by Tiger Hebert
Nikolai continued, “I have misjudged before, but never has there been a greater error on my part. I am humbled and indebted to you.”
“You owe me nothing,” said the orc, devoid of emotion.
“Perhaps you are unaware of the law, but my father’s life is the rightful payment for your loss. You have spared his life, and for that I am ever grateful. I am at your service, my lord,” responded the prince with newfound humility.
“No words or pledge will return my brother to me,” whispered Theros with a heavy heart.
The prince passionately replied, “Your words are true. And because my father still lives, they are all the more real to me. How may I honor what you have done for us, for me?”
“Don’t honor me. Honor the true orc chieftain,” said Theros.
With sincerity, Nikolai asked, “How might I honor him?”
“Live as a man of integrity and of character, one that your father can trust to obey and follow him always. Only then are you fit to become the king your people need and deserve—a king who would seek to unite when others would seek to divide, to spare a life rather than take one, and one who would rather reserve judgment than make one. A king, much like your father, is not one of pride or arrogance or who lusts for power. Only this type of man and king could honor the life and memory of our chieftain, Ogron Hammerfist,” answered Theros with a boldness and authority in his voice.
His words were powerful, giving a new perspective to the young prince. It empowered him with the hope of a future, a new life.
The young prince marveled at the newly crowned chieftain, “At every turn, I realize how greatly I have erred. I will leave you to eat, but your resting quarters wait for you inside the castle when you are ready.”
With that, no further words were shared. A simple nod of the head and a gentle smile were exchanged, and then Nikolai turned away and departed back into the Hall of Kings, from which he had emerged. Theros sat down on the cold stone ledge, dangling his legs over the edge as he sat no less than some fifty feet above the ground below. The gray wolf did not care for the heights, but he inched closer to his friend as he lay up against him. As he nuzzled his furry body close to his friend, he grumbled and growled in protest.
The big orc smiled at his canine companion as he scratched just behind Swift’s ears. “He is going to be all right.”
The wolf muttered a low grumbly howl of a response as he looked at Theros.
For the first time in two days, the big orc was able to laugh as he enjoyed Swift’s opinion. Then he reassured the wolf, “He will be a good king. Just watch and see.”
The two shared the rest of their food out on that fiercely cold ledge before they turned in for the night. They would need to get their rest, because they would leave in the morning. While Storm Vale had just been reclaimed, it was not time for rebuilding; it was time to finish the war. They would march upon the once beautiful city of Jasprita, far to the west.
Even without delays or difficulties, the journey would still take them no less than a few weeks’ time. They expected Jasprita to be essentially vacated, so retaking the city that once belonged to the race of men should be a small endeavor. The entire force would make the journey. Males, females, children, and beasts would all go, and among them were orcs, centaurs, and men.
To some it may have seemed like a strange strategy. After all, they had just won their home back, and the imminent threat was defeated. The gates were destroyed, and homes and shops were reduced to rubble; there was real work to do here. However, that old wyrm, Slayvin, would expect them to be holed up in the Sky Reach Mountains. If he ever decided to strike, they would be trapped here. Their thinking was that by shifting their seat of power to Jasprita, they could possibly catch the black dragon off guard and, if nothing else, buy themselves more time to develop a better plan. It was a risk, but one that they all agreed needed to be taken.
So that very next morning, things were finally settled, and they were prepared to start their voyage. They were to travel across the Northern Wastes and then over the Golden Plains until someone had an idea. That is when Gron spoke up. “How long to sail from here to Jasprita?” he asked the makeshift council of leaders.
“Well, I suppose it would be about four days on fair seas, but it won’t matter. The harbor is empty,” retorted Captain Melgrim.
“And it only took us a few days to sail from here to the highlands…” added Gron as he tried to lead them to the conclusion that he had already reached.
“Are you saying that we travel east to go west?” asked Broz, as he was a bit dull.
“A day’s journey east by wagon and even seven more on the seas is surely six days less than fourteen by wagon,” quipped Gron cleverly, without so much as even stopping to think twice.
“It is hard to argue with arithmetic,” admitted the king.
“What of room for us and supplies?” asked Theros.
Nikolai joined the discussion, adding, “We can still send a caravan west over the plains, but we can take a large portion of our company over the seas. We can retake the city and establish our base there before the caravan even arrives.”
“I do not care to split our forces. They are already too small to begin with,” complained Melgrim.
Then Lokar made a suggestion. “What if you take the company back through our lands and take the route by sea. Let me and my people drive the caravan of beasts and supplies over the plains. We can push the caravan at greater speeds this way, and your remaining forces should still be strong enough to overtake any remnants of the Baalim that may remain in Jasprita. Then, barring delay, we should join you there only a few days later.”
“And if you were beset on your journey?” quizzed King Tiereon.
Lokar, the battalion commander, confidently replied, “If we are outnumbered, then we flee. We cannot be caught in chase, save by the flight of the dragon himself.”
“Then it is settled. Orc and man will all travel to the ships, ultimately taking the ships west. The Hand of Horus will trek across over the wastes and plains to the west,” announced the king, allowing any final objections.
There were no objections, and the chorus shouted, “Agreed!”
The silly smile would not depart Gron’s proud face as he helped load supplies onto the nearby wagons. Theros gave him a hearty pat on the back, letting him know that he had done well, before getting to work himself. With everyone contributing to the effort, it took little time for the journey to begin. The mass exodus of people departing Storm Vale happened quickly. The soldiers and civilians alike led the animal drawn wagons down the winding mountain road as they said good-bye to their mountain refuge.
A couple of hours passed, and they all emerged at the base of the mountain, where just two days before the horrible battle had been won. This battle would long be remembered, but it was time for them to depart. The parties said their farewells and good lucks to each other as they promised to meet up at the front gate of the jeweled city. Then without further ado, the parties split.
The Hand of Horus would lead a train of hrall and horse drawn supply wagons to the west while the rest of the survivors, which numbered close to a thousand souls, traveled back east into the Ferrin Highlands. They took just a few wagons, allowing them to carry the wounded and the elderly. The two surviving magi, Elymas and Paphos, also made the trip as they returned home.
It did not take long for this company to reach the highlands. They traveled back through the old dwarven pass at Duroc’s Refuge and up the climbing road into the hills. Just a of few more hours had passed, and the sun rested high in the sky behind them when they finally reached the once-proud home of the centaur.
“We will remain here, among our people. We have many mistakes to correct and much to make right with the mess we created,” stated Paphos.
Then Elymas added, “We thank you for what you have done for us. Please allow us to provide the supplies for your journey and to speak a blessing over you.”
“We wo
uld be grateful,” answered Theros.
The magi directed some of the nearby centaur to begin stocking the wagons with supplies. Everything from barrels of water and sacks of ground meal to clean blankets were piled high into the overloaded wagons in just a few short minutes. The orcs and men both thanked the centaurs for their help and wished them well as they made for the ships.
Elymas and Paphos stood before Theros and King Tiereon. Then with outstretched hands, Elymas spoke, “I declare that the blessings of the Ancient One would be released to you, Great King and Wise Chieftain. May the seal of the Lion rest upon your lines forever!”
Paphos uttered something in a strange and completely foreign tongue, and then the magi bowed down to them, bidding them farewell in the centaur way. Theros didn’t know what to think of the whole matter of the gestures and ceremony, if he could even call it that. He felt strange and did not know what to make of it, but he appreciated all they had done for him and his people, so he just accepted it with gratitude. Then the bald orc and the old king led their company away toward the hidden shoreline that kept their ships.
The sun fell completely out of sight as they moved north from the city, over hills, and under colored boughs. They were fortunate that they were slowly but surely coming into a full moon. It meant they would still be able to cover the distance necessary to reach the sea after nightfall. They did just that as they traveled over the star and moonlit hills until they finally reached the far end of the highlands. Descending the familiar slope from the cliffs down to the sandy beach, the company reached the ships. They were all tired, for the day had been long, but they wasted no time in loading a fair distribution of supplies evenly among the ships.
So in the gleam of the pale moonlight, the nine fishing vessels were loaded and boarded and soon departing the sandy cove. The sea was a frothy cauldron. Who or what stirred it was unknown, but the foaming waves continually slapped and clapped against the weathered ships. Fall had not quite given way to winter just yet, but you wouldn’t know it upon these open waters. No, these northern winds seemed to usher in the strength of winter itself.
Each ship only had a small area below the deck, which offered shelter for a dozen or so at a time. With that in mind, they made sure to evenly divide the women and children of both man and orc across the nine ships. This was done in an effort to provide shelter for as many of them as possible. The rest huddled together near the fronts of the ship, just below the tall bow, where they might find at least some shelter. The true value of the centaurs’ gifts were readily felt and appreciated as they wrapped the big blankets around their shivering bodies.
The wind was a pack of wolves, relentlessly biting at every piece of flesh that they could find. It was something to behold, and to begrudge. The travelers were absolutely miserable. The night was bitterly cold, and it passed all too slowly—painfully so, in fact. They all longed for sunrise with the great hope of warmth. The dawn did come faithfully, day after day, but their journey over the northern seas was still quite unenjoyable for most. Gron had not made many friends with his brilliant idea of sailing to Jasprita. The king, in particular, was not in the greatest of humors after getting a bit of a cough on the high seas. Whether they liked to admit it or not, though, the orc’s idea saved them more than just time.
Lokar led the land voyage over the barren sands of northern Darnisi, and it was even more bothersome. The lofty peaks of the Sky Reach Mountains loomed high above their right shoulders. Frosty air rushed down over the hardened landscape and assaulted them. After all, winter seemed intent on coming early this year. The wind refused to relent, and neither their fur nor garments seemed capable of resisting the harshness of the elements. Yet they traveled onward. The Hand of Horus chased the fading sun as it raced past them each day. It seemed to be a short journey at the onset, but in some ways, fourteen days never seemed so many.
Fortunately, they did overcome the shortening supply of food and the light of days to reach the shining city. It was at the close of the thirteenth day, and they watched the golden sun sink down into the depths of the sea, leaving an orange sky in its wake. And that is when they first saw her. Jasprita was a darkened silhouette standing in stark contrast against the warm horizon. Little detail could be seen, but the shapely outline of her countless spires painted a beautiful scene in the distance. Rays of light broke through the shadowed outline of the city. As they darted through the towers’ glassed lanterns, the refracted light shone with the color of a thousand sheets of stained glass. It was fitting that the great bell tower was the belle of the ball. A wide band of iridescent jewels wrapped around the bell’s waist, and with each hint of light, they shimmered and sparkled like a flowing sea of brilliant light along her silhouette.
It was only after they snapped out of the spell of her beauty that they realized that she was not alone. Her shores were home to more than just silhouettes. The dark figures had a distinct shape; they were the ships of Sky Reach! Their friends had arrived and would be waiting for them at the gates.
31 The Jewel of the North
Lokar led the horsemen right up to the sparkling city, and the gates were indeed held wide open. The clip-clop of their hooves on the stone-paved streets echoed through the city square as they led their train of wagons inside the sprawling city. Melgrim was there to meet the caravan.
“It is good to see you have made it safely,” announced Melgrim with a smile.
The centaur nodded. “It is good to be here. The burden was heavy and the road long.”
“Yes, we will catch up after you and your brothers get some well-deserved rest. Much has happened since we last met. There is a great deal of things to discuss,” added the captain.
Lokar scanned the busy streets of the once proud city and agreed, “I can see that.”
He helped them unhook the wagons and carts. They would leave them right in the square, allowing the citizens to unload the supplies. Lokar couldn’t help it, but his eyes were going every which way. He did not understand where all these people had come from. The streets were crowded, but it was not just orcs and men. There were dwarves and elves too, all busying themselves about their tasks, leaving the centaurs’ heads spinning. Melgrim led the centaur to the back end of the city. He brought them to a large hall overlooking the shimmering expanse of the Sunburst Sea. It not only boasted as good a view as the city could offer, but this was currently one of the quieter sections of the newly established capital. So much work was being done cleaning and rebuilding in the wake of the Baalim reign, and that work was all focused on the front end of the city. So the captain gave them leave, and they rested.
Indeed a lot had happened since Melgrim and his company parted ways from Lokar and his men. The seas were cold and brutal, but the ships were able to race across them due to the same nasty winter gale that tormented the centaur. With her determined urging behind them, the ships quickly rounded the northern stretch of Darnisi, where they finally found the more hospitable waters of the Sunburst Sea. From there it just another day of sailing before they reached the sandy shores of Jasprita.
Jasprita was essentially a thing of legend to King Tiereon’s people, because scarcely any of the living had even seen its rising spires before. Most of them had only heard the tales that had been passed down through the generations. It was only fitting that as the ships drifted closer and the radiant gem of a city caught their collective eyes, they all rose to their feet. Their anticipation continued to mount as the image of her beauty slowly came into focus. It was slow, painfully slow, but it was worth it. Some even feared that the shimmering spires of silver and iridescence were a mirage, but they weren’t. This was indeed the very place that their fathers wrote about. It was Jasprita, and even with all her scars, she was still the jewel of the north.
“Do not forget that this place was under the power of the Baalim. There may still be a remnant within those walls. Have your blades ready,” instructed Theros as the sea air tugged at the red cloak that flowed past him.
“Yes, yes, you are right, my friend,” answered King Tiereon before being interrupted by a coughing fit. “Our blades will be ready!”
Sharka came and stood next to the great orc. She never said a word. Instead, she stood by his side, one hand on his back and the other hand gripping her sheathed blade. Soon Gron and Broz joined them at the helm of the ship.
The city quickly grew large before their eyes as they drew closer. The expanse of it was quite surprising to them. It stretched a great length of the coastline, much farther than they had expected. Then the nine flat-bellied fishing galleys began to run ashore on the forgiving beach before Jasprita. There was no hesitation or delay. Both humans and orcs leapt overboard, their boots crashing into the shallow waters of low tide. His closest companions did not allow the chieftain out of their sight. They were on his heels as he lumbered up the beach. The wave of soldiers climbed up over the stone seawall and headed for the Sea Gate.
The orcs gave way to the heirs of the city. With weapons in their hands and seven hundred soldiers behind them, the royal duo of father and son marched right into their city. What they found was somewhat unexpected. They found no one. The streets were silent; they were empty. They were empty of signs of the living, anyway. The streets were a cesspool. They were littered with trash, refuse, and even the occasional body or three. Surprisingly, the corpses belonged to both man and bull. Whether these were the remnants of sacrifices or conflicts could not always be determined, but it was graphic and disturbing. The city itself was a disaster, but it at least appeared to be vacated. It did not take long before the travelers realized that they could put away their weapons and begin the renovation.
“There is much to restore here,” sighed the king.
