“Oh! Umm, excuse me, sirs,” stated the flustered, nervous woman, her mind catching on the fear that was trying to swallow her. Trepidation tickled the hairs on the nape of her neck.
One of the men jumped down from his horse and stood in front of her, eyes locking into hers. His eyes seemed plain but vicious. She could smell the alcohol on his breath; its pungency stung her eyes. “What are you doing out here, orc?” he spat in disgust. “You don’t belong in these woods. Where did you come from?”
Vrutnag grew worried and wished her boys would come rescue her. “I’m just gathering apples to eat,” she explained, making sure not to reveal too much. She didn’t want them to know of her home or her sons.
“You hear that, Radley? I think we’ve just found out who’s been taking all your apples.” He poked her in the arm with the tip of his sword as he spoke. At his statement, another man jumped down from his horse. This man was not drunk, but he appeared more sinister than the first. His dirty face was scraggly and unshaven, nearly hiding his menacing grin as he approached the orc.
“So, my favorite apples are being eaten by a degenerate orc, eh? Well, that won’t do,” said Radley. The men all cackled at the helpless creature. Every grin and chuckle was another blade ready to sink into her flesh, only amplifying her fear. She had nowhere to go. The horses circled around her, hooves stamping the ground, simply waiting for their master’s call.
“I . . . I’m sorry, sir. I was not aware they were yours,” she replied sheepishly.
“Eh, don’t worry, orc. It’s alright. It’s not as if my children need to eat or anything.” His sarcasm summoned more laughter from his companions. Vrutnag was too scared to react. “Hey now, look here, orc,” Radley said, forcefully grabbing her chin. “It’s polite to look at someone when they speak to you!” he yelled at the frightened woman, slapping her hard across the face, knocking her prone.
Vrutnag gasped, the breath gone from her lungs. Her head pounded from the pain of the blow. She knew she had to run. Vrutnag had come across horrible men before, and these men were no different. As all the men laughed at her, she slowly stood and pretended to be dazed by the blow. Again, their laughter and mocking tones swallowed the sounds of the surrounding birds. Then, Vrutnag took off running. She was old and not as strong as she once was; however, she was still an orc. Long legs and muscular thighs carried her toward her den, giving her hope she could get within yelling distance of her family so they could come to her aid.
“Oye! She’s getting away!” shouted one of the men. Radley and the inebriated man leapt back onto their horses and spurred them after her, followed shortly by their comrades. The band gave pursuit, their amusement quickly turning to vengeful anger.
Hearing the thunderous hoof beats behind her, Vrutnag sprinted as fast as she could. It was clear what would come if she was captured. But despite her able legs carrying her swiftly through the forest, she knew she could not outrun horses. Her advantage was dwindling by the second. If only she could make it to her den. Laborious pants erupted from her lungs. Decades had passed since she had last run like this. The backs of her legs burned from the sudden usage; nevertheless, they propelled her forward until her home came into sight, still an eighth of a league away. Feeling the breath of the horses panting on her neck, and almost out of breath herself, she screamed for her sons.
* * * * *
Fangdarr and Bitrayuul arose from their cots, hearing a scream but not knowing the source. They cast a curious glance at each other, then got up to search the den. Finding their mother gone, they assumed she was out for her morning walk. But another wail for help struck them with panic. It was Vrutnag. Both boys ran back to their rooms and grabbed their weapons, yelling for Tormag to follow them as they sprinted toward the mouth of the cave.
* * * * *
“We’re almost on her, boys!” shouted Radley, pressing his horse toward the heels of the matron orc. His comrades followed with a holler as they closed in on their prey.
* * * * *
Tormag and the boys clattered down the rock face as fast as they could until they reached the forest floor. Their eyes nearly jumped from their skulls when they saw Vrutnag, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her, straight toward them. But she wasn’t alone. Five men on horses were chasing her down. What happened next, none of them expected. The horses caught up.
Despite sprinting so long, with hope finally in sight, Vrutnag felt the horse push her over. She crashed hard to the ground, the bones in her arm shattering from the fall. She cried out and screamed in pain, hoping her boys could reach her. But they were too far away.
Radley and his four companions dismounted, oblivious to the orcs charging toward them from the cave, the lust for blood in their eyes. “You really shouldn’t have run from us, orc,” Radley growled. “Though it did make for good sport.” Once again, the men laughed at her. Tears filled her eyes. It was too late. She wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to her sons. A thousand curses ran through her mind.
All the horsemen drew their swords and grinned at Vrutnag. A quick flick of Radley’s sword left a line of blood on her arm. Each of the humans took turns slashing at her flesh, just enough to draw blood but careful to avoid severing any limbs or arteries. They wanted to draw out the ordeal—to torture her for how they perceived she had wronged them. She had stolen their fruit. Walked their land. Prolonged their fun. It was all her fault. She had impeded their greed and when the greed of men is threatened, they become ten times as beastly as any orc.
After she had suffered dozens of bloody gashes, spilling her lifeblood onto the cool forest floor, Radley grabbed a clump of her hair and glared into her half-closed eyes. “Next time, find your own damn apples, maggot,” he spat through gritted teeth. His hatred for the dying orc only spurred his anger even more. His hand clenched ever-tighter on her blood-stained hair, and with a single, hard slice, he cut through her neck with his sword, his gaze never leaving hers.
Fangdarr and Bitrayuul saw their mother’s head separate from her lifeless body and a primal rage ripped through them, sending a roar through the forest that echoed off the trees and drew the men’s attention. They sprinted ahead of Tormag, whose smaller legs could not keep up with the enraged orcs.
Radley dropped the head and quickly arranged his fellow horseman into a small formation. “Well, looks like we pissed off some of her friends, boys!” Radley chuckled. However, this time his companions didn’t join in. “Aww, what’s the matter, eh? You don’t mind chasing down a defenseless whelp, but armed orcs get you scared? Bah! Get ready to fight, you dogs!”
Their leader’s words did little to assuage the men’s fears. They watched in blank amazement as the ferocious pair, orc and half-orc, bore down on them, an insatiable lust in their eyes. One rider, the drunken man who had first confronted Vrutnag ran off in fear, tripping over himself as he went. Radley spat a curse at the cowardly man and turned to face the orcs.
Fangdarr had Driktarr in his hands, preparing the enormous axe for a strike. His training with Tormag had taught him to be more tactical and to resist his dreadful desire to charge in blindly. He closed the distance between himself and the men. His large, curved greataxe tucked far behind his right shoulder, ready to cleave the shoulder of the nearest man. Radley grinned at the orc’s predictable actions, preparing his own attack in response. But at the last moment of his charge, Fangdarr surprised him by planting his heel hard, redirecting his momentum and coming from the side in a spinning whirlwind of steel.
With Driktarr’s length and Fangdarr’s superior size, the men had no hope to counter with their short swords. All they could do was attempt to parry the aggressive attack from the enraged monster.
Fangdarr managed to clip one of the men during his assault, but it was no mere clip. The man was cleaved completely in half, as the orc had sheared through his awkwardly raised forearm and on through his torso. A piercing shriek erupted through the forest as the man’s two halves fell to the ground in arterial spurts of crim
son that painted the surrounding undergrowth.
The other three barely managed to parry the attack, but they weren’t free yet. Enraged anew at seeing his mother’s headless corpse, Fangdarr raised his mighty axe high above his head and slammed its sharpened head down through another man’s skull. The orc’s eyes fluttered in ecstasy as the fountain of blood from his victim shrouded himself and his axe.
Radley and his companions had managed to inflict some of their own wounds during Fangdarr’s initial flurry, but now the frightened horsemen watched in awestruck horror as the ancient magic within the orc’s weapon flowed into his wounds, stitching them closed and giving him new vitality. Wisps of black smoke trickled out of the wounds as they finished closing, leaving only a scar in their wake.
The humans were horrified at the absolute strength of the orc. They watched as Fangdarr dislodged his axe from the ground under the most recent victim. The two halves of the man rolled toward his living companions, only adding to their horror as his open eyes stared at them, devoid of life. Blood covered the entire area, fully soaking the orc who stood before the frightened horsemen.
Fangdarr leveled his grim gaze on the stunned men—the evil men who had taken his mother from him. Bitrayuul came into sight, dragging the drunken man who had escaped behind him, two feathered arrows sticking out of the back of the man’s shoulder.
“Mine is alive, I see you’ve disposed of two of them already,” inspecting the bloody mess his brother had made.
Fangdarr grumbled, his rage settling a bit. “Two left, Bit.” He desperately wanted to kill them himself, but he respectively allowed for his brother to get an equal share of the vengeance. He silently wondered how differently he may have acted had Tormag not instructed him. He shook the thought away. A consideration for another time . . .
The half-orc turned toward the shivering men, then back to his brother. They both recognized which of the men had killed their mother and instinctively decided to save him for last. Bitrayuul grabbed the other man by his hair and drug him a short distance to a clearing, his great-bow strung over his back, gauntlets on his hips. Fangdarr looked on, curious as to how his smaller brother was going to kill the cowering man. He wondered if Bitrayuul was as angry at their mother’s death as he.
“P-please don’t kill me, I’m sorry!” desperately yelled the man, tears filling his eyes.
Bitrayuul dropped him to the ground and looked at him with an emotionless expression, as if he was an assassin simply doing what he needed to do. The man continued his begging and whimpering, but the half-orc simply looked at him and raised his boot.
Just as he was about to act, Tormag finally caught up to them, “Oye, what’ve ye got, Bit?” he asked of his student. Bitrayuul looked at him with a hollow visage and, still watching his teacher, slammed his boot down onto the man’s face. There was a muffled crunch and Bitrayuul raised his boot again. And again. His eyes empty after the horror of watching his mother decapitated. Blood from his victim spattered onto his leather pants with each blow. The man was dead by the third stomp, but Bitrayuul brought his boot down dozens of times until the man’s face, a mash of blood and bone fragments, merged with the forest floor. A grin came over Fangdarr’s face.
Life returned to Bitrayuul’s eyes, and he looked down at his work. Then he fell backwards onto his rear, his shoulders slumped low, and he began to cry. He did not cry for the man. His desire for the rush of battle had been much greater than he had assumed. He wept only for his lost mother.
Fangdarr and Tormag looked at the spectacle of the distraught half-orc. To be sure, Fangdarr felt the same temptation to cry as his brother did, but his pride would never let him shed a tear. He turned his attention to Radley.
“What we do with him, Tormag? He kill Mama.”
Tormag had grown especially close to Vrutnag in the passing years, and he understood the pain of his loss. The boys had more right than he to take vengeance upon their mother’s murderer. He felt his stomach drop as he looked at her headless corpse. “Well, lad, he took yer mother. Take his.”
Fangdarr beamed a wide smile at his mentor’s statement. He knew Tormag to be a peaceful dwarf, so this was unexpected advice. Certainly Tormag had taken many lives before. But that was war. This was vengeance. Merciless and without repent. Fangdarr bent down over Radley, his terrible breath blowing into the man’s face. “Human, where you live?”
Radley gave a horrified expression. “No! Please, I beg you, I have children at home!”
The man knew his mistake just as he said it for Fangdarr looked at Bitrayuul and the half-orc shrugged. “Well, he took our mother. Seems only fair.”
“No! No! You can’t! Take me instead! Please!”
Fangdarr and Bitrayuul looked at Tormag. The dwarf knew it was not his place to intervene, so he stepped back, allowing the boys to settle the matter themselves. Bitrayuul nodded at Fangdarr and the orc picked the man up by his tunic and roared into his face, causing more than a little spittle to fly into his eyes and gaping mouth, “You take ours, we take yours!” and dropped him to the ground. At that, the smaller orc approached his brother.
“Fang, he’ll never tell us where his family is. I have an idea, though.” He walked over to the man with the arrows in his back. With ease, Bitrayuul grabbed the man’s ankle and dragged him over to his brother. “You, where does this man live?” he asked of the injured man. The man gave a horrified glance at his pleading companion, not knowing what to do. The orcs saw the connection and Fangdarr kicked Radley in the face, drawing a groan and a flow of blood. Bitrayuul started again more slowly. “Sir, if you tell me where this man’s home is, I will let you live. If you do not, we will rip your limbs off one by one.”
The man whimpered, then began to sob, knowing that if he were to choose to live, he was condemning an innocent person to die in his stead. “I don’t want to die . . . but I can’t have another die in my place,” he whispered toward the ground.
The orcs looked at each other. The man had honor. Fangdarr nodded to his brother. The man deserved to die quickly. Bitrayuul stepped up to the man, clasped his hands firmly around his head, and broke his neck. The man’s body fell heavily to the ground. They then returned their gaze to Radley, who was covered in tears. Tormag walked up to the boys and said, “Lads, this be yer quarrel. Whatever ye do, ye do. But, surely ye be thinkin’ about how yer mother would love t’ be proud o’ yer decision.”
The boys stared at Tormag, knowing he was not going to interfere but also catching his meaning. Always teaching them whatever he could. Mercy and forgiveness. Those were his next lessons. Fangdarr let out a sigh. The orc-kin could not kill the man’s family. Even if the man deserved such horrid grief, his children were blameless. Nevertheless, they still had to decide what to do with the man who had killed their beloved mother.
Fangdarr turned to Radley and nodded toward his dead comrade. “He save your family. You get his punishment.”
The cruel man’s eyes filled with horror. He quickly reached for his sword and tried to stick himself in the gut, but Fangdarr grabbed his arm and tore the sword from his grasp before tossing it aside. Then the ferocious orc gripped the man’s wrist and planted a heavy foot on his chest. Radley knew instantly what the orc meant to do to him.
He began screaming and thrashing about wildly, but Fangdarr’s foot kept him in check. The orc continued to pull the man’s arm with all his might. After a few rapt seconds—the man relentlessly screaming all the while—the arm came free from its socket. Another scream of agony and Fangdarr growled and pulled harder until a line of deep red showed along the man’s shoulder and the skin, muscle, and tendons tore apart.
Radley violently convulsed on the ground as blood shot out from the empty socket. His mouth was agape, but no sounds escaped. Fangdarr looked at the severed arm within his grasp. He grinned sinisterly at it and held it over the man’s face wringing the blood out. The orc looked up at his brother. “You turn, Bit.”
Chapter Eight
Clo
sure
Now was the time for mourning. Fangdaar and Bitrayuul searched among the gory chaos for their mother’s corpse, head and all, and carried her back to their den. Bitrayuul could not hold his tears as their loving mother lay limp in their strong arms. Fangdarr, ever the prideful one, still refused to let his emotions slip from his control. But it took everything. No amount of corded muscle could prepare him for such a loss. His abdomen tightened in knots as he held the emotions at bay.
A short while later, they reached their residence and carefully lay Vrutnag’s body on the cold stone. Bitrayuul’s sobs slowly turned to whimpers. He removed his unblemished gauntlets, realizing he had not utilized them during the skirmish. They fell to the ground with loud clanks. Then the half-orc leaned over his mother’s body as Tormag draped a light sash over her, kissing her forehead lightly—the closest thing he could offer to a final parting. Too late for things unspoken, he thought.
Bitrayuul rose to his feet and cleared his throat to speak. “I will gather firewood,” he choked out. He was determined to give their mother a proper burial.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 4