Something else had me stupefied though. Why, Bug take me, is this orc still alive?! Why was his body not torn to shreds and hanging on a pole next to the carcasses of his countrymen?!
There could only be one answer. By some method I was unaware of, this nonhuman had managed to obtain legal status in human society. I needed to know how he did that right away.
Finally, the woman finished speaking and disappeared back under the wagon cover. There was one more quirk. Based on her insistent intonations, she was not only not afraid of the orc, but had actually given him an order before disappearing. I must admit, from an outside perspective it was very strange to watch a frail little woman giving orders to a ferocious monster.
The orc just nodded obediently and strolled silently down the street toward the market. Clearly off to do as he’d been told.
After a moment’s thought, I decided to follow him. As I walked, I watched the way locals reacted to the blue hulk. There were an inordinate number of emotions on the faces of the passers-by. I saw fear and disgust. Curiosity and intrigue, especially from the kiddos. I also saw indifference. But I didn’t see a single face that could even be construed as harboring surprise. There could only be one conclusion – this orc has been hanging around here a long time already. So long that the locals have gotten used to him. And if they have no objections, at the very least outwardly, to the presence of a giant orc then a little gremlin is sure not to be a disturbance.
I rubbed my hands together mentally. Are we really gonna be able to just sign up for the caravan and continue our journey by sleigh? And I had no doubt we’d be making the journey by sleigh precisely. We had the funds to pay for it. All that remained was to uncover the orc’s secret.
While I busted my brains over ways of obtaining that information, the orc unsuspectingly dropped a hint. Or rather, pointed the way. The hulk, like a giant ship plying the central square’s sea of humanity, was making a beeline straight for the building with the distinctive “piglet” sign.
Not hesitating for a second, as if he did this every day, the orc opened the front door into the tavern and, bending down, slipped inside. And a few moments later, I ducked into the very same establishment.
The local den of iniquity greeted me with vociferous racket, a sour beery scent and dim lighting. I took a few half-blind steps and stopped to look around.
It was quite crowded. The people were pressed up against a long wooden bar in the middle of the room and sitting at broad tables on crudely fashioned wooden benches. Smoke billowed beneath the ceiling, stretching from a big huge hearth in the opposite wall.
The hum and din emitted by the booze-soaked throats was so loud it made my ears pop. After I got used to it, I realized all the people were all gleefully discussing the same piece of news – the ice was now thick enough. They could get underway.
No one paid me any mind. And rightly so – it’s easy to remain unnoticed if you walk in right after a tusked blue giant. He just so happened to fancy a table in the farthest and darkest corner of the tavern.
Taking advantage of my temporary “invisibility,” I skirted the wall until I reached the nonhuman’s preferred corner. And when I was just a step away from the orc, a plump waitress was already standing at his side.
Based on her gruff and peevish countenance, she was absolutely unbothered by her newest guest’s ferocious appearance. It was probably more the opposite. In fact, the orc slightly tucked his big huge head between his shoulders as he bore the angry stream of words gushing out of the woman.
“Tusk!” she shot out. “We don’t pour ale for free here y’know! And I’m not some holy patroness of the needy! You already owe us for last time! If you’re hoping to slip away with the caravan before you pay your tab, you’re deeply mistaken!”
“Elsa!” the orc barked with pleading in his voice. “One mug! I’ll give you your coins tomorrow!”
“I’ve heard that one before!” Elsa insisted. “Commit this to memory! No money, no ale!” Then she added in a calmer tone: “Get out of here, Tusk. I don’t want any trouble. Best you get out of harm’s way. People are on edge as is. All they need is a reason. They’d hang you next to your countrymen in an instant.”
“Those steppe scavengers are no countrymen of mine!” the orc roared insultedly, furrowing his heavy brows.
“Get out of here, Tusk,” Elsa said, ignoring his words. “I don’t have time to shoot the breeze with you. It’s our last day before closing up. People keep coming and coming, and you’re just taking up space and distracting me.”
Muttering something inarticulate, the orc started to get up despite himself.
At that very moment the Great System decided to brighten my day with a message:
- Attention! Your Mind score is high enough to activate the “Language of the Mountain Ogres!”
- Would you like to activate it?
Ah, there it is! So you’re no orc at all.
Quickly giving my permission to activate the new language, I decided to intervene in the overheard conversation. After all, it would be hard to imagine a better opportunity to draw this hulk into a conversation.
Taking a step forward and spreading my arms, I said:
“Tusk! Big buddy! So this is where you wandered off to!”
Staring point-blank at the ogre, who was frozen in surprise, I gave him a furtive wink. Then I turned to the waitress, who was frowning suspiciously and stretched out my lips into the broadest smile I could muster:
“Dear matron, would you please feed a weary traveler your tastiest dish?! And of course take an order from my friend. Today it’s my treat!”
I must note that the ogre found his bearings quite quickly. He plopped down on the plaintively squeaking bench, swallowed loudly and looked at Elsa with hope. She, still frowning, looked me over from head to toe at her leisure, then said with a voice full of skepticism:
“For your level, we’ve got stewed cabbage with mushrooms. For drinks – bread ale. Plus his mug of ale. That makes two silvers. Cash up front.”
After saying that, Elsa folded her hands on her hefty chest victoriously and shot me a mocking look. I then, externally smiling carelessly while internally cursing the mean old broad, this dive and its draconian prices, calmly placed two silver coins on the table. I need information come hell or high water and, based on the ogre’s happy countenance, I’m about to learn everything I’m after.
Seeing the two silver disks came as a healthy shock to the old broad, but she got her emotions under control quickly and headed off to get us our food in silence. When Elsa was far enough away, I looked around. Basically no one was paying us any mind.
Then I turned my head and our gazes met. From beneath two bushy black brows, a pair of black eyes were looking at me curiously and with a bit of mockery.
“I of course don’t mind drinking ale on someone else’s dime, but I can’t remember as to call you a friend,” the ogre uttered in a rumbling voice. “Who are you?”
“Let’s say this,” I answered with an amicable smile. “I am no enemy of yours.”
The ogre’s big huge head tilted to the side. He was obviously intrigued by the strange biped.
“Why’d you pay for my ale?”
“Well, were we supposed to chat dry?” I smiled again and thought distantly about the fact that I’d just copped a phrase from my father. He used to love saying that when his friends came around for a visit.
Just then, Elsa showed back up at our table and started deftly unloading a serving tray. A plate of cabbage. A small mug of bread ale for me and... When I saw the ogre’s order, I snorted in surprise. That’s no mug! It’s more like a small bucket, three quarts at least. Maybe even a gallon! Now I understand why Elsa emphasized the words “his mug” when taking our order.
The ogre got straight to sucking at his drink. His large Adam’s apple started plunging up and down as he greedily gulped down the contents of the “bucket.” Elsa, casting a judgmental gaze at the blue hulk and shaking her head, move
d off into the depths of the hall. Seemingly, the fun had just begun there.
After the ogre had drained his “mug” by about a quarter, he bared his teeth happily and wiped his maw with his sleeve.
“Shoot.”
I took a small sip from my mug. Hm, not bad bread ale, by the by. Although most likely I’m just consoling myself. That happens. When you’ve paid a good deal more for something than it’s worth, you start to give it undue praise just so you don’t feel stupid.
I set the ale aside, glanced at the ogre and asked:
“How did it happen that a mountain ogre can wander through a human village absolutely freely? How are you still alive? What’s your secret?”
I asked the last question in the language of the mountain orcs, which really took him aback. For the record, his language was in some way reminiscent of orcish. So when Elsa mentioned Tusk’s relation to the steppe dwellers, she was apparently partially correct.
“You know my language?” Tusk rumbled, dumbfounded.
“A gift of the Great System,” I answered evasively.
The ogre gave an understanding nod and his tusked face suddenly spread into a satisfied smirk.
“If you only knew, human, how long it has been since I’ve spoken my native tongue! That merit’s a drink!”
He raised his “bucket,” gave me a salute and took a few swallows. Wiping the foam from his chin on his sleeve, Tusk squinted and asked:
“Why does it bother you so much whether your kinsmen snuff me out or not?”
I shook my head and answered calmly:
“Did I ever say that was what was bothering me? I don’t give a crap if they kill you. I just want to know why they haven’t done it yet. Tell me, what’s your secret?”
The ogre bared his teeth.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I want to travel with the caravan, but there’s a problem. I am journeying with a nonhuman.”
I decided to be frank. This was no time for pussyfooting. The ogre might not like that. Want honest answers to your questions? Kindly do the same for others.
“Who?” The ogre’s right brow crept upward.
“A gremlin,” I answered shortly and saw his snout twist up.
“Gremlins.” I could hear notes of scorn and distaste in the ogre’s voice. “Cronies of the orcs.”
Hm, this one too. Sensing a wave of annoyance coming over me, I hurried to get myself in hand. Not the time, not the place. Information is what I’m after.
Just as I was getting ready to ask the ogre the very same question for the third time, the tavern doors swung open loudly and a red-bearded rail-thin man appeared in the doorway. He took two steps forward and looked around half-blind. Another two men spilled in after him. Behind them loomed another few heads. But they were all patiently waiting for the redhead to make his survey.
The tavern visitors greeted the thin man’s arrival with silence. And at the very last second the hall erupted into welcoming toasts, well-wishing and hooting.
“The Hornet has dropped by with his gang,” Tusk commented darkly on the big show.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Head of the local hunters’ guild. Ever since the military governor and his retinue left Tradepost, the Hornet has ruled the roost.”
“So the military governor appointed him?”
“No,” the ogre chuckled. “The military governor is not from around here, and neither is his retinue. When they found out about the orcs, they hurried to get to Borg, abandoning this settlement to the whims of fate. They say chaos took hold after their boat departed. But a few days later the Hornet and his boys came and set things right.”
“Uh huh... I already saw the hanged men,” I said, distantly watching the goings on in the tavern.
A few tables in the middle of the room were quickly freed up for the Hornet and his men. I saw Elsa run over in a hurry all saccharine and smiling obligingly. In the blink of an eye his tables were topped with big huge plates of roast meat and mugs of foamy ale.
The ogre snorted and waved it off.
“You’re right about the hanged men. Window dressing. So nobody’ll get any ideas. In actuality there were a lot more bodies.”
“There will be plenty more to come...” I said, shaking my head.
“Are you talking about the steppe-dweller raid?” Tusk snorted. “As always, the little men will wait them out behind the high walls of their cities.”
“ I’m afraid that won’t work this time,” I shook my head.
“Why might that be?” Tusk asked, still smiling.
“Because this barony will be turned to a wasteland very soon.”
“Lad,” I heard notes of condescension in the ogre’s voice. “Believe me. I know those steppe bastards’ ways better than anyone.”
As he said that, Tusk led his right paw over the deep scar on his forehead. Hm, this ogre must have old scores to settle with the masters of the Wastes.
“This is just a raid like any other,” he continued. “The orcs will plunder the countryside a bit, take some slaves and return to the steppe. If you were a local, you’d surely know.”
Tusk leaned in as he said his last sentence, his heavy animalistic gaze fixed on me.
I won’t lie, Tusk looked menacing. As a matter of fact, three months ago, this would have had me in hysterics. But those times are far behind me.
Calmly bearing the ogre’s predatory gaze, I scooped some cabbage off my plate with a spoon and started chewing with satisfaction. Despite my apparent calm, this big fellow was starting to annoy me. This is a waste of time.
“Hm, not bad,” I commented with a full mouth. “And they weren’t stingy with the mushrooms either.”
My conduct caught the ogre somewhat off guard. I don’t blame him. These pressure tactics must work flawlessly on other people.
I finished chewing, took a sip from my mug and said:
“A mountain ogre is calling me a freak. While he’s in the middle of a human settlement. Don’t you find that odd?”
Tusk sat back against the wall and replied:
“You know what I find odd? A suspicious lad throwing silver around willy-nilly and trying to find out how he can bring a gremlin into this human settlement. You wouldn’t happen to be a spy, eh? Huh? Do you have any idea what your kin will do to you when I tell them my suspicions?”
“Hmm,” I chuckled. “It won’t be nice, but you’ll lose. In fact, I’d say you’re walking into a trap.”
“Why might that be?” the ogre snarled in surprise.
“Quite simple,” I started to explain. “You’re forgetting one very important thing. The Great System has provided us a highly important tool.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oaths, of course,” I said, my lips spreading into a smile. “As soon as I swear an oath to these people, all their questions will fall away. As a matter of fact, as soon as they find out who they’re dealing with I’ll be left alone. But you won’t be so lucky.”
After I said that, I tapped my spoon lightly on my bowl. The ogre lowered his eyes glumly. And a moment later, his heavy brows crept upward. Seeing the lilac haze gently enshrouding my hand automatically made the giant scoot back from the table and gulp loudly.
“So ogre, I’ll ask you one more time. And I very much hope it will be the last. What’s your secret?”
Chapter 6
WAS I TAKING a risk? Without a doubt. But I was prepared to take a risk. My level-six Muckwalker’s Defensive Aura could provide me with a shield of eight thousand points. Even Gorgie with his elevated figures couldn’t get through a barrier like that right away. Where did that leave this ogre at his level nine? He wouldn’t be able to do a thing. Ram is as good as activated. Lightning on deck. Overall, strange as it sounds, this huge mountain ogre wouldn’t have stood a single chance against me, a nulled adolescent.
If he were a mage, this would be a different matter. But the ogre didn’t have a magic supply or even a defensive
amulet.
I checked him in advance with my Sixth Sense. Along with this whole small town as a matter of fact. Not a single mage in the area even. Honestly, I did detect a few intriguing spots radiating mana. But I’ll think up a way to handle them later.
To be frank, despite all the precautionary measures, I didn’t believe Tusk would step up. He doesn’t much look suicidal. And the issue is not that I’m a mage. After all, everyone else in this dive takes me as nothing more than a harmless little boy.
The Dark Continent (Underdog Book #3): LitRPG Series Page 5