Orcblood Legacy - Honor

by Bernard Bertram

  “Enough!” Bitrayuul cut off the elf angrily. Malice lay curled up in a ball, sobbing profusely, reliving the horrors her stalker had inflicted upon her and her kin.

  Elethain’s thin, angled brows bent inward to form a frown. “If you cannot even speak of the assassin, what hope do you have to stand against him?” His disgust was evident, adding bitterness to each word that came from his mouth. “Such inferior beings . . . You know how to defeat such an enemy, don’t you? It is obvious.” The necromancer paused, waiting for the confirmation of his superiority from Bitrayuul.

  Even though the half-orc’s irritation begged him not to, Bitrayuul knew he needed to allow the elf to continue. It was true, he did not have any idea of how to conquer such a limitless foe. To spare Malice, himself, all of them, Bitrayuul would have to swallow his pride. He breathed deeply to settle his heightened agitation. “How?”

  A snide, arrogant grin etched itself upon the elf’s face. “It is simple, really. Deny him. Ignore him. Chakal is a powerful warrior, that much cannot be disputed. But he is emotional. It is his greatest weakness. He cannot break his own rules: no killing a target that will not return the fight, only killing one target at a time—in most cases—things like that. These commandments are not of another’s will but his own. He must follow them. To disregard them would prove disastrous for his mind. There are more ways to fell an enemy than by blade.”

  Bitrayuul remained silent, refusing to give Elethain the satisfaction of his appreciation. In truth, Bitrayuul had edged on a similar conclusion back in the forest during their first true confrontation with the elf. He remembered how the assassin had acted when Malice had first refused to fight. And Chakal had hunted Malice for years without ever causing harm simply due to her refusal to play his game. It was true. So long as he was denied, he was harmless. But then Bitrayuul thought of the murderous elf’s escalation. Once Chakal had learned of Lilyana, an advantage had presented itself. It was true one could survive the assassin’s blades if they could ignore him, however, could Bitrayuul ignore the assassin knowing that it would lead to the death of all those he loved?

  The half-orc rolled to his side. In any case, now was not the time to concern himself with the stalker on their outskirts. A much larger task was at hand. Crepusculus would not simply allow them to stride into its lair and end its life. They needed to keep their wits. Bitrayuul placed a calming hand on his mother’s arm to comfort her light sobs. Before long, the pair were fast asleep near the warmth of the fire. Cormac curled up near them as well. The old dwarf had dealt with elves occasionally over the years, ambassadors and traders mostly. He was accustomed to the snobby nature of the woodland creatures, though Elethain’s prejudice was particularly irritating. Rather than allow emotion to take over, the captain elected to rest.

  The encampment remained quiet for a long while with only the elves and Fangdarr remaining awake. Elethain’s ghouls had returned to his side some time ago, standing motionless at the mouth of the cave staring with lifeless eyes. The orc could not help but inspect them in wonder. No breathing, no blinking, no moving. They were truly lifeless, it seemed. What useful tools, Fangdarr thought. The ghouls ensured the elf could rest whenever necessary despite embarking on his journey alone. Even so, used to the necessity of rotating shifts, the orc, out of habit, remained awake watching over the camp. Some habits are not easy to break.

  Elethain noticed Fangdarr eyeing his creations and smiled. How he wished to boast of their creation. The obnoxious elf hated to miss the opportunity to display his superiority to an orc, but he was very tired. He leaned back against the stone to relax and shut his eyes. While Elethain was a powerful spellweaver, pressing a dragon back was no easy task. Each spell drained his stamina, little by little. Over time, magical beings grow stronger and can use more magic at one time, and indeed, the elf was powerful, though still nowhere near the capabilities of others of his race. He began practicing magic over two-thousand years ago when he was very ‘young’. Elves could live for nearly ten-thousand at their longest, though most passed into Cerenos’ Forest at half that. There were elves within their kingdom that had twice the experience and strength that Elethain possessed. Due to magic having a direct correlation between strength and the amount of time spent learning, practicing, and building more stamina, it was not often a human—or orc, for that matter—that could compare to an elven or dwarven spellcaster. Their short life spans simply put a limit on what could be mastered over their years.

  Aesthéa quietly rose from her seat near the fire and walked toward Fangdarr. The orc watched her calmly, knowing she might attempt to talk. As she sat next to him, he could not help but see her for the first time in her true form. When first she revealed her elven nature, Fangdarr was too taken aback to focus on her features. Now, sitting next to his not-so-furry companion, the chieftain could not help but notice her beauty. Chakal, Elethain, and Aesthéa were the first elves the orc had encountered. He had read descriptions of them, all of which described them as fair-skinned and beautiful creatures, and it was not false.

  She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, those familiar brown orbs gleaming vibrantly behind the glaze. The elf could hardly form words, each attempt only brought a meek noise from the amount of shame she carried. “I-I . . . so . . .” Fangdarr’s eyes met hers. He was calm with no sign of anger or distrust, no sign of anything. “I’m so . . . sorry, Fangdarr,” the druid managed to get out between gentle sobs.

  The orc placed a large hand on her back, realizing that it covered half of it due to her slender build. “I feel betrayed,” he began slowly, drawing another sob from the distraught elf. Fangdarr moved a finger to below her chin to force her to look into his eyes. “I am betrayed you not tell me, not that you are elf. I understand why you hide. But,” he paused to wipe the tears from her eyes, “I would have accepted you no matter what. Should not have lied to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Fangdarr. I was afraid you would turn me away.”

  He chuckled in response. “You took bite from my arm,” Fangdarr raised his left arm to reveal the maw-shaped scar Aesthéa had left in their first encounter, “and you afraid I turn you away? Who would help make brutal scars then?” A smile formed on his face in playfulness as the elf let out a quick outburst of laughter before covering her mouth. With the mood lightened, the orc asked the question he wished to ask previously. “Why you not leave?”

  She sighed, knowing he had called her earlier bluff about gathering information for her kingdom. “You know the answer to that, Fangdarr.” The elf turned her face away, unable to meet his gaze in that moment. Yet the orc was relentless.

  “Why?” he asked again softly.

  Still not looking at him, she answered, “Because my heart demanded it.”

  Fangdarr brushed the black strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face away with a finger, as gentle as an orc could muster. Once again, he lightly steered Aesthéa’s face toward his. “Now you know why I not turn you away,” the proud chieftain said quietly. The druid’s eyes lit up in an instant. To the orc’s surprise, the elf lunged forward and pressed her thin lips against his with deep passion. All her accumulated feelings that she had forced to remain hidden since the start of their journey were channeled into that single moment. The orc had never been kissed before, not even by his mother. It was a foreign act in the realm of orc culture. Yet, Fangdarr needed no explanation of what to do. His body and mind made the decisions for him, returning her passion in kind. Unlike Aesthéa, his feelings had been immediate with the discovery of her true form. Nonetheless, Fangdarr’s love was real and immense, overtaking all thoughts completely. In that moment, there was no dragon. There was no clan conflict. No death. There was only her.

  As the elf’s face retracted from Fangdarr’s, both had tears streaming down their faces. It was the first time the orc had shed a tear since his mother died. For her part, Aesthéa did not need to give explanation to her tears. Too long had she waited for this moment with the pent-up tension of no
t being able to express herself despite the object of her love being near her every day. Now that the elf could finally release the emotions she had kept locked in the coffer of her heart every waking moment, it overwhelmed her. She felt the passion channel through every muscle in her body, pushing her closer to him.

  “Why are you crying?” Aesthéa asked, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Fangdarr turned his face, too proud to show his vulnerability once it had been noted. She took his face in her small hand, turning him back to face her just as the orc had done.

  Fangdarr sighed hopelessly, letting his guard down for the first time in his life. “This all I ever wanted.”

  The elf leaned forward and kissed him once more before lying down against his torso. Her diminutive frame seemed so small compared to Fangdarr’s. Just over half his height and a fraction of his stature, the druid embraced him tightly, unwilling to let the moment she had been waiting for end. The orc placed his arm over her body, nearly covering her entirely. Another tear fell down his face as Fangdarr watched Aesthéa drift off to sleep, her gentle breaths lightly tickling his side. He smiled and closed his eyes. But then his thoughts turned to the morrow and to the dreadful experience they would have to face. The realization that this moment would end, only to be replaced by the risk of death, shook Fangdarr more than he was used to. With his goal of being loved finally accomplished, the true despair of what that meant hit him like a hammer. Now that he had it, he could lose it. The orc shook away the thoughts and tried to force sleep. He could not afford a restless night.

  Only a few paces away, Elethain clenched his fists and bit his lip with enough forceful anger to draw blood. The indecency of it! Even so, he would not dare cause a scene now or risk attacking Fangdarr. Elethain could not openly dispute the personal life of a member of the royal family—though her relation was somewhat distant from the crown. Instead, the elf was forced to seethe and boil in his rage at the sounds of their embrace. The verbal confirmations of their affections brought bile to his throat. Such filth and disgust! Yet it was not his place to interfere. Still, while the elf lay against the cold stone in feigned sleep, he considered the possibility that Fangdarr may fall to Crepusculus in their next skirmish—by the dragon’s hand . . . or another’s.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  JOINED

  Fangdarr awoke startled, his heart pounding against his chest in panic. The orc scanned the area with blurry eyes, not yet realizing the nightmare was over. Visions of Crepusculus had poisoned his mind. Scorching. Ripping. Murdering. Within that apparition, the chieftain had been forced to watch Aesthéa perish before his eyes. Remnants of the dream flickered through his mind as Fangdarr stirred awake and settled back against the boulder with a sigh of relief. Still under his arm, Aesthéa slumbered peacefully. Fangdarr recalled the previous night: the confession, the passionate embrace, and the feeling of finally having one to call his own. The orc could not help but laugh at the ridiculousness of how it had all come to pass. Never in his lifetime did he ever expect to find romance, much less start a romance with what he had before assumed was a bear—a beast of the wild. Yet, there he lay with her beside him.

  A finger traced the impressions of the muscle on her arm. Despite her small frame, he admired how strong she was. Perhaps one of the byproducts of linking her spirit with a bear? Fangdarr’s hand continued to slide over Aesthéa’s smooth skin. It was not rough, nor hairy, but felt somehow thicker. Yet, it was tremendously soft. The elf’s black hair reflected the shining light of the campfire, drawing the orc’s eyes from her body. His thick fingers pushed their way through her hair. Fangdarr could not believe the feel of the silk-like strands over his hand and between his fingers. While the chieftain may have been bald, he knew what orc hair felt like. It was coarse and dry, nothing but a stringy nuisance. Running his callused hands through Aesthéa’s locks soothed Fangdarr immensely.

  From the gentle rubbing, the elf stirred from beneath the orc’s arm. She opened her bright, brown eyes and looked at Fangdarr. Aesthéa immediately smiled and squeezed his abdomen in greeting. “Morning,” she yawned.

  Fangdarr chuckled happily. “Morning, Bear.”

  The elf giggled at him, eyes still closed in grogginess. “It is Aesthéa. ‘ess-thay-uh’,” she pronounced for him.

  “Esstayuh,” he replied, botching the pronunciation. His tongue was not used to the intricacies of elvish articulation. Fangdarr frowned at his failed attempt, repeating different variations of her name—all incorrectly.

  She giggled at him again. “Bear will suffice,” Aesthéa said with a smile. After all, ‘Bear’ was not a false name for a druid who shared her spirit with such a beast. The elf stretched from beneath the orc’s arm, still not able to reach his full height, even with her arms fully extended and toes pointed. She pulled herself from his embrace and stood, straightening her leather jerkin. Aesthéa looked down at the orc and smiled wide—a beautiful expression that Fangdarr could not avert his gaze from.

  Fangdarr watched as his companion reached out for him with a small hand. “No more secrets,” she said softly. He smiled tenderly at her before taking her hand. Of course, his own dwarfed hers five times over, so as he stood, she slid her hand over his to wrap her arm around the chieftain’s thick wrist. Together, they walked over to the entrance of the cave where their companions were just starting to rouse. The fire still danced with life, though it had become obsolete with the encroaching sunlight beaming through the mouth of their abode. The pair remained joined while looking out of their mountain hole. Elethain’s ghouls still stood motionless, ever vigilant for any threat that might come.

  Cormac rose, rubbing his shoulder beneath the plates of his armor. “Ughh . . . Mornin’. Never thought I’d say I regret sleepin’ on stone, don’t ye doubt.” A deep yawn escaped him before being interrupted by another groan of pain. The captain rubbed his hip while adding, “Orc, yer damned forest dirt has made me soft.”

  The dwarf strolled over to the entrance and disappeared around the edge of the rock face out of view. After a short while, he returned grumbling as he struggled to lash together the belt that held his trousers and plated girdle up. With a grunt, Cormac finally managed to accomplish his task. He stood directly in front of both Fangdarr and Aesthéa and looked at them curiously. Fangdarr chuckled lightly. In truth, the orc was nervous of how Cormac—and more so, Bitrayuul—would receive the news of his new companionship.

  The dwarf was no simpleton. He could see the beaming happiness on the elf’s face and the nervous expression painted on his ally’s. It was as if Fangdarr was asking the elf king himself for her hand. Cormac feigned a sigh of disappointment, but quickly shifted it to a genuine, wide smile. “Aye, I’m happy for ye, lad. I truly am.”

  Relief washed over the orc immediately. Fangdarr had not realized he had been holding his breath in anticipation, waiting to be judged for his actions. Now that he had his friend’s approval, all the stored air in his lungs finally broke free in a blast of surprise. Aesthéa giggled at him and his stupid nervousness. Cormac watched as the elf wrapped her arms as far around Fangdarr’s waist as they could go and kissed his chest. A smile returned to his face, and the dwarf simply laughed and turned away. “Yer in for a whole new world, Fang. Nothin’ prepares ye for what yer in for, bahaha!”

  The orc’s expression shifted to confusion, but he waved away his friend’s comment. His attention was drawn back to Aesthéa. Fangdarr loved the way she looked at him, as if he brought her more pride and security than anything else possibly could. Those almond, brown eyes that glittered vibrantly atop her playful grin could stop the orc dead in his tracks. He could not believe the feelings that rushed through him. A constant turmoil of love, passion, exhilaration, and panic. She made him feel it all but tying all those feelings together was a with a vivid sense of freedom. As if his life had been trapped in a prison, hidden from the elements, only to now be broken free and experiencing the outside world for the first time. Even more startling was how quickly the feeling
s came. Only the previous day had Fangdarr discovered her true nature.

  It didn’t matter. Aesthéa was with him, and the orc wished to be nowhere else. The only reason his gaze was forced away was due to Bitrayuul calling out to him—and not for the first time. “Fangdarr! Are you listening?” his brother asked with more than a hint of irritation in his voice.

  With his half-orc kin behind him, Fangdarr realized Bitrayuul could not see Aesthéa hidden behind his frame. Both turned together to face their visitor who reacted in shock. “Oh, I did not . . . Uh, good morning.”

  Seeing his brother taken aback brought the chieftain back into the realm of nervousness. “Morning, Bit. This is . . . okay?” he asked hopefully. Unfortunately, his brother’s expression remained secret beneath his helmet, leading Fangdarr to wonder at his reaction.

  Bitrayuul sighed. Not at what he saw, but of the deeper meaning. As always, the half-orc was more calculating than his brother. First, he felt saddened that Fangdarr was worried he would disapprove. On the contrary, Bitrayuul shared the same notion as Cormac. However, he also realized the complications that would lie ahead. Aesthéa was not only an elf, but a relative to the king. It seemed unlikely her commitment to an orc would be tolerated. Nevertheless, it would not be he who cast the stone against them. “Yes, Fangdarr. This is okay,” the half-orc responded, clasping a hand on the orc’s shoulder, immediately bringing a smile to Fangdarr’s lips.