by Tiger Hebert
Hundreds of feet turned into thousands of feet as they pushed forward. The winds grew stronger as they ascended further and further into the teeth of the Sky Reach Mountains. While the midday sun still loomed prominently in the sky, its warming effects were lost. The chilling air nipped at their exposed flesh. Little ones huddled together in the wagons, attempting to warm themselves under the few furs that they had managed to bring with them.
Fortunately, the mountain pass was easy and the terrain smooth. Rarely could anyone make such drastic elevation gains in such a short amount of time, yet within just a handful of hours, the sojourners had climbed several thousand feet and rapidly approached the outer gates of the human stronghold of Storm Vale. As they continued up the winding corridor, there was a faint smell of smoke burning in the distance. It was hard to tell how far the smoke was being blown, but they were clearly reaching their destination. Onward and upward they moved, and the smoke became thicker and the smell stronger.
However, it was not the rich smell of burning wood. No, the smell was overwhelming. The nauseating aroma of burning flesh and hair dominated the mountain air. The foul odor clung to their nostrils, and the taste hung in the back of their throats. Many of the orcs involuntarily proceeded forward on empty stomachs as they walked toward the dark plumes of smoke.
As they turned the large bend in the road, the corridor opened up before them. The scene before their eyes brought more confusion. Bodies of man and beast alike were strewn about, and blood stained the ground. Busy men labored to gather the dead. Unceremoniously, their lifeless bodies were cast into the already blazing pyres. On the other side of this sea of death, just beyond the burning graves, there were a series of piles of wood, brush, and hay. Those piles then gave way to the carved wooden stakes. These wooden shafts were lodged into the earth, forming a menacing hedge right at the base of the massive outer gate.
The scene was a lot to take in, not to mention the beehive of human activity that buzzed throughout the battlement. The orcs couldn’t help but stare at the carcasses of the massive beasts that littered the ground.
“What are these…these…things?” asked one of the orc elders.
“I believe they are called Minotaur,” answered Ogron.
“Yes. Something isn’t right, though…” said Theros, his voice trailing off.
“So far east,” muttered Ogron.
“Exactly,” his brother said in a near whisper.
As they stared in astonishment, trying to understand the situation, an unfamiliar voice called out to them. A human captain sitting atop a horse stepped into the light. He first glanced at the gray wolf that stood at Theros’ side. He shifted his gaze back to the orcs.
“As you can see, we have our own troubles. We cut them down, but we still suffered too many losses. Because of this, the kingdom of Storm Vale will not be offered as a refuge for your kind,” stated the human coldly before turning away.
“What? You would dismiss us just like that?” asked Ogron incredulously.
“I am sorry for your plight. Good luck,” was the captain’s insincere response.
“We were told to meet someone here. We led our entire caravan of people up here, for you just to turn us away without any discussion or consideration?” snapped the chieftain.
“It has been considered. Whatever fate you are fleeing from is not our problem. You will have to face it yourselves,” replied Nikolai sharply.
“Can you just grant us a few days? Just enough to recover our strength for the next journey,” pleaded Ogron in desperation.
“As long as you remain outside of our walls, I don’t care what you do. Know this, I will not be held responsible for the actions of my men as it pertains to your kind,” disclosed the captain as he looked down upon the orcs.
“What are you saying, human?” growled Theros through clenched teeth.
“Oooh, so you can speak too? It matters not. The point remains, I know your kind. Greenskins are bloodthirsty, savage brutes, the likes of which cannot be trusted, and you two aren’t even green, so you are probably the worst of the whole lot. Be warned, my men will protect themselves and this land by any means necessary,” hissed Nikolai.
“A fool’s tongue often ties a noose about his own neck,” recited Ogron as he slowly backed away from the captain, contemptuous glare intact.
“Let’s not prove his argument for him, big brother,” cautioned Theros as he patted Ogron’s back.
The chieftain growled as he turned away from the captain. An anger burned deep within him. He knew this was why his people had kept to themselves for so long. Ignorant judgments and prejudices had marked the orcs as a race barely above the beasts of the field. They were perceived as animals and subsequently treated as such.
Oooh, so you can speak too? It matters not. I know your kind. Greenskins…bloodthirsty…savage brutes…cannot be trusted…aren’t even green, so you are probably worst of the whole lot. Be warned…
Over and over again, the words played in his head. His blood boiled.
“You have to let it go. If you don’t, it will consume you,” asserted Theros. Then changing directions, he said, “Tonight the temperature drops, the cold will be harsh. We need to build some shelter.”
The chieftain struggled with the advice given to him. It wasn’t because he disagreed with Theros. No, he knew he his brother was right. It was something else. Something about the anger. He didn’t want to let it go.
The orcs busied themselves setting up a temporary encampment in the mountain pass. The wagons were flipped on their sides and pushed together in a series of half circles, forming makeshift walls that would function as barriers against the harsh northern winds that barreled down the rocky corridor. Taking the leather hides that once covered parts of the wagons and sewing them together gave them a large covering for their shelter. They were humble abodes, but the bivouac shelters would shield them from the raw force of the wind.
The accommodations were pitiful. They were all forced to huddle together in the cramped quarters of the tents for warmth. Many of the children nuzzled up against the wolves’ fur, searching for warmth. Most of them were able to set up small fires in their midst, but with only a minimal amount of firewood remaining, the flames were barely fed, which was more than could be said of most of the orcs. Their limited food stores were diminishing rapidly, and many of the men went with little-to-no food, rationing what they could.
Ogron and Theros stood together outside of the camp as the darkness of the night fell over the mountains. They observed the humans, watching and learning. As the day came to a close, the men shifted their activity to inside the outer gate. Through the archway in the wall, the orcs could see campfires burning, with boars roasting on spits above the flames. Large black kettles boiled with hot soup. The rich smell of hot food was almost strong enough to wash away the lingering stench of the burned carcasses that smoldered to ashes before them. The men ate and drank and laughed and danced to the music of flutes and lyres.
A furnace of rage roared in the heart of the mighty Hammerfist. He watched the humans enjoy their abundance with no thought of his people, who remained cold, hungry, and exposed.
“I know you carry the burden of our people, and it seems right to feel so, but you cannot keep swallowing this poison,” implored Theros.
“You would have me spit out the indignation and blatant disregard for our people by these…these drunkards?” barked Ogron.
“No. I would have you spit out the hatred and bitterness. The love you have for our people is allowing your heart to betray you,” answered his companion.
With fire in his eyes, the elder orc snapped at his brother, “What do you know, Theros? You presume to know my heart and my thoughts? You don’t know what it takes to be chieftain. You know nothing!”
With a gentle voice, the powerful warrior replied, “I have always known your heart, and that is why I can speak of it.” Theros turned his eyes from his brother to the men in the distance and said, “While we
may not receive favor or goodwill from them, they are not our enemy.”
Ogron pulled a whetstone from the leather pouch that hung from his belt. In silence he lifted his great axe with one arm as he leaned back against the wagon. The moonlight flashed along the rugged arc of the weapon’s massive blade. His hand moved the whetstone in circles against the blade, and soon the whooshing sound of the sharpening filled the void where their voices had been.
A thousand miles of silence stood between them. Theros knew that nothing he said would help. He hoped that a good night of rest and the light of a new day would bring hope and perspective to his brother.
Hope is a fool’s errand.
Those words rang out in the quiet of his mind. It was an old saying among his people. It spoke of their cultural values. The orcs were a simple race. They trusted in the works of their hands and the strength of their backs. They did not wait for divine intervention. When they needed food, they hunted. When they needed water, they dug wells. When they needed protection, they fought. Perhaps waiting on hope was a fool’s errand, but Theros grew concerned for Ogron.
Then a fool I am.
He sat himself down on the ground near the end of one of the wagons on the outer end of the half circle. Leaning with his back against the sturdy wooden structures, he closed his eyes. With but a few deep breaths, he descended into a deep sleep.
Hours slipped by in the cold of the night. Then the darkened predawn hours came to life. Flames erupted on one of the peaks high above them. Then the delayed blast of a horn cried out as the echoes cascaded over the face of the mountains. Another mountaintop torch burst into flames further north, then moments later another further still.
Panic rushed over the two encampments. Human and orc alike responded with confusion and an element of fear. Human men darted from their resting places out into the cold morning air. They scrambled to don their armor and get in position. Their response time was startling. Only minutes after the first trumpeted blast, armed men lined the crenellated top of the fortified wall.
Amidst the chaos, the clippety-clopping of hooves rattled up the mountain pass, giving way to a lone horse darting around the bend. The mare dashed past the orc’s makeshift camp and headed straight toward the gate. That is when the crowds saw a body slumped over in the saddle, only loosely holding the reins low around the horse’s shoulders. As the rider was carried past them, they could see a trickle of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth.
Nikolai ran out through the gate to meet the horse and rider, but it was too late. His heart sank at the sight of Seth’s lifeless body. The captain then snapped his head around as he scanned the road ahead for any sign of Captain Melgrim. There was none, but there was a noise in the distance. He quickly motioned for those around him to be silent as he listened carefully to make out the sounds. There was a faint noise. Then he recognized the sound. The wind carried the rhythm of the war drums and the pounding of hooves.
With a shrill whistle, Nikolai called for his horse and a couple riders. He climbed atop his steed, and charged down the road. Much to his surprise, Theros and Ogron had already mounted up and followed him atop their massive hralls.
“We will fight with you,” shouted Theros to the humans as he clutched the giant two-handed maul.
The five riders flew headlong toward the sounds of danger. Nikolai fully expected to prepare for war, but this was quicker than even he had anticipated. Without a scouting report from Melgrim or Seth, they were blind. This was a risky maneuver, but he needed some intelligence on the advancing enemy. It was not long before they were around the bend and could see down the long road descending into the darkness of dawn. The pounding of the hooves echoed like thunder across the mountains. This was not merely a rider but a stampede!
Slowly, the first glinting rays of light crept over the eastern horizon, beating back the darkness of the mountain road. Then in a matter of moments, everything was made clear to them. A rider raced toward them on a black horse in the new light of dawn. Right behind him, only a few horses’ lengths away, were some form of beastly monstrosities. Eighteen of them gave chase while an innumerable host marched up the pass behind them.
“It’s Captain Melgrim! We must save him!” commanded Nikolai as he pointed down the incline.
Yet before he had even barked the command, the two orcs already urged their hralls ahead of the humans, charging down the path with astounding speed. The orcs raced down the outer sides of the passage, allowing the rapidly advancing captain to pass in between them. Once Melgrim darted past them, they drove their hralls together like a wedge and slammed into the wave of oncoming creatures. Howls of pain erupted from the throats of the misshapen beings as they felt the wrath of the mighty hralls.
With several displaced bodies sent sprawling across the roadway, the second wave of monsters leapt high into the air in an attempt to avoid their attackers. Long and lean bodies sharing characteristics of both man and goat soared through the air. Where their bodies were not covered in hair, they were instead dominated by distinctive black markings. Lengthy spires carved with spiraling ridges protruded from their beastly skulls. Their wicked eyes radiated a green light.
One of the abominations flew at them, but with a backhanded swing, Theros hit the beast violently with the engraved iron head of his hammer. The goatman was wrecked by the body blow and sent crashing into the stone walls of the pass. Two more beasts leapt upon Ogron, and Theros watched his brother get torn to the ground. Then before he could rush to his aid, he saw something flying at him out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively reacting, he threw his torso backward while remaining atop his mount, and watched the spinning axe twist over him. At great speed, the axe flew right toward Nikolai. Without time to think, Nikolai took cover behind his heater shield, only to absorb the blow. Unable to brace for impact, the captain was thrown from his horse, landing awkwardly on his right arm.
Seeing the chaos, Melgrim and Shadow doubled back so he could help his rescue party. Seeing this, Nikolai shouted to Melgrim with gestures to turn back and go.
“Deliver the report!” commanded Nikolai as he clutched his right arm in agony.
Rising above the roar of battle came a guttural howl. One goatman was thrown through the air, and a second was hewn down by a large axe. Ogron charged toward another with his hands prepared for the task. The orc chieftain’s blow was perfect, savagely rending another in its tracks.
The two soldiers that had accompanied Nikolai positioned themselves to protect their wounded leader, but they struggled in battle against the vicious creatures. The beasts’ raw power belied their rugged but lean frames. One of the beasts charged them, lowering his head to gore them. Eagerly the soldiers ran him through, piercing his chest with both of their blades. As the life spilled from his deformed body, an unnatural shriek pierced their senses. The demon beast’s life was over, but it was their undoing. With both of their swords buried in his chest, they were unable to fend off the approaching attacker. With a quick kick, this second goatman knocked one of their shields away with his hooved foot, then swung its warped axe. The blacked iron blade violently accelerated through the downward arc, destroying armor and soldier alike. The remaining soldier finally freed his blade, but he was no match for the frenzy of strikes made by the beast. As he staggered back under the force of their impact, he lost his footing. With lightning speed, the next blow of the blackened axe was already rending the soldier’s abdomen. Two glowing green eyes stared down upon Nikolai with vile intent as the creature lifted the wicked blade above his head. With a rage-filled howl, the blade descended, and Nikolai, unable to move, simply closed his eyes as he waited for the end.
A deafening roar filled the air. Intricately engraved iron smashed into the goatman’s right rib, lifting the monster off his feet and sending him crashing into the rocky surface of the wall to his left.
“Come, we must go,” fired Theros as he reached down to help Nikolai get to his feet.
Shock and disbelief fell o
ver his face as the big orc worked quickly to get him back atop his horse. Ogron and Theros joined him on their own mounts, and they headed north without further delay. In their wake lay twenty bodies that would never rise again. This was not the worst of it, though—far from it, in fact. The Brotherhood of Baalim was on their doorstep once again, and they were not going to stop knocking until the doors came down.
21 The Siege of Storm Vale
“King Tiereon, the war has begun. They march on Storm Vale now. They will be at the outer gate in hours,” rattled off Melgrim as he struggled to catch his breath.
“This is grave news, my friend. We can only pray that God comes to our aid. Come, join me in prayer?” said the king.
“Prayer?” responded the captain with an incredulous look on his face. “I mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but we must make the final preparations for battle. Religious posturing will not save our people from the axe of the Minotaur,” snapped the captain.
King Tiereon looked upon Melgrim with sadness. “Religious posturing? Do you think I aim to impress anyone? No, I seek God’s protection!”
“Seth, too, believed in your God, and now he is dead. Where was your God when we were ambushed?” cried out Melgrim bitterly as tears raced down his face.
The king embraced his friend. “Melgrim, there are many things that are beyond my understanding. What I do know is that Seth’s life was stolen because of the evil that exists in this world. The Minotaur took his life, not God.”
“If God wouldn’t spare his life or the lives of my sisters, then why would we pray to Him now?” asked Melgrim as he choked back the tears.
“There are times that I have petitioned the Lord for protection and healing, only to instead mourn with families. I wish that I could understand His ways better, but they are far beyond the mind of a simple king. But I have also seen His hand move miraculously, bringing healing and protection to his people. So join me and pray for our people,” urged King Tiereon.