As Cormac rushed back to the shore to check on Bear, Tormag tip-toed over to Bitrayuul. The poor dwarf could hardly breathe as he took his son into his arms, the spines of the half-orc’s carapace cutting deep into his toughened hands. He paid the discomfort no mind. All that mattered was his adopted kin’s health. He gently removed Bitrayuul’s helmet and stroked his face tenderly. Tormag begged forgiveness from his deity for the stream of curses he had unleashed to the heavens only moments before. With whispers and light taps on the half-orc’s face, he attempted to stir the young warrior.
Across the water, Fangdarr and Malice returned to the bunovir’s dying form. The monster’s elastic tongue floated at the top of the pool, uncurled to nearly its full length. Fangdarr breathed heavily with exhaustion and tenderly pushed the woman aside for her own safety. Malice watched for a moment as Fangdarr struggled to lift his greataxe high enough for a strike before offering aid once more. Never did she think to support an orc in his cause, especially one who was the full-blooded son of the brute who imprisoned her—the monster who had taken the sanctity of her womb, night after night, while she cried out in terror and pain. Her stoic face refused to show the inner struggle she fought as her hands pushed Fangdarr’s arm and Driktarr higher into the air.
Gravity brought the blade down onto the limp appendage. It was a slow fall, but the weight of the weapon and its sharpened edge managed to cut deeply into the listless tongue. Fangdarr absorbed the brief surge of vitality. It wasn’t much, not nearly enough. Nevertheless, the orc now had just enough strength to hold the weapon on his own. With more vigor, he lifted the weapon again before crashing it down to slice through the original cut.
Malice backed away as Fangdarr’s shredded flesh began to mend before her eyes. Immediately her mind started to crack under the confirmation of what she had suspected since joining Bitrayuul’s search for his sibling. The axe was the same that had been carried by her tormentor. She thought she had recognized its shape. But design can be faked. Now, seeing it stitch the grievous wounds, Malice had no doubt. Too many times she had watched from her cage in shock as Brutigarr returned from a successful raid and healed the wounds he had suffered at the cost of one of the other prisoners. The woman shut her eyes in mental agony. This could be her chance to end the line of Brutigarr. Every thought screamed to stab the orc in his back—to carve out his heart in vengeance!
Yet, she did not. Two days prior, she would have gladly done so without a second thought. However, the woman had formed a bond with Bitrayuul that screamed even louder than her instincts. Do not break his trust, her mind cried out to her through the fragments. The command resounded continuously within her. Malice’s fingers loosened their grip on the dagger she did not even notice had appeared in her hand. Still, the fight was not yet won. So, she opened her eyes and forced herself to stare Fangdarr in the face. She scanned every detail, cementing the image in her mind. Dare Malice sacrifice all to be rid of Fangdarr due to the sins of his father? For several moments, Malice stood motionless, grappling with the thought, her eyes wide from the turmoil raging inside.
Fangdarr, now almost fully healed, finally noticed the pale assassin staring intensely at his face—the dagger still loosely clutched in her hand. The orc lowered his weapon, turned cautiously toward the woman, and dropped Driktarr into the pool. He then stretched out his arms wide, offering her that which she craved. Lost within her raging subconscious, Malice’s hand tightened around the curved blade.
Seeing Fangdarr stand with arms splayed wide, the remaining members of the party turned their attention to the pair. Cormac was returning from the shore with Bear and when the limping animal saw Malice holding a dagger to her companion, she took off running as best as her leg would allow. With an imposing snarl, the animal charged headlong into the water to protect her master.
Arms still out wide, Fangdarr decided to take a risk. He took one slow step forward, but Malice’s practiced hand instinctively gripped tighter around the worn handle of her blade. Her eyes remained glued open, allowing not a single blink for many moments. Unbeknownst to the orc, the woman was losing the battle in her mind. The fragments were just too great. Too many years of seething hatred had bloomed inside her, waiting for the moment to end Brutigarr. Unfortunately, with his passing, Fangdarr was the next best option. Oh, how every bone in her body yearned for Malice to sink that dagger into this beast’s chest. The resolution to her long torment was finally here. It even stood in acceptance of its fate, waiting with its arms spread wide for her to exact her revenge.
“Mother, no!” Bitrayuul called out, now standing in the pool.
The assassin’s resolve shattered the instant the word mother rang out with its piercing chime, muddying all the other roaring screams in her head. She blinked a dozen times, restoring the moisture to her dried eyes. The half-orc strode forward, still weak from his recent resuscitation. Tears welled in the woman’s eyes as she looked upon his serene face. Her son’s face. Mother. Mother. Mother! The dagger fell into the black liquid at her waist as Malice broke down into uncontrollable sobs. No, no! Now was the time! How could she pass this up? Did she not wish for vengeance? How could she be so weak as to let her tormenter go unpunished?!
Vision blurred by tears, the woman hardly noticed as she was embraced roughly. In her mind, she willed him not to speak. The woman knew he would talk about how proud he was of her restraint. How she had managed to fight away her sorrow and deep-rooted pain for his sake. But he would be wrong. In that moment of strength, Malice had won. Though Bitrayuul had stayed her hand in that moment, he could not know the relentless approach of her vengeance. It would return at a time of its choosing and there was no guarantee today’s outcome would be repeated. Her wails were muffled as she buried her face and pounded her fist against the chest of her partner. She wanted to tell him of his faulty faith in her. Of how one day she may very well succumb to her deepest desires and eliminate his kin.
But as she wiped away the tears in her eyes and locked eyes with him, Malice realized it was not Bitrayuul who was holding her. Those yellow orbs knowingly glared into her own. But there was no blame. No anger or fear. Not even sorrow or confusion. Instead, there was only acceptance. Within that gaze she found relief, and for however brief of a period, her pain washed away. All the misguided voices in her mind ceased their whispers and screams. Wrapped in his tight embrace, Malice felt only the innocence of Fangdarr’s true nature. He was ashamed by the brutality his predecessor had inflicted upon her. She knew without a doubt that, after that moment, there would be no more pain at the sight of the orc’s face. No longer would his face be seen as a resemblance of her captor. Rather, he would be seen for himself and all that he was.
The woman relaxed as all the stress left her muscles. Finally, she was free from her anguish. Fangdarr held her limp form tightly against his chest. After a few long moments, the orc broke into a wide smile as he felt Malice lightly return the embrace in gratitude. Slowly, he lowered the woman to her feet—she had not even noticed she had been suspended. Fangdarr smiled at her—a genuine smile as the pair’s bond had been cemented in that single moment.
Bitrayuul watched it all in envy. Despite the positive outcome, his expression turned to distaste at the bond formed between the two most unlikely of allies.
Minorly agitated, the half-orc stomped over to the bunovir. It struggled to breath its last breaths as blood poured freely from the grievous wounds it had suffered. How the monster had survived this long was a feat in itself. Bitrayuul stooped low and crawled back into its mouth. He shifted his orientation to position himself toward the creature’s brain before unleashing a plunging strike with his bladed gauntlet. A light moan escaped the fiend. Another blow. Another. And another. His arms pumped as the half-orc sank his blades deep into the bunovir’s brain. Bitrayuul sighed in relief at having his frustration played out. He did not wish to hold Fangdarr and Malice’s bond against them. It was a good thing, in truth. The son of the assassin simply wished his own mother
could form such a bond with him as well.
Having released his emotions, the half-orc crawled out from the maw of the corpse, covered in gore. Fangdarr was strapping Driktarr to his back as Malice returned her dropped dagger to its scabbard. With all the allies gathered together, mostly unharmed, Tormag could not pass the opportunity to speak. “Told ye it wasn’t safe.” The assembled group laughed heartily as they blissfully ignored just how close to death they had come.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
RAZ’JA
Bear nudged her master’s leg for reassurance. As the animal scanned the area, she could not miss the heaping mass of mutilated bunovir that had knocked her unconscious. Her mood was lightened by the full-bodied laughter of her companions, though it confused her. Fangdarr and Cormac were completely covered in a foul-tasting liquid that her tongue could only guess was the blood of the monster they had slain. The dwarves also were covered in tiny trickles of their own blood, it seemed. Bear’s nose reared up, and she groaned in disgust at the blend of scents coming off the warriors. The incoming waves of putrid vapors from her companions and the area alike were almost too much for her.
Noticing his friend was whimpering now, Fangdarr knelt down to rub her ears. “Do not worry, Bear. We all safe now. Thank you for protecting me.” His arms wrapped mightily around the large grizzly in a loving embrace. The beast visibly relaxed. She trusted her master beyond doubt. After the orc was certain her growing discomfort had lifted, he released his grip and stared her in the eye. “I love you, Bear,” the prideful chieftain said with a smile. As if the intelligent animal understood, she licked his face in happiness, forgetting the slime and gore that clung to his skin.
“Well, now what?” Tormag asked, taking another look at the deceased monster as well as their expected path.
All remained silent. For many moments, none would speak. Even Malice, with her typical irritable comments, simply sat quietly to herself on the shore in reflection. The storm that had been raging in her mind for years had been quelled, it seemed. The woman relished in the tranquility that now took its place. Emptiness had never felt so full. No longer did the assassin believe her mind would be constantly tormented by an internal enemy that she could not hope to cull. No, she felt free.
Finally, Cormac replied gruffly, “Eh, to be honest, I’m not sure how much more difficult a dragon may be in comparison to what we just wiggled away from.”
“Aye, that be true, don’t ye doubt. Ain’t never thought I’d come face t’ face with a bunovir, sure as stones. Just like dragons, they’re the stuff o’ legends. But . . .” the old dwarf paused to inspect the damage of their foe, “seems we did alright. Bahaha!”
Cormac returned the sentiment, joining in his ally’s laughter. Bitrayuul strode to Fangdarr’s position. The chieftain did not need to hear the words or even meet his gaze. He sighed as he extended to full height before turning to his companions. “We should turn around,” the orc stated plainly.
The dwarves turned to one another in confusion. Their voices rose over each other’s refusals, clambering to be heard. Fangdarr was already shaking his head. “I can’t control myself. I get you killed.”
Bitrayuul chimed in with agreement, “He is right. This task may be beyond us. We are only at the precipice of these forsaken lands, and we were almost wiped out before we even stepped foot into the mountains.”
“But what about Fangdarr? Without the dragon, the orcs will only take action,” Cormac responded.
“Aye, and we just knocked the innards from that there beast,” Tormag added, pointing a short finger to the fallen bunovir’s corpse. “Ye mean t’ tell me ye think we can’t take on a drake?”
The half-orc sighed in frustration. Did they not see he only cared for their safety? “Fang, we can—” Bitrayuul stopped in confusion as Tormag slung his pack over his broad, plated shoulder and started walking to the passage. “Wait— where are you going?!”
His father offered no words, only the heavy stomps of his boots. Before long, Cormac reached his cupped hands into the water and splashed away all of the accumulated gore that had dried to his skin. A funny thing, to wash away the blood of a beast with tainted water mixed with the blood of countless others. Nevertheless, with his face ‘clean’ the dwarf took off after Tormag without a word.
Bitrayuul looked to Fangdarr expectantly, as if demanding he say something to halt them from marching toward their own doom. Instead, his brother gathered his own supplies and smugly whispered, “Dwarves be dwarves.” The half-orc groaned in his growing frustration before following his companions, each step paired with a grumble under his breath about the bull-headed nature of dwarves.
Seeing her group leave, Malice rose from her seat and skipped lightly past Bitrayuul. Her sudden lighthearted demeanor left her son speechless, though not from happiness. Seeing the fragility of the woman’s mind first-hand, the half-orc was concerned for the longevity of her state. In any case, he did manage a smile beneath his helmet as his mother seemed to be free of her affliction—for now.
The procession walked quietly, cautious of drawing unwanted attention. It made sense given the passage was littered with the remains of other unsuspecting creatures that had stumbled upon the bunovir’s lair. Countless troll corpses had been picked clean after being left for the carrion pickers. As they continued further east and higher into the mountain, the bones became more scarce. Finally, they came to a narrow gap in the passage.
Tormag dropped his pack to the ground. “We’ll take a break here and get cleaned up. This is a defensible position,” he added as his eyes scanned their surroundings.
The dwarf did not speak falsely. Only the path behind served for poor defense, while the gap in front of them was hardly big enough for Fangdarr to squeeze through, meaning no surprise attacks from large monsters. In addition, due to the enclosed stone over their heads a small pool of clean water had accumulated along one side of the area. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to fill their waterskins and wash away the filth. And free from the sun’s heat, the gathered water would not evaporate any time soon.
The old dwarf removed the map from his bag and marked their position, both to track their progress as well as mark the location should they need it again. With all of the companions wiped free of fetid grime, they each sat against the stone walls of the shelter. “Should we camp here, father?” Bitrayuul asked.
Rolling the map before stuffing it into his pouch, the gruff dwarf exhaled loudly. “Well, we could. There won’t be many more opportunities like this one. No fires, though.”
Bitrayuul nodded knowingly; they were in the realm of evil now, best not to draw attention. “Malice and I will take the first watch, followed by the dwarves. Fangdarr and Bear, you can take the last.” The small pangs of envy still stood present in his mind as he continued to dwell on Malice’s bond with his brother. The half-orc decided now was the time to act. If she would not make the effort to strengthen their relationship, then Bitrayuul must force it.
With the remainder of the party resting, as much as they could in such a cold, treacherous environment, Bitrayuul fell to his rear next to his mother near the small opening through the passage. To his relief, her blue eyes scrunched slightly as a genuine smile found its way across her fair-skinned face. For a fraction of a moment, the half-orc froze in panic, as seeing the woman’s kind-hearted smile beneath those shining sapphires drew him back to Lilyana. He tried to shake away the painful memory without notice, but it was hopeless. Bitrayuul could not forcibly remove the vivid remembrance of the young girl, bouncing around happily in his mind. Nor did he want to. Nevertheless, this was neither the time nor the place.
“I miss her too,” came the soft whisper from his mother. In surprise, Bitrayuul turned to face Malice. She still sat motionless with that smile glued to her face. Had she gone mad? “But . . .” the woman continued, this time with a hint of sobriety, “the past is gone. All we can do is remember and press on.” Her final statement caught Bitrayuul off guard as he
r tone had once again heightened to a chipper mood.
The half-orc pondered for a moment, unsure of how to continue. He was nearly certain her mind remained broken, and now the conversation was taking a risky turn. In their location, Bitrayuul could not chance prodding his mother to gauge her stability. With a sigh, he simply nodded in reply, deciding not to unleash the slew of questions, arguments, and chastisements that begged to be given voice. His bond with the woman would be hard to strengthen in her current state. The half-orc swallowed his growing aggravation, and their watch went by uneventful and devoid of any dialogue thereafter, though the smile never left Malice’s face.
Shifts rotated to the grumbling dwarves who were not fond of being stirred from their slumber. Their dreams had taken them far away to blissful recreations of their stone and kin that served far better company than the constant risk of monsters and demons bedeviling this uncharted land. Nevertheless, once fully roused, Tormag and Cormac took to their watch without further complaint.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 27