Cormac halted, finally having reached the injured orc that Bear had hunted down. “Ye were the first one, I remember,” said the dwarf, the calm in his voice betraying his murderous intent. His grin widened as he bent to face the first target of his fury, nearly touching nose to nose.
The dwarf captain’s stubby, strong hands found their way around the horrified orc’s thick neck. He could not quite get both his hands around it, but his grip remained tight enough to effectively seal off the gasping orc’s windpipe.
Many heartbeats passed with no sounds except the restricted gasps of the dying creature and the sound of his legs kicking into the ground from convulsions. Just when the orc was in its last moment of life, the dwarf let go. Frantic wheezes came from the desperate orc, struggling to hold on to the last bit of life he had left.
“Didn’t think I’d let ye pass that easy, did ye?” asked the dwarf. He stepped away from his first victim, confident he would think of some other way to finish him off after the other orc.
The smaller orc noticed the dwarf’s change of target and tried to scamper backwards on his elbows, all the while whimpering pleas to the advancing dwarf, tempting him to relent from his wrath. It was all to no avail.
Cormac picked up the rope with which he had been caught, his grin never leaving his sinister face. A few flicks of his wrists and dexterous fingers, and he had the thick twine secured around one of the helpless orc’s ankles. The dwarf turned toward the tree, and once under the thick branch, he threw the other end of the rope up and over, catching it as it fell.
His thick, corded muscles tensed as he pulled on the tether. The whimpering orc scratched at the dirt before ascending into the air, just as Cormac had been. As the dwarf tied off the rope, his naked body now speckled in beads of sweat, the orc continued his pleas to be released.
With his prey hanging above him, Cormac retrieved a nearby spear. It was time for reciprocation. As his captors had done, the captain flipped the spear over in his hands and rammed the butt-end into the hanging orc. Cormac’s enraged state caused his pokes to grow more furious, getting increasingly harder and harder as he went.
“Say, this is fun, bahaha!” laughed the dwarf in a mocking tone. “Oye, not so fun on that end, eh, orc?” asked Cormac in response to a series of yelps and whines from his captive.
His rage and retribution nearly played out, Cormac grew bored with his victims. Neither were dead, and if he so desired they would be perfectly fine by nightfall. Of course, that was if he so desired. Cormac approached the hanging orc once more. Without even a blink of consideration, the captain reached up and snapped the neck of his victim.
The deceased orc’s lifeless body hung limply on the end of rope, swaying in the light wind. Cormac gave a gruff nod of approval and promptly spit on the corpse. With that, the dwarf turned toward the final foe. He had wondered how to kill the captor who had so toyed with him, but with his rage now diminished, he simply had no desire to hold on to his former barbarism.
The dwarf stood in front of the orc he previously choked to the very brink death, just watching it carefully. A dark shadow had formed around the neck of the orc, further darkening its already black skin. Even in the short time that had passed since the dwarf’s hands had forced the orc to the edge of consciousness, this orc—this disgustingly, vile creature—was still trying to catch its breath.
Blood continued to pour freely from the bites the orc had suffered from Bear, who now was napping at the base of a tree, fur still covered in blood from the day’s chaos. As the dwarf looked upon the dying victim’s wounds, he came to pity the creature. Cormac had been treated unjustly by the villain, yet, with the roles exchanged, the sympathetic dwarf felt it proper to end its suffering.
Cormac half-turned to Fangdarr, who was still watching his friend from a few strides away, leaving the dwarf to enact his desired revenge. The twist was halted abruptly, however, as Cormac felt a sharp pain in his back under his shoulder. Curious, he reached behind his thick shoulder to feel a deep cut. Apparently, in his stupor of rage, he failed to notice the grievous puncture he had suffered from one of his assailant’s spears.
“Fang, could I trouble ye for yer axe?” he asked.
The request did not come as a surprise to the orc. Fangdarr noticed the wound long before Cormac had, and he had already been grappling with the dilemma of whether or not to hand over his axe.
The orc felt as he did that fateful day with his brother, all those years ago, when he left his kin for solitude. It seemed he was torn between two worlds, each taking an arm and pulling with an unrelenting tug. He had killed orcs. His own kind—from his own clan! For what? A dwarf?
Before this day, the only orc Fangdarr had killed was the former chieftain, Vruk, in the Ortuk Malid. He had justified that act with the thought that ridding his clan of the weak orc would be the best for his people. But now, with four of the five orcs dead—three by his own hand—what was his justification?
One thing was for certain. He had crossed a line of self-proclaimed morality he would never have dared to cross, and he had done it for this dwarf. This friend. For the first time since it met his hand, he handed over Driktarr.
Cormac knew how attached Fangdarr was to his magnificent weapon. So, when it was handed to him he bowed in gratitude, acknowledging the great trust his friend was exhibiting. Trust he felt himself. In the short time he had known Fangdarr, he and the orc had developed a deep bond—one that ran deeper than any of the mines of his homeland.
Holding the giant axe in his two hands—it was as tall as the dwarf and nearly half his weight—Cormac steadily approached the tormented orc. A look of pity entered the dwarf’s face as he raised the axe. There was no relish in his swing. No glee in the kill. But once done, his wound knit itself together creating a fresh pink scar over his thick skin. Cormac looked back at the creature and watched the life drain from his eyes.
The dwarf’s blow had been true, and Fangdarr was glad his friend had been merciful to his old subordinate, even if he was not. Fangdarr looked around at the aftermath. Five orcs lay dead and blood covered the area, staining the once pristine nature. He looked at the bodies of his fallen minions and back to the naked dwarf. Fangdarr did not fully understand his allegiance to the gruff captain. Nonetheless, he realized he would do anything for his friend. Even kill his own.
CHAPTER TWENTY
AMALGAMATION
Fangdarr approached Cormac after his rampage had dwindled to an end and clasped an enormous hand on the back on the dwarf’s broad shoulder. Cormac raised his eyes to his friend and gave a nod of approval. Both scanned the forest floor around them, surveying the carnage. Deep red stains adorned the nearby bushes and grass. The familiar iron smell of blood greeted their nostrils—a scent they had grown accustomed to long ago.
Cormac rubbed the fresh scar on his shoulder, awed at the healing power of the orc’s mystical instrument. His stubby finger traced the line from the top of his shoulder down to the crevice in his back. He was certainly grateful the wound would not be stretched open with every step. His hand still gripped the axe that had cut through the last orc as easily it would animal fat.
The dwarf held it out to Fangdarr, a grin on his face. “Mighty fine axe ye got yerself, orc. Ain’t many weapons like this here in the realm.”
Fangdarr reached out and took it, glad for the dwarf’s understanding of his attachment to the heirloom. He grunted, “Never giving away until Fangdarr die in battle. Hope I will have son to pass it to, as it passed to me.”
Cormac smiled. “Both me shields belonged to me father, and his before him.” There was an awkward silence between the two for a few heartbeats. Luckily, the dwarf resumed the conversation. “Me life is owed to ye today, Fang. Reckon I should be lookin’ a bit more carefully next time I chase ye through the woods for me clothes. Bahaha!” the dwarf laughed. “All the same. Ye risked yer neck against five of yer own kind to save an ol’ dwarf. I’m happy to name ye me most dear friend, orc.”
Fangdarr was gr
ateful for the acknowledgment of his sacrifice. He wondered out loud, “Would you fight five dwarves if Fangdarr captured?”
“Before today, don’t reckon I’d know the answer to that question, lad. But, after all ye did with savin’ me hide, I’d stand by yer side in the cave of a dragon if need be,” replied Cormac, sarcasm slipping into the end of his statement. After all, they both knew their path was to Crepusculus’ lair, high in the Tusk Mountains, and their alliance in that matter had been well-secured.
After a quick cleanse in the pond where the game had begun, the trio prepared to depart. Within the hour, the three started back on their path westward, Cormac now fully clothed and with renewed ease in his stride.
Despite their delay from that morning, they made good progress through the forest. But as they trekked forward, Fangdarr continued to lament the killing of his own race. In truth, it irked him more than a bit. Against his pride’s disapproving voice, he chose to speak to his colleague about it.
“Cormac,” the orc started, his voice just a whisper in the breeze, “you ever kill dwarf?”
Cormac never took his eyes off the grass-covered road. It was clear he was trying to force back emotions from actions of his past. Yet, the bond between them had strengthened to the level of kin. He owed support to Fangdarr’s tormented mind.
“Aye, Fang, me shields have bashed more than just orcs and trolls.” A drawn-out sigh escaped the old dwarf as he stopped his feet. “I felled one dwarf, just the one.”
Fangdarr stopped his stride as well and looked curiously at Cormac, begging for more detail.
“Me older brother is the only dwarf I’ve ever killed,” added the dwarf, his voice a murmur of dread. “He killed me parents, long ago. Of course, after that, he left Tarabar, having committed a crime and all. I didn’t see him for a long while, sure as stones. He was a hundred and eighty-two when I was born, and by the time I found him he was comin’ up on his fourth century.
“I was just a young pup, only on me second. Don’t know if yer knowin’, but dwarves can sometimes see a millennium. So, anyway, I wasn’t a part of the Shield yet, and I had set out to find him. Took me fifty-seven years of searchin’ every blasted edge of the forest and mountains I could traverse ‘til I found him. He was surprised to see me, don’t ye doubt.”
Fangdarr listened intently to the dwarf. He passed no judgment on Cormac for killing his own kin, his blood. Silently, he knew he would have hunted Bitrayuul to Jesmera and back if his half-orc brother had killed his mother.
Cormac pressed on, this time with more steadiness in his words. “Turns out, he had taken up with a group of ogres in the north-most corner of the mountains. Right at the edge of the Monstrous Sea. Many a dwarf named me stupid as a gnome for goin’ after him alone. But, it was me quest. Me family. So, it was me who was needin’ to go.”
Fangdarr turned to regard him. “How you able to kill brother and ogres?” he asked, astonished of the feat. Even he may have had trouble with the same accomplishment.
“Well, dwarves and orcs are similar, Fang. We both let our pride and stubbornness get in the way of our plights in battle, ye know it be true. We both tend to charge in headfirst when we’re angry. But, I knew in me bones I couldn’t hope to fight them all head on. So, I waited around outside the camp for a few days, pickin’ off the ogres one by one. Me mind was too focused on me traitorous brother that I’d forgotten about food and water. All I needed was him. Knowin’ he was within grasp was all the sustenance I needed, don’t ye doubt.
“After the damned, filthy ogres were out the way, it was just me and me kin. Bothain’s truth, I hadn’t seen him in such a long time, I barely recognized the bastard. At the time, he held me two shields, stolen from me father’s still-bleedin’ corpse. A treacherous thing. To be the one to kill yer own father and steal his heirlooms without earnin’ them through proper rites of passage.”
The orc cast a curious glance to Cormac. “If you did not have shields, what weapon you use?” he asked.
A smile found its way to the dwarf’s face. “Well, Fang, I had used nothin’ but the dagger me brother used to kill me parents. No more, no less. Sure as stones, he was shocked to see me, and with the dagger in me hand, he knew I’d come with a debt owed.”
At the irony of Cormac’s brother’s treachery being redeemed by his own blade, Fangdarr couldn’t help but grin. “Fine tale, dwarf. Must not be easy to kill brother, even after what he did.”
Cormac nodded. His past was hard to deal with, to be sure, but he knew he did what he had to do. “Me parents didn’t deserve a traitorous son, and me brother didn’t deserve peace after the war he’d created between him and me.” It seemed as if the words he spoke were more of a reassurance to himself than an explanation to his curious companion.
The pair—ever growing closer—started back on their journey, a new respect for each other in hand. Fangdarr laughed in his head at the absurdity of it all. Befriending a dwarf as his brother had done. Forsaking his own. But Cormac seemed even more accepting of the union, giving Fangdarr the belief that perhaps others may come to accept him as well.
He hoped to himself that Cormac and Bear would be there with him in creating future tales.
As Bitrayuul was not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PURSUIT
The dwarf knelt down, causing the war hammers strapped to his waist to scrape against the hardened dirt of the forest floor. He rummaged through the chaos, taking in the scene. Five orcs lay sprawled lifeless around him, each killed brutally and with the same barbarism that the orcs themselves used. As he rested a hand on the nearest orc, he concluded they had passed less than a day before.
“Bit, come and have a look at these here orcs, will ye?” Tormag asked, standing as he spoke. The strong, stout dwarf adorned his typical, shining silver armor to match his twin hammers. Each weapon carried runes of the ancient dwarven language etched into the large steel heads. It was said that such carvings had the power to grant weapons various effects to increase their value in battle, and Tormag’s war hammers contained that magical essence. The runes bestowed by his god, Bothain, upon his hammers were those of retrieval. He could throw his instruments as far as possible and still they heeded his call and returned to his waiting hands. His weapons were formidable, especially in the hands of Tormag Double-hammers. They now swung easily as he backed out of the way, allowing Bitrayuul to get a clear view of the culled party.
The half-orc would have been unrecognizable to Fangdarr while out in the field. In their time together, Bitrayuul had preferred the attire of a ranger—light leather armor that favored his great-bow, Kwip. Now, six years since his separation from his kin, Bitrayuul had taken on an entirely new style of combat.
Kwip remained strapped across his back. However, his back was no longer covered in worn leather. Rather, Bitrayuul was covered head to toe in thick steel armor, where at nearly every finger-width protruded a sharpened spine, hundreds in total. It seemed as if the half-orc had been dipped in molten steel. None of his tanned skin was exposed, safely hidden beneath the threatening carapace.
In addition to his deadly armor, Bitrayuul’s helmet sported two large, bladed horns. One lay directly behind the other, beginning with the largest at the peak of his forehead. The next stood half the size of the first. Each of his horns—and all the armor’s spines—had seen more blood than most warriors’ swords. His position as a general in the Dwarven Regime was a position he earned by blood in short time. The armor that imprisoned Bitrayuul still displayed many blood stains from recent skirmishes, causing it to emit a rather distasteful smell. He presented quite the contrary visage to his lush and clean appearance at his recent reunion with Fangdarr.
Bitrayuul no longer favored picking away targets at a distance. Instead, he now preferred a brutal, yet fluid, close quarters combat. Bitrayuul continued using spiked gauntlets as he had when growing up with Fangdarr. However, thanks to the dwarves’ his weapons were now enchanted—blessed by Bothain. Bitrayuul w
as the first of orcish blood to ever receive such a gift from the dwarven deity. Truly, his life among the dwarves was more than just one of convenience. The half-orc had adopted their culture as his own, including their religion and traditions. His faith in Bothain had been rewarded by the generous god, proving his path was supported.
Just as each of Tormag’s war hammers had their own specialty, so, too, did Bitrayuul’s gauntlets. The weapons’ enchantments turned the steel on his body weightless and provided him the strength of an ogre. Both weapons fit the half-orc’s hands perfectly. He could move free of any resistance, making him one of the direst threats on the battlefield. As such, the relentless warrior charged into the midst of encounters, grappling foes in order to shred their flesh against his bladed shell.
Bitrayuul looked down at the orcs, gathering what information he could. After Fangdarr had visited them in Tarabar—and received their refusal to assist—the half-orc and his elderly dwarf ally had set out to follow him. Despite Bitrayuul’s initial rejection, he could not help but feel an incessant guilt. The night of their reunion, the half-orc had been tormented with nightmare after nightmare. He watched helplessly in his mind as his bull-headed brother suffered one excruciating death after another, all at the hands of the threat he now sought. Bitrayuul was certain he would be so afflicted forever if he did not act, and it took no convincing for Tormag to join him. After preparing for their pursuit and ensuring coverage of their duties in their absence, the pair had set out late the following day after Fangdarr’s departure. Now, they tracked the chieftain through the Lithe, and luckily, it seemed Fangdarr had left a trail, though the current markings of the trail were surprising.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 11
