“It’s Fangdarr,” said the half-orc, seeing how cleanly two of the orcs had been cleaved apart by a large weapon. Driktarr, Bitrayuul knew.
Tormag nodded in agreement. “Aye, but there’s another set of tracks. Dwarf tracks, no boots. Slave, perhaps?” the dwarf asked.
Indeed, a small pair of bare feet could be picked out among the bodies, indicating more than just Fangdarr’s presence. They had not heard of the Shield’s captain joining the orc’s journey.
“Oye, this one here’s got some bite marks,” Tormag said, pointing to a fallen orc’s three wounds.
Bitrayuul looked carefully at the grievous gashes. “Fangdarr’s bear,” he sighed.
“Well, surely we’re on the right track, eh? Bahaha!” laughed the dwarf.
The pair searched the nearby woods in hope of finding where the orc and his company had gone. It did not take long before a clear path that Fangdarr had blazed with his abnormally large body could be seen. They set off to continue their search.
Tormag lead the pair out of the bloody field, the barbaric spectacle weighing on both their minds. Bitrayuul and Tormag couldn’t believe how the kin they’d known so long ago could show such ruthless behavior toward his own kind. Fangdarr was raised by the same mother as his light-hearted brother. Yet, his recent actions gave them reason to believe his mind had been lost due to solitude. His bloodlust had always been evident; however, this was no mere fixation.
Ironically, both Bitrayuul and Tormag had performed their share of relentless bloodshed. Though, in their mind, despite taking the lives of countless enemies, they always believed they were in the right—that their actions were just. How many orcs had Bitrayuul discarded for the favor of his dwarven god? And now he was criticizing Fangdarr. But such hypocrisy was lost on the pair, as it often is.
As they walked, Tormag decided to put words to his thoughts. “What do ye think made him go that far, Bit?”
The half-orc opened his mouth to speak but stopped abruptly. Tormag did the same, trusting the half-orc had heard something. Many moments passed as wind swept around the pair, their ears still perked. No sounds came.
Just as the tension in their muscles eased and the pair dropped their raised ears, a twig snapped behind them, followed by a quick gasp. Bitrayuul and Tormag spun around as one, weapons ready. Then the duo’s shoulders relaxed as their eyes took in the curious sight.
Frightened blue eyes peeked from between disheveled blonde locks as the small girl noticed she had been spotted. In his twenty-two winters, Bitrayuul had seen fewer humans than years. Only the occasional emissary or tradesman from Wiston crossed his path. Nevertheless, he had developed an extensive interest in the race, as his birth mother was human, and he half the kind.
The girl shrank back in fear as the unlikely pair crept closer, hands extended in comfort. “P-please, don’t kill me,” she said, tears filling her eyes.
Bitrayuul’s perplexed look caused Tormag to approach her first. “Oye, we’re not goin’ t’ eat ye, girl. What’re ye doin’ out here with this mess?” the dwarf asked as his hand spread wide to address the blood-covered corpses behind them.
“I-I . . . heard yelling . . . and screaming. So, I came out to check what it was, but when I saw what was happening I had to hide or they would’ve killed me too!” she explained. As she spoke, her voice trembled as much as her body did.
The half-orc finally came out of his stupor and addressed the blue-eyed girl. “Child, what is your name? I am Bitrayuul and this is Tormag,” he said, pointing to himself and the dwarf respectively. He gently extended his hand, palm upwards, toward the girl, begging for her own.
Moments passed as she stared at his blade-riddled, armored hand. Bitrayuul’s skin could not be seen through the thin plates and interior chainmail. He noticed her hesitation and retracted his hand to remove his gauntlet, exposing his skin. It was thick and lightly browned on the exterior, but his palm remained the pinkish color of humans’. It was obvious she had never seen a hand like his before. Nevertheless, she quelled her fear and placed her soft hand in his outstretched palm.
“My name is Lilyana . . .” She paused as she got a clear look at the half-orc’s discolored hand. “W-what are you?”
Bitrayuul gave a short chuckle, expecting the question. “Dear Lilyana, I am a half-orc. Part human, like you, and part orc, like them,” he replied, pointing to the dead orcs Fangdarr had slain. As the young girl focused on the brutal, gory scene she cringed in horror.
Tormag watched the pain leave her face and looked back to the bodies. “Oye, Bit, let’s get her out o’ here. Ain’t no place fer a wee one, don’t ye doubt.”
Bitrayuul nodded to his companion and gently kept hold of Lilyana’s hand. She clutched his fingers lightly, drawing a warm smile from the half-orc. As they walked, her vibrant hair bounced with each step they took.
“Lilyana, how old are you? Where are your parents?” Bitrayuul asked calmly.
Shadows formed under her enthralling blue eyes as they drooped to sorrow-filled slits. “I’m seven winters. My pa was murdered, just the day before yesterday, at the hand of these orcs,” Lilyana explained, nodding to the small party. “We were on our way to the dwarf city. My pa is . . . was . . . a fisherman. He takes a trip every moon cycle. I begged to come this time—to see the big city built into the mountain. Now . . . I just want him back.”
“What happened?” asked Tormag.
“Everything was fine. We were four days into the trip from Port Tempest. He said we only had another day’s ride to Tarabar. But he said he knew of a lake with rare fish that we couldn’t get back home. So, we went into the forest. That’s when they . . .” she could hardly continue. Her resolve was cracking more with each sentence. “They just attacked! We had no chance! I ran deeper into the forest. I had no idea where I was, or where to go. I just left!” She looked at Bitrayuul with desperation in her face. “How could I just leave him?” Her frantic thoughts caused her to hyperventilate as she relived the memories.
Bitrayuul knelt to her level, still tightly holding her hand. “It’s alright, little one. You’re safe now. Your father would have wanted you safe. That’s all that would have mattered to him. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” He wanted to embrace her—to offer her comfort in her time of despair. If only his armor were not so unforgiving.
“What about your mother?” the half-orc pressed. “We can take you home to her.”
Lilyana’s eyes became distant and she sighed. “My mother left us. Four winters ago. My pa said she may be in Riveton, if I ever needed to find her.”
Bitrayuul instinctively tightened his grip on her hand in comfort and stood to walk once more, Tormag close behind. “Well, Lily, it looks like we will have to take you to her. The forest is too dangerous for you to wander alone. Why did your mother leave you and your father?” he asked.
Another silent moment as pain filled her already-troubled young mind. “Well, she didn’t tell me she was leaving. I woke up one morning and my pa told me she had gone. It wasn’t until two years ago that he finally told me why,” Lilyana explained, pausing to gather herself. “She had once been taken prisoner by the orcs down south, many years ago. Long before I was born. She said that something terrible happened when she was a prisoner, but she never even told my pa what it was—just that she needed to repay the orc who did it.”
Bitrayuul’s eyes ripped open at the possibility that suddenly raced through his mind as he was reminded of what his mother had told him of the night of his birth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
REFUTATION
Twigs and leaves crunched beneath their feet as they made their way deeper into the forest. The path had been filled with little excitement or danger over the last three days. The group had been able to enjoy each other’s company in sincerity, practically begging an assault from one foolish enough to oppose the mighty trio.
Being one of the few dwarves who from time to time left the mountain’s bosom, Cormac sang songs he had m
ade on his former journeys through the forest. On this particular morning, the captain decided it would be a favorable day to fill the air with his raspy voice.
Oh, ye forest, Lithe be ye,
Out in yer woods, me legs be free.
O’, great green forest,
Me eyes cannot rest.
Why not say ye?
Ain’t no mountain over me.
Ye got no ores,
Nor willing whores,
What’s a dwarf to do
In this big green zoo?
So, me lads, drop yer picks,
Get up, ye, grab some sticks,
Jus’ start one fire
Hell, make a pyre!
Sure, this place be a tad bit pretty,
But, to a dwarf, seems just a wee bit shitty!
His singing brought an easygoing mood to the party, so they carried on at a brisk pace, springs in their steps, bouncing along eagerly toward their destination. The mountains where Crepusculus rested lay a full tenday ahead of them. They had already made it to the lesser of the Adder’s Tongue rivers, which forked just east of Riveton. Bear charged happily down to the riverbed, rolling onto its back to let the water soak under its thick coat. Cormac and Fangdarr dropped their packs as they stepped to the edge of the water to refill their supply.
“Bothain’s beard, Fang,” Cormac started, before plopping down to his rear. “Me legs ain’t been for much but standin’ at a damned gate the past fifty years. Now ye got me runnin’ around this blasted wood like a gnome on a rabbit!” He fell to his back as he spoke, groaning playfully with every feigned complaint.
The orc merely chuckled at his friend as he took his own seat. Fangdarr did not mind much the walk. Orcs were not known to be stationary creatures. While dwarves could sit in their holes for centuries, it was an orc’s nature to patrol the nearby woods around their clan in search of possible conquests. Adding to his ease, were the enormous legs of the orc, nearly as tall as the entire frame of stout Cormac. For every pace Fangdarr took, the dwarf took three. Nevertheless, they were making good time.
The pair and, of course, Bear, ascended from their brief rest and crossed the eastern Tongue. After fording the slow, shallow water, the group strode through a thick brush, where thorns scratched and bit into their thick skin. Upon their emergence from the cumbersome foliage, Fangdarr and Cormac froze as they noticed what lay ahead—a small settlement outlined in tall logs sharpened at the top. A dozen human guards could be seen atop the structures, each armed with a long pike, a short sword, and a bow. The dwarf and orc stared at each other with more than a bit of concern on their faces.
“What do ye think, orc? Should we just go around?” asked Cormac, eyeing the guards closely.
Fangdarr’s head dropped low as he looked toward the ground. His eyes turned helplessly to his dwarven companion.
“Aye, I know, I know. Ye want yer acceptance, Fang. Don’t ye doubt, ye deserve it,” he added, clearly acknowledging the orc’s desire to approach the human village. Cormac thought to himself for a moment, weighing the risks. Going around meant tracking south, hugging the western—more violent—Tongue, which meant a brief jaunt through the Orclands. “Well, what’re we waitin’ for? I’m not for thinkin’ they’re gonna send out a chariot for us. Bahaha!”
The silly remark from Cormac brought a smile to the anxious orc. Ever the one to brighten the mood, that dwarf. Fangdarr nodded to his friend and beckoned his pet to stay close to his side. As one, the group started from the cover of greenery toward the village. Before they even made it ten paces, yells began streaming from the guards along the walls.
What started as a dozen men soon turned into nearly a hundred. Shouts continued echoing through the village, and still the pair slowly trod closer and closer. The party stopped far enough from the gate to show they had no intention of breaking it down as they waited for the humans to address them.
Moments passed with every guard and farmer with a makeshift weapon laying eyes upon Fangdarr. He simply stared back, not daring to let his emotions overwhelm him. All was silent as each side simply watched the other, questioning the other’s intent. Before long a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed goatee stepped up to the platform above the gate.
“Welcome, dwarf and . . . orc. What brings you to Adderhaven?” asked the man. It seemed he was the head of the guard. One hand held a standard and his cloak was much more extravagant than that of the other soldiers.
Fangdarr caught the man’s distasteful tone, causing his bloodlusting rage to simmer. Luckily, his ever-faithful friend spoke in his stead.
“Well met, guardsmen of Adderhaven. Me name’s Cormac—Captain of the Shield, honored guards of Tarabar. This here be Fangdarr, me friend and ally,” began the dwarf, hopeful his soothing introduction of his monstrous partner would grant them some shred of leniency. The dwarf, always one to know exactly what to say to best fit a situation, began again. “We set out from Tarabar and are just passing through yer lands and we’re hopin’ ye can grant us a safe place to rest or passage.”
The man waited a few long seconds, taking in the words of the distinctively odd group. “My name is Meilan, I’m captain here, as I’m sure you’ve noted,” the guard said, drawing nods from both Fangdarr and Cormac. “I’d like to come down and speak with you personally, if it suits you both proper.”
At that, Cormac sighed deeply, forcing his large friend to regard him with curiosity. The dwarf merely looked up at the black-skinned orc and gave a slight shake of his head. The notion sank Fangdarr’s shoulders low—and his heart even lower. Cormac knew what that ‘personal talk’ meant. It was a captain’s way of turning away threatening visitors. Even still, Cormac spoke again to the guard. “Aye, yer safe with us.”
Meilan worked his way through the myriad guards and toward the locked gate. With naught but a whim, his fellows raised a narrow wooden doorway for him to proceed out toward the visitors. Murmurs crept in the air around him. The archers on the parapet lightly tugged back further on their bowstrings, anxiously waiting with nocked arrows. All the simple folk of the crude settlement had already determined the captain was heading directly to his doom.
As the sturdy man approached, Fangdarr and Cormac visibly relaxed. They took great caution to show they meant no harm to the man. Meilan stopped directly in front of the pair, staring at Fangdarr for a long while, his narrow, scrutinizing eyes just begging for the orc to advance as any movement would spell his end.
“Fangdarr, is it? Can you speak?” asked the man. He had never conversed with an orc before. For all he knew, the only words they could make were grunts and battle cries.
“Yes, human. I can speak,” Fangdarr replied, keeping his simmering anger from boiling over.
Meilan nodded. “Good, then let me make this clear for I only wish to say it once. My village has been under constant attack by orcs for the past century. Surely you can understand our concern when one knocks on our gate. So, I’m in quite a predicament, you see. You are known to me, Cormac of Tarabar. As a fellow captain of guards, I respect you.”
The dwarf rocked back on his heels a bit. No surprise came from being recognized. It was common to be known by other guard commanders of the realm. However, he knew that most conversations that began with kind remarks often were followed by unfortunate ones.
“And as such,” the man continued, “I have reason to believe that this orc is no threat to me. However, my people are much less willing than I. An orc would create much more chaos than desired. Therefore, I cannot allow you entry into the village.” While his words were direct and demeanor stoic, beads of sweat had already lined Meilan’s forehead. His fear that the orc would be provoked into a frenzy had the man greatly on edge.
However, Fangdarr had already expected the outcome and respectfully bowed his head to the human—for the first time ever—understanding but truly distraught. “I wish I could be welcome. But reputation of orcs was earned, not assumed.”
Cormac showed more fury than even his enorm
ous friend. “Ye won’t reconsider, Master Meilan?” asked the dwarf through gritted teeth.
The man shook his head. “Nay, I cannot.”
Not having another word for the guard and fearful his anger would cloud his judgment, Fangdarr turned around and headed back toward the forest, leaving Cormac and Bear to follow quickly on his heels.
His anger had turned to sorrow by the time he reached the wood, and from the other side of the vegetation, the pair began setting their camp, dwarf and orc working together. Throughout the setup, Fangdarr remained silent, and Cormac decided it would be best to wait to discuss the event with his friend. But once the evening had seen the last gleam of sunlight and the pair were sitting around the fire, the old dwarf spoke up.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 12
