They made their way northeast, each step taking them closer to the noise. A hundred paces ahead, the screams and shouts of men, along with the guttural howls of orcs, could be heard.
Cormac recognized the distinctive sounds as easily as Fangdarr did. He looked to his comrade, wondering what the orc would do with the ethical dilemma. But Fangdarr was already in full sprint toward the battle, Driktarr in hand, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The orc could not contain his lust. Days had passed since he last tasted the sweetness of victory. Since his trusted weapon had cut through an enemy, bathing him in blood. This was his nature. All his previous thoughts and desires were eradicated. There was only the thrill of the hunt. The song of battle, drumming deep within his soul. Each step increased his speed along with his fury.
Fangdarr reached the encampment in no time, causing both humans and orcs to freeze in place. The humans stared in awed fear, mouths agape as they witnessed the impossibly-sized orc enter the clearing. Already they had been hard-pressed by the band of orcs. Friends lay dead or dying at their feet. Blood glistened over half the camp in the silvery light of the moon. But when they witnessed Fangdarr, they knew their hope of overcoming the ambush was at an end. His muscled body easily surpassed them, having thrice the girth of their strongest man, and he carried an axe half their weight. In their eyes, the monstrous orc could see the expression he loved most. Intimidation.
The orcs that had attacked the camp had ceased fighting as well. In truth, the humans fared better in the ambush then they had expected. The surprise attack had started with about twenty on each side, but the humans had retaliated, and now six remained for each. Each orc saw Fangdarr as the wave that would crash the stubborn rocks that resisted them. Their mouths stretched into crooked and sadistic grins, for now their task of mercilessly ending each human would go over much more smoothly.
Cormac watched from behind a nearby tree. He was unsure of what his comrade would do, but he clung to hope. However, if his optimism proved false, he would not play part in the slaughter of innocent men. But if the orcs saw him, then Fangdarr’s choice would be made for him, of that the dwarf was confident. The orc would not let his kin harm the dwarf. Cormac was tempted to force Fangdarr to take the route of morality, ensuring he assist the humans. But he wanted the orc to make his own choice. He thought of how unfair this was to his friend. Would Cormac cut down fellow dwarves to save a few humans? He knew he would not—unless it was warranted. But was ambushing humans immoral to Fangdarr? Cormac knew that Fangdarr had acted in—even orchestrated and led—ravaging attacks on humans and dwarves alike. This was his norm, nature, and culture. Could he truly expect the great chieftain to rid himself of all he had known, simply because his own perspective of morality differed?
Driktarr remained tightly gripped in Fangdarr’s calloused black hand as he slowly stepped toward the closest pair of orc and human. Moments earlier the two had been trading blow for blow, death granted to whoever made the first mistake. Fangdarr looked down at each of them with his imposing eyes. The man was immobilized in horror, afraid he would be ripped apart by the abnormally large hulk. The man’s opponent still employed that stupid grin, imploring Fangdarr to kill the human.
Fangdarr pulled Driktarr back and held the blade tensely in the air, poised to strike. The man let out a whimper and peeked up at the orc every few seconds, wondering why he was still alive. The axe descended, diving straight for the man’s shaggy-haired head. As it fell, the chieftain expertly diverted the attack.
The man heard the weapon scream through the air followed by a yelp and a groan. He looked up at Fangdarr, who stood watching him, speckled in blood. The man’s fearful eyes then looked to the orc next to him. The grime-covered assailant was no longer standing. The hook of Driktarr was buried fully into the creature’s torso.
Fangdarr, still holding onto his weapon, lifted the orc from the ground until his dying foe was suspended over him. The orc sputtered blackened-blood as his stupid grin washed from his face, painting the chieftain’s face. Fangdarr pulled him closer. As he was examining his prey, a nearby man found his courage and charged the chieftain. Fangdarr rejected his mind’s urge to defend as the man managed to bury his sword hilt-deep into his back, impaling his muscled abdomen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ADDERHAVEN
Lilyana’s high-pitched shriek freed Bitrayuul from his trance. He privately cursed his carelessness as he rushed back toward their encampment. How could he be so inattentive? Here, in the middle of the pitch-black forest merely a day’s stride from orc territory. His conscience sent unending messages of self-loathing as his legs carried him forward. Why had the girl not cried out once more? Bitrayuul forced away tormenting thoughts of the worst.
The half-orc finally broke through to the site without any regard for caution. His frantic eyes scanned the camp as he stampeded into the open. Over a dozen men encircled Bitrayuul’s companions—scouts, he noted, by their attire and lack of formation. Each held a crudely-built spear of sharpened iron pointed directly toward his friends. His feet skidded to an abrupt halt across from the troop.
“What is your purpose here?” he asked through gritted teeth.
A member of the party stepped toward Bitrayuul, weapon at the ready. The militant orc-kin sized him up immediately. The man’s clothing did not depict him as an appointed leader. Nor was his stance anything other than amateur. Even still, any fool can end a life.
“We would ask you the same,” the scout replied.
Bitrayuul was at a disadvantage while his allies remained hostage. He visibly relaxed before giving an explanation. “We are simply seeking passage to Riveton.”
The man seemed unconvinced. “Remove your helmet.”
The half-orc groaned internally. As an orc hybrid, he knew he would be unwelcome in the eyes of these men. No amount of honor seemed to be able to wash away the sins of his ancestral blood. He sighed deeply as he removed his helmet.
Every man tightened his grip on his rudimentary weapon at the sight of Bitrayuul. The scouts surrounding Tormag and Lilyana stepped closer—one even touching Tormag with his spear tip. A scowl crept over the dwarf’s face as he slowly moved his body to shield the girl from harm.
In front of Bitrayuul, the man’s cautious demeanor turned to one of hatred and disgust in an instant. “Arms up, men! You, orc!” he called out to Bitrayuul—the mistaken assumption stinging the half-orc, as always. “To your knees!”
Bitrayuul’s pride called for him to refuse, to lash out, anything. But he calmly obliged and fell to his knees. The sound of steel greaves crashing into the ground signified his obedience. It pained him more than he could admit. This was not the first time he had sacrificed his pride to accommodate another’s faulty judgment. Nor would it be the last. Despite being ten times the superior to this man who now commanded him, he obeyed.
The scout seemed pleased with himself as Bitrayuul fell at his feet. With his spear tip a finger’s length from the half-orc’s eye, he said with malice, “You’re coming with us, orc.”
A while later, the company passed the threshold of Adderhaven, the captors still holding their hostages at the ends of their blades. Lilyana clung tightly to Tormag in fear, but the dwarf was a beacon of composure. Nearly a thousand years old, Tormag had been captured more times than he could remember—by friend and foe alike. He calmly reassured the frightened child that everything would be alright in the end.
Outside of a large tent that one could only assume was meant for a commanding officer, the troop halted. The man who had taken charge of Bitrayuul disappeared through the cloth flap. The half-orc looked to his dwarven ally in confirmation. Each was ready to fight to his last if the situation turned dire, especially if it meant protecting their precious companion.
After a short while, a man in an extravagant cloak exited the tent and approached. With his final step, he planted a standard bearing the insignia of Adderhaven deep into the earth. It stood erect next to the leader as he stared in
tently at the subjects presented to him by his subordinates. With a twist of his mustache, he spoke to the scouts without withdrawing his gaze from Bitrayuul. “Where did you find these people?”
“In the wood, Captain, not far east of the lesser Tongue.”
The embellished man continued to fiddle with his facial hair as he pondered the situation. His eyes finally moved from Bitrayuul to Tormag. “You there, dwarf, what is your purpose here? Why do you travel with an orc? Speak quickly.”
Tormag was clearly unamused at being ordered so. Nevertheless, he replied to the impatient brat, “Oye, we’re naught but tryin’ t’ get t’ Riveton. Just passin’ through. Yer lads jumped us as we were settin’ up our camp for the night. Oh, and he ain’t no orc, Captain. He’s a half-blood.”
The guardsman did not fail to notice the dwarf’s final insolent remark. He narrowed his eyes. “Master dwarf, if he is not an orc—and surely no threat—then you would gladly give me his name, and yours as well.”
“Aye, I’m Tormag, commander o’ the Dwarven Regime. This be Bitrayuul, me adopted son and general o’ the army. The lass we picked up on the road outside o’ Tarabar. Her father was killed by a band o’ orcs in the Lithe. We found her alone in the wood. We’re takin’ her t’ Riveton t’ find her mother.”
The man gripped the banner, still in the ground. “I am Meilan, captain of this town. You are known to me. My apologies for the abrupt display of power. We are on high alert for an orc attack in the nearby forest. Not even a day has passed since an orc and dwarf sought ‘passage’ through our humble village. Now, here you are, a dwarf and . . . half-orc . . . seeking ‘passage’ once more. Surely you can understand how we might see this as a possible precursor to an attack?”
Bitrayuul stepped forward at the mention of the previous visitors, prompting more than a few spears to glide across his armor. “Captain, this orc, was he large?” he asked with a bit too much eagerness.
Meilan considered his response. “Well, I believe even you are proof that those of orcish descent are of larger stature. But, yes, he was abnormal.” His eyes narrowed with suspicion, “Do you know him?”
Bitrayuul calmed himself to avoid appearing aggressive. “Yes, he is the cause of our exodus from Tarabar. Fangdarr is his name. He is my brother.”
Uneasy stares flickered between the guardsmen at the final statement. They inched closer toward their captives, waiting for the order to strike.
With an unnecessary flourish of his too-clean cloak, Meilan lifted his standard out of the ground and pointed the hidden blade atop the pole at Bitrayuul. “Why are you looking for him? And you, dwarf, is this orc your ‘brother’ as well?” Suspicion soaked into every word he spoke.
This time, Tormag spoke first. “Listen here, Meilan. I’ll tell it t’ ye true. We’re pursuin’ Fangdarr after he came t’ see us in Tarabar. He came t’ us fer help, and we refused. The next day we came t’ our senses and took t’ pursuit. We tracked him this far but lost the trail. We ain’t part o’ no damned orc raid, or scoutin’ party, or anything else. I ain’t fer knowin’ which dwarf be with him, Bothain’s truth. Once we’re knowin’ which way he went, we be out o’ yer hair, don’t ye doubt.”
“Very well, Tormag,” Meilan began, lowering his pole, causing his fellows to follow suit. “We will grant you passage, and trust on your honor that your words are true.” Meilan turned to Bitrayuul. “Your brother, orc-kin,” he added in disdain, “was denied entry yesterday. My scouts reported that he went south, though his original intention was Riveton before being turned away.”
Bitrayuul thought to himself in silence for a moment before responding to the captain. “Thank you, Captain. It is our hope that our presence was not a hindrance to you or your people. You have our gratitude for aiding in our quest. Unfortunately, while our primary objective is to pursue Fangdarr, our current task is returning this girl safely to Riveton. Our honor demands no less.”
Meilan seemed revolted at the notion of a half-orc speaking of honor. He ground his teeth in anger as he spoke. “Of course. You may rest here this night, for the sake of the child.” At that, he turned rudely toward the village gate.
Curious eyes looked on at the strange party. The appearance of another orcish creature and dwarf stirred their suspicions as well. However, this time a young girl accompanied them. A human girl. As such, the villagers, though apprehensive, understood Meilan’s decision not to banish them to the forest.
The remainder of the evening went without fuss as the trio settled into their room in the inn. Bitrayuul decided to remain in his armor during his slumber, should any disagreeing villagers decide to take to arms. While they were a bit wary, the comforting straw beds were far superior to the unforgiving ground of the forest. Bitrayuul’s eyes weighed heavy as he watched the young girl sleeping in her bed—her care-free breaths a peaceful end to the day’s stress. A smile found its way to his face as he continued watching over her until he drifted into slumber.
The next morning, as sunbeams broke through the latticed wood of their window, Tormag woke Lilyana gently. Already, he and Bitrayuul were fully prepared to continue their journey. Lilyana stretched, yawned, and shook away the last of the night’s sleep. They could tell immediately that spending the night in shelter had done wonders for her mood. She greeted them with a chipper attitude, completely rid of the fear that had gripped her merely hours before. Racing down the stairs, she hopped onto a chair at the bar of the establishment. It was still too close to dawn for the innkeeper to be manning his post.
“Come, Lilyana. We will eat on the road. We do not want to overstay our welcome,” Bitrayuul explained.
She gave a groan of disapproval, clutching her tummy. Nevertheless, she followed her friends as they exited the building. “Are we headed to Riveton, Bitrayuul?” she asked eagerly.
The half-orc could not help but notice that she was impatient to be off the road. However, his concern was on what came next. They still needed to find her mother. What if she was no longer residing in Riveton? Or even alive? He shook the thought away for another time. “First, we need to backtrack a bit. We left our essentials back at our camp last night.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
They turned to see Meilan followed by two guards. Each man carried a bundle that they promptly dropped at the half-orc’s feet without caution. “We took the liberty of fetching your supplies,” Meilan said. “We wish you a fond farewell and a safe journey.”
Tormag and Bitrayuul caught on quickly. This was not hospitality. Their supplies had been thoroughly searched for any conspicuous items that would give Meilan reason to imprison Bitrayuul. Once again, they were insulted at his lack of trust in their honor. But they understood. Some could not be reasoned away from their blind hatred. At least the gesture had spared them backtracking.
Careful to not push their luck, the half-orc remained silent and allowed Tormag to respond. “Thank ye, Captain Meilan. Yer kindness ain’t t’ be forgotten.”
The man twiddled his goatee with his right hand, still holding his esteemed banner in the other. His pleasure at receiving gratitude from those he considered his lesser brought him great joy. With a final wave, he walked away as the guards escorted the group to the western gate.
As the gate closed behind them, they breathed a sigh of relief to be free from such a tense situation. It was places like Adderhaven that made Bitrayuul cherish his acceptance in Tarabar all the more. They put the town behind them and stepped forward, ready to continue their quest. It was a new day and Riveton was only a short distance ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GRATITUDE
The treacherous beings fled at the first sight of the bloodied blade tip exposed through the abdomen of the hulking orc. Orcs lived for battle and possessed a nearly insatiable lust for spilling blood. However, seeing this monstrous beast impaled inspired better judgment. Immediately, Cormac charged toward the man who still clung to the sword imbedded in his ally. Fury spurred the dwarf into acti
on.
Still entranced by the unlikelihood of his successful ambush, the man failed to notice the enraged dwarf barreling toward him. The opportunity wasn’t wasted by the stout guard captain, though, as he unleashed a barrage of heavy fists into the man’s face.
“H-hel—agh!” the man tried to call out before being interrupted by yet another punch to his cheekbone. The other soldiers looked on in confusion. “Help me!” the victim managed to cry out.
“Ye no-good-yella-bellied-stinkin’-human!” Cormac shouted at his victim, raining down a punch with each word. “He was just tryin’ to help!”
The other soldiers moved toward the angry dwarf in caution. He noticed their approach and pushed off forcefully from his quarry. Armed with his shields now, he assumed a defensive stance in front of Fangdarr, who still stood in silence, sword securely stuck through his torso.
Tension filled the air as Cormac stood off against the slowly progressing men. He kept tossing sidelong glances to his friend, waiting for him to come to a decision. Fight or yield, he asked with his eyes. Fangdarr simply sighed—a resigned sigh of acceptance. He gripped the protruding tip of the blade and pushed it back through his body. The men watched in horror as their target showed no sign of pain while the wretched edges sliced through his internal organs once more.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 14
