The Maleficent Seven

by Cameron Johnston

  “The burn-haired human claims to have slain Vaggan Iron-tusk,” Wundak said.

  Ragash sneered and edged forward. “That puny human? Vaggan was strong as a god. His claim must be false.”

  Wundak clamped a hand around his arm and pulled him back as Amogg’s axe came back up in one hand, sharp edge glinting. “I think it to be truth.” Their chieftain was lusting to spill blood.

  Amogg of the Hadakk traced the scar running the length of her broad chest, revisiting the memory of the sword that took her mighty sire’s head and then casually slapped her younger self aside like vermin. The hideous war paint on the face of that monstrous enemy came into focus in her mind’s eye and matched that of the human warrior before her.

  She pointed her axe at him and spoke loud and slow in human trade tongue so even treacherous, dim-witted humans would understand. “You slew my sire and gave me this scar. I challenge you to single combat, as is my blood-right.”

  He snorted. “Nah, I’ve no’ a smidgeon of interest in doin’ that. Thanks for the offer though.”

  “What are they saying?” Ragash said.

  “Amogg claimed blood-right to challenge him to ritual combat and he has refused. He shows his contempt.”

  Ragash snarled. “It is known that humans have no honour.”

  A group of three young hot-headed males overheard and flushed the deep red of orcish rage. Frothing at the tusks, they broke from the orcish line and charged, axes raised. Amogg bellowed in anger but was too far away to halt their attack.

  The human warrior advanced to meet them, a feral grin on his painted face as he awaited their strikes. The first orcish axe came down. He side-stepped, the blow chopping only air. The point of his sword cut through the orc’s braided mane to lick a green neck as his enemy stormed past. The orc’s legs buckled and he went down spraying blood.

  The second orc hefted his axe high, aiming to split the human in two. Amogg growled as the human darted forward into the blow before it could fall. Burn-hair’s sword rammed up through the orc’s exposed belly. The orc’s own charge pushed the point through his heart and out his back. He went down, taking the sword with him. The human abandoned the weapon and spun to face the third orc bare-handed.

  The line of Hadakk roared approval as the last orc bellowed and swung his axe in a mighty neck-chop. The human swayed back and allowed the weapon to sail past his chin, taking off only a few stray beard hairs. The fleet-footed human slipped behind the orc and leapt onto his back, wrapping arms and legs around the orc’s torso.

  Blunt human teeth sank into the orc’s thick neck. The line of orcs ceased cheering. The muscles in the human’s neck and jaw stood out as he tore out a mouthful of orcish throat. Burn-hair was stained deeper red as orcish blood gushed over him. The orc warrior snarled and punched back over his shoulder, but the blow was weak and unable to dislodge the feral human biting deeper, tearing free strings of muscle and severed arteries. The orc greyed, swaying. The human let go and landed on his feet as the orc buried his face in the sand.

  The beach was silent save for the sounds of surf on stone and sand. The human spat out the orc flesh and then wrenched his sword free in a welter of guts. He rested the gory blade against his shoulder as he faced Amogg again. “Piss-poor. I expected better from orcs.”

  Amogg’s skin had faded back to green as she studied him. “You dare anger me, human?”

  He spat again, blood dribbling down his chin. “Course I do. I’m Tiarnach of the Cahal’gilroy, or did you forget?” He sneered his way down their entire line of battle, eyes full of casual contempt.

  Amogg stared. She had forgotten his clan. All elders knew them, many bearing scars earned from vicious battles like no other since. Back when the orcs had inhabited parts of many lands, an army under her tyrant of a father had fought that clan of humans, the current elders mere grubbs at the time. She glanced to Wundak, shaman of Gardram and oldest living orc in the entire Orcish Highlands. Wundak was greyeing, deeply afraid, and not much could do that to Wundak. Here, finally, was the worthy challenge she had been craving for so long.

  “We fight now,” she said. “No butchering of young fools.”

  Tiarnach hocked up a blob of red-streaked phlegm and spat it towards her, then spoke in passable orcish, as well as any human could manage without tusks. “Oh aye? As chieftain o’ the Hadakk your side have breached yer damnable honour. I fought your father in single combat – wielding that very same axe in your hand, so he was – and that means your claim to blood-right is fucked. Besides, I seem to recall that you, just a grubb at the time, interfered in that duel before it was finished. I let you off on account of being a young’un. And now you issue a challenge, and I’m attacked by your warriors before we’re done yapping? That’s right scummy and no mistake.”

  Amogg flinched and tinged grey. How did he know so much about orcish ways? And he recognised the axe of her ancestors. Had she really broken her own sire’s ritual combat and tainted her honour? The memory was old and muddled.

  “Is this true?” Wundak asked.

  Amogg hesitated, then shrugged. “If it was single combat then it is likely.”

  “It was,” Wundak said. “I remember this Tiarnach now, fallen so far from his days of glory. He is the war god of the Cahal’gilroy.”

  Tiarnach grinned and spread his hands wide. “How’d you like to fight a fucking god then? You must be so tired of all this bland peace and these–” he gestured to the corpses at his feet “–piss-poor weaklings. Come with us and I will show you a war beyond anything any orc has ever seen. If you are good enough to survive, only then will I agree to single combat. Come, let us talk this day.”

  Amogg grimaced. She wanted to fight right here and now. Her hands itched to spill human blood, to revel in a vicious struggle for survival. And yet she had to atone for a breach of honour in any way she could. Grubb or not, she owed him this.

  “Today I talk,” she said, grudgingly. “Tomorrow I decide if we fight then and there, or on a tomorrow yet to come.”

  As the threat of imminent slaughter dwindled, the Awildan sailors sighed and sagged with relief. The orcs growled and lashed out at trees and rocks, and occasionally each other in their frustration, but they obeyed their chieftain and kept to the tree line and cliffs.

  “Well done,” Lorimer said as Tiarnach turned and walked past him. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

  “Not so old and decrepit as you appear,” Maeven added.

  Verena offered only a relieved nod.

  Tiarnach didn’t reply and didn’t stop, instead he increased his pace towards a rocky outcrop further along the beach out of sight of both orc and human. There he doubled over and emptied his churning guts.

  “Fucking human emotions,” he snarled, then heaved again. He’d been shitting himself at the thought of fighting Amogg. The previous night’s two bottles of wine had done little to settle his stomach, or his nerves… He knew fine well Lorimer had judged the current state of him and assumed him useless. And he was, more or less. He was so dreadfully weak these days. Weak and old and so very foolish. It was all he could do to keep up the act of his younger days, when he’d been afraid of nothing – but he could still swing a sword as well as any mortal. He’d handled those three young orcs well enough…

  “Ah’ll not be able to take that bastard Falcon Prince’s head like this,” he said, spitting bile. He wiped his mouth and beard and took a deep breath before forcing the grin back on and sauntering over to the sailors on the beach. They clapped hands on his back and thrust a skin of wine into his hand. For a fleeting moment he felt like a war god again, basking in bright glory. Then he looked at Amogg Hadakk and felt the fear ooze back up his spine. Orcs were brutal bastards.

  He drank and hoped it’d take the edge off. The old memories returned in the wake of his bloodshed: fire crackling, steel clanging, and his people screaming as they died, all while he lay useless in a drunken stupor. Worthless piece of shit. You should have died there too. He
drank deeper and gripped the hilt of his sword tight. He should die, but not just yet. He’d do it fighting the damned Lucents. Maybe then he’d be able to rest easily in his grave.

  “Did you see that?” Lorimer said. “Was that really the same drunken fool we dragged from a pool of mud and vomit?”

  “He was once a great warrior,” Maeven said. “If anybody can understand the savage heart of an orc then it would be him. He has yet more to offer us, and if we can keep him sober enough, he’ll be a huge boon to the militia of Tarnbrooke. He’s seen more battles than any living human, and if anybody can give them a chance to survive, it’s him.”

  “He’s still fearsome,” Verena said. “Slaying three orcs is most impressive. He even looks younger than I’d thought at first. I could have sworn his hair was greyer…”

  Maeven watched the sailors clustered around their hero and her lips pursed in thought. “Perhaps this life agrees with him.”

  They had no more time for introspection as Amogg marched towards them. Humans scattered before her like a flock of startled pigeons.

  The hulking orc came to a stop before Verena and bared her tusks, a terrifying sight for the two human guards bravely standing their ground between her and their queen.

  “Verena Awildan,” Amogg growled. “Pleasant to see you again. Your children; they are healthy and strong?”

  Lorimer and Maeven stared, mouths gaping, but Verena merely blinked and then answered, “They are well, Amogg Hadakk, how are yours?”

  She grunted at the three orc corpses staining the sand. “Some are stupid and dead. Others clever and strong. My oldest female is big and mighty, almost to my shoulder.”

  Verena looked to the others of her party. “To orcs, war and peace are entirely separate things. What happens during one does not affect their opinions in the other. In peace, Amogg and I have some little trade. I’m glad war didn’t come between us.”

  Amogg scowled. “Sad we will not fight this day. Maybe kill you all tomorrow. Why do you land on my beach with an army?”

  “Straight to the point,” Lorimer said, a shark’s smile on his face. “I respect that. We are here because of this damned necromancer.”

  Maeven stepped forward. “Well-met Amogg, chieftain of the Hadakk. It has been a long time. I apologise for setting foot on your land uninvited, but my mission is of the utmost urgency. Black Herran is back and she is gathering allies, the strongest and most deadly in all the land, for a great battle against the Lucent Empire. We invite you to fight beside us.”

  Amogg did not look impressed. “I no longer fight for humans.”

  “They have conquered almost everything north of Tarnbrooke,” Verena said. “Come the summer their army will move south. My own Awildan Isles will soon be under threat from their ships.”

  “What of it?” Amogg said. “They come here and challenge us, we fight, some die. Maybe them, maybe Hadakk. The strong survive.”

  “They are purging every human who does not convert to follow their Bright One,” Maeven said. “Sooner or later, they will come in their tens of thousands to exterminate you. They will not suffer the orcs to live. We must join forces to defeat them. How can you think of doing otherwise?”

  Amogg shrugged.

  Lorimer sighed. “I think we misunderstand the orcs, Maeven.” He bowed to the orcish chieftain. “I–”

  “Do you wish your head removed?” Amogg asked, lifting her axe. “I will be pleased to take it, unnatural creature.”

  He swiftly straightened. “Ah, I see. A bow is a sign of respect in many human cultures. As leader of my people of Fade’s Reach I greet you as leader of the Hadakk.”

  She grunted and lowered her weapon. “Stupid to offer head to an axe. Humans are strange, but I understand.”

  He smiled mirthlessly. “The others are correct; this is an enemy none of us can survive on our own. We must fight together or fall before them. The orcs may be strong, but they are too few and the enemy have their god’s power to aid them.”

  Amogg stuck a calloused thumb in the direction of a big, aged orc covered with bone talismans and necklaces. “Wundak strong with Gardram’s might. Our god stronger than any human god. Orcs stronger than humans. We have no fear.”

  “That may be so, Chieftain,” Lorimer replied. “But why not stop them now, before they grow too powerful?”

  The hulking orc just laughed, eyes tracking Tiarnach as he walked along the beach towards them.

  “God of Cahal’gilroy,” Amogg said, grinning. “I want to fight now. Your chattering worshippers bore me.”

  “Do you all have rocks fer brains?” Tiarnach said to his allies. “Amogg Hadakk, the enemy we fight are without honour. They torture and kill those already surrendered, and they enjoy it. They love to slaughter without challenge.”

  Her green skin flushed darker, shading towards red. An ominous rumble began in her belly. “The ways of humans are not those of orcs.”

  “Maybe so,” he said, eyes twinkling, “but I say this as truth: their leader, the Falcon Prince, is the deadliest warrior in all the world. I include myself, you, and thon big vampire in that. He is probably unbeatable.”

  Amogg went still. “Unbeatable, you say?”

  He grinned. “Probably. None who faced him in battle have survived. You orcs do not generally die o’ old age and you must be bored o’ all this piss-poor peace. Do you intend to die withered and weak or do you want to seize this opportunity to test your axe and skill against the mightiest warrior in the entire world? And if you kill him, then me and you can fight. Unless I kill him first, o’ course – then I’ll be the best in the world and refuse your challenge.”

  She roared with laughter. “This man knows the way of orcs.” She glanced at her assembled Hadakk warriors and snorted. “I am bored. I will fight. I will win.”

  Wundak waited, silently seething, until Amogg returned. “Have I knocked you around the head once too often, young Chieftain? You intend to go alone with these honourless creatures and fight in a battle that has nothing to do with any orc?”

  Amogg shrugged. “Did your old ears not hear them say it would come to us sooner or later? It is the way of orcs to fight sooner.”

  Ragash began stowing his weapons away and gathering up his possessions. “When do we go?”

  Amogg stilled. “What do you mean?”

  He chuckled. “You are wrong if you think we will stay behind while you alone go to glorious battle.”

  “We go where you go,” Wundak added, grudgingly. “My bones ache every morning and I will grow feeble in a few years. If our fool of a chieftain goes into battle, then we fight beside her.”

  “No,” Amogg said. “You both must stay and lead the clan.”

  Ragash spat. “If they are strong, they will survive with the guidance of other elders. In truth, you have been too wise for their own good. They have become reliant on your leadership. It has made them weak in the mind. As for us, no orc should die weak and withered and in their blankets.”

  Amogg grunted, trying and failing to look annoyed. “We fight together. But ensure your rotten old bones do not slow me down.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Three days via ship, then four more on foot along mountain paths found Amogg, Lorimer, Maeven and Tiarnach crouched atop a crag overlooking the isolated mining town known as Hive. Verena, who would not be upset if Jerak Hyden died horribly in a botched rescue attempt, had opted to stay behind on the Scourge of Malice and await their return.

  The midday sun cast a vague suggestion of warmth onto their backs, but the rock was cold as ice. It was spring elsewhere but winter’s grip on the mountains of Mhorran’s Spine was only just loosening. A black torrent swollen by melt water roared through a split in the mountain and plunged over the cliff down to a small lake below. The river then continued down through the mountains heading towards the sea, the entire area rife with smugglers and slavers they couldn’t afford the time to slaughter.

  A sturdy barge was tied up at a stone dock further d
own the river. After offloading its latest cargo of human livestock, two men were busy scrubbing out the ingrained slave-stink with sea salt and sand.

  At this distance from Hive, the miners and tradesmen looked like insects scurrying about the enormous conical stone fortress in the centre of the town. This had been built by the inhuman denizens that made up most of the population. Humans called this town’s four-legged native inhabitants hivers, and as far as any could tell they were distantly related to the common ant, though much larger.

  Around the base of the fortress was a ring of smaller conical buildings, and beyond those squatted the cruder square stone constructions that housed the town’s outcasts: a small population of outcast hivers, humans and the odd orc. Mostly, the non-hivers worked as slavers in the south of Essoran, shipping their human cargo north and then upriver or through mountain passes to put them up for auction in Hive. Fully half of their stock was sold locally and put to work in the mines of Hive – a short and brutal life for most.

  “What manner of demon are these hiver creatures?” Lorimer said, adjusting the cloth that protected his eyes from the sun’s harsh glare.

  Maeven shrugged. “I am not sure if they are. Certainly, they have been here as long as human memory. Fascinating creatures. So organised and industrious. We could learn much from them.”

  Amogg grunted. “Why have humans not tried to kill hivers? Not in your nature to let others be.”

  “They tried,” Maeven answered. “Many times.”

  That earned a chuckle from Tiarnach. “There’s a whole army o’ the weird little fuckers burrowed into the earth beneath that there town, doing whatever bugs do. Men go in but they rarely come back out.”

  Amogg nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe I make hivers orc friends. Then we take back ancestral lands and get new lands for hivers too.”

  “One enemy at a time, Amogg,” Maeven chided. “First we need to free Jerak Hyden and defeat the Lucent Empire.”

  “And where exactly is he to be found?” Lorimer asked.

  “Therein lies the problem,” she replied. “He’s somewhere inside that hiver fortress. Inside, there is no light and no sense to the layout. It is a maze not meant for humans to navigate. Fortunately, I have a contact on the outside who has been looking into the matter. Lorimer and I will enter the town and obtain the information we need. Any more would cause people to take notice.”