Inferno

by Paul J Bennett

  "That's easy," said Athgar, "wool. The Red Hand always had a need for it, especially when winter came."

  "And we know the Therengians prize meat. There simply aren't enough hunters to supply the entire village."

  "The Orcs also have medicinal herbs," he added, warming to the task. "I'm sure their shaman would have plenty to spare."

  "Anything else?"

  Athgar looked down at his feet and smiled. "Footwear," he said. "These boots Shaluhk made me are the most comfortable I've ever worn."

  "So there are things of value on both sides. We should wander the village tomorrow, see what else we can find that might be of use."

  "I look forward to it."

  "Good, but for now, I need to rest. My back is aching, and I'm feeling light-headed."

  * * *

  Athgar tossed and turned, visions of war flashing through his mind. When a hand shook him awake, he opened his eyes to a familiar face looming above him.

  "Skora? What's wrong?"

  "I have just now come from the king's hall," she said. "Eadred means to deceive the Orcs."

  He sat up, his heart pounding. "Deceive them, how?"

  "I overheard him talking with Cenric. He means to attack while their chief is negotiating. He will lead a small party to the rendezvous, but, unnoticed by you, a larger group will follow, armed and armoured for battle. Our king hopes to leave them leaderless and disorganized."

  "Then he's a fool!" declared Athgar. "The Orcs elect their leaders. If Kirak were to die, another would simply take his place."

  "Eadred is a vain man," said Skora. "He cares only for his own riches, and those of his most trusted men. He seeks to destroy the Orcs and plunder their home."

  "He would have a hard time. The village is walled."

  "Walled? Truly?"

  "Yes," said Athgar, "and I doubt he would have the men to breach it. His plan can only lead to greater death and destruction."

  "What can we do?"

  Athgar looked at Natalia, but she was deep in slumber. "We must send word to Kirak."

  "Would that not cause the very same conflict you seek to avoid?"

  "It's the only way. Perhaps if he is given sufficient warning, he can take steps to avoid the trap."

  "When shall you go?"

  Athgar threw off his covers. "This very moment."

  "You cannot," said Skora. "It is far too dark, and you would likely lose your way. You must wait until morning."

  "What is the king doing now?"

  "He has retired," said Skora. "He would likely be asleep by now."

  "Very well," he said, laying his head down once more. "I shall leave first thing in the morning. Thank you, Skora. You may have just saved our people."

  "If only the king felt the same way."

  * * *

  Two days later, they stood at the edge of the clearing once more. King Eadred was led by three guards but noticeably missing was his champion, Cenric. Athgar ignored the absence, concentrating instead on the field before them. Across the way, he could make out Urughar bearing the black banner of his tribe: a large rectangle of cloth hanging from the crossbeam of a pole.

  King Eadred had no such banner, leading Athgar to wonder why? Did the Therengian people not have a flag?

  "They are ready," announced Natalia. "Shall we proceed, Your Majesty?"

  They stepped into the clearing, Athgar leading the way. The Orcs, seeing their approach, did likewise, eventually meeting in the middle of the field.

  "Welcome Kirak, Chieftain of the Black Axe," said Athgar, effortlessly switching to the Orc language. "May I present King Eadred of the Therengians." He swept his arm, indicating the king.

  "This," continued Athgar, in the common tongue of man, "is Chief Kirak of the Orcs of the Black Axe."

  The two leaders nodded their heads in greeting. The tension in the air was palpable. Athgar instinctively looked to the woods. It took him a moment to spot Raleth. The hunter was perched at the edge of the trees, acting as Athgar's eyes and ears. He looked briefly at Natalia, who nodded in understanding.

  The Water Mage stepped back, distancing herself from the rest of the party, her eyes locked on the treeline.

  "Tell the Orc," said the king, "that we are pleased to greet him."

  "His name is Kirak," rebuked Athgar. "Would you have him refer to you as 'the Human'?"

  He watched as the king's face turned red. His Majesty obviously felt the need to say something, but with the enemy so close, he would not deign to show discord. "Please convey to Chief Kirak my pleasure at making his acquaintance."

  Athgar made the translation, and the Orc chieftain bowed his head slightly. Kirak spoke, then Athgar turned to face Eadred. "He invites you to sit, that you might discuss things in detail."

  "Here?" said the king. "On the ground?"

  "We have little choice, Your Majesty, unless you prefer to stand the entire day."

  "Very well." Eadred sat down in a huff, giving the impression of a petulant boy.

  Kirak sat opposite, his aides taking seats to the side. Athgar, as translator, sat at one end, separating the groups. He noticed Natalia making her way towards Raleth's position and smiled, knowing her absence would not be detected.

  * * *

  Cenric crouched, waving his men forward. The spearmen moved up quickly, mimicking their leader. To the front, he saw a group of Orcs standing around, leaning on spears, intent on the negotiations that were underway in the field before them.

  He hefted his shield, feeling the reassuring weight of it. Orcs were said to be strong, and looking at them now, he could well believe it for their shoulders were much broader than that of Humans. The plan was to advance with thrown spears, using their longer range to inflict damage first, but if they should close, it could well come down to the hefty axes slung on their backs.

  Cenric risked a glance left and right, making sure everyone was in place. He had twelve men with him and another twenty no more than ten paces behind. That thought gave him comfort. Gripping his spear, he stood, then began moving forward in a crouch. Once they had drawn closer to the enemy, he straightened, pulling his arm back to heft his weapon.

  It must have been a chilling sight to see a line of warriors suddenly emerge from the underbrush, but the Orcs appeared to give little notice. Was this a trap? Cenric was ready to throw, his arm muscles quivering in anticipation, but something nagged at him. He focused on the closest target, and it was as if the vile creature were a ghost. Instead of the dark green skin he expected, they were pale. Slowly, he became aware that they were apparitions, mere ghosts of Orcs.

  Lowering his spear, his mind was unable to grasp what his eyes told him was present. The Orcs turned, looking at him in an unworldly fascination, their blank eyes disheartening the great warrior. A rustle off to his left drew his attention, and then a wall of ice erupted before him, filled with whirling blades of death.

  Cenric backed up, cursing himself, for surprise was lost, and with it, any hope of carrying out their plans. His men, equally unnerved, looked to him for leadership.

  "Withdraw," he managed to say through parched lips. "We cannot fight that which is of the Underworld."

  * * *

  Natalia kept the wall of icy blades in place for as long as she could. Ordinarily, it would be easy, but today she found it taxing. A cold knot in her stomach broke her concentration, and she bent over, worry for her babe of more immediate concern. The spell dissipated, but it had done its job.

  The Orc shamaness, Laghul, moved closer. She had called forth the spirits of long-lost hunters to draw the Humans in, but now, her job complete, she was more concerned with Natalia's distress.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  Natalia struggled to understand the words. "My stomach," she said in broken Orc. "It has gone cold."

  In answer, Laghul placed an ear to her belly. "The heartbeat is strong," she announced. "Your youngling is well."

  Natalia took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I must speak t
o Athgar," she said, forgetting, for the moment, the presence of the Orc."

  "Come," the Orc said, "I will guide you."

  The shamaness led her into the clearing. Athgar was in the middle of translating when he spotted her, causing him to interrupt the proceedings. Natalia looked pale, even more so than usual, putting him on alert.

  "What has happened?" he asked.

  King Eadred stared at the Orc shamaness but said nothing.

  "You have failed," said Natalia, looking directly at the king. "Your plan to attack the Orcs has been foiled. Now, will you continue your negotiations in earnest, or shall I tell them of your treachery?"

  Eadred's face paled. It was one thing to plot against the Orcs, quite another to be exposed for his deceit.

  "Very well," the king said. "Let us negotiate in good faith."

  * * *

  They returned to their hut well past sundown. Skora had prepared food, and so they sat, thankful for the respite after the labours of the day.

  "I see you are still alive," said the old woman. "I take it that means you were successful this day?"

  "We were, thank the Gods," said Athgar, "though it almost ended in failure. If it hadn't been for Natalia, I don't know what would have happened."

  "I might remind you it was your plan," noted Natalia.

  "Yes, but you're the one who made it all possible."

  "And what of the king's treachery?" asked Skora.

  "Cenric retreated," said Athgar, "but I still don't know the full story."

  Natalia smiled. "The Orc shamaness cast a spell to conjure forth the spirits of hunters. They were used to lure Cenric and his men into their grasp."

  "Where you used your magic?"

  "Yes, I did"—she cast her eyes down—"but something went wrong."

  "Wrong? How so? Surely Cenric retreated?"

  "He did, but something happened to me."

  A look of worry crossed his face. "What?"

  "I felt a cold presence in my stomach as if I'd swallowed a ball of ice."

  "Could it be the baby?" he asked. "Think about it. You're a powerful mage. Could you have imparted your magic to it?"

  "I don't know. I was never taught such things." Tears formed in her eyes. "What do we do, Athgar? I don't want to endanger our child."

  He moved closer, enveloping her in his arms. "I think it best if you don't use your magic for a while."

  She nodded, then buried her face into his shoulder. "I'm scared."

  "So am I," he admitted. "I wish Shaluhk were here. She'd know what to do."

  House of Stone

  Summer 1104 SR

  * * *

  (In the tongue of the Orcs)

  * * *

  Laruhk gazed up from where he knelt. "There can be no doubt. These are the footprints of Orcs."

  Kargen looked around, scanning the distant trees for any signs of activity. "We must be in their tribal area, but I see no sign of them other than those prints. How old are they?"

  "Perhaps a day, no more."

  "Then this must be their hunting grounds."

  "What do we do?" asked Laruhk. "Turn around?"

  "No, we will continue, but we must cease hunting. At least until we make contact with our fellow tribe."

  "We have no idea which tribe that might be. Could my sister not give us some guidance? Would not the Ancestors know?"

  "We can not keep pestering the Ancestors," said Kargen, "or they will refuse to answer the call when we need them most. It is up to us to find our brothers and sisters."

  "And if they should prove hostile?"

  "When have Orcs ever been hostile to each other? We have enough trouble with Humans. We do not need to find fault with each other."

  "Wise words, my friend," said Laruhk, "but should we, at least, take precautions?"

  "What would you suggest?"

  "Let me put hunters to the front and sides. That way, it will lessen the likelihood of being surprised."

  "You are thinking like a leader, Laruhk. Perhaps one day you shall be chieftain?"

  "I am content to be a hunter," his friend replied.

  Kargen grinned. "So be it. Now, be off with you, hunter, and get your people into place."

  "Yes, my chieftain." Laruhk ran off at a sprint, eager to begin his new task.

  "He is enthusiastic," noted Shaluhk.

  "What is this now? Praise for your brother? Are you feeling well?"

  "I am fine. I am just trying to be more thankful for what we have."

  "And what has brought forth these feelings?"

  "Simply the situation we find ourselves in."

  "How so?" Kargen asked.

  "It is clear that very shortly, we shall be encountering another tribe. The question, of course, is what that means. Will we continue to be the Orcs of the Red Hand? Or will we be absorbed into another?"

  "Why would you think that?"

  "I have taken stock of our situation these past few ten-days," she said, "as I know you have. The truth is the very tradition that has named our tribe is dead."

  "I am not sure I follow."

  "Our tribe dyes their hands red for battle to signify the magic of fire, and yet we no longer have a master of flame."

  "It is a development I have not given much thought to," said Kargen, "but now that you mention it, I see what you mean. The loss of Artoch is felt deeply."

  "So what do we do?"

  "That is for the tribe to decide." He fell silent, but then a smile crept over his face.

  "Tell me, bondmate," said Shaluhk, "what is it that pleases you so?"

  "You."

  "I am flattered, of course, but I know how your mind works. You are thinking of something else."

  "I am," he admitted. "It occurs to me Artoch passed on his knowledge before his untimely death."

  Shaluhk cast her gaze at the tribe as they walked past. "To whom?"

  "To Athgar!"

  "But he is a Human."

  "True, yet he is also a member of this tribe. As such, who is to say that he could not train others?"

  "Very true," agreed Shaluhk, "but he is not with us at present."

  "Also true. Still, I am confident we will soon be reunited. We did not come all this way for nothing."

  Agar rushed past them, his wooden axe held high, a primal scream erupting from his mouth.

  "He is eager," said Kargen.

  "Yes," agreed Shaluhk. "He takes after my brother."

  "Is that such a bad thing?"

  "No, I suppose not. There are worse Orcs he could imitate."

  A call from the north drew their attention, then Durgash appeared, pushing his way past the advancing tribe.

  "What is it, Durgash?" asked Kargen.

  "We have encountered another tribe," the hunter revealed. "You must come at once."

  "Very well. Lead the way."

  Kargen and Shaluhk followed him northward. Upon contact, the rest of the tribe had halted and were now sitting at rest while their chieftain sought permission to cross tribal lands.

  Laruhk waited for them, staring northward to where an unknown Orc stood with shield and spear, dried mud smeared on his face, no doubt to mark him as a hunter.

  "I do not recognize the tribe," said Kargen.

  "I do," said Shaluhk. "He is a member of the Stone Crushers. The shield identifies him as such."

  Kargen focused on the lone Orc. The shield was rounded, as was the custom amongst their race, its front displaying a picture of a stone spear tip.

  "Come, bondmate. It is time we talked with our cousins."

  "Take care of Agar," said Shaluhk, turning to her brother. "He is around here somewhere."

  They approached cautiously, not through fear, but through respect. Kargen bowed his head. "Greetings, Cousin. I am Kargen, Chieftain of the Orcs of the Red Hand."

  "Greetings, Kargen of the Red Hand," the Orc replied. "I am Karag, hunter of the Stone Crushers. Do you come in peace?"

  "Yes. We have fled our home due to danger."
>
  "What type of danger?"

  "The worst of all, Humans."

  "I understand your plight. Our people came here for the same reason, though that was generations ago. What is it you wish?"

  "Only to live in peace and harmony with our fellow Orcs."

  "You have the gift of speech," said Karag, "but it is my chieftain, Zahruhl, with whom you must speak. Only he can allow passage through our lands."

  "Then lead the way, Karag, and we shall lay our case before him."

  Karag bowed, then turned, leading them deeper into the woods.

  * * *

  The village of Khasrahk was similar in layout to Ord-Kurgad but with one big difference; the walls here were made of solid stone as were the buildings therein.

  "Their shamans wield the magic of the earth," noted Shaluhk as they passed the entrance.

  "Yes," agreed Kargen. "It reminds me of the legends of the ancient Orc cities. It is said that they, too, were made of stone."

  "Despite the stone, they are still our cousins."

  A small crowd had gathered to witness their arrival. An elderly Orc, wearing cloth of grey, moved closer. "Welcome," he said. "I am Rugg, master of earth."

  "Greetings to you, Rugg. I am Kargen, chieftain of my tribe, and this is Shaluhk, shamaness and healer."

  "Honour be to you both," said Rugg. "I assume you have come to see our chieftain, Zahruhl?"

  "We have. We wish to seek his permission to cross your lands."

  "Then come with me. I will take you to him."

  He turned, guiding them towards an immense stone structure. "This is our great hall. No doubt it will look familiar to you."

  Kargen was impressed, for like the village wall, it appeared to be made of a single piece of stone.

  Rugg noticed the look. "We have used our magic to fuse the stones. It took many years."

  "It is quite impressive," said Kargen, "and reminds me of the legends."

  "And so it should. The technique has been passed down for generations."

  "An enemy would be hard-pressed to break those walls."