Miller, Half-Orc

by J R Marshall

  “Most can’t tell, not even sorcerers, so you have a talent, Master Miller, it may make you wealthy.” Grimnir looked at me, challenging me to ask how.

  “How?” I begrudgingly asked, for he had wanted me to ask and therefore I had been reluctant to oblige.

  “Because magic is rare, extremely so, and the chances of finding another sorcerer is unlikely but magical items are rarer still. If you can see an item is magical just by observing it, the chances are that no one else knows, but be careful for not all magic is wholesome. Tam is the one to ask, did she not offer guidance on this matter?”

  “That all magic can be dangerous and not beneficial? For a certainty, she gave counsel but…” Had I ever told her? “She may not know I can see the magic, I don’t know, I will ask her if it’s unusual.”

  “It is, I can assure you.” Grimnir studied me, before looking at the sky wondering if they should fashion shelter against the rain.

  Late the following afternoon ten riders arrived bearing the red hammer emblem of Grimnir emblazoned on their shields and embroidered on their uniform cloth capes.

  “Hail, Lord.” And turning around and seeing our fire still burning plus the ash remains of a larger conflagration, he said, “I suspect we arrived too late, though we rode through the night. The caravan should be safely within the town by now.” The soldier nodded in my direction, for it was Roderick.

  “Did the convoy suffer any attacks?” enquired Grimnir.

  “None I think, for they reported nothing and were in good order when we passed them.”

  “And the draught horses?”

  They’re ten hours behind, lightly guarded, there was trouble down at the marshes,” and he looked at me, and said no more.

  “Don’t hold back, Roderick, say what I need to know.” Grimnir noticed the hesitation, discretion, and bade Roderick continue.

  “Two dead, Lord, the reptiles attacked and the third marsh outpost was nearly overrun, but they held to their duty, and with reinforcements we drove them back. The area is secure.”

  “Good, I’ll attend them the day after tomorrow. Miller and I will take two of your horses, and two other men, and will meet the draught horses in a few hours,” and pointing at two young lads, “these two will come with me and reinforce the others. We dispatched the brigands and you will suffer no further trouble here. See to it that the wagons are unmolested, Roderick.”

  “Aye Lord, we’ll be in town within two and a half days.”

  With that I set off with Grimnir. I chose a large grey horse, for some were scarce larger than ponies, and my weight was considerable.

  The journey to Hedgetown was uneventful, and passing the relief haulage party and leaving the two soldiers that had accompanied us, we pressed on alone.

  “It would be a great boon for me if you did cause mayhem in the fells and moors, Miller. I’ve better things to do than handhold merchants against marauding brigands.”

  We approached Hedgetown from the north and I could see Grimnir’s stronghold as a towering castle, on slightly raised ground a little off centre yet deep within the town. “Has the town grown much in size since you have been lord?” Curious, for as we approached the farms seemed less extensive than those around Cragtor.

  “Oh, about fivefold in the last thirty years. Most of our trade comes from the north and westwards from the sea, we are a trading point, we sometimes get dwarves from the mountains and occasionally a rare halfling, though there are a couple near Cragtor.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed any before, apart from Tam.”

  “They keep to themselves. I think they are more abundant overseas, but I’m not sure. We do well through the taxes collected, and provide a safe haven in the middle of the wilderness.” He looked at me. “Even cut-throats and thieves need somewhere safe occasionally. I just wish they didn’t piss on my doorstep.”

  “What’s the punishment for defending oneself in Hedgetown? Do I need to behave myself?”

  “Same as Cragtor and anywhere else, but I guess I’ll be hearing reports of you, just make sure you didn’t start the fight. Seriously,” he stayed his horse, alongside mine, “it’s a lot rougher here, you need to store your wealth safely. There are merchants who provide that service for a fee, and I strongly recommend you avail yourself of their facilities for you will get robbed,” and he emphasised the point. ‘Not if, but when.’

  “It’s best to wear your studded leather jerkin rather than mail, it’ll draw less attention, and less attention is better, but at least you know a few of the soldiers.”

  “Will I see you again? For I would like Tam’s counsel on the craft problem.”

  “Ah yes, I’d forgotten, can it wait a few days?” As I looked disappointed and anxious, Grimnir suggested that I meet him the following morning about two hours after sunrise.

  “Just present yourself at the main castle entrance.”

  “What, like last time, and lose a silver coin?”

  Grimnir didn’t reply for we drew near, approaching a line of travellers seeking access into the town, some blocking the road.

  Two guards noticing their lord approach rushed out and started pushing the crowd aside. One grabbed the reins of my horse and pulled my animal away for he perceived me as just another man to clear.

  Grimnir laughed as I was led away, and spurring his horse forward he shouted down to one of the guards, but loud enough for me to hear, “Make sure the orc pays his due.”

  So being sent to the back of the queue and scowling, but secretly appreciating the joke, I paid a copper piece and entered the town.

  It occurred to me that I sat on a branded horse; the guards had been dilatory in allowing my unfettered access. It was a shame, because I might have sold it and given Grimnir something to think about.

  Whilst I knew how to look after horses, for I’d tended enough during my time at the farm mill, I had no idea of the cost and wouldn’t steal from Grimnir anyway.

  Plodding through town, trying to avoid the alleyways and side streets, but being caught out on several occasions, I occasionally needed to back up or dismount, the lack of width or headroom impeding my progress, but this was a new location and unfamiliar.

  There on the side, between two thoroughfares stood a soldier, no shield but a red hammer on his breast marked his affiliation, one of Grimnir’s men in the employ the town’s master, unlike myself now enjoying my freedom.

  Making my way towards the man I jumped down and asked him to hold the reigns for a moment, then, as he complied, I walked away.

  Initially he stared, bewildered, before protesting and shouting after me.

  “Very valuable, don’t lose it,” I said, “or woe betide you,” replying without turning back.

  Free of the horse, I wanted to find the Water Rat; it was only the early afternoon, but my armour needed attention for it had started to rust and I felt strangely dirty, plus dropping off the backpack, helm and axe would allow more freedom to explore the town.

  Best walk around the corner, I thought, for I could still hear the soldier cursing and he might yet pursue me.

  “You,” I said, pointing at a fellow carrying bread, “which way to the Water Rat?” He looked at me and nodded, turning sideways, said it was three hundred yards towards the hedge, that way, gesticulating to my left.

  The town was indeed rougher than Cragtor; merchants walked with protection, people seemed uglier, uncouth, the language was coarse, more bravado, the inhabitants choosing to wear basic attire; certainly there was less wealth on display.

  Except of course for me, marching in full war gear, perfectly reasonable, yet an obvious display of wealth.

  As I approached what I hoped was the Water Rat, or at least within the correct district, a man, a beggar, bumped into me and I felt a tug on my belt, no more than that.

  Now any reasonable person might allow for circumstance, a chance of error, an unfortunate encounter, nothing mischievous, but I wasn’t so charitable and grappling him by the back of the neck swung
him down violently to the floor, such that he grunted and exhaled due to the severity of impact.

  Reaching for my knife, seeking to draw the blade, I felt air, the haft easily accessible was absent, stolen by this, this scum of the street.

  In an instant of awareness, understanding my danger, for he was armed and I wasn’t, I rolled away fluidly. In the same heartbeat as the act of drawing my non-existent dagger the would-be thief swept the blade, my own dagger, striking me in the face. I felt the impact and knew he had struck with partial success, the helmet providing protection against the worst of the cut.

  Blood trickling down my face, as rain or a tear might fall, reaching the corner of my mouth, I knew there would be a scar.

  We both rose to our feet, but my falling and rolling away gave the advantage and recovering my balance moments before my adversary, I kicked his leg, driving him down.

  For the second time he essayed to rise, twisting away with remarkable dexterity but his efforts did not avail, for I drove my sword into his flank and groaning as he fell he desperately tried to catch me once more with the dagger.

  He stared at me and knowing he was damned, spat insults before my right boot struck him in the head, and pulling my sword free and with a skill of precision forced the blade down into his neck, the wound widening as the broad blade pushed deep, tissue rent aside.

  Without thought for those nearby nor witnesses to my crime I watched as blood splayed out, filling the gaps between cobbles.

  The dagger was forced from his clenched fist and quickly turning I ran away towards an ally, only allowing myself a moment to look back. His body was being plundered, people were searching and stealing anything of value as he lay dying.

  Blood fell from my damaged face, the cut beginning to sting as I touched the wound and ran through several streets, likely away from my destination. A stranger with nowhere to go, no alternate destination, no acquaintances, and potentially a fugitive, I suspected crimes including murder were not rare in Hedgetown.

  Seeking a place to hide, for an hour or two at least, before resuming my search for the inn, I steadied myself, momentarily resting against a street corner, looking to see if I was being watched or pursued.

  This wasn’t really a problem; people weren’t squeamish, and passing between small houses, hovels, and single occupancy trade premises, the sort that has a room or two behind, blood continually dripping to the floor, I remained vigilant, needing attention.

  At least I fitted better to the surrounding ambience, for I was now simply one of the crowd; all here suffered under mishap and the vagrancies of life. No longer was I the swaggering warrior devoid of unfavourable circumstance.

  Slowing, I approached a woman nursing a child, no consideration to modesty for both breasts exposed, the child suckling on one. Reaching within my belt I withdrew a half silver piece, a day’s generous wage, saying, “Woman, I needed your ministrations, but out of sight, somewhere private.”

  Seeing the coin, and with amazing lack of care for her child she abandoned the infant, grasped my right hand and drew me inwards, closing a curtain behind, so threadbare you could see the street outside.

  Stood amongst the trappings of poverty she wrenched an old man out of his chair and sat me down, commanding the old man to sit outside with the infant.

  “Master, I’ll look after you, would you like some ale?” Reaching for a beaker made of course clay, scarcely shaped into a vessel, she proceeded to pocket my silver coin and proffer a sour ale, whilst dabbing my wounded face.

  The bleeding stopped after half an hour, for she applied a mixture of honey and spiderweb bound in goose fat. But I chose to tarry, not wanting to leave her apparent sanctuary, thus allowing any potential pursuit to falter.

  “What is your name?” I asked, for she was a useful woman and knowing her might come in handy, I knew not.

  “Why sir, what name would you like? For I have not asked yours,” she smiled. “But if you’re after business I could, for another silver piece, keep you warm tonight, there’s never any trouble in here.”

  I hadn’t a clue what she meant, and after explaining that I had accommodation already planned, it dawned on me when she cheerfully replied, “I’ll be happy to travel and attend to you wherever you like, are you sure I can’t oblige?”

  I was so innocent!

  Eventually I found the Water Rat nestling between an old weir complete with derelict water wheel, and a former levee now overgrown and long since obsolete.

  The inn was a union of several buildings having expanded over the years such that it had two arches and an internal courtyard. Standing at the head of a narrow cul-de-sac, the whitewashed walls in need of renewal showed signs of lichen stains, but overall the place looked prosperous and capable of a variety of services, it seemed Grimnir had advised well.

  Approaching, it was refreshing to see an eclectic mix of travellers and tradesmen disposed to argue their cause. Horses, ponies and mules stood in the courtyard, either being attended to and stabled, or made ready for onward travel.

  Numerous people loitered outside, for the weather had held off; the threatened rain failing to materialise encouraged people to assemble outdoors, some arguing heatedly over aspects of trade and miscellaneous trivialities.

  Placing my backside on a spare bench and resting a foot on one of the stools tethered to each bench so they couldn’t accidentally be removed, I sat and watched for a moment, checking to see if anyone had followed.

  Arriving approximately three hours before sunset, I wasn’t impressed with my first day in town.

  The innkeeper scowled for I looked dishevelled; the goose fat had started to run down my face and the stains of dried blood suggested that turning me away might be a good idea. Yet I held out silver and after a moment’s hesitation the landlord thought better of it, accepting me as I was and becoming more agreeable when I chose the most expensive room and added additional services to my bill.

  “I’ll need my armour scrubbed and oiled, my boots cleaned along with this jerkin and vest, oh, and I want to bathe, er, please.”

  The cost of five silver and three copper pieces proved too much of an incentive, and the landlord gave instructions for his servants to attend, but he took the silver in advance as I followed him into the building.

  The room being situated on the first floor was extremely secure with bolts top and bottom of each shuttered window, the door triply so, but I wondered if all rooms were better protected for this wasn’t Cragtor, and changing into my studded leather jerkin, still immaculately clean, and spare vest, I walked barefoot into the common area.

  My bath was preparing and knowing it would take at least an hour for heating the water was the slowest part, I ordered several beers and a board of meats and bread.

  Parking my backside on a rocking chair, foot on a table, I belched and waited whilst time passed, staring at everyone, observing those in the room, who for the most part pointedly refused to return my gaze. It didn’t help that my balls were on display.

  I wondered upon my current circumstance, contemplative, introspectively studying, knowing my destiny, getting better at self-analysis!

  My goal wasn’t the amassing of wealth, though that would come, but to be a lord like Grimnir, yet greater, for I couldn’t aspire to be like Tam, my craft was far too weak, yet I had silver and could live well, but this freedom of mine was merely a release from bondage, a stepping stone to the rule of people and lands with iron and slaughter.

  Build an empire, a kingdom first, and hold power over all that I could see; the dreams of children, but as I clenched my iron fist this would not be a dream, slaughter couldn’t wait.

  Sitting there, a peculiar contrast of blood, sweat and partial cleanliness, a formidable orc of unknown talent, people watched through the ‘corners of their eyes’. Had they any idea their future lord and master sat amongst them?

  I wanted to slaughter them all, start the tenure of my reign but I was drunk, and it was well that I was, for being so
fay of spirit I could have wondered into the market square and declared myself lord and master, except it belonged to Grimnir. I wallowed in dreams imagining the dwarf doing obeisance to me whilst Tam watched approvingly.

  “Another beer!” But rather they helped me to my bath, and then staggering to my room I had just enough wits to spike the door and fall head first onto my straw-filled mattress; it wasn’t late and that was fortunate.

  CHAPTER 8

  By the gods. I awoke with a massive hangover. It was dawn, the sun had not yet risen, the common area was deserted but the front door stood ajar.

  Stepping outside, my mail coat slung over my shoulder, I sat down, breathing in the chill air of dawn and thinking, What a bloody awful headache. There was no art in craft for such things. Shit.

  After a considerable breakfast of ham and eggs and downing two more ales I started to recover, the hair of the dog, a traditional cure for the previous night’s excess.

  “How far is the castle from here?” I asked the innkeeper, for although Grimnir’s keep was large, still amongst the narrow street it was not always easy to spot.

  “Tis about half an hour, past the…” and he paused, for suspecting rightly that I knew nothing of this town, and therefore related landmarks were an irrelevance, he gained his bearings and pointed, “a quarter west of the rising sun.” He meant northwards.

  Along the route I secured storage for my possessions; the innkeeper had allowed his son to guide me to a merchant who agreed a rate of a quarter silver a week to protect my belongings, with a charge of one copper each time I required temporary access.

  As I approached Grimnir’s castle, the town became more active and wearing now only my studded leather jerkin, sword and cloak, I looked far less conspicuous.

  Now the thoughts that had stirred my heart the night before were subdued, as I sat on a giant stone fifty yards from the mighty gates. The stalwart defenders of Grimnir’s castle, two great oak doors, each leaf stood wide open and in the corner of the gate house, two massive beams lay propped and chained against the wall.