“Son, don’t let the words of a single human get yer spirits low. There’ll be other villages. Friendlier ones. These folks just live too close to the orcs down here. They’re afraid of them, rightly so,” Cormac stated.
The orc was relieved for his friend’s words. His lament had built since they had left the village gate, and he could feel it tearing him apart.
“Humans do not like orcs, Cormac. I am orc. How will humans accept me?” he asked somberly.
The old dwarf could see the inner torment swelling within his companion. A hazy mist shrouded over the glowing yellow orbs that had seen so much bloodshed, and yet so much emptiness. A sense of guilt ran through Cormac, followed by doubt about his casual acceptance of the rejection of the ignorant humans. After all, this orc—the unlikeliest of creatures—had torn apart his own kind for him. Fangdarr had locked himself into a moral prison for the well-being of a dwarf he had met naught but a few days prior.
How could Cormac repay him, now that he was needed most? For all his stature and adamancy, did Cormac possess the strength to stand up for his friend, Fangdarr, greatest of chieftains, bearer of hundreds of scars, beholder of an unexpected warm heart fast becoming frozen by the cruelties of the world?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SERENITY
How sweet she seemed. Her innocence came through with each faint rise and fall of her chest, sending soft breaths and murmurs into Bitrayuul’s ear as he lifted her serenely into his arms. His devastating armor was tucked tightly away within his travel pack, allowing him to embrace the cherubic girl without risk. Her blonde hair blew gently in the early morning breeze and draped over the half-orc’s unarmored forearm.
Tormag finished packing up their camp, stuffing a few pieces of leftover mutton from the last night’s fire into his mouth.
“So, what are we doin’ with the girl?” he asked, his mouth packed to the point of suffocation, drawing a confused chuckle from Bitrayuul. Tormag, realizing he was incomprehensible, gave the half-orc a meat-filled smile. Bitrayuul had to stifle his laughter so as not to disturb the precious cargo sleeping in his arms. He could only grin in silence at the spectacle of a grumpy old dwarf running around the camp with cheeks bigger than a chipmunk’s.
“What are you looking for?” he asked the now-frantic dwarf.
Tormag did not slow his search or look up, too determined to find whatever it was. Just as Bitrayuul started to turn his head away in a hopeless sigh, he saw his tunnel-visioned companion jam his toe on a large boulder. Seeing his friend’s bloated cheeks meet up with tremendously wide eyes in sheer agony, the large half-orc could barely contain his laughter any longer.
“RGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the dwarf exclaimed, tears in his eyes, as he hopped on one foot, holding the other tight before crashing down clumsily into the dirt—still grasping one foot. Bloated cheeks of meat prevented him from catching his breath. Tormag had no choice but to spit his breakfast out.
“BY THE GODS, DAMN THE DURNED THING T’ THE NINE HELLS! Wasted me breakfast, I did! BAH!” he shouted, too enveloped in his rage to remember the sleeping Lilyana. Too irritated to see Bitrayuul’s hurried shushing motions.
A yawn came from the startled child. Bitrayuul sighed in helplessness and Tormag simply gave him a guilty smile.
“Good morning, Lilyana,” said the half-orc to the groggy-eyed youth. “Sorry to wake you so early. We were going to get an early start on the trip to Riveton.”
She yawned the weariness away with child-like stretches. A sigh of relief curled her lips as her large, round, blue eyes shook away the last bits of slumber. “You don’t have to take me to Riveton.”
“Bah, what sort o’ folk would let a wee lass such as yerself wander round by yer lonesome? Nay, girl. We be takin’ ye t’ yer rightful home, don’t ye doubt. It be a dangerous forest, child.”
“Well, if you insist, master dwarf. I don’t want to be a burden,” she replied meekly.
“Pay no mind, child. Bit and I are lookin’ fer our friend, anyway. By the looks o’ it, he was headin’ t’ Riveton, same as we. Ye just lost yer father. Don’t think we’re fer leavin’ ye t’ the wolves.”
Lilyana was grateful for the kindness of her rescuers. Truly, she had resigned herself to her grief before the pair had intervened. After the loss of her father, she had accepted it was only a matter of time before her own life was taken one way or another.
“Thank you, both of you.”
The pair waved the notion away and simply smiled. Bitrayuul and Tormag were kind-hearted and honorable beings. Even if their destination had been a tenday in the opposite direction, their honor would have allowed no less than to fulfill their moral demand. Luckily, in this case, Fangdarr appeared headed toward Riveton, though they could not be certain of the reason. He would obviously be rejected from entry.
Bitrayuul lowered Lilyana to the ground as he spoke, “We have a few days before we reach Riveton. Unfortunately, we have no horses, so it’ll be a long walk. If you need us to carry you, you need only ask.”
“I’ll be okay!” she proudly exclaimed.
The half-orc smiled in return. He and Tormag completed their preparations to begin their trek. They were three days from Riveton and still a day behind Fangdarr.
As the day pressed on, the trio made good progress. Bitrayuul was proud of Lilyana’s stubborn insistence that she continue without being carried. The girl just refused to be a burden to her saviors. However, despite her youth, she was dreadfully exhausted. When they stopped for a brief rest after the passing of mid-day, Lilyana slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh of relief.
Bitrayuul and Tormag sat adjacent the girl and handed her a skin full of water. She grasped it vigorously and immediately started draining the cool liquid into her mouth. As they rested, the orc-kin decided to break the silence.
“Lily, what do you remember of your mother? Do you remember what she looks like?” he asked, hoping to obtain answers.
“Of course, I know what she looks like!” returned the girl, as if it was an unreasonable question. “Well, mostly. She looks just like me, only not as cute,” she played. “But she was always somewhere else it seemed—like her mind was leagues away, even when she was there holding my hand.” Sorrow had etched itself into the last few words, making Bitrayuul rethink his desire for knowledge. It was obvious her mother had been living a tormented life. If he was right about his assumption, that alone would be enough to break most anyone. However, it still seemed odd that she would start a new family, only to abandon them. His questions stopped there. He was both afraid of the answers and of pushing the girl too far into painful memories.
“How much farther?” asked Lilyana.
Tormag withdrew his map and pondered their route’s progress for the day. “Eh, hard t’ say. We made good progress today, don’t ye doubt. I’d say we should come across the Adders tomorrow midday. We’ll take a quick rest in Adderhaven t’ ask if they’ve seen our friend. From there, it be only a half day’s walk t’ Riveton.”
“Great! Well, we better get started.”
The party continued their path, revitalized from their brief rest. As the light of the sun made its inevitable descent, Bitrayuul donned his armor once more. They were still outside the claimed territory of the Zharnik clan but did not want to risk being unprepared. After all, Lilyana and her father were attacked a half-day’s travel outside the Orclands, and Bitrayuul and Tormag were well aware of the clan’s rapid and continuous expansion. They feared that soon nearly all of the Lithe would be under orc control.
They set up camp one league east of the eastern Adder’s Tongue river. They were all exhausted but had managed to go farther than they had intended and would reach Adderhaven the next morning before the sun reached its peak. Truly, they had made excellent progress; however, they were now forced to set camp later into the night. To light the area and keep warm, Tormag built a fire.
“Lass, stay by the fire. Bit and I will keep settin’ camp,” Tormag instr
ucted Lilyana. It didn’t matter, she was already deep into slumber. He chuckled as he continued planting stakes in the earth for a tent.
“I will go scrounge up more for the fire. Keep an eye on her, please,” pleaded Bitrayuul. Without waiting for his adoptive father’s nod of agreement, the half-orc slipped quietly into the wood, picking up dried leaves and dead twigs. The pitch-black emptiness of the lightless wood was unforgiving. Orcs have terrific sight in the darkness which grants them severe advantages over humans in nighttime ambushes. Fortunately, this was one of the rare blessings of his orcish blood, though limited. His eyes could see a short distance ahead, though not as well as Fangdarr would be able.
Dwarves, too, could see perfectly without light. A product of evolution from thousands of years of dwelling and mining deep into the mountains. As such Tormag would have fared much better searching the pitch-black wood. Bitrayuul cursed himself for volunteering to scavenge within the blackened forest.
Nevertheless, he did not fear. He took a deep breath of the cool midnight air and silenced his thoughts. Alone in the darkness, he perked his ears to listen to his surroundings. The Adder’s Tongues could be heard, even from this far—tranquil water trickling over rock faces that brought a deep serenity to him. Just the subtle flowing of the river after it forked, splitting the rushing waters to the westernmost river and leaving the calm stream to the east.
Bitrayuul nearly got lost in the sound. The sweet, enticing stream relaxed his mind as his tired legs began to loosen. Moment after lingering moment passed until he was at complete peace. All of his worries fled. No concern for his foolish brother’s impossible quest. No apprehension for the risks of war on his home. And, most of all, no regrets for the choices he had made. For just a brief instant, the burdens of his life became as weightless as his armor. His toughened body, hardened in dozens of battles with trolls, ogres, and monsters dwelling within the deep veins of the mountain now moved with no strain. It was in these moments he felt closest to Bothain, the god he had chosen to follow.
Bitrayuul’s body became still. Not even the creatures screeching in the night nor the predator birds flapping in the sky as they searched for prey could shake him from his reverie. He was so lost in his meditation that he failed to notice the sound of boots crossing the river to his camp.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HEADWAY
Fangdarr and Cormac walked on in silence the next day, picking their way slowly south through the thick woods of the Lithe. After taking a roundabout path south of Adderhaven so as not to alarm the townspeople, the trio made their way west near the rushing waters of the western Tongue, hugging the eastern bank, each still locked in their own thoughts from the night prior. The young orc kept to his wishes of acceptance, and the old dwarf questioned whether he deserved the devotion his new ally showed him. Darkness flooded the forest as the sun descended beyond the horizon. Of course, the pair could still see without issue, so they continued their walk as if nothing had changed. Bear nudged Fangdarr, signaling it was hungry, drawing the orc from his stupor.
A heavy sigh escaped Fangdarr as his large, blackened fingers, thick with calluses from a decade of swinging his beloved battle axe, found their way to Bear’s soft, thick coat. “Ok, Bear. We stop,” he stated, accompanying each word with an ear rub.
“Bothain’s beard, orc. Me feet were starting to scream,” puffed out Cormac. The dwarf picked a seat at the base of an old oak tree possessing a small concave pocket in its twisted and tangled roots for him to sit comfortably—relatively. They had been walking since morning without more than a few short rests. Now, night had fallen, and the group was a day’s trek southwest of Adderhaven. Cormac was happy for any excuse to try to open a dialogue with his companion. But as the captain went about removing his magnificent shields, Fangdarr grimly set to work digging a fire pit, once again lost in thought of the previous events. It seemed the orc was not yet ready.
Only Bear seemed to be in a splendid mood, ignoring its companion’s foul thoughts and corresponding expressions. The playful creature stampeded around the site in circles, giving tiny, excited jumps in between each stomp. Cormac just sat and watched the creature in its bliss. It brought a smile to his worn face, followed by a silence-shattering laugh. At the base of an adjacent oak Bear squished its head against the ground and flattened its back fully against the rough bark. The giant paws of its haunches dangled happily over its pudgy face. The creature was in complete ecstasy as it scratched its rear against the bramble bark. The slow rise and fall of its dangling paws, toes curled in pleasure, was truly a sight.
Watching the scene lifted Fangdarr’s spirits. Bear always lightened his mood. He laughed aloud with Cormac, enjoying the clumsy beast’s uncaring antics. The orc rose and stepped toward his pet to show affection. As he started to kneel toward the upside-down animal, he jumped back with a quick yelp, followed with a bellowing laugh that caused more than a few birds to flee the treetop above.
Cormac’s curiosity got the best of him. “Oye, Fang, what’re ye on about?” he asked as he proceeded toward his companions.
Fangdarr was still huddled over in unrelenting amusement. He tried to speak between laughs and breaths alike, “Bear . . . not what I thought. He not . . .” The giant orc could hardly force out the words. Bear, catching on to its master’s amusement, flopped forward onto its belly with a loud crash. Fangdarr only laughed louder. “Bear not male!”
Cormac just stared blankly at the two for a few moments. His orc ally’s boisterous outbursts were beginning to dwindle as he attempted to steady himself. “Ye didn’t think to check that?” he asked.
With a smile as wide as ever, Fangdarr could only shrug in response. He never thought to check the beast. His assumption was that the animal was male, but he supposed he really had no idea. Cormac simply shook his head in bafflement. The pair returned to their encampment to prepare a meal, temporarily relieved from their stress. The fire was in full bloom, casting flickers of illumination all around as the skewers of shredded flesh lay suspended in the flames.
“Lad, I know it may not seem it now, but someday they’ll accept ye. Wasn’t long before I thought I would never clasp arms with an orc, meself. And yet, here we be, brothers on the road. And ye know I would die beside ye, fighting our way through a horde of enemies and not a regret on me mind. I trust ye, lad. And I won’t be the only one to do so, don’t ye doubt,” Cormac explained from across the fire. He rubbed his hairless head as he spoke, only slightly uncomfortable with the personal nature of the discussion. He had been through many emotions after his son and wife were murdered, only hardening him to their sting.
Fangdarr smiled at his comrade. A genuine display of true happiness. “I respect you. I happy we joined. You trusted friend and great warrior,” the orc went on, adding emphasis to the compliments, “I am lucky to have you with me; not judging me.” His smile faded slowly as he again realized how much prejudice he would face in the coming years. “I am covered in scars, dwarf. All sizes. All weapons.” He stretched his arms out to display his impressive scars. “Each one, story to tell. I am never afraid to get more scars. My legacy is here, on my body, but,” he swallowed hard, pushing his ego as deep as it could go, “I am afraid. Rejection scars deep. I cannot display them.” Fangdarr sighed and looked Cormac in the eye. “My instinct is to kill. Kill to survive. Kill to win. I cannot kill scars. Instead, I must break instinct. Or I will never be accepted. Have to break my nature and reject myself to be accepted by others.”
There it was. The true reason for his lament. The orc knew that people would always see him for what he was and what he truly wanted to be: a conqueror. His pride and nature led him to believe that winning every fight was the goal—and it was. But his goal was also to be accepted. Which would he wish to give up more?
Cormac could only look at his companion in sympathy, unable to find the words that could help him through his struggle. “Lad . . . ye just got to—” he stopped mid-way, lifting his head to point his ears t
oward the northeast where he heard a noise. His one good eye scanned the forest, trying to discern a source for the ruckus.
By now Fangdarr had been tugged from his emotions, noticing something else had taken the dwarf’s attention. Pointing his ears each way, he too searched for a distant commotion. A few more moments passed in silence. Fangdarr looked to Bear, whose mouth crept into a snarl and ears lay flattened against her head.
“Eh, maybe it was nothin’?” reasoned Cormac, returning to the fire, pulling each now over-cooked skewer of salted meat from the flames.
Fangdarr accepted a pair of skewers, and passed another pair to Bear, who had yet to pull her attention away from the noise. “Not nothing. Bear knows. Eat fast, we need to prepare.”
They ate quickly in silence, even taking care to chew as quietly as possible. Too many of their kin had been slaughtered for campfire carelessness. The legend of Fangdarr would not be ended by some backstabbing marauder in the woods. After finishing the crispy chunks of meat, and prompting Bear to eat hers, they soundlessly eliminated the fire with surrounding dirt and stealthily repacked their supplies.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 13
