks in frustration.

  “Zurgha was WEAK!” Kurdan roared out loud, his voice cutting right through the silence of the tribe. He was referring to the old chieftain—his brood father—that he had recently killed in a challenge for the mantle of leadership. “He was content to sit back and gloat from his position in the tribe. He saw nothing except what he wanted to see, failing to strengthen himself and our tribe while refusing to accept the decay settling in all around him.” Kurdan huffed and beat his breast once. He then raised his fist, taking a moment to examine it, before continuing to speak out to his tribe. “Our fists are strong. Our legs are strong. Our flesh and bones are strong—far stronger than the humans, dwarves, elves, taurs, and birdfolk. And yet how come we hide and cower in our forests?”

  That brought out a few low growls from within the tribe, though none dared to speak out against Kurdan due to their fear. He did, however, rip open a reality that no orc ever wanted to admit: that they were, indeed, hiding away in their forest instead of rushing out into the world. They knew but did not want to admit that the other races would rip them to shreds once they left the safety of the overgrowth and deep ravines that would punish any force foolish enough to step into orcish land.

  “This is why I will not follow Zurgha’s way of leading the tribe. I will not have us hide away, content to laze around in our corner of the woods until another tribe comes in and beats us all into the ground. I will not have the Boneseeker Tribe be forgotten as just another minor village of raiders content simply to rut and shed blood until our dying days. I will not waste time hunting for toys to break, for warm bodies to throw around and use up until they die, for nothing more than a few screams and whimpers.”

  He shifted his attention to the slaves kneeling on the ground, shivering in fright. The two priests kept their heads bowed low, like a slave should, but the chieftain could tell that they were listening in as intensely as they could. “No, I have very different plans for us all—you included.” The chieftain addressed that last part to the humans. The other humans were so frightened out of their wits that they didn’t even notice his words. The she-priest, however, suddenly looked up and faced Kurdan. He was taken aback, for it seemed as if she were looking straight at him from behind the wraps covering her blind eyes.

  Kurdan inhaled deeply and scowled, preparing to follow through with the most dangerous part of his speech to his tribe. “ORCS!!” he bellowed, causing both the orcs and the humans to jump up in fright. “KNOW THIS! I claim ALL the humans you see in front of you. They are mine and mine alone to do with as I see fit. Those who injure them, those who slight them, will be treated as if they have done the same to me.” He ignored the muttering dissent of the orcs, along with some outright groans at their chieftain’s decision to hoard all the valuable toys in such a manner. He turned his attention to the humans now, who looked up at him with equal parts fear and surprise. He loomed over their kneeling forms, and they immediately lowered their gaze and attempted to shuffle as far away from his as possible.

  “Look at me.”

  He did not roar or shout. He spoke the words low and solemn but with so much power that every single one of the humans could not help but bring their cowering eyes toward him.

  “You will plant. You will farm. You will fix. You will build. But above all else, you will obey. Do this, and you will keep your lives. Do you understand?”

  He only received dumbstruck silence in return.

  “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, YOU SNIVELING SACKS OF WORTHLESS FLESH!?”

  “Yes,” replied the only human with courage enough to withstand Kurdan’s rage: the she-priest. “Yes, chieftain… we understand you.”

  The she-priest yelped in surprise when Kurdan slammed his axe down on the she-priest’s bindings, separating her from the line of bound sl
aves with a tremendous blast of force. Kurdan then grabbed the woman by the chin and pulled her up closer so he could examine her. Her torn and muddied garb did not interest Kurdan, but her blindfold did. He tore it as the she-priest tried and failed to wriggle free from his grip.

  “Alyon!” shouted the he-priest, who struggled against his bindings and only succeeded in tripping face-first into the dirt.

  Kurdan ignored the he-priest and stared long and hard into the white, unseeing eyes of the she-priest called Alyon. She began breathing faster, shaking in anticipation of pain, but Kurdan inflicted none of it. He simply grunted in curiosity as he pushed the blind priestess down with the other slaves.

  “You will be first among slaves,” he said to the she-priest as she landed heavily on her rear, her arms splayed awkwardly to her sides to keep her sitting upright. “You will keep the others in line, ensure that they achieve all the tasks they need to. You will keep them fed and healthy. You will use your talents as a priest to tend to their wounds, to their illnesses. Am I understood?”

  The she-priest took a moment to collect herself, kneeling back on the ground. “Yes… chieftain.” Her unseeing eyes looked everywhere and nowhere as she replied, her head lowered.

  “You overstep yourself, chieftain.”

  It was the challenge to his authority that Kurdan had been waiting for so long. He turned around, expecting the upstart Urgan to be behind this. To Kurdan’s surprise, it was his Axe—Gnadug. He was a capable fighter, a scarred veteran of many skirmishes with other tribes, and was one of the first to support Kurdan in his bid to overthrow Zurgha. This was why he had appointed the battle-hardened orc as his Axe, responsible for training and overseeing the development of the tribe’s warriors.