The captain pushed aside his fellow dwarves and stepped up to the door, knocking loudly to be heard over the commotion. Tormag came to the door and nearly fell out of his boots when he saw over fifty dwarves, an enormous orc, and a black grizzly bear waiting outside. “What in the name of stones!” he started, not recognizing Fangdarr due to his age and the hundreds of scars he had received in the past six years. “Just because I live with an orc don’t mean I’m fer takin’ in every stray ye find!” A smile came to Fangdarr’s face as he recognized the thick accent of his old dwarven companion, causing him to stand out amongst the chattering of the assembled onlookers.
The commotion drew Bitrayuul to the door behind his mentor. Unlike Tormag, the orc recognized his brother instantly. “Fangdarr?” he whispered.
The large orc looked his brother in the eyes and nodded. “Bit.”
Fangdarr’s eyes scanned his tan-skinned brother, learning what he could of his kin’s recent years. What he saw almost drew a visible scowl from the scarred orc. Bitrayuul’s appearance had changed very little, other than he was much cleaner and well-kept. His long black ponytail hung neatly over his broad shoulders, defying his intimidating physique.
He was noticeably well-dressed—especially for one with orcish blood. He wore a glittering gold-laced tunic, and his standard thin leather pants. Unlike his feral, blood-lusting brother, there was not a single scar to be seen scratched into his skin. Most orcs of the nearby Zharnik clan had their fair share, only adding to their ferocious intimidation.
Bitrayuul may not have had any scars on his body, but the roughness of his hands showed he was no stranger to battle. In truth, he was a respected general in the Dwarven Regime. But Fangdarr only had his appearance to go by, and he was filled with disgust and disappointment that any orc would pamper himself with fine cloth and pleasantries.
Tormag seemed to go unnoticed as the estranged brother’s reunion was in progress. He looked from one orc to the other then back to the crowd. “Oye, get out o’ here, ye nosy pups! I’ll be keepin’ an eye on the orc.” That drew many disgruntled groans from the onlookers, hoping a fight would break out. “Come inside, lad.”
Fangdarr finally acknowledged Tormag and stepped inside behind him, followed by Bear, who remained concealed behind the large orc. Fangdarr silently looked around the room—so different than his own lifestyle. The abode was a small stone house with luscious furniture and a fireplace. There were three rooms connected to the main chamber, presumably bedrooms. One room had a low ceiling, the other two were orc-height. As Tormag went to close the front door, Bear, unbeknownst to the dwarf ambled into one of the taller rooms. The large orc turned to his old mentor, who didn’t seem to have aged a day since his departure. “Good home,” he stated to be polite.
“Aye got meself a three-room in case ye ever changed yer mind. O’ course, ‘til today, didn’t expect t’ ever see ye again.”
Bitrayuul had remained quiet throughout the encounter, which was unusual for the half-orc. When he finally spoke up he asked, “What brings you here, Fang?”
The orc chieftain answered, a hint of concern in his voice, “I need help.”
Tormag and Bitrayuul looked at each other. They knew their old kin would never have asked anyone for help unless it was dire. “What happened?” asked the smaller brother, curious as to what Fangdarr was getting at. As he spoke, Bear reappeared and rubbed itself alongside Tormag’s back, startling the dwarf.
“Oye! There be a bear in me house!” the surprised dwarf yelled, more directed at the beast than those in the room. Bear simply looked at the stout dwarf and nuzzled his arm again. “And his nose is cold!”
Fangdarr laughed at his companion, ignoring Bitrayuul’s question for the moment. “Bear nose always cold.”
Bitrayuul grew agitated. “Fangdarr. What’s happened?”
The orc grumbled slightly from his throat. “I chieftain of Zharnik clan. Two years now. Shadow dragon, Crepusculus, attack village. Need to kill it.” He averted his eyes from the shame of having to ask for help from his old family. The assault to his pride was one he rarely experienced.
Bitrayuul met Tormag’s eyes, silently questioning what their response should be. The dwarf simply shrugged as if he would not care either way. The half-orc avoided his brother’s implied request and said, “I see you have a few more scars.” With that statement much of Fangdarr’s pride returned. Indeed, he was nearly covered. His black skin was marred with hundreds of thin white scars etched over his entire body. His lack of armor in combat ensured he collect many more than he should, yet he still never wore any. Armor slowed him down. The wounds he received in return were healed by every foe he slaughtered.
“Many battles,” stated the proud chieftain. He pointed to his left forearm which had a large maw-shaped scar. “Bear did that,” he laughed, recalling the memory of his first encounter with his new friend just days before. Tormag took an uneasy step away from the bear. “So, you help?” Fangdarr asked.
Bitrayuul stood looking at the window to the inner city of Tarabar where curious dwarves continued to remain nearby, kicking at torches lighting the cavernous city. His breathing was steady and calm, but his thoughts were racing. He truly liked the idea of an adventure, as he was sure Tormag did. But to fight a dragon? It seemed hopeless. While in the dwarven city, he had learned much about the outside world—including the nature of dragons. No amount of armor would protect them from the acidic breath of a shadow dragon. He sighed, still looking out the window. “No, Fangdarr. We’re staying.”
The orc was shocked. He knew he had left his brother a long time ago, but he thought he could still count on him to help him if he ever needed it. “You no help your brother?” Fangdarr asked, clearly angry.
“No. This is my home now, Fang. Tormag and I have duties here.”
“I have duties. Chieftain protect our clan.”
“Your clan! Not ours, yours!” Bitrayuul replied angrily. “Don’t you understand, Fangdarr? This,” he opened his arms toward the city, “is my clan. I have been accepted here as one of their own. Tormag is once again the commander of the Dwarven Regime, with me as a general. The council has taken note of your expansion, Fangdarr. They need us here to protect the city from your greedy fingers!”
Fangdarr looked perplexed at the accusation. How was it that the dwarves knew he was considering a war against them? He wondered if he had any disloyal orcs in his clan but waved the notion away. The dragon was the issue at hand. “Then I go alone.”
This time Tormag spoke. “Lad, ye can’t take on a shadow dragon by yer lonesome. Just leave the drake t’ its hole.”
The orc sighed. “No. My clan expect war with Tarabar or Wiston. But I know we do not have the strength. Dragon attack give excuse not to pursue war. If I do not pursue dragon, my clan expect war. I do not want to fight you.”
Tormag and Bitrayuul looked to each other. They realized the orc still loved his family, even though he chose solitude over them. “Fangdarr, I cannot go. But I beg you not to. Why not stay here with us? Become a general in the Regime,” Bitrayuul suggested.
Fangdarr’s outburst of laughter caught the pair by surprise. “Give up chieftain to be general? I am greatest orc chieftain of Zharnik clan; greatest orc ever! I brought glory to our kind. Why throw away to be servant? No. I must kill dragon, with or without you.”
Bitrayuul just nodded in silence. He could not convince his brother to stay or turn from his path. Tormag approached his old student. “Lad, ye be careful. If yer thinkin’ o’ takin’ on the drake, best ye should be knowin’ that shadow dragons have a weak spot. Right in the back o’ their blasted head. Ain’t much, but their scales will shrug off even yer axe. No scale on the back o’ their head, so be sure t’ bring a dagger.”
Fangdarr looked at his mentor, taking in the information. “Thank you, Tormag,” he said and moved toward the door. “Come, Bear.” His companion obediently got up from in front of the fireplace and followed its master through the doorway. Bi
trayuul and Tormag watched their kin walk away from them, the memories of his first departure cutting into their heart and creating fresh wounds.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PRIDE
The bittersweet reunion with his distant kin had not gone as Fangdarr planned. He felt naïve for believing Bitrayuul would join him after their severance. The truth stung the black-skinned orc more than he dared to admit. If the half-orc ever came to his village in need of assistance he would show no hesitation in coming to his aid, so why wouldn’t his brother help him now? Fangdarr grumbled to himself as he trudged heavily through the torch-lit streets of Tarabar. Bitrayuul the betrayer. His mother named her adoptive son well.
Cormac sat patiently waiting for the orc to return to the gate, six fully-outfitted Shield dwarves by his side. Fangdarr failed to notice, though, as his focus remain elsewhere. Thus, just when he was about to bump into the tall—relatively—dwarf, Cormac caught his attention. “Oye! Watch yer feet, lad.”
Fangdarr looked at the captain, taking in the details of the odd dwarf to keep his mind removed from the inner conflict. “Sorry, dwarf,” replied the orc, his voice full of hidden feelings.
Cormac could tell the orc had a lot on his mind. The ravenous pride that had given boastful resonance to the orc’s voice in their introduction had extinguished. He stood in front of Fangdarr defiantly, hands on his hips. “Son, ye follow me for a bit.” Fangdarr cared too little at that moment to reject the command. He and his furry companion slowly followed the captain to his chambers along the inner wall. Cormac opened the door and bid the pair to take comfort.
When Fangdarr stepped inside, he felt slightly more relaxed. Unlike Tormag’s finely furnished home, the rugged captain resided in a simple dwelling. Everything was made completely of stone: the walls, ground, chairs, everything—even the bed. It reminded the orc of the cave his mother had raised him in. His eyes scanned the room, letting his memories take over. The abode was dwarf-sized, forcing the tall creature to hunch over until he could place himself in a stone chair. Bear lay comfortably at his feet, unconcerned with any possible threat.
Locking the door behind him, the dwarf entered his home behind his guests. “Ain’t much, but its home,” he explained to Fang. He sighed and sat down opposite his company.
“It perfect,” replied the orc in a genuine tone.
“Well, I suppose it’ll do compared to livin’ outdoors. Dwarves are meant to live in stone, lad. I ain’t one for havin’ no silks and cushions.”
Fangdarr nodded his approval with a brief smile. He cast a quick glance at Cormac. Despite orc’s never-ending conflict with dwarves, being raised with Tormag had given him a great deal of tolerance toward the opposing race. He considered the unusual dwarf before him. In truth, he actually liked him. Cormac was one of simplicity and honesty, two things Fangdarr would always cherish.
The dwarf began again, “So, it seems yer meeting with yer kin didn’t go as ye planned. Sure as stone, it be written all over ye face. I asked ye here to talk about what be on yer mind. Aye, I can tell yer a great warrior, capable of handlin’ yer own in the field. Which means yer pride is bound to get the best of ye. Ye can either tell me or ye won’t. It all be the same to me, lad.”
Fangdarr listened intently to the captain. The dwarf had caught him by surprise. As he pondered whether to open up to him, he asked, “Why you want to help me?”
“Because I was like ye once. Full of life, a taste for battle, don’t ye be doubtin’. I lost me boy and love in a raid many years ago. Even before you were born. Orcs, like yerself. After their passing I became known for me lust for orc blood. I thought the more orcs I killed, the less pain I’d feel. But, I was wrong. Me pride wouldn’t let me heal, Fangdarr. And it’ll do ye the same if ye let it. Ain’t nothin’ shameful about it,” the dwarf told the orc.
Fangdarr looked Cormac in the eye, considering his proposal. The orc sighed and let his shoulders drop. He appreciated the dwarf’s honesty—even respected the old captain. It made him respect him all the more, knowing his hatred for orcs, that he had still invited Fangdarr into the sanctity of his home. It was decided. He trusted Cormac.
He began slowly for fear his emotions might overtake him. “I left Bit and Tormag six years ago. Found out Tormag kill my father. Wanted Bit to come too. He chose Tormag. Fangdarr roam the land, alone, for four years. Return to clan, become chieftain. My village attacked by shadow dragon, Crepusculus. Fangdarr came to dwarf city for brother to help kill dragon,” he paused, growing visibly upset with the story. “He refused.”
Cormac listened carefully. He knew the orc was deeply pained by the thoughts he put into words. After Fangdarr’s explanation, he understood the orc felt betrayed by his brother’s rejection—for the second time, it seemed. He tried to comfort his newfound friend. “Aye, it ain’t easy when yer kin turns their back on ye.”
“No. It hard.” The orc stood up as best he could in the small shelter. “I must go, Shield-Arms. My clan need dragon dead.” While he enjoyed the dwarf’s company, his fondness for exposing vulnerability was nonexistent.
“Ye know ye can’t hope to kill a dragon by yer lonesome,” Cormac replied.
Fangdarr shrugged. “If I die, it is with glory. This the only way to avoid war. Have to try.”
Cormac stood up as well, leading the way to the door. The orc’s mind was made up. The dwarf knew better than to try to plead for another course. Cormac led Fangdarr and Bear back toward the main gate, naught but silence between them. The black-skinned orc felt better after talking with Cormac and considered him an honorable friend if there ever was one. The odd pair had shared some of their most vulnerable thoughts and had an implied connection because of it.
With the gate in sight, Cormac turned to Fangdarr, nodding his approval. The orc clasped his large hand on the captain’s shoulder—a sign he saw him as a true friend despite the unusual circumstances. At that, the stout dwarf headed off into the guard tower, leaving Fangdarr to head out with Bear by his side.
A few minutes later, the companions started their journey to the distant mountain range that hid Crepusculus. The drake waited patiently in its pit, comfortable and lethargic. The pursuit of his goal and the eagerness of adventure had Fangdarr walking on the balls of his feet, a fresh spring in his step—despite the rejection he suffered. Already the sun was high above their heads with Tarabar just out of sight behind them. The orc led his pet from the edge of the Tusk Mountain range and back into the lush woodlands of Lithe Forest. As the pair approached the tree line, a faint shout could be heard in the distance. Fangdarr looked around in search of the source of the commotion. Bear sniffed at the air, searching with its master.
Another exclamation, closer than the last. Both orc and beast spun toward Tarabar, focusing their gaze on the horizon. Tense moments passed. Fangdarr kept his hand on his devastating heirloom while he waited for what was coming. He almost expected a disgruntled group of prejudiced dwarves to be pursuing in order to end him. His grip tightened as a small figure came into view at the base of the mountain. It was a dwarf. The creature ran to him, continuing its shouting. Fangdarr wondered if they had indeed come to kill him. Well, they could try.
Bear resumed its sniffing, hoping to identify their pursuer. Fangdarr was not worried about a lone dwarf, so he visibly relaxed his shoulders. However, his grip remained tight on his beloved weapon as its hundred-nicked edge eased closer to the damp ground. The orc had a small bit of hope that it was Tormag but quickly dismissed the notion. If it was his old mentor, his brother surely would have followed.
The large orc turned to his companion, “Bear, why dwarf so small? Can’t see who it is,” he stated to the ignorant bear, who gave its customary groan in response. Bear was exceedingly smart for an animal, yet the beast just leaned back and sat against a tree, hindquarters splayed out. The orc laughed at the sight. Seeing a wild animal sit like a humanoid creature was not something he expected. Bear gave a light moan as it rubbed its back against the bark of the
tree, scratching its back.
Fangdarr smirked and shook his head. “You funny, Bear.” His attention turned back to his pursuer who now seemed to be walking, probably out of breath. Confident in his abilities and advantage, the orc walked toward the unknown dwarf. Bear remained at its tree, enjoying the rugged edges that picked and crawled their way under its thick fur.
Orc and dwarf closed the distance between them. With narrowed eyes, the orc tried to focus on the dwarf’s weapons to help identify him. However, not being able to see the diminutive figure’s possessions, he walked on. A dozen strides brought the orc closer until he could make out a distinct characteristic of the pursuer. The dwarf had an eye patch.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PARITY
The bald dwarf approached his large counterpart. Such an unusual dwarf he was: no hair covering his head, an unbraided beard making its way down his torso, and his unique bladed shields covering both of his arms. Cormac looked at Fangdarr, who stared directly back. It was the dwarf who began, owing an explanation for his pursuit. “Ye know, I’ve always wanted to kill me a dragon.”
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 8