by Sam Ferguson
She moved surprisingly quickly. Though her gait was uneven, as though she moved with a limp, the ground slipped by beneath her feet smoothly.
“Come on, use your orc muscles and keep up!” she chirruped cheerfully, pointing insistently to the portion of the path next to her. Grunting with annoyance, Torgath lengthened his stride, all the while considering what the implications to his honor might be if he should remove the woman’s head from her shoulders.
He scarcely had begun to notice that the scenery around him was finally changing, as endless pines and aspens gave way to berry-laden bushes with the occasional broad-leafed tree scattered farther away from the path. The scent of sweet, yet unfamiliar flowers hung in the air, and the sound of humming insects and scuttling animal life reached his ears. He realized with a start that these sounds of the forest had been absent for some time, yet he had not noticed.
Coming back to himself after this unsettling realization, he had to stop short before colliding with an enormous tree root which framed one side of a cave entrance the old woman had just ducked inside of. Coming around the side of the root, he noticed that the other side of the cave entrance was decorated with rune stones. Some carried marks he recognized from various Terryn languages, his own included. Others carried unfamiliar patterns or pictures of animals.
It occurred to him that now the woman had lead him from the enchanted portion of the forest, he may now be able to find his way out. He seriously considered running for it, but just as he was about to turn away, his eye settled on the orcish rune for “honor,” and something inside of him was inexplicably drawn to discover what might be inside.
Stepping through the entrance, he was surprised to find that the trees roots had grown in a pattern along the edges of the earthen cave, holding the shape of the tunnel with their interwoven fingers. Ten feet along the corridor, the space opened both up and down. The red dirt cavern reached high above him, where smaller tree roots looped along the ceiling around paintings of wolves and satyrs, dragons and orcs, winged humanoids and creatures of every description that roamed the face of Terramyr. His eye lingered on the orc faces, executed with care and detail to depict them as noble warriors, not as fallen foes or horrible monsters. He was intrigued.
The sides of the hundred-foot wide cavern sloped gently downward, following the path of the great taproot which spiraled along a set of shallow steps that wound around and down to a lower level where it disappeared into the earth at the source of an underwater stream that ran through the cavern. Plants of every description grew from the walls of the lower level, and seemed to pulse and sway in response to the movements of both Torgath and the old woman, who was opening various wooden chests, gathering food items. Unceremoniously, she stacked the food on a simple stone table that stood next to the stream and began carving hunks of bread off a large loaf.
“Wash up a bit, then eat,” she gestured amiably to the water with the stone knife in her hand, and then waved it vaguely toward each of his arms. He glanced down at himself and realized there was still blood spatter all over his skin and armor. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the water was warm, likely heated by a natural hot spring somewhere below the mountain. He spent longer than he would otherwise have intended, removing dirt from places he would never have been fussy about before, just to take a moment longer with the pleasant water.
When he had finished washing the dirt and blood from his hands and arms, the old woman was already eating, half reclining in a crook of the taproot that was just suited to her size and shape. She was watching him thoughtfully, with a curious but pleasant expression. It irked him that she was behaving in such a familiar fashion, but the sight of the food laid out on the table spoke to him more loudly than the tickle of annoyance that was running through his brain.
After a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese, the old woman stood and brushed the crumbs from her hands and robes as she used her tongue to rub the last of her meal from her teeth. “Now,” she said, still moving her tongue about as she spoke, pausing whenever a morsel broke loose that required chewing, “I have an angry orc with a dragon sword hunting demons, bandaging fallen knights, and rescuing lost souls instead of leading a tribe of other angry orcs to claim knightly territory, and slaughter whatever they find with a soul to oppose them. What am I to make of this?”
Before he could answer, she turned and began pacing away from him, drifting toward the wall where the strange plants all strained to follow her movements.
“He reeks, positively reeks of honor, real honor. But out there, doing what suits him best, not what suits a tribe? What do you make of this?” she turned abruptly on her heel again and approached him, chewing her lip lightly while she thought intently. Cracking her knuckles, she examined his attire, taking note of the mask which hung loose from his cowl. “Mmm, a mask,” she nodded as though she had known it to be there all along, “that’s interesting. Don’t want people to notice your orc face, do you?” she said matter-of-factly just as Torgath took a large bite of food, trying his best to behave as though the woman weren’t there at all.
“Aha!” She cried out loudly, inches from his face. He grimaced at the noise, but gave no more of a reaction than to sigh deeply and cock a single eye brow as he continued to chew his food. “Three! You’ve gotten three of them, haven’t you!” She leaned in to finger the demons’ tooth necklace which hung at his chest, but this is where he drew the line.
He slammed the fistful of bread down, and turned so as to sweep her arm away from him before she could make contact with the trophies. He was certain his face showed all the rage of battle he could muster, but she merely walked away from him again, chuckling amiably to herself and clucking her tongue. She moved to a patch of plants sporting deep green bulbs which expanded and blossomed suddenly as she reached out to them. She sniffed at one thoughtfully and then stepped further along the wall, splashing right through the stream on her way to a long, stone chest covered with runes he didn’t recognize.
She flung it open and brought out a large burlap sack and what looked at this distance to be a small dagger with spikes protruding from a knuckle guard. She hauled the sack back to Torgath and dumped it out across the table, scattering some of the food as she did so. There was an assortment of armor pieces, a fur hat, lint, and a few colorful items Torgath didn’t have the chance to identify before she was flashing something right in front of his face. He pulled his head back a few inches to let his eyes focus on the thing she was holding in her hand. The dagger. She turned it over in her hand this way and that and then peered at him expectantly.
“Nice blade,” he offered with a questioning tone, wondering what she expected him to say.
“Wow,” she drawled in annoyance. “A demon hunter who can’t spare an old woman a look at his little prize, but has no respect for someone else’s.” She turned the blade upside down and stabbed it right into the surface of the stone table, then leaned on the table’s edge with a taught expression on her face, eyebrows raised expectantly. Torgath looked in shock at the blade sticking out of the stone table top, and wondered how a woman of such feeble appearance could have managed it.
Then it suddenly occurred to him what he was looking at. Those weren’t spikes decorating the knuckle guard, they were demon teeth. His eyes flew wide, and he looked from the woman’s face to the blade and back again. Seeing the realization come into his eyes, she started to smile and nod. “Yes, now you begin to see. There is more to the old woman than meets the eye. Something that might be worth just a hint of respect from the honorable orc, don’t you think?”
Chapter 3
“How did you come by this?” Torgath asked as he stood from his chair, the thought of food banished from his mind. “I would very much like to know how these were acquired.” He took hold of the dagger, and had to give the handle an extra yank to remove it from the table top. He wondered how the woman had had the strength to embed it to begin with. His awe soured as he considered again that magic must be involved. Th
is certainly seemed like sort of place which could be described as the lair of a forest witch. When he looked back at her again, his suspicion must have been evident in his eyes. The old woman scoffed, making a grating sound at the back of her throat as she tossed her head and walked away from him.
“You understand very little of this world if everything you can’t explain must be ascribed to magic. That sword you carry has unique properties. Should I call it magical?”
He was taken off guard for a moment. He hadn’t thought too deeply about the item, but had wielded it effectively for some time now. “No,” he finally answered, “its abilities are a result of the material it was created from – a natural inverse to the power of the demons I fight.”
“And my abilities are a result of the material I was created from – that you too were created from. I don’t bend the rules or steal energy. I do, however, understand that there is merit to be found in all things.” The old woman returned to her place in the curve of the taproot and took some time seating herself comfortably and arranging her dusty brown robes just so. “I don’t restrict myself to the code of the gods, or the demigods. I don’t see black and white, but I do see honor. The very dust we are made of responds to that. Terramyr answers to the sound of an honorable heart beating in the chest of one who seeks to serve those who dwell upon her. The forest out there saw something special in you, and wanted to keep you for… inspection.”
“Inspection?” Torgath was thrown by what he was hearing.
“Yes, yes. There are some things we don’t understand about you. Some things that don’t quite make sense. I’m told you didn’t rush out to greet the great Khefir when he came to collect souls this morning.”
“You were told? By whom? Who is it that doesn’t understand about me? Who are you anyway?” Torgath took a few steps toward where the woman was seated, and swept a glaring eye around the cavern, wondering if there were other humans who might be hiding – places they could be concealed that he hadn’t taken note of.
“Whew, I can see I’ll have to go more slowly for you, Dearie. You can call me Teolang, and I hear what the forest whispers. I don’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to answer some questions. Let’s back things up a bit, shall we? You have a dragon bone sword, and you are out on your own, presumably on a mad quest to track and hunt demons. Neither typical orc weaponry nor typical orc behavior, so I’m going to take a guess that you’ve had a conversation with one of our scaly brethren, am I right?”
Torgath was unsure how to answer. How much did he want to have a conversation with this woman about his past, his quest, or anything else for that matter?
“Your face tells me I’m right. Thank you.” She stood abruptly and began to circle him. “While I’d usually recommend seeking out such company in general – clever conversation and all – you do need to be a little picky about which of their kind you take advice from. Some are positively marvelous creatures with all the honor in the world, but some have been touched by the void, and would as happily see you self-destruct as have you rescue lost souls. What did this one even tell you?”
“I’m not interested in sharing. But I believe what I was told was true. I was given proof.”
“Proof? Uh huh… I see. You know, a hundred years ago, I would probably have believed the proof of my eyes as well, so I can’t blame you, but I’m not sure that you learned everything you needed to know.”
“A hundred years ago? Are you calling me an infant?” Torgath’s temper was beginning to rise.
“Oooh-hoo-hoo,” Teolang half laughed, half sang as she made a hobbling skip toward a towering beanstalk-like plant that seemed to have sprouted from nothing next to the water during the course of their conversation. She leaned toward it with her hands clasped behind her back and declared, “He is so polite! He’s pegged me for a mere one hundred! Why, young man, you are positively charming!”
Once again, Torgath felt lost for words. He had never known a human to live to be above a hundred years. He had thought it impossible. Now more than ever before he was certain there was more than meets the eye with this person. He watched her hobble to the far side of the stream once more, chuckling to herself. She gathered some small red seeds from the inside of an enormous flower with brilliant orange petals that turned upward in the shape of a large cup, rather like a water pitcher, and turned to beckon to him. Without waiting to verify that he was following, she walked halfway down the far wall and ducked through a wall of hanging vines into what must have been another tunnel or chamber.
With a sigh and roll of his eyes, Torgath followed after her reluctantly. Not liking the idea of stepping into a space he couldn’t see, he finally stooped low and pushed the curtain of living green aside to peer down the dark tunnel that lay beyond. Flickering light bounced from the walls at a bend perhaps fifteen feet away. Questioning his judgment, but curious in spite of himself, Torgath shuffled in a crouching position through the tunnel and found himself in another spacious room, though not nearly so immense as the two-level cavern he had come from.
The far end of the room to his right opened to a dark hole in the cave wall from which he could hear the sound of water lapping against rocky surfaces, and to his left he saw the old woman approaching two Kuscan pirates whose hands, feet, and mouths were being bound tightly by roots or vines of some sort which protruded from the side of the wall. Torgath drew his sword, unsure what sort of situation he had just walked in on.
“Oh please,” Teolang shot at him with an amused sort of annoyance. “Do you plan to rescue me from them, or them from me? Why don’t you wait for a little more information before rushing for your sword, eh?”
Torgath dropped his stance, though he declined to replace his sword.
“Since you are not eager to talk about yourself, let’s talk about these two young fellows, shall we?” She rolled the red seeds in her hands thoughtfully, her fingers moving them nimbly back and forth. “These two brothers thought to vary piracy with a bit of burglary last night. They found the outer entrance to my watery cave there,” she gestured to the opening at the opposite end of the room, “and brought a small vessel down the way. They were caught rifling through my things, and were quickly subdued. I suspect it was more an accidental discovery than a truly planned heist – something that came about in the course of an escape from another job would be my guess. They aren’t much for talking about their affairs either,” she glanced sidelong at Torgath, “but given the bag of fine Kuscan armor, artifacts, and jewels they already had stashed beneath the seats of their skiff, I drew my own conclusions.”
“You found them with stolen property?” Torgath finally re-sheathed his sword and took a few steps closer to the cave exit to examine the skiff she had mentioned, which was tied up at the bottom of a short set of steps.
“Yes, yes, I showed it to you before.”
He recalled the burlap sack she had emptied onto the table earlier, but didn’t recall seeing any jewels among the other items.
As if in answer to his thoughts she said, “I emptied the jewels into the water. Might as well put them with the other rocks. Shiny or no, rocks are what they are.”
The two Kuscans writhed in their restraints to hear that, but to no avail. Torgath glanced to Teolang and saw her suck her cheeks in and smile in amusement.
“I was curious to know where they had come from, so I set out before dawn to listen to what the forest could tell me. Mother Terramyr can provide information from so, so many places, you see. My information says that these two had overtaken a ship full of Marcovian sailors who were returning from a raid on a Kuscan safe house. They killed everyone aboard, and retrieved the afore mentioned property before realizing that the ship was one of an armada which had anchored early at the rendezvous point. They managed to escape before being captured by the Marcovians’ comrades, and found their way to my home. Now I find myself in a bit of pickle. I have two intruders, burglars. I’d be within my rights to dispatch them.
Then there
is the question of the actions that brought them to my door. I’m not so sure the slaughter of an entire crew was warranted, but Marcovians aren’t known for their gentle policies, and the world may very well be better off without them. I don’t know the details of what happened at the safe house. Kuscans retrieving Kuscan items could indicate there was some honor in the action, but details are important. Piracy doesn’t rank high on the list of honorable professions, to be sure, but there may be some mitigating factors in the history of these two… boys.”
At the word “boys” the two Kuscans writhed again, obviously insulted by the tone as much as the word itself. Torgath found himself dwelling on the word. These were not children, but he couldn’t help seeing himself as a young warrior, and wondering what he might have come to without the principles he had been raised with. Teolang was watching his face intently as he thought over what she had told him. Though her words could have seemed menacing, he did not sense any ill will from her, and it occurred to him that she really did see the Kuscans, and indeed him as well, as children. For a being, perhaps, hundreds of years in age, all three of them were likely little more than boys needing some guidance.
“What do you suggest I do, eh? Hang them out for the Marcovian patrol? Feed them to my flendle plants? They do love a bit of meet every now and then, and I have several that have grown positively enormous.” The blood drained from the Kuscans’ faces at the suggestions, and the younger of the two seemed to shrink into the coils of the roots which held him fast. “I mean, I can’t simply let them go to wander about bungling into more trouble, now can I?”
“They need a job,” it was out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying. “Young orc warriors who are jailed for a lack of discipline are assigned hard labor until they acquire a respect for honorable behavior.”
Teolang clapped her hands and laughed out loud, a youthful sounding laugh that rang throughout the cavern. “You’ve hit on just the thing, my friend, indeed you have. Why, what a marvelous offer you’ve just made. A job! Thank you for solving that for me. A job it shall be. You’ve got yourself two proper employees, my demon hunting orcman!”
