His horse was a magnificent beast, just as the others were that were given to the riders sent by Victus. They had to be in order to get to their destinations and then back to Southland as soon as possible. As he reached the top of a large hill he sat down in his saddle expecting the horse to gain speed as it headed down the slope. Jared held the animal close so rider and horse would become more aerodynamic as they gained speed. Ahead he saw the road pour straight down the back of the hill. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a horrific site. With hardly any time to react Jared reached for his sword. Before he could grab the weapon, the man was snatched out of the saddle by a massive hand. The horse, running at such great speed, could not handle the contact and fell. Its legs flopped, twisted and turned, two breaking as it crashed to the bottom of the hill in agony.
A giant and his orcish companions had been hiding behind the rise in the land. The behemoth, with his incredible height, must have been nearly laying down waiting to pounce on his prey. Sadly, the racing rider never saw him until it was too late. The giant let out a growl as he pulled the man towards his face. He was a huge beast, standing over twenty feet in height. His face had a stubbly beard and his breath was as foul as a corpse on a hot summer day. Old tales had told of giants eating men alive and Jared Brooking thought he would encounter this fate. But he did not. Being eaten alive by a monstrous giant would have been preferable to what he was about to go through.
The Faletonians brought the human soldier back to their small camp, which was less than a mile away. They had been sent out from the main force that was marching on Southland to try and find human scouting packs and messengers…they had succeeded. The group had seen Jared head to the Singrin Peaks but did not want to venture that far away, so they waited. Patience paid off as they found him on his return.
When they arrived at the camp the orcs tied the human’s hands together and then bound him to a chair against a pole. As Jared waited he watched the giant gather his large belongings and leave, presumably to meet back up with the larger army.
Several orcs sat around looking at their prisoner and speaking in their language, which Jared could not understand. Although not a very religious man, the man prayed to the gods to give him courage and strength. Of the two tents pitched, one was larger than the other. The flap opened to the entrance of the larger tent and out walked an older, particularly ugly orc. The brute’s head was skinny and bald and his green skin was covered in maroon spots. The creature walked slowly towards the human captive. After saying something quickly in the orcish tongue the other orcs moved back from the bound man.
The older orc stood in front of Jared Brooking and stared at him. “I want to know why you travel.” His use of the common tongue was heavily accented, but understandable. After a moment of silence he pulled a dagger from his waste and abruptly stabbed its tip into the side of the man’s face, drawing blood and a groan.
“You will tell me all I want,” said the orc.
Jared felt the blood trickle down his face and drip to the ground. He was stabbed hard and the pain was intense, but he would not give in. He was a man of honor and he fought for a man he respected.
“I rode to carry out the orders of my commander.”
“What were they?” The breath of the orc was rank in his face.
“I’d rather die than tell you.”
With a smile the interrogator said, “We can make that happen…but let’s take our time”. The orc said and reached quickly to a pouch at his side and clenched a substance within. He applied it quickly to the human’s wound.
Jared screamed out in pain. The sting was severe. A burning sensation spread throughout his whole face and down to his neck. He clinched his teeth and fought through it.
“Now…what were you doing at the Singrin Peaks? Rallying the dwarves?” With this the orc began to look Jared over. “Search him, look for a note,” he said to the other nearby orcs in their own language. Immediately they began probing the human’s body. They did not find a note from the dwarves, but did take a small pouch of silver coins. A couple of the orcs began to argue among themselves about who should keep the prize, but their older comrade silenced them.
SMACK. The irate orc struck Jared Brooking hard with the back of his hand then leaned in close to the man. His ugly spotted face was just in front of the human’s, his breath rancid. SMACK. He backhanded again. “Tell me! What were you riding for?”
The brave man looked his frustrated adversary in the eyes and said, “The info I have is for the ears of Victus Antonel alone…not any orc…especially such an ugly one.” With that he smiled and expected another hit, but did not get one.
“Fine. We will do this the hard way. The fun way.” He looked at the other orcs “Lay him flat, bring the foot rack.” He walked away smirking.
Two orcs untied Jared from the pole and threw him to the ground. They assailed him with punches as two other orcs went beside the tent and grabbed a large block of wood. It was four feet long and one and a half feet deep and wide. In the center were two holes. The human did not know what was about to happen and began looking around nervously. Two orcs pinned him down. He tried to resist but the effort was futile. An orc began to pull on the top of the wooden block and it separated in half, splitting the two holes that were centered. Two more orcs came over and began pulling at Jared’s boots.
Once his boots were off they placed a shin and ankle in each half hole. Then the orc holding the other half put the piece of wood back over the top, trapping the human’s ankles tight in the large thick wooden blocks that served as shackles. His feet hung out the other side. The two orcs who were holding Jared’s feet along with the orc who had put the rack back together stepped on the top of the device, ensuring it wouldn’t come back apart as the man jived. Jared’s feet could not pull up through the wholes because, while big enough to hold his ankle, they were too small to pass his larger foot. He was panicking and tried to squirm free but could not. Another orc came with a bucket of water and poured it over the wooden contraption. Jared then froze completely still as he realized what was about to happen.
The older orc returned with a torch and kneeled beside the feet that dangled from the rack.
“Last chance to speak up or burn these feet I will…right to the bone”. An excited sinister sneer marked the orc’s face.
It was as if time had slowed completely for Jared Brooking. He thought of how Victus had personally given him his task, an honor he valued. He considered his pride and fought to be courageous. A vision of Victus appeared in his head. The soldier recalled the last thing his captain said to him, “Unto our honor”. The silence went on too long for the impatient orc. He held the torch below the human’s feet. Jared writhed in pain as the flames neared his flesh; but he could not move his feet at all. He grunted at first then began to scream as his socks caught fire and then his feet began to burn. On and on he screamed and grunted, grinding his teeth.
The orc finally removed the fire from his feet, “Tell me why you were at the Singrin Peaks. Tell me what the dwarves do! Tell me the defenses Victus has and I shall spare you!”
The pain in his feet was unbearable. He could barely get his breath to speak. “N-N-Never…you ugly piece of shit. You will die soon all of you will-” His sentence ended in screams as the fire touched him again. This time the orc did not pull back the flames. The screams grew louder and louder and were matched by loud laughs from the old orc. The flesh burned off Jared’s feet. The ruthless orc kept the torch under the bit of flesh and bones that remained until the bones began to crackle. Soon just a charred stub with some burnt bone projections remained. The sounds coming from the human’s mouth were no longer screams. His agony had him barely alive and in shock. One of the other orcs ended the man’s misery by beheading him with his ax. The older orc shot his comrade a dirty look, but would not argue with the mercy.
They removed the foot rack and began packing their camp to head back to the rest of the army. The old orc grabbed the human he
ad, popped the eyeballs out with a small knife, and said to a young soldier nearby, “take this back to the Singrin Peaks and let them see what would happen if they have plans to sent troops to oppose us. Make sure they see you. Make sure they see this.” The wicked beast held the human head out.
***
Young Eduard Farling worked his hoe into the earth. He spread the dirt over the root of the plant and then moved on to the next. The crop was still growing, but he had to ensure that the roots were covered. He had been working all day, his hands and back hurt and he was exhausted, but he had to keep working. He had to help his father.
There was so much work to do with so few workers. Many of his father’s men were gone at war, so the nine-year-old boy had to do much more than normal. His father, Rom Farling, was out there as well. Eduard had never worked so far out into the fields and away from the city. He stopped for a second and looked around. It was strange to see so few men working the land. Abellard seemed so far away. The boy leaned on his hoe and looked back at the city. It looked different from afar. Some buildings peaked over the walls with colored roofs while others appeared bland. Birds were carried on a light breeze through the surrounding sky. Flags bearing Rogsnelk’s symbol could be seen flapping.
“Just a bit more son, but keep on going,” rang Rom’s voice. Eduard turned his glance to his father who was about forty yards away in between him and Rogsnelk. Rom was soaked in sweat and had his bandana on with overalls. The site of his hardworking father drove him to continue. He pushed more dirt around the root of the next plant. There really wasn’t much left. Just a couple dozen more plants, then he’d be at the end of the cultivated land, on the outskirts of the city.
The unexpected roll of thunder was welcomed to the boy. A cooling rain would help both him and the crop. He looked to the sky. There were so few clouds. The thunder rolled at low volume but didn’t stop. It only grew louder. Eduard then looked to a hill in the distance and saw dark forms cascading down. He looked back and smiled to his father who just had noticed the forms as well. “Father, some of the men have returned!”
Without hesitation Rom beckoned his son to come to him in a voice filled with desperation. The young boy gave his father a confused look then turned back to the riders and pointed. There were not many and they were quickly getting closer and closer. As Eduard started to take a couple of steps backward he heard his father scream his name again.
“Eduard!”
Riders had arrived, but they were not the men that left the city. They were not men at all. Eduard could see now that they were larger, darker, and had weapons in their hands. Eduard, filled with fear, began to run to his father who also started moving towards him. Some of the orcs stormed through the field nearby, the pounding hooves of their horses causing the ground to tremble. The screams of the other field workers could be heard as the marauders attacked them as they sped by. Eduard was half way to his father. The sounds of sprinting horses came closer. The young boy saw the look of horror on his father’s face then heard him scream in terror.
A rider closed in on Eduard at tremendous speed. The orc raised his ax and swung. The blade did not directly find the poor boy, but the top shaft of the weapon bludgeoned Eduard in the back of the head. He tumbled to the ground in a heap and the orc rode on passing right by Eduard’s screaming father.
The riders numbered over twenty. Some went right for land workers, chopping them down. Others released small vats of oil into the land over the crops as they rode through them while others dropped torches to the land, igniting the oil and other dry crops. One orc had actually struck a man with his horse. The merciless orc stopped his steed and dismounted. He then walked up to the groaning man and kicked him to the ground and tied a rope securely around his feet. Quickly, with a wicked look spanning his face, the creature tied the other end of the rope to the back of his saddle. He then hopped back onto his horse. Kicking the animal to a heavy trot, the poor suffering man was dragged behind the horse over the crops and through the field.
A horn screamed from within the city to alert everyone to the attack. As quick as they arrived the orcs were gone. They met in the distance and looked back to the city and the smoke and fire filled fields.
“They are weak. That was easy.” Said one of the orcs in their throaty language. He then let out a vile laugh and others joined in. “Droste will be made happy by this. Let’s move. On to the next city.”
Back in the field Rom was on his knees holding his son in his arms. He wept and screamed to the gods. The blood of his child soaked his clothes and smoke was beginning to blow heavily in his direction. He lifted his Eduard up and was going to put him over his shoulder, but he could not. Tears poured down his face as he realized that if he removed his hands from the back of his Eduard’s head, his little skull would give way and his brain would spill out. Eduard was dead. Rom knew it and screamed in utter despair. After several minutes he found a way to lift him and began carrying him towards the city, away from the smoke. He could see the city guard in the distance, charging out from the city… but they were too late. Many field workers had perished, his beloved son was dead, the fields burned, and the raiders were gone. Rom would not let his son’s body burn in the fields. He continued towards Rogsnelk weeping all the way while carrying his boy. The war had found its way to the cities and its arrival was marked by death, destruction and despair.
***
Servants brought carafes of wine to the large marble table and filled everyone’s cups. Various plates of cheese, figs, and sliced meets adorned the table. Troubled and stern expressions were on the faces of each councilmember present.
“Let us not forget that this is not a battle that we wished for. Nor did our actions bring this about,” said one man to the rest of the council.
“But we are involved now. Orcish raiders have ravaged our lands and killed several of our people. We were last to get hit. Abellard first, then Rogsnelk, now us. This could very well be the first of many. I doubt this was the last time we see such raiders,” said another council member, Tenezza Almore as she leaned forward on her forearms. Although she was the only woman on any of the councils of the three cities, she certainly was not the least powerful. A shrewd and cunning businesswoman, she often pushed her will and policies through the council’s chambers.
All ten council members of Lunemire were assembled in The Great Hall of the Fathers. Orcish marauders had struck quickly and painfully, lighting fields on fire and killing farmers and field workers. By the end of that night, they had received word that Abellard and Rogsnelk shared the same fate. The war now reached their homes. Lunemire had not even sent men to fight for the ambitious captain Victus Antonel, yet they suffered with the other cities that did.
“Perhaps we should have supported Victus and nipped this problem in the bud?” Inquired another man, his tone seeming like he was just fishing for a reaction.
“Do you think that is it? Have you considered that not provoking Faletonia could have been the answer? They came to us in peace and we turned around and brought the sword to them.” Tenezza raised her voice in anger, “We riled the beast!”
Several men began speaking at once, and the council chamber filled with raised voices. The leader of the council, an older man with a bald head and a white beard named Bernot Oxbane, stood and said, “Men… quiet.” His words had no effect. “Enough!” The quarrelling stopped and all eyes were on Bernot. Tenezza Almore slowly leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs while resting her arms on the armrests as she listened.
“We cannot dwell on what would have been. We must think of what is currently happening. The orcs have killed men from all three cities. Many of the men of Abellard and Rogsnelk are away fighting a war.”
“Victus Antonel’s war!” Tenezza hissed and put her nose in the air, sending her long blonde hair shaking. She received a piercing stare from Bernot.
“These are the times. War is here. Faletonia is stronger than anything we’ve ever encountered. Orcs and gob
lins have caused us problems for years, but never so close to home and never before have they been so strong.” Bernot let silence set in as he looked around at each man.
“We have opted to not send our men to war. It would be impossible for any orcish army to defeat us behind our own walls; I don’t care how many monsters they’ve amassed. But that is not how this needs to be perceived. We cannot live in fear and have our farmers constantly worrying about being pillaged…travelers to our cities worrying about being killed on the way. Also, do not turn a cold eye to the other two cities. We are together. If the first thing that happened was all of Faletonia arrived at our gates, do you think that Rogsnelk and Abellard would not have sent support? Each of us knows they would have. And regardless of what you think of his bold campaign now, Victus Antonel would have rallied his troops to our cause.”
“What are you saying, are you suggesting we join Victus?” Asked Elon, a fit man with markedly sharp facial features and a gentle voice.
“No. But we cannot sit and do nothing. From all reports the raiders number no more than twenty or thirty. We should send forth a small but powerful force with the mission of finding these brigands and bringing them to justice. Whether it be at our city or while they attack the other two.” Bernot leaned back in his chair and held his head high. “Abellard and Rogsnelk are pressed for troops. We can support the greater cause in this manner.”
“Indeed, I agree,” said Tenezza and she was echoed by a couple of other men while some took a contrary position but only grumbled, outnumbered in their opinions. The shrewd woman spoke, “Although we may want to begin to think about other measures, such as lending the cities gold. It can be a very profitable thing now. I’m sure we can get a good rate on our money if desperation sets in.” She cracked a smile that made her look wicked.
Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1) Page 24
