by K L Reinhart
2
Defiance
Ixcht! Terak flipped to his feet. With all the training of the Chief Martial of the Enclave, he swiveled his hips and ducked to one side, past the whistling ax blade that narrowly missed his shoulder.
Suddenly, Terak was fighting for his life. Without even any weapons. The decades of training that he had received flowed through his body as he struck out at the orc, his fist closing at the last moment before it connected with the orc’s temple.
“Hsss!” It was a strike that should have hit an important nerve-cluster on a human, but on the orc, all it appeared to do was smart a little. Terak’s hand felt like it had hit a stone wall, and the orc was slashing with his ax across at him in a wild swing—
“Hgh!” It took all of Terak’s strength to jump backwards. The ax blade whistled by, inches from his chest.
Time seemed to slow for the elf as he stepped forward, into the widening arc left by the ax. Terak struck out at the back of the orc’s hand with the flat palm of his own, forcing the blade out further—and opening the orc’s guard even more.
This would be the moment I plunged a blade in your neck. The thought flashed through Terak’s mind.
If only he had a blade.
The elf did the next-best thing. He struck upwards with the side of his hand at the orc’s clearly-exposed neck. This time, the orc’s flesh was softer than on the side of its head, but it was still like punching a sack of grain. The orc staggered back, coughing as he did so.
Just a few meters behind him, Vorg was fighting with the three other orcs like a bull being surrounded by wolves. He had one of them choking on the end of his tentacle-rope, pulling hard as the strangled orc fell to his knees, gasping for air. But Vorg was also trying to fend off the other two with his free hand. They darted forward and slashed at him with their weapons. Terak could hear the clangs and crashes of metal on metal and grunts of pain—
But Terak had no time to think about the four dangerous creatures behind him as the one he was fighting jabbed him hard in the gut with the wooden haft of his ax.
“Ugh!”
Terak stumbled, and turned it into a dodge to jump out of the way of the next wild swing of the ax, and another. The orc had regained his breath, and was pressing his advantage in wide, lunging sweeps of his weapon.
The elf was quick, but the orc was giving him no time to recover as he slashed and half-spun with surprising speed.
Smack! Terak managed to lance forward to stamp at the orc’s knee. It should have cracked the creature’s kneecap, but only made him stagger a little, swinging with the ax once again.
Ixcht! Terak swore as he rolled on his hip, feeling the whistle of the blade pass over his head. Then Terak was bouncing back, swiveling to swing one leg around in an arc that smacked the orc’s wrist and sent the ax spinning out of his grasp.
But the orc only growled and lunged forward to belt the smaller elf in the head. It was a good, solid blow that the orc used all of his shoulder and back muscles for. Terak felt like he had been kicked by a mule. He went flying backwards to land in a skidding heap on the floor. He felt sick and dizzy and his mind reeled.
“You betrayed us, Vorg!” one of the orcs shouted, seizing the opportunity to strike out at the larger orc with its sword. There was a crash as Vorg caught it on the metal plate of his forearm.
But that was only a feint, as the orc stepped in with the knife he held in his other hand, flashing low and fast and finding a place near Vorg’s neck where the breastplate ended. A grunt of pain and a spurt of green ichor erupted as Vorg staggered back.
He was seized by Terak’s attacker, who had suddenly turned his attention to the one that they had clearly come here to kill. Terak shook his head and tasted blood as he spat out a tooth. It’s only pain. Pain is a lesson. Pain hones the soul. Terak tried to breathe through the pounding headache as the Enclave had taught him.
“You fraternizing with elves now, huh?” Terak’s attacker sneered into Vorg’s ear as he seized the larger orc’s shoulders and pulled his arms back, exposing the orc for another strike from the two ahead of him.
“GRARGH!” With a bellow of rage, Vorg kicked himself backward, carrying his attacker with him to land with a thump that shook the ground. In the same movement, there was a gurgle and a snap as the tentacle in Vorg’s hand went taut and snapped the head of the kneeling attacker.
But now Vorg was on the ground, wrestling with the orc underneath him as the remaining two jumped forward.
The ax! Terak saw the dropped ax just a little way away, as Vorg kicked out at the legs of the nearest orc, forcing him back as the other jumped to one side.
Terak dove, grabbing the wooden handle as he rolled, and lifting it over his head in a smooth movement with both hands. He released it as he ended his roll to send the weapon spinning through the air of the clearing.
The orcish attackers did not have plate armor on. In fact, they only had studded leather patchwork jerkins and trews on. The orc that was about to hack down onto the exposed neck of Vorg had no way to stop the ax blade as it thunked into his chest, felling him in a moment.
Crack! Vorg headbutted the orc underneath him with the back of his head, with enough force for the crunch and snap of bone to resound in the air.
There was only one attacker left now, who was leaping over Vorg to close with the again-weaponless Terak.
Before he was suddenly pulled to the ground, the tentacle from Vorg’s hand wrapped itself around the orc’s neck. With a growl of some strange word, it flexed, tightened, and killed the orc in one gesture.
First Moon! Terak panted with the effort, and spat out more blood. He wondered if he had a cracked jaw. His head still pounded from the full-force punch of the much larger assailant. But he looked over at Vorg, pushing himself off the dead body that lay behind him to sit up, similarly panting for breath.
“Ekrit,” Terak heard him murmur, and the tentacle released itself from the dead body to curl and slither across the ground to Vorg’s side. For a second the elf and the orc regarded each other.
If he’s that quick with that thing, what chance do I have? Terak looked warily at the tentacle playing in the dirt.
“Three,” Vorg muttered, although Terak had no idea what he was referring to. The orc was still panting. Terak could see the deep green gash across the top of his collar bone and on his shoulder, cutting through the black webbing and mottled gray skin alike. It looked to be a bad wound, and one that probably would have killed any orc, man, dwarf, or elf smaller than he.
“Ist,” Vorg muttered. The tentacle appeared to resist the command for a moment, but Vorg repeated it. The tentacle curled back on itself, looping and wrapping over Vorg’s forearm until he could free his hand.
“You’re not going to kill me?” Terak said with a slurred voice. My face must be swelling, he realized.
“Three,” Vorg muttered again under his breath, seeming to try to keep something in mind as he glanced over at Terak. “Not yet,” he growled. “They tried to kill you. You don’t serve the Hexan.”
“The Hexan!” Terak growled. That was the sorcerer that Falan Brecha, the young lord of the northern kingdom of Brecha, had warned them about. There used to be a cult called the Hexans, who were in service to the Ungol. Terak tried to think through the ramifications of what this meant. Now, there is just one sorcerer. Someone who is trying to open the Blood Gate . . .
And, from what Terak had seen so far, he was doing a pretty darn good job of it, too.
“I see you know of him,” Vorg muttered wearily, before correcting, “It.”
“It?” Terak asked. “I—” Should I tell him who I work for? The first time that Terak had ever encountered orcs, it had been a warband who had been intent on killing Enclave Brothers and Sisters . . . “I guess the Hexan wants you dead?” Terak said slowly.
“Hmm.” An affirmative grunt and then, once again, “Three.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Terak asked, despite himself. I do
n’t feel scared around this orc anymore, he realized. Something had happened between them. Their fight had forged them together in some way.
“Three.” Vorg repeated unhelpfully, before pulling at the pouches and buckles of his belt. He found and produced a thin steel needle that appeared absurdly delicate in the giant orc’s hand. Now that Terak was closer (and not thinking about surviving), he saw that the orc’s black armor was covered in tiny scratches. They didn’t show against the surface unless the orc turned his armor to catch the light. He looked over himself speculatively (still completely ignoring the green ichor flowing from his wounded neck) and selected a place on one arm greave, where Terak started to watch him scratch and scratch at the metal obsessively, adding another three small scratches.
“To remember all of my orc kin I am forced to kill,” Vorg stated.
There have to be hundreds of scratches. Terak couldn’t comprehend the life that this monolith of muscle must have had.
“I served the Hexan, like many of my kind.” Vorg paused his artistry. “I received many of his gifts,” he nodded to the armor, the tentacle, “and I became his champion.”
The orc resumed his work. “But the Hexan is poison. His gifts are poison. When he leads my people over the brink, they will become mindless slaves of the Ungol.” Vorg’s voice was deep and rumbling. Terak was astounded by what he was hearing.
“My people believe it to be our destiny, to serve our Ungol-gods in this way,” he grunted, as his lip curled in a snarl. “They will stop being the free and fierce tribes of orckind, feared in every kingdom and land of Midhara!”
Finally, the scratching stopped. The giant orc blew briefly on the place where the new tick marks appeared on the edge of his armor, to match the hundreds and hundreds of others.
“I dared to defy our gods and the Hexan. I dared to say that I will never again serve any master, not anymore.” Vorg lifted his head to stare at the elf quietly.
“I can help you,” Terak heard himself say. The Hexan is the one who is causing the Blood Gate to open, the elf knew. And if this Vorg knew where this Hexan was, then Terak might have the chance to stop the end of the world.
Vorg looked at him and frowned. “You are little. What can you do to help me?”
Ha. Even despite his state of pain and exhaustion, the elf had to crack a smile. Worm. He remembered the cheap jibe that the other acolytes and novitiates of the Enclave had flung at him because of his small size.
But I’ve been trained, he knew. And not just by the Chief Martial of the Enclave, but by the Chief External in the “quieter” arts . . . And I survived the Loranthian Shrine, and I traveled the Aesther. I have fought Ixcht, and I have fought sorcerers.
“I might surprise you,” Terak said softly.
Vorg looked at the elf for a long pause before he nodded. “Okay. I was on my way to kill him anyway.”
3
The War Burg
“Where are we?” Terak asked as Vorg lumbered a few paces ahead of him through the trees. They walked along a narrow path in dense woodland, with the sound of wind in the trees and distant calls of birds. It would almost have been pleasant if Terak’s body wasn’t still aching from the recent fight.
Vorg paused in his heavy tread to turn and eye the elf warily. “You really were lost between the worlds?” he grumbled. “You really don’t know where you are?”
Terak nodded, although that wasn’t technically the truth, was it? He had almost been safe, about to step out into the home of the Second Family of the elves of Everdell, when Vorg had captured him.
“Ixchting portals,” the orc grumbled with a shrug and resumed his pace, breaking branches and snapping twigs as he did so. For a moment, Terak thought that the orc wasn’t about to share any more information with him. Until his croaking boom of a voice rose through the forest again.
“The Hexan taught me how to open them and use them,” Vorg said, as if this great act of magic was just a trivial thing. “He wanted me to travel to entreat with the Ungol generals.”
“They have generals?” Terak said with a shudder. All he had heard of that nightmare realm was simply that it was a never-ending hellscape. Fragments of memory drifted up to him from his previous journey to the Aesther, when he had momentarily been pulled into the Ungol. All he saw was a stony desert littered with black obelisks.
Did I really see that? Or had it been the product of an overworked mind?
“There are generals. And armies. Champions and slaves,” Vorg muttered. “Lots and lots of slaves.” He coughed, raising an arm over his shoulder to display the mottled, black-threaded flesh he wore. “Where do you think I got this?”
“You traveled to the Ungol?” Terak had been under the impression that it was the sort of place that no mortal being of Midhara could survive.
“Many times. The worthiest of the Hexan’s subjects get to travel there,” Vorg intoned, before continuing. “I was searching for the portal that led to the Blood Gate.”
“Past the Tartaruk Mountains,” Terak blurted out. He had grown up there, after all. The Black Keep of the Enclave stood as the first—and last—line of defense on the Brecha side of the mountains. The Blood Gate sat on the far side. The elf had never seen it, but he had seen the Ungol-light spread out over the sky like a second, horrid sun.
“Hmm.” Vorg nodded. “The one who took my place—the Hexan’s new champion—traveled there and is opening it even now.” The giant orc lifted his head to snuff at the air, as if he could smell the spread of evil even here.
Wherever here is, Terak thought.
“I was going to catch the Champion through the portal, drag him here,” Vorg gave a low chuckle at the thought of his plan. It was a cruel sort of laugh that made Terak shudder. “The Hexan would have had to send a new Champion to complete the ritual.”
“The ritual?” Terak asked.
“Hmm.” Another agreeing grunt. “There’s a ritual to open the Blood Gate that brings on the Baleful Signs.”
“The Ungol-light, plague of monsters, illness, darkness, and then—” Terak remembered what Father Jacques had told him. He had been there when the Estreek serpents had rained out of the heavens. And had bit Reticula. Terak gritted his teeth, conscious of the gap that he now had in his lower jaw. Is she alive? Did Mother Istarion get the Demiene Flowers to her in time?
There was no way to know the answers to those questions now. Terak cursed to himself in frustration.
Just walk the path ahead of you. He tried to console himself with another saying of the Path of Pain.
“You know of the Baleful Signs,” Vorg said, before a heavy sigh escaped the orc’s form. “Everyone will know of the Baleful Signs before long.”
Terak’s ears pricked to a sound that did not sound arboreal. It was the distant clank of metal, he thought, and then the smell of smoke drifted toward him.
“Almost there,” Vorg grumbled, picking up his feet again to climb the low boulders that had started to obstruct the path. Their way rose in degrees, with the trees around them starting to thin. More of the gray, overcast skies were visible, and a stiff breeze brought with it more smells of smoke.
With a groan, Vorg climbed the last boulder and stopped. Terak joined him to see that their journey had taken them up a wooded ridge that overlooked a wide estuary below them. Their ridge joined with a huddle of high, mountainous crags on their left. From up here, Terak could see that the estuary was home to a large, bustling city.
That’s no orc city. Terak was certain of it. It had wide and high walls of a yellowish-cream sandstone and dotting its perimeter were smaller keeps that stood with high towers overlooking the defenses. Beyond the walls, Terak could make out districts and stone houses, plazas and parks and buildings like temples. A haze of smoke from the numerous cook-fires and industries hazed the air above it. In the center of the city, where the estuary became a wide, roaring river, were three massive bridges. They were so large that they were almost castles unto themselves, with high, crenelated
walls and towers dotting them.
“Araxia,” Vorg intoned. “Human kingdom of Ara. That’s where the Hexan will be.”
“Oh,” Terak blinked. “But doesn’t this Hexan command orcs?”
“He does,” Vorg grunted, turning to nod off to their right, further down the ridge. Terak had to step forward to see what he was indicating and then gasped.
“The Hexan is a human sorcerer of Araxia, masquerading as the High Chancellor of the Court of the human King Serretti. The humans are too dumb to realize what he truly is. That he has been plotting to bring the downfall of Araxia for years, preparing the way for his Ungol masters . . .” Vorg said, before turning, “He controls—enslaves—those orcs,” Vorg said with a growl.
And there, rising over the forest and surrounded by flocks of black-winged birds, there moved a floating island.
“The War Burg of the Orcish Clans,” Vorg growled as Terak tried to take in the strange sight. He knew that everyone around him had magic, of course. In fact, the Chief Arcanum had detested the fact that Terak was a null, without any natural magic. And Terak had seen Magister Inedi’s battle-magic, creating shimmering blue domes of power in the midst of battle.
But I never expected to see this!
The floating island was massive. A miniature city all in itself, Terak had to admit. It was a rough diamond-like shape, with the main bulk of its body made of dirty white cliffs tapering to jagged edges of rock at its base. But all up and down these cliffs were ugly little black holes, like the entire site was the hive of some creature.
The top of the island was the source of the sound of clashing metals and smokes. Terak saw that there were low, stone buildings and walls rammed and packed against each other, with no apparent thought for reason or structure. These orcish buildings were vaguely layered and terraced, leading to the edge of the island where black plates of pointed metal like teeth had apparently been built onto the cliff edge itself.
