The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5

by David Dalglish

  “Far better than the priest-king who threatens to overthrow the lords and nobles to establish a theocracy.”

  “Maybe,” grumbled Sergan. “But who is to say they won’t turn him over to the priests the second you two show up?”

  “We’re kings,” Antonil said. He stared into the fire, deep in thought. “They must respect us. We’ll represent life before the priest-king took control. How many will turn to us in hope? How many will turn to us in fear? Bram’s right. While they sleep, we might steal half their army away. Thousands of soldiers…”

  He stood and nodded to Bram.

  “Have you told Ahaesarus about this plan?” he asked.

  “Not quite,” said Bram. “I told one I felt might be more…open to the idea. And don’t worry about his safety, Sergan. You’re coming with us.”

  Azariah led the way, while behind him, three of his most trusted carried the humans in their arms. The fires of the enemy camp were easy enough to see, red dots among the moonlit darkness. Azariah angled lower, and they dived to the far side of the encampment.

  “Are you sure you can do this?” Antonil asked Sergan once they landed.

  “Not at all,” Sergan said. He grabbed his axe and shifted its belt so it hung more comfortably from his waist. “But I’d rather it be me going in there than you.”

  “Be calm, certain, and authoritative,” Bram said. “Act as if you are asking a question where only one answer will please you, and the rest will cost them their heads. The slightest hint of fear will betray you. Remember the display the elf put on. The illusion of power is often greater than the real thing.”

  “Can’t we just kill them all instead?” asked Sergan. He rolled his eyes at their glares and shifted his belt a second time.

  “I look fine?” he asked.

  “You look fine, and you’ll do fine,” Antonil said, smacking him on the shoulder. “Now go, and do me proud. And come back alive.”

  Sergan nodded, wiped his brow, and then trudged for the camp. He ran a hundred sentences through his head, trying to think of something that sounded appropriate. Both kings had tried giving him lines to say, but they fumbled on his tongue so they’d given up. He was on his own.

  “Damn stupid kings,” he muttered. “Claim they’ll risk their own lives, then send me in to do the dirty work. All I have to do is start hollering as they chop off my head and they’re gone, safe in angel arms while I find out how many ways they can twist my insides into knots before I pass out from…”

  He stopped, for before him stood a guard looking as perplexed as Sergan felt. Before he could even shout warning, Sergan saluted, a single smooth motion perfected over many years serving the kings of Neldar.

  “Well met, soldier!” Sergan said. He felt proud at how sharp his voice came off, not at all horrified. “I’m here to speak for King Antonil Copernus, husband of Queen Annabelle Copernus. I wish to speak with your lord.”

  The soldier stammered. Sergan recognized his sort. He looked freshly conscripted, his servitude in the military one step up above slavery. Perfect.

  “My lord is asleep, but I take orders from…”

  “Don’t try telling me you don’t take orders from your lord,” Sergan said. “Who else would you take orders from? Now go wake him, and don’t you worry about him being mad. This is a diplomatic matter, you see? I ain’t waiting until morning to make my offer.”

  “Diplo…but, sir, please stay here so I can…”

  “I will not sit here while you run off to find a wet-nurse to change your soiled underpants, boy! Who is your lord? What’s his name?”

  “Hemman. Lord Hemman of the north.”

  Sergan rested his hand on the handle of his axe and delayed speaking for a second to make sure the conscript noticed.

  “Then, boy, I suggest you bring him to me at once. No delays, or else you can explain to them why the elf goddess decided to no longer parley.”

  “But I can’t leave here unguar…”

  “I said go!”

  The young man saluted and then rushed into the tents. Sergan chuckled despite his heart pounding like an orc wailing on a drum. So far so good. Once he got the audience of a lord, any lord, then his chances of succeeding went up tenfold. He waited just beyond the light of the campfires, hoping no one else would spot him. He was not so fortuitous.

  “Halt!” shouted a guard, and by the growl of his voice, Sergan knew he had found no wet-eared conscript.

  “I’m armed but not dangerous,” Sergan said, lifting his hands upward as two soldiers approached, both with their swords drawn. “I’m here on behalf of King Antonil, and I need to speak with your lord.”

  “You’re a spy,” said one. “On your knees, now.”

  Sergan fixed his most brutal glare on the man. “I would rather die with an axe in my hand than bow one knee to the likes of you.”

  They circled him, one to his back, one to his front. So far he kept his axe at his side, and in truth he wouldn’t dare draw. He just needed to delay. Every second was precious.

  “One last chance,” said the guard before him. “On your knees, now, and hand over your axe.”

  “I’ve come to speak with your lord,” Sergan said. “I’ve come with an offer of…”

  The guard behind him struck the back of his neck. Vision swimming, he fell to his knees. A sword pressed against his throat as the other took away his axe and cast it several feet to the grass.

  “Where’s Gideon?” asked one of them. “Where’d you hide his body?”

  Gideon?

  “You mean that little boy pretending to be a soldier?” he asked. “He went running for Lord Hemman. Still, he’s a smarter man than either of you.”

  The older struck his face with his fist. Sergan spat blood and chuckled.

  “Now that’s the welcome I was expecting.”

  A sword hilt struck his side, followed by a boot to his stomach. He coughed and beat the grass with a fist.

  “What is going on here?” he heard a gruff voice ask. He glanced up to see a raven-haired man glaring down. He wore a thick coat of fine leather and a thin silver crown across his forehead. Several soldiers surrounded him, their belts bristling with weaponry.

  “Hemman?” Sergan asked.

  “Arthur Hemman, lord of the north. Step aside, both of you. I will not have a man who comes here in peace to be treated in such a manner.”

  Sergan accepted an offered hand to stand. He glared at the men who had beat him, and they glared right back.

  “A fine welcome for a man who comes offering a deal,” he said.

  “They will be punished accordingly. Put them out of your mind, and please, tell me your name.”

  Arthur had a nice baritone to his voice, and he stood with his back straight as a pole. Perhaps they might just get along.

  “Fine then,” he said. “I’m Sergan Copperson, and I’ve served Neldar’s military since I was out of my diaper-cloth. I speak for Antonil Copernus, rightful king of Mordan.”

  It was as if a lightning bolt shot through the surrounding soldiers. It didn’t seem possible, but Arthur stood even straighter.

  “We serve the priest-king,” Arthur said. “It is treasonous to speak of loyalties elsewhere.”

  This is it, Sergan thought. Tread carefully, like you got porcupines for socks.

  “Loyalties forged in blood, protected in battle, and trusted for centuries shouldn’t be tossed to the wayside, nor ever be spoken of as treasonous,” he said.

  “How can we trust he’s even alive?” asked one of the soldiers. Arthur held up a hand to silence him.

  “Rude, but true. How has Antonil survived? Where has he been while another sits on his throne?”

  “You can ask him yourself. He’s hardly a minute’s walk from here, just awaiting my signal that it’s safe.”

  Sergan enjoyed the second bolt that ran through the soldiers. They were gathering now, at least thirty in the vicinity. He hoped it stayed quiet, though. If the priests caught wind of what wa
s going on, matters would turn dire.

  “He would come here, into the very camp of his enemy?” Arthur asked. “Surely he is not that foolish.”

  “Not foolish,” said Sergan. “But he is brave enough to do so. Or would you come out and meet him, as is proper for a lord come to pay respects to his king?”

  The tension thickened at once. Sergan stared at Lord Hemman, refusing to break eye contact. The man was thinking, tossing and turning over ideals, loyalties, and practical matters of fortune and standing. He’d thrown the dice. Time to see if it was a seven or the reaper’s eyes.

  “I will go to him, as is deserving of his standing,” Arthur said. “But I will not go alone, nor unprotected. I do not question Antonil’s honor, but only those who might use his name for their purposes.”

  “And the other lords?” Sergan asked. He felt the tension drain out of him and was beyond thankful. “Will you bring them, too?”

  “I would rather not risk it,” said Arthur, and Sergan realized there were a hundred ways to interpret the response. “I will speak for the others in matters I am most comfortable, and relay to them anything beyond that. Now lead.”

  Sergan glanced back into the darkness. He’d been instructed to bring Antonil by sending a messenger with a password. Seemed like it was time for a little deviation from that. Hopefully neither would get mad…or end up dead.

  “Follow me,” he said. “Bring as many as you like, but keep your swords sheathed. They’re not alone or helpless, either.”

  He turned to go, and Hemman followed with a group of ten soldiers. Sergan wasn’t entirely sure where Antonil waited. He’d been told they would move about, keeping to the skies and watching for any messenger or stranger wandering out in their direction. Such a large group as they were, he figured they’d find him with little difficulty. So he walked, keeping silent and glad those behind him did the same. He’d done his part. He’d talked, and did a damn fine job of it, too. At least, he thought he had. He wasn’t dead yet. Surely that counted for something.

  “This is far enough,” Arthur said as they reached the end of the campfires’ light. “You say he is waiting, then where is he? I will not venture into the wilderness to await an ambush.”

  Sergan glanced upward, then chuckled.

  “He’s here,” he said. “Look to the stars, boys. We’ve got men with wings.”

  Azariah landed first, a spell already glowing on his fingertips. Arthur’s soldiers stepped closer to their lord and readied their weapons. A single flap of the angel’s wings, and they tensed, preparing for an attack.

  “Lay off ‘em,” Sergan said. “I’m no prisoner, and they’re no ambushers.”

  Azariah nodded. He lifted his mace to the air and waved it once in a circle. Down came the rest of the angels, the two kings in their arms. Antonil stepped free, and when he saw Arthur, he smiled and bowed low.

  “Welcome,” he said. “I am honored by the courage it must have taken to meet me.”

  “How do we know he’s the real king?” one of the soldiers whispered a bit too loudly.

  “Because I remember him from his wedding,” Arthur said, pushing the man aside. His eyes never left Antonil’s. “Welcome, King Antonil. I would embrace you, but sadly we find ourselves on opposite sides of this war, and I fear the dagger that might find my back.”

  “Then let us remove that fear,” Antonil said. “Come. Join my army. Your allegiance to the true king of Mordan has not changed. You strike me as an honorable man. You know you belong at my side when I reclaim what was taken from me.”

  “Your army?” asked Arthur. “I watched the chaos at the Bloodbrick. You fight with angels and elves and ruffians of Ker. Where are the men of Mordan? Where are the men of Neldar?”

  “They are among the ruffians,” said Bram as he took a step forward. “Though I must say I disapprove of such an ignorant name.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened as he realized who stood before him.

  “King Bram,” he said, bowing. “You both honor me. I am not worthy, two kings come to visit just myself.”

  “We’d prefer all the lords of Mordan,” Bram said. “Where are the rest?”

  “They do not know of your arrival,” said Arthur. “We live in dangerous times. There are those in power who would frown on such a meeting, and the fewer here, the better.”

  “So be it,” said Antonil. “I do not know what lies you have been told. I do not know what wrongs have been committed by the hand of the priest-king. I left to free one nation, and in return find another enslaved. I have come to free you, all of you. Let the nations of Ker and Mordan unite. Whatever oaths you have made, they were false and forced at the edge of a sword or in the darkness of a dungeon cell. I am your king. Lend me your swords.”

  Arthur crossed his arms. His men about him grew quiet, and they stole glances at the angels, afraid of their exotic beauty and strength. No doubt they were pondering what chance they had if their lord rejected his duty and it came to blows.

  “When Melorak took rule, he took over a hundred acres of my land,” Arthur said. “Land that had been in my family’s hands since my father was a babe. He went through every coin I had and took what he called a tithe. These things come and go, and all matters are dangerous when new blood takes the throne. But he also sent a priest to my house, and under penalty of death, he must remain. My wife and children bow to that wretched lion idol day and night, and that burns far worse than the loss of coin and soil. I worship neither god, my king, though now I wonder as I see the angels of Ashhur before me. To not have a choice, though…”

  He drew his sword and knelt.

  “King Antonil, King Bram, I offer you both my allegiance.”

  His soldiers beside him immediately followed suit, many with bewildered looks on their faces. A few, though, grinned with an eager light in their eyes, as if they had suddenly become unchained.

  “What of the other lords?” Antonil asked, biding Lord Hemman to stand. “Will they do the same?”

  “Our time is short,” Arthur said. “I must go and find out. If we join you…can you promise victory? I’ve seen the wrath of your angels, and I saw the power of your elven goddess. But what of men? Can we turn the tide?”

  “We will,” said Antonil. “This world will not become the terror Karak wishes it to be.”

  “Return to your camps,” Arthur said. “If you would allow, wait for me at the Bloodbrick, and pray to your god that all goes well. If it does…”

  “Go with Ashhur’s grace,” Azariah said, clenching his fist to his chest and bowing.

  Arthur gave him a look, then chuckled.“Just make sure he doesn’t get forced into my house when this is done, either,” he said before returning to the camp.

  When they were gone, the others lingered for a moment, as if hardly believing their fortune.

  “Well,” said Sergan. “I think that went well. Great, even. Now let’s get back to camp so I can get some damn sleep.”

  “Why aren’t we moving after them?” Harruq asked the next morning. “Figured we’d want to keep on their heels so they don’t start thinking of another attack.”

  “Too close to their heels and they’ll see we’re just a little yapping cub instead of a bear,” Tarlak said, sitting down next to him and handing the half-orc a chunk of bread smothered with butter. “And I couldn’t get much out of Antonil. He’s spending more and more time with that Bram guy. Can’t decide how happy I am about that.”

  “Oh no, he’s spending time with a king instead of you. How will you endure?”

  Tarlak laughed, loud and open-mouthed despite the chunk of bread he’d just bitten into.

  “I’ll mope and cry into Aurelia’s bosom. I think that’ll cheer me up just fine.”

  Aurelia smiled at him but held back any normal retort. She’d been subdued since her display at the bridge, but Harruq hoped that she’d be back to her normal self in time. He frowned. Now that he thought about it, she hadn’t been her normal self for a while. Something was
off, but what?

  “Just wish we could get back on the move,” Harruq said.

  “You’re never happy, you know that Harruq?” said Tarlak. “If we’re chasing armies, you grumble about the travel and your back hurting and how the angels like smacking you into trees, yet if we decide to take a single day’s rest, you’re at it again.”

  “Don’t make me stab you,” the half-orc muttered.

  Tarlak feigned fear, then took another giant bite.

  “You know,” he said, staring north. “Maybe it’s me, but that looks like a big army coming our way.”

  Harruq stood and squinted. “Huh. I think you’re right.”

  Aurelia lifted an eyebrow. “Should we be worried?”

  “Something’s up,” Tarlak said, staring off toward the front of the camp. “I see Antonil and his little buddies gathering up, but they sure don’t look ready to fight.”

  “Then what’s going on?” asked Harruq.

  Tarlak shot him a grin. “Well, let’s find out, shall we?”

  A few words of magic and a portal opened before them. Tarlak beckoned them in, then followed after. When they stepped out, they stood beside Antonil and a rather surprised looking Bram.

  “I don’t recall inviting you three to join us,” Bram said.

  “That’s how they are,” Antonil said, adjusting the crown on his head. “They’re more useful disobedient, anyway. I’d probably be dead twice over if they bothered to listen to orders.”

  Bram snorted, his mouth locked in a frown. Harruq grinned at him and offered a salute.

  “Just here to protect his royal ass,” he said. “Don’t mind me.”

  “So what’s going on?” Tarlak asked, sliding between Antonil and Bram while the half-orc kept his attention the other way. “Did we miss out on some fun?”

  “You might say that,” Antonil said. “You can listen, but remain quiet and behave.”

  Harruq surveyed the approaching army. They marched with their heads low, their backs slumped as if their shields and weapons weighed more than them. A few banners flew from spears and poles, but not many. His quick estimate, though, was massive. Thousands of men, come not to fight, but to…what?