Miller, Half-Orc

by J R Marshall

  Joe died, in the end, ruined by my hand.

  An hour of slaughter and cruelty, and my hatred and bloodlust was slaked. Each of the dead were returned to their beds, and gathering a small purse containing a lot of silver and some gold, the building was put to the torch. There would be no evidence, only ash and bone.

  Leaving the house via the cellar passage, the grate was replaced and the dirt and grass covering were reinstated. I rolled in geese shit, masking the blood and lime rendering that was discernible on my rags. Hands, feet and face were smeared with mud; finally I rolled in hay to age the dirt. I stank. The purse, an unexpected bonus, was placed beneath the roots of a large sweet-chestnut tree some fifty yards from the main house. These coins would be useful, but firstly, I needed to be found innocent, there is no liberty without freedom.

  Deep in thought, I stared at the splendour of my crime; the house lit the night sky as a flaming beacon. This would be seen from ten miles or more. In the morning I would do obeisance to the guards, for they would find me in chains and a supplicant; ignorant of the night’s events.

  As I sat waiting, chained once more to my stake, I cogitated on the night’s events, anxious as to the future. Had I left clues? No! I knew there were none, I had been careful.

  Two hours passed. Krun, a militia guardsman from the local town of Gledrill, had just walked into the barn. They had been searching the ruins for some twenty minutes, for the geese had announced their arrival, and my hearing was keen. Now he walked in accompanied by a couple of other townsfolk, whose names I didn’t know.

  They looked around, wondering what they might steal. “There are tools, grains and…”

  “Oh look, the ugly bastard’s alive!”

  Krun was a thug, thick in stature and no cleverer than a pig. It’s true that I was certainly a bastard, being half human and half orc. Krun probably had marginality better looks, but it was close.

  My bonds tight and locks refastened by magic, were perhaps too tight, for my torn skin shed drops of blood that glistened upon the rusty iron.

  “So what do we do with him?” Krun referring to me as he studied the chains, checking that I was bound and secure. The comment was for his companions.. “Do we kill him? No one will want him!”

  “Aye, perhaps not,” said one, “but he rightly belongs to Joe’s family, what’s left of them; he has a cousin in Longmeet, a slave is still worth something.” He looked doubtful.

  “Has master sold me?” I asked, wanting to appear stupid. I needed to look stupid, for there was no reason I should know of the night’s events.

  “He’s dead, burned to cinders and I bet you had some part in it.”

  “I smelt smoke,” I confessed, “but my mistress and daughter, they will look after me, I will work for them.” I kept my head low in feigned submission.

  “All dead, died in their beds by the look of it, smoke must have done them in before the fire.” Krun wanted to believe I was responsible, but the chains were tight, and my ignorance played to his simple mind.

  “It’ll be light soon,” said Krun, turning to the others. “I’ll get this orc working in the morning.”

  “I’m human.” But it was a mistake that was instantly regretted. What’s the point of arguing with this peasant? I should’ve kept quiet, being only thirteen years old, mature for an orc, but not for my mixed blood. And discourse wasn’t wise either. Shut up, I told myself. I didn’t – idiot that I was.

  “Oh, I forgot,” said Krun. “Your stinking bastard father must’ve raped some human whore, either that or she was blind.” He kicked me, but half missed.

  “Can you imagine the joy of whelping that?” Krun pointed at me whilst looking at the others. “His mother must have cried tears of happiness as she gazed upon that face.” He turned to me. “She should’ve drowned you rather than face her shame, or did she die when you were born?”

  “No? I don’t know, but I think your brother was not yet born.” Krun didn’t understand but after a minute the penny dropped… when I finally came around I was looking up at a blacksmith.

  Of course I had a bloody lip, my head throbbed, bruises and welts replete across my body. I swore Krun would die, not yet, but he would, I knew I’d kill him. I smiled, it hurt.

  There had been no keys to release my bonds so they had hacked at the stake, all the while Krun had stamped and kicked. Eventually I was carried or dragged to a cart. I guess I was kicked and dragged to the cart, perhaps I was conscious for I cannot understand how else they managed.

  So here I was staring at the blacksmith who had already removed half my chains and shackles.

  “You are to be transferred to the Lady Tam Bluebottle,” he said gruffly. “She will be here shortly.” But she wasn’t, and after an hour or so a servant arrived with a small jar and a tiny scroll.

  During my captivity I had been visited by many, many travellers, clerics in particular; they were fascinated by my intelligence. My master being devout had suffered their visits, whilst Mistress had complained continuously of the cost in ale, bread and board.

  Nonetheless the visits had continued, and I had learnt languages, reading and writing along with history and a lot that was crap. Knowledge is power, the fact that half of it was bollocks was irrelevant. Some believed in it, therefore I had listened, needing to know everything!!

  Now I’ve said I respected Tam, and I did, but here is a point that readers need to understand; my admiration for Tam was without desire. If there was any person who would tether me to my human mother’s nature, it was her.

  Tam was a halfling, neither of mixed race nor elf nor dwarf, neither human nor orc, just a little person of a breed that is rarely seen in the world. She was what clerics call ‘good’ but without being obnoxious. Her appearance was fair and she was wise and fabulously clever. Some say she ruled a kingdom, although in the months that followed I found that she ruled but a small land, an impregnable keep under a cliff with a town no bigger than Gledrill, protected by perhaps a hundred men at arms. She was a lady of lands, but not a queen.

  In the future, when I walked into an inn, people would look into their tankards and say, “Oh shit,” but when Tam walked in, people were blown away, people whispered and stared. When she was with me I was always ignored which was an improvement on most of my experiences. Sometimes she would walk in with me, I would be proud.

  Most thought Tam as simply a wealthy learned person with the ability to heal grievous wounds, yet I knew she was a sorceress of immense power. She was ‘my Tam’, ‘my tutor’, not a bully like myself; not blunt, not brutal, not ugly, not poor, all the things I was… She inspired me, I guess I used that last insight to keep myself in check.

  Now in my old age as I recount this story I understand it’s pure vanity. Who wants to read the story of an educated orc? But there’s no denying her. Whenever I was good, it was because of her.

  She had appeared one night, looking up at me whilst I lifted grain into a hopper. I never saw her appear nor heard the door open. So it was, that hope was given me that night, five years ago. It was Tam that through many evening visits had taught me simple spell-craft.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was perhaps midday and Gledrill was bustling with the daily activities of any normal town. Sitting outside the smiddy I had been told to sit and wait but, “Don’t touch anything or talk to my customers.” This, the admonition given by the blacksmith.

  The hammer would strike the anvil, the hiss of steam, a cry from some merchant across the courtyard, a pony and cart creaking as its wheels fell in and out of ruts along the pathways that criss-crossed Gledrill. The blacksmith was working but passing glances in my direction.

  So many shoes. I knew that people wore shoes or boots, but everyone? Every observation was bewildering to me, it felt uncomfortable. I wasn’t working, it was strange and what was my immediate fate? Recover the purse as originally planned? Seek Tam? But she knew of my location.

  A little after midday, a smartly dressed, important-looking man
was walking towards me, hand outstretched, smiling, looking at me? I looked behind to see if it was some other party that attracted his gaze, but no! Was this a jest? Should I thump him?

  “Ah, ‘Miller’, I was told I would find you here, my name is Thrandar and I serve Lady Bluebottle. I’ve brought some salve for your injuries and a message by way of a scroll, I was told you could read, quite remarkable. Oh, err, sorry, that was terribly rude of me. Your pardon, sir.” He appeared confident, albeit slightly effeminate.

  Sir. Sir? A sudden urge to throttle him flit across my consciousness. I had not the grace to reciprocate the proffered hand, and after a hesitant pause the stranger’s arm lowered.

  “The salve I understand you have seen the like before?” I nodded and snatching the small pot from his hand proceeded to peel off the vellum cover and apply the cure to the worst of my injuries.

  “And your message, sir,” as he handed me the tiny rolled and sealed parchment scroll. Finally on familiar ground, I broke the seal, sat down once more, angled my backside and farted, for this was a hope beyond hope. I read, re-read and read again, staring at the tiny words that spelt out my liberty and succour.

  “If you’re stuck on any words, sir, I could, errr…” Thrandar faltered as I stared at him with a darkness, and natural menace that I so easily projected. He was chilled in his heart, for he took a step back.

  Miller,

  You are released from indentured servitude, time served under your late master Joe has been acknowledged as fulfilment of obligations both in apprenticeship and financial dues. Records have been lodged with the guild and you are now a free party as to future activities.

  Notwithstanding your freedom you have no realistic means of gaining an honest living and I didn’t visit you these last five years for you to fall into despair.

  With that in mind, your studies with me are incomplete, your skills with a weapon are non-existent, your manners and hygiene are desperate; you need clothing, food and a place to study.

  I will pay you a one half silver piece a day, plus lodging – obligation is for six months obedience and due diligence in mastering ALL that I command.

  If you are agreeable you will accompany Thrandar.

  I do hope you agree Miller, you are so close to success.

  Tam.

  ps I’m furious with your behaviour… I was about to secure your release!

  pps Don’t hit Thrandar, he doesn’t deserve it!

  A part of me that sat there, the weak human side, was almost emotional. “Bollocks,” I said to myself. Sentiment is crap, but I knew I was lying. I was overcome with relief, with joy. My stinking rags, my bare feet, the matt of my hair and the lice that scurried through the filth that was caked upon my limbs, now these were an irrelevance. Tam had come to my support. By the gods, how I felt saved.

  After what must have been half an hour I proffered the scroll to Thrandar. “Do you read Elvish?” There was embarrassed astonishment on his face. “No? Ah, no matter, I do, and several other languages besides.”

  “I am to follow you.”

  As we approached Tam’s lodgings I marvelled at the size of her property; truly the existence of great halls and lodgings were known to me through many years of study and storytelling, but the reality infracts upon the senses in a way that is hard to describe. Tam’s dwelling was positioned on the outskirts of Gledrill, bordered on three sides by farmland, there numbered perhaps three main structures along with a further seven outbuildings. These buildings whilst thatched seemed beautifully maintained, not at all like the farm mill I had only this morning left.

  Passing stables and outhouses I wondered which location would prove to be my quarter; a carpenter’s workshop, brewing sheds, buildings of unknown purpose, so much industry as I saw it.

  Thrandar seemed nervous, increasingly so as we approached a large, thatched, open-sided barn. He fidgeted, glancing at me. He stepped back and gestured to a line of servants that were hurrying to position.

  “The Lady Bluebottle wishes you to bathe and be clothed with new attire. These, your fellow companions, are tasked with assisting you.” His voice was terribly nervous, almost becoming lost as he struggled to compose himself.

  Now the strange thing was that I had read of washing, of people who immerse themselves in water. I for my part had never participated, but my former mistress allegedly had, although I was unsure of the procedure. And as for being naked, well, the girls looked okay, but the male on the end could bugger off.

  In the end I was washed, brushed down with lotions derived from plants that kill lice, I was clothed with linen and wool, given boots that I couldn’t stop staring at. I suspect I was hard work, for although I co-operated with the girls, the water in three separate pools needed replenishing several times. The experience was fascinating – nails cut, hair brushed and tied back, teeth scrubbed with coarse linen and powder, but under no circumstances did they succeed in splashing scented oils on me.

  Looking back, I was truly filthy, I just didn’t know it at the time, and whilst I admired my boots and the clean cloth, I smelt of lye.

  Some days pass slowly, clouds pass overhead in a nonchalant manner and the day drags. Today a hurricane had blown, it was already late afternoon, and I was bidden to wait outside the main hall.

  In the early evening perhaps two hours from sunset I spotted Thrandar hurrying between two buildings. “Trandoor!” I bellowed. “When am I to see Tam?”

  He hesitated but turning towards me, strode over, smiling. It was a conceit; he carried several scrolls and looked flustered, tired and somewhat apprehensive. “The Lady Bluebottle is still in Cragtor but should be with us shortly.” Having seen my cleansing/washing, and perhaps in his eyes a modicum of subjection and conformity, he was marginally less nervous than an hour or so earlier.

  No, I must have misheard. “Cragtor?” I said. “The only Cragtor I know of is fifty leagues away.” And with my non-existent grace and total lack of tact I told him he was talking shit.

  “If you say so, Miller, I know not how far away the place is.” Thrandar was quick and eager to retreat, an expression of consigned misery upon his face for despite my more wholesome appearance, and the fact that I smelt better there was, as was obvious to Thrandar, far more to improving my social skills than water and cloth, also with hindsight I wondered whether he knew of extending duties in my regard.

  At least the ‘sir’ had been dropped. “Lying git,” I muttered under my breath. Sitting there observing the cleanliness and the all too beautiful nature of this place, doubt momentously crossed my thoughts. Is this what I want? But looking down at my boots, fabulous… if a little tight, besides, I liked Tam.

  Pondering awhile in the darkness of my thoughts, I was strangely annoyed that the black clouds of my dreams were being inexorably pushed back by lighter skies.

  *

  After a while…

  “Hello Miller,” said a soft, keen and clear voice.

  I turned round to see Tam sitting down beside me on the step. She was wearing a light grey fine woollen cloak covering a supple leather jerkin between the clasp at her neck and the belt at her waist. She smiled gently and for the first time I really noticed how beautiful she was. Never had I seen, even in this failing twilight, her beauty; she had always visited the farm at night by the light of a guttering candle, or a hooded lantern.

  I leapt to my feet and then fell to my knee, head bowed low. “My lady…” But I was lost for words.

  “Please get up, Miller, you need not kneel before me, nor call me ‘Lady’, for you have never done so before and I don’t want you to start now. Please sit next to me, perhaps a step lower, so I can see you.” Tam smiled and beckoned for me to sit.

  “I understand that life has been hard and a torment, but if you stay with me, there will be no repeat of Joe, or of your solution, neither will you be idle, not that you were ever so. But if you agree to a little more apprenticeship, as I suspect you will, you must work harder than ever, for I know how m
uch needs to be accomplished before your patience is exhausted.” She paused, looking closely at me, judging my expressions. “Do you so agree?” Tam held up her hand. “But before you say anything, you must understand what is expected of you.

  “You will eat at dawn, study, memorise and practise every lesson in arcane spell-craft that will have been taught the night before. At midday you will work for three hours in any matter that requires your strength or skill, to any person in my service that needs your help. You will neither threaten nor bully nor intimidate anyone who serves me, in any way, in any shape or in any form, neither for any reason. In the afternoon you will learn the art of combat, becoming skilled and proficient with the sword and battle axe; you will learn defence and all martial awareness. You will obey your instructors, you will hold your temper. Two hours before dusk, you will wash; one hour before dusk you will learn how to conduct yourself in civilised company, and you will learn, properly. When the sun has fallen you will eat with your fellow workers…

  “Afterwards you will study with me.”

  Tam looked closely at me, studying the fine lines of my face, looking for any sign of deceit. “Now you can answer.”

  That evening I was given quarters; a thickly padded straw mattress lay in one corner covered with four fleeces, each stitched to form a larger area. A bench and chair made up the other side, and clean thresh was on the floor. Aside the bench there was a plank of wood, with books, ink, quills, scrolls, and a hook for a lantern, a small phial of oil and next to it a tinderbox, with separate flint and steel. On pegs at the end of the mattress side was a long vest, spare belt and leather purse, with one small silver coin inside.

  The following day, deep in the shadow of my own thoughts I had chosen to lie down on dry grass not far from my quarters. I had taken a book from the single shelf above my study area, and was proceeding to read a subject on spell stealth and concealment. “Shit,” I cursed as a drop of beer fell on the page which I quickly made worse by smudging lamb and gravy, part of the previous evening’s supper given late and not consumed in full.