by Dan Mat
Enepel remembered stumbling through the jungle, hungry. and lost for more than seven days, before everything became hazy. He didn’t even realize, but he was barely alive at that point. The sleep deprivation left a huge mark on his mental state. Elf struggled to keep in touch with reality, which led him to stop eating and drinking to begin with. And when halfling, hunter party found him unconscious, laying in the bushes, it was a pure miracle he didn’t became a meal to some jungle beast.
A blind luck saved Enepel that day. Halflings were some ways outside of their usual hunting grounds. They would easily missed him, if one of the hunters haven’t literally step on him. Otherwise, he would remain unnoticed. Covered by the shrub in which he fell unconscious. His luck became even more evident, once he found out that Pamens were amongst the few tribes of Amn’oaz, not practicing cannibalism.
This pleasant, simple folk, offered him refuge and safety. They opened to their ways of living and customs. Showed him how to track, hunt and efficiently use pretty much everything he could find in nature. Most importantly, Zaanven learned to respect the nature. And that experience, he knew, would be of utmost importance now, some decades later, as he found himself again in this massive jungle.
The day was nearing its end. Enepel had to find a place to wait out the night. Bunch of thick lianas hugged the nearby tree, easing his climb to the very top. And the view from up there was breathtaking, to say at least. Bright orange and red skies, merged and melted with the green crests of the treetops. The sundown made the entire forest look like it’s on fire. But elf sadly knew, he had no time to enjoy in it.
Zaanven turn his gaze towards east. There, on the outskirts of the forest, stood Te’pui. A massive, table-top mountain, made predominantly out of the sandstone. The white, undulating mist covered the entire base of the mountain, making a striking resemblance to an island in the middle of the ocean. Sheer, smooth cliffs of Te’pui looked as if they were made out of gold, bathed by the low rays of the setting sun. Pamens feared and at the same time worshiped that place. They believed it was the final resting place for the souls of the deceased. Zaanven respected their teachings and tradition. But for him, Te’pui had an ordinary purpose. That of the reliable landmark.
A couple of hundreds yards to the south, he noticed the clearance in the treetops. It was small, but it was definitely a field or a meadow. In an instant, he decided it was worth checking it out. Otherwise, he could as well remain on this tree. And that was something he would never contemplate of doing again. There were many reasons for that, main one being unpredictable and ever changing weather, distinctive to the Amn’oaz.
Zaanven ably slid from the tree, pausing for a moment to listen. Making sure no one sneak to his position, while he was up there. Seconds later, he was on the move, pulling his horse by the reins. He wasn’t prepared to leave him yet, despite knowing that the animal would slow him down. Besides, abandoned yet still saddled horse, may draw the unwanted attention.
With his etched, sharp scimitar, elf easily begin carving a way through the thicket and shrubs. He swiftly swirled the blade from left to right, in a continuous motion, stopping only to remove the biggest of branches from the newly made path, in an attempt to cover some of the tracks, he had made. He hoped the rain would wash away the rest.
It took him almost half an hour to make his way through the jungle. To reach the clearance. And once he finally made it, Zaanven realized, he only had minutes of daylight to spare. His horse let a loud and cheerful neigh, as he tugged forward. Elf recognized his impatience to step onto the clearance. For he too was becoming tired of stumbling over exposed roots and wines and constantly being slapped and scraped by protruding branches.
Zaanven was about to release the horse, to let him run around for a bit. But immediately changed his mind, once he noticed the outlines of small, thatch huts, on the far end of the field. Finding a settlement in here, came as a huge and unpleasant surprise. Nothing suggested the existence of one, elf was fairly sure. Unless he made some mistakes. Perhaps he was to impatient, once he saw the clearing? Perhaps, he should’ve waited longer?
Enepel begin analyzing his every decision, his every move since arriving in Amn’oaz. The doubt crept in, shattering elf’s confidence in his abilities. All these years he spend away from here, could’ve taken its toll. Before, he’d spot a village from miles away. In any kind of weather, rain or shine. No matter how misty or foggy it was. Smoke was always a sure tell. That thought put a smile on Zaanven’s face. Not a single fire was burning in here. This settlement was abandoned.
A short fence, made out of thick, thorny bushes, twigs and branches was breached in the couple of places, probably by some wild animals. It was quite a difficult task, to get the complete picture about this place, from a very few tracks, Enepel managed to find. But he presumed, it was a hunting camp, at one point in time. About dozen or so dome-shaped huts, covered with thick leaves from scarlet slak trees, stood around similar, but quite larger building. It was probably some sort of repository, Zaanven thought to himself. The remains of animal hides and pieces of broken tools he found inside, told him he was right.
The interior of the hut was surprisingly clean and dry. More importantly, his horse could fit right in. Enepel wasn’t quite ready to part ways with him yet. He was still unsure about this place. For what he knew, someone or something could very well stumble in here, in the middle of the night. And if that was the case, he’d rather have his horse closer to him. If for nothing else, but to use him as a distraction, while he’d try to escape from the danger. There were no guarantees, but that alone made him feel better. And a bit safer.
Just to the right from the door, on the ground, sat a crude, somewhat decrepit hearth. Next to it, alongside the wall, was a massive, wooden table. Long enough, so elf could fully stretch on top of it. Once smooth, flat surface, was now covered with deep cuts, notches and nicks. Hunters must’ve used the table to process the meat and hides. Zaanven put his pack on it and then proceed to unfold the blanket, stretching it alongside the table’s edges.
For a moment, he thought of home. He used to make his bed in a similar fashion. Every night, before going to sleep. His butler would then bring him the cup of mead. Always asking if he’ll be needing a wake up call. Or reminding him about a potentially important meeting with merchants and councilors. With these traitors and backstabbers. If Zaanven was to find out the identities of the culprits, responsible for the assassination attempt, he’d stop at nothing to make sure they’d pay for their betrayal.
Elf shook his head. He couldn’t afford to have such thoughts right now. No matter how sweet, the taste of the vengeance was. The daydreaming could easily led him in trouble. Or into a dangerous situation. He had to stay on high alert. Otherwise, he might as well just give up right now, and surrender to the jungle.
Somewhat angry at himself, allowing such a weakening thoughts to creep into his mind, Zaanven grabbed his pack. A quick glance inside, told him what he already knew. He had food for just a couple of days. After that, he’d be forced to hunt. And elf knew he couldn’t do that, with someone on his tail. He couldn’t even afford to light a fire for that reason. Sure, the animals and beasts would avoid him. But for everyone else, the flames and smoke were a certain invitation.
Only thing for him to do now, before trying to catch some shuteye, was to secure the entrance. And for that purpose, Enepel cut a couple of pieces of rope, no longer than five feet long. He then proceed to tie one end of the rope to the door frame, before wrapping another around the latch and handle. He did the same with the second rope, and then the third. Zaanven tried to pull them, but the doors wouldn’t even budge. They were secured. It would be much easier now, to break through the wall.
Only thing left to do, was to try and get some rest. Elf let a loud sigh, as he stretched across the improvised bed. And he did, at the exact same time as loud, high-pitched buzzing noise, disturbed the relative peace of the jungle. A noise from millions upon millions of insects, comin
g to life with the nightfall. It made the forest feel more alive now, than during the day. Proving once again the old saying, how the jungle never sleeps. Some would find the noise annoying, a genuine nuisance. But not Zaanven. He found the harmonic sounds of insects quite soothing. A few moments later he was asleep.
At the same time, several miles away, towards the middle of the jungle, a small figure ably slid from the kapok tree. He was just above four feet tall. He was a halfling. In his early thirties. He was a scout, and a hunter. Almost completely naked, bar the piece of leather cloth, wrapped around his waist. He carried a short spear, a bow and a dozen of arrows. Sharp dagger was tied to his thigh.
Halfling wasted no time, hastily rushing towards the north, to meet with his group. There, some thousand yards further, was their hunting camp. Enclosed in bundles of thorn branches, intertwined with tapered, sturdy bamboo stalks, it was safe as any other dwelling in this dangerous jungle. Dozens of torches illuminated almost the entire field, about hundred yards long and fifty wide.
In a customary manner, scout raised the hand, signaling his approach, despite knowing the guards had already spotted him. A bit taller and significantly muscular halfling, came out to meet him. Judging by his looks, he was almost twice the scout’s age. And an apparent leader of the group.
“What news do you bring, Elonthier?”
“I saw a large flock of birds, just east from here.” scout said “I’d guess they are nesting somewhere alongside the river, southwards from Gharn.”
“Well done, laddie.” chieftain said “Eat, get some rest, we are moving at sunrise.”
“Yes Mourdac. Thank you.” scout nodded, as he went for the nearest hut.
One other halfling was already sleeping in it. But there was room for a couple more. It was hastily erected cone-shaped structure, build out of branches and leaves, held in the middle, by the long, straight pole. Hut was no more than twelve feet in diameter. Its floor was covered with fern. Four hammocks hanged from the column. Elonthier attached one of them onto the opposing wall, before placing his weapons underneath. He wasn’t hungry at all, but those two days he spend scouting the surrounding area, left their mark. He was in a dire need of sleep.
Sudden, heavy downpour came crashing on top of them, drowning every other sound of the jungle, in an instant. Large raindrops pounded loudly against the thick leaves, the hut was covered with. But Elonthier did not mind that at all. He found the sound to be a rather soothing one. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was asleep.
Mourdac spend some time with the guards, helping them secure the entrance to the camp. Finishing just as the first drops touched the ground. Only thing left was to send them to their beds. There was no point in staying outside. Not long after, he did the same. They were safe for the night. No one would wander the jungle at this weather. No hunter, nor the prey.
CHAPTER 5
Grodish entered the hall of war at the exact crack of dawn, despite knowing that his assembly with the Zhinnaeg’s elders and officers won’t commence in another six or seven hours. He was here on a completely different matter. He was here to satisfy his curiosity. Half-orc found out, that these chambers hold a rather large war archives.
The room was lit with almost hundred oil lamps, hanging from the walls and ceiling of this oval shaped, natural cavern, orcs stumbled upon, while digging the tunnels under the mountain. It served as a witness to the origin and growth of Zhinnaeg and all of the struggles these orcs had to endure in building this place. Grodish had no need in reading anything to realize that.
And this room surely wasn’t lacking in reading material. It was quite the opposite. Rows upon rows of parchments and scrolls, were stacked in orderly fashion on large, wooden shelves, stretching across the entire wall. They mostly spoke of orcish bravery and heroism. They were glorifying their numerous victories and heroes those conquests produced. And to Grodish’s relief, the scriptures were in a chronological order. He was particularly interested in records dating around the time of the great war. Oh, how he wished, he took part in those battles.
For decades, Zhinnaeg represented Chaygor’s first line of defense. And as such, a target of many attacks. The ort successfully endured the number of sieges, not just because of its specific location. But for the fact that they recruited and trained only the best of warriors. Zhinnaeg’s soldiers where regarded as the elite. They often became the subject of songs and stories, in almost every corner of Chaygor. Amongst many, half-orc recognized the name of the former king, Broolg.
The first mention of his name, dated around the time, the great war had started. Back then, he was just a young, eager warrior, trying to prove his worth. To make a name for himself. And he did exactly that, right there, on the battleground. With his bravery, his skills and his sword. Afterwards, Broolg never looked back, earning the respect while climbing the ladder. But, by the time he took the command of the fort, humans and orcs agreed a peace treaty.
The treaty that Grodish despised with all of his heart. He lost everything he loved and cared for, because of its inevitable demise. This treaty supposed to bring peace between two races. But instead, it created even more suffering and death. It created an even deeper gap and hatred between humans and orcs. And what pained Grodish the most was, he owed his own existence to said treaty.
Half-orc had high hopes of being able to find some answers, regarding that period in time. But after several hours of combing through the archives, they offered him nothing more than the frustration and even more questions. The information about peace treaty was so scarce, Grodish couldn’t help to think, that some of the documents was missing. And what became even more apparent, was that the narrative structure afterwards changed drastically. Beautiful, almost poetic descriptions of events and heroic feats were replaced with bland and generic facts.
“Mornin’ laddie. Did you find something interesting?”
“Roshnak! Am I glad to see you?!” Grodish exclaimed “Did you sleep well?”
“Can’t complain.” shaman was honest.
“Hope you are rested, because I need your help.” Grodish waved his hand “These papers are tiresome, they seem empty and false.”
“That can’t be.” Roshnak retorted “The prime decree strictly forbids any tampering of the scriptures.”
“See for yourself.” Grodish sat at a table “Am I wrong to suspect a foul play?”
“We’ll see, my boy.” Roshnak glanced over a couple of scrolls, half-orc gave him “I am afraid to say, but I think you are correct.”
“And are we going to do something about it?” Grodish asked.
“First, we need to find out what was hidden.” Roshnak answered “Send for Uggut.”
Half-orc needn’t have to hear any more, as he instructed one of the guards standing in the hallway, in front of the chambers. And once he returned, he sat at a chair next to shaman’s.
“Grandfather…” Grodish said shyly “Can you speak of my mother.”
“I don’t deserve to be called your grandfather, laddie.” Roshnak answered “I lost that privilege long time ago.”
“How come?”
“You were in need of my support, but I turned my back on you, instead.” shaman explained “Pride led me far away from home, I couldn’t accept the betrayal.”
“The betrayal?” Grodish asked “That agreement with the humans?”
“Yes. The one daughter from every Chaygor chieftain, as a proof of good will in conciliating the two races.” Roshnak’s shoulders sagged “Equal to the number of human males, who’ll join them in union.”
“And my mother?”
“I wanted to take her somewhere, far away. But she wouldn’t let me.” Roshnak said “In despair, I convened another tribal assembly, in an attempt to change their minds. But they wouldn’t listen.”
“Why not?” Grodish asked.
“Perhaps the lost scriptures could offer us the answer to that, too.” Roshnak frowned “Only thing I received from that assembly was punishment.”
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“What happened?”
“They decided to build the settlement for that experiment, right on the Vur-Paan’s doorstep.” Roshnak snarled “A slap to the face for my disobedience. For going against their decision. That insult was a bit too much for me to handle. So I left.”
“Even at the cost of leaving your own daughter?” Grodish asked.
“We said our goodbyes before that.” Roshnak sighed deeply “Your mother wanted to protect me from all of it. She knew I was hurting.”
“I am sorry.” Grodish said.
“What for?”
“Being a constant reminder of that experiment.”
“That’s absurd.” Roshnak said.
“But you said…”
“I was just stating my disgust about the manners in which all of that was conceived and executed.” Roshnak interrupted young half-orc “They forced and fabricated the relations, instead of letting them happen naturally.”
“So you are saying, you’d allow your daughter to be with the human?” Grodish asked.
“If that was her choice, if that would make her happy, she’d have my blessing.” Roshnak answered “But this human was forced upon her.”
“I don’t understand, why did she agree to that?”
“Because of war.” Roshnak explained “We lost far too many young orcs to it, both males and females. And some of them were your mother’s closest friends.”
“I see…”
“She could not bear too lose any more.” shaman continued “She was willing to do anything, so the senseless killings would stop.”
“Where did you go?” Grodish asked, after several, long seconds of painful silence.
“I wandered south, beyond Chaygor and into Kabb’nal-An, the land of dwarfs.” Roshnak said “Years had passed, but I still couldn’t swallow my pride. I couldn’t force myself to go back, until it was too late.”