“Mm, rest,” stated Fangdarr, a bit of a grumble in his voice. Now that the boy was a bit older, his two bottom teeth were fairly large and thick fangs that protruded from behind his lip that curled inward slightly and sat near the sides of his nose. Each fang, much sharper than a human tooth, was capable of rending tough flesh.
As the boys entered the den, they placed their weapons in their respective rooms. Bitrayuul was always careful to place Kwip against the wall with its quiver and drop his gauntlets on each side to keep the bow from falling over. Fangdarr, on the other hand, had created a wall mount for his weapon, the mighty Driktarr. When Vrutnag had left the village for good all those years ago, she had looked at the weapon inside her tent and decided that, since the blade was Brutigarr’s lineage, it belonged in the hands of his son, Fangdarr.
The boys rested while their mother prepared supper. When she yelled to them to go wash, the unlikely brothers headed down the rock face outside to the stream running along the base of the cave. “Want to brawl after meal?” Fangdarr asked his brother.
“You always want to fight, Fang. What good is it fighting someone you know you can beat?” replied the half-orc. Bitrayuul knew he couldn’t beat his full-blooded orc brother in hand-to-hand combat. The odds were too against him. That does not mean he had never tried; he actually came close once. Bitrayuul’s strength was no match for his brother’s but he was still very capable in his own right.
“How you get better if you no try?” questioned Fangdarr, fully expecting his ploy at coercion to work. He knew Bitrayuul disliked being the underdog, and that he often let it persuade him into challenges.
“Fine, fine, after dinner,” the half-orc sighed with hopelessness.
Fangdarr grinned, knowing he had won. He liked winning.
Chapter Four
Guest
After eating the meal Vrutnag prepared, the boys went down to the woods to spar. “Be careful, you two!” their mother called to them. It would not be the first time one of them had come home with a broken bone or two.
The boys waved their mother’s concerns away as if they had heard them a thousand times—in reality, they may have—and continued their path to their crudely built sparring ring. The area was nothing more than a section of forest cleared of leaves and sticks, lined by a crudely-developed circle of rocks. As always, Fangdarr wore nothing but his kilt, while his brother had on his leather outfit. They began to circle each other, sizing up the other’s approach.
Fangdarr typically charged in first as his battle fury would get him in a trance-like state of fighting rage. Bitrayuul was usually the more calculated fighter, measuring up his opponent and studying his movements before going on the offensive. However, Bitrayuul struck first this time. And it worked! Taken completely by surprise by the unusual aggressiveness of his smaller brother, Fangdarr took a hard hit to the chest. He staggered back a few steps and appeared flustered. “Good hit,” he grunted at his brother, who appeared scared as to what reaction he might get in return.
“Thanks . . .” Bitrayuul replied. The muscles in his calves tightened as he readied himself in case he needed to jump out of the way of the easily-angered Fangdarr.
The orc rubbed his chest and chuckled, “My turn,” before he swung full-force at his brother’s head. Bitrayuul ducked under the blow by just a hair. And it’s a good thing he did. Fangdarr’s fist collided with the tree behind him and a handful of bark exploded from its trunk. The adolescent orc roared and spun around with another fist in the air. Lust for battle filled his heart and mind, his adrenaline progressively increasing his heartrate. Fangdarr’s fury and desire for victory became an intense flame burning brighter and brighter still. With his rage blinding him, he couldn’t see what happened next. All he noticed was that when he opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the ground trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. He rolled onto his side, coughing all the while, and saw Bitrayuul squatting in a defensive crouch staring at him in blank amazement. Even he couldn’t believe what had happened. “What you do, Bit?” Fangdarr asked his brother, groaning to his feet.
“I tripped you and then you fell,” replied Bitrayuul, just as shocked by what had happened.
“Not think you do that,” grumbled the orc, his discontent showing plainly. “Good fight, Bit. You win.”
A smile spread across Bitrayuul’s lips. He won. A smug look came across the half-orc’s face. “Every once in a while, tactics beats raw strength. You may have the strength but leave the tactics to me.” He hoped that maybe now Fangdarr would ask him to teach him some fighting strategies.
“I like to crush first. Wonder how it happened later.”
As they stared at each other, they heard a rustle among the brush near them. Instinctively, they crouched low, expecting it to be some sort of animal. They looked at each other, both acknowledging they had no real weapons. For many moments they sat and waited, staring intently at the brush. Perhaps it was just their imagination. Fangdarr shrugged at his brother and stood up.
“I go check,” he said.
Bitrayuul watched carefully as his brother approached the foliage. Just as he peeked in, a hand reached out to grab his wrist. Fangdarr jumped back in surprise and pulled back his other arm, ready to unleash punches at his target. But the hand clenching his arm slipped away weakly. Fangdarr peeked in again, and this time the hand didn’t come out. Something odd stood out about the hand, though. It didn’t fit all the way around his wrist. A child? He thought about what to do next. Looking back at Bitrayuul, Fangdarr shrugged and reached in the brush with both arms. What he pulled out surprised them both. It was a dwarf, bloodied and bruised. Neither of the brothers had ever seen one in person before, and though it was the size of a child, they could tell it was fairly aged.
“Uh . . . it small dwarf,” stated Fangdarr.
“Yes, I see that,” replied his brother.
“What we do?”
“Not sure, he seems hurt. Let’s take him to Mother.”
With that, the stronger brother hauled the heavy armor-laden dwarf over his shoulder and they began their trip home. They were curious about the dwarf, but even more curious as to how their mother would react.
As they entered their den, Vrutnag was still clearing the makeshift table of their dinner. She could hear the boys huffing excessively, much more than was usual for a sparring match. With her interest piqued, she went to check on them and was shocked to find a bloodied dwarf slung limp across Fangdarr’s shoulder. She immediately assaulted him with questions.
“Fang! What happened? Were you attacked? Did you kill that dwarf?” she pressed on unrelenting.
“No, Mama, we found him,” he replied as best he could through the bombardment of his mother’s questions.
“Yeah, he was lying in the brush,” added Bitrayuul. He could see the trepidation on his mother’s face and wanted to reassure her that they weren’t attacked.
“Was he alone, son?” she asked him, knowing he was more concerned with detail than his feral brother.
“Yes, and he is in the exact shape we found him in.” At that his mother seemed to ease up a bit. He realized she was worried they had harmed the small creature. Fangdarr dragged the dwarf by his foot into the main chamber of the den. All three hung curious faces over the being, inspecting it thoroughly. “Will he be alright, Mother?”
“I’m not sure. Help me take off his armor.” As they slowly took off each piece, they noticed intricately-designed emblems on each one. They all concluded it must be the dwarf’s clan emblem. Once the dwarf was stripped down to just a cloth tunic and leggings, Vrutnag rolled him from side to side searching for more wounds but found only two. They were large, but she could try to dress them. A finger-deep cut ran the entire length of the dwarf’s right thigh. His left shoulder had been dislocated, leaving a black bruise that discolored the area from bicep to collarbone. “Bit, fetch a bucket of water please. Fang, bring some linen and a knife. And start a small fire.”
&
nbsp; Off the boys went at a quickened pace. Neither understood the rush. The creature held no connection to them. Yet they felt compelled to help him as fast as possible. They returned with the requested items and kindled a fire. They watched carefully as their mother placed the blade of the knife in the fire to cleanse it and went steadily to mending the dwarf’s wounds. She prioritized the deep gash in his thigh as it was still slowly bleeding. Luckily for the dwarf, the cut had avoided any arteries and coagulated, but he must have been in the dirt and mud for a while as an infection had already taken root in the wound, causing it to fester. She would need to cut the infected flesh away from the wound.
Vrutnag took the hot blade from the fire and slowly pressed it to the dwarf’s skin, waiting for a reaction. None came. She remembered dwarven skin was much thicker than orcs, so she pressed down harder, dragging the blade along until it cut through the flesh.
Slowly, the knife made its way around the wound, clearing away the infectious parts, while at the same time re-opening the wound. Already two blood-soaked rags had been tossed aside. With a deep sigh, Vrutnag wiped off the knife and placed it back in the fire. Then her gaze drifted to her sons, who were both silent, watching the dwarf.
“Boys, are you alright?”
They blinked to stop staring at the dwarf and turned to her. “Yes, Mother,” Bitrayuul started, “just watching. Are you going to stitch the wound?”
Vrutnag pondered for a moment, taking another look at the wound. “It will be difficult. I had to cut away a lot, widening the gash. Stitching may pull some of the wide parts too tightly. I will need to burn the rest.”
“Burn?” Fangdarr chimed in.
“Yes, burn. It is a useful way to seal a wound, but it can be dangerous. And obviously very painful.” Her head turned to the dwarf, “Hopefully, he’ll stay unconscious.”
Vrutnag turned back to her patient and tied one end of a string of cloth around a thick spine-like thorn and formed a knot at the other end. The thorn held up firmly while piercing the tough skin of the dwarf. Concentrating, Vrutnag steadily threaded the thorn and twine through the wound, closing the slimmer parts of the gash. About half was able to be stitched close, leaving the remainder to be burned.
By then, the knife blade was screaming red. Fangdarr and Bitrayuul looked on eagerly as she took it from the fire. They had been mended by their mother at least a dozen times, but never did they suffer so grave a wound as to have it burned shut. They watched as Vrutnag pressed the flat of the blade down onto the wound. Instantly the room smelled of burning flesh and hair. The sizzle of the dwarf’s skin started in a high squeal, then slowly died down as the knife blade remained in contact. After a moment, their mother removed the knife.
The boys shifted closer to inspect the result. A gnarly melted combination of skin and muscle had fused together beneath the knife blade. The wound had been sealed, but the sight was sickening. Vrutnag held the knife over the fire for a moment, and the boys watched as flecks of skin and sinew slowly melted off the metal, falling into the flames below. After the blade was once again gleaming red, she pressed it to the next portion of the wound. Again the cave filled with the now-familiar smell and sound.
In rapt silence, the boys watched their mother continue to seal the wound. Finally, she set the knife on the outer edge of the fire. “Bitrayuul, the bucket of water please.”
He reached for the bucket, as well as a spare rag, and passed them to his mother.
“Thank you, dear.” She wiped the sweat from her brow, dipped the rag into the lukewarm water and wrung out the excess. Lightly, she laid the rag over the closed wound on the dwarf’s thigh, allowing it to cool the severely inflamed skin. “Now for the shoulder. I would like you two to do this one. Don’t worry, I will guide you.”
“You want us to do it?” Bitrayuul asked apprehensively.
“Yes, but it is a bruise, much easier than an open gash. A bruise is just internal bleeding, you have had many, remember? His shoulder is dislocated as well. It is an easy thing to fix and happens to warriors often, so I want you both to know how to fix one.”
At the sound of ‘warriors’, Fangdarr inched closer. “I do it!”
She handed him the knife, now cooled down to a dull heat. “First, you will need to puncture the area to allow the blood to drain. Make sure you don’t go too deep, just enough for the blood to leave his body.”
Fangdarr lightly held the knife tip against the dwarf’s shoulder. The skin was much tougher than he thought, causing him to push harder. He grew frustrated. “Mama, I will hurt dwarf if I push too hard.”
She smiled at his uncharacteristic tenderness. “Don’t worry, he can’t feel anything. As you can tell, his skin is thick, so you have to press hard to puncture it. But once you do, the knife will go in easily and you risk cutting too deep. But I trust your instincts will tell you when to stop.”
Fangdarr steeled his resolve and firmly pushed on the hilt of the knife, waiting for the skin to give way. He felt a quick pop as the knife plunged through the flesh. His mother was right. As soon as he felt the knife sink in, his grip instinctively retracted the blade. A steady stream of blood began spilling out onto the ground.
“Good job, Fang. Bitrayuul, your turn. We need to set his shoulder back in its joint.” Vrutnag said.
Bitrayuul crept up to the patient. “What do I do?” he asked.
“Grab his arm above the elbow with one hand and his wrist in the other. Hold his elbow down against his body firmly. Lift his forearm up to point to the sky. Then, use both hands and slowly pull down on his wrist and his elbow at the same time. Keep going until you hear a ‘pop’. That will be his shoulder joint setting back in place. After that, very slowly push his arm back toward his shoulder to push it deeper into the joint. Do you understand?”
The young half-orc nodded hesitantly. “What if I mess up?”
“You’ll be fine.”
Her assurance did little to calm his nerves. But he trusted his mother. He set the dwarf’s arms into the proper position, then slowly tugged downward. Bitrayuul could feel the resistance as bones dragged across each other. Still, he continued to pull.
Pop.
Bitrayuul could hardly contain his excitement. “I did it, Mother!”
“Yes, you did. Now don’t forget to push the joint in deeper,” she added.
Soberly, he remembered the task at hand. Just another bit forward was all that was needed to set the joint in fully. He sighed as his task was completed.
“Nice job, Bit,” Fangdarr commented.
“Yes, both of you,” Vrutnag smiled. “Now, we need to tie his arm down to ensure it doesn’t fall back out, and put a light wrapping on his burn to avoid irritation.”
As the moon ascended the night sky, the boys aided their mother with the last of the tasks, bringing the ordeal to a close.
“Is there anything else, Mother,” Bitrayuul asked.
“Now he needs rest. We will check on him in the morning,” she answered.
Chapter Five
Tormag
The next morning began with Vrutnag being awoken by a ruckus from the boys. They were jumping around excitedly as if they had found the location of a dragon’s hoard of gold. She giggled away their eagerness and said, “Alright, alright. I’ll go check on him. Stay in here please.” With that, she headed out to the chamber she had set up for the injured dwarf.
Vrutnag had asked her children to stay in her room for two reasons. First, she had no idea whether or not the dwarf was a threat—even in his injured state. Second, she was afraid her patient might not have survived the night, and she did not want the boys to find him dead after all their attempts to revitalize him.
Vrutnag slowly entered the dwarf’s chambers, and confusion ran through her. His bed was empty. She quickly scanned the room looking for the dwarf. As she turned, Vrutnag noticed a small figure in the corner of the room huddled under the boar-skin blanket she had left him. “Are you alright, dwarf?” she called out to her guest. No
reply came, so she reached out for him. When her dark-skinned hands came into contact with the bundle, it shook violently as if caught by surprise. The dwarf, fully entangled in the blanket, struggled until he spilled free onto the cold stone, falling flat on his nose. He sputtered and heaved in large gasps of air.
“Oof, reckon that one will hurt in the mornin’,” he sighed. He rolled onto his back and tilted his head up to see the female orc standing above him. His long, black beard getting lost with his waist-high unkempt hair. “Well, if that ain’t an orc than me head must’ve got hit pretty hard, I reckon.” He lifted his hands to his eyes and gave them a solid rub, thinking to clear out his vision. “Yep, that’s an orc. Say, orc, what’re ye about?” The puzzled expression he wore said more than his words.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 2