Miller, Half-Orc

by J R Marshall

  Shit, this book’s expensive. I knew from my studies that written works were rare and over many years I had frequently been admonished how to turn pages gently and respect the weeks of patient labour in their creation.

  As I lay aside my food and book, trying to recall the incantations of a spell that undid damage to an inert object, a skill I was taught but had despised as less important than destructive spells, Tam and Thrandar came and sat next to me. I was oblivious to their approach and also the dwarf that stood some eight feet from the three of us, smiling whilst gently scraping a thumb across a giant axe. Clad in mail, with a sword hung at his side, he looked both formidable and wealthy for his helm was ringed with gold and the shield slung on his back although mostly hidden was bound with iron and silver.

  “Try,” said Tam, “but stealthily as per the passage in the book.” She looked at me and knew exactly what I was thinking. “You’re not practised, but try.”

  Looking at the three of them, I hesitated for despite having no virtue, was strangely ashamed and very much troubled by the prospect of failure.

  Spells need to be prepared in advance so that when required they can be recalled quickly as the need arises, but to cast an unprepared spell requires meditation and patience.

  Gently I placed my hand on the ground, and with a deepness of thought that is beyond the ability of most, gradually became aware of the earth’s song. The quickening of new life, the grass growing, a tree absorbing water, the intense energy that dwells deep in the bowels of the earth, they whispered to me, or perhaps I eavesdropped.

  Tam had told stories of sorcerers seeking to fabricate the most powerful of spells being drawn so deep in thought that they became immersed in the rhapsody, not realising until days had passed and their physical bodies had suffered injury.

  My mind drifted without thought of time and space, seeking, searching in sensual awareness for the parts of a song, the snippets and connections needed to fashion my simple transmutation.

  After a while or perhaps an age I brought my mind back, travelling across an ocean of altered perception. Coming out of the meditation, pausing but for a moment, I then invoked the fabricated spell, gently uttering words that were like waypoints of a journey. As gossamer blown on the wind I saw the dweomer covering the page.

  Power trickled through my body, and looking at Tam, I asked, “Was I a long time?”

  “No, not really, perhaps five minutes.” Tam pointed at the book. “Very good, well done, that was excellent.”

  I stared at the damaged page, and yes, it did look better, but not perfect. Secretly, in the presence of strangers there was no embarrassment, nor was my confidence undermined, indeed the page was much improved. Tam, I suspected, would privately complete the task when I wasn’t around.

  “Excellent,” repeated Tam, as she stared at the book for a minute, before turning once more in my direction.

  “This, Miller, is Grimnir, an old friend of mine; and you will never best him in combat, but you will learn to best one of his men.” Tam looked up at Grimnir, and smiled. “What do you think, Grimnir?”

  “And you’re teaching him your skills as well? You bloody fool, he’ll be lethal if he survives long enough.” Grimnir laughed and looked teasingly at Tam. “Why are you doing this, Tam?”

  “You agreed to help, thank you.” Tam ignored the last remark.

  Grimnir suddenly turned and looking around bellowed at a girl entering a stable; he had caught sight of her in the corner of his eye. She stopped and turning to face Grimnir, curtsied. “Lord, er, me?”

  “Yes indeed, you! Bring me a chair and some ale, oh, and a decent pie, or something better and, er, oh, please,” as he caught sight of Tam scowling at him.

  “What!” he exclaimed, looking at Tam. “You should have brought me a servant girl, you don’t expect me to get the bloody things myself?”

  “I did appoint a servant and he’s in your lodgings,” said Tam, marginally amused. “He’s preparing to bathe you.”

  “Sod that! I had a wash last month, don’t you go bullying me, Mistress Tam.” Grimnir, laughing, presented a feigned expression of dismay. He laughed some more and after a minute threw off his shield, helm and axe, looking around for a chair. “Bloody hell, where is it?”

  All the while I, Miller, was absorbing every subtlety of nuance. What was Tam doing? What didn’t I understand? Who was Grimnir, that he spoke so equally with Tam? How did Tam know I’d never beat him in combat and why did Grimnir have a servant? And if Grimnir was a Lord, why was he associating with Tam and offering to help me, an ignorant, for I knew I was, half-orc?

  “Now, young Miller.” Tam looked at me, then gestured to Thrandar. “Please, Thrandar, stand in front of us.” Thrandar rose and stepping in front looked thoroughly miserable. Grimnir shuffled around, keen to observe the proceedings yet periodically casting glances for a chair that was eluding him.

  “Miller, pay attention… Thrandar will be teaching you manners…” Suddenly there was a roar of laughter.

  Laugh, did Grimnir laugh. He bent over, coughing and wheezing and eventually after what seemed an age but probably only two minutes said, “Oh, you poor bastard,” looking at Thrandar who seemed wholly overthrown and in abject misery.

  “Miller looks like a pig’s rear,” said Grimnir, “eats like the front end and smells like the sty! You poor, poor sod, Thrandar.” Grimnir looked at each in turn and finally once more at Thrandar and laughed again, just as two servants brought him a chair, bread, ale and half a cold pie.

  I sat there, incredulous. What the bloody hell do I need to learn manners for? I liked the idea of pulverising Grimnir’s henchmen, but the idea of being taught anything by some effeminate fop was beyond a bad joke.

  But Tam sat there quietly and after a moment or two, calmly and with gentle firmness carried on, “Miller you will learn, and you will obey, and if you do not co-operate then all other studies will be suspended until Thrandar reports that the lessons are learned. Do you understand?” I just stared, and there was silence.

  Over the next six months I learnt to proficiently and reliably cast seven out of fifteen spells that were my potential to cast; I kept myself strong seeking out the heavy manual jobs that needed doing, and to Thrandar’s delight, learned amongst other things how to fart quietly.

  My skills as a warrior were impressive, somewhat an improvement on the first day of combat training whence I had been left bruised, battered and wrathfully embarrassed. Roderick, one of Grimnir’s men, had made me look foolish, for every clumsy attack had ended with my sprawling on the floor, or a dagger at my neck, or worse a kick in the groin.

  Eventually after a month Roderick was being bested too often, and other more skilful tutors were found, including Glamdrun, allegedly a guards’ captain; he would fight like the devil, determined that an ‘orc’, for he kept on insulting me, would never gain the advantage.

  Five months later, Glamdrun was getting hammered, bruised, bloodied, and demoralised until one morning I strode out, confident in my ability to kick the shit out of any man that Grimnir deigned to pit against me.

  My attire consisted of a padded leather jerkin, leather helm and wood shield plus a sword made of Hornbeam. Autumn was upon us, but whilst clouds scurried across the sky, it was still a beautiful day, and I was enjoying my time in Tam and Grimnir’s company.

  Grimnir stood in front of me, smiling. “Now then, Miller, you’ve done bloody well, but you’ve gotten far too big and cocky.” He laughed, though looked slightly more serious than normal.

  “Lord Grimnir, where’s that witless oaf Glamdrun? Or have you found someone more competent?” There was no doubt I appreciated Grimnir’s tutors, but matters had gone off-the boil.

  “I need to be challenged, for I reckon myself much improved… indeed thank you… it is appreciated, your guidance that is, but just of late it seems you have allowed too many weak opponents to test me.”

  I did like Grimnir, he wasn’t intimidated by me, and I could im
agine after some hard-fought fight, the two of us getting drunk and recalling the day’s valour. Farting, belching, swearing, and being totally crass, an enjoyable prospect, as the two of us drank the inn dry.

  “It’s great that you’ve bested my captain, he hasn’t forgiven you yet,” Grimnir laughed, but a dryer laugh than usual, almost forced.

  Tam sat down to watch, a gentle smile on her face; she pulled her cloak tight, fastened it and shivered for it was indeed getting colder. She had a pot of salve cradled in her hands.

  But, Grimnir went on, “Tam has told me that me that I’m getting fat, too old, that you could beat me. Tam and I have fallen out over you, I only agreed to help but always had my doubts.”

  “I don’t think so, Lord.” I turned around and looked at Tam. What the hell, I liked these two, I didn’t want the people I respect falling out over me. Tam seemed disinterested.

  Grimnir went on, “Never liked the idea of teaching one of your breed, but you did learn some manners, that I’ll admit entertained me.”

  Shit, this wasn’t good, I had liked the way my studies had gone, and was looking forward to keeping these two as my friends; the gods knew I had slender pickings in that regard.

  “Miller! Your mother was a whore, and you were abandoned quicker than a turd leaves the backside, not surprising really,” bellowed Grimnir. “You do know? The only reason you were allowed to beat such weak opposition was a private arrangement between Tam and myself, to build up your confidence, you had such a shit start in life it seemed only fair that we gave you a little charity.”

  Grimnir issued many more nasty, blunt insults, with a sincerity to dispel any thought that this was play acting.

  I was gutted; never had I thought to be so easily deceived, the world was a cruel place, and I was falling into a pit of despair.

  Nasty half-truths were hurled at me, but the laughter issuing from Grimnir’s sneering face, all an act? By the gods I hoped so.

  A small crowd assembled, and a milk maid sniggered and offered her tits if I wasn’t mature enough. Others laughed.

  “You’re a boy, stop pretending!” she cried.

  I was angry now, for I’d liked that girl.

  “One of the servants swears he saw you shagging a goat,” said Grimnir. “If you’re up for it, she’ll be in the side field in the event you win,” Grimnir laughed again, but a despising, nasty laugh. “I’ve brought her along to cheer for you.”

  A bleating goat appeared in the corner of my vision, being led by a rope tether. I didn’t like Grimnir’s behaviour, this wasn’t funny anymore.

  However whilst not entirely convinced that Grimnir genuinely despised me, perhaps I was still hoping that this was deliberate provocation and for an unknown purpose. Nonetheless act or no, I had had my fill of insults, of being belittled. Six months ago my heart had soared, hoping this had all ended.

  “Bastard!”

  He’d learn the fury of my ancestry, the wrath of an orcish heart. I’d show him what manners were.

  Grimnir, was good, tough as old boots; he was nigh on impossible to hit, every stroke swung at him was finding empty air. If I got close he parried with alacrity each and every thrust. I sought to anticipate the position, not where he was, but that to which he would be. Essaying to smite the dwarf, he laughed, goading me with yet more insults; he seemed almost casual whilst I swung with violent ferocity, sweat dripped from my brow, and having been pommelled and bruised, for the swords were wood and designed not to cut, I finally struck him a magnificent blow. Grimnir staggered dropped momentarily to a knee, the crowd gasped, then the cheering fell silent for Grimnir stood up with blood dripping from his mouth, and I knew I was buggered.

  “There will be no spells,” a voice crystal clear uttered in the temporary silence. Tam had spoken, for I was indeed murderous in my intent, and would have fired an explosion at him given the chance. I always had this spell prepared, always.

  “Oh, let the goat lover do as he pleases. Go on, Miller, cast your spell at me.” Tam winced as I stood back and loosed a jet of flame; it fled from my hand, hurtling straight at Grimnir who as it exploded rolled away with surprising agility. Screams rang out as the crowd staggered quickly backwards. Tam looked anxious but sat back down.

  After a moment the smoke dissipated, and Grimnir strode forward. I swung dozens of blows against him, each parried with grim professionalism. Eventually Grimnir kicked me in the groin, and smote a devastating blow against the side of my temple. I was felled, a roaring wind filled my mind as blackness enveloped.

  I awoke in a bed with the milk maid gently tending my bruised and battered body. She smiled and pled for my forgiveness. “I was told to say the things I said, I didn’t mean them, you know?” She kissed me, held my hand and said her name was Miriam.

  “Leave her alone, you ugly brute,” came a laughing and cheerful Grimnir. “Not bad, you ignorant peasant.” Grimnir was walking into the room, a grin on his face. I could see salve residue on the side of his jaw.

  “Never believe anything you hear in battle. You did bloody well, and will put the fear of God in all that face you. I admire how you’ve come on.” He laughed some more. “Apparently the goat says it wasn’t you after all.

  “Oh, by the way, your spell was pathetic, couldn’t have lit a candle.”

  I was still reeling from this counter revelation; had it all been a lie?

  “You haven’t fallen out over me, you and Tam?”

  “Don’t be stupid, you ugly bugger, it was all an act, a lesson if you like? My idea, Tam thought it unnecessary, but agreed to my superior wisdom.” He laughed again.

  “Not a bloody nice lesson,” I told the dwarf. “I’m not sure how I feel.” Indeed I was pissed off but deep within, my heart sang. Friendships were precious to me, for I’d never had any.

  “Oh come now, stop being pathetic, you sound like an old maid. You needed to learn. The lesson had to seem real.” Grimnir strode over and thrust his hand forward in friendship. “Grow up, young Miller, welcome to adulthood, even though all the world’s a shit, but by the gods I like you, I really do… Does it hurt here?” he said, as he poked me in the side.

  Tam stood in the doorway. “Let’s get pissed,” said Grimnir, glancing at Tam, “but not here.”

  Tam sighed, and after a moment’s contemplative thought, said, “Okay, give me an hour.”

  As Tam turned to leave, she wavered. Turning around, looking at me, a moment’s hesitation, she approached and grasped my hand.

  “Always for you,” she said, “I’m so proud.” Her fingers barely wrapped around three of mine. I knew this was without crudeness or perversion, neither deceit nor machinations. By the gods how these words would haunt me in the future.

  Grimnir hesitated, looking at Tam. “Show him what real magic can do somewhere special, ‘Castle Quay’. I can also replenish my funds. Not the least it’s a good beginning for Miller, if that’s your mind? My work is done, he’s as good and ready as only practice can make.”

  “Miller, we’re moving, get yourself packed, you can leave the wooden weapons and combat equipment behind, you won’t be needing them.” Grimnir looked positively cheerful. “Just like old times, eh Tam?”

  I looked at Grimnir. “Moving? Why? Where? Getting pissed isn’t moving, I’ve things to do. How about in three days?”

  But Grimnir, ignoring my comments strode out into the late afternoon air. “Ah, this is splendid!”

  Hobbling out towards my quarters, Miriam was looking anxious, and whilst trying to offer support was proving more of an impediment.

  “I’ll be back in a month or two,” I said, studying the outline of her breasts, imagining them naked. Even though I had no idea whether I would be back or when, certainly I had unfinished business in Gledrill, rolling Miriam around on some straw, or behind a hedge was fairly high on the agenda, but Krun needed to visit the undertakers. I hadn’t forgotten.

  It took a few minutes to stagger to my quarters, gather a few mementos and combine
my purse with that stolen from Joe’s farm, when Grimnir arrived pressing me to hurry.

  Given a new idea he was like a petulant child, impatient beyond belief. It was early evening; my gait was impaired and every breath was a labour. Shit, it hurts. Sod him. I tried not to wince.

  He followed me around like a shadow, no, not a shadow, like some bloody lost dog that I had had the misfortune to stroke, and was now glued to my heel!

  With each step my muscles ached, much to Grimnir’s amusement. “Couldn’t hit a dead squirrel, could you? Useless, incompetent, wasted my efforts on you. What would Glamdrun have sai—”

  “Look, Grimnir, fuck off, if you don’t mind the Orcish! I need some time on my own.” I was still cross with the dwarf, so the words were easy.

  Grimnir, looked surprised, but not terribly offended, then with a modicum of empathy said, “Miller, you have nothing, but that will change. What’s there to do here? It’s just a place.”

  I turned to face him. “Unlike you I may well not have the privilege of coming back. For you this is easy, but for me, well, it’s like a bereavement, this is the best my life has ever been, now sod off and give me some space. Twenty minutes, and I’ll be reconciled in my thoughts.”

  Grimnir left me alone for an hour, before returning with Tam, who gently offered to postpone our departure for a couple of days.

  I looked at the two of them. “No, let’s get on with it, but thank you.” I was glad for their company, besides, What the hell’s wrong with me? I need to wallow in some mud and sleep rough for a week or two, I’ve become sentimental. Shit!

  Tam and Thrandar spoke for a few moments. Thrandar had run up momentarily before, receiving instructions on a couple of incidental matters, along with apologies for a cancelled appointment with someone I’d never heard of, and confirmation that all three of us would be departing for Cragtor, and no, we didn’t need any provisions and yes, Miller would be coming with us.