Half-Orc Redemption

by Luke T Barnett

  “Captain!”

  The captain looked up from the map he had been examining to see a scout riding towards him. The scout pulled his horse to a halt just in front of him. Joseph knew by the look on the scout’s face what he had found before he even said the word.

  “Orcs.”

  “Where?” he asked as the rider dismounted.

  “Two miles north,” the scout replied. “They’re encamped, sir.”

  “The mad beasts must have cut across the Dry Hills.” The sergeant commented.

  “Did you get a count?” the captain asked. “How many tents?”

  The scout swallowed.

  “Well over four-hundred, Sir.”

  The captain gritted his teeth. There were normally two orcs to a tent. It often took two men to take down a single orc, sometimes three.

  “Rally the troops,” he told his sergeant as he began walking. “Gather the refugees. Make sure every man is armed and ready and equip the refugees with whatever spare weapons we have. If any man among them is trained and wishes to join the battle, grant them, but prepare the rest to flee with the women and children.”

  “Aye, sir.” The sergeant replied as he began to walk off.

  “Thomas.”

  The sergeant stopped and looked to his captain.

  “I’ll need you to go with them.”

  The sergeant’s face dropped in disbelief.

  “Sir-“

  “No argument, sergeant,” the captain cut him off. “I know you would happily die fighting these beasts, but you’re the best I have at leading a troop. The refugees will need you to keep them from panic. And they will need protection in case the orcs break through our lines.”

  The sergeant swallowed his displeasure at the orders.

  “Yes, sir,” he managed to force out.

  “Take a small troop. I will instruct Marian of the Wood to join you. She perhaps knows these lands better than we. Follow her instruction when needed. We will meet up at Galantria.”

  “Sir,” the sergeant said as he gave a hearty salute.

  The captain saluted back and the two parted, the captain making his way to the cage.

  “Captain,” Marian said to him as he approached, “is what the-“

  “I’m afraid so, Madame,” he interjected. “Men, report to sergeant Ballister and prepare for combat.”

  The four archers, Dolanas, and Allister rushed off. The captain then turned to Marian.

  “Do you know these lands?” he asked her.

  “Only to the south and east. The south I dare not venture into without permission and the east is open road nearly the entire way.”

  “All the better,” the captain stated. “Go with the refugees. I have instructed my sergeant to lead them and to follow your instruction. He will be in charge, so if he insists on something, please follow him.”

  “You want me to travel with that-“

  “I have already explained his earlier actions and will not bother to repeat myself.”

  Marian held back her objection, looking upon the captain hard, begrudgingly accepting his request.

  “What about Gash?” Marian asked him.

  “If we are victorious we will take him in tow as we pass back this way.”

  “And if not, what?” Marian protested, obviously upset. “You will leave him to those monsters?”

  “They will not harm,” Gash’s voice cut through the conversation.

  The two looked to the cage where he sat staring at them.

  “I am un-orc,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  Marian just stared at him, wishing desperately that there was something she could do.

  “The refugees need you to lead them to safety, Madame,” the captain said, drawing her attention back to him. “I cannot guarantee that we will come back from this.”

  Marian again looked to Gash who simply nodded. Grabbing her dress, Marian turned and walked off in a huff. The captain then turned to look up at Mara.

  “I would not force you to risk your life, girl,” he told her, “but your skill is much needed. We cannot hope to victory, but we can at the least hope to dwindle their numbers so they are no longer a threat to the refugees. You would do yourself honor in joining us.”

  “Will you free by frie-d?” Mara asked, arms crossed.

  “I cannot,” the captain replied plainly.

  “Go to your war,” Mara told him in uncaring tones as she waved him off, “Gash a-d I will dot be here whed you returd.”

  The captain moved to where the horses were hitched to the cage and began to unhitch them.

  “By his own admission, your friend will not be harmed by his kin,” he said, moving about to grab the reigns. “Your lifedebt is in no danger of being broken.”

  “So what?” Mara commented, not even looking at him as she blew her nose into a small cloth.

  The captain looked up at her.

  “Self-serving and honorless,” he commented. “You’re right. Best you stay here.”

  Mara’s head snapped to look at him, fury burning in her eyes. The captain simply turned and led the horses away as Mara jumped to her feet, her staff already in hand, and leapt off the side of the cage. She stood staring at the captain in furious anger, wanting to let her staff fly and punish him for his insult. The only thing that stopped her was that she knew in her heart that he was right. She stood there for long moments, stewing in her anger as she watched the army gather.

  “You should go with them.”

  Mara looked back to Gash who seemed to be examining the door of his cage.

  “How can you speak such things after what they have done to you?” Mara asked him, indignant.

  “They do not know,” Gash replied, shaking the door to test its stability.

  Mara shook her head as she moved to stand in front of him.

  “Binsha,” she said, “let us just get you out of there.”

  Mara looked around the cage. The wooden logs were set inside each other by peg and notch and then double-wrapped in leather.

  “I do not think you will be able to break loose these logs from one another,” Mara stated. “Our only chance is to break this door. But it appears to be secured on both sides with iron. Why does this land have to make such complicated things with that tiresome metal?”

  “Stand back,” Gash instructed.

  Mara did so as Gash backed up to the rear of his cage. He then charged the short distance and slammed his shoulder into the logs with as much force as he could muster. A loud cracking and creaking was heard as the wheeled cage lurched up on two wheels for an instant. Mara backed up a few more paces as the cage dropped back down. Gash charged again and this time the logs splintered and jutted outward. He charged once more, completely breaking the logs and freeing himself of his prison. He went into a roll as he landed, stopping on his haunches. Mara stared wide-eyed at the immense strength Gash displayed as the large half-orc stood, exercising his shoulder.

  “Where is my axe?”

  Mara just slowly raised an arm, pointing off to her left, her stunned gaze still on him.

  Gash immediately turned and walked off. Finding a cart with a few sacks of supplies, and his axe still lying inside, he picked it up and gripped it with a two-handed grip. Holding his axe horizontally in front of him, he turned and headed back to where Mara stood. He then looked to where the army had gathered and, upon seeing nothing, searched the countryside until he spotted them moving swiftly north. The army was already a good distance off and the light of the day was fading fast. They had taken nearly every soldier in the camp. That meant the orcs’ numbers were at least enough to match them. They hadn’t much chance if they reached the orcs’ campsite after dusk. Gash knew this and though his torture was still fresh in his mind, indeed, even in his flesh, he shoved it aside and set his face towards what he knew to be right, taking step across the plain. The action seemed to snap Mara out of her daze.

  “Where are you going?” she shouted after him, hurrying to follow. “You are
not going to help them are you?”

  Gash gave no reply. His eyes were fixed on the army. His mind was dead-set on battle.

  “Du!” Mara said, jumping in front of him. “You do not owe them anything. Whatever they face, they can handle with their army. And if they cannot, it serves them right.”

  Gash did not respond but simply moved to walk past her. Mara again moved to block his path.

  “I cannot save you if you walk blindly into death,” she told him. “Please do not ask me to sacrifice my life like this.”

  At last, Gash looked to her. He regarded her thoughtfully. She had shown great honor in her actions. As far as he was concerned, she had fulfilled her vow. He would not ask such a thing of her, nor would he ever have.

  “I do not hold you,” he told her. “Go and live.”

  “While you go to die?” Mara said, sadly.

  Gash merely stared at her. Mara shook her head, her red locks swaying in the action.

  “I do not understand this, Gash.”

  “It is right.”

  Mara just looked at him in distress as he again set his face towards the battle. He then moved past the conflicted teenager. Mara turned and stood there, watching him go as she thought of the noble half-orc steadily marching to his death.

  IX. Few

  A steady thump sounded across the plain intermingled with the uneven clatter of armor, shields, and weapons. Hands gripped weapons of war nervously, their grips readjusting, then steadying, then hardening. The steady beat began to quicken as they drew near the many ragged tents of the orcish encampment, the many feet and few hooves increasing their step. The order was given there came a shrilling wave of steel sliding against steel. The pace increased all the more. A hail of arrows and bolts flew into the air. A great shout went out from the army; a shout that came from hearts not only prepared for battle, but filled with fresh memories of heartache, bitterness, and horrors unspoken. The many soldiers of the Knights of the Realm, knowing their fates to be certain, let all pour out through their cry of battle, ready to release everything they held into their swings as the deadly rain of arrows descended and they closed on the orcish encampment.

  Orcs emerged stunned from their tents; some being skewered by arrows or bolts, some scrambling for their weapons, and some simply charging into the fray unarmed. Ferocious, gurgling cries exiting their monstrous throats. The soldiers tore into the camp, their momentum slowed little by the few orcs that were fast enough to ready themselves. Arrows flew. Swords, axes, maces, and flails swung about, sending blood and flesh flying and tearing from their intended places. Bodies both orc and man fell quickly and suddenly. Vicious orcs plowed through armored soldiers, though not as they had before. The soldiers left behind caution and fought as unreservedly as their orkin enemies. Their enemies fell faster than they ever had.

  More orcs poured from their tents to join the battle. The soldiers did not relent. Some forsook their shields in lieu of ferocity of attacks. Their swords tore through green flesh. Their rage exploded through the ends of their weapons. Their tactics now left behind, they consigned themselves to the heat of battle, the chaos covering them as the blood of their enemies. No tears came; only blood and rage. There would be time for tears, by them or by those they left behind. To them, it did not matter whether they lived or died. It only mattered that they did not fail.

  When at last the final body fell, the figure that felled it stood and looked around to see, to his utter amazement, only his fellow knights to be standing. A shout drew his attention to his captain who sat still mounted upon his horse silhouetted against the twilight, his sword raised high, his mouth crying out in victory. The soldier returned with his own shout and raised sword, as did the rest that still remained. The shouts resounded long. Tears, at last, began to set in for a few. Others embraced their fellow soldiers in their utter elation. Many went to their knees and thanked those whom they worshipped as the death that was expected was replaced by the life that was granted.

  “Soldiers!” the captain shouted, waving his sword at his scattered men. “Today you have ceased to be men! You have overcome your own fear, your own selfishness! You have charged bravely into death and have engaged an enemy that was sure to end you forever! But you were not defeated! You are victorious! This day, you have shown yourselves to be greater than any Knight of the Realm! Today, you have become legends!”

  The speech brought another wave of victorious shouts from the army; shouts that were slowly overshadowed and then interrupted by a different wave of shouts. Loud. Distant. Guttural.

  The soldiers turned to a distant hillside where, to their dread, another army had gathered. Their orcish shouts filled the valley as well as the ears and hearts of those who stood stunned, staring at the oncoming army that began to pour down the hillside in far greater number than the enemy which they had just faced. Fear gripped them. The captain, from atop his horse assessed the situation before them. They were too far from cover. There were too many wounded. There was no running from this army. His resolve hardened. And so there would again be no fear.

  “Knights of the Realm regroup!” he shouted, charging to the front of the army. He dismounted and slapped the horse’s rear, sending it running. The army snapped out of their horror and gathered around him as he picked up an orcish spear that lay at his feet. “Our trial is not over! You may yet be greater legends still! Set yourselves for a charge! Everyone grab a polearm! Take them off the dead orcs if you have to! Archers, wait until you have a killing shot! Watch them carefully! Be nimble! Be precise! Be vicious! Do not hold back! Cast your fears to the wind! Let them taste your fury! Make these monsters fear the race of men!”

  “HOOAH!” the soldiers answered.

  The remnant readied themselves, watching as the horde approached. The horde tightened its formation the closer it came, no doubt so that each orc would have a human to plow into. They were practically shoulder-to-shoulder.

  Good, Joseph thought. The dumb brutes won’t be able to dodge a pike in that formation. He gave the order to form ranks in order to create a shorter line. The knights did so, forming a front line no more than ten men across with polearms jutting out every half-span of a man. The orcs copied their formation as some ran ahead of the rest.

  Joseph set his eyes on those orcs closest to his position. Slowly, as they drew near, his eyes eliminated one, then two, and were finally on a single brute, a massive orc carrying a twisted version of a large poleaxe. The captain readied his stance, sticking the blunt end of his weapon into the mud as the horde drew nearer. Some shouts came from the men around him, madly shouting at the orcs to come at them and fitting insults between. The captain remained silent, his eyes locked on the lone brute. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dolanas standing beside him, silent and stalwart. With his friend beside him, Joseph’s resolve hardened all the more. He tightened his grip. He mentally readied himself to drop the weapon and, pull his sword, and move into a swinging motion that would be sure to take the monster down. The orc raised his weapon up high, a brutal cry exiting his gnarled maw as he bore down on the steadied army captain. In only a few short moments, less than a dozen footsteps, their blades would meet and only one would remain. There was no more time to ready himself. The brute was there.

  A brief instant before the two armies collided, Joseph thought he saw a flash of confusion behind his intended target. Then the moment passed and remnant and horde collided in a mass of flesh and steel. Orcs became impaled on pikes and spears. The brute Joseph had been tracking had been no exception. Joseph immediately released his grip, drew his sword, and sliced the beast’s head off. He then moved along with the rest of his troop into the mass of orcs as they resumed their slaughter upon the monsters that had themselves left so many slaughtered in their wake. The captain parried an orc’s swing and thrust his sword through its chest. A fleeting thought of Gash and the girl went through his mind as he moved to engage his next target. He wondered what had or would become of them. The thought fled from h
is mind as quickly as it had entered as he thrust his blade forward and it again found home.

  ************

  Gash stood on a low ridge observing before him the army marching steadily upon the orcish encampment. He did not turn when he heard the small footsteps, knowing who it was that approached him.

  “I must be mad for following you,” came Mara’s voice.

  Mara too observed the army and the many tents that lie beyond in the failing light. She was not afraid, but she did not like the thought of rushing at an unknown enemy, particularly when they were as large as Gash and as numerous as the trees of a forest.

  “Tell me this,” she said as they began walking, “what will these orcs do to us if we are captured?”

  Gash glanced at her.

  “Slavery,” he answered.

  “Of the worst kind, no doubt,” Mara shivered.

  “Can you kill with that?” Gash asked her.

  “I can.”

  “Be certain. Do not grant mercy. It is a trap.”

  “As this is?”

  The two observed the army engage the orcs and the fight that ensued.

  “You never told me why you decided to go,” she prodded Gash. “I do not believe you are of such dull wit that you would walk blindly into death without some assurance that you might live.”

  Gash was silent a moment as the two observed the fighting.

  “Do you believe in the gods?” he asked her at length.

  “What has that got to do with this?” Mara asked with disdain.

  “Is it not possible for a god, if he rules in righteousness and power, to save by many or by few?”

  Mara searched herself deeply and found in her heart the hard-fought answer.

  “Yes,” she finally answered. “If one exists who rules in righteousness, I believe he can. That I do believe.”