“Well, m’lady,” he said at length, “since you will be traveling with us, I would appreciate your knowledge of the area and any herbs and medicines of which you know to be available. Any other skills you retain I would ask that you apply. We have many sick and wounded.”
“Of course, Captain,” Marian replied in compassionate tones. “Whatever I may do to help. I am at your service.”
The captain nodded.
“Jup here will escort you to my sergeant. Please speak to him about your knowledge and skill. He will assign a soldier to assist you in whatever you need.”
Marian’s arms dropped and she looked away.
“Is there a problem, lady?” the captain asked her.
“Must I deal with that assaulter, sir?” she said bluntly, looking back at him.
“I’m afraid so, Madame. Your violation has not been forgotten. But he is still a man of rank and trustworthy and competent in matters not dealing with orcs. You will pay him proper respect. Food goes only so far.”
Letting out a hard breath, Marian silently nodded.
“Before you part with him, send him to me,” the captain added. He then dismissed them and resumed looking over the map with his subordinate.
********************
“It’s too bad we don’t have an elf with us. We might have an early warning if we were to be ambushed.”
The man called Allister stared on as logs were lashed together and set in notches, metal pegs were fitted in place, and wheels were set upon their axles. The soldiers that had been sent to gather wood, along with a few able-bodied refugees were making good time in constructing a cage for Gash. It would be finished within the hour and would be of adequate size to hold several prisoners. The young man was quite impressed with their speed and skill. Dolanas sat in his same position, whittling a fresh piece of wood, paying the work no heed, Gash still seated between the two of them.
“Bah,” Dolanas replied. “Lot of good they are, elves. Besides, they all disappeared a long time ago.”
“The same time as our tussle with the dwarves, right?”
“Don’t call it a tussle, boy. It was a lot worse than that. No dwarf has been seen since.”
Allister stared out into nowhere, thinking on the matter.
“Best not to think about it,” his companion continued. “Elf senses wouldn’t do us any good anyway. They would have been all crazy from this one.”
He jerked his head, indicating Gash. Allister looked to Gash who sat solemn and quiet.
“Aye. Something strange about this one, though. You ever see an orc so complacent?”
Dolanas shook his head.
“Boy, the only time I’ve ever seen an orc is at the bad end of my halberd.”
Allister looked to his companion and laughed. Dolanas was a fair bit older than him and much more experienced. He was no green troop himself, but his experience paled in comparison to this man’s. He thought it quite a privilege to have been put on guard duty with him, though he thought it strange that such a veteran would be set in such a position.
“What are you doing here, old man?” Allister asked him. “Shouldn’t you be doing something more worthy of your skills?”
Dolanas shook his head.
“No enemies to fight right now, boy. This one’s the biggest threat to us. This is about the most useful place I can be at the moment.”
He sat silent a moment as he whittled.
“Besides,” he said at length, “it’s like you said: something odd about this one.”
The two fell into silence as the men continued their work behind them. Gash sat silent, awaiting his fate, whatever that may be, and thinking upon the things he had heard. After some time, something out of place in his peripheral caught his eye and he looked up to see a young boy in ragged clothes standing a short distance away. The boy was staring at him and Gash noticed an object in his hand. As Gash stared at him, wondering, the boy’s face became twisted in anger. Raising an arm, the boy threw the object in his hand. It flew straight at Gash, impacting his chest. The object was hard, though it did little to hurt him. But the instant that it struck him, Gash knew the situation he was in and what was coming next.
Immediately, and almost on instinct, Gash turned himself so that his back was to the boy as curses and rocks began flying at him.
“Orc scum! Killer! Scum breed! Let go! Let go!”
At this, Gash turned his head to see the boy struggling against the hold of one of the knights attempting to haul him away.
“Let me go! That’s orc scum! Kill him!”
The boy managed a kick to the knight’s un-armored shin and then bit down onto his hand. The knight yelped in pain and released his grip on the boy who immediately seized the opportunity and ran back towards Gash. In a swift motion, the boy picked up another rock and launched it, screaming, “Die, orc scum!”
So swift were the boy’s actions and such was Gash’s calm demeanor (not being presently engaged in battle), that he did not react quick enough to avoid the projectile. The rock struck him hard in the cheek, cracking his jaw. He jerked his head away and instinctively put his hand to his injured cheek, a grunt escaping his throat. The boy spat at Gash and continued to curse as he was hauled away by a couple of knights.
Gash rubbed his cheek. He felt the familiar sting of an open cut and the thick taste of blood was upon his tongue. He could feel where his gum was now cut and bleeding, the tooth beneath it now loose. Reaching to the mud beside him, he scraped some into his fingers and spread it across the wound on his cheek. He then repeated the action until he felt it was sufficiently covered and dropped his arm back into his lap.
He thought about the boy and his actions and remembrance came into his mind of his time in the Cursed Land. Filled with disgust at the memory, he sought a distraction from such thoughts that so often turned obsessive. He looked to the men working on the cage. He noted their skill and attempted to glean some knowledge from observing them. But his lack of interest in the matter and his inaction soon brought drowsiness upon him. Slowly, he began to nod off, until, finally, his head dipped and he fell into an uneasy sleep.
*************
He woke to the sound of a gruff voice very close to him.
“Mind the orc, boy. I’ll be back.”
Blinking his eyes open, Gash looked around and saw the elder knight on his feet holding his halberd.
“What’s the matter?” Allister asked.
“Just watch the orc. Get a few others if you need to,” the elder replied.
Without waiting for a response, the man called Dolanas turned and walked off. His companion looked after him a moment, then turned to face Gash, crossing his arms.
*************
It took a moment for him to find him. Dolanas knew the captain’s habits well, but even he didn’t always know where he was. He found him at last in the open clearing where he had been previously talking with Marian. As Dolanas walked up to the guards that stood watch, he was met with a salute. Dolanas saluted back.
“Need to speak with the captain,” he told them.
“He’s not to be disturbed, sir,” one of the guards replied.
“I know,” Dolanas stated calmly. “But it concerns the orc and I’m afraid it can’t wait.”
The guard stared at him a moment. Dolanas’ face didn’t waver, didn’t sneer, didn’t glare. He merely stood there, waiting with the patience of a statue. Finally, the guard turned and called back behind him.
“Captain.”
The captain, who had been again pouring over their map with his subordinates, lifted his head. When he saw Dolanas standing there, he waved him in.
“Corporal,” Dolanas saluted the guard as he moved past him.
“Sir,” the guard replied.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” Dolanas said as he approached the captain who stood straight and waved a hand.
“It’s alright, Dola, what is it?”
“Can we take a walk, sir?”
&nb
sp; The captain looked at him a moment. Dola’s face was hard and serious, though not gravely so. Dark eyes shot out at him from a face full of age and wisdom. The captain gestured ahead of him and the two walked away from the clearing and up a nearby hillside.
“It’s about the orc, sir,” Dolanas said when they were out of earshot.
“What about him?” the captain asked.
“It’d be best to let him go.”
The captain stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around, wide-eyed to face the aged knight. Dola stood as he had before, stalwart and stone-faced. The captain slowly raised a finger at him, his eyes burning with controlled anger.
“Were you any other man I would have questioned your sanity,” he told him calmly, “and then I would have had you locked up right alongside him.”
Dola simply stood there, staring at him. The captain stared back until his temper cooled.
“Why do you say this?” he asked.
“The earth doesn’t sit right under this one,” Dolanas stated.
After a few moments of silence, the captain replied.
“You’re going to have to give me more than that, Dola.”
Dola grunted and moved to sit on a rock. Laying his halberd across his lap, he stared at the ground for a long moment.
“It’s been a long time since that wasn’t enough for you.”
The captain ran his hand over his mouth and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked briefly to the camp, noting the soldiers, the refugees, and their newfound prisoner.
“Our circumstances have changed, Dolanas, you know that,” he said, walking idly about. “I can’t afford any leniency.”
“Can you afford to spill innocent blood?”
The captain snapped his head to look at him, a concerned and thoughtful expression on his face.
“Sir-”
“Oh drop rank, man!” the captain snapped.
Dola paused a moment, looking upon the face of his captain and seeing the frustration barely held in check.
“Joseph,” he continued, “you know as well as I the history of this land. You know I would have said nothing if there was nothing to be said. If that creature we have in captivity is an orc scout, then may his head roll before the rising of the sun. I would gladly see nothing more. But even I would not risk such a thing if any doubt existed, especially on this land.”
“Well for earth’s sake, Dola, stop prancing about the point and give me some reasons; something that the sad remnants of an army and a handful of refugees would accept!”
Dola looked to the ground in thought, licking his lips as he attempted to put into words the notions and hunches that were swirling in his mind.
“He’s not an orc,” he said finally, looking back to his captain, “not like we’ve faced before. He was raised by them. He shares their blood. But his actions deny his bloodright. He’s compliant. He’s non-aggressive. He doesn’t retaliate when attacked. He’s not like those scourgs we’ve just run from. He’s not a dimwit. He’s not bloodthirsty. Orcs don’t act like this.”
“You’re so eager to save the blood of an orc?”
Dola looked at the ground again, one hand clenching and unclenching as he struggled with the thoughts. At last, he looked back to Joseph and stood, signifying the stone-hardness with which he held to his stance.
“An innocent is an innocent,” he replied, “orc blood or not.”
Agitated, the captain walked aimlessly around, rubbing his hand across his mouth.
“You realize what you’re asking me to do,” he said finally, looking back to his subordinate.
“I know.”
Joseph stared long and hard at the battle-hardened veteran. Dolanas held his halberd as a staff, its dull end to the ground, the haft of the weapon seeming far too long for him to wield. He stood straight and proud. Dark eyes peaked out from the covering of a half-helm and the thickness of a long beard turned gray with age. The captain knew him well, had long traveled with him and fought alongside him in many battles. Dolanas had been a teacher to him and was the one man he knew he could count on to be brutally honest, to say what he meant, and to give no heed to speculation. When Dolanas spoke, the captain knew he could trust the wisdom of his words. He knew as well, that as his captain, whatever he told Dolanas to do, he would do so without question. He did not take such loyalty lightly.
“You’re right, Dolanas,” he said finally in subdued tones, “I do know you better than to force you to explain yourself. Forgive me this. And forgive me this also, but this is one time I’ll have to reject your counsel. For the sake of these people and my men, he will be questioned…and executed if need be.”
Dola simply nodded.
“Very well, sir,” he said, his voice as normal as ever as he turned to leave.
“Dola.”
Dolanas stopped and turned to face the captain who stood staring after him.
“Thank you for speaking with me,” the captain told him.
“Sir,” Dola saluted.
The captain gave a quick salute back as Dola turned and headed back down the hill and into camp.
VII. Questions
Out of the corner of his eye, Gash spotted some movement and turned his head to see a group of six soldiers walking towards him. The man that had taken Marian captive was among them and there was another man that seemed to be leading them. They stopped just a few feet in front of Gash who looked upon them expectantly. Dolanas stood and saluted, then instructed Gash to stand.
“Captain,” he said.
The man in front returned the gesture, seemingly ignoring Gash’s presence as the half-orc stood to face the group.
“What news of the orc?” he asked.
“All’s been quiet, sir,” Dolanas replied.
The captain’s eyes lingered a moment on Dolanas. He then nodded and, for the first time, looked up at the creature that Marian of the Wood had identified as Gash Bloodaxe.
Gash made no move. He simply stood staring at the captain, the ever-present scowl upon his brow. He was just as had been described to him, intelligent eyes peering at him through veils of deep green. He had the feral look of an orc, yet not the untamed beastliness that the captain was accustomed to seeing. The captain looked him over, noting the enormous scar upon his chest as well as the smattering of smaller scars across his body. He noted his calm demeanor and patience. And just as the others had, he began to wonder who it was he held captive.
He glanced back to Dolanas who stood stone-faced as ever, his eyes fixed on Gash. The captain then looked back to Gash and paused a moment, considering. At last, he opened his mouth and in strong, unequivocal language spelled out his intentions upon the imprisoned half-orc.
“I’m going to do something for you, orc,” he said. “I am going to give you a chance- one chance- to tell me what I need to know. If you refuse to tell me or the answers are not to my liking, I will have you stretched, whipped, beaten, and scourged until you give me the answers. Do you understand?”
Gash did not speak but merely nodded his head.
“Good,” the captain stated. “Where did you come from?”
Gash turned and, as best he could, raised his shackled arms, pointing a finger west.
“Cursed Land,” he stated, turning back to the captain.
The captain silently turned to his sergeant. The sergeant just shook his head.
“How far is this cursed land?” the captain asked, turning back to Gash.
“Three days,” Gash replied.
“That would put him in the middle of the Great Plains,” the sergeant noted.
The captain looked to him briefly and then to Gash, who nodded, confirming the fact.
“Where are your kin?” the captain asked.
“Cursed Land,” was Gash’s reply.
“Why would they go there?”
Gash thought for a minute, searching his mind for the answer. He could not remember immediately, and he knew the captain was waiting.
“I do not remem
ber,” he said.
“Not an answer I want to hear, orc,” the captain warned. “How long have they been tracking us?”
Gash merely stared at the captain in confusion, though it did not show.
“How long, orc?” the captain asked insistently.
“I do not understand,” Gash admitted.
The captain let out a hard breath.
“I had hoped you would not be so foolish,” he said more softly. “Bring him.”
Gash was not afraid. Though he did not wish to be tortured and he did not know what it meant to be scourged, he had endured much torture from his so-called kin and was no stranger to physical pain. Still, he knew there would be more of it, and likely, a kind he had not yet known. Yet, he was strengthened, remembering the words of the light elf and knowing that he would be made stronger because of his torture.
The captain looked upon Gash’s scars as he followed behind and wondered silently how effective the torture would be. It was fortunate he had ordered a tight watch kept on the refugees. Circumstances being what they were, the task ahead might prove difficult, both internally and externally. The matter needn’t be complicated by angry folk wanting revenge for the loss of their loved ones. Still, his heart sympathized and it took a great deal of strength not to reach out and strangle Gash himself in payment for the lives of his men.
They led Gash some distance from where he had been and stopped where two horses stood facing opposite directions. Gash was directed to stand in the gap between them. The captain watched on as two soldiers removed the shackles and tied ropes to Gash’s wrists and ankles. The ropes were attached on the other end to the bridles of the two horses.
Gash held a strong face as the ropes were tied. Even through his thick hide, he felt the rawness of the rope. For some reason, it, more than the shackles, reminded him of the times on the Great Plains when he still wore shackles. He was reminded of the cruelty that had befallen him there and the repeated times his arms had been almost pulled out of their sockets by those who continually assaulted and spat on him. The memories brought back a sting of bitterness to his heart. The bitterness remained as the captain, approaching him, said something he missed and proceeded to call him “orc” a fourth time.
Half-Orc Redemption Page 10
