Miller, Half-Orc

by J R Marshall

  “I’m glad they are, it means the caravan is being ignored, they’ll want to put a good distance between us and any help from the soldiers guarding. Give it another hour or two, nearer to midday.”

  I stood on a wagon, trying to look for anything unusual, any clue that might indicate an approach by enemies. Nothing.

  Two hours later it was midday, and Grimnir was pacing the road. The sun was at its highest and he turned to me. “I forgot to keep some food back, we may get hungry at this rate.”

  “Well, being more intelligent than you, I haven’t, I’ve got a ration pack stored away, but you’ll have to drink water.”

  Then Grimnir whistled softly, drawing my attention, for a man was walking towards us across the heather, two hounds at his side. Then another ten appeared a little behind and more to his left, perhaps sixteen in all.

  “Eight,” I said to Grimnir, as we both watched.

  “Sixteen,” he said. “Though I had expected less.”

  “No, I meant eight apiece and we’ll play the dogs as a quarter each.”

  “That’s better,” he said, smiling, “but remember these are likely tougher than goblins, just be wary.”

  The man continued as did the other, until some one hundred yards away he nocked an arrow, the bow at his side.

  “I see you’re guarding our wagons, but if you get your tail between your legs and don’t look back, we will ignore you, for the alternative is far from pleasant, now piss off,” the man said.

  He was dressed for the outdoors – boots, cloth shirt, with light leather sleeveless jacket, a leather cap, and quiver on his back. He looked dirty with old tattoos above his beard and down his exposed arms. He probably had weather protection, but had left it some way off.

  Grimnir said nothing but walked over to me. The huntsman took it as a sign of doubt, a discussion between two nervous adversaries.

  “I’m protected against arrows, but you have no shield and can either crouch behind the wagon or take your chance, but allow me to draw their fire.” He walked back closer to the enemy, making himself an obvious target.

  “What is your name, stranger? For I am Lord Grimnir and whilst you are not on my land I am a good neighbour to the Lady Bluebottle whose lands you trespass. Why risk your lives threatening me?” He smiled and with mocking indecision, pointing at the wagons, said, “These are mine, you are much mistaken thinking them yours, do you have proof of ownership?”

  “It would be better if you didn’t die, Lord,” and looking at me was about to add some comment, but carried on, “I have no quarrel with you or your…” he looked at me again, “servant.”

  “But I have a quarrel with you, for you’re threatening me, and trying to steal that which doesn’t belong to you.”

  “I suggest you go, Lord, for you are clearly outnumbered.”

  One of the other men, cursing, told his companion to shoot Grimnir. “Get on with it, stop playing games, Makus.”

  “Makus, is it? Now I have a name, so you’d better kill me, because when I get back to Hedgetown every bounty hunter will be seeking your head, even your fellow companions will be turning you in.”

  Makus turned to face his indiscreet fellow. “Stupid git, shut your bloody mouth.

  “Lord, I will regret your death, for I have no quarrel with you, but you know my name so…” And with a swift and fluid professionalism he loosed his already nocked arrow. Grimnir not flinching, nor trying to evade, stood staring at Makus. The arrow missed by a few inches.

  Makus let loose a second followed by a third, each missing. He cursed, studied his bow, doubting his ineptitude.

  “What’s this, dwarf, some kind of magic?” as a fourth arrow from farther back flew in my direction but with less accuracy than those fired at Grimnir, skidding on the ground a foot to my left, and striking a stone, flicked up in the air it spun, falling harmlessly away.

  “You’re dead, Makus,” said Grimnir, as Makus turned to his peers, looking for reassurance. Grimnir was dominating the discussion, doubt gnawing at the lawless men.

  “You’ll have to fight by hand, and you’ll die.”

  Makus loosed a further arrow, his fourth, but slowly this time, making sure of the target; he was certain of his skill.

  The arrow flew past Grimnir’s right shoulder.

  Now Makus vacillated, unsure, for this was not how the confrontation should have started.

  The wildmen started to come together, yet they were still spread out and too far away for my fire spell, but they would need to draw together.

  “You could always attack us this evening,” for I knew it would be a moonless sky, the sliver of moon from the previous night would be extinguished. “We see better in the dark,” I goaded them. “There’s nothing wrong with living in the wild, stealing from women and children and living caked in shit, what I can’t abide is cowardice, but maybe you’ve lived with it so long you think worrying sheep is courageous.”

  Whilst farther away than Grimnir, my voice still carried clearly enough for some of the wildmen looking at me, nocking their own arrows.

  Now I perceived that Grimnir had some ward against missiles, either that or Makus was a lousy shot, but if those others realised I was not likewise protected, that I was vulnerable, one hundred and eighty yards was not a difficult shot. An accomplished and skilled huntsman could easily strike with accuracy.

  I stopped goading them, better that Grimnir take their wrath, for one shot had already missed me and I didn’t intend to educate that I wasn’t equally blessed with the same protection Grimnir enjoyed.

  Grimnir walked over to me, and the wildmen watched.

  “Take the shield from me, and step out. I like your insults, you seem to have developed a knack.”

  “But your protection, you will lose your defence against the arrows.”

  “No I won’t,” smiled Grimnir, “but you’ll gain temporary protection, and they will assume I’m in jeopardy. Let’s whittle down their arrow supply.”

  Reluctantly I slung my axe over my back and took hold of Grimnir’s shield, drawing my sword. Grimnir and I walked closer to the men. “You know you do a pretty good line in insults,” recalling my torment at the hands of the dwarf, the misery of Gledrill momentarily called to mind.

  We stood about one hundred yards from Makus, and the others were closing, yet still about thirty-five yards farther away, not compact enough for my liking.

  “By the gods you are ugly buggers, except that pretty boy over there. Do you take it in turns on cold winter nights, or has one of you got a wife, perhaps you two?” I pointed with the tip of my sword.

  Five arrows sped towards me, and I raised the shield, but felt it twitch, tugging at my arm, dropping slightly, an invisible force realigning the area of protection. The arrows thudded against the front of the shield and fell broken at my feet.

  All sixteen of them started peppering Grimnir; arrow after arrow flew at him, for perceiving that the shield had been Grimnir’s protection, he was now exposed.

  Dozens of arrows essayed to strike, but each missed, and then one final shot at me caught the edge of the shield, and spun me slightly sideways as the spent arrow tumbled away. Strangely I had felt no tug.

  “May I try, Grimnir? Shoot one, or flame three or four, which would you prefer?”

  “Will the one die? For I’d rather you got a few with your flame, better not to forewarn.”

  “The dart may kill, but will certainly incapacitate one of them, how about Makus?”

  “Yes okay, go for it, Makus seems their leader.”

  “Will you surrender now, or am I to kill you all?” I bellowed. “For you will have to fight us in single combat, and there’s only sixteen of you plus a few hounds.”

  They started to gather together, so changing my mind, and seeing they were planning to slip the dogs then follow with a charge, I walked forwards and loosed a fire spell, aiming at where eight were gathered together.

  The flame, as some pent-up energy fled from my hand
and exploded in their midst. The flash was not debilitating to the eyes for being midday the sudden contrast in light was not as grievous compared to the dead of night.

  The smoke blown away on the wind, revealed six men lying on the floor convulsing in agony, whilst two more screamed, staggering back, trying to extinguish the fires that engulfed their clothes.

  Dogs, terrified, laboured against their leashes and one who had moments before been loosed, fled baying as it ran.

  Makus stared at the stricken, and turning back to face me was pierced by a dart, created through craft that smote him in the mouth, for these darts are unerringly accurate. He fell to his knees as blood poured from his ruined face.

  “How was that?” I shouted over the din. Turning with a wide grin, I looked for Grimnir, but he had gone.

  “Too easy,” I heard the dwarf say.

  “What the hell!” Grimnir had charged already, axe raised high. He, whilst not tall was streaking towards the enemy who totally wrongfooted were dropping bows and drawing daggers, swords, and clubs.

  I ran after him, clumsily extricating myself from straps that allowed a shield to be held tight to the forearm. Cursing for this action delayed me, yet I knew the shield would prove a hindrance. I’d never learnt to fight with one, perhaps an oversight, but sodding hell, Grimnir was chopping at the enemy and I was behind.

  The stench of death hung in the air, for despite the gentle breeze men exude fear, sweat drenching the body, shit and piss caking the inside of britches.

  Several of the enemy attempted to rush upon me as I swang my own axe in swooping arcs, two handed, so much ferocity the axe blade whistled as it cut through the air.

  Men screamed as they lunged, a release from fear, or as guide for their departing spirits, I knew not.

  Driving my axe down, I smashed the skull of the first man, and leaning back kept the momentum of the arc, swing down the calf of a second, the cut so deep I could see his tibia.

  Running forwards and peeling slightly to my right for I never stopped seeking my own path, men cursing, steadied themselves ready to parry or attack; their choice, but a poor tactic.

  ‘Never fight your enemy on their terms.’ The lesson driven home so often in training. So running wide, I hacked at an unguarded flank; three were down, the third caught in the kidneys.

  One man braver than most, screaming as he charged, tried to strike as I pulled at my embedded axe but my training had been superb, and stepping slightly to my right, I drove a knee in to his side, causing him to lose his balance and tumble to the ground, yet with a swiftness unexpected he rose to his feet, looking at his sword, as though to angle a repost against me. I swang a bone-splintering blow to his forearm, smashing his sword arm. He dropped his weapon and tried to tumble away as I caught his foot, cutting off the last third of his boot, toes and all.

  Other men were not so proficient; many were burned by my fire, for unlike the goblins and being tougher, had for the most part survived.

  I chased down three of these who seeing the hopelessness of their plight, tried to flee.

  In the end, finding myself three hundred yards away from the initial combat, I started walking back, watching Grimnir. He slew with a grim professionalism.

  It was a joy watching him slay the remaining men, my approach had involved sheer terror, but with Grimnir it was more traditional, as a butcher cuts meat with practices precision, thus did Grimnir despatch the remaining outlaws.

  One almost escaped, but running away from the dwarf and seeing his route cut off by an orc, he had been offered a choice.

  “Be eaten alive by the orc or face me in fair combat, and I’ll make a deal with you,” said Grimnir. “If you best me, then you are free to leave, is that agreed, master orc?”

  “Yes indeed,” I said, staring at the terrified man. “If you beat the dwarf, I will agree to your freedom.”

  The man, shaking and incontinent, stood in front of the dwarf. It took only a moment. For whilst the man fought with some bravery Grimnir was a mobile slaughter house, and every man save Makus lay dead.

  Makus died half an hour later, for I cut his throat; he had been crying and I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

  “That was a bit of an anti-climax,” I said. “There weren’t nearly enough of them. Perhaps next time we could avoid the fire craft. All the ones you fought were half dead to begin with,” I joked, watching Grimnir scowl at me.

  “Do you suppose that’s the end of the troubles today? Because we’re not going to be rescued for a least a day and a half, possibly three,” I asked Grimnir, with some sincerity. “I’m going to be so bored.”

  “Why don’t you gather the silver and personal possession from those men out there, and remember swords, daggers and axes are all worth something. I’ll start building a pyre.”

  “Really? Is it necessary? Can’t we just pile the bodies as before?”

  “Yes, we need to, they need to be burned, otherwise the rotting stench of death will draw animals in from miles around, and some creature are intelligent. I want to avoid further trouble.” The dwarf stood up and set off for nearby trees looking around for fallen material, whilst I wandered in search of bodies.

  I started some way off, noticing where the hounds had run, those that had escaped their masters’ control, and after a while I found their camp, hidden in a shallow fold of the land.

  There were large numbers of empty sacks, five hand-pulled carts and numerous packs. So using one of the carts I piled backpacks, half-full sacks and anything that could be examined during the time before ‘rescue’ arrived.

  The cart was emptied adjacent to where Grimnir and I were based and I returned to search the bodies properly.

  It took over two hours to thoroughly search every corpse, for whilst I had quickly gathered the weapons, and removed one good pair of boots, and a decent belt, I had found no purses, no money of any kind, and imagined that the fallen had left their wealth behind.

  Only when halfway through searching the bodies, and by sheer accident, had I noticed a round coin sewn into the hem of a vest, and cursed my ineptitude, for not being experienced in this work I was forced to restart afresh.

  I stripped the bodies, even searching around the groin, for one had hidden money there. Well, I wasn’t admitting to Grimnir how thorough my search was, but it was damn well thorough!

  I piled the clothes onto Grimnir’s pyre and hauled all the gleaned items into a separate pile next to the first.

  “Did you look up their arses?” the dwarf asked, trying not to smirk.

  “Really! You are joking?” I asked in incredulity.

  “Oh no, that’s the obvious place. Sorry, it’s disgusting, but I’ve seen gold and gems shitted before.” But the dwarf just couldn’t keep a straight face long enough, and as I rose to my feet, he let loose a blast, a laugh so loud it nigh echoed across the wide valley floor.

  “Git,” I said, but it was a good joke, I’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

  “We need more wood, come and help me with these branches, two large boughs.” The wood was a fair way off the road, and it took some time to drag and lift enough for the pyre.

  So about four hours before sunset, we sat talking, sifting through the plunder, my first ever, well, excluding Joe.

  The pyre was well alight, though the bodies had initially thwarted the advance of the flame. The fat bound in carcasses was dripping down and once that had happened the flames leapt some twenty feet into the afternoon sky.

  Grimnir was explaining the likely cost, retail and second-hand value, and how condition adjusted each price.

  “So these boots,” lifting the pair I had extracted from one of the bodies, “these to buy new would be about three whole silver pieces, but you’ll get maybe one whole to a whole and a half silver, depending.”

  “Depending on what?” I asked.

  “Depending whether you’re lucky and the merchant likes the boot, and what size they are. For all we know, the outlaw may have had
different sized feet, in which case they’re worth bugger all.”

  Lifting a stiletto, Grimnir judged the balance and quality. “The weapons you’ll get about a quarter of their retail value, silver and gold, copper, full value, and jewellery and gems between fifty and ninety percent of retail.”

  “Why so little for weapons?” I asked, picking up a different dagger and weighing it in my hand, thinking it absurd.

  “Well if a dagger costs five silver pieces new, what would a used dagger with slight wear and tear be worth?”

  “Well at least half the cost of a new one,” I exclaimed, as though victorious in my indignation.

  “Exactly, and the merchant may take fifty days to sell it, that’s why he’ll give you a quarter, so he earns as well.” Grimnir looked at me. “It’s right and fair.”

  So in the end Grimnir, with greater experience said we had sixty-eight full silver coins in value, divided by two, that was, “Thirty for the orc and thirty-eight for Lord Grimnir, including tithes, taxes and tutelage fees, etc.”

  “Sod off, this isn’t your land, you said it belonged to Tam, so I’ll take thirty-eight and make sure Tam gets here share,” and I meant it. The idea of tithes was known but totally unexpected.

  The dwarf laughed and smiling, looked me in the eye. “We only tax travellers a copper piece and merchants two percent of cargo value.

  “You’ll get your share, plus royalties on those.” He thumped his hand back at the wagons. “Don’t worry, Tam will be thanking you for getting rid of these outlaws.”

  I smiled, for unwittingly I’d done Tam a service, and that was all to my satisfaction.

  We rummaged through the wagons and decided the merchants wouldn’t notice a missing wine skin. We broke open my rations, the night drawing in.

  “How much will I get as a share on those wagons?” I asked, and the dwarf, pondering a moment suggested eighty to a hundred silver.

  “That’s good.” I was learning. Money is sometimes hidden, not just the obvious gold and silver.

  I told Grimnir that I could see a dweomer on his shield, the rings on his fingers, plus his axe and sword, “But not when the sword is sheathed.”