Half-Orc Redemption

by Luke T Barnett

  The one called Prall looked up to the darkness and then back at Gash.

  “Go’n ten. Get y’um inside,” he said, jerking his head towards the door.

  Gash turned from looking at the man and trudged calmly towards the doorway. As he approached, an enormous figure covered in thick, white fur blocked the entrance from the inside.

  “Give yar weapon t’the yorma,” Prall ordered him. “Yuw’ll have it back when y’leave.”

  As Gash hefted the heavy weapon from its holster, Prall’s grip on his sword tightened. He watched the course and speed of the blade now glistening with melted snow in the faint torchlight. His grip did not loosen until Gash had placed the haft in the yorma’s clawed hand and released his grip. The creature moved aside with a guttural sound and Gash stepped inside and looked around.

  Inside the fortified wall lay a small village nestled amongst palisades and sheer rock. The buildings were made of solid planks, though it was a mystery to Gash as to where they had found the forest to construct it amidst such barren mountains. The ground was amazingly devoid of snow. Looking above the buildings, Gash saw why. A ceiling of planked wood covered the town, stretching from palisade to palisade. It rested on long, widely spaced slats that stretched from where he stood to the opposite end of town. Gash looked over it, trying to discern its construction and noted what looked like a chute running from the ceiling straight into the ground. Water ran continuously down the shoot from which he noticed a villager draw by pivoting a section out, causing the water to flow into a bucket she held.

  “T’e inn are over tare,” came Prall’s voice from beside him. The man pointed to a particularly large building. “Mind yar whie yar here, orc-kin. Me men be watchin’ y’um. And tey won’t give secon’ t’ought to slicing yar gut if y’um so much as look at some cross.”

  Taking that to mean the inn was where he might find a place to rest, Gash took step towards it. He noticed as he went, two men following him, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

  He opened the solid wooden door and was instantly hit with a blast of heat. The building was warm and inviting, despite its emptiness due to the late hour. Two large fireplaces on adjoining walls blazed high, keeping the room warm while the lanterns kept it well-lit. A staircase lay recessed into the corner between the two walls containing the fireplaces. Several empty tables and chairs filled the room and a long counter ran the length of the adjoining wall to the door. Three men sat at one of the tables and an elderly man stood behind the counter, wiping a mug down with a rag. Upon seeing Gash, the elderly man dropped his mug and backed away. The three men looked up toward the elder from whatever they had been doing, then towards the door. They then all stood and drew swords. One of the guards moved swiftly past Gash and up to the three men, explaining the situation. After a moment, they seemed to relax, though none of them replaced their swords.

  Seeing the situation had been resolved, Gash moved from the doorway and went and sat down before one of the hearths. His body warmed and he was thankful for the fire. He heard the men behind him arguing, though their tones were almost too low to hear.

  “I don carr what ‘e claims to be!” said one angrily and rather loudly. “’E’s got orc blood in’m! An’ if y’um don do some ‘bout tis, I will!”

  A single footstep sounded before Gash heard the guard speak.

  “He is under the watch and protection of the Guard, Tayis,” he said calmly. “If you attack him, you must first deal with me. And I know you don’t want to do that.”

  There was silence a moment and another voice spoke.

  “Let’i go, Tay. It’s not wert’t.”

  “Get yar arm off’m me!” the one called Tayis shouted. “Yar all traitors to yar own blood! That orc bein’ her goes ‘gainst ery this town’s ‘bout! I’ll let’i go when I’m cole in’e grave!”

  Gash then heard a scuffle and he was on his feet facing the group in an instant. The three that had stood were now two, with the third on the floor looking dazed. The guard stood with his spear pointed at Gash, the tip mere inches from his throat.

  “Mind your business, Orc-kin,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  Despite the tense moment, Gash could not help but notice the odd peculiarities of this man. He did not speak with the thick accents of the other mountainers. Stranger still was the fact that the man had golden eyes. Gash looked from him to the two who stood. One moved to his downed friend, slapping his cheek attempting to pull him out of his dazed state. The other stood staring at him, his face unreadable.

  Gash looked to the bartender and to the guards that had followed him. This was no place for him.

  “I will go.”

  The guard slowly relented his weapon.

  “Do you know the way?” he asked.

  Gash shook his head.

  “I will show you.”

  “Tarin?”

  Everyone’s attention was grabbed by a little girl standing at the base of the stairs. Her faint, blonde hair reached down to her waist and she was dressed in a simple nightgown. The guard standing by Gash walked over to her.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed, sweetie,” he said, kneeling before her.

  “Who is that, Tarin?” she asked him.

  “That’s nobody, sweetie. Now get back upstairs to bed.”

  The little girl whined, “But I’m thirsty.”

  “I’ll have Jolef bring you some water in a bit. Now go on.”

  She cast a last glance at Gash and hurried back up the stairs. Tarin watched her for a moment and then turned and headed for the door, signaling Gash to follow him. He led him to a solid rock wall at the far end of the village. There Tarin, with the help of two other guards, rolled a boulder from its place. Beyond lie a dark tunnel identical to those used by the dwarves.

  “You’ve seen one of these?” Tarin asked him.

  Gash nodded.

  “I thought as much. There’s no way you would have survived the trek here unless you’d taken one of these. This one will lead you to the Eastlands. From there you may go where you please.”

  “My axe.’’

  “Remain here. I will fetch it for you.”

  Gash nodded and Tarin walked off, leaving Gash standing at the opening with the two other guards watching him. His eyes watched Tarin disappear into a building. They then began to wander. What townsfolk were awake at this hour gave Gash nervous or hateful glances as they walked by. His eyes wandered upward to the strange ceiling that covered the town. His eyes wandered still to the dark windows of the buildings and his mind went back to the conversation of the men at the inn. Gash noted the faces of the people who lived here. They were hard and worn, as if wearied by some long toil. He knew not what their plight had been, but it seemed to him the city, along with its people, was dying.

  Feeling a pair of eyes upon him, (stranger still as everyone had been staring at him), Gash looked up to a particular lighted window of the inn. The little girl he had seen at the base of the stair now sat in the window staring down at him. He might have thought her like the others, but there was something in her look that made it different. Gash could not place it, and he wondered at it, his thoughts being irresistibly drawn to it.

  A poke in his side drew his attention to one of the other guards who was scowling and pointing his spear at him. Gash considered the man probably thought ill of him staring at one of their young, and so Gash consigned himself to look back towards the building Tarin had entered. Tarin emerged shortly with the creature he had called a yorma following close behind. The yorma carried Gash’s axe over its shoulder as it followed the human.

  Midway, a small pile of partly melted snow fell from above and landed at the yorma’s feet. The creature stopped and stared at it. It let the axe slide from its clawed hand and fall on the fallow ground with a thud. Tarin, who had not seen the yorma stop, turned at the sound. The two guards began to walk up to him, but he held out a hand, halting them as the yorma fell to its knees, seemingly intent upon exam
ining the pile of snow.

  Tarin gripped his spear as if ready for an attack and carefully approached the engaged yorma. He began calling to it, though Gash could not hear the words. Tarin approached where the yorma had dropped the axe and moved the massive weapon away from the creature with his foot. He then moved back in, reaching out a hand, all the while speaking to the unresponsive yorma. Gently, Tarin laid his hand on the creature’s shoulder.

  The massive beast turned suddenly with a monstrous roar and reached for Tarin’s neck. The soldier reacted, all too slowly, by thrusting his spear forward. His lack of speed cost him and instead of finding the yorma’s gut, the blade of his spear sliced its side. The yorma roared in pain and flung Tarin into a nearby building. The creature then grabbed one of the poles of an unfastened wagon and began swinging it madly, firewood from the back of the wagon flying in all directions, the its gurgling roar filling the town.

  Townsfolk screamed and fled the area. The guards rushed the mad beast, throwing their spears and drawing their swords. One spear caught the yorma in the arm and the creature cried out in pain. But the wound only seemed to enrage it even more. It swung the wagon around and threw it at a particular group of soldiers who promptly scattered to avoid getting crushed.

  The beast then turned and charged the two soldiers that had been guarding Gash but had left him to engage the yorma. The yorma was upon them when the wagon it had previously thrown broke upon him, knocking him to one knee. He arose, roared in the direction from which it had come and found himself staring at a half-orc all too ready for combat. The creature roared again and charged straight for Gash. It swiped at him with a massive claw. Gash dodged and countered with a balled fist straight into the side of the yorma’s face. The creature acted like it barely felt the blow. It reacted faster than Gash had anticipated and swung a claw at his face. Gash was not able to avoid the blow completely, and the claw of the beast ripped away a part of the half-orc’s ear. It was then that Gash became angry.

  Gash returned with a punch to the yorma’s face, his anger and all his strength behind it. The beast staggered to the side. Gash brought his other open hand hard into the yorma’s throat, turning its roar into a horrifying wheeze as he clamped down hard. The yorma was thrown off balance by the attack, and Gash continued his momentum, slamming the creature to the ground. The yorma reached up and gripped Gash’s arm with both clawed hands, attempting another roar that again came out as a struggled wheeze. Gash tightened his grip, cutting off the yorma’s air supply. The yorma raised a fist and struck Gash in the jaw. Gash nearly stumbled away, but his grip held. The yorma flailed wildly, digging its claws into Gash’s arm attempting in desperation to tear it away. But the half-orc’s angered choke-hold held, unmatched in its orcish strength. Soon, the yorma’s arms went limp and the massive creature ceased struggling. It lay there, motionless, it slimy tongue hanging from its gaped mouth, its head tossed back in an echo of the final throws of death. At last Gash released his grip and stood.

  He felt the sting of the wounds he had received. He looked at his arm and saw the deep gashes. They would take some time to heal. It was then he noticed the silence that had surrounded him and he looked up to see the few people that remained on the streets staring at the scene in horror. A patter of footsteps cut through the silence and Gash looked to see the little girl he had seen twice before now running to the place where Tarin had fallen. She knelt down beside him and placed her hands on him. Tarin did not move.

  “He killed ‘im!” a voice shouted. “He killed t’e yorma!”

  “Stinkin’ orc!”

  “How will’m ‘e survive?”

  “Just like’m all t’e ot’ers.”

  “I knew ‘e’s trouble!”

  Gash looked around at the growing number of people shouting curses at him. His eyes went to the little girl who now stared at him with a still different look in her eyes. Gash stood there a moment and then moved to retrieve his axe. He desired to be angry, yet all he could feel was deep sadness. He knew not if it was for the town, the people, the girl, or himself, but he would not stay to try and find out. This was still no place for him.

  Picking up his axe from where the yorma had dropped it, Gash looked no more at the people as he sheathed his weapon and headed for the cavern Tarin had shown him. The people continued shouting, but no one hindered him.

  ***********

  Gash sat in the darkness of the cavern. He had walked only a short time before the will to keep moving left him. He thought it a strange notion, but nonetheless ceased his walking and sat down. His injuries stinging him, he sat leaning against a wall, the darkness surrounding him. It reminded him of the darkness of the Dwarven mountain and he wondered if this was what it was like for one who might have leapt into the darkness and survived. It was a bit what he felt like doing; forsaking this world and leaping into the darkness. The pain was great inside him. The bitterness towards the orcs had changed to a reluctant forgiveness and acceptance. But now it was as if the two concepts warred inside him and his mind and emotions were the battlefield. He wondered silently, if he would ever find peace. His mind going to the one person he had met who seemed to give off peace from her very presence, Gash thought upon Lilliandra and the Godking whom she served. She attributed everything to him and accounted herself as nothing. The peace she held must have also been of him. He then, Gash determined, must be sought, if peace was to be found.

  “So I will do,” he said aloud to the god of Lilliandra.

  Even as the brief echoes of his voice died away, he noticed the darkness ebb. A light was coming into view from around the bend. Who would be following him? He thought perhaps Mara had gone looking for him and found the village. She certainly had enough fire in her blood to survive the cold. Or perhaps the orcs or one of the villagers had come after him to finish him off. Gash reached his hand to the haft of his axe, readying, just in case.

  As the light rounded the corner, there stepped into his vision the small form of the little girl from the village. Still dressed in the nightgown he had seen her in before, she now drug a full sack behind her, its strap slung around her. Her feet were bare and in her small hands she carried a large torch. She stopped as she saw him, somewhat startled.

  She stood there a moment, nervously shifting in her spot. Gash did not know what to think of this. The event in itself was such that he might have thought it some sort of trap. He remained poised, ready to draw his axe to counter whatever malevolence this could be that faced him. It was then he noticed her eyes. They were golden like Tarin’s. They stared at him in wonder or nervousness and Gash in turn wondered why he had not noticed their odd coloring before.

  At last moving, the little girl set the torch on the floor of the cave and turned to reach into her load, all the while keeping her golden eyes on Gash. Gash’s grip on his weapon tightened as he saw her begin to wrestle an object from the sack. At last it was freed and the little girl held it out to him with trembling hands. In the dim torchlight, Gash could see that what she held in her hands was a fresh loaf of bread. He did not move but shifted his eyes between it and the girl.

  “You…you want some?” the girl spoke timidly.

  Gash gave one more glance to the bread before looking back to her.

  “It’s not poisoned,” she encouraged him.

  After more of the same, the girl seemed to relax a little and spoke once more.

  “Here. I’ll eat some,” she said, tearing off a piece and stuffing it in her mouth.

  She offered him the bread again.

  “Wa fum mow?” she said with a mouthful of bread. “Iff ftill wom.”

  Reluctantly, Gash removed his hand from his axe and reached out for the bread, keeping his eyes on the girl who was attempting to chew. Gash gripped the edge of the bread and found it to be warm to the touch. His fingers dug in and he tore a large chunk from the end. Keeping his eyes on the girl, he sniffed the bread. It didn’t smell strange. He took a small bite and found it to be bland, but moist. He
looked at the girl who was still chewing and staring back at him. He then stuffed a large portion in his mouth and chewed. The little girl tore off another piece and sat down. The two stared at each other for long moments, chewing on their bread.

  “What’s your name?” the girl asked when she had finished.

  Gash looked back to the passage from which they both had come.

  “There’s no one with me,” she said. “I came by myself. I took some bread from Jolef’s kitchen. It’s okay because he has to give me whatever I ask him. I got some fruit too. You can have some. Mother said I should always share.”

  Gash looked again to the tunnel.

  “They won’t come after me,” the girl encouraged. “They’re too afraid of you and they don’t care enough about me.”

  Gash looked at her curiously now. Why would they not care? The man named Tarin certainly seemed to care for her. Could it be that…

  “Are you half?” Gash asked her.

  The girl furrowed her brow.

  “Half what?” she asked.

  Gash did not answer, because he did not know how.

  “I’m not half anything,” the girl said.

  “Why you follow?” Gash asked her.

  “Because you left and because you stayed.”

  Gash just stared at her.

  “You stayed and rescued the town from the yorma. That means you care about people that don’t care about you. Father taught me that. But you also left. Nobody has come to our village in a long time. And nobody leaves, even though things are bad. Nobody even tries to make things better. I’ve wanted to leave for a long time. But Tarin said we needed to stay and help the village recover.”

  “Your father?”

  “He died in the snow,” Came the somber reply. “My mother too. Tarin took care of me, but now the yorma took him.”

  Gash stared at the girl in understanding. She had no one. For whatever reason, the villagers cared little if she lived or died. He knew the feeling all too well.

  “Gash,” he said finally.