Lov was chuckling as he turned to leave the hut, heading for the training ground. He came up on the back of a crowd. A loud roar came from the spectators surrounding the pit, fighters in the carved out earth, beating on each other in a mass melee. The crowd parted as Lov approached, orcs getting the attention of others ahead of them to open a hole in the group before him. Lov saw that most of the crowd was comprised of orcs with multiple scars. Small boys and girls dotted the crowd here and there. All were cheering wildly and without abandon.
Lov approached the edge of the pit, orcs sliding to either side to give him room. He watched as two fought for a space. The smaller orc hip tossed the larger into the pit. The unfortunate soul landed hard upon the ground before one of the combatants stepped on his belly. Lov sat at the edge, watching the fighters.
Orcs of every size were hacking and slashing at each other with blunt weapons. Some fought with practice swords, wooden with rounded points. Others fought with clubs, trying to overpower their foe. Little children ducked and dodged through the melee, preying on those unlucky enough to fall to the ground and fighting as a pack. They also picked over the bodies of those unfortunate enough to lose their lives.
A fighter went down and his opponent tried to climb from the pit. Lov watched as a spectator on the pit's edge offered his hand, then pulled it back laughing. The laughing man kicked down with a foot, hitting the fighter in the face, causing him to fall back into the melee.
Another tried to pass a club down to a different combatant. As the receiver reached up and grabbed it, another orc bowled into him. The one passing down the weapon was pulled off balance. He slipped on the smooth rock, smashing his face onto the head of the club, and fell into the pit unconscious.
Lov shook his head at the chaos around him, wondering how he would harness their power without losing the brutality. He watched as an orc repeatedly tried to climb from the pit. Those on the edge kept kicking him down, not letting him escape. Lov watched as his eye swelled, black and purple, from a vicious punch given by a spectator at the edge of the pit. The nose was broken when another kicked him from the edge. When the poor soul hit the ground, Lov saw his collarbone break. Those on the edge of the pit quit trying to hurt the one attempting to climb out, but they didn't try to help him up either. The pitiful wretch reached up to Lov, imploring to be pulled from this taste of hell on earth. His elven nature took over and Lov reached down, pulling the orc from the melee.
The fighting slowed as combatants realized what he was doing. One orc continued fighting and those in the pit quickly dispatched him, knocking him unconscious. They gave a collective roar when they saw Lov pull the abused combatant from the fighting pit. Lov glared at the assembly, quieting them before they did more than protest.
Lov walked the orc he had pulled from the fight to The'oak's, supporting him when needed. They stumbled inside the tent together, as Lov thought of what was worth keeping, and what needed to be changed in the camp.
The melee behind him continued, the orcs shaking their heads at their young chief’s ways.
Chapter Six
Tyrosh sat in a solarium on the outer wall of the temple. The ivy that covered the balcony had faded from a rich, healthy green to a dead brown. The once robust vines were now withered and dead, dry vegetation on top of the bare stone. Tyrosh looked down on the city and pity for the people filled her heart. The once hearty and bountiful fruit groves contained nothing but bare branches now. No one would be enjoying the fruit again anytime soon.
Tyrosh entertained the thought of making Martell suffer. He had punished young Ogier acolytes, causing the rest of the gentle giants to leave. Now, no one could keep the plants alive. Even Tyrosh hadn't predicted this much devastation once the Ogier left.
She jumped, startled, when the door to her room abruptly slammed open. Martell stepped in from behind the Titan that had bashed in the door, running his fingers through his long white hair. "Good, you're already awake. You and I are going for a walk, so get your shoes on." The old man strode from the room, and the Titan stepped in, herding Tyrosh towards her soft leather shoes.
She pulled them on, not bothering to tie the laces. Tyrosh walked from the room and Martell took off down the hallway. He didn't say a word to her as they headed out from the tower. They took a lift to the bottom level, then went out on the temple grounds. Tyrosh heard the sharp ring of hammers as the forges were worked. She knew acolytes would be transforming the new armor into Titans.
The trees that covered the tall temple building, once green and vibrant with life, looked skeletal now. Martell still hadn't said a word, and as they drew closer to the kitchen building, she couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Look, Martell! Look what you have reduced this wonderful city to! And for what?" The Titan walking with them caught Tyrosh's hand from the air. She hadn't even realized she had swung at Martell.
The old skeletal man shook his head at her. "Quit being so childish. Just come with me." He strode through the door into the kitchen, Titans herding the cooks and drudges from the room. The Titan behind Tyrosh forced her towards a pot, baring her arm above it. Martell pulled a knife from his belt, slashing her arm and dripping the thick purple blood into the pot. He ran his finger through the sticky fluid on her arm, licking it from his finger. Tyrosh would have jumped, startled, if the Titan had not grabbed her, wrapping a rough bandage on her cut. Martell smiled wickedly at her. "Wouldn't do for you to die by infection. I'll have a physician clean and bind it when we get back to the temple." He turned, heading for the exit.
Tyrosh shook her head, not sure why Martell wanted her blood. "So, you don't care for the people or the land. You're out for yourself." She lengthened her stride to catch up to him, the Titan matching her step for step. "You are pathetic, and I can't wait for the people to rise up and challenge you. You'll find that keeping me alive was a mistake."
"Will you never learn?" Martell asked, rolling his eyes and gesturing for the Titan to hold the fiery bald woman down. "You don't want to piss me off. I lack the thing you call a conscience." He walked around her, where the Titan held her on the ground. He stopped at her feet, considering what to do. "And just to make sure you understand…"
Tyrosh felt a sharp pain in the back of her heel, then felt as the tendon sprang loose. She howled with agony as the Titan rolled off of her.
"Don't worry." Martell said, wiping his knife as he strode into her view. "We'll have the doctor take care of that too, at least enough to help you continue walking around." An evil cackling laugh followed him as he strode from the building. As the Titan bent to the ground to pick Tyrosh from it, the dragon determined then and there that Martell would die by her hand.
Sleepily, Nord rose from his sleeping bag on the ground, groaning as his lower back sent a sharp pain up his spine. He had slept horribly last night, tossing and turning. Nord was still trying to come to grips with what Sanche had told him. His mentor had grown dark since the death of Elvenhom. Truth be told, Nord didn't really blame Sanche. The poor old elf had his entire society ripped out from under him, and the people he had promised to keep safe had all died in front of his eyes. But the elves were taught to revere life more than Sanche was showing. Nord just needed to find a way to get the old man back to himself, or at least to realize he shouldn't be in charge. A man to fear was one with nothing to lose.
Nord strapped his sword across his back as he left his tent in search of food. The sun was just sending out its predawn tendrils, and he saw Missy's familiar glow through the tent lines and shot off after her. For some reason, he thought he would feel better after he had a chat with the little fairy. Nord also hoped to hear any news of Lov.
"Missy!" Nord called out, trying to dodge through tent lines and campfires. "Hey, Missy!" He called again, hoping to slow her.
Missy glanced behind her, spotting Nord ducking and weaving through tent lines and jumping over cook pots. She rolled her eyes, hoping whatever it was he wanted, it would be an easy problem. "What do you want?" She asked, zi
pping back to float at eye level.
Nord's eyes darted about as they adjusted to the light. "I need your help. I have a problem, and I need to tell someone, but I don't know who. Jaxon is an amazing friend, but I don't think he can give me the insight I need. And Sanche, well, I don't think I can go to him about it.” He turned his eyes and looked directly at her, “And then there's you. But I don't think you are the right person to bring it up to either. You're a little close to the situation yourself-"
Missy jumped in, interrupting Nord as he took a breath. "Will you get to the damn point?"
"I need wisdom." Nord shot back. "And I don't know where to get it from."
Missy shook her head, a teasing smile on her face. "You look such a poor, sad wretch, Nord." The giant elf straightened his shoulders and stood to his full height, trying not to get defensive, as Missy continued. "I know just where to take you." With that, she ripped reality from under Nord's feet, and the big elf fell through space and time to another realm.
He landed feet first in water ankle deep, bending his knees to absorb the impact. Water splashed up the inside of his legs, soaking him. Missy shot down from above him laughing. "I didn't mean to make you wet yourself!" She said, taking off towards the nearby tree.
"I hate fairies." Nord muttered as he chased after her. Finally, he noticed the tree that rose up from the edge of the water. It was the largest weeping willow Nord had ever seen. He stood awestruck by how beautiful it was. The leaves hung like hair, long and straight and a soft green. As the tall elf ran towards the tree, he could see the balls of light that were fairies flying through the branches. Nord ran to the base of the trunk, looking up when he heard a whistle. He saw Missy as she shouted down, "Up here!" Then he took off, climbing up the tree.
He had been around trees all his life, but looking up at this one was intimidating. He doubted he could even spot the top for all of the branches there were, and he doubted there was a single tree in all of Elvenhom that could match this one’s majesty. Nord sighed deeply before backing up for a running start. He sprinted up the tree. His strides ate the climb like it was nothing, and he made it fifteen feet up before launching himself outward and upward with a jump. He caught a branch easily ten feet higher than where he started his leap. His tallness worked to his advantage now, and Nord found climbing the tree an easy workout. The bark was rough under his hands as he continued up the sprawling branches. The hardest part not becoming tangled in the long hanging leaves. When he was about halfway up and settling on a branch, Missy shot out from the trunk at him. She grabbed the tip of his nose, dragging the tall elf behind her saying, "It's just up ahead."
I hate fairies. Nord thought as Missy dragged him around to the other side of the tree. Once Missy had him sitting on the branch, facing back towards the trunk, she pointed saying, "There she is. The one you can tell all your problems."
Nord was dumbstruck. Here was a face of a young woman carved, no carved wasn't right, grown into the tree. Her eyes were closed, but still large. Prominent looking cheek bones stood out, Nord could even see a chin.
"This is Hae Terrae, and she'll listen to you without interruption or judgment."
Chapter Seven
Sanche left his tent as the sun crested the horizon, heading to inspect a random section of the army. He searched a different part every day, hoping to catch these Anuunaki in a bad light, if only to show himself they weren't perfect. He thought back on last night, which he had spent with Jaxon, drinking and getting to know the little man. Sanche was glad he had, he found a kind of kindred soul in the halfling. Although his humor could be crude and strange, the little halfling was very serious about some issues. Especially when it came to business. There, Jaxon was as cutthroat as Sanche felt he was in matters of war.
Sanche searched the area around his tent, looking for an Anuunaki other than his guard, to ride across the ordered lines of the army. He found one and they headed for the back of the camp. As always, the Anuunaki kept their camp nice and ordered. Not a single tent line was out of place, everything looking so measured and balanced. It wasn't, Anuunaki were just as erratic and chaotic as men and elves were when they set up camp. But their ancient hive mind was instrumental in everything they did. Perfection was expected amongst their kind.
Sanche was just turning back to his tent, contemplating a swim in the oasis, when a large crash sounded from behind him. The old man whipped around, reaching for his swords before remembering he had left them in his tent.
A large, flightless bird was untangling itself from the wreckage of a tent. It shook its head from side to side before letting out a loud screech. A black oily substance dripped and dangled like drool from its beak. Whenever a drop hit the ground, the oily substance would form into a ball before rolling its way back to the bird to be absorbed through the poor thing's skin. Sanche saw thin lines of black leading back to the bird from the bits that hit the sand. It screeched again, a large glob of the dark matter shooting out towards him, before it charged across the sand, ripping through tent lines and knocking cook pots into the fire.
Sanche snarled, looking around himself for a weapon as Anuunaki began to tear from their tents, hacking and slashing at the bird with their chitin weapons. Sanche heard several more loud crashes behind him, and turned to find more birds streaming into the camp. All told, thirteen of these foul smelling birds were amongst his men.
Sanche, still unarmed, ran towards the Anuunaki that were fighting these other intruders. One slashed, cutting the head from the long thin neck of the creature attacking him. The black liquid began to pour from the body like blood, covering a wide patch of ground. The ant people turned to face their other attackers. They tried to blunt the attack that was rushing them. Some were able to, stopping the charge of these insane and possessed avians. Others were not so lucky, the oily substance wrapping itself around their legs and arms like tentacles. It worked its way deep into the soft leathery chitin of the Anuunaki.
Sanche finally found a weapon, a large Anuunaki forearm attached to a long pole, making a crude pole arm. As he heard the thunderous pounding of a charge, he turned, swinging the pole arm low. The bird collapsed to the ground as Sanche cut its legs from under it. The thick black liquid poured from the wounds and stretched probing tendrils towards Sanche. The old man tried to run, but the tendrils caught him. Sanche was fearful that the stuff planned to take over him, to run the army into the ground. That fear was struck down as the substance crawled its way to his neck before tightening a stranglehold on him. The old warrior fought for breath, clawing at his throat to get the slick substance off, but it ran like water through his fingers. He surrendered, knowing he had fulfilled his duty. He accepted his fate, overpowered by this magical assassin. His last thoughts were of his people, and his inability to help them.
Chapter Eight
Lov scratched his chin, thinking as The'oak smoked his pipe. Slowly the young man was learning that it wasn't the act of smoking itself, it was the sitting and thinking. The'oak leaned on the herb like a crutch in order to reach that state. The young half-elf almost felt pity for him, because the shaman couldn't reach a state of peace without it. Lov considered the herb on the table. It was still fragrant and sticky as if still alive. The pipe Tryton had given him rested on the table, but Lov picked them up and put them away.
He had planned on coming here and smoking the herb. His dragonhunger had been gnawing at him for a few days now. He had a month before his scheduled meeting with the Greatmothers, and Lov was beginning to think he would never be ready. His dragonhunger demanded Lov do something besides sit on his thumb and wait for his meeting. The shaman across from him had taught Lov everything he could about the orcs. It was getting to the point where the young elf was ready to drive away his most reliable ally. Now it was a hurry up and wait situation, and patience wasn't his stong suit.
Lov had rushed into the tent, pulling his pipe and his dragonweed from his pouch, setting it on the table. As he reached for his pouch, The'oak's eyes li
t up like the blue bulbs the Anuunaki made. He finally noticed the branch that was in Lov's hands, and he leaned in close to inspect it.
"Aye cho tokta." The'oak had said, a hint of reverence in his voice. "That, my young friend, is a thing of beauty." The'oak picked the herb up, smelling the rich strong scent. "May I have some? This is the finest weed I have ever seen."
Lov took the branch from The'oak, and tore half the buds from the stems stashing the rest in his pouch. The remainder fell to the table. "I might smoke one, but the rest are yours, my friend," the young half-dragon said. The'oak jumped excitedly and rushed for his own pipe. He stuffed one of the buds into the carved piece of driftwood and started to puff away. The aroma wafted over Lov, stronger than before it had been smoked.
Lov waved at the haze in the air, doing nothing but spreading it out. The'oak sat back in his chair, a glazed look coming over his eyes. The young half-elf sat and thought about what his hunger wanted, and in considering it, his hunger quieted. What could he do to impress the Greatmothers? He looked up, spotting a banner against the wall. A large eye glared from it. The eye looked exactly like the one on his ax.
Lov pointed to the flag asking, "What is that?"
A smile spread across The'oak's face, gaps showing where teeth had been lost. "That is the last relic from when Jarltal and the Greatmothers tried to smash the world. Our tribe's glory days." Slowly the smile disappeared, and the light left the orc's eyes. "We've been leaderless since then. I mean, we've had chiefs, but not leadership. And while the Greatmother line has been maintained, the women who are our leaders are a shadow of our glory days before the orc wars." The shaman's sight seemed far away, as if seeing a vision. "Jarltal unified six tribes of the Orc Lands. He took half the world while the other seven tribes nipped at his heels. If he had finished solidifying his hold on our people, you would be an orc slave now." The'oak sat back in his chair, yawning before finishing. "And to think, only the Titans stopped him."
Breath of the Titans: The False Titanbringer: Complete Trilogy Page 19
