by Sam Ferguson
They stopped on the fifth night half way up a rocky mountain called Iggbrist. It was a wide peak of stone, heavily forested and marked by several mountain streams. The four witnesses ate their food while they watched Torgath commence his songs. After the third hymn, an arrow pierced one of the witnesses through the neck, dropping him to the side mid-way through a bite of deer.
Torgath leapt to his feet and seized his sword. Two more arrows flew through the camp, harmlessly striking trees. The orc looked about the camp, but with the fire behind him it was hard to see into the darkness. His sharp ears picked out the incoming sound of an arrow just in time. He ducked as the missile soared by.
The remaining witnesses gathered their weapons to defend themselves, but the bulk of the battle would be left to Torgath. His quest, his glory. If they helped, then his glory would be diminished.
Knowing this, he kicked the fire apart, scattering embers and burning wood downhill into a patch of briars. A high-pitched squeak erupted from the briars as a dwarf leapt up and patted at his legs.
Torgath rushed after the dwarf, giving him no time to react as he brought his sword down onto the top of the dwarf’s skull. The orc jerked his sword to the side, tossing the dwarf’s body, and then charged through the briars to a second dwarf who was reloading his bow. Torgath cut through the bow, taking the dwarf’s left arm at the elbow in the process, and then kicked the dwarf with such ferocity that the little man’s jaw shattered as his head was thrown back. The orc skewered the dwarf and then moved to stand behind a large pine as more arrows flew toward him from the side. He noticed, though, that the arrows came upward from a lower angle. While this was somewhat expected given a dwarf’s height, the angle appeared to be too sharp even to account for their shorter stature.
The orc caught sight of a square patch of ground shifting, then lifting upward on some sort of hinge.
“Tunnels!” Torgath cried out to the witnesses. That’s how they surprised me! Now he understood why he hadn’t caught their scent or heard their approach. Torgath roared and went for his own crossbow hanging from his belt. He fired at the opening hatch just as a dwarf emerged and tried to take aim with a crossbow of his own. Torgath’s bolt struck first, jolting the dwarf backward and sending the little warrior’s shot wide.
Stomping feet came at Torgath from behind. He wheeled around, catching a dwarven spear near the head with his sword and turning it away just in time. The dwarf let go of his spear and pulled a pair of hand-axes.
“For the king!” the dwarf shouted as he swung and chopped wildly. Torgath backpedaled three steps and then turned to the side as the dwarf lunged at him. Torgath kicked the dwarf in the shoulder, knocking him off balance, and then stuck the dwarf down through the soft place between the neck and clavicle. The dwarf collapsed with a heavy grunt.
Torgath slew three more dwarves before he was certain the field was cleared of enemies.
The witnesses had managed to take refuge in the middle of some large boulders. A single dwarf lay dead at their feet. Torgath wiped his blade and sheathed it while staring at the other orcs. Witnesses or not, he couldn’t believe they would actually wait while he fought the rest of the dwarves alone.
“Glory to Torgath,” one of them said.
It was the only acceptable answer. A reminder of why they passively observed, but to Torgath it was a pathetic excuse. An orc was born -- no, created!-- to fight. To stand by and watch went against every fiber of his being.
“Glory to the clan,” Torgath replied, the required answer dripping with his disgust. Two of the recorders noted his contempt, but only one of them seemed to balk at it.
Torgath and the surviving recorders buried their fallen brother and then moved on in the dark of night to a location higher upon the peak. The following morning they broke camp and wandered through a gulley before reaching the next mountain. Birds chirped and sang as squirrels danced upon the branches above them; sure signs that no dragon had come through these parts recently.
There hadn’t been much written about the beast Torgath was to face, only that it slept in a cave deep within the Gray Mountains. That, and it had slain their first chief. Great ballads had been composed honoring the fallen chief, and even a couple were written about the chief’s grand weapon that had been lost, but Torgath found no useful information within those ballads.
A deer moved nearby, followed quickly by a pair of yearlings that had only recently lost their spots by the looks of them. Torgath watched the animals bound through the brush and had to wonder whether the dragon still lived at all. He had heard they could go great periods without food to sustain them, instead subsisting upon the songs of gold and gems, or some such nonsense.
One of the recorders turned a disapproving eye and grunted at Torgath, pulling the orc from his thoughts.
It was obvious in that moment that the recorder disapproved. He had expected Torgath to slay the deer for their food. Torgath reached into his pack and pulled a bit of dried meat from within, offering it to the recorder. The other orc let out a low snarl, but took the proffered treat.
*****
Torgath pulled himself from his memories, wondering whether the warlord’s men would sneak up on him with tunnels under the sand as the dwarves had ambushed him in the Gray Mountains. He almost chuckled, thinking about the look on the recorder’s face when he had handed him the dried meat. In that moment, Torgath hadn’t cared whether the recorders approved of him or not. After all, he was set with the task of facing a dragon. In any case, he hadn’t the slightest idea of what was to come about, nor how the recorders were going to react.
The orc must have sighed too deeply, for Kiuwa came up next to him and nudged his left arm. Torgath turned to see an inquiring expression on the hard warrior’s face.
“I’m all right,” Torgath replied.
Kiuwa arched a brow as they walked, not letting the question drop so easily.
“I was thinking of the final days before I left home,” Torgath replied.
Kiuwa’s expression softened. “No time to think on that now,” the Kuscan replied. “We have mountains set before us to climb, and a mission to complete.”
“The mission is for me alone,” Torgath replied. “Your job is only to take me to the pass. You don’t know what awaits on the other side.”
Kiuwa scoffed. “Demons, blood sucking humans warped by eternal evil, and monsters that even a man’s worst nightmares would retreat from.” Kiuwa shrugged. “That about sums it up I think.”
Torgath smiled from behind his mask. “You forgot the energy vampires.”
“Shades?” Kiuwa waved them off. “I don’t have any magical energy to take, so they can starve trying to steal it from me if they like. If they even exist.”
“They exist,” Torgath said definitively. “I dealt with one.” He reached up and touched one of the teeth on his necklace. “It was a most worthy foe. Nothing like the last demon I fought. Nearly killed me.”
“You don’t have magic in you, do you?” Kiuwa said. “I thought orcs abhorred magic.”
Torgath winced, thankful that his mask could hide his face. “No, orcs don’t abide magic, or those imbued with its touch. We view those with it as cursed. Still, a shade can absorb your very life force.”
Kiuwa whistled through his teeth and shook his head. “Well, as you said, we’re only taking you to the beginning of the pass.”
Torgath nodded.
Tui came up on Torgath’s other side. “That never made sense to me,” he said. “About the magic, I mean. Why not use it, harness it to crush your enemies? I would.”
The orc’s lips turned into a snarl. “Magic is a tool of cowards.”
“Does it not take skill to wield, like a bow or a javelin?” Tui pressed. “What is the difference between, say, an orc archer and a sorcerer? Or a siege machine?” Tui lifted a finger in the air. “Catapults are used by orcs, are those not cowardly as well?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Torgath said.
Tui
nodded. “That’s exactly what I am trying to tell you. I don’t understand. What’s wrong with magic?”
Torgath stopped. “Magic is everywhere,” he said. “It’s in the trees, the rivers, and the very sun that gives us light. We don’t hate magic because of what it is, we hate it because it was stolen from the First Father. After we were created, Icadion, in his jealousy, stripped Khullan of his magic, and he replaced the magic that had been used to infuse us with life with a cursing. We hate those who use magic to conquer us, because it mirrors that original aggression, the attack against our very souls, and our right to live.”
Tui gave a thoughtful nod, Kiuwa cleared his throat and looked off to the distance.
None of them spoke again until they came to a secluded cache nestled into a rocky mound about fifty miles from the next outpost they would reach on their way to the pass.
“We should probably take turns standing watch,” Kiuwa said. “I can take first watch.”
“I’ll take second,” Tui said. “It’s my fault we are sleeping in the open instead of in a bed.”
Torgath smiled at that. “Think nothing of it, and orc is comfortable lying on the rocks.”
Tui paused and a wry grin stretched his lips. “I had another question,” he started. “I thought orcs never retreated.”
Kiuwa grunted and moved to smack his brother, but Tui saw the attack coming and moved aside.
“I didn’t retreat,” Torgath said flatly. “I decided there was no honor in slaughtering townsfolk who couldn’t match my strength even in large numbers. There was no honor to be gained by killing them.”
“Honor...” Tui seemed to accept the explanation as he pulled out a flask of whiskey he kept with him and made himself comfortable sitting against a smooth section of the cave wall. “I offended you today.”
Torgath shook his head. “No.”
Tui took a pull from his flask and then waved the dismissal away. “I don’t mean the question about magic, though I imagine that was not a comfortable subject. I mean the way I acted in town. I owe you an apology.”
“We discussed it, think nothing of it,” Torgath insisted. It was hard, painful almost, to watch the proud Kuscan try to find words to convey his feelings. It made for an awkward moment much worse than defending Tui’s poor behavior in town.
“I acted shamefully, like an animal. Should you wish it, I will travel beyond the pass with you.”
“Tui!” Kiuwa chided. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Tui closed his flask and pointed at his brother. “I know exactly what I am saying.” He stood back on his feet and turned his brown eyes to Torgath. “I didn’t just offend you, but I risked your mission as well.”
“He risked his own mission prior to that by killing those men that attacked the boy,” Kiuwa said.
Tui nodded. “But the mission is his to risk, not mine.” Tui extended his hand. “I understand you, Torgath. I understand what’s at stake. Allow me to make amends by helping you accomplish your quest. I will not ask for additional money, this is a debt I owe you.”
Torgath shook his head. “You owe me nothing,” the orc said. “If anything, killing the warlord could be viewed as a service to some of the townsfolk. You cannot follow me. Where I go, no mortal should follow.”
“He’s right,” Kiuwa put in. “Death awaits beyond the pass, not just for your body, but your soul as well. We aren’t setting one foot into the cursed lands.”
Tui arched a brow and waited, his hand still proffered to Torgath. “I would follow you, if you would let me.”
Torgath shook his head again and moved to create a bed farther inside the cave. “We will not speak of this again. My mission is mine alone. I do not expect nor desire your assistance beyond the pass. Show me the way in, and then turn back and go on to live your lives.”
The conversation died, with a visibly hurt Tui moving back to sip from his flask and stare out the mouth of the cave. Kiuwa muttered something about his brother being foolish, but Torgath wasn’t listening. His thoughts turned to the demons that waited for him. His left hand wandered up and touched the necklace of demon teeth. Some of them had been formidable foes, others had been nearly impossible to defeat.
None of them would compare with what waited for him beyond the pass.
This was the pinnacle of his destiny, but nothing he had ever done thus far felt like proper preparation.
Despite himself, fear crept into his heart, planting the seeds of doubt as he forced his eyes closed and tried to calm his anxious mind.
When sleep finally took hold of his body, his mind and soul found no rest, for the night terrors found him once more. He tossed and turned as the same images unfolded in his mind. Everything was the same as before. The death and carnage ravaged his homeland, and his hands were drenched in his peoples’ blood. Only when the Void called to him, beckoning him to fulfill his destiny as its servant did Torgath finally wake.
Torgath wiped his face and removed his shirt in an attempt to cool himself, and then he moved to the mouth of the cave where he found Kiuwa standing watch.
“Can’t sleep?” Kiuwa asked.
Torgath, still struggling to regain his breath, shook his head. “Perhaps I shall take second watch. Tui can take the final watch.”
Kiuwa nodded. “What is this, the seventh time since we have traveled together?”
Torgath grunted. He couldn’t bring himself to voice aloud the confirmation.
“I don’t pretend to know where you have been, or what you have gone through before rescuing my brother and me, but I can say this; sometimes the most dangerous demons aren’t those we fight on the battlefield.” Kiuwa pointed to Torgath’s forehead. “Sometimes it is those demons that plague our minds that can be the worst. For to kill our body is one thing, but to rob our soul of strength...” Kiuwa stopped short and sighed. “It can be a terrible thing.”
The orc didn’t respond, turning his eyes instead to the rocks and trees beyond the cave.
“We have a lot in common,” Kiuwa said after a few moments of silence.
Torgath turned and regarded the Kuscan curiously. “Not so much,” he replied. He hadn’t meant it as harshly as it sounded, but it was the truth. “The gods have ruled on that question.”
Kiuwa smiled and kicked at a small rock, knocking it several feet away. “The gods get it wrong,” he added. “At least, that’s what I have seen.”
Torgath narrowed his eyes on the Kuscan. “Wrong?”
“My wife,” Kiuwa started. “She was a lovely woman. She was injured at sea and left to die, yet all her life she devoted herself to the gods. She made sacrifices for them, adhered to their tenets, and even tried to convince my hopeless soul to accept their truth.” Kiuwa folded his arms and cleared his throat. “The gods didn’t answer her prayers. Instead, she was taken by a pair of young sharks.” Kiuwa lifted his left arm, displaying his shark tooth bracelet. “And then I killed the sharks, and every shark I’ve seen since.”
Torgath nodded. “You’re right, the gods got it wrong.”
“If ever there was a person worth saving, it was her.”
Torgath reached up to his necklace, fingering the teeth through his tunic.
“I suspect there is something similar in your history,” Kiuwa said pointing to the hidden necklace.
“A little different,” Torgath said.
Kiuwa smiled and gave an understanding nod. “I suspect your sorrow is deeper than mine.”
Torgath was surprised to hear the Kuscan’s assessment, but he didn’t make any attempt to correct the man. He wasn’t about to share his past with him either though, so he patted the Kuscan on the shoulder and offered to take over the rest of the watch.
Kiuwa turned in for the night and Torgath sat just inside the cave, piercing the shadows and sniffing the air for any hint of enemies. His mind drifted back to the last time he saw his home. It didn’t happen the way the nightmare showed, nothing like that had ever occurred, but it may as well have for
the end result had been similar. Torgath pulled his water skin to his lips and drank some of the cool liquid. He looked up to the stars in an attempt to control his thoughts. He was not in the mood to relive what had really happened.
The faint sound of crunching stones caught his ears. Instantly his mind was cleared of his past and focused entirely on the present. He slipped out from the cave and circled his way around a large boulder toward a copse of tall and skinny cedars caught in a mess of scrub oaks. Torgath crept toward the sound only to discover a large desert antelope loping along and nibbling at the tender grasses it could find near the base of rocks. The animal seemed oblivious to him, so he crouched and watched the beast graze for a few moments until the wind shifted course and carried his scent to the antelope. The animal took off to the south fast as a bolt of lightning, its hooves click-clacking over the rocky ground.
Torgath checked the surrounding area before heading back to the cave. Once there he waited out the rest of the night, purposefully not waking Tui for the third watch, and enjoying the sunrise as the gold and orange hues lit up the sky.
The three of them ate a quick breakfast of biscuits and dried meat before continuing along their way to the next city. The day proved uneventful with no sign of the warlord’s people, or anyone else for that matter, as they got back onto the main roads just a couple miles outside of Turykon, the final outpost before the pass.
The towers here were colored like the sand, as were the dusty walls rimmed with downward facing spikes and topped with battlements patrolled by the Sidhureen, a formidable garrison unit fabled for its many battles. To Torgath’s knowledge there had been seven different campaigns against Turykon by various kings and warlords. The Battle of Burning Sands was the most famous of them all. Two kings and three warlords had joined forces to besiege the city. Wizards turned the surrounding sand to fire walls while catapults pummeled the city from the outside. Some accounts said that the gods had saved the city, others mentioned a single warrior with unequaled strength and the ability to walk through the fire, but Torgath didn’t favor either of those theories. Instead, he chose to believe the account that the Sidhureen, only fifty warriors strong by the end of the siege’s first week, rode out to face their enemy on the open field, and slew so many of them that those who didn’t die turned and fled for their lives, never to return again.
