by Justin Wayne
Chapter Twelve: Stormfront
Snow drifted in wildly in solid sheets of pressing wind, colliding into the orcs as they charged on through the night. The horses had fallen behind long ago and remained there, no more than snowy hillocks. No, this advance will be purely driven by the strength of their own two legs. Those too weak to keep up would be forgotten and left to freeze. And those who kept pace would be fierce, and capable of destroying any who got in their way of revenge.
Cleave Rend smiled at the thought inwardly, his skull incapable of expressing such emotion. He pressed on in a constant throttle unhindered by the roaring snow that had filled his empty eye sockets and frosted over the heatless bone. He looked side to side at the warriors beside and behind him.
Battling the weather, they carried the icy burden that weighed them down heavily and burned their flesh like fire. But not a single orc had dared fall behind. They had spent their whole lives in the north and survived the perilous winters for over two decades, some of them three.
And so they trudged on in the knee deep white, ignoring the stinging pains and ghostly numb that gradually pervaded their calloused hides, heads down from the icy gales.
“They’re doing well!” Ulgvhen called over the storm. His wounds had frozen shut in coagulated stains and his nose had swollen purple between his black eyes. “We should make the pass in two days!”
Cleave Rend acknowledged the validity of the statement, but still held his brother responsible for letting their prey escape. He had held all the advantages against the cloaked one.
“If I wish to hear your opinion, I will ask.”
Ulgvhen took the insult as some indication he had done wrong and slowed until he was several feet behind the automaton before him. Deep within his chest he felt guilt rooted in the fact that he had somehow let his brother down. That he should have somehow separated Uvrikh from their father’s cursed axe.
He could clearly remember the terrified look in his brother’s eyes the first time he held the legendary weapon. The memory screamed in his ears and burned his nostrils. The coarse hair that covered his arms stood on end then was flattened by the unstoppable flurries.
He shook his head and spat out the snow that accumulated in his mouth and not for the first time considered grinding down his boar fangs.
“Ulgvhen?” a coarse voice asked from his right. He followed it to the source; head still lowered, and made eye contact with the orc who called his name. “We’ve been talking.” He looked up at the dark form of Cleave Rend reluctantly. “We’re worried he’s gone mad.”
Ulgvhen realized the danger they were in discussing this, especially around so many ears. But he was their Elite, and was curious to know their thoughts.
“The storm is loud, Ulvet, speak your mind.”
The orc nodded thankfully and cast his eyes about at the others who knew their conversation. Ulgvhen noted the grateful glances he was shot. “It’s just the chief has us doing all this for one human. It’s..” The orc struggled to find the word he was looking for.
“Excessive.” Ulgvhen finished for him. He motioned to continue with a wave of his hand.
“We think he’s lost his mind to that axe. And maybe you would--“
Ulgvhen cut him off. “You boys have been thinking of mutiny? What would you have me do then? Lop off my brother’s head and take the axe for myself?”
Ulvet’s eyes sought the ground and the others who had been listening avoided him as well. Ulgvhen was their best hope at getting somewhere in this tribe, and if he wasn’t willing to help them then they would have to wait and see.
The orc beta looked about in the wild wind and saw the morale had dropped significantly. He knew their loads were heavy enough without such a burden as low spirits.
“I’ll take it on my own shoulders.” he grumbled as the responsibility once again fell to him. “Relax, boys.” he called over the howling. “We’ll be there before you know it and everything will work itself out!”
The others cast glances at one another and nodded.
Things were moving forward whether the elites knew it or not.
“Ulgvhen,” the voice like Hell called. “A word.”
He stepped forward, raising his legs nearly to his chest to plow through the snow that was waist high now. He shook away all nervousness, fully aware that if Cleave Rend had heard his conversation there was nothing he could do anyway. He came up beside him and reported in.
“Chief?”
The skull turned slowly, as if watching something walk by, to face him. It didn’t slow its pace in the slightest.
“It has come to my attention that some of the men are unhappy.”
The statement hung unopposed or claimed in the air. The orc stared back at the skull unwaveringly and waited for it to speak, for he would not break the silence. It was then he realized that he felt the ‘chief’ was no longer an orc and that he would protect his men from it if he must.
The men threw worried looks back and forth as the silence pressed on for several tense minutes, neither elite looking away nor blinking. At last the skull turned away slowly and looked straight ahead.
“Do whatever you think is necessary to keep them loyal.” it graveled.
Ulgvhen nodded and continued his trudge alongside it, completely unaware that the skull was smiling.
