The Beginning: Breath of War

by R. Malak

  “What did I tell you about doing work meant for a slave?” he huffed angrily, “Huh? You are a supposed to be a warrior. You cannot work beside humans and goblins like this.” He stabbed a finger into his chest. “You are an Orc.” He pulled his son’s face up by the chin, and peered into his oddly colored eyes, one gold and one red. “If you want the warriors to follow you into battle, you must not lower yourself, understand?”

  Ka-gan nodded his head sulkily.

  Sighing, he whispered a prayer to Lord Sezrath, asking him why he had cursed him with such a pitiful son.

  “Go, and tell your mothers to join me, a war pack has returned.”

  The young Orc scampered away, irritating him even further. The longer they stayed here in this blighted world, the more his son became less and less an Orc and more human. He feared the same would happen to all the Orcs over time. That could not be allowed to happen.

  Reaching the mongrel section, where Orc and goblin half breeds had set up camp, he pulled a pouch of garlic from his left pocket and crushed it in his large hands, stuffing it up his nostrils before entering. The stench from this part of camp was always overpowering, even for him. Sneering, he made his way past the pitifully small creatures that had neither the strength of an Orc or the agility of a goblin. Their deformed little bodies hunched over pots, hungrily lapping up their food like mangy dogs. Many of the shamans firmly believed these creatures were abominations and should be killed for defying the gods. But with so few female Orcas, he had decided to allow interbreeding, a decision which he often regretted. These creatures had nowhere near the strength of a pure Orc. However, there were many of them, and their numbers had proven very effective in overrunning human cities. Still, he often wondered if it was worth the price of having Orcish bloodlines diluted with goblin filth.

  A few of the half breeds wearing makeshift armor cobbled together with pieces of rusted metal attempted to straighten up and give him their oaths of blood, their feeble bodies barely reaching his waist. He ignored them and continued towards the crest of the hill, until his attention was drawn by the sight of five human slaves clad in rags and manacles, busily fitting a .50 Cal machine gun onto a four-wheel drive. He paused for a minute to inspect the human-made weapon. The overseer, noticing the WarLord’s interest, limped over to join him.

  “Magnificent isn’t she my lord,” he said with a touch of pride. “The humans say it can fire over 450 rounds-per-minute.”

  Togran glared down disdainfully at the green wrinkled face of the Orc. “It is nothing to be proud of, Grolag. It is a human-made weapon, meant to kill our kind from a distance like cowards.”

  Grolag’s eyes widened with fear. “Apologies lord, I had not meant to offend,” he said bowing his head apologetically as he spoke, but Togran could sense it was feigned apology.

  Snorting angrily at the blatant sign of disrespect, he spun away, brushing past the Orc. He would have to do something about him. The old fool was continually spouting nonsense about learning from the humans. Most of the Orc’s ignored the fool’s ramblings, but the younger generation who had yet to be blooded in battle like his son were often found listening to his stories of human ingenuity. A pity he was the only Orc with a knack for fixing human weaponry. Otherwise he would have killed the old fool long ago.

  He followed the footpath up to the wide-open pavilion with dark green roof tiles and thin elegant white pillars with elves dancing carved into the base. Planted in front of the spacious pavilion were two stone skin banners, curling in the wind. Standing beside the banners were six huge grey skinned Orcs, wielding massive Warhammers. As always, he could not help but be feel a touch of awe at their display of power. Blessed by Lord Sezrath with strength and iron skin these Orcs had forced themselves to ingest the still beating hearts of a thousand humans in battle in order to gain their transformation. A task all Orcs found difficult to achieve, since it took a great deal of skill to rip out the still beating heart of a human and devour it before it stops beating. Standing only a head shorter than the giant Orcs, Togran Ka nodded his head to them in a rare show of respect. The giant warriors, faces void of emotion, stepped aside to let him pass in between them without a single word being spoken.

  Upon entering the pavilion, he was immediately confronted by the sight of his twin sisters Lorika and Takil. They were tall with wide shoulders; light green skin and long luxurious black hair and were well-known for being very fertile and promiscuous, a trait encouraged by all shamans. Blood covered one side of their faces to mark them as battle matrons, with hundreds of offspring. The ferocious pair of Orcas stood face to face with Kozan WarChief of the Bone Splitters a powerful Orc with bulging muscles and deep green skin.

  “I say we kill him, we have no more use for failures,” cried Lorika fervently, green eyes flaring angrily. “That thing is not an Orc anymore.”

  Takil smiled hungrily, red eyes flashing with malice. “If you do not have the stomach for it, I can do it for you, Kozan,” she hissed.

  Kozan shook his head and growled, “He is my kin, I will not see his blood spilled.”

  Voice as hard as steel, Togran spoke, “Why are you here WarChief? You were told to prepare for battle.”

  Kozan visibly shivered at the WarLord’s tone. “My lord, my clan demands the release of my kin.”

  Togran glared down at the impudent worm, and in a soft voice whispered, “Demands?”

  Kozan winced and held a hand to his chest. “I meant wish, my lord.” Togran gestured for him to continue. “We have heard Grul Han has returned with what remains of his war pack, but we have not seen him. My kin are worried and wish to see him returned to us.”

  Togran stared at the WarChief contemplating the many ways he would enjoy ripping him apart, but eventually decided now was not the time. He glanced at his sisters.

  “Go and fetch the failure,” he commanded.

  Lorika and Takil’s eyes widened with outrage, they opened their mouths to question his decision, but closed it when they beheld the fury held within his piercing blood red eyes. The pair of Orcas turned and called to their Orc Shield, a warrior assigned to protect them. The young burly Orc ran off to do as bidden.

  As they waited, his sisters whispered to each other, throwing furious looks his way. Kozan his skin covered with a thin sheen of sweat paced back and forth worriedly, all the while cursing Orsela for forcing him to come. Togran gazed off into the distance, thinking of his homeland. A rugged land with thousands of mountains and lakes, it was a place of great beauty, unlike here.

  He often dreamed of going back and rebuilding, but whenever he mentioned this idea to the shamans they shook their heads and replied, “The time was not right.”

  “The time was not right!”

  When would the time ever be right? We have been at war for far too long. It seemed the old ways would die long before the war ever truly ended.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy clunking footsteps. Two warrior class Orcs in full plate battle armor entered the pavilion carrying the limp body of Grul Han in between them. Armor melded to flesh, skin burnt away to reveal muscle and bone. This Orc was close to death and smelt like it. Kozan’s mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of his kin, which quickly transformed into rage, as he swung around to face the twins.

  “Did you do this?” he demanded, his eyes slowly changing from fiery orange to bright shade of red.

  Takil laughed nastily. “What if we did, WarChief? What would you do?”

  Kozan growled and clenched his fists moving to strike. In a blur of movement, Lorika slipped sideways and hammered a fist into the WarChief’s temple knocking him backwards. Blood streamed from an open cut on his forehead the WarChief howled and charged at her. Lorika slipped again to the side, landing another swift blow to the back of his legs, knocking him to the ground.

  All the while Takil cackled with laughter at the WarChief’s clumsy attacks.

  Togran stepped in between the pair of Orcs, halting the fight. “Enou
gh!” he said and directed his gaze towards his siblings. “Leave us.”

  The two sisters glowered, but left the pavilion without a word. Kozan stood up wearily, his eyes slowly returning to their normal shade of orange.

  Before he could open his mouth to speak, Togran held up his hand. “To answer your foolish question WarChief, no, we did not harm your kin.”

  Kozan grimaced and spat blood on the marble floor, almost goading Togran into killing the weakling.

  Ignoring the slight, he continued speaking, “Three of his war pack brought him here this morning, it seems your kin was wounded battling a group of humans, who have a settlement at the edges of Glokeen forest.” The stout WarChief digested the news slowly, blinking his eyes.

  Seeing Kozan’s expression change with understanding at the good news, Togran spoke to the Orc warriors holding Grul Han up, “Take him to the shamans to be healed, he may have more information.” He then swung his gaze at the humbled WarChief. “Go and assemble your warriors. We will leave soon.”

  Kozan bowed his head and shakily made his way out of the pavilion. Togran folded his arms behind his back and stared off into the distance, they would have blood and battle, maybe then his son would become a true Orc.

  ~ * ~

  The police station at Camsby was one of eight outposts occupied by ten to fifteen rangers that rotated in and out of the small base. Skilled in the arts of stealth, rangers scoured the countryside searching for supplies to send back to base camp, a difficult task, as many areas were picked clean by roamers and scavengers. Joseph, a tall rangy man with a full beard and wild uncombed hair, stood watch on the rooftop of the worn-out building. He liked to come out here every so often to survey the lush green scenery enveloping the entire town. Nature it seems had reclaimed the world, with whole buildings swallowed by green vines. There were also signs of the past war, cracked pavements, potholes the size of cars, and bullet holes, lots and lots of bullet holes. The fighting here must have been fierce at one point, but not anymore. Instead, it had drifted off towards the coastline cities. Not that he paid much attention to that kind of thing. He honestly preferred living in the moment, figured there weren’t much point worrying about where the fighting was or would be.

  He was about to head back into the station, when he caught movement off to the right. He grabbed the sniper rifle resting on the nearby chair, took a knee and adjusted the scope. Two humans came into focus, both wearing cameo military fatigues. Not that it made much difference to him, considering plenty of looters and scavengers lingered in these parts. The pair of roamers meandered their way towards the outpost, dragging something behind them.

  Not sure whether they were a threat, he decided to err on the side of caution. “Conroy! Gilbert! We have company!”

  The two men lounging below in the courtyard leapt to their feet and rushed to alert the rest of the rangers inside. Soon the quiet station was bristling with rifles poking out of windows and holes punched into the walls to give the veteran rangers better lines of sight.

  ~ * ~

  Jess, a tall wiry built woman, having heard all the commotion climbed up the ladder to join Joseph atop the roof.

  “What’s the problem Joe?” she inquired with her southern drawl.

  “Not sure ma’am.” Joseph scratched his head. “They’re wearing our gear, but I haven’t heard any word of a patrol being in the area.”

  Jess bit her lips pensively before gesturing for Joe to pass her the sniper rifle. Lifting the rifle to her cheek, she positioned the rifle to where Joe was pointing. The lens wavered for a second, before bringing into focus a man and a woman came, both of whom appeared to be utterly exhausted with blood and mud spatters staining their fatigues. Strangely enough, the pair were dragging a makeshift stretcher behind them with what looked to be a wounded person on it. To her surprise, she recognized the woman. Adjusting the lenses to zoom in closer at the woman’s face she abruptly laughed.

  Joseph, startled by her laugh, raised a questioning eyebrow. “Ma’am?”

  She patted the worried ranger on the shoulder. “Have the men stand down Joe, it’s one of ours, send a few our boys out there to lend them a hand, would you.”

  Joseph shot her a quizzical look, but she ignored it. If what she saw was right, they were in for a load of trouble.

  ~ * ~

  Cora felt both nervous and apprehensive at the idea of seeing her fellow rangers again. One particular reunion had her sweating. Her sister Jess was supposed to oversee the outpost here, and they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. Jess had gone ballistic at the news her younger sister was joining up with a patrol squadron. Which was understandable considering the casualty rates for patrols were more than fifty percent, still she had hoped her sister would have understood the necessity of protecting their home.

  She was trying to decide what to tell her sister, when Soren abruptly stopped and turned to face her. “What are we going to say happened to Tommy?”

  Cora shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know, maybe, he got hit by friendly fire, while retreating?”

  Soren’s cold expressionless face broke out in a tiny smile. “Yes, friendly fire.”

  She peered over at the prone figure behind her, Tommy lay there, his eyes closed, golden skin a dull yellow with blood oozing from a wound in his shoulder. The pompous little bastard would survive it seems. Hopefully this would teach the cocky little shit to be more of team player.

  Three rangers in dusty brown coats emerged from the police station, a pair of pistols at their waists and a submachine gun in their hands. They crossed the uneven ground to meet them, guns leveled. Cora, used to their cautious nature, held her hands up, wincing inwardly at the stabbing pain in her side. Blood trickling down her leg from her reopened wound. Giving Cora a look of consternation, Soren swung his rifle onto his back and copied her.

  The ranger in the middle, a tall man with wild brown hair, spoke first, “Our boss, requests a meeting with you two, if you will follow me.”

  Cora briefly glanced back at Tommy’s inert body, not sure whether to leave him behind.

  The man smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about your friend, Gilbert and Conroy will take good care of him.”

  With that the man turned and headed back towards the police station. Cora didn’t like this one bit; it seems her battle with her sister was going to happen much earlier than expected. Grimacing, she followed the tall self-assured ranger back up towards the station. Soren trailed a few steps behind her, making sure she didn’t fall.

  ~ * ~

  Jess’s office was decorated sparsely: plain white walls, a single window, a couch to one side, and two sturdy wooden seats facing a well-crafted mahogany desk with a military ham radio atop it. Joseph had discovered the desk in the mayor’s office, while searching through the town and had thoughtfully lugged the huge piece of furniture over here with the help of a few lads. She smiled fondly at the memory of her arguing with Joseph about having such a large useless desk in her office…

  “I don’t need this desk, I have little enough space as it is.”

  Joe shook his head adamantly. “Ma’am with all due respect, you need a good desk.” He gazed into her eyes, almost pleading with her. “You saved us, you helped us rebuild. We just want to thank you. We all want to thank you.”

  To her shock, she realized almost every single ranger within earshot had come into her office to stand beside her, all of them nodding their heads in agreement at Joseph’s words. Her eyes moistened with unshed tears, deeply touched at their ferocious loyalty and devotion. Sniffling, she nodded and smiled. It was the first time in her life she had ever come close to tears.

  She walked around the desk, fondly running her fingers over the scrapes and burn marks on the surface. Living out here at the edges of humanity meant a lot of sacrifices had to be made to keep the base functional, but in the end… in the end...She was glad she had kept the desk. It reminded her of why humans would not simply give up and die.

&
nbsp; Taking a seat behind the great mahogany mass, she prepared to greet her sister. Part of her was still fuming over Cora’s decision to leave, but the other part was overjoyed at the news she was still alive. Footsteps thudded in the corridor outside, halting at the front of the door. Two knocks lightly tapped the glass door.

  “Come in.”

  The door swung open, Joseph entered the room with Soren and Cora in tow. “Ma’am, you wished to see our new guests.”

  Jess stared intently at the pair of warriors, for that’s what they looked like, battle-hardened warriors.

  The man, a powerful statuesque figure with a cold demeanor, exuded danger. She had no doubt this man was ready to fight. Joseph must have sensed that too, for he edged closer to her and rested easily on the balls of his feet; ready to strike at a moment’s notice. And Cora… well Cora looked the same way as she always did, ferocious and dirty. She had also managed to acquire two more scars to mar her once flawless face, one along her jawline and another across her right cheek.

  Stiffening beneath her scrutiny, Cora spoke first. “Well? You wanted to talk. Talk.”

  Jess ignored the insolence and turned her attention towards her second. “Take her over to the infirmary. She has a wound that needs attention.”

  Joseph’s brows furrowed with concern.

  “You sure, ma’am? That one looks like trouble,” he said with a pointed look in the man’s direction.

  The man bared his teeth in response, the dangerous glint in his eyes flashing.

  Jess however, used to dealing with such hard men, nodded her head. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  With a last backwards glance in the stranger’s vicinity, the lanky ranger skirted to the doorway and gestured at the exit. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am?”

  Cora’s pale blue eyes flared angrily. “So that’s it? You’re not even going to--” her outburst was cut off by the sound of the ham radio crackling to life,

  “--Ranger station Epsilon, this is Ranger station Alpha do you copy?”