Orcblood Legacy - Honor

by Bernard Bertram

  “We shall stop here for the night,” he called to the group.

  Tormag and Cormac looked at their surroundings. They did not realize just how far their feet had carried them, too distracted they had been with their conversation. But night was thick within the forest with only slivers of moonlight piercing the overhead canopies. Following the base of the mountain, the party had made it all the way to the river. They could taste the moist air on their tongues, and in the distance, they caught the gleam of slow-moving water casting forth flickers of moonlight.

  “Start setting camp, everyone. We are near Hell’s Throat, and we should rest outside the passage while we are still able,” Bitrayuul suggested. It was true, rest would not come easy in the mountains. Too many a foe crept around every stone, waiting to strike.

  Malice sidled up to the half-orc. “I’m glad we’re done walking. Orcs and dwarves talk much more than I imagined. I had a lovely conversation with the bear, though,” she added sarcastically. As if she understood, Bear nudged the woman happily with her nose and licked at her face, causing Malice to laugh and swat at the beast. “Oh! You stupid animal! Gah!” Malice exclaimed as she wiped her face and rubbed Bear’s ears. She could not help but smile at the innocent, carefree face before her.

  After the encampment was in order, Fangdarr and Bitrayuul decided to take the first watch to continue their conversation. Once the others were asleep, the half-orc sat near his brother who simply stared out at the glistening, crystal-like surface of the river.

  “Like rivers, do you?”

  The orc blinked, but kept his eyes locked on the distant water. A silent nod was all he offered.

  “Have you seen the ocean?” Bitrayuul asked.

  Fangdarr raised an eyebrow, “Ocean?” He had heard tell of oceans, though he had never seen one. Orcs were not known for their interest in large bodies of water.

  “Yes, the ocean,” the half-orc started before producing a map from his bag. “See? Here,” he pointed to the left edge of the map, west of Crein, “the Maelstrom Coast. It is named due to the constant storms that approach land. And here,” his finger slid north-east, at the top of the parchment, “is the Monstrous Sea.”

  With intense curiosity, Fangdarr grabbed the document out of his brother’s hands. As he inspected it in more detail he asked, “There are monsters in Monstrous Sea?”

  “So the tales say. Though none have been seen for centuries.”

  Fangdarr continued his inspection. He had looked at dozens of maps and seen the seas listed before; however, the orc had never given it much thought. As the chieftain, he expected to stay within his plot of forest, never experiencing the wider world. But, now, this journey had shown him just how much he could experience. No longer did he feel confined within the borders of his clan. And this thought brought him distress as he realized his freedom would be revoked upon the resolution of their quest. Fangdarr did not wish to return, but he had no choice. How could he hope to call himself good if he did not sacrifice for the sake of the many?

  Catching on to his change of mood, Bitrayuul took back the map and tucked it away. They sat in silence for many moments just staring at the water. After a while, Fangdarr forced himself to avert his eyes. He did not wish to give himself more pain by having beautiful images to remember once he returned to his people.

  Seeing that his brother’s trance was broken, Bitrayuul took the chance to speak about the purpose of their seclusion. “Fang, I have to inform you . . .”

  The orc turned his head toward his brother to listen. “. . . the one who murdered Lilyana is hunting us. At first it was only Malice, but our interference has made us a target as well. He trails us even now, I am sure.” With that final statement, Fangdarr looked to his surroundings as if Chakal would be standing a stone’s throw away, waiting for an introduction.

  “I tell you this because he is dangerous—deadly, rather. There has been no greater opponent in my experience, Fang. If he comes, you must not fight him.”

  “Why?” the orc asked. “Not scared of anyone.”

  Already Bitrayuul was shaking his head. “No, you must fear him. He is beyond us all. His games are brutal, yet he holds to his code. He will not seek you out unless you get in his way. You and Cormac both need to remain uninvolved or else Chakal may be the end of us all.”

  The orc scoffed in response. “You are target?”

  His brother nodded, “All three of us.”

  Fangdarr did not hesitate before responding, “Then, I am involved.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  BUNOVIR

  Fangdarr woke to a gentle shake from Cormac. In the predawn darkness his instincts kicked in, causing the disturbed orc to jump to immediate alert.

  “What happen?” he asked, struggling to blink the night’s crust from his eyes. As he glanced around the camp, he saw his companions already up and prepared to continue. Without a word, Cormac handed Fangdarr his supply pack.

  With a drawn-out groan, the orc stretched his stagnant muscles, shouldered his pack and strode to his waiting allies. Because of the rotating watches, they were as unrested as he was. Nonetheless, if the party had any hope of making it safely through Hell’s Throat to the mountains in search of Crepusculus, they needed to start as early as possible. Trolls, ogres, and many more unknown monsters were known to traverse the Tusks; all of which one did not wish to encounter at night.

  They trudged forward with purpose, though without songs or joyful conversation. Within a short time, they reached the slow-moving river that marked the passage. Fangdarr took the lead, tracing the river east toward the imposing path between the jagged points of rock ahead. The orc picked up his pace before Tormag called from behind.

  “Look at that,” the dwarf said as his finger pointed upriver.

  From where they stood, the slow-flowing water was clear with occasional debris. However, the farther they followed the dwarf’s finger upstream, the more tainted the crystalline liquid became, slowly transforming the clean fluid into a dull blackish-green. With each step they took, the opaquer the water became. They also began to see various bones buried into the earth beneath the glistening sheen.

  “Seems we’re in the right spot, bahah!” Cormac added lightheartedly. In truth, the scene was intimidating. At the base of the passage were a myriad of higher streams flowing together to form a viscous pool that spilled into the river. The pond was a spear’s throw in diameter. Fangdarr led his allies to a tree near the edge of the pond, from where they took in the grisly sight.

  The entirety of the pool was a deep black resembling the blood of many of the monsters that inhabited this environment. Bones of hundreds of skeletons littered the area in abandon. The stench was nearly unbearable. Rotting corpses and skeletal remains stripped of marrow by feasting bottom-feeders lay sprawled throughout the entire valley.

  “Yeah, this be the right place indeed . . .” Tormag affirmed. Each of the gathered members had seen more than enough death, even the orc brothers who were still in early adulthood. But this . . . Even Fangdarr considered the implications of their task more clearly now. Not for himself, but for his dear friends.

  For many more moments, they stood in awe, simply waiting. For what, none knew. But all were apprehensive to take another step forward—as if that next step was the deciding factor; they could not turn back once that determined foot touched the ground.

  “Oh, gods,” the woman gasped, drawing everyone’s attention. She fell back a step, nearly tripping over Cormac’s small form, her eyes never leaving the source of her dismay. Bitrayuul steadied his mother before looking for himself.

  Across the pool, an enormous bipedal toad-like creature strode into view from the passage between the mountains. Its purple-black skin gleamed wetly over the rigid bumps that lined its body. Two bulbous eyes stretched on each side of its hideous face turning in every direction, as if searching for something. The party waited in silence beneath the cover of the tree, studying the monstrosity.

  “That’
s a bunovir, if me memory serves,” Tormag whispered with a shudder. “Nasty creatures, don’t ye doubt.”

  They continued to look on in disgust and horror as the beast squished around its nesting. Then the silence broke with the sound of raspy screaming. Covered in slime and more than a few twigs, a troll cried out in fear as it was dragged across the ground by the abhorrent creature. It pounded weakly on the grasping digits of the bunovir, desperate to escape.

  Fangdarr shuffled his feet. His tense shoulders tightened in angst while watching the helpless troll struggle. “We must help him,” he stated to the rest of the party before taking a step forward.

  His adoptive father gripped his shoulder to stay him. “Lad, there’s no chance.”

  Fangdarr’s expression quickly turned to anger and disappointment. “You would try if it dwarf or human!” he whispered harshly.

  Bitrayuul immediately shushed his aggravated brother to avoid them being discovered. The orc scowled at him and turned to view the troll in dire need once more. More anguished screams echoed off the surrounding mountains. Bitrayuul retracted in shock at his brother’s response. In that moment, he realized just how hypocritical his views were compared to Fangdarr’s. The brother he considered barbaric and without moral sight was actually his superior in honor. The half-orc’s honor only extended to the goodly races.

  Seeing that Fangdarr was about to charge out recklessly, the old dwarf continued, “Son, this monster is not t’ be tossed with.” As if on cue, the bunovir tossed its prey to the edge of the blackened pool, splashing the fetid liquid in a spray. After a moment, the troll realized it had been released and moved to flee. Kicking water and bones alike, the creature rose to its feet, when a large hand extended from the bunovir, pushing it back into the pool face-first. An odd noise came from the monstrous toad, something akin to a bubbling grumble. It was laughter.

  The orc clenched his fists tightly. Meanwhile, Tormag held tightly to his wrist urging him not to act. “Bit, help me!” the dwarf whispered, struggling to pull against the powerful orc’s arm.

  Bitrayuul, and even Cormac, helped grabbed ahold of Fangdarr. But his rage only heightened at being so restricted. His teeth bared, and his lip curled, further exposing his fangs. Luckily, the half-orc’s gauntlets granted him a massive amount of strength that helped to restrict his sibling. Nevertheless, with Fangdarr’s fury growing ever stronger, it was only a matter of time before he went berserk and overpowered the other three.

  “It ain’t . . . safe . . .” Cormac stated, hoping the sound of his voice would break through the rage-filled fixation. Desperately, he looked to Bear who sat in concerned confusion at the struggle between her comrades. She was nothing short of intelligent and had noted the three fighting to contain the massive orc’s lust. Nevertheless, her fealty was to Fangdarr, first and foremost. The animal looked away in feigned distraction to avoid the dwarf’s pleading gaze.

  Across the pond, the troll remained held underwater, kicking and splashing in futility. The blood-stained liquid filled its lungs, slowly pushing out the oxygen. The bunovir stopped its guttural laughter. At the same time, a dozen tendrils peeled away from its arm. Each moved of its own accord, whipping around in search of a target until they found the troll. The helpless creature froze as the vines stabbed into him, and the party across the lake widened their eyes in horror as hundreds of small amber orbs travelled through the appendages and into their new host.

  The bulbous eyes of the monster rolled back in ecstasy as eggs continued to fill the body of its captive. Fangdarr pulled with all his might now, despite the obvious fate of the defenseless creature he hoped to save. With the shock of the sight before them, his allies could no longer hold him. The enraged orc roared in triumph as his strong legs broke free then pushed him farther and faster into the putrid water and toward the object of his fury.

  Bitrayuul immediately broke into a sprint after his brother for he held no hope that Fangdarr could conquer the monster alone. Each of his loyal companions—even Malice, with a groan of annoyance—chased after the siblings, all headed toward the wretched monstrosity that had now become aware of their presence. Unlike the orcish pair and Bear, though, the dwarves and Malice were forced to trace the edge of the deep pool.

  Expressionless, the bunovir ripped away the tendrils that still pulsed in orgasmic spasms. Blood sprayed into the air, mixing its glimmering, blue hue into the blackened pool before diluting. The creature stood facing the oncoming intruders lacking all emotion. It set its wide eyes on Fangdarr, who was hardly slowed by the waist-high sewage. As if in slow motion, the bunovir shifted its foot forward into the ensanguined pond.

  Driktarr came from his shoulder harness as Fangdarr closed the distance between himself and his foe. In his final strides, the chieftain let out a barbaric growl. Still the monster continued its dauntless progression.

  “Bothain’s beard . . .” Bitrayuul mumbled under his breath as he ran. Now that he was much closer, the true stature of the monster became apparent—it quintupled his own height; the half-orc only measured up to its knee. He cursed his brother’s profound sense of honor, thinking it would surely be the end of them all. “Fangdarr, run!” Bitrayuul called out in urgency.

  It was pointless. Lust for blood had consumed the orc fully—no fear, no hesitation, only unquestionable need. A heavy foot planted onto the exposed bone of what must have been an ogre. Using that, the chieftain kicked off and leapt high into the air, sailing through the splatter of black droplets, his face contorted in sheer anger. If expressions alone could kill, this one would have felled many. No expression came from the bunovir, though, even as Driktarr bit into the thick, armor-like skin of its left breast.

  With Fangdarr still gripping the handle of his weapon, the nearest eye turned to the dangling orc. The chieftain was too blinded by rage to notice the impending outstretched hand reaching for his defenseless form.

  Bitrayuul was still too far, still wading through the thick, imbrued pond. His hand reached back to pull Kwip from his its resting place and, as he had practiced countless times, strung it in one fluid motion. The half-orc loosed an arrow toward the bunovir’s eye, hoping to distract it from its fixation on Fangdarr. However, the feathered fletching had become soaked in the fetid water, and Bitrayuul had to watch helplessly as the shot missed the mark and skated harmlessly over the monster’s rigid flesh.

  Not even noticing the glancing missile, the beast was near to closing its massive hand around the unsuspecting orc. With a defiant growl, Fangdarr pulled his beloved weapon from its prison and fell to the creature’s feet with a loud splash. As the orc turned to face his opponent, Bear’s intercepting form came into view, but so did a hammer-like fist from the creature that crashed into both of them, knocking them back a long distance. Luckily, the surface of the water softened the orc’s tumble as he skipped along like a stone to the shoreline. Unfortunately, Bear took the brunt of the force, propelling her beyond the shoreline until she collided with the distant stone wall then rolled limply to the rotten ground in a heap. Fangdarr’s allies were nearly to him at the water’s edge. They had not missed the spectacle of the bunovir’s heavy bash.

  “Fang! We’re comin’, son!” Tormag yelled from a dozen strides away with Cormac and Malice in tow.

  Fangdarr shook his head from the dizziness of the blow. As his vision cleared, he saw the troll lying next to him. Up close, the orc could see the oozing, puss-filled wounds left by the tendrils. He could not hide his disgust as the festering sores still pulsed like a heartbeat. The dwarves and Malice approached, checking the status of their companion first before noticing the reason for his twisted expression.

  “My stones . . . what the . . .” Cormac started, too horrified to find the words. Malice puked a heap of bile onto the bloodstained grass, coughing and gagging at the smell. If the sight seemed unbearable, the stench was much worse. It resembled the smell of a carcass left to rot for a full moon cycle mixed with the excrement of a dozen ogres. The dwarf captain plugge
d his nose as he leaned close to better inspect the troll.

  As if on cue, one of the pulsating pustules splattered, followed by a surging eruption of monstrous tadpoles. Cormac fell back and yelped in surprise. His heavy boots pushed him back as the hundreds of baby creatures flopped and flicked in his direction. Despite their size, long teeth could be seen protruding from the gaping maw of each as they bounced ever closer.

  Tormag and Fangdarr lifted the prone dwarf to his feet with the woman still too incapacitated from her sickened state. Humans often did not have the stomach for such an assault on their senses.

  Fangdarr’s rage had dissipated from the bunovir’s attack previously, though seeing the fate of the troll up close quickly rekindled the dying flame within him. His eyes glanced over to his animal companion, who still lay motionless against the wall. The enormous orc’s muscles bulged in fury at the fate of his friend who had selflessly blocked the attack that certainly would have crippled him. But what immediately alarmed him was the monster had redirected its attention to Bitrayuul, who was pointlessly launching a steady stream of arrows at the beast—none successful.