“Ulam, is it me, or are there a lot of whores here?” Amantius said as he watched scantily-clad women practically throw themselves at anyone who displayed any kind of wealth. Accaria had plenty of ladies, and a few men, who practiced the “art of pleasure,” but he had never seen so many gathered in one spot in his life.
Ulam shrugged. “It did not occur to me until you pointed it out.”
“Far more than Accaria,” Amantius replied as he ogled one of the women, though she would not return the attention. It looks like she can smell my empty pockets.
“A man wrote a book once, long ago,” Ulam began as they squeezed their way through the crowd, “where he stated that a mass of such women only happens on two occasions: when there is a festival and when there is an army.”
Amantius’ heart began to beat quickly as thoughts of a grand feast shot through his mind. “Of course! There must be a festival soon, and that is why the grapevines remain full! By the Gods, Ulam, what luck we have!”
Ulam planted his feet, his legs reminiscent of the massive oaks in the ancient forest they passed earlier. “Yes, Amantius,” he began with a grunt, “what luck we have.”
A sudden crashing noise caught their attention, where nearby a group of drunken men were wrestling near stockpiles of weapons and armor. Instead of being greeted by the joviality of a grand feast, Amantius found himself in the company of soldiers and mercenaries. The feeling of defeat washed over him as he watched the men pummel one another, for he had hoped at the end of their long voyage from Accaria there would be some cause for joy. But instead of a never empty goblet of wine and a bed filled with women, Amantius was met with more gloom and despair.
“Now what do we do?” Amantius asked, his voice searching.
Ulam grunted. “Look for employment.”
They headed to the nearest tavern, but finding it filled to the doors with people they decided to look elsewhere. Everywhere they went people stared at them, though not in the same manner as they had become accustomed to in Accaria. There was something different, something even sinister, about the hundreds of eyeballs following their every movement. Crowds made way for them as they perused the city, splitting to each side as frightened fish do when chased by a shark. Children hid behind their mothers’ skirts, while the women themselves stood guard like frightened beasts protecting their young. This is strange, so strange. Nobody should know who we are here.
“Why do they stare, Ulam? What is so interesting about us?” Amantius said under his breath.
“Perhaps they have never seen someone as ugly as you?” Ulam retorted with a snort.
Amantius laughed, perhaps harder than he should have. He did not realize how much the stone gazes of the crowd had unnerved him.
They stopped in a square where three separate roads led to different parts of the city. A crowd of people blocked each way, the hustle and bustle of a city preventing Amantius and Ulam from walking any further. As they debated which way to go, a little girl with golden hair, who was no older than five years, ran up to them. Her clothing suggested she was not poor, but also not rich; she most likely was one of the merchants’ children. In her hand she held a flower with lavender petals, the stalk bent from her tight grasp. Despite missing a few teeth she had the brightest of smiles, and she possessed the kind of youthful vigor only children enjoy.
“Hallo!” She said as she looked up at Ulam. “You’re so tall! I wish I was tall like you!”
Amantius was shocked, especially considering how ice cold the residents of Silverwater had been thus far. He was doubly surprised by the fact that she approached Ulam and not him, for it was quite rare that anyone would approach his foster-brother. Being an Orc, Ulam was naturally inclined to wear a permanent grimace on his face. His eyes were intense, his tusks were sharp and protruding, his height and muscle mass alone often was enough to intimidate everyone else. Because of this he was always treated with suspicion and paranoia, for his appearance was one that terrified all but the dumbest. But for whatever reason, the little girl was not the least bit afraid.
Ulam slowly dropped to one knee, his expression unchanged. Even kneeling he still towered over the child, whose golden hair swayed in the wind. “Well good day to you,” he began, his voice softer than usual, yet still gruff. “That is a pretty flower you have.”
The little girl giggled in delight, “Do you think I can be tall like you someday?”
Ulam began to chuckle; the little girl’s laughter so contagious even he could not resist. “If you eat right and take care of yourself, you can be anything you want. You can be twice as tall as me even!”
“Really!?” The girl said with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Of course,” Ulam replied with a smile.
Before they could continue their conversation a panicked shriek came from somewhere in the crowd, drawing Amantius’ attention. Suddenly a woman burst forth from the mass of bodies and rushed to the little girl, grabbing her by the forearm and dragging her away.
“Get away from him!” She screamed as she pulled. “You can’t get too close to them!”
“Why!?” The child squealed as she began to cry. “He’s my friend!”
“He’s a Greenskin!” The woman replied, “They’re savages that eat children!”
“What did she say?” Amantius said as he took a step forward. “Did she say you eat children?” His confusion turned to anger, an emotion he did not experience often. “What kind of nonsense is this!?”
“Easy, be calm,” Ulam said as he grabbed Amantius by the leg. There was a great sadness in his voice, one Amantius had rarely heard before.
“Come back here! Come back here right now!” Amantius continued to yell as he tried to shake Ulam’s grip on his calf, “Let go of me, Ulam, that woman is atrocious and spreading lies!”
“Amantius, let it be,” Ulam replied again, this time tightening his hold.
“Protect the children! The Orc will eat them!” Someone shouted from the mob, followed by laughter.
“Child eater!” Someone else yelled, followed by similar insults and chants.
Amantius’ fury made him want to fight every person in the crowd, but all he could do from his position was shout, and those words fell on deaf ears. Meanwhile, Ulam remained kneeling, staring at the cracks between two slabs of stone.
As the jeering became louder the crowd also became bolder, until someone threw a tomato at them. It splattered on the ground nearby, which did nothing but encourage others to try. Barrage after barrage of fruits and vegetables rained down on Amantius and Ulam until the situation reached a fever pitch, and someone from the crowd chucked a jagged stone.
“Kill the Orc!” A woman’s shrill voice yelled over the crowd. “Cut off his head!”
Men from every part of the crowd stepped forward to do the job, liquor and bloodthirst equal parts in their eyes. Only one of which carried a blade, and unfortunately he looked the soberest of the bunch. Amantius stood petrified to the spot, not sure what to do. He looked down only to see Ulam remaining passive on the ground.
“Get up!” Amantius urged as he took a defensive stance. “Get up!”
Ulam did not reply. He remained still, absorbing countless blows from chunks of stone that continued to pelt him. He grunted as one hit him the ribs, and grimaced when the next gashed open his arm.
“Get up, dammit!” Amantius yelled as the men drew in nearer.
One of the attackers, a rugged man of average height, was the first to approach. He walked confidently, and the rock his fingers gripped gave him even more confidence. He wore a wicked smile on his face, one full of malice.
“Ready to die, you green bastard?” He said as he grabbed Ulam’s tunic at the shoulder.
As soon as the goon’s fingers wrapped around the fabric, Ulam sprouted to his feet and grabbed the man by the neck. He executed the movement with such speed and accuracy that the man did not have time to react, dropping the rock in his hand as Ulam lifted upward. He then squeezed with his big Orci
sh hands, so strong were they that he could crush the man’s throat if he so desired. There was a fire of unbridled rage in Ulam’s eyes Amantius had never seen before, the sight so terrifying even he began to fear for the attacker’s life. Desperately Amantius kicked Ulam, hoping the blows would force the Orc to drop the ruffian, but his attempts were only met with failure.
Meanwhile, the other members of the mob watched in terror as Ulam stood statuesque with a death-grip on the squirming thug, no one daring to rush to the man’s aid. The surrounding crowd collectively held their breath, each member understanding the man would suffocate if Ulam did not release him soon. While some urged the other attackers onward, most remained silent, alarmed the rage-filled Orc would unleash his wrath on them next.
Amantius was shocked by the sudden display of force. He had seen Ulam mad many times before, but he had never seen him this incensed. Ulam’s tusks dripped with saliva as he growled like a wolf, his eyes fixated on the man at the end of his arm. Meanwhile, Amantius did nothing, his uncertainty paralyzing his legs and his decision-making capabilities. Not only was he unsure whether or not he could resolve the situation, but he also did not know how he wanted this incident to end. This bastard should be punished for attacking Ulam, but does he deserve death? And if Ulam kills him, what happens to us after that?
“Ulam,” Amantius said as he placed a hand on his foster-brother’s massive shoulder, “put him down.”
Ulam grunted, though more like a scoff than anything else. He did not take his eye off the man, who started frantically kicking at the Orc’s ribs in an effort to escape.
“Let him go,” Amantius continued, his voice now as dire as it was loud. He realized if Ulam killed the man, then they would be labeled murderers. “You have to let him go!”
“If I let him go, what is there to stop them from killing us?” Ulam muttered through gritted teeth.
“If you kill him, what is there to stop them from killing us?” Amantius quickly retorted. “If you want them to respect you and Orcs everywhere, then show them you’re not a killer.”
With a snarl, Ulam effortlessly tossed his attacker aside. The man flew across the square, desperately gasping for air after he crashed onto the ground. A small group of people then surrounded the man, rushing him into a nearby house while the crowd began filtering away. Within minutes Amantius and Ulam were the only people left in the square, both of whom were still on the lookout for more assailants.
“Well, at least now we know why people are staring at us,” Amantius said with a smirk, hoping to break the tension.
“We cannot stay here,” Ulam replied unamused, “if everyone in this city thinks I am going to eat their children.”
“So where do we go?” Amantius asked as a seed of anxiety was planted in his gut, “We have little coin and even less food, and we do not know where any other cities are.”
“I do not know, Amantius, I do not know.”
Chapter 10
Ulam
They sat in a well-lit tavern, one located in the shadows of Silverwater’s city walls. Amantius had asked earlier if they had enough coin to drink their troubles away, Ulam responding with only a grunt. In truth, they had plenty of money to do so, but the Orc wanted to be more careful with their funds considering he did not know what the future held for them. He figured finding work in the city, especially after the display in the market earlier, would be next to impossible. The dumbest thing to do at this moment, Ulam reasoned, was to drink themselves unconscious.
He looked around the tavern and found nothing particularly special about it. It was somewhat refreshing, as every alehouse and pub in the city possessed some gimmick to beat out the competition. Most had straw mattresses or “female companionship,” while other taverns had knife throwing and other similar competitions. They had even visited a saloon with a dragon’s skull mounted above the bar, an attraction for people who had never seen one before. In the back of his mind, he wondered if there was a pub for dragons that had human skulls dangling from the ceiling. He chuckled at the idea.
This place was different, though, as if it took pride in just being ordinary. The ale was decent and fairly cheap, both of which he gave thanks. No one stared at him, they mostly kept to themselves, which Ulam found relieving. Most astonishing of all, the patrons in this bar were overwhelmingly female. Aside from himself, Amantius, the barkeep, and a few others, everyone else was a woman. It was surprising, though Ulam did not think it should have been. After all, the name of the establishment was “The Bride’s Oasis.” He thought it was a strange name for a tavern, so naturally his curious mind needed to know the etymology.
“So, you wish to know why I called this place The Bride’s Oasis.” The barkeep said with a chuckle. He was a balding older man with eyes that sparkled with humor, the kind of man that people instantly liked and trusted. “When I came to this city many years ago I opened this place but didn’t give it a name. Why should I? Do you really care about the name of the place you drink in? Of course not! Anyway, over time I noticed that a good portion of my business came from women, specifically recent brides who were hiding from their husbands, or their husbands-to-be, or their families. I guessed being in the far corner of the city, shadowed by the walls, made this place attractive to people looking to get away from something or someone. But then one day I did some digging around and discovered I have the only tavern in Silverwater that allows female customers, that aren’t whores of course. Imagine that! After that neat little discovery, the name just seemed appropriate.”
Ulam nodded, satisfied. “How come there are so few men in here, though? It is hard for me to imagine the men of this city leaving these women unmolested.”
“Oh, they try, friend, they certainly try,” the barkeep continued with a smile. “I have my own personal guards, paid handsomely by me to ensure the women-folk aren’t disturbed. The head of the castle’s guards, a man by the name of Jalkett Karraman comes here from time to time, he and I go way back. On first offense, depending on the offense of course, you get thrown out.”
“What about the second offense?” Ulam asked.
The barkeep smiled, a gold tooth reflecting the flame from a nearby lamp. “There’s never been a second offense. I’m guessing my employees handle it how they best see fit. Also, that reminds me,” he nodded towards Amantius, “you might want to watch your friend. He seems harmless enough, but I’d really hate to have to throw you two out. Especially since I don’t figure either of you have anywhere to go.”
Ulam turned and saw Amantius talking to a few women at a table, though thankfully neither lady seemed to be offended. For a few seconds, he watched them chat, feeling relief when smiles appeared. He was not surprised, for Amantius had always been quite the charmer when he wanted to be. Still, he thought it was best to keep an eye on him. Even though his foster-brother still had not finished his first drink, there was always the possibility he would make a fool of himself anyhow, and Ulam did not want to be thrown out of the only friendly tavern in all of Silverwater.
“I do not think you will need to worry about him,” Ulam replied as he finished the last drops in his bottle. He put a few coins on the counter, “Another one, please.”
The barkeep smiled as he swiped the coins from the bar and placed another bottle of ale in front of him. “I thought you only had enough for one drink each? Are you going to let him know that?”
Ulam smiled. “What he does not know will not hurt him.”
The barkeep laughed and continued cleaning the bar as Ulam drank, enjoying this moment to himself. Since they left Accaria he and Amantius had been nearly inseparable, a moment of peace an incredibly rare gift. Because he always had to be on the lookout for trouble, he had not had the opportunity to let his guard down and relax. However, in that moment, he was able to finally find some sense of inner harmony.
As Ulam finished his second beer a man approached and sat down next to him at the bar. He ordered two beers, placing the second in front of Ulam. He w
as roughly two decades older than the Orc, with soft, brown hair that touched his shoulders and sandpaper stubble across his face. Though he was well-built, from the corner of his eye Ulam saw the man had a limp, no doubt an injury he had sustained years ago.
“My thanks,” Ulam said as he grabbed the bottle.
“Don’t mention it,” the man replied. His voice was strong, full of authority. “What’s your name, Orc?”
“Ulam.”
“Ulam, what?”
“Just Ulam.”
The man did not appear satisfied with the answer. “You’re not from a Sanctuary are you?”
“No,” Ulam replied. He had read about Orc Sanctuaries before, little societies Orcs built after their kingdom was destroyed, usually far in the wilderness where no one else could not find them. He always assumed he was born in one, though how he came to Accaria as an infant was still a mystery.
The man adjusted himself in the seat and took a swig of beer. “I guess it doesn’t matter, you’re still an Orc regardless of where you were born. Anyway, word spreads fast around here. Someone mentioned something to me about seeing an Orc in Silverwater, and then told me this story about how the Orc picked a man up by the throat and held him there without breaking a sweat.”
Ulam tried to grunt, but no noise came from his throat. He was ashamed, even a little scared. The anger he felt inside, the fury, felt so natural to him. Even worse, a part of him even liked the sensation, and that was what truly terrified him.
“Some would call you a monster, a child-eater even,” the man continued, “I don’t care what they call you, or what you are.” Ulam shot him a quick look, the rage building inside once again.
The man held up his calloused hands, “I’m not here to judge. I’ve met plenty of Orcs in my life and have never seen such a thing. Hell, most Orcs are better than the Humans I’ve met. Have you been trained in combat?”
“No,” Ulam replied, the anger subsiding. He took comfort in knowing this stranger was not here to start another brawl.
The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) Page 7