They headed down the tunnel that led out of the mountain once night had fully fallen. They emerged to the world still wrapped in the cloak of night, the stars shining brightly in a clear, black sky. They immediately headed north-west. Four days they traveled in that direction, passing from dense forest to barren plains. Dolanas had advised them so, stating that the Dry Hills that ran north from the Valley of the Maw would give them the best vantage point from which to spy out the Northlands and thus see the enemy’s camp. The hills were as their name implied: rocky, dry mounds too tall for hills, but too small for mountains. No signs of water or animal life existed upon them. The only plants they encountered were dry shrubs. But from there they could see the land north, west, and east as far as their vision and the horizon would allow. To the east was the land from which they had come; the Dwarven Mountains, as they had come to call them, sitting hazily in the distance. A green forest clung to the base of the mountain range, thinning to the barren plains the further one went from the foothills. To the north, they could see the line of the Dry Hills going on for some miles, then curving slightly north-east, then turning north once again. A lone, taller mountain sat slightly north-west at the edge of their vision. To the west, they could see the Northlands or rather the wasteland that had replaced them. Everywhere they looked between the Dragon Spine Mountains, the Valley of the Maw, and the Dry Hills, was utter waste, trampled, ravaged and burned. But they saw no sign of orcs or an orcish army.
They traveled along the desolate heights for another five days, resting little. Each of the orcs desired to see with their own eyes what they could not yet conceive in their minds, an army so vast, so savage it could ruin the world. As they reached the curve in the range, their eyes beheld a great forest at the base of the lone mountain.
They traveled another two days and at last came into view of what they had been seeking.
The five of them stood in a line on a ridge, each staring in awe and horror of what lay before them. Just to the west of the mountains ahead of them lay what they had earlier mistaken for a vast forest; a sea of green, brown, and red. Orcs and orcish tents, truly beyond number by any of their reckoning, covered the land before the mountain range. Amongst the orcish sea were siege engines, crude catapults, and large contraptions of all sorts. The sea extended beyond their vision to the north and west. Their view of the east was obstructed by the Dry Hills ahead. The orc clans had indeed united into one terrifying force. Flags flew, tents whipped in the wind, siege engines were splashed with paint…or was it blood? All bore the same symbol; a dark red stain in the shape of a curved flame, an erratic green line striking it through from north-west to south-east. It immediately brought to the minds of the orcs the chant that had been said so often by their clan.
A flame flash through lightning sky
A being unborn from land undry
Take sharpened tooth and reap vengeance on high
Take gnarled claw and ravage wrath in sky
Gash new the symbol well. It was painted on Gurak’s tent, a pendant that hung from his neck and a tattoo over his eye. It was the symbol of his god. It was the symbol of Grot.
The five of them stared on in silence for long moments, too awed to speak.
“There are so many,” Mara uttered.
“Beyond number,” Trogla commented in orcish.
“They surround that mountain on all sides for miles,” Mara said. Then, looking again near the base, she squinted and said, “What is that at the base of the mountain?”
They all looked and viewed the massive circular objects lining the base of the mountain. They were the size of large hills and appeared to be made out of a mix of wood and metal.
“Wheels,” said Grak.
“Yes, I know they are wheels,” Mara stated. “But what are they there for? What type of…device are they attached to? They are too big for any of those other…things.”
“H’ruk?” Trogla said, turning to her elder. “You know?”
H’ruk stared intently at the line of wheels, apparently miles long. His eyes rose, attempting to find some structure to which to connect them. Finding nothing, his stare continued to rise, eventually straying to the high mountain-top. His eyes widened as he viewed the strange form of a mountain peak seemingly bent over in an unnatural curve.
“It…It cannot be,” he muttered.
The other four looked at him. His mouth was agape and he had backed away a step. His eyes remained locked on the mountaintop.
“What wrong, H’ruk?” Trogla asked him.
H’ruk gave no answer but just stared in horror.
“H’ruk!” Gash shouted at him.
H’ruk’s head snapped to look at Gash, though he still did not speak.
“Show strength,” Gash ordered him. “Speak.”
That seemed to be what he needed, and H’ruk forcibly regained his composure, though his breath still came heavy through his nostrils.
“It is the Bent Mountain,” he said finally.
Grak and Trogla immediately looked back to the mountain, and their expressions also showed fear.
“No!” Grak spoke, turning back to H’ruk. “No, it not be! You lie!”
“I do not!” H’ruk shouted at him. “I have seen it! That Bent Mountain!”
“What is this mountain?” asked Gash.
“Bent Mountain is where Tower of Grot is,” Grak answered him. “It was where orcs offer sacrifices before it bent. The old ones said Grot lives at top of tower. But this cannot be it.”
“I told you I have seen it!” H’ruk shouted at Grak. “Call me a liar again, and I will slice you in two!”
Grak faced him fully and put his hands on the handles of his weapons.
“Stop!”
Both of them looked to Gash.
“Why it cannot be?” he asked them.
“Because the Bent Mountain is many days west from here,” Grak answered. “It is said to be north of the middle of the Dragon Spine Mountains.”
“That is where it is supposed to be,” H’ruk stated. “But that is the Bent Mountain. If you doubt me, look at its bent peak.”
Everyone turned and squinted, attempting to get a clear view of the peak. Clouds wisped by, obstructing their view. But finally, the sky cleared long enough for all of them to see hanging from the horizontal peak a lengthy object of gray. Its form hung straight down like a frozen tear from the mountain of the orcs.
“But…” Mara began, “…how could they have moved a mountain?”
The group remained in silence for long moments before Grak finally spoke.
“It must have taken them many years,” he said, “to mine the bottom and build the machine that carried it here.”
“But…orcs not…” Trogla began before stopping in mid sentence.
H’ruk and Grak looked at her and she shut her mouth, realizing what she was about to say. The two males looked at each other, considering.
“What?” Mara said. “Orcs are not what?”
“Smart enough,” Gash finished Trogla’s thought. “They not know how to mine.”
“But we are strong enough to pull it,” said H’ruk, looking again to the sea of orcs.
“Never has Sylrin seen such a creature.
Never has it trembled so as at the orc’s birth.
A strength that could crush a mountain.
A number that could cover the hills.”
“The only thing that can rival the strength of an orc,” Grak said, his eyes rising to meet H’ruk’s, “is another orc.”
H’ruk stared at him a moment and then nodded in understanding. He then turned to Gash.
“G’uar.”
Gash turned from viewing the orc ocean to see H’ruk staring at him with a determined look. He turned to fully face him, his muscles tense in the possibility of a challenge. But H’ruk had not challenged him, but rather addressed him as G’uar.
“This is Grot’s doing,” H’ruk told him in orcish. “We see his symbol there. But Grot is a fool. He
does not know about you, about your strength. He has gathered this army here to ravage Sylrin. But instead, it is delivered into our hands.”
Gash’s eyes looked quickly between Grak, H’ruk, and Trogla. Grak stared at him the same as H’ruk. Trogla looked slightly confused, her eyes on the two males, though her body faced Gash.
“We saw you on the battlefield before we came. You slew many orc, many more than any orc ever has. This army is yours to take. You can take them and rule over them as a united orc. We will, at last, be one people. Any who would oppose you would be crushed by your enormous strength. If all resist, all will be crushed. They cannot stop you. None can. And we will fight alongside of you, even if all others betray. You are G’uar and there is no other.”
Gash stared hard at H’ruk. He knew that what he said was mostly true. It was an opportunity that would never come again. But Gash could see it for what it truly was: a foolish grab for power, one that could only end in his death and doom for all of Sylrin.
The temptation was there to believe the lie in hopes that he could turn his kin away from Grot and towards the Godking; to turn them into a force for good. But so convinced was he of the evil bent of their hearts, that he could not accept that such a thing could ever be possible. Even if he could somehow subdue them, they would all eventually turn against him. The only way he could rule them would be to do so with an iron fist. He had no desire for such things. He could not force them to be good. If he tried, he would be the same as them. For Gash, there was but one choice.
“No,” he replied.
Trogla snapped her head to look at her leader, her face awestruck. Grak looked at H’ruk whose eyes narrowed as he stared on at Gash.
“Why?” came H’ruk’s slow response in the common tongue.
Mara glanced between H’ruk and Gash. She could plainly see the tension between the two. Slowly, she moved her staff to a two-handed position and tensed her muscles, readying herself to aid Gash, should the three orcs try to jump him. Gash stood there, staring and unresponsive. He knew his answer, but somehow, it was in part contradicted by the three figures that stood before him. And so he stood in silence, unable to give an answer.
“Why!” H’ruk shouted.
“Because I choose!” Gash finally answered.
H’ruk’s anger boiled over. He reached to his belt. Gash reached to his axe. H’ruk shouted in anger. Gash pulled his axe in time to see H’ruk flinging his weapon away in a fit of rage.
“You are ten times their strength!” H’ruk shouted, switching back to orcish. “You can defeat any orc that come against you! Once the rest see your strength, they will cower before you! They will turn from Grot to you! Yet you refuse to rule us! You would rather see us slaughtered by an army of un-orc; a creature so worthless, Grot did not see fit to make him orc! Tell me why! Or I challenge you, even without my strength! Because all I will see is weakness not to answer!”
“I have defeated no one,” Gash sternly replied still in the common tongue. “Godking defeated them. I did nothing.”
“Then he can do it again.”
“I will not test him! He has not promised me victory or rule. And I would not rule over a race that has fallen so far as to name Mara and her kind as un-orc. For this, you challenge me? If so, do so now, or forever be silent.”
H’ruk’s breath came heavy through his nostrils.
“You are not un-orc,” he said, gravely. “But you do not seek rule and strength when brought before you. And that is more un-orc than I ever see.”
At this, Gash’s expression grew into a heavy scowl. He gritted his teeth and growled, thrusting his axe into the ground, the blade piercing the solid rock beneath their feet and ringing with the sound of metal struck by stone. It was a sound that imitated H’ruk’s words upon his heart. Those words he had heard all his life and after all he had been through, it was one time too many. They struck deep and released from Gash a flood of emotion that had hidden itself deep within him.
“Enough! You know nothing! You have all world bow to your feet! You think you greater than any creature, but you barely not beasts! You dare say you strong! You weak! You weakest of weak! You un-orcs! They un-orcs! You too weak, so you rule through me! You are same as them! Just as weak! Just as un-orc! You coward! Cowards! You say I worthy of nothing! You are worthy of nothing! All of you! Challenge me now! Or speak me no more of challenge!”
Gash had not meant the words to come out, but they had spilled from his heart nonetheless. Mara stared at him, her mouth agape. She had never seen Gash so enraged. She had backed up several steps during his shouting. At the same time, her heart broke for the pain he must have been going through.
Gash stood there only a moment, waiting for a response from the frightened orcs, before turning, pulling his axe from the stone, turning again and heading south at an angered pace. Mara found herself staring after him, her heart deeply distraught. She glanced at the orcs who also stood staring after him and then hurried to follow.
XVI. Orc
That night they made a cold camp and rested, knowing they were too close to the orcish army to light a fire. Gash sat awake in the midst of the night. It was his shift and he sat at the edge of the small circle they had made for themselves, staring out into the night. A quiet desire had been growing in his heart, like a smoldering fire, slowly growing to a great flame. He desired to know this Godking; not just to worship Him or to pray to Him or to serve Him, but to know Him and to be known by Him. If this God was as had been told to him, he did not see how he could not know Him. And so the desire had been birthed and grew steadily stronger as he contemplated all that he had learned of Him and how much more there must be to discover.
A series of groans and grunts behind him grabbed his attention and he turned to see Mara tossing in her sleep, a look of agony on her face. Gash reached back and placed his hand on her shoulder, shaking her. As he expected, her foot came flying towards his head. He caught it with his other hand, and the other with his first, before calling Mara’s name.
The stunned teenager stared wide-eyed at his form silhouetted against the full moon. She could see the familiar shape of his axe peaking up over his right shoulder and knew it was Gash. She sat there in an awkward handstand, her eyes blinking as her mind came back to reality. At last, her body relaxed and Gash released his grip. Mara rolled to a sitting position facing away from Gash.
“Forgive me,” she said softly. “I do not mean to attack you.”
“No blood,” Gash replied, looking back in front of him.
Mara was silent a moment before speaking again.
“You said that to Trogla and the others at the battlefield, did you not?”
Gash felt a sting in his heart. Something bothered him about that question and he wished to talk no further. Yet the desire to know the cause of the apprehension he felt was even greater, and so he asked, “Why do you ask this?”
Mara did not answer immediately, but at last, he heard her voice.
“Because you do not act like it.”
Gash’s anger rose, a sense of indignation in his heart. Still, knowing Mara’s character, and even more so, her words to be true, he listened as she continued.
“You are a brave and selfless man, Gash. I do not doubt that. You have shown it many ways. But the way you treat your kin is as though there is still blood and harm between you that you refuse to let go. It is shown in little ways, but I can see that it is great in itself.”
There was silence a moment.
“They respect you, Gash. They have followed you despite the fact that I am just an un-orc in their eyes, even H’ruk. You have respected them in some ways, but in others you treat them as if they are lower and their ways backwards and wrong. Some of their ways are, but you cannot simply throw them out and expect them to follow. They will leave you. I would.”
Gash was silent, not knowing how to respond. Mara sighed.
“You once told me that orcs are evil. I have spoken much with Trogla and it is not s
o. They have just been taught evil ways. It is easy for you to reject those ways for you see them as they are. It is much harder for Trogla and the others. It is all they have known. Now they are with you and you tell them the world is not how they know it to be. It is too much. You cannot expect such things…not so quickly.”
Gash could hear a trembling of emotion in her voice. He heard her sniff and looked back to see her wiping her hand across her face.
“I hope you will not think me weak for this,” she commented at length.
Gash watched her a moment. She continued her motion and he commented, “You know this pain.”
Finally, Mara turned to look at him. His form was massive and foreboding in the darkness. Yet, Mara found it oddly comforting. She had spent much time with him. Indeed, she had named him her kin. How could she not reveal all to him? Turning fully, she moved to sit next to him, wiped her face once more and took in a deep breath.
“Tell me first what you think of the stars,” she said.
Gash looked up and viewed the many stars that filled the sky. He recalled his earlier thoughts on them and suddenly desired to once again speak to Lilliandra, that he might put some of his thoughts, both old and new, to rest.
“They are strange,” he replied. “They seem too great for me, yet made for me.”
“That is a wonderful thought,” Mara stated, also staring at the sight, “if it is true.”
“Why do you ask this?”
“Because in my land- my home- my people claim the stars are the warrior kings and queens of our people. They say they are warriors like you and I who have ascended on high and become gods. My people name their young after the god whose star is most prominent on the night of their birth. I was born on a night when the sky was clear and full of stars. Every star was as bright as the other. They could not determine which god shined upon me and so they determined that they all did. So I was named Mara after the mother goddess Maranaria. It is believed the stars are her children and I was given a name that means ‘warrior queen’. It was believed that my birth was a sign and that I was destined to become a warrior queen; a goddess ruling our people on this earth and…after I ascended.”
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