He brought his wings in, flapping them harder and harder. The amount of force put into the motion was amazing. Such a display of brute strength was nearing the boundaries of natural. The heavy gust of wind lifted him off the ground, showering the half-orc in abrasive sand. He didn’t have to try so hard once he was in the air. Pacing his wings he lifted himself higher and rocketed into the sky. Nearing peak height he leveled out and locked his sights on the abomination below. He was but a speck at this distance. Adjusting his eyes his vision shifted, giving him a much closer look. His death is going to be agonizingly slow. No one hurts me and lives to tell about it! Drognau folded his wings, letting a free fall claim him. Twisting around he brought the wings out to guide his attack. Extending his claws, he prepared to snatch the orc into the air.
Krenin had trouble seeing through the sand cloud. The powerful gusts were fading, telling him the creature had taken flight, but he was blinded. Squinting against the flying debris he searched the sky. A dark shape caught his attention. He could barely make out the creature’s outline, but it was growing larger. It was headed straight toward him. It was moving too fast. There was no way he could withstand the impact. Glancing down at his weapons he twisted and leaned back. Bringing his axe around he threw it as hard as he could, letting loose at the apex of his swing. The light weight, well-balanced weapon tumbled end over end pausing briefly each time the head was at the lowest. Krenin watched it tear into one of the fleshy wings, sinking to the handle.
A sharp pain tore into his right wing. Drognau glanced over, seeing a gaping hole in the web. One of the blackened axes was lodged in the bone. He hadn't expected the half-orc to sacrifice one of his weapons. He was coming in too fast. He had to slow himself. Flapping to control his descent, the wing couldn’t catch the wind. Off-balance he spun around, unable to stabilize himself. Falling faster he felt dizziness take hold. Adjusting with his good wing he slowed the spinning, but couldn't do much else. The ground was rapidly approaching. Pulling his limbs in at the last moment he crashed into the arena floor. A wall of coarse dust exploded around him.
Watching the incoming creature Krenin rolled out of the way. He felt bits of sand hit him. He popped up on his feet, gripping his remaining axe. The pain in his ribs was great, but he had to ignore it for now. He could deal with it if he survived. Cautiously approaching the fallen dragon-man he searched through the cloud, hoping he could finish it before it got up. It was unlikely the height killed him. He would have to land the final blow for himself. He climbed up the mound of sand looking at the half-buried beast within. Its eyes were closed and one of the wings was jaggedly folded at an awkward angle, broken. A fair amount of blood seeped from the punctured bones. He spotted his axe near the creature’s tail. Only the handle was sticking from the sand. Raising his weapon he inched closer, ready to remove the beast's head.
A slit-like eye shot open, expanding to lock on the half-orc. Drognau sprang to life, raking his sharpened claws at the approaching abomination. Pain shot through his body. The fall must have damaged him more than he’d realized.
Krenin jumped back narrowly avoiding the deadly swipe. He tripped over the uneven ground, tumbling down the small mound. The sands shifted beneath him telling him the beast was freeing himself. It slid into the hole, filling the crater and trying to bring him along with it. He clawed at the sands trying to stop himself. To his fortune he stopped sliding. Picking himself up he turned and backed away, watching the broken beast crawl from the hole.
“Oh how you will pay. I’ve faced hundreds of creatures of every race and never before have I bled. When I get my claws on you I’m going to peel your flesh from muscle so you can experience every ounce of pain I can inflict. Only after I’ve eaten every part of your body you can live without will I let you die!” Drognau stabbed his talons into the sand, balancing himself. One limb at a time, he made for the half-orc.
Fear grew inside him. The beast was furious, and he its only target. He knew he couldn't hold against him in melee. Taking a deep breath he watched the creature approach, unsure how he was going to win this fight. He felt a heavy droplet splash against his bare arm. Looking down, he watched the water collect the dust and run off. Another drop hit, followed by a dense downpour. The rain soaked into everything, all but eliminating the cloud of floating dust. As if a sign from the gods, Krenin spotted the handle of his axe sticking from the sands just in front of the beast. Apparently he wasn't the only thing that got caught in the sandslide. He felt his lips tighten, revealing a knowing smile to the approaching creature. “You’ll have to catch me first.” Laughing in pleasure he charged, leaping into the air with his axe overhead.
Is this orcling stupid? Why’s he charging me? I can shred him with ease. Bringing his clawed hand up, he watched the half-orc jump. He was too far away to hit him. “Ha! Too soon you pathetic half- br—”
Krenin slammed into the ground in front of the creature, bringing his axe down with all his might. It hit the handle of its twin slingshotting the blade straight up and into Drognau's chin. The sharp edge cut into his brain, silencing his words. Dragnau staggered, unsure what had just happened. He tried to catch himself, but something was wrong. He couldn’t move. His limbs gave out and he crashed face-first into the sand, jabbing the war axe deeper into the underside of his skull.
The torrential downpour stopped, emptying the last few drops over the battleground. Krenin picked himself up and dusted the clinging sand from his bloodied leathers. Approaching the dead dragon-man, he straddled his long neck and raised his axe. Bringing it down in a solid, fluid motion he severed its head.
“Krenin the undefeated! Krenin the Dragonslayer! Krenin the Almighty!” the crowd erupted in cheers of praise and excitement having never seen such a battle.
Grabbing his embedded axe, the head along with it, he calmly walked toward the gate watching it raise for his approach. I'm free now, provided these damned orcs don't try anything underhanded and keep their word. Exiting the arena he paused just inside the gate. It clanked down, trapping him in the small confines.
Over a dozen orcs stood in the room, awaiting him. They were armed with large axes and hammers; proudly displaying their thick, metal armors. Many had bear pelts secured to the shoulders as protection against the chilling winds, he guessed. These weren't guards. These were soldiers. From the look of them, they were his executioners.
“Drop your weapons and remove your armor, slave!”
Krenin looked over the orc. He was older than the others and wore a finer armor with quality furs and hundreds of markings etched into it. He wasn't sure what it all meant, but if he had to guess he was an orc of power. “I was told I'd go free if I won. That means you no longer refer to me as 'slave'!” He tightened his grip, knowing the embedded axe was next to useless in its current state.
The elder orc cracked a smile at his rebellion. “True enough. You've earned your name. Krenin, relinquish your weapons and armor. They'll be returned to you when you leave the city.”
He stared at the old orc for a long minute, unsure if he should trust him or not. “How do I know you won’t kill me the minute I pose no threat?”
“You're a warrior. Even unarmed you pose a threat. But I'm an orc of my word. Your victory over Drognau has granted freedom, status, and wealth. Not only over yourself, but over this city. The beast has been hording treasure for decades. With his death that treasure has become yours. Most of it anyway. So please, drop your weapons. I give you my word, as chieftain of Tulgrimm, they'll be returned to you once you're outside the city.”
A heavy sigh escaped him. “Guess that has to do.” He dropped his axes, letting them clank to the ground. Unbuckling his armor he laid it on the table and returned his attention to the chieftain.
The orcs calmly approached and collected his belongings. Stuffing them into a large bag they moved aside, exposing a doorway he'd never been through.
Krenin marched past their number and into the corridor. It was nicer than the other ones he'd seen.
This one actually had smoothed walls and was decorated beyond nailed planks. They escorted him through the underground labyrinth and to a set of wooden doors. Sunlight beamed through the seam at the center.
He stepped through, lost in the sights around him. He'd never seen the orc city before. It was strangely wonderful in a harsh sort of way. Were it not for his history with them he could have found it a wonderful home. Outside the tunnel the orcs marched on all sides of him, led by the chieftain. He kept watch on as many as he could. If they were going to execute him, they were going to be in for a surprise.
Making their way through the heart of the huge city Krenin found himself studying the structures. It was a style of craftsmanship all on its own. The citizens were another story. For the most part they ignored him, going about their daily lives. It was the younger orcs, the children, that made him smile. They stared as if they knew who he was. Many joined the ranks marching alongside the group, trying to keep him in their sights as long as they could. He found it amusing. Occasionally one of them would work up the courage to run between the soldiers and slap his leg. Followed immediately by running away, fear in their eyes. He guessed it was some sort of challenge between them, an innocent way of proving bravery. It felt good to inspire them in such a way. It was certainly going to be one of the things he’d remember for the rest of his life.
The group rounded the corner, stepping into a wooden tunnel. It twisted and went back the other direction as if it were some sort of defense if the city were under attack. Stepping through the other side he spotted a large steel reinforced gate. It towered over them, even in the distance. Reaching the massive portal he could hear the chains inside the wall rattling. The twin doors cracked, displaying a large road on the other side. A wide bridge made of wood spanned over a long chasm. It was lined with a single rope run through the center of the rail posts.
The chieftain stopped at the edge of the bridge and turned to address the newly freed half-orc. “Your freedom lies on the other side. You've proven yourself worth of being called an orc. From this day forward, you're welcome among our kind.” He nodded to one of the soldiers.
The orc dropped a large sack at his feet. It was nearly bulging at the seams. Krenin grabbed the bound opening and heaved the sack up to his shoulder. It had to weigh at least a few hundred pounds. Nodding to the chieftain he took his first steps of freedom and marched across the bridge. Stealing a glance over the edge, his stomach churned at the sight. It had to have been several hundred feet to the deep blue water beneath. Returning his eyes to his path he reached the other side. Glancing back, he looked upon the orcs one last time. In unison, they offered salute and turned to reenter their city.
He dropped the sack and pulled the leather binding free. Looking inside he found his armor had been folded neatly and tucked around his axes. Pulling out his equipment he readied for the long journey home. Looking inside again he found a smaller sack and hundreds of coin and gems piled around it. Opening the smaller bag he found Drognau's glazed eyes stared back at him.
Chapter VII
Slipping Shackles
A cool breeze drifted through the cavern entrance carrying the briny scent of stale seaweed. Gareth had spent enough time on the sea to know when he was near one. He could see filtered light through the cloth clinging to his face. A rag had been stuffed into his mouth and tied in place, keeping him from talking. His hands and feet were bound behind him. He laid face down on the rocky terrain. His body ached, as if he'd completely exhausted himself and hadn't had the chance to recuperate. Footsteps echoed past, telling him he wasn't alone. He tried to focus on his anger. It would be the only thing that would save him, but it wouldn't flow. He was too worn out to linger on the pain.
Another pair of boots walked by, pausing near him. Gareth felt a pair of hands grab his arms, lifting him up. He didn't know where they were taking him, but surely it would be short lived. They wouldn't be stupid enough to give him a chance to escape.
The temperature dropped slightly, but he felt warm. They had to be taking him deeper into the caves. What kind of dreu camps at the entrance? Doesn't it burn them? He felt the impact of the cold, hard ground. It was gentle all things considered, but he was sure they wanted him to feel some pain. He felt them tying more ropes around his arms. It didn't make much sense. He was already bound, how much more thorough could they be? To his surprise, he felt his arms separate from his legs, allowing the sore muscles to return to a more natural position. He pulled against the bindings, realizing what they had done. He was still bound, just not in a manner in which he couldn't move.
They pulled him to his feet, putting his own weight on them. He staggered, disoriented in the sensory deprivation. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't walked for at least a few days. He wasn't sure how long they'd had him, but it was certainly long enough for his body to lose some of its muscle memory. They pulled against his arms guiding him backward. He felt something hard impact his knees, buckling them. To his surprise there was a bench awaiting him.
The mul'daron ran the ropes through the holes in the wooden seat, pulling tight to keep him seated. Assured he couldn't move they ripped the bag from over his head and untied the gag, stepping aside.
Gareth was able to see for the first time since he'd passed out. It wasn't much of a sight. The bright, yellow entrance blocked out most of the details his single eye could normally have given him. He could see a lone figure seated in front of him, the man's back to the entrance.
“Gareth Dreuslayer. I must say I never expected to have you in such a position. Moreover, I never expected to be in the position I'm in either.”
His throat was dry from lack of water, but he forced the gravely words out anyway. “Then why don't we switch? You sit here, and I there. I'll promise to cut your ears off before I run a blade through your head.”
The figure let out a light chuckle at the man's rebellion. He truly was everything the rumors claimed. “Oh, I don't believe that to be necessary. You and I aren't so different. We both want the same thing.” He nodded to one of the mul'daron.
The man approached, extending a waterskin to the parched dreuslayer. Gareth glanced down at the open container. “You really think I'd drink anything you gave me? For all I know it's poisoned.”
“Look at it this way, if I wanted you dead we wouldn't be having this conversation. I could simply leave you bound and starvation would claim you within the next day or two. So ask yourself this, if I wanted you dead why would I waste perfectly good poison to make it happen?”
He had a point, Gareth couldn't deny that. He nodded to the pink-skinned figure beside him, tipping his head back to take a drink. It soothed his throat, but hurt when it reached his stomach. It wasn't nearly as bad as before, but it certainly reminded him how long it had been since he'd eaten. Clearing his throat, he returned his focus to the silhouette. Features were beginning to appear against the backdrop of light. “So, if you aren't going to kill me, why am I here?”
“As I said, we want the same thing. The dreualfar are no friend of mine. They're just as likely to kill us, as they are you. What's the old saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
“We're not friends. For all I know this is some trap to get me to reveal something.”
He laughed once again, sitting back in his chair. “And what do you think you have that isn't already known? You're a little too full of yourself, I'm afraid. You're of little value when it comes to information. Your life on the other hand, that's greatly valued and it just so happens that you have valuable friends. One of these friends has applied this value to my commander and our people. That in of itself has granted you salvation, especially since you killed so many of my men. I can understand your confusion under the circumstances.”
“So you're just going to let me go?”
“In due time. I have a couple questions I'd like to ask you. First off, do you know what this is?” He held up a brown satchel, exposing the shimmering black book inside. “We took it from y
ou while you were out. My men have looked over it from cover to cover, but haven't been able to find so much as a single scribe mark in it. We know it's magical.”
“I don't know. I found it in the tunnels. Thought it'd be good as kindling if I needed to make a fire.”
“I see. Well we're going to hang on to it for the time being. Wouldn't want it getting damaged until you have need of a fire.” He smiled, suggesting he knew more than he was letting on. “Secondly, when you killed my men, you were using a magic none of us have ever seen before. Do you know how you did it? Or perhaps how someone could learn it?”
“I don't know what to tell you. It started a couple weeks ago. It just happens sometimes, usually when I get mad. As for teaching someone how to do it, I wouldn't know where to start. I don't even know how to control it myself.”
“That's a shame. Perhaps those answers will be revealed to you soon. That's all I have for you right now. I hope you'll understand that I can't risk letting you loose upon my men. I wouldn't want you to get mad again. We both know what happened last time. We'll set out in the morning. Until then, you're to be kept separate from my men. Food and water will be provided. Once you're done, you'll be bound and gagged for the duration of your stay. When we reach our destination, I promise you'll never be kept against your will by my people ever again.”
Gareth watched the light fade feeling the thick cloth take its place over his head once again.
***
The towering wall stretched across the land running one hundred miles in both directions. At the center of it a massive bastion stood erect, overlooking the approaching army of men.
The majority wore the blue and green tabard of Shadgull, though a fair many were dressed in black and green. Those few hung to the outskirts of the group serving as added protection in the unlikely chance they were attacked.
The Order of the Trident: Speculum (Eldarlands Book 2) Page 8