Malice tenderly pushed the girl back together before wrapping the cloth over her diminutive form. It performed its purpose, though it too began instantly soaking up blood until it was stained crimson.
Tormag pulled both Bitrayuul and Malice to the side as the man started to fill the hole with loose earth. Each of the group members said a final silent farewell to the adolescent girl who left the world too soon for a purpose unknown.
Bitrayuul allowed a few moments to pass by in silence before asking the question he had been waiting to ask. “Malice, who was that assailant?” Tormag was curious as well but wished the half-orc had waited at least a while longer before putting such a difficult question on the woman.
She wiped the tears from her face and finally broke eye contract with the half-filled grave as the last bit of white linen was covered with dirt. “His name is Chakal.”
“Why did he . . .” began the orc-kin before stopping mid-sentence.
She understood his meaning. “He killed Lilyana because I would not play his game.”
“What game, lass?” asked Tormag.
She let out an exhausted sigh. “His twisted fantasy. He seeks to be the most notorious assassin to have ever lived. To do so, he demands other assassins to face him—once they begin to gain a shred of recognition. He has requested I face him a handful of occasions in the past, but I have always refused.”
“Then why would he not simply kill you?” Bitrayuul asked.
“Because his ego knows no bounds. He must prove he is better. So, therefore, he must beat his competition in willful combat. I discovered this long ago, which is the only reason I have survived his stalking, though it was always borrowed time. My avoidance only increased his appetite and forced him to take measures to tempt me to accept his challenge.”
“So, he killed Lilyana, simply to push you to fight him?”
“Yes.” Her eyes closed as the words gave credence to her most painful thoughts. She was the reason her daughter had been killed. “He is brutal beyond words, as you have seen.”
Tormag spoke up, “So, are ye plannin’ on returnin’ the favor?”
The woman seemed taken aback by the absurd comment. “Return the favor? Me? You think I can take him on?! You do not know this monster. He cannot be culled! He is a limitless demon sent to bring the end I have for so long wished for. You think I am not filled with rage and disgust at the thought of him? Of what he has done?! Of course I am! I will ever be! Yet, once again, you speak of that which you do not know. You, who has brought this ill fate to my doorstep by pulling my past to the present and informing the most brutal of enemies of the only weakness he could use against me in his sinister game.
“I cannot beat him. I could never beat him. I picked up a blade for the first time nearly twenty years ago and have used it sparingly compared to Chakal. He is over a thousand years old! A thousand! His wicked blades have ended more than all other assassins combined. Chakal is that which he seeks already. There are no others of our trade who could hope to compare. Yet, still he pursues us. Even now, I promise you he is watching us, waiting for me, hiding in plain view with his wicked grin. You think me capable? You are wrong.
“I feel the fire burning bright and ferociously inside me that I know would drive me to hunt him down for what he has done. I always will. But I will run. As I have always ran when conflict is at its thickest. As I ran after my imprisonment. As I ran after discovering the wickedness of my husband. I will run. I can only run. Do not think I care nothing for the fate of my Lilyana. Do not dare think that! But I will run. I will run until Chakal grows bored of me and leaves me to my life.”
Tormag and Bitrayuul stood in silence, unsure of whether she would continue her tantrum. Her mind had been broken on numerous occasions, and it seemed the fragmented shards of her mentality caused her to take on two personalities. She easily fluctuated between rage and pain, especially in situations where she became stressed. Her range of emotions was extreme. They watched as her rage-filled tears flowed heavily down her face.
“You can come with us,” Bitrayuul stated, drawing a wide-eyed expression from the old dwarf.
Tormag grumbled under his breath, “Oh, sure, not like we’re already huntin’ a damned dragon. Why not add the most brutal killer in the whole damned world while we’re at it?” Bitrayuul heard him, and scowling under his mask, turned his helmeted head toward the dwarf. “Aye, ye can come,” Tormag relented.
Malice wiped her face again, replacing the tears with streaks of blood from her stained hand. “Thank you. Where to?”
“T’ the stables, me feet grow tired o’ all this walkin’.” Tormag replied.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dishonor
They slowed their mounts as they approached the western gate of Adderhaven. Their three horses had come at a fair price. Luckily, Tormag thought to bring enough coin for the journey’s many unexpected expenses. Malice followed closely behind Bitrayuul and Cormac as the guards called down from their post.
“Who goes there? What is your business here?”
“We are Tormag and Bitrayuul. Our business is only to pass through.” Bitrayuul announced their names with trepidation. Their first visit to this town was not a welcome one, and they had only been spared because of the presence of Lilyana. Now, she was gone. Would Meilan the Guard Captain be so generous this time? Tormag had suggested simply going around, but the town took up the entire expanse of land between the forking Adder’s Tongue. To go around would be impossible without being spotted.
Meilan approached the gate with a sigh. He called down to the group with disdain in his voice. “Greetings, once more. I had thought we had said our final farewell on your most recent visit.”
“Aye, same as we, don’t ye doubt!” Tormag stated. “We’re only passin’ through, though. We considered goin’ around but figured that would just cause suspicion. If ye’d like, with yer permission, we can still take that route.”
The embellished man twisted his goatee in thought. He truly embraced the idea of them never stepping foot in his town but had to consider the downsides. After a few more moments of silence, he responded simply, “You may go around. Guards, the gate remains closed,” before walking away smiling to himself.
Malice made a snide comment that only her companions could hear. “What’d you do to piss off that pompous peacock?”
Bitrayuul smiled from under his enclosed helmet but said nothing. Tormag, though, was sure to respond.
“Eh, he don’t like girls.” The dwarf could hardly contain his chuckling, especially after Bitrayuul burst out laughing. Malice, of course, was not accustomed to Tormag’s sarcasm.
The group pecked their horses to continue around the walls of the town toward its southern end. As they were about to turn deeper into the forest, a guard approached from his post outside of the wall. “Hold, orc-kin,” he called quietly to Bitrayuul, stepping slowly toward them, being careful not to draw the attention of his comrades.
“Oye, what now?” Tormag whined from his steed.
Bitrayuul simply shrugged as he waited for the man to approach. Once the gap between the two was closed, the man looked up at the half-orc. “You are the kin of Fangdarr, are you not?”
The half-orc readjusted in his saddle. Any human who knew his barbaric brother by name would most likely have vengeance in his mind. In any case, Bitrayuul remained calm and nodded in reply.
“Your brother is a good ma—,” he began before correcting himself, “orc. He is a good orc. I owe him my life and hope he is well.”
Bitrayuul was flabbergasted. Fangdarr? The kin he had known so recently to be aggressively expanding the borders of his clan, slaying all in his path? He could hardly believe his brother would save the life of a common guard. Was there some hidden motive? There was too much to speculate at the moment. He returned his attention to the man and asked, “What is your name, soldier?”
“Artemis, sir.”
The half-orc nodded once more. “I shall rel
ay the message to Fangdarr when I see him. He will be glad to hear of your kindness.” The statement brought a smile to Artemis’ face before he strode back to his post. Bitrayuul looked back to Tormag who only shrugged, similarly confused at the prospect of Fangdarr committing a merciful act.
From there, they broke off into the woods. First at a slow pace to avoid any cause for alarm from the guard tower, then increasing to a quick run as they turned into the Lithe heading south.
Tormag was beaming with excitement at their progress. Within half the day, they had already reached the border of the Orclands, just east of the northern point of Metridium Lake. Had they walked, it would have taken over a day, and his feet would have been aching. Dwarves were not overly fond of riding horses. They favored stouter beasts such as rams, goats, or even donkeys. Nevertheless, the old dwarf was glad in this case that he had made an exception for the benefits it brought to their journey.
With his feet unburdened, Tormag’s rump now took the brunt of the battering from travel. He pulled the reins on his mount to slow it to a halt, and Bitrayuul and Malice followed suit, bringing their own steeds to rest. “Time fer a break, me thinks,” the dwarf said as he awkwardly began to dismount the tall animal. After a few comical moments, Tormag finally managed to free himself from the saddle, crashing hard to the ground.
“Not fond of horses, dwarf?” Malice asked, laughing at his fate.
He jumped up with a groan and rubbed his sore rear. “What in the name o’ Bothain’s beard is the point o’ such a tall creature? Might as well ride a damned dragon! This creature just be an ogre with hooves!” The woman laughed at his comments, rubbing the snout of her own horse.
Bitrayuul smiled at Malice’s improved mood. She had—understandably—said little since Riveton. But now she smiled and laughed openly. It brought him comfort to know she was not dwelling too much on her pain. However, he suspected there could be a deeper underlying influence at play within her mind. No mother, even estranged, should overcome the death of her child so quickly, especially under the brutal circumstances that they had lost Lilyana. The half-orc was certain she was in such a broken state that she did not even recall the previous day’s events. If that was true, Bitrayuul was envious of such a state of despair. He had not slept since before Lilyana’s murder, too fearful of the vivid nightmares he would be forced to endure.
By the time the woman finished tying up all three horses, Tormag had a small fire started and was already pulling out his favorite cooking apparatus and setting it up. It was a simple thin sheet of steel, flattened to the width of a thick piece of cloth about the size of a hand. The dwarf shoved four sticks vertically into the earth in a rectangle around the small flame before gingerly setting the sheet atop the makeshift supports. Within a few moments, the steel glowed a dull red. His mouth salivated at the sight, knowing the meat he was pulling from his provisions would soon be cooked and in his eager stomach.
While the horses grazed happily on the thick grass and plentiful berry bushes nearby, Malice and Bitrayuul slumped to the dirt across the fire from their dwarven chef and watched him season the scraps of cooked meat with a small canister of accumulated spices.
“There we are, should be good t’ go!” he said, pulling a piece from the steel plate and popping it directly into his mouth. “Ooooh, careful, the lads are still angry,” Tormag added after searing his tongue. His allies shook their head at the obvious remark before pulling their own bites from the fire.
“Would you care if I were to join you?” came a voice from just behind Malice. The blood in her face instantly drained as if she had stared Death himself in the face. It was him.
Chakal lounged lazily against a tree in complete nonchalance, his hands resting easily atop his head, hiding some of the lustrous beauty of the white-golden hair that reached to his shoulder blades. Malice continued to shrink in fear, still having yet to turn to see him. In contrast, Bitrayuul and Tormag were both already up in arms ready to take on this relentless pursuer. The half-orc scanned the area and could not help but be intimidated. How did he find them? More to the point, how did he catch up to them? There were no hoofbeats, nor a steed in sight. They had not even heard him as he sat a short distance behind them. This elf’s reputation seemed to have merit after all.
Chakal sighed deeply in feigned sadness, “I take that as a no?”
Bitrayuul and Tormag inched closer. Still the elf held his wicked grin, as if challenging them to make a move. Then, in an instant, it vanished, replaced by a genuinely friendly smile. “Oh, come now. I have no interest in you two. You are free to enjoy your meal. I am here for her,” he said, pointing a finger to the huddled Malice, who now quivered in fear.
“Well you can’t have her,” Bitrayuul stated defiantly. “She’s with us, nor does she wish to partake in your game, elf.”
The previously friendly disposition of the elf changed to one of hatred, anger, and disgust. “It is not for her to choose!” he shouted menacingly. “Have I not proven the lengths of just how far I will go? Have I not been patient and fair until now? You tell me! I am here for one purpose. Her beloved daughter would still be alive had this woman not been so weak. Had she answered my challenge long ago, no blood would have been spilled. There are rules! Rules I do not break unless forced. It was she that forced my hand, this treacherous wench. All I want is for her to either prove her place in this world or lie in the earth where she belongs! Do not get in the way again, orc-kin!” As if on cue, his face returned to its wholesome smile and his tone pleasant. “So, please, allow her to answer my call.”
Bitrayuul and Tormag held their resolve and refused to move. Each looked to the other before taking a step forward. Chakal sighed with annoyance as he jumped to his feet, brandishing his weapons in a single motion. Only a curved dagger and curved shortsword sat in his hands, both of elven craftsmanship, though otherwise unappealing. “Fine. I grow tired of your nuisance. Perhaps this time she will care enough for your corpses to take to the blade.”
Chakal strode forward with his weapons at his sides, his confidence and wicked smile growing with each step he took. Bitrayuul and Tormag were both seasoned fighters—not ones that many would take on single-handedly, much less as a pair. But the elf simply glided forward as if he were tasked with cutting wheat. His eyes grew wide and lustful in anticipation as he was only paces away.
“I hope you know your deaths will be meaningless, but I will enjoy them nonetheless.”
Bitrayuul was about charge forward with his gauntlets when he was halted by a hand lightly gripping his arm. Careful to keep an eye on Chakal, he glanced to see Malice standing behind them.
“I will fight him,” she stated calmly, as if resigned to her fate.
Chakal stopped his smooth advance and smiled.
“Lass, ye don’t have t’ fight him alone! We’re here with ye,” Tormag assured her.
She was already shaking her head. “No. He will never stop. It has to be me.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she put a hand on the shoulder of each of her new companions. “Lilyana must be avenged. It was my involvement that brought her end, and I am her mother.” Malice steadied herself with a long exhale and her eyes shifted to the sky. “I’m just so tired. So very tired. Tired of running, of hiding, of living in fear. All I wanted was to be left alone. To simply stop my demons from chasing me. But they shall never relent, and I must either face them or succumb. Either I will be reunited with Lilyana, or, by some rare chance, this monster will be sent to oblivion in her name. But Malice will have no others die in her place.” The woman’s expression shifted from one of hopelessness to anger and determination as she stared down Chakal.
The elf started clapping after her speech, still wearing that stupid grin. “Bravo, my lady. An excellent choice of last words. I do enjoy listening to the final moments of my prey. You truly get to know their character. I am glad to know you will be accepting my challenge after so long. Now,” his eyes widened to accompany his ferocious smile, “shall we begin?�
� Chakal’s elven features contorted to sheer, vigorous glee as he charged forward.
Malice rushed past Bitrayuul and Tormag as she too drew her weapons. The half-orc attempted to press forward in assistance but was caught hard by his father. “No, lad. This ain’t our fight.” Bitrayuul looked back to his mother, almost pleading to be allowed to proceed. The dwarf’s expression remained the same, rejecting his son’s request. Bitrayuul relented. They could only watch as Malice and Chakal charged toward each other.
Assassins both, each combatant preferred the unseen blade on an oblivious target—well, Malice did, she could not speak for the insatiable ego of her opponent—as opposed to open field combat. However, neither were new to such a fight. The woman charged forward to meet her enemy, her weapons drawn. She growled as she advanced, hiding her intimidation well.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 20