by Sam Ferguson
“Tricks and deceit,” the orc shouted, finally able to step through the smoldering black soil where the dragon had breathed its fire. “I will not listen.”
“Then look!” Glimwyrm shouted as he pointed a singular talon to the pool. “Your first chief sleeps in the waters, and I was not his death-giver.”
Torgath stopped and squinted as the waters in the pool split apart. Half of the waters rose up to the left, and half to the right, enabling Torgath to see into the water and inspect the lake bed. There, standing at the bottom, was a stone sarcophagus with the image of an orcish king engraven on the lid. Torgath’s mouth fell open for a moment, but then he shook his head. “No, you are using magic. Illusions!”
Glimwyrm let out a deep, throaty growl and leapt across the water once more with such speed that Torgath couldn’t dodge in time before a heavy foreleg crashed down upon him and pinned him to the ground.
“A hundred orcs could come to my home here, and still I would not be threatened. Do you honestly think you have any power here?”
Torgath struggled against the dragon, but it was like trying to lift a mountain. The orc couldn’t even wiggle his sword into a usable angle, and he doubted it would pierce the dragon’s scales even if he could. Up close, he could see the dragon’s natural armor was thicker than any plate mail worn by humans or dwarves, and each scale overlapped others in such a way that there were no chinks to exploit with the sword.
More than that, Torgath could feel the heat emanating from the beast’s chest as if he was standing next to a blacksmith’s forge. Torgath realized that he had been incorrect in comparing himself to a mouse hunting an eagle. He was much more like an ant, a possible nuisance if he happened to sting the dragon’s eye, but no mortal threat could ever be hoped for.
“You now see that I am right,” Glimwyrm said. “You know your uncle sent you to die. Why, if we flew together over the edge of my home you would see that your recorders have already left to tell of your valiant defeat.”
“But why would he do that? I am his only kin.”
“Honor,” the dragon answered. “Better to have an orcish line die honorably than to let it survive in dishonor. While your cousin lived, there was hope for you, but now your people have turned their backs on you, and you are no longer one of them. You bring shame.”
“I have not!” Torgath shouted. “Have I not slain my chief’s enemies? Have I not always walked fair and upright before my kin? Have I not faced you without fear?”
Glimwyrm nodded. “And this is why I have decided to help you. For I know the reason your life brings shame, and I know that your character speaks to a chance of saving your soul. Listen to me, and I will offer you your only chance for redemption. Ignore me, or try to attack after I let you stand, and I will rend you apart and send your soul into the abyss.”
Torgath felt the power of the dragon’s words with his heart somehow. He wasn’t sure why, but their truth rang out in his core. He opened his fingers and let his sword fall as the dragon let him up. The orc stood and removed his ghillie suit, standing before the dragon with only his undershorts.
“What shame have I brought? Tell me, and I will make amends.”
“Be careful that you do not make promises you cannot keep,” Glimwyrm said.
Torgath shook his head. “I will make amends. I have spoken it. Whatever dishonor I have caused, I will resolve it, or I will die trying.”
Glimwyrm gave a singular nod. “Very well, half-orc. Then I will tell you.” The dragon took a step back and sat on its haunches. “Your heritage is not what you believe it to be. The orc you know as your father, who died while your mother was in the midst of birthing you, is no more your father than an apple tree begets a squirrel. Your true father is Astengar, a powerful demon that overtook your mother and beguiled her while disguised as your mother’s husband. You are the spawn of a demon sire, making you a child of the Abyss.”
“What?! Lies!” Torgath started.
The dragon shook its head. “I am Glimwyrm, a child of the light, and you are half-demon.”
Chapter 10
“Search your soul, Torgath, for you know it to be true. You are the spawn of a demon.”
Torgath searched the dragon’s large, unflinching eyes to find any hint of deception, but he couldn’t. He looked to the sarcophagus at the bottom of the lake once more and realized that the dragon was speaking the truth. “Why is he here? Why is he not laid to rest among his people?”
Glimwyrm let the waters return to their natural place, burying the tomb once more before answering. “I may not be one of the Ancients, but I know of the world before this one, a world where my kind reigned supreme, and all other races paid us homage and obeisance.” Glimwyrm stood tall and proud, puffing his chest and snorting a flash of flame and dark smoke from his nostrils. “On occasion, even orcs worked with the dragons of that world, as your chief did for me.”
“For you?”
Glimwyrm nodded. “I am the one who gave him the sword, and he wielded it--”
“No, he forged the sword from the bones of another dragon he slew, your brother, Iswyr.”
Glimwyrm let out a throaty laugh and shook his head. “There are two errors in that assertion,” he began. “The first is I have no brother. The second, is the idea that any single orc could slay a dragon of my size. You should know the truth of that by now.”
Torgath knitted his brow. He’d have no way of knowing whether Iswyr was truly Glimwyrm’s brother, but the second claim did seem impossible to him now. How could any single orc slay a dragon if the feat was honorable as the legends claimed?
“Iswyr was not my brother, he was a rival, and he was not a dragon,” Glimwyrm said after a few moments. “He was something else. Something twisted and dark, turned by the Abyss itself into an abomination. Your chief did in fact slay him, but only because I intervened and gave him the weapon with which to slay the monster.” Glimwyrm turned and revealed the side of his right hind leg, showing deep scars and several missing scales. “But it took both your first chief and my own efforts to bring the horrid Iswyr down.”
“You fought alongside him?”
Glimwyrm nodded. “Your first chief fought bravely. Your stories likely claim that after your first chief slew Iswyr and then spent the next few days forging a sword from Iswyr’s bones before I fell upon him and took revenge, but that is not so. He was wounded and I brought him back to my home.” Glimwyrm extended his wings to indicate the very caldera wherein they now stood. “I tried to heal him for three days, but he succumbed to his wounds. I built for him a tomb of honor, and I took back the weapon I gave to him.”
Rage welled up within Torgath that he could hardly contain within his shaking fists. “You lie!”
Glimwyrm snorted. “I have no reason to lie. I could have taken you apart without so much as a scratch. Yet, because of your honor I have decided to give you a chance.”
“A chance to what? Listen to you defame my people before you slay me?! No! If you are going to kill me, then just do it!” Even as the words came flying from his mouth the orc could feel the truth behind what the dragon was saying, and he nearly felt shame for ranting at the creature.
“One should not confuse pride and honor,” Glimwyrm commented. “If you want proof, then climb upon my back, and I will fly you to where your chief will meet the surviving recorders.”
Torgath folded his arms. “How will I know it isn’t a trick?”
Glimwyrm lowered his head and stretched out his neck so that his snout was only a couple feet away from Torgath’s face. “What could I possibly have to gain from tricking you? I could so easily chew your bones and spit out your half-demon meat that it would not be worth the effort to try and turn you from a fight simply for that end alone.”
“So what then?” Torgath asked. “You are giving me a chance to do what?”
“Revenge,” Glimwyrm said with a throaty rumble as his lips curled into a wicked smile. “After you believe me, then I will give you the
sword I gave to your first chief. You will be able to use it to hunt demons, for the blade is a poison to them, and will halt their healing abilities with its touch. More than that, it will burn them with a holy fire, for this sword was forged by the Light, and it was made to slay servants of the Abyss.”
Torgath cocked his head to the side. “And why should I do this?”
The dragon pulled its neck back once more and looked down at Torgath. “Because you have no other choice. As an orc, you are cursed by the gods of this world. You can never inhabit their heavenly domain, no matter how much honor you attain in this life.”
“But I serve the First Father, and he will reward me upon my death,” Torgath said, speaking of Khullan, the god who made all orcs.
“But you forget, you are not pure orc. You have demon blood in your veins, and this means that your place in Hammenfein is forfeit as well.” The dragon shook his head. “No, when you die there shall be no soul to save in either heaven or hell. You will be sent to the Abyss, to return to that Void from which you were spawned, and there you will cease to exist.”
Torgath took a step back. He hadn’t considered the full weight of what the dragon was saying until this very moment, but he knew it to be true. While humans often thought that demons were the spawn of hell, creatures of Hammenfein made to torment them during their mortal life, the truth was much, much worse than that. Demons and their ilk came from a rift in the world, infiltrating it from a plane of nothingness and chaos. They were servants of the Void, and sought only the utter destruction of all around them, like a fire would take to a forest of old trees to consume all within its path.
“Hunting demons will not...” Torgath stopped. He couldn’t find his voice to utter the rest of what he was thinking, but the dragon must have understood, for he lowered his head once more.
“Half-orc, half-demon. It matters not what you are so much as who you decide to be. I will train you, and then I will send you against your first demon. Then, when you are ready, you will take the fight to the very demon who sired you, and slay as many of his ilk as you can. Do this, and perhaps you will earn a place in Hammenfein by proving you can control that half of you that comes from the Abyss. But, I must warn you. It will not be easy, and if any demon manages to slay you instead, then it will take and hoard your soul, feasting upon its energies until you have ceased to exist, and been absorbed into that unholy Void that seeks to swallow all light.”
Torgath closed his eyes. Could he trust the dragon? But then, knowing the dragon’s strength, why would the creature feel it necessary to create such a ruse if it were untrue? There was no glory to be gained by deceit. Unless perhaps the dragon thought sending Torgath against demons was a more fitting death for the orc than death by dragon. At least if the dragon slew an orc that orc’s soul would go to Hammenfein. A demon would keep it forever, feasting upon it. But, if Glimwyrm was telling the truth, then Torgath’s soul was bound for the Abyss either way.
“Show me,” Torgath said. “You said you would fly me to where my chief meets the recorders. Do this, and show me their meeting. Then I will believe you.”
Glimwyrm nodded. “Your weapons stay here, and you must hold close to my neck, or you will fall.”
“No tricks,” Torgath said.
The dragon narrowed its eyes and puffed a bit of flame from its snout. “I have no need for tricks, as we have already discussed.”
The mighty dragon lowered its head and allowed Torgath to climb on. The orc found a secure spot between two large spines jutting out from the creature’s neck and then used his belt to lash himself in place. He gave two pats onto the thick, hard scales, and then the dragon launched into the air.
Torgath was thrown back against the spine behind him with such force that his breath left his lungs. Air rushed down against his face so violently that he couldn’t take in a new breath either. His skin went cold and his torso convulsed as he fought for breath. In the span of mere seconds the two of them were high above the caldera’s rim and soaring through misty, cool clouds.
Only when Glimwyrm leveled his flying pattern and took a more leisurely pace with his wings was Torgath able to regain control of his breath, though the wind in his face made it uncomfortable to breathe.
“You should feel honored, half-orc, for you are the first I have given the privilege of riding the clouds.”
Torgath ignored the half-orc comment though it stoked his anger enough that it was hard to stop a cutting retort from leaving his mouth. He held tight and looked down as a break in the clouds offered him a view of the ground below. The mountains looked like small hills, and the tallest of trees seemed barely the size of grass blades. It was a tremendous feeling, almost like the act of flying itself gave Torgath more power. He marveled at the fact that Glimwyrm had this available to him at all times.
“We are nearly there,” Glimwyrm said. I will land in the deep trees where there is a pond. I shall remain in the waters and you will go northward. Your chief has arranged to meet your recorders in a grove of aspen trees.”
Torgath felt his stomach lift within him as the dragon descended at an alarming rate. Had the orc not thought to lash himself in place, he might not have had the strength to hold on. The ground came rushing toward him, trees and hills growing as the river that had looked like a small thread widened. For a moment, it looked as though they would crash into the ground, but the dragon deftly turned up his wings and landed the pair softly upon an embankment near to a dark green pond of murky waters.
The orc noticed a pair of crocodiles slide back and away, but whether they feared the dragon or merely moved to get into their hiding places hoping to ambush a large meal, he didn’t know.
“The crocs make for fine dining,” Glimwyrm said.
Torgath shrugged and untied himself as Glimwyrm bent low to the ground.
The orc slid off and his heels hit a pile of moss that slipped from under him like a freshly cut scalp with an axe, sending Torgath straight onto his rump with his feet stretched toward the brownish-green waters. The water erupted and out came a massive crocodile. Its jaws opened wide, yellowed teeth each larger than Torgath’s fingers pointed at the orc’s legs and closing in fast. The orc tried to move but the muck under him kept sliding, denying him purchase with hands or feet.
A mass of scales and teeth flew in from the side. Glimwyrm caught the croc just inches before it managed to latch onto Torgath. Glimwyrm lifted the eighteen foot long croc the rest of the way from the pond and gave two heavy bites, ending the croc’s life and keeping Torgath safe. The orc rose to his feet and moved away from the water’s edge as quickly as he could.
“Go,” Glimwyrm said after swallowing the last of the croc. “I will feast while you listen to your chief.”
Torgath shook his head and made his way northward, glancing around often for signs of additional crocs.
He could have let me die. He could have killed me himself. Torgath felt surer with each step that the dragon had indeed been telling the truth, but with that conviction came the growing, gnawing doubt of what the final meaning for Torgath would be. If a demon had sired him, then could he ever truly earn his way back into Hatmul’s good graces? Or would the Abyss be waiting for his soul no matter what he did?
He wrestled with these and other questions as he made his way to the aspen grove and found a suitable hiding spot. He may not have been able to hide from Glimwyrm, but his skills would shield him from orcish discovery, especially if they all expected him to be dead. So long as they didn’t see the dragon drop from the sky, then no one would be looking for him here.
At nightfall the two recorders came to the grove.
“You set up a fire, I’ll finish writing the report,” one of them said.
“Make sure to put in that it was a good fight before the dragon slew Torgath. The chief wants us to make it an honorable death.”
The first recorder shrugged. “I suppose I can do that.”
“And tell them how we narrowly escaped with our l
ives, or better yet, say that Torgath died holding the dragon back from us after he was mortally wounded.”
The first recorder nodded. “That sounds good.”
Torgath couldn’t believe their words. He had understood that they wouldn’t want to go into the caldera, but to fabricate the report so glibly, and to not even wait an appropriate amount of time to ensure whether the quest had been completed, picked at his sense of honor. No orc can hold their head high and do this.
He almost rose from his hiding spot and challenged them, but he had to wait for his uncle. Only then would he have the full truth.
He didn’t have to wait long. His uncle arrived on horseback with two spare horses.
“Is it done?” the chief called out.
The recorders each gave a salute and nodded.
“We lost our comrade, but Torgath has been sent in to die.”
The chief nodded. “And the report, it is written in your hand?”
The first recorder nodded. “We finished it. It tells everything exactly how you asked, though we may have embellished the fight a little to allow Torgath more honor than he deserves.”
More than I deserve? I’ll cut your throats! Torgath instinctively reached for his dagger only to find it was missing. He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue watching.
“Give it to me.” The chief held out his hand. The recorders gave him the report and then took several steps back. “Good, good. This is all very good,” the chief said as he looked over the journal. “Now, mount your horses and let’s return. After all, there is a dragon on the loose. We don’t want him to come looking for us.”
The two recorders glanced at each other. “Do you think he would?” one of them asked.
The chief shrugged. “One can never be sure. He then tilted his face to the sky. “Is there a dragon around here?”
The recorders took a couple steps back as if expecting the worst. They fidgeted and checked the sky through the trees above, then finally started laughing nervously.
