Becoming the Orc Chieftain

by E. M. Hardy

  The two priests barked out orders to the others and rushed up to face the orcish raiders. They began chanting to their patron deity as the humans scattered, fleeing from the coming battle. Kurdan roared as he led the charge, hoisting his battleaxe above his head while channeling as much power as he could into his arms and legs. One powerful step, and Kurdan leapt high into the air—ready to bring his axe down unto the heads of the she-priest blocking his path.

  At the last second though, the two priests unleashed a blast of light that slammed right into Kurdan’s eyes and the eyes of every raider charging their ranks. The world went black, the intensity of the glare flinging him into a world of darkness. He tumbled clumsily from his fall, though he managed to cushion his fall with the edge of his shoulder. His tough orcish hide and thick, sinewy muscles ensured he would not hurt from such a paltry fall. His pride, however, was an entirely different matter.

  He grunted as he pushed himself up, swinging wildly in all directions despite his blindness. It was a graceless maneuver, simply blowing his axe sideways in swing after swing after swing. The sheer fury behind each blow conveyed enough damage on its own as each rage-induced swing ripped through the air with a sharp whistle.

  The chieftain eventually recovered his sight, tinged red as it was with rage and vengeance. He squinted through the blood-red haze and spotted the two priests fleeing behind along with the other humans. Kurdan realized that his prey was getting away, but he spared a moment to glance behind him and check up on the status of the other orcs. The other orcs writhed on the ground beside him, roaring in pain as their eyes still burned.

  “UP! UP YOU WEAKLINGS! OUR PREY IS GETTING AWAY!!!”

  Kurdan’s furious scream knocked some fear into his raiders, who focused on the direction of his voice. A handful of the raiders eventually got up, their eyes filled with as much red frenzy as their chieftain.

  “Go!” shouted Kurdan. “Get the fleeing humans! Catch them, bind them, bring them here. The priests are MINE!!!”

  Kurdan focused, willing the blood in his eyes to flush out the dead flesh while directing fresh blood straight to run from his twin hearts to the injured areas. His sight fully restored, he roared his fury and injected more power into his legs. Such was Kurdan’s rage that he left small craters in the ground with each step he sent crashing into the ground. He pushed himself on, feverish with bloodlust as he thundered toward the retreating priests.

  The he-priest was the first to notice the raging ball of anger chasing them down. He had been making his escape, leading the she-priest by the hand. When he realized that the orc had recovered his sight faster than he had expected, the he-priest shouted something to his fellow priest, and they spun around as one to face down the orc. The he-priest raised his staff while the she-priest stood back and chanted under her breath. Every drop of Kurdan’s raging blood screamed at him to cleave the priest in two. However, he was here to collect slaves—not corpses—and so he decided to ignore the pitiful he-priest and dive straight for the chanting she-priest.

  However, things didn’t go according to plan.

  The he-priest spun around and tapped Kurdan in the leg with his staff. It was just a slight tap, but it nevertheless knocked Kurdan aside and sent him tumbling a few feet into the dirt. Kurdan rolled with the fall, biting his tongue to suppress the rage roiling inside him due to the insult he suffered. He held that rage for a moment, squeezed it into a ball, and roared it out with as much power as he could muster.

  The he-priest stood his ground, planting his staff between his own two feet and resisting the mind-shattering fear wrought by Kurdan’s roar. Kurdan left his battleaxe in the dirt, instead unstrapping his club from his waist and charging into the he-priest. He spun his staff behind him before whipping it out, its tip extended and ready to connect with Kurdan’s arm. Kurdan, however, deflected the staff with a mighty swipe from his club.

  A powerful snap reverberated throughout the woods as the imbued staff collided with Kurdan’s club. The orc threw everything he had into the two-handed swing, and the club bounced back as it met with the priest’s staff. Whatever blessings the priest had invoked to reinforce his staff and his body, they were no match for Kurdan’s orcish strength and his own invocation of pure rage from Cagros the Bloodletter.

  It was the he-priest’s turn to be caught off guard by the force of Kurdan’s strike, which blew the staff away from the he-priest’s hands. The he-priest tried to regain his balance, to counter-strike somehow, but Kurdan had shifted his full attention upon the he-priest. He closed his hand into a fist and back-handed the priest, stunning him and sending him spinning off to the side. Kurdan allowed himself a grunt of satisfaction before he turned to deal with the she-priest—and found himself blinded once more by a brilliant flash of light.

  The orc roared once more in frustration, humiliated that he would fall for the same trick twice in a row. He did not, however, roil in shock and surprise. No, he forced himself into silence as he focused on the sounds around him. He zoned out the screams of the humans that his raiders scooped up into their arms and bound with ties. He ignored the breaking bones of the ones foolish enough to fight back, the sobs and groans of those that surrendered to their fate. He narrowed his attention down to the only sounds he wanted to hear: the running footsteps of his prey.

  He did not hear such sounds, though. The she-priest was not even trying to retreat. No, she stood her ground and continued chanting.

  Kurdan would have commended her for her bravery if he was in a better mood. However, he was blinded and filled with shame for being blinded twice in quick succession. Nothing occupied his mind except revenge for the slight inflicted upon him.

  He estimated the location of the chanting and rushed toward it, his sight recovering with every thundering step he took. His sight restored to the point where he could make out the outline of the she-priest, standing tall and focused in prayer. The she-priest did not falter once in her chanting, even as Kurdan’s imposing form loomed ever-closer to her.

  Realizing her end was near and her chant was nowhere near completion, the she-priest gave up the invocation and sagged in resignation. “My Lady Galena,” she half-sighed, half-sobbed to her goddess. “I am yours, in this life and the next.”

  She could say no more as Kurdan slammed a meaty fist into her face, toppling her to the ground like so much dead weight. Her mask flew from her face, revealing a black length of cloth bound around her eyes. It turned out that the priestess was blind, but Kurdan registered none of this. He simply straddled her unconscious form from above, eyes red with fury that promised death for the humiliation she had doled upon him.

  “Stop!” Isiah screamed within Kurdan’s mind, his voice filled with dread. “She’s down! She’s not a threat anymore!”

  Kurdan did not respond with any coherent thoughts. Instead, he roared in incomprehensible rage, wanting nothing more than to plunge his fists over and over into the face of the pinned she-priest. She had tricked him. She and the he-priest had made a fool out of him. Killing them would wipe away that shame, replacing it with fear and respect for his power. None would see him as weak; none would attempt to shame him this way again. He raised his fist, ready to strike, when Isiah pulled within Kurdan’s mind—holding the chieftain’s muscled arm at bay.

  “REMEMBER OUR AGREEMENT!” Isiah yelled. “YOU WANT TO BE MORE THAN AN ANIMAL? THEN HOLD YOUR FISTS!!!”

  The power in Isiah’s words broke through Kurdan’s fury, clearing the red from his eyes as he shook himself back to consciousness. The chieftain, however, wanted nothing more than to punish the she-priest. He wanted to destroy her so utterly, so completely, that none would want to challenge his will. He would—

  “Stop acting like a spoiled brat, bawling and whining about a skinned knee! You want to start something new in your tribe? Usher in change? THEN FREAKIN’ START WITH YOURSELF, YOU STUPID IDIOT!!!”

  That certainly dislodged the rage in Kurdan’s mind. It appealed less to
his reason and more to his sense of shame, especially since it was a young manling scolding the great chieftain of the Boneseeker Tribe about acting like a mewling manling.

  “Who are you calling a spoiled brat!?” shouted Kurdan in his mind.

  “Shut it, Kurdan. You’re acting like one right now, so I’m going to treat you like one.”

  “You sniveling, insolent, ball of flesh!”

  Isiah ignored Kurdan’s jibes and instead focused on the heart of the matter. “So what if she got the better of you twice in a row? She’s down, she’s no threat, and you have her firmly under your control. The point is that you came to collect slaves, right? Well, you got your stupid slave, you crazy-ass maniac. And besides, your orcs were too busy dealing with their own problems to notice your mess-up.”

  Kurdan finally released his anger, turning his attention to his surroundings.

  He did not want to admit it, but the manling was right: the other raiders were indeed busy with their other tasks, none paying attention to his battle with the two priests. Dulug was nowhere to be found, though Kurdan heard her distinct roar of victory which was quickly followed by a series of shrieks from humans that thought they could hide from one of Kurdan’s best trackers. Urgan and the other orcs were busy hauling humans over their shoulders, some kicking back but most slumped over in resignation. The remaining orcs were busy tending to their clustered captives, tying them down with ropes that bound them together and prevented any from running away from the group.

  Kurdan inhaled deeply, controlling the thundering pulse of his beating hearts. Yes, the battle was won—and it was time to divide the spoils.

  ***

  “What do you mean we’re taking them all?” grunted the ever-rebellious Urgan, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest. “There are four oldlings in this group, six younglings, and then there is the she-priest. What conceivable use would a blind slave be for—”

  The orc slammed his jaws shut the moment Kurdan stomped up to face him down.

  “Urgan,” hissed Kurdan through clenched teeth and grinding tusks, “Question me one more time, and I will take it as a challenge. No more patience, no more trying to appease those of you who supported the old chieftain. I will simply gut you like the worm you are, if only to ensure that my objectives for this raid are met.”

  Kurdan pushed his face closer into Urgan’s, butting his forehead unto the other orc’s. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, chieftain.” To Urgan’s credit, he managed to submit to Kurdan’s will while managing to hold on to a shred of pride with the way he recovered.

  “So much for patience,” mumbled Isiah within Kurdan’s mind. The chieftain ignored the manling as he pushed Urgan away, forcefully enough to get the orc away from him without causing him to stumble. “Go. Join the others in watching over our newly-acquired slaves.”

  Urgan stepped back and growled for a bit. He ultimately did as he was told, though he grumbled all the way. And yet Kurdan understood where Urgan was coming from. The chieftain suspected he would have reacted the same as Urgan if he had seen another orc doing what he was doing right now—at least, not without understanding why.

  And yet this was not the time for making his tribe comprehend. Isiah and his kind would accept lengthy explanations if they saw what he called ‘rational’ reasoning behind such actions. No, that would not work in the tribe. Orcs respect the ability to keep and expand power; anything else is just a waste of time. This thinking was something that Kurdan wanted to do away with, and he could only do so if he could make his decisions yield results. At the moment though, Kurdan simply did not have the time or patience to stomach defiance. Times like these, he could at least count on good old-fashioned threats to get things moving again.

  “Sister Alyon, hold on tighter to the line please,” whispered one of the captured slaves. Kurdan turned his attention to the file of slaves, bound by the hands to one another. He spotted the priestess, holding on to her part of the rope as she shuffled along. “Brother Bartholomew is at the end of the line, under heavy guard,” whispered the same human, unaware of the orc chieftain that slowed down in his relentless march to better hear what they were talking about.

  Both went silent, walking in step with the other slaves. Kurdan growled to himself when he realized that the slaves had noticed his awkward attempt to spy on their conversation.

  “No way they’re not going to notice you, big guy,” said Isiah in Kurdan’s mind. “I mean, you were practically ripping that other guy’s head off just a few moments ago. That told everyone here that you’re the head-honcho in your gang of slavers, so of course everyone’s going to stay on their toes when you start looking at them.”

  “Head what?”

  “Head-honcho… uh, the leader of your group.”

  “Better. Stop using words I do not understand,” replied Kurdan, the disdain clear in his thoughts to the teen sharing his mind.

  Isiah just sighed, irritation bounding through their connection. “Just remember to keep your end of the bargain, Kurdan. I’ll help you out here, but you have to promise me—”

  “Yes, yes” thought Kurdan dismissively. “You will get your lessons on blood magic. Now stop bothering me already.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  Kurdan tightened his jaw as he marched forward, avoiding an exposed root. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean your slaves. You orcs are clearly grade-A douchebags, I get it, and you’re not doing anything out of the goodness of your heart. But still, you promised to do good by these slaves and to care for them as best you can.”

  The chieftain thought nothing for a few moments, pushing aside a shrub and taking note of the markers that they left back to their camp. “Yes. You have that promise.”

  Isiah hummed in satisfaction before replying. “Good. Then you’re going to get all the help I can give you in running your tribe—in making you the greatest chieftain your tribe and every other tribe has ever known.”

  “Why this conversation, Isiah Hunter? I already agreed to this when we made our pact.”

  “True,” replied Isiah. “But it’s guys like Urgan that worry me. I… I’m afraid that you’ll drop your slaves, forget the whole thing, when you run into resistance from others like him.”

  Kurdan grunted violently as he snapped a branch with a flicker of his wrist, causing the nearest slave to wince in fright. “That is none of your concern. Urgan and his ilk are easy to deal with. All I need to do is slam my fist into their faces a few times, break a few bones, and they will be forced to do whatever I tell them to do.”

  The chieftain heard the young manling groan in exasperation within his mind, but he didn’t care. The chieftain planned to change many things about his tribe in the future, but the threat of pain would always be one option he could rely on to keep everyone else in line.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time Kurdan’s orcs reached their camp with their newly-acquired slaves in tow. Of the forty-eight humans the raiders had ambushed, twelve had managed to escape. The annoying priests had bought enough time for a significant number to flee, though it was fortunate that raiders could capture most of the stronger, healthier humans. The four oldlings would be a problem, as they were not as productive as the younger ones. The same could be said for the younglings that were useless due to how weak they were.

  However, Kurdan had plans for all of his slaves—even the physically weaker ones.

  “Hold,” shouted Kurdan, calling the raiders to a stop. The human slaves stopped as well, some of them dropping down to the dirt in exhaustion. Kurdan scowled at their weakness. In the old days, he would have forced them to get up and continue the march. However, the days he had spent inhabiting Isiah’s body had made him realize that humans were not like orcs. Their bodies were simply weaker, frailer, than that of orcs. Pushed too far, they would break down and die. No amount of punishment or humiliation would remove that weakness in such a short amount of time
—especially without the aid of blood magic.

  That weakness was Kurdan’s biggest problem right now.

  “We’re going to camp here for the night,” announced the chieftain—to the surprise of the other raiders. He turned a sharp glare toward Urgan, whose mouth was wide open and was just about to voice a protest. The orc seemed to remember the chieftain’s earlier threat and took it to heart.

  That did not mean, however, that the other orcs were not afraid to voice their concerns in their own ways.

  “Chieftain,” said Dulug as she stepped closer, her voice low and respectful. “It is only the second night, and we have much ground to cover.” She frowned as she struggled to find the right words that wouldn’t come out as a challenge to the chieftain; she could not. “Why are we stopping?”

  There was no challenge in Dulug’s tone. If anything, she was being submissive the way her lips were sealed in a neutral frown. She asked a question out of concern, and it was just the kind of question that Kurdan could answer without appearing as if he were giving excuses.

  “I have plans for these humans,” he said as everyone—orc and human alike—strained to listen to the deceptively casual conversation. “They are weak, nowhere near as strong or as vital as you or I. They are so weak that they need to sleep, eat, and drink every single day. Their hide is so fragile a mere bush can scrape it off. Their bones so brittle they snap from the lightest of our blows.” He snorted. “What’s worse is that they get weaker if I push them too hard. If I do that again, these pitiful humans will end up like the other slaves we pushed and prodded and mocked and used up: dead like the dirt under our feet. We wouldn’t even be able to use their hide or their bones to craft our weapons.” He turned his attention to the slaves, which turned to face the ground as soon as they realized he was looking at them. The only exceptions were the two priests—the he-man looking straight at him and the blind she-man looking straight ahead with her covered eyes. Kurdan grinned and approached the he-priest. To his credit, he matched Kurdan’s gaze with as much defiance as he could muster.