“What is on other side of marshes?” he asked Cormac.
The dwarf was taking off his worn boots when Fangdarr asked his question. He sighed in relief as the cool breeze blew on his sweaty, wiggling toes. “Let’s see, accordin’ to the map the Echoed Marshes extend widely. Streams spread out in every direction, it seems. A few even huggin’ a human settlement and reachin’ most of their way to the base of them mountains. We’re needin’ to reach Hell’s Throat, right?”
Fangdarr nodded in confirmation.
“Right, so we can take three routes. First, through your territory,” he started, but the orc was already shaking his head. “Figured as much. Next, we could attempt to swim through Metridium Lake. But, the lake is wide and deep. Folks seem to believe it houses a creature within its depths, hence why no humans have settled near it. It would be a long swim, Fang—a full day’s worth. And I,” he smacked his heavy plate armor and shields, “don’t think I can float for long. Bahaha!”
The orc shook his head at his friend’s everlasting humor. “And third? Through marsh?”
“Aye, through the marsh. It be thick with mud from the streams flowin’ through it. However, it drifts west, toward the Coast.” He passed the map to the orc. “As ye can see, if we stick to the east, the path should be less treacherous. Can’t be forgettin’ the humans to the west. Best to avoid them, I reckon.”
Fangdarr looked the map over intently. The marshes were indeed vast. He was amazed at how accurately his clan’s current borders had been depicted. It was obvious this map had been made recently and with special attention given to the Zharnik borders. Its accuracy was worrisome. He shook the care away—not the time or place, he thought. Focusing on the journey at hand, he scanned the map closely. The Orclands bordered all the way up to the eastern edge of the marsh. Fangdarr regretted not taking the time to traverse all his lands himself.
It was curious to him that his orcs had stopped their advancement at the marsh. Orcs were not known for their caution, especially regarding something so trivial as terrain. He recalled Cormac stating the path was treacherous, but orcs would not halt their pursuit of blood and glory due to mud. No, there had to be more cause for concern.
The orc tossed the map back to his friend, knowing the answer to be obvious—though unfavorable. “We rest here tonight. Tomorrow we stay in orc borders, avoid marsh.”
Cormac nodded, knowing it was the smart choice. “We’ll take it slow and keep caution. If we see any orcs, we’ll try to avoid them.”
Fangdarr smiled knowingly, ever surprised at the cherished relationship he shared with a dwarf he had only known for less than a moon cycle. Cormac understood him, and even more, he respected him. Respected his beliefs, his concerns, and his fears. The young orc could not have hoped for a better ally to join in his quest. With a quick jump to his feet that startled his animal companion, Fangdarr stretched long and hard. His hands tickled the underside of the leaves above, three times the height of Cormac.
After stretching his muscles, Fangdarr smiled and called to his friends, “Swim time!” His allies needed no convincing to join in the relaxing bath, despite Cormac’s warning of fabled rumors. After rushing the few hundred strides to the shore of Metridium Lake, Fangdarr gently tossed Driktarr onto the shore, embedding the sturdy weapon in the earth. Bear splashed into the water first in merriment, having no provisions to discard.
Trailing behind on stubby legs, Cormac reached the shoreline a short while later. “Bah! Damned be the gods for the curse of dwarven legs!” he bantered, working slowly to remove his heavy shields from his arms. He removed one shield, then moments passed as he grew irritated with the buckle on the remaining piece. Impatience caused him to fumble even more as he listened to the joy of his companions. “BAH! Today be the day Cormac Shield-Slammer wishes he were known to be Cormac Dagger-Dropper!” He continued to curse himself, anger seething within him as he gripped the strap with his teeth in rage—only pulling it tighter.
Fangdarr laughed aloud at his friend’s state of unrest. He watched in lighthearted humor as Cormac tried every which way to relinquish the strap’s unrelenting grip to no avail. “Come, Cormac! Water feels—”
The old dwarf, too caught up with the stubborn leather that seemed to be the source of all the wickedness in the world, did not take notice to Fangdarr’s sudden silence. It was Bear’s whimpering that broke the dwarf’s fury and brought his attention back to the water.
In an explosive instant, the enormous orc broke the surface of the water in a desperate gasp for air before disappearing below once more. Cormac could not tell if the orc was playing tricks or if something was amiss. Bear whined with more furor now, proving the latter. The dwarf charged into the water.
In the depths, Fangdarr struggled immensely. After the initial shock, he steeled his determination and peered into the murky water. He could only see blurred silhouettes of his assailant; nonetheless, he was gripped tightly by what seemed to be half a dozen long, rope-like appendages. They entwined his body entirely—putting even his impressive stature to shame—as they squeezed and dragged him further into the deep.
He fought against the strong tendrils with all his might. Each time he ripped one from his skin, tearing flesh with each removal, it simply rewound itself anew elsewhere on his body. Already he could feel a tightness in his lungs as his muscles consumed more and more oxygen in their struggle. The water around him grew cooler and darker the deeper he was pulled down.
Cormac splashed into the water and immediately noticed the steep drop off. His concern for Fangdarr became absolute for he knew he would be of no use past this point. The armor that served as his protection against steel and wood was merely a death sentence here. He could not hope to remove it in time, nor could he manage to swim against the pull of the armor’s weight that would surely sink him to the bottom of the lake—wherever that may be. The dwarf shouted for his friend in panic. Long had it been since he experienced such helplessness. He could only watch in anxious horror, unknowing of the fate of his ally.
Bubbles formed a spear’s throw from where he stood—surely air escaping from the trapped orc. Tears formed in Cormac’s eyes. Each shout became louder than the last as he called to his friend. The despair of his uselessness hit him like an ogre’s maul. Bear too whimpered for her master before diving into the darkened water, leaving the distraught captain to his madness. Not long after, she ascended and remained afloat, sending beckoning roars in the direction of the bubbles.
Fangdarr, still fully entangled in the monster’s tentacles, was nearing his final breath. His vision dulled, bringing darkness ever closer. Sheer rage filled him with adrenaline. The legacy of Fangdarr would not be ended in a field such as this. In his last few breaths, his strategy changed. Rather than fighting the unyielding grip of the beast, he allowed himself to be pulled. Closer and closer he was dragged. Right up to the mouth of the monster. Now, within close quarters, Fangdarr began his assault.
Large hands clasped on each side of the beak-like mouth of the being now attempting to swallow him. Fighting through the restricting appendages, the hulking orc pulled, his enraged state granting him more power. Even though his muscles lacked oxygen, he managed an earth-shattering heave. Beneath the water, the cracking of bone echoed loudly as the maw of the creature pushed deep into its own brain. In an instant the relentless grip loosened around the orc, but still, he remained entangled as the suctioned limbs held fast, pulling him with only the limp weight of the beast now. The orc’s rage subsided as quickly as it had come, unable to be sustained in his depleted form. His eyes blurred entirely, and Fangdarr’s consciousness slipped away.
Cormac and Bear waited in anticipation. The dwarf was now kneeling in the waist-high water, sobbing uncontrollably. The glimmering memories of his mate and son flashed painfully through him. Though never forgotten, the pain of their deaths had buried itself deep within his mind in order to aid his survival of their passing. Now, those same memories which had roused him from countles
s nights of fitful sleep came crashing back. Only this time they were met with the doomed fate of Fangdarr, playing right in front of his eyes.
“Fangdarr!” he continued to shout as snot and saliva dripped from his nose and chin. Between his sobs, he never stopped shouting. He cared nothing for threats he may draw to himself in that moment from the surrounding wood. The dwarf only could stare intently at the bubbles slowly dying just out of reach.
Bear nudged the saddened dwarf with her wet nose. “Bah! Get away, ye damned beast! Why could ye not help him?! Ye can swim, ye blitherin’ melon!” he berated her in anger, swatting harmlessly at the animal. Still, she nudged and whimpered, then lightly grabbed hold of his shield-less arm and gave a slight tug. “What!? What do ye want from me!?” Then his eyes were drawn to the water once more, where far out across the lake, he saw something floating—a hulking black mass that could only be an orc wrapped in the tentacles of a monster.
“FANGDARR!” Cormac called out. No movement came from the floating form. It continued to drift to the south. The dwarf hardened his resolve and addressed the animal still tugging at his arm. “Come, Bear!”
The pair rushed back to shore, pausing only to pick up his beloved shield as well as Driktarr. Against all instinct, he strapped his shield to his arm quickly. No fumbling this time. How he would ever manage to carry his shield and the axe that matched his own size while rushing through the thick foliage along the lake’s shore was beyond him. But he had no choice.
Soon they were off, speeding through the forest along the edge of the lake while Cormac kept a watchful eye on the water in hopes of tracking the orc. He had already lost sight of the mass but knew the flow would carry him into the marshes. Night was nearly upon them, but the dwarf who previously had been immobilized in helplessness sped on. He would not be deterred.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MARSHES
Slowly his eyes opened. His mouth tasted of blood and mud, and around him, he could smell a clinging death. The scent lingered in his nose, drawing a wretched gag. As his vision began to restore, he felt the foreign embrace of objects clutched to his body. Faded memory of recent events eluded the orc until he looked below to see the tangled limbs of the creature wrapped loosely around him. Willing himself to move, he grimaced in pain as he roughly extracted the tendrils. Time had lessened their suction, yet still he could feel his skin being torn.
In his grogginess, he stood in the deep mud of the wet terrain. His confusion lifted as he pieced together his surroundings. Marshlands. The Tusks could be seen to the south, confirming his bearings. Fangdarr stretched his aching body and moaned in agony. Nearly half his skin had been ripped away by the monster that had dragged him to its domain, and blood flowed freely from the large wounds. As if on instinct, he searched for his treasured weapon to no avail. How he truly wished for its healing.
Each movement etched pain into his expression. The orc’s anger simmered at the thought of showing such weakness. His yellow, glowing orbs looked over the creature that had sought to end him. Him. Fangdarr. To end his legacy beneath the murky waters of a lake! No field of glory. No carnage surrounding him as he finally fell to overwhelming odds. No. To a cowardly creature that hid in the shadow of an abyss, waiting for a misfortunate creature to stumble into its trap.
Fangdarr kicked the squishy bulbous mass that could only have been the creature’s head. Again. And again. He kicked in rage at the monster that had tried to bring upon him an unacceptable fate. A fate that would dismiss all that he had claimed in conquest, as if a king were to fall by slipping on ice. His heavy foot crashed a dozen times into the flesh before finally breaking through. Black ooze and blood mixed with the sludge-like water of the marsh.
Pleased with himself, Fangdarr steadied himself once more. However, weariness had other plans for the exhausted orc. In his weakened state, his pride was not enough to support his towering frame, and he crashed into the earth onto his back. Fangdarr lay in the putrid liquid once more, chest heaving as it sought for breath. His memory had failed to recall that he had lost consciousness only a few moments prior. A heavy sigh blew past his lips and around his enlarged fangs as he accepted the rest.
* * * * *
Cormac and Bear sped through the wood on the outskirts of the lake, continuing their sprint downstream in search of Fangdarr. The dwarf’s burning muscles shot jolts of pain through his feet and legs begging him to stop. He paid no heed. Onward they traversed the foliage before finally reaching the edge of the Echoed Marshes.
“He has to be here somewhere, Bear,” Cormac panted. Eerie fog swirled everywhere, making it impossible to see more than a few paces ahead of them. The dwarf laid a hand on the beast, making sure they did not become separated. From where they stood, the marshes spread into an ever-widening web. Their friend could be anywhere. A tenday could pass before they scoured the whole place, even more if the fog persisted. Cormac pushed away thoughts of the impossible task before them as they slowly pressed on.
* * * * *
Stirring once more from the tar-like muck, Fangdarr rolled to his side while caressing his now-throbbing skull. Finally, the headache subsided and allowed him to see clearly. In his last recollection, it had been evening. Now, he sat alone in the pitch of night as low fog drifted over the water underneath the moon.
Fangdarr slowly groaned to his feet and once again assessed his wounds. The sight was grisly, to say the least. Pus seeped from the sores and infection had already begun to set in. A dozen leeches latched hungrily to his torn skin, feasting on his blood. His expression turned to disgust as he squashed one of the engorged parasites, causing it to explode bloodily in his hand. Fangdarr growled as he expelled the remaining bloodsuckers from their feast.
Nearly naked and weaponless, the orc considered his options. By his position in relation to the mountain range, he could tell he was not too far south of the Lake, though he could not determine how far east or west. He was not familiar with the marshlands, nor did he care for them. Making a trek in either direction was a risk that would either bring him to the edge of the harsh environment or deeper into its interior.
Heading south was the goal, but what of his allies? What if they came into the Echoed Marshes in search of him? Fangdarr could not risk the lives of his companions in such a fruitless search. It would be impossible for Cormac to track him in this watery muck. No. He must press on.
Fangdarr sniffed the air around him. It was thick with the smell of rotting carcasses—though that may have been the beast he just slew. The fog was thickening, sending an opaque shroud over the moonlight above. He hated this place. Isolation and emptiness were all he felt here. A chill ran down his spine shaking the proud chieftain from his normally unshakeable fearlessness—the beginning stitches of a blanket of terror. What if he fell in this desolate place?
Sheer stubbornness shook his thoughts away.
He shifted his attention to the noise that echoed in his ears. He had not noticed it before, but now he could hear it: a faint sound through the marsh. Fangdarr could not quite place it. It was both familiar and foreign. Warm and cold. Welcoming and warning. The seductive sound came from the south, from deep inside the marsh. Begging. Pleading.
Every instinct within Fangdarr tugged at him. Flee! Escape this place! Yet, the enchanting sound—naught but a whisper—told him to fight those instincts. And in his weakened state, Fangdarr could not deny the trance. His feet carried him slowly, deeper into the wasteland. With each step, the whisper gradually grew stronger.
He trudged through the muck for a few minutes, ignoring the drain on his legs as he was forced to pull his stuck limbs from the thickness. As he trudged closer to the sweet, embracing sound, it heightened as if his advancing presence increased its eagerness. Another song joined the first. Then a third. All melodies made identical promises to the mystified orc, echoing in his mind. Fangdarr found his eyelids growing heavy as he drifted closer to the origin of the nocturnal threnodies. In his narrow vision, he caught glimpses
of rotted corpses riveted to the earth around him, nearly swallowed whole by the ravenous mud.
Dozens of them.
The orc’s previous instincts that had begged for him to turn and run shouted ever louder now. FLEE! NOW! Fangdarr’s enchantment wavered, and his eyes opened wider to inspect his environment. That single flicker of clarity was enough for him to catch sight of his assailants: a trio of withered beings drifting with ease ever nearer.
Their likeness seemed that of specters. Hollow, intangible, threatening. Yet, they were real. He knew it. Their songs grappled him with the strength of ten of the beasts of the depths—an unseen strength that the great orc could not hope to overpower or withstand. They drifted in and closed in on him. Fangdarr’s yellow eyes had no luster anymore. They looked ahead—directly into the eyes of one the fiends—but saw nothing. Their enchantment had anchored him down and taken hold of his mind. The great chieftain could only remain immobilized as the maw of the bedeviled specter opened impossibly wide.
“GYAH!!!” Cormac shouted, slamming a shield heavily into the villain a moment before it consumed the head of his friend. Despite their apparent intangibility, the creature crashed into the sludge. “So, ye are real!” the dwarf exclaimed. “Well, that’s unfortunate for ye.” He punctuated his statement with a follow-up stab of his shield blade into the neck of the hollow monster. A shrill shriek escaped as bluish mist erupted around the steel with a hiss.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 18
