Miller, Half-Orc

by J R Marshall

  Why were there so few? I would ask at the next opportunity.

  “You there! Warrior!” I heard someone shout, but not being subject to anyone nor infringing any law, I remained seated.

  “Me or someone else?” I replied, as a young soldier walked forwards, for what purpose I knew not.

  Without respect of deference, he stood in front, blocking my view, enquiring as to my purpose, along with confirmation that I was travelling with the caravan, that is to say, heading towards Hedgetown.

  “The Lord Grimnir wants all warriors to attend him tonight, and that unfortunately includes you.” Thus said the boy soldier, for he was very young and walked with a swagger, proud and arrogant.

  “Clearly being a herald of His Lordship has gone to your head,” I said, for I grew tired of insults caused by my ancestry. “But if you were anywhere else I would gut you and feed your entrails to the worms.” I hadn’t quite finished, but he reached for his sword.

  Oh, by the gods, the child’s a fool. Standing up, I towered over him, like a storm cloud.

  “If you draw that blade you will die.” My menace usually cowered most people, but this child soldier felt reinforced by his master’s nearby presence.

  It has to be said, that I was scarcely an adult, and being given to vanity and not fully immersed in wisdom, I also acted with petulance. A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed, but I was an intellectual idiot devoid of wisdom.

  The militia man-child drew his sword, waving it under my nose, for he was chastened, embarrassed, but knowing he was probably immune, protected by his master, knowing that no one would forfeit their own life, thus his bravery was reinforced and he felt less in fear.

  “You are not welcome here, orc,” he said.

  And I felled him, muttering words that took three seconds to complete. The child soldier fell as though struck by lightning.

  I sat down and awaited the consequence. “Bloody hell.” But I knew he was unharmed.

  By the time two warriors had dismounted and run the forty feet to my location, the child warrior was rising to his knees, totally bewildered.

  “I didn’t touch the child,” I said most truthfully, for to all that witnessed the encounter my sword had remained at my side, and the art of craft is extremely rare, no one would automatically jump to that conclusion.

  “Warrior!” Grimnir’s voice rang out. “Are you travelling to Hedgetown?”

  “I am, Lord,” standing once more and speaking loudly, ignoring the two men with wrath emblazoned upon their faces.

  “You are cordially invited to attend me, I am gathering all the soldiers and men competent with a sword, and seeing you, finely attired, would you be kind enough to joint me? For I know not your allegiance.”

  “Your Lordship is most courteous, it would be an honour. At what hour, Lord?”

  The soldiers stood helping their comrade to his feet. For his part he was dazed, but no harm upon his body, for my spell had been to stun, not to kill. Indeed to kill is hard, at least with craft.

  “Take the boy away, I think he’s drunk,” I said to the two soldiers and proceeded to seat myself once more, watching as they assisted their fellow comrade, angry but not sure of the foundation for their wrath.

  CHAPTER 5

  The meeting with Grimnir was set two hours before midnight. Time enough to rejoin Nandrosphi and be fed.

  Before the encounter which I suspected would yet cause me trouble, I had judged with a degree of accuracy the location of my host’s cart and heading that way, wondered if Nandrosphi’s boast about his wife’s cooking would be proven right.

  “Ah, Miller,” came my companion’s voice as I approaching the cart, noticing his campfire thriving in the dry air. There were many such fires springing up, dotted around an approximately ten-acre site.

  “What do you think of our position? Will we be safe tonight? Would you like me to change anything? I could…”

  I held up my hand to silence him, we were only some eight miles out from Cragtor, just past the ring of farms that sought protection under the watchfulness of the guards.

  Tomorrow would be different; this conflagration, the multitude of smoking stacks were like beacons in the night. Every bandit and fell creature from hell could see this, or smell it. This caravan was like two men hunting, one being stealthy whilst the other sang.

  “Tomorrow morning, Nandrosphi, you will be leaving an hour earlier than everyone else, but you are safe tonight, it is tomorrow that the peace will be broken.

  “Now in about two hours I have to attend His Lordship, he’s gathering the warriors together, and I for my sins have been summoned.” Nandrosphi looked impressed, and I hadn’t wanted him to be.

  “Nandrosphi, everyone with a sword and knowledge of how to use one will be present, it’s nothing special. When will my steak be ready? Oh, and by the gods, have you tried the beer yet?” I had forgotten about my cask. I need to get pissed.”

  “Err, before seeing His Lordship, master?”

  “Especially so,” but I wouldn’t for my wits were finally returning. Bugger! I was a bloody fool, But I guess knowing it, is the beginning of wisdom.

  During the meal served in wooden bowls, I wondered why Nandrosphi had taken such a chance with me. His two sons and small daughter sat halfway between his wife and the two of us, trying to listen to the conversation, yet whilst they wanted to sit closer, their mother being rightly cautious had commanded they stay clear of me.

  “I’m half orc, you should know that we are violent and murderous, there is little to assuage our blood lust, and association with my kind is tantamount to suicide,” I tested him. Why did he take the risk?

  Nandrosphi looked at me. “You are half orc, for I perceive that, but also half human. Is that not so, master?”

  I chose not to answer.

  “Master, my family and I stayed last night in Cragtor, and I had the most terrible torment.” He bent his head forward, whispering, “My death! Yet not by the hands of an orc, forgive me master, not by your hand.

  “I fear I am to die, so terribly real were the shades haunting my sleep.” He trembled. “I wish to deny the harbinger of death, for in that wretched sleep, with the nightmare prowling my dreams, you were not present, yet now you sit beside me. Can I thwart the machinations of the gods?”

  He was ashen and looked downcast, shaking in the flickering fire light.

  “Forgive me, Miller, you don’t need the ramblings of an old man, but I just need to say, that when I saw you, my wife did indeed counsel against our association. I wish you no ill will nor mean to place you in harm’s way.”

  I knew never to trust dreams, for a few bad mushrooms could precipitate the most horrendous of phenomenon. “Nandrosphi,” he looked up, despair being replaced as he sought to control his emotions, “unless you have the gift of a soothsayer, I would not pay too much attention to shades that haunt us.” I said this because I liked the way Nandrosphi addressed me, always respectful.

  “We are all subject to torments of the mind.” But was I sure? Only this morning had I not also been party to something wholly strange?

  My hand touched the ground, with trepidation, but changing my mind, I stood up.

  “I need to walk alone for a while.”

  I had thought to walk to the edge of the camp. I didn’t know why, it was perhaps a desire to be away from the fires, smoke and incessant noise of people.

  Whilst the camp was not particularly wide in a direct line, the necessity to circumvent each and every pitch doubled the distance travelled from Nandrosphi’s location to the perimeter, yet it was interesting to observe the differing constructs of the caravan.

  There was an unenforced social order, a separating of individual travellers into their respective social groups, an unsolicited hierarchy. Wealthy larger merchant wagons tended to station near their fellows, and the same was true regarding those farther down the pecking order.

  Initially I took a great deal of interest in the techniques used to fast
en and secure different types of loads, noting how some wagons were reversed towards the campfires and others longways. Even the pitching of shelter, either tents, or under canopies attached to, or above the wagon in question, whilst some forgoing any protection hoping for a dry night. This was my first experience of such group travel, being new even the most mundane detail had an element of interest.

  Slowly arriving at the edge of the camp, I noticed that the deployment of wagons gave way to individual travellers, who camped in collectives, around large communal fires, and some, the more cautious, had appointed a watch roster, although most hadn’t. Tonight wasn’t going to be a problem, but tomorrow, well, I knew that would be wholly different.

  Standing with the caravan encamped behind me, I sat down, the minutes passing by, trying to listen to the night sounds, but with little success. The noise of two hundred people, animals and crackle of fires made it impossible. Still, there was some comfort in the partial abeyance of sound, and then I saw them.

  I was too close to flee. For a moment under a waning moon I had questioned whether the shapes in the woods were caused by the mottled effect of leaves casting their shadows as moonlight filtered down onto the heavily matted and bracken-strewn floor, or maybe a family of badgers were disturbing the undergrowth, but then as the seconds ticked by, and the disturbances became more widespread, I knew it was something more sinister.

  My axe and helm were still on the wagon, and I cursed my foolishness. Drawing my sword out of the iron-ringed loop, I considered my options. For in front of me crawling, walking and jumping were perhaps a hundred creatures, the appearance matching that of goblins though I wasn’t certain having never seen any before.

  So it wasn’t Nandrosphi’s own death he had foreseen, it was mine, but by the gods I would die bringing ruination to these malicious, murderous creatures.

  Slowly rising from a seated position, as a giant warrior ascending out of the ground, with my sword clenched firmly and a dagger ready to be drawn, I appeared as a shadowy silhouette to my enemies, a harbinger of death for I bellowed havoc and slaughter, shouting in orcish for it was a related language to goblin, ogre and other cave-dwelling creatures, cursing their miserable hides, warning them that the gods of the underworld had sent me.

  Seeking an area where more were clustered together, I uttered my fire spell used once before against Grimnir himself. Speeding from my outstretched left hand a jet of flame sped forth, hurtling towards the group of twenty that were most exposed. It exploded and all hell broke loose.

  In the darkness of night, the blinding flash was so bright it lit the night sky as lightening shooting from beneath a dark cloud. The immediate intensity was so great that I myself was momentarily blinded.

  The flames engulfed far more than I had hoped, some fifteen fled screaming, carrying the flames throughout their ranks; they could be seen like cinder sparks from a fire, darting to and fro, seeking to escape their torment. This was real fire caused by magic, but no more than that, easily extinguishable, but no help came from their fellows, no succour to the wretched agony these fell creatures suffered, dying slowly as their clothes and hair roasted them alive.

  Two more fell to my magical darts, and knowing there was no power of craft left within my body, I drew my dagger.

  My bloodlust burst forth, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the joy of battle, the triumphant knowledge of skill against an enemy destined to be slaughtered.

  Thundering in the ecstasy of battle rage I swang my sword with ferocity, charging the nearest three, for it was better to attack than be surrounded and picked off slowly.

  I clove the head and part of a shoulder blade from the first that hesitating, had looked wildly around, seeking support. The blade carrying on its inexorable arc embedded in the breast of a second, both crashing down. Dark blood gushed from the headless goblin, though whether the blood was black, the grey vision that allowed us both to see each other would not reveal.

  Running past these two fallen creatures, my left hand thrust a knife in the eye of the third. Panicking, he had tried to turn away, but I caught him in the eye; a scimitar of rusty iron fell from his hand as he bowed his ruined face in his dirt-encrusted hands.

  This is it. Give them no time to flank you. Onwards I smote, slashing with such intensity and fury that my mind roared in approval. Another four fell, and they started to waver. Ridiculous for twenty-two or so, still left more than seventy-eight alive. No, not seventy-eight as my thrusting sword speared another. Swinging my knife down, an eyeball still imbedded hard against the quillion, but plenty of room for the knife to impale and crush the skull of the twenty-fourth. The foul creature twitched as I tugged to release the blade.

  The group started to scatter, some running forwards, others back towards the wood from whence they came.

  I cared not for those fleeing into the wood, there was greater efficiency in slaughtering those that had run forward. They had been abandoned, and in desperation they, turning around, saw death approach.

  I ran, my chainmail crashing against my thighs, for there was an abundance of energy, so much strength, mail or no, for weariness could not slow me. The joy of slaughter; by the gods this was easy, as an arrow pierced my lower left leg, and neither stopping for the pain was absent nor in fear did I tarry. Three more were slain and sent to their petty gods.

  Where were the rest? Looking around I couldn’t see any, for all the others had fled making their escape to the nearest undergrowth.

  Twenty-seven lay scattered around, dead or dying, spread over a considerable area as Grimnir, leading a charge of seven warriors burst out of the camp. Blasting his horn, he roared as he ran forwards, a torch held high, and then stopping some forty feet away, burst out laughing.

  “Is that it?” He stood there grinning and trying to count. “Only twenty!”

  “Fuck off, Lord! There’s at least twenty-seven.” And there were, for other men arriving with torches scoured the area and piled the dead as a heap; a small cart was summoned to carry me back to the camp.

  Not a chance. “I’m walking, sod it,” and I limped back, blood dripping from my leg, the arrow head still embedded, although Grimnir had snapped the shaft away leaving some three inches protruding from the arrowhead. It was starting to hurt.

  Grimnir leaning over, whispered privately, “Men will think you’re a hero. I can honour you, for that would only be seemly. Perhaps we can get drunk.”

  “Have you got any of Tam’s salve?” I asked, not remembering whether I had any concealed in my pack.

  “Oh, it’s barely a scratch, stop making a fuss.” He laughed, and after a pause, “We might have a spare scoopful.”

  Ten guards were posted and positioned around the perimeter, with instructions to patrol, and signal if trouble was forthcoming, yet Grimnir told me that this was only needed as reassurance for the merchants.

  “They won’t be back tonight, maybe not at all, but it is a worry, they are too far north. Tam will need to send out more patrols, this is her territory.” Grimnir looked thoughtful. “You’ve done bloody well, your actions saved lives tonight, you gave them a frightful scare.”

  The meeting with Grimnir went ahead, albeit with only the most senior fighters present along with some ordinary mercenaries. He wanted to compliment me publicly and importantly wanted the other warriors encouraged and motivated by my skills.

  My wounds were attended to in Grimnir’s tent; the arrow was extracted, and a teaspoonful of salve applied, held in place with a bandage. There was really nothing more to do for it was the only place I had been injured, my left calf just below the knee and a few inches above the boot.

  “Lucky shot,” said Torak, one of Grimnir’s more competent soldiers.

  “Doesn’t feel lucky to me,” I said but not ungraciously for I was glad of the cushions as I lay propped up against the centre pole of the tent’s pitched roof, a pitcher of ale in my hand.

  Soldiers and others chatted amongst themselves, a few complimenting me a
nd asking for details of the battle, which I said wasn’t a battle, just a small flurry of activity, scarcely a skirmish. “Nothing really.” And boasting slightly, I said I had wished they’d fought harder and hadn’t run away so quickly.

  Grimnir plied me with beer and offered to let me rest in his tent that night. I cheerfully accepted though I asked if a servant might enquire of Nandrosphi, advising that I would be travelling with his family the following morning.

  The servant stood in front of me and made notes as I dictated my instructions.

  “Nandrosphi, you are to leave the camp an hour earlier than the main body, this is essential, without fail, it’s important. Collect me from Lord Grimnir’s tent before departure, you will be expected. No arguing, I will break camp with your family. Oh, and breakfast is required, your wife is indeed a splendid cook.”

  I insisted the brief message was spoken back to me, before dismissing the servant.

  “Got a friend already?” asked Torak. “You’ve only just arrived in Cragtor, it must be hard to build associates.”

  “Torak, I have something to say to you.”

  “Please speak your mind, Miller.” He looked slightly surprised at my priming of a statement.

  “Some people are ignorant, rude and act like peasants, avoiding the company of half-orcs, but Nandrosphi isn’t one of them. He has never disparaged nor insulted me for my ancestry.” I wished I hadn’t started this sentence, but now I needed to finish. “No, he’s not a friend, just an acquaintance, but I’ll see him and his family safely to Hedgetown, for I owe him a little and he will owe me a lot.

  “Tell us, Lord,” I said, looking at Grimnir, “is this typical, or can we expect more capable opponents before we reach Hedgetown?”

  The other soldiers fell silent, for it was clear that they wanted to know the answer as much as I, and some were somewhat reverential in their attitude towards me, each man wondering how they themselves might have fared.

  “Possibly similar, but goblins allied with orcs, better led, or wildmen with war hounds, it’s unlikely that anything more substantial will trouble us. Of course, though I doubt it, we may have seen the worst.”