Heroes of Perpetua

by Brian Clopper

  The orc gulped in several breaths and looked like he was building himself up to something. Right when his face portrayed an upswing of outrage, the creature heaved his chest out and swatted the wizard, the blow sending Itzel flying. He landed in front of another orc who scowled at him and looked ready to kick him aside. A split second later, the orc, with one leg pulled back and ready to deliver a brutal boot to the golem’s backside, rethought his approach, then lowered his foot and patted the wizard’s flat golem head.

  What was going on? It was like the orcs were getting all worked up and then going passive.

  The scarred orc that had struck the wizard grimaced and appeared conflicted for a second, his expression toggling between anger and dismay.

  The brute raced over to the wizard and helped the golem to his feet. His words came out strong at first but then quickly trailed off, growing meeker with each new sentence. “You are a lowly mud slave. You cannot work spells.” He pulled the wizard up using only two meaty fingers tucked under the golem’s right arm. The action sent the wizard up in the air. Luckily, he landed on his feet. “Please accept my apologies for the roughhousing. I really need to manage my enthusiasm better.”

  The orcs next to the now apologetic one scowled and scoffed at him, but then just as quickly were sending the orc supportive looks and patting him on the back, commenting thoughtfully on his sensitivity.

  The orc seemed pleased to receive the outpouring of support. That didn’t last, though. His face reddened, and he let out a howl. He drew in several quick breaths and paced around the wizard, rolling his thick shoulders and arms forward and back as if psyching himself up to perform a feat of strength . . . or savagery, Lou thought.

  “Throw this rabble in the pen! I want nothing more to do with them.” He let out a long sigh as if relieved to be over and done with his sudden outburst.

  Three orcs stepped forward, jabbing their spears in Lou and Nelson’s faces and herded them toward the wizard and Kanzu. All three apologized for being so threatening, even as they kept jabbing the air with their weapons. One was particularly ashamed of his rowdy behavior. “Terribly sorry. The poking is necessary. Please don’t make us have to puncture your soft hides.”

  The scarred orc hunched over and smiled warmly at the three orcs as they marched their prisoners past. “And maybe don’t throw them in as much as strongly encourage and guide them into the pen. It’s rained recently and with all the mud, I wouldn’t want any to slip and get muck all over themselves.”

  The orcs escorted them out of the circle and past several tents and fires until they arrived at a pen, a series of branches tied together to make a jail that resembled a dome-shaped jungle gym. The guards threatened to toss them in but just as quickly lost all nerve and merely strongly suggested they enter.

  Lou ducked through the tiny entrance followed by Nelson and the wizard. There was a decent amount of mud. Wizard Itzel stepped around the wetter patches, managing to find a relatively dry section near the far end of the structure.

  The dragon was too large for the prison, so he was tied to a post. The orcs left, spouting threats followed by apologies for their strong words.

  Nelson watched them disperse, wandering to different tents and fires.

  Lou scoped out their surroundings. No orcs were nearby. Since there were tents in every direction—their prison must be located at the dead center of the encampment—there was no real need to have anyone watch over them.

  She said, “What was wrong with those guys? Aren’t orcs supposed to be murderous brutes?”

  Kanzu looked at them and drew as close to the pen as he could, straining the thick length of rope that bound him to the post. I could not say. This is my first time outside of Mag’s Landing. My parents have always sheltered me.

  The wizard paced back and forth, sticking to his dry section. “I’ve been in hiding, so I don’t know all of what’s happened to each magical race. Orb’s stolen much magic from everyone in Perpetua and that takes a different toll.” He pointed at the dragon. “Silurf’s people are losing their ability to fly.”

  Nelson waved a finger in the air. “And these orcs have lost what?”

  “Their savage sides,” Lou said. “I mean, if they’re anything like the orcs in A Peril for Penny, they have what’s called a berserker’s rage. The angrier they get, the stronger they are. Sort of like the Hulk.”

  “What’s A Peril for Penny?” Nelson asked.

  “A fantasy book, but that’s not important.” She thought for a second, fleshing out her theory. She knew her analytical neighbor would appreciate a thorough explanation with facts or observations to support her conclusion. “They kept working themselves up, and then their anger would fizzle out, and they’d be extra kind and calm, like they couldn’t sustain their fits of rage.”

  The wizard said, “You’re right. I’ve not had too many dealings with orcs for that very reason. Always so hotheaded and prone to sustained violence. It’s why they make such excellent mercenaries.”

  “Not anymore.”

  She recognized the baritone voice as belonging to the scarred orc.

  The brute walked out from behind a nearby tent, clearly having used it to hide his eavesdropping. The orc planted a torch in the ground next to the pen’s entrance and then rolled a large boulder over to sit on. He scratched around his cheek spikes and hunched his shoulders. “Warnick the Pulverizing.”

  They each introduced themselves.

  Warnick sent a sad glance to the wizard. “I’m sure there is a worthwhile tale behind how a wizard is tucked into a golem, but I’d like to share while I can think clearly.”

  “Certainly,” Lou said.

  Nelson said, “Are you going to prove or disprove Lou’s theory about your people?”

  “Prove, sadly.” He sighed. “Orcs built our brand on our propensity for violence and bloodshed. We wallowed in mayhem. With such a rep, parties with disagreements hired us to make their problems go away. Business was good, especially among the shadow clans. They never wanted to dirty their hands, so they contracted us often.”

  Lou thought orcs sounded like the magical equivalent of the Mafia. Her dad had always subjected her to his horrible Godfather impression. He’d filled her in just enough about the crime organization to get his joke but had never let her see any of the violent films—her mom’s intervention to thank for that.

  “Baron Orb came along and took his magical tithe from us. Half our magic didn’t seem like much of a price.” He grimaced and growled. “So foolish of us.”

  “So you can’t get angry anymore?” Lou asked.

  Warnick threw up his hands and looked ready to storm any nearby castles, but his anger subsided and he grew instantly sad. “Before, we were always outraged and craving mayhem. With our magic halved, empathy crept in. We found we couldn’t sustain any prolonged outbursts. You can well imagine how that could destroy a business built on delivering maximum violence. We tried, oh how we tried! But every contract just couldn’t be fulfilled. We’d head off with the most lovely of intentions. You want us to knock off your rival? You request a brutal trampling to deliver the message that your taxes are not optional? But with our erratic rage, we could never deliver.”

  “So what do you do for a living?” Nelson said.

  “Still struggling to find our way. Haven’t managed to reinvent ourselves just yet.” He pointed to the tents. “But being nomadic, our needs are minimal, and we have ample stockpiles to make it through another winter without gigs, but we have to find something, eventually.” He stomped about, clearly working himself into a tizzy. After a while, he calmed down.

  “We can, maybe, solve your problem,” Nelson said.

  Wizard Itzel shot him a look.

  “How so?” The orc cocked an eyebrow, causing the spikes along his brow to press into his forehead.

  “Lou and I have a big warrior elf’s magic in us, and we just need to meet up with our friend Hugo, who also has the same magic, and we can take out this baron g
uy.”

  “The great Neruno? But he was defeated, his soul scattered to the winds by Baron Orb.” He looked at the wizard for confirmation.

  Wizard Itzel shrugged and smiled. “I saved Neruno at the last minute and hid him away in three Earthlings.”

  “And you did all that in your body of mud and sticks? How did a golem contain such magic?”

  “I was in my regular body then. I just hid in my manservant to avoid being hunted by the baron. Plan was to bring the three back from Earth and have Neruno emerge and defeat Orb.” He grinned. “Only we hit a little snag.”

  “Define snag.” Warnick crossed his arms.

  “Orb found them and managed to run off with Hugo. So we’re on a rescue mission first and then Orb’s takedown, hopefully.”

  Lou didn’t like how the wizard seemed so unsure of himself.

  The orc smiled, revealing a seismographic set of teeth. “Well, then,” he opened the pen gate and waved for them to exit, “we really should be helping you be on your way.” He glanced up at the night sky. “Daybreak is less than an hour away. What do you say to a big breakfast, and then you’ll be well nourished and on your way?”

  “That would be appreciated.” The wizard rubbed at his temples and looked a little panicked.

  Lou sent Nelson a look. The boy also studied Wizard Itzel, who appeared even more skittish and reluctant to exit the pen.

  The orc noticed. “Come now. You’re no longer my prisoners. You’re my guests.”

  Lou stepped back and took ahold of the pen gate. “He wants to stay for a while.”

  “Why?”

  The wizard raced to the far end of the pen and curled up into a ball.

  Lou quickly explained how the golem was about to take control of his body again, and how important it was that Georgie not know the wizard was also sharing his headspace.

  The orc snapped his fingers and pointed at the wizard. “I knew there was an interesting tale there.” He helped Lou close and secure the gate. “Of course, I will abide by your secrecy pact. Orcs are big on honoring oaths. Do you need me to spill any blood to seal this agreement?”

  Lou laughed. “Nope, we’re good. Your word is your bond.”

  Warnick grinned. “Lovely turn of phrase. Might have to use that one.” He went over and untied the dragon and motioned for the three to follow.

  Back in the pen, the golem started screaming and bemoaning his incarceration by deplorable orcs.

  Lou noticed Warnick beamed at being labeled deplorable.

  ****

  As Perpetua’s sun peeked over the horizon, the orcs put the finishing touches on the food spread.

  In the past hour, they had observed the orcs erect collapsible tables, oversee the prepping and cooking of breakfast items, and place large bowls of the same food items on each of the eight tables, all while trying to tune out Georgie’s wailing and protests. Even with the pen halfway across camp, the golem’s cries could be heard.

  For a while, it had amused them to watch different orcs get upset enough to march over to snuff out the ‘loudmouth golem,’ only to lose their anger by the time they got there and then work to soothe the golem. Warnick had also done such twice. On the second trip, he’d even raised his axe before succumbing to his empathy and directing long apologies to the golem.

  Georgie didn’t know what to make of the situation. Lou and Nelson agreed that ignoring him was their best option.

  An orc wearing a red apron, signifying he was the head chef of the tribe, banged two heavy pots together, spraying the top of his head with the creamed residue from the smaller pot. The orc licked away the food, using a tongue Lou thought could probably touch his belly button if he really tried.

  The chef radiated warmth. “Hearty repasts fill both mind and soul.” His expression shifted to positively devilish, obviously fueled by his smidgen of berserker magic. “Tear into the succulent flesh, crack bones, and suck out the marrow.” His leer softened to a pleading grin. “And please use your napkins and manners.”

  All the orcs looked at Warnick. He raised both arms and then swept them down as if ushering in the start of a foot race. “Gorge till your bellies distend.”

  The orcs all around Lou and Nelson aggressively filled their plates from the main bowls arranged at each table, some even exchanging insults and blows when they reached for the same serving spoon.

  Several bites in, the orcs’ demeanors lightened, and they were slinging compliments instead of insults.

  Lou was still full from their dragon feast, but ate, not wanting to insult their hosts. Nelson picked at his plate, again favoring anything that looked like berries. Although, he did go back for seconds of something called mashed stimple root.

  The orc on her left shoveled a massive spoonful of some sort of grubs Lou had avoided so far. He smiled at her and belched before snatching a serving bowl and taking the last of the grubs and plopping them down on his plate.

  His neighbor slugged him hard. “Horvuk, I tire of how you always hog the winpus grubs. You know my cousin made them with the special sauce I adore.”

  Horvuk grabbed his knife and stabbed it into the forearm of the complainer. “Enough of your prattling, Skiltox. Be glad my blade didn’t sever your jugular.”

  The injured orc removed the knife and pawed at his arm, trying to staunch the bleeding. “You hit a gusher. I will have your eye for this.” He glared at Horvuk.

  Lou slid her plate away from the small geyser of blood erupting from between the orc’s pressing fingers.

  Horvuk’s face reddened, and he took his napkin and wrapped it around Skiltox’s cut. “I lament that I wounded my brother so. Words cannot express my shame. A thousand pardons.”

  Skiltox scowled, left the table, and fled to a nearby tent.

  To clean and dress his wound, she thought.

  Horvuk sat back down, wiped his knife clean, placed it to the right of his plate next to his dessert fork, and started spooning grubs into his mouth.

  Lou kept her eyes on her plate, worried that if she looked up, the orcs all around would be staring at her. And if she made eye contact, that might agitate them enough to do something drastic. Of course, they’d apologize almost immediately after. So sorry I separated your head from your body, little girl. Please don’t hold it against me. I just won’t be able to live with myself if you do. Or words to that effect.

  Nelson broke the silence, addressing Horvuk. “What’s the difference between orcs and ogres?”

  Every single orc at their table and several at other tables within earshot—which was quite a few as orcs had huge ears—stopped eating and talking and fighting and praising to stare at him.

  Lou closed her eyes. Look what you’ve done now, Nelson.

  “Beg your pardon? You didn’t just say what I think you said?” Horvuk rose slowly, his hand hovering near his recently used knife.

  “I don’t know. What do you think I said?” Nelson continued eating, oblivious to the tension.

  A low grumble traveled through the orcs. A few looked ready to jump across the table and give Nelson a sound throttling.

  Horvuk said, “You inquired as to the differences between orcs and ogres.”

  “Yes, I always get you two confused.”

  The orc plastered a smile on his face and sat back down, dropping his hand away from his knife, for now. “I’d be happy to clear that up for you.”

  Lou noticed the rest of the orcs likewise settled. They seemed to share the ups and downs, as if their emotional rollercoasters were in sync from living with each other, maybe?

  Nelson took a drink from his oversized goblet and stared at Horvuk.

  The orc’s spikes were half as long as the rest, and the center spike atop his head was broken off, just a nub. Lou wondered if that had been sustained in battle.

  The orc said, “Ogres are slightly smaller than orcs and often let themselves go, resulting in frequent potbellies among their population. They are hairier and don’t have spikes. They are much more into
body ink and have terrible hygiene. And they’re about the dimmest creatures in Perpetua, outside of unicorns. Those horned atrocities are the most feebleminded.”

  Okay, so good to know. Wouldn’t have thought that of unicorns. Part of Lou wanted to ask why Earth had stories about all the creatures here. Had they snuck over to her planet from time to time? Was this their original homeworld or had they left Earth when mankind had grown too nosy about their magic? She filed away her questions, keen on asking the wizard the next time she had a chance.

  “Orcs are quite scholarly. We receive extensive schooling and are required to be culinary whizzes from an early age.”

  Nelson nodded. “That explains a lot. I do like your wonderful way with words.”

  Horvuk leaned in and smiled even wider, exposing his very yellow teeth. “Yes, etymology is a passion of all orcs. Are you a wordsmith yourself? You have that air about you.”

  Nelson grinned. “I dabble.”

  “Excellent word choice. Sometimes simple and flavorful can be so fitting.” Horvuk returned to his grubs. After cleaning his plate, he let out a long belch and placed his hands behind his head and leaned back. His chair creaked but didn’t break. “Word has gotten around you two have the famed elf warrior’s essence in you?” He closed one eye and looked at her with the other.

  “It’s true,” Lou said.

  The orc opened his closed eye. “And you intend to reunite with one more and soundly thrash the foul baron?”

  “More or less.”

  The orc sprang forward and thumped his palms on the table, rattling his plate. “Then I must be your chronicler.”

  “What?”

  “You know I excel with words and can control my berserker rage. I mean, I only perforated Skiltox once when he deserved so many more holes to his person.” He clapped his hands together. “And I have just the journal to use. I’ve been saving it for a truly special event.” He looked at his fellow orcs. “And I’d say ridding Perpetua of the scourge of Baron Orb certainly merits it, yes?”

  They all nodded and returned to licking their plates and giving each other antagonizing pinches, followed by mini-apologies.