Orcblood Legacy - Honor

by Bernard Bertram

  “Ye yella-bellied good-for-nothing specters sought to eat me friend!” Cormac shouted as he alternated each arm in vicious thrusts deep into the pinned fiend.

  Bear let out a roar as she chased one of the remaining foes away from the battlefield. It wailed in fear as the beast nipped at its curtails. Careful not to drift too far from her comrades, Bear, once confident her enemy was disengaged from the fight, returned to her companions.

  Fangdarr’s befuddlement was immense as his mind returned to him. The echoing songs of his attackers had ceased due to more pressing matters. With the veil lifted from his consciousness, the orc took notice to Cormac and nearly jumped for joy.

  “Cormac!” Fangdarr shouted to his friend. He watched as the dwarf angrily unleashed a flurry of stabs into the long-deceased target beneath him. The old dwarf’s frenzy halted when he heard his friend’s voice.

  “Fang!” he turned toward the orc, blue blood dripping from every edge of his nose and jaw. “Bothain’s beard, orc! I thought I’d never see ye again!”

  The hulking orc could only smile.

  Just then, the last remaining specter trampled into him with an unfathomable heft, considering its weightless appearance and tackled him into the muck, while biting down onto his shoulder. Now Fangdarr was angry. Never in his life had he been so pushed around as he had been that day. The rage filled him entirely as his hatred for the monster that had whispered incomprehensible, echoed promises broke to the surface. Brow furrowed, mouth agape, his large fangs exposed, he gave off a defiant roar before biting down onto the shoulder of the monster that likewise held him.

  Now was his time. This specter could not hope to best him in a contest of strength. Fangdarr’s jaw clamped down more tightly. Disgusting blue smoke and blood filled his mouth, but such distasteful liquid could not deter Fangdarr from his prey. It only added fuel to his rage. All the muscles in his body sent their force into the bite. The fiendish ghoul wailed in pain, breaking free from its own grip. Still, Fangdarr did not relent. He bit harder until, finally, the withered flesh gave way, spraying the surrounding area in blue carnage as the monster’s shoulder shattered beneath Fangdarr’s maw.

  Fangs stained blue, the orc spit the large chunk of flesh into the sludge at his feet. Meanwhile, his foe rolled in spasms against the ground while fruitlessly trying to staunch the flow. Cormac appeared next to his ally, handing him his trusted axe. Fangdarr looked it over in appreciation, his eyes glimmering with gratitude. Never had he and his weapon been separated for so long, especially in such a dire moment. Fangdarr looked at his wounds. They still festered and oozed, but not for much longer.

  As the ghoul flopped like a beached fish in the muck, clutching to its last few precious moments of life, the orc raised Driktarr high in the air. Never should the specters have sought to call to him. The thought of being ended by whispers in a desolate marshland only reinvigorated the orc’s dwindling anger. His heavy, magical weapon slammed down with the weight of all the souls lost to the unbreakable song of these monsters. Even against the squishy, wet ground the axe had no trouble slicing through the entirety of the specter.

  Fangdarr’s torn flesh spit out the diseased corrosion that had already settled in his body before mending together. A hundred new scars formed, showing the pattern of the suction-cup tentacles of the abyssal creature that had rent him so. He had never healed such a disastrous number of wounds in a single instance before. The energy from the specter flowed through Driktarr’s blood-thirsty blade and deep into his body, renewing him with an overwhelming surge of vitality and vigor.

  The orc’s fingers trembled as the final throes of the intense revival diminished. Oh, how truly good it felt. How he now yearned and craved for more of that rejuvenating power. He raised his weapon again before crashing it back down into the already dead villain that was slowly sinking deeper into the mud. Nothing. He cursed aloud. Again, his axe boomed down into the body of the specter but to no avail.

  Fangdarr shouted at his prey, angry that its lifeforce had already fled from its physical form. He wanted to feed on it more—to feel that surge of life pulse through his veins again. Undeniable rage began to form in the orc once more, but before it could spark to flame, Cormac placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Ye’re done, lad. It’s over.”

  The orc shot him a glare of flashing anger but calmed himself instantly. Seeing the blood-covered dwarf who had saved him from his most feared end brought him back to reality. He fell to his knees, disregarding the subsiding energy in his body, and tightly embraced Cormac. Tears streamed down his face as he hugged the friend he had come to love—the ally who stopped at nothing and risked all just to see to his well-being.

  Cormac held him in return, hiding his own sobs. “There, there, lad. Yer safe now,” the dwarf said, understanding the orc’s fear. “This be not the place that Fangdarr the Great meets his doom. Ye had me scared sick, don’t ye doubt. Bah! Never thought I’d hear meself say that for the sake of an orc.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAKAL

  “Mama!” Lilyana exclaimed with excitement as she jumped from her straw bed and embraced her bound mother. Malice clutched her eyes shut in an attempt to staunch the flow of her tears. The young girl retracted and put her face directly in front of her mother’s. Her tiny hands slowly reached up to slide over the woman’s features, searching for familiarity.

  A moment passed in silence as Malice remained frozen—not due to the ropes that bound her frame but due to the maelstrom of conflicting emotions crashing in her mind. Lilyana’s eyes widened at finding a known pattern of freckles along the left temple of the captive. “It is you!”

  Malice could not contain herself. Her sobs came harshly as she felt her daughter clutch her once more. Oh, how she wished to be free of her captivity to return that loving squeeze. Malice—no, in this moment she was Alice once more—could feel the slow progression of Lilyana’s tiny fingers making their way up her face then across her brow to her hair. All the passionate hatred the woman had come to accept and know for the past four years simply drained away.

  Lilyana giggled as her mother’s golden hair tickled the innocent skin between her fingers. Another sob came out from Malice. How many of those giggles had she missed? How many scraped knees, curious questions, and tantrums had she let pass in her absence? Never again, the determined woman thought to herself. Her monstrous husband was gone. There was only the future—only this love she could now touch and cherish.

  Malice closed her eyes in deep reflection as she tried to calmly let go of all her past pain. Knowing her sweet-hearted daughter was there was enough to start breaking the grip of her mental chains. But in her deep thought, she failed to notice Lilyana’s hands stop their comforting scrape against her skin. Still locked in her mind, her eyes remained closed. That was until she heard the voice.

  “Now you will finally play.”

  She knew that voice. Instinct triggered her response at the hidden character as she spat back in disgust, “Never! I have no mind for your antics!” Her angered eyes scanned the corners of the room for the intruder to no avail.

  A small, evil chuckle came—seemingly from all directions—before he appeared in the window. “We’ll see . . .” he replied with the most sinister grin ever formed on a face.

  The woman spouted curses at him as he effortlessly dropped from the window to the cobblestone street below. Tormag was the first to act, rushing down the stairs and out onto the street in pursuit of the shadowy figure. It wasn’t until he was in the empty street that Tormag heard the sound he knew would come. Wailing.

  “Mama . . .?” Lilyana sputtered weakly as she lay strewn upon the bedroom floor, completely dissected at the waist, a pool of blood growing quickly beneath her. Malice screamed in anguish at the sight. Lilyana looked to her in confusion, uncertain as to why she could no longer move her legs. Bound tightly in her chair, Malice wailed non-stop. She could only watch on in horror as the life slowly drained from her
daughter—the kind-hearted child that had instantly forgiven her for her past mistakes. At long last, they had been reunited and were looking toward a future together. But now . . .

  Malice shook violently in her chair. Precious time was passing. “Release me!” she screamed at Bitrayuul. He was frozen solid, completely immobilized in shock. The half-orc’s stare never broke contact with the girl as her eyes started to lose their luster. Truly, he did not know her long, and despite their kinship, he had no special bond with the poor girl, but he had grown especially fond of her during their journey to Riveton. No matter how seasoned he was, this was not war. This was not battle. His wits were not prepared to watch such innocence butchered, especially so close to those who would give their lives to protect her.

  Seeing he would be of no use to her, Malice strained against her ropes even more. Now, Lilyana was aware of the situation and was pleading for her mother. “Mama, Mama! H-help me . . .”

  The woman shrieked and cried incessantly. She had to break free. All her muscles tensed until . . . Snap! She was free! In an instant she was on the floor, her clothes soaking in the blood of her child. Despite the girl’s state, Malice scooped up her upper half and clutched her tightly as her sobs and wails filled the room. It was pain like she had never known. She felt the light breaths growing even more faint against her neck. The gut-wrenching twist in her stomach only increased in those final moments.

  Malice attempted to use her hand to push the escaping innards back into the girl’s body, but she knew it was hopeless. There was too much blood. Malice took her hand away and let the organs fall. She took her eyes from the entrails sitting in the pool of blood and looked to her daughter’s face, letting her bloodied fingers run through her daughter’s similarly golden hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’ll be okay, Lily.”

  Tormag rushed into the room and let out a small sigh.

  “Ma . . .” the girl started but could not find the strength to continue. Her eyes closed as she took her final fleeting breaths. One final embrace came from her mother as she squeezed her daughter tightly, pushing out even more gore.

  “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

  Tormag noticed Bitrayuul still had not broken eye contact and nudged him from his stupor. The half-orc’s eyes blinked a dozen times as he once again took in the scene. He had watched it all unfold, but his mind had blocked the vision from his eyes to protect him from the horror. As he noticed Malice clutching his half-sister in the last moment of her life, gore all about, he could not stop the flow of tears that now made their way down his face. The large hybrid fell to his knees. Why did he freeze? Why did he not help her? What kind of man was he to simply look on with unseeing eyes as the girl pleaded for her life? No. Not a man. Only half a man, he thought. Bitrayuul’s guilt was too extreme. He wished for naught but to go to the girl and hold her with her mother. But he did not deserve to.

  A few more moments went by before Tormag walked lightly over to Malice. She still clutched tightly to Lilyana, though the girl had passed already. The mother’s wails had died down to incoherent sobs, soundless except for the sporadic intake of air. The dwarf softly placed a rough hand on her shoulder. “It’s time, lass.”

  Malice shoved him away, “No, no! She’s not gone! Not yet . . .” Lilyana’s head swung limply as her mother squeezed her once more, hoping to will the life back into her. Her yowls began anew as she realized it truly was over.

  Tormag again placed a single hand against her in comfort before speaking softly. “Come, she needs t’ be put t’ rest.” He knew she would not comply, of course, so he let her carry out her goodbye for as long as she needed.

  As her cries of sorrow began to wane, the distraught woman slowly rose from the crimson puddle, her dark clothing and leather straps, dripping with the thick, viscous liquid. Her blood-soaked vestments caused each movement she made to make a small squelching sound. If she took notice, Malice gave no evidence of concern. All her attention was on picking up Lilyana’s lifeless lower half and putting the two halves back together as if the girl could be whole once again.

  Taking every precaution to not break apart the two parts of her daughter, Malice took minor steps toward the door of the room. Bitrayuul received a quick smack on the back of his arm from Tormag, breaking his grim stupor once again. “Bit! What are ye doin’? Are ye goin’ t’ help her or not?”

  The distracted half-orc slowly turned his gaze to his father, his lip quivering uncontrollably as he attempted to speak. “I-I . . . j— . . . I-I . . .”

  Tormag took keen notice of his son’s level of distress and gave a heavy sigh before stating, “Son, if there be any part o’ ye that thinks ye are t’ blame fer this, ye’d be wrong. Hold fast t’ the pain in yer heart. It be a villain who did this, not yerself. Ye best believe we’re fer knowin’ who that devil was. And we’ll get our vengeance, don’t ye doubt. Fer now, we need t’ comfort Malice and put the wee lass t’ rest. Aye?”

  Bitrayuul, though still overwhelmed by guilt, gave a small unsteady sigh. “Father, what you say is true. But it does not erase the carnage painted in my mind forever, nor the guilt I will always feel for not protecting that girl. All I did was shepherd her to her end. My nightmares of this night will fill my dreams for more moons than I can predict. It is not death that brings me this pain, but shame.”

  The old dwarf could only do the same for his adopted son as he had done for Malice—the only thing he knew to do when words failed. His thick hand found its way to the blade-riddled shoulder of Bitrayuul. He had no helpful words. He could only be present.

  Tormag and Bitrayuul slowly made their way out of the room behind Malice who had barely made it to the middle of the staircase. As they completed their mournful descent, Calus rose from the bar. “What in the hell happened!?”

  The dwarf shot him an angry glare and raised a finger to his mouth for silence. Calus shrank back a bit but could not rip his eyes from the sight of the gore-covered woman carrying the limp form of the little girl who had slept at his bar that afternoon. When he realized it was Lilyana, he gave a soft gasp.

  Malice and Bitrayuul continued out of the tavern slowly. Luckily, the woman had a firm hold on her daughter and did not expose the grievous dissection to Calus. Tormag trudged to the boy behind the bar and spoke lightly. “Son, an assassin attacked us. He came through the window and put an end t’ that poor girl. Now, we know this looks bad. Don’t ye doubt, we’ve had a hell o’ a night. We need t’ bury the girl, then we need t’ be gone as soon as can be. There be a lot o’ blood upstairs, boy. Normally, I’d never leave a mess behind at a tavern I be rentin’ from. But I’ll be blunt. None of us can stomach goin’ in that room again. So . . .” he fumbled through his pockets briefly before producing a single gold coin and slapping it onto the countertop, “take this fer the trouble we’ve caused, and fer cleanin’ the mess the villain left.”

  The young boy nodded somberly and with a pained smile, graciously accepted the coin. Though he had overpaid, Tormag felt sorry for what he was asking the boy to do. No amount of gold would erase the memories he was about to have after cleaning that room. Nonetheless, he took his leave and easily caught up to his friends outside of the tavern.

  After nearly a long while, they reached the graveyard on the other side of the expansive town. By now, a light glow came from just below the horizon as the sun rose toward dawn. It was nearly morning and the city’s residents were starting their routines for the new day.

  Tormag led Malice to the undertaker who lay in the dirt next to three freshly dug holes in the ground. “Oye, these lots available?” he asked of the man.

  The wiry man looked up from his reverie and gave a smile—with more than a few teeth rotted and others missing entirely. “They are not. A family slain the day before last has them claimed.” His smile grew even wider at the mention of the fate of the family.

  The gruff dwarf hated dealing with such folk. Those who took a perverted joy in the ill will of others sat wrong with
him. “Aye, when are they due?”

  “Hmm . . .” pondered the gravekeeper, feigning surprise as he looked at the brightening horizon. “My, my, they should be here any minute!”

  This time Bitrayuul stepped forward and squared up against the dirty human, raising a bladed gauntlet to his neck. Instantly the man shrank back in fright and meekly stuttered, “O-okay! Th-they are not meant to b-be here until the afternoon!”

  Tormag prodded the keeper with his finger. “Ye’ll bury this poor lass for us, then, aye?” He handed the man a silver coin after his request, ever the honorable dwarf, even to beings who didn’t deserve it. The worker nodded his head—as much as he could with a blade pressed to his neck—in acceptance and flashed another disgusting smile.

  “Come, girl, bring her here,” Tormag beckoned to Malice. Slowly she crept into the shallow grave and laid Lilyana onto the dirt below. She was careful to continue keeping both halves held together, but once her grip relinquished the girl fell apart slightly causing portions of her innards to fall out. The grime-covered undertaker could not hold in his smile as his degenerate thoughts took the mental image to mind. He noticed the dwarf watching him, and quickly hid his smile and produced a small, white, linen sheet from a pack of supplies he kept nearby. The man offered the cloth to the girl’s mother, as was the custom.