Orcblood Legacy - Honor

by Bernard Bertram

  Tormag watched in curiosity as his son stomped off to sleep without any more words. The old dwarf had been around Bitrayuul long enough to know when he was irritated. Even so, he simply shrugged it off and hoped a rest would relieve whatever tension the half-orc clung to. His attention returned to Cormac who was already buzzing with conversation. Tormag joined his dwarven ally in the lighthearted topic to speed the time.

  Later, a rough hand tapped Fangdarr on his shoulder, drawing him from his sleep. “Oye, yer turn, lad,” Cormac softly whispered to his friend. The orc rolled to his side and scanned the area. At least they seemed safe enough. With a hmph he was on his feet and ready to start the watch. Before waking Bear, the orc grabbed a small handful of dried meat from his provisions to settle the rumble in his stomach.

  Chewing on some of the meat, Fangdarr walked over to Bear and gave her a soft shake. Nothing except the lazy snoozing of her snout came in response. He shook her more forcefully now, still to no avail. The orc rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what the playful beast was doing, but in truth, Fangdarr loved her childish games. With a large piece of the salted meat held tight within his outstretched hand, he inched it closer and closer to her nose.

  Fangdarr smiled past his large tusks as Bear’s nose wiggled with more vigor, sensing the meal to come. Just as her maw opened to take in the slab, the orc retracted it. Without hesitation, his companion softly whimpered, only widening the orc’s smile. But Fangdarr could no longer torment the poor creature. With a small chuckle, he slid the meat into her mouth where it was devoured instantly. In response, Bear sprang to life and rubbed her cold, wet nose all over the giggling orc’s bare thighs.

  Cormac and Tormag simply looked at each other with incredulous expressions at the ridiculousness of their company. Then the two dwarves rolled onto their backs, flat against the stone before returning to their imaginary paradises within their minds.

  After feeding Bear a few more pieces, Fangdarr strode to their watch point at the threshold. He looked out beyond the gap for any threats but saw none—only the ceaseless view of sharpened stone and rough terrain leading to the many mountains beyond. Despite the near impossibility of a sighting, the orc scanned all he could see in search of the dragon. He scoffed at the notion of it flying about without a care. But pondering the thought more, Fangdarr realized it was not such an impossibility. This was Crepusculus’ domain, after all. The drake must have lived here for hundreds or thousands of years. Fangdarr recalled the tales of dragons Tormag had told them as boys and contemplated how this one was different.

  Unlike a red dragon, Crepusculus held no care for gold, glory, or pride. And, unlike a black, it did not seem to want to remain sleeping in its pit forever due to a profound self-awareness of its own godlike prowess that made all life seem meaningless. Unfortunately, not much was known about shadow dragons—only that one or two had been seen over the last few thousand years—and never with a positive outcome. They were said to be devious and foreboding creatures, capable of terrible things. Like most others of its kind, shadow dragons spent the vast majority of their life hidden away from view. The ageless monsters simply waited, biding their time; waiting for an era where dragons ruled over all other races once more.

  Fangdarr retreated into the small cavern and plopped to his rear. Bear, ever loyal, nudged against his chest before laying over the top of the orc’s legs. For many moments, Fangdarr remained prone under his companion, running large, calloused fingers through the animal’s thick coat. Bear blissfully exhaled to show her contentment, inching ever closer until she was sprawled over Fangdarr’s chest entirely.

  Though the orc was happy to be cuddled up with his soft, warm companion, Bear’s weight made it a strain for him to breathe. After a handful more of loving pets, Fangdarr exhaled and lifted the hulking mass of beast off his chest. She opened her eyes in confusion, wanting to know the reason for her comfort’s interruption.

  “I need to go,” he stated plainly, signifying his need to urinate. Bear rose with Fangdarr, but when the orc noticed her trailing him, he turned to add, “No, Bear. I need to go. You stay. I just be through there.” Her glistening nose followed his pointing finger through the passage gap. Bear gave a low whimper; whether for her lack of a cuddle partner or concern for his well-being, Fangdarr could not be certain. In any case, the orc wanted to get some fresh air for a moment. His hand rubbed her head in comfort before turning to exit the cavern.

  Passing through the threshold felt liberating as the wind bit into Fangdarr’s skin. It was the blooming season, so warm days that still held their moisture were the norm. However, up here in the mountains, the seasons were entirely altered. The heat that rose from the forest below got caught up with the winds against the high, jutting summits, causing it to cool. They were about half way up the mountain, where the wind was just beginning to get that slight edge to it, just enough to chill the orc’s skin. Fangdarr closed his eyes and stretched his arms out wide, embracing the whipping gusts.

  He stood for what seemed a lifetime—arms extended, fingers spread, allowing the chill to bring bumps to his blackened skin. Fangdarr took a large inhale and blew it out slowly, enjoying the crispness in his lungs. As the orc opened his eyes to scan the mountainous surroundings, his gaze locked on to a figure leaning loosely against a boulder a short distance away.

  “Beautiful view is it not?” stated the creature. Fangdarr instantly knew it for a troll due to the accent; the vocal flair of ‘is it’ sounded more like ‘eez eet’. The orc turned to face the intruder with caution.

  Before his journey, Fangdarr gladly named trolls his allies. They were vicious fighters capable of lethal action. However, this was the Tusk Mountains—labeled as such for the sheer number of trolls that inhabited its spine—and his party were now the intruders. The chieftain was torn between his own desired response and that which his band of companions would expect. Were they here with him, they would have demanded Fangdarr eliminate the threat of one from such an evil race. These were not necessarily false labels, but the orc wished to see past that as he hoped others would one day do the same for orcs.

  Unable to form words that would satisfy both perspectives, Fangdarr nodded his agreement. The creature walked forward slowly, nonchalantly, and though his protective instincts told him otherwise, the orc stopped himself from reaching for his weapon strapped across his back. He would at least allow this to play out. As the troll warrior came into view, Fangdarr spread a smile. “Raz’ja!” he exclaimed in eagerness. Never did he expect to encounter the troll chieftain this far from his home. Fangdarr extended a forearm in greeting.

  “Ah, Fangdarr, is that you?” Raz’ja asked in his distinctive dialect as he clasped arms with the orc. “What you doin’ here, chief?”

  Fangdarr still held the smile to his face, truly joyed to see his old ally. “Out for walk, you?” He did not want to be entirely honest with the troll just yet.

  Raz’ja continued without hesitation, “Ah, you know, lost me necklace!” The ensuing laughter at his own joke mixed with the joke’s obvious absurdity forced the orc to break out in hilarity as well. The troll’s neck already had nearly a dozen necklaces. Each were made of a mixture of bones, teeth, fingers, or ears; trophies from worthy kills. Fangdarr could pick out the different races based on the removed extremities—dwarven fingers, elven ears, and the like.

  Seeing the chieftain again reminded Fangdarr of how skilled Raz’ja truly was. They had fought together side-by-side on a handful of raids of the human lands. The troll was certainly a force you would rather have as an aid than an obstacle. His savagery seemed limitless. Fangdarr used to watch as his ally would skitter around the battlefield agilely cutting the hearts from innocent villagers and taking bites from them before the life finished leaving his victim’s eyes. Prior to his change of conscience, Fangdarr had been proud to call Raz’ja his friend—and even more so his ally.

  The orc briefly pondered in silence before deciding it would prove useful to have the troll aid
in their quest, but before Fangdarr could speak, the troll leader cut in. “Fangdarr, the time has finally come . . .” Fangdarr tilted his head curiously and gave the troll a puzzled expression. Raz’ja continued, slightly irritated that elaboration was necessary. “We will attack soon.”

  Taken aback by the sudden news, Fangdarr’s mind raced with questions and concerns. “What? When?” The act his counterpart spoke of now left a dense weight in the orc’s stomach, and Fangdarr’s bright yellow eyes could not hide his concern—a fact the troll was certain not to miss.

  Despite the orc chieftain’s unexpected reaction, Raz’ja continued. “Our numbers are great. We follow a leader—one who would see our races rulers of this land. Finally, we will be rid of the greedy fingers of man’s endless grasp. No longer will we hear the incessant strikin’ of dwarven pickaxes in the mountains beneath our feet. Can you imagine, Fangdarr? Bein’ able to walk this land freely without fear of annihilation simply because of the color of our skin or shape of our teeth?”

  Fangdarr listened intently as the troll rambled on in excitement. Each word he spoke only heightened his enthusiasm. By the end of Raz’ja’s response, the troll was nearly sweating in his fervor. The orc allowed his old ally to settle before asking, “Who this leader you follow?”

  At that, the troll’s wide mouth stretched to a sinister grin, revealing dark rows of sharpened teeth. The large curved tusks of his jaw became more exposed as Raz’ja’s lips curled back in glee. “We follow the Shadow One. Crepusculus.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CONSEQUENCES

  Fangdarr’s eyes grew wide in shock. Crepusculus?! The same drake his party now hunted? How could Raz’ja seek to follow such an unholy beast? The orc knew trolls, by reputation, were ill received, yet even he found this barbaric.

  “The dragon?! For what purpose?” the orc asked.

  Still sporting that wicked grin, Raz’ja happily provided answers. “It called to me, Fangdarr, O’ Mighty One. Even now, I hear his whispers in me ears.” The troll began pacing as his hands made exaggerated movements while recalling the story. “We trolls have always sought our rightful place in this world—above the weak humans and cowardly dwarves that hide in their caves. The Shadow One called to me and said, ‘You are strong. You are savage. Yet, you are the roots that remain unseen, holdin’ the towerin’ growth above on your shoulders. Do you wish to become immortal?’ So, of course, Raz’ja accepts his servitude. Crepusculus has promised us this land—agreed to be the guide to our fate and spread the plague that will erode the goodly races from this place, directly into our waiting hands.

  “Fangdarr, it has told me of your strength—that you stared the Shadow One in the face and roared in defiance. Such a feat! Raz’ja is strong, but even he cowers under the gaze of Crepusculus. I ask you, will you join us? Will you lead the orcs of the Zharnik clan to become the rulers of Crein? Our legend will be made immortal through the fables told by the few survivors that are left in our wake!” As Raz’ja finalized his pitch, he extended his arm toward Fangdarr.

  The orc chieftain was torn completely. His companions were relying on him—had even put their lives on the line for his impossible task. How could he even consider betraying them? But, Fangdarr’s gaze drew toward the three wide fingers now extended to him. All he had ever wanted for his people was there for the taking. Fangdarr only needed to serve.

  “Why hesitate?” Raz’ja asked, narrowing his eyes at the orc’s uncharacteristic reluctance. “You do not wish to bring your people the glory they desire?”

  “I would see my people rise!” Fangdarr growled back. “This decision not easy. Orcs not meant to serve.”

  “Ah, that’s right. You’re not meant to serve—only to be forced into the corner of the forest, hiding in your shame, beggin’ the humans to not swarm your clan and eradicate what is left of you. That is preferable to serving? I see. I see,” the troll taunted.

  Fangdarr growled in his face with growing anger. “Yes!”

  There it was. His decision had been made without the orc even knowing. Fangdarr immediately pondered his response and the possible consequences. Could he really bring about an era where orcs were considered equals on his own? Fangdarr clamped his eyes shut tightly. Did he just turn away the one opportunity in his lifetime that would turn the advantage and grant that wish?

  The orc was so distracted by the stress overtaking his mind, he hardly noticed Raz’ja extracting the sharpened stone dagger from his side. The orc looked down at the rush of blood and back to the one who had stabbed him. The expression on the troll’s face was not one of anger or hatred but disappointment. Raz’ja had truly wished for Fangdarr and his orcs to join the cause.

  Fangdarr grasped the wound with his left hand and reached for Driktarr with his right. In response, Raz’ja reached into a small animal skin pouch at his waist and flung an unknown substance into Fangdarr’s unsuspecting eyes. As the blinded orc fell back, he could feel the burning sensation of another dagger strike tearing into his thigh. Wiping the substance from his eyes, Fangdarr growled angrily as both wounds continued to bleed without relent. He scanned the area, but the troll was nowhere in sight.

  The orc chieftain’s thoughts turned from rage to concern as he realized his companions were sleeping a short distance behind him. Clutching both wounds tightly to staunch the flow, Fangdarr slowly marched back to the cavern with determination. As he closed the distance, the ring of clashing steel and hooting shouts of savage trolls could be heard. Fangdarr disregarded his own safety now as he removed his hands from the wounds to aid in speeding his charge.

  “Get a fire goin’! They regenerate immediately if ye don’t burn the wounds!” Fangdarr heard Tormag yell as he passed through the gap he was meant to defend. Already, he could see Bitrayuul dousing a small handful of sticks with oil in the center of the camp as their remaining allies held the attacking trolls at bay.

  “Fangdarr!” Bitrayuul called out upon seeing his brother return. The half-orc did not fail to notice the blood glistening on his sibling’s skin. As if in reply, Fangdarr removed his greataxe from its strap and charged toward the nearest foe.

  With the fire lit, the surrounding cavern became illuminated with the flickers of the dancing flames. Shadows stretched along the face of the walls around them. Gods, there were so many of them. With the faint light now granting a wider range of vision, a hundred pairs of eyes could be seen. They were completely surrounded. Even the path Fangdarr had passed through was now hemorrhaging trolls; each bearing their tusks in anticipation, ready to sink their sharpened stone weapons into the flesh of the intruders. This was their domain.

  Despite the overwhelming odds, the companions had managed to hold their own thus far. But the fire still had not been made. Each troll that was felled simply regenerated. Severed limbs grew back, and even decapitated enemies, after a few moments, rose to fight once more.

  “Agh!” Malice let out a yelp of pain as the six trolls she fought simultaneously managed to slip through her defenses to land a deep cut on her arm. Fortunately, Bitrayuul had just finished lighting the torches and handed one to Malice and each of the other allies—excluding Fangdarr and Bear—as they fought off the endless wave of enemies.

  Finally, the first troll fell as its oily skin instantly immolated in a raging inferno. Their strength was also their weakness, it seemed. While the hellish race could regenerate beyond comprehension, it came at the cost of producing an oily substance whenever their body became wounded—a highly flammable oil.

  Fangdarr found a place alongside his friends, between Bear and Bitrayuul’s position, and armed with their torches, the allies held back the tide. The makeshift fire to their backs, they formed a tight-knit circle to protect each other’s flanks while the flames behind served to dissuade any from attacking their rear.

  Bitrayuul cut through the trolls flawlessly. His armor served as a perfect tool against the creatures as the half-orc only needed to make minor cuts to cause the flammable liquid to excret
e at the wound. Once his armor gashed their skin, he swiftly followed with the torch conflagrating the screaming troll. Fangdarr’s weapon, on the other hand, was less suited for the encounter. Despite his quick cuts that would cleanly dissect each troll’s softened skin, they would simply rejuvenate. Though the irritated orc’s wounds had healed through the magic of his weapon, he had yet to fell any of the multiple trolls that had engaged him.

  Meanwhile, the dwarves were masterfully disposing of trolls at every turn. Being of the mountain, they were well accustomed to culling the filthy monsters that sought to infest their caves. Cormac held a torch in each hand from behind the blades that protruded from his shield. The moment the sharpened point pierced the skin, the torch immediately made contact and set the wound alight. Tormag took a less cumbersome approach. The dwarf simply doused both of his war hammers in oil and dipped them into the flames. Burning bright with orange and yellow flickers of light, the commander launched his hammers endlessly at the surrounding trolls. As each made contact, it immediately broke through the skin just enough to force the wound to fill with the flammable substance before igniting it in the same moment. He laughed all the while as his trusted weapons returned to his grip after each new inferno.