Bron dug the end of his staff into the soil near his feet and flung it at Bojan’s face. The warrior was not about to be caught by the same trick twice and turned his head and shielded his eyes with his hand. Bron took advantage of the opening, striking Bojan’s upraised arm, spinning around behind him, and clouting him in the back of the head. Bojan spun around with a roar of real anger and pain, but a hard jab to his stomach dropped him to his hands and knees. His fierce shout became choking fight to regain his breath. The druid pressed his attack, landing kick after kick into Bojan’s shoulder and side.
“Yeah, get him! Aim for the groin!” Trielle shouted.
Bron felt a brief glimmer of hope until Bojan exploded from the ground with a fury-filled shout of rage. The ogre champion burst up beneath him and hurled the druid twenty feet through the air. Bron had barely come to a tumbling halt in the dirt when he saw Bojan take a few powerful strides and leap. The huge ogre came down like a meteor, slamming his huge fist into Bron’s face. Still bellowing his incoherent battle cry, Bojan lifted his foe and repeatedly slammed him against the ground.
Bron felt the air blasted from his lungs and his world swam in a wash of vertigo as his brain crashed against the inside of his skull as if trying to escape. He felt himself airborne once more before striking a small tree hard enough to snap it partway up its trunk. He tried to stand, took several stumbling steps, and fell heavily back to the ground.
He looked through bleary eyes at Bojan as the big ogre casually retrieved his club to finish the job. Bron steeled himself to accept his fate and failure. Bojan looked at the stunned druid a moment and began walking toward Trielle’s cage.
“I think I eat noisy little bug before I kill you,” Bojan said with a cruel smile.
Until now, Bron was unsure if Bojan was capable of speech. “Leave her alone! I failed. It is me you are supposed to kill!”
“Her not Kin. Only Kin leave the valley.”
“Give me my spear and we’ll see who gets eaten!” Trielle shouted.
Brave Trielle, defiant and fearless to the last. Hearing her shouts filled him with sorrow. Seeing such a spirited life about to be extinguished for his failure brought on the intense anger he worked so hard to suppress. The casualness with which Bojan and his kind would kill another being who meant them no harm made him furious. He would not sacrifice his honor to save his own life, but he would not let Trielle die for the sake of his morals.
Bron’s furious roar filled the tiny canyon as he grabbed at the power of nature. He called to the tree holding Trielle’s cage and poured his own energy into it to make it grow, lifting Trielle out of Bojan’s reach. Another cottonwood snaked down with unnatural suppleness, wrapped several willowy limbs around Bojan, and flung him halfway across the clearing.
“You fight me!” Bron raged.
Bojan stood with his characteristic smile, dusted himself off, and made a beckoning motion. “Finally, you fight like ogre.”
Bojan’s words were lost to the blood rage pounding in Bron’s ears. As Bojan stalked toward him, Bron punched both his fists into the ground, burying them to the wrists. Earth and stone grew up his arms and sheathed his body in an elemental carapace. The druid rushed at his foe and swung a fist that now looked more like a small boulder. The blow landed against Bojan’s chest and threw him back several yards.
The ogre rolled to his feet with a shout of rage and barreled into Bron, hoping to use his awesome mass to bear the druid to the ground and crack him open like a nut. Bojan may as well have been trying to push over a mountain as Bron fused his shell with the ground at his feet. Bojan rebounded from the immovable object and took two staggering steps back.
Bron reeled back and crushed the ogre’s face with another powerful blow. Bojan flew parallel to the ground for a score of feet before landing in a groaning, pain-filled heap. The enraged druid was not finished yet. Bron uprooted a leg and stamped his foot. The ground beneath the prone warrior buckled and became a wave, carrying his huge body back to his relentless foe. Bron raised a powerful leg and kicked at the oncoming ogre. Ribs cracked and Bojan went rolling again. The druid began stalking toward the now silent and immobile figure, intent on crushing the last vestiges of life from his body.
“Now you know was it means to be Kin.”
Kramloc’s words penetrated Bron’s mind, and he turned to find the shaman standing just a few yards away. Bron’s fury demanded he crush the shaman as well, but he forced a measure of calm into his heart and listened.
“What do I know of being an ogre?” Bron gasped as he struggled to regain control of himself. “Being a creature of uncontrolled rage and violence? Is that what it means to be Kin? Is that what you wanted me to learn?”
Kramloc shook his head and nodded toward the cage holding Trielle. “It means doing whatever you must, to be willing to sacrifice everything to win and protect your Kin. We survive because we refuse to submit, no matter the cost to any individual. Kin comes before self. You abandoned your ideals, your honor, to save your friend. That is what it means to be Kin. You have seen our history. You see how the sacrifices, the honor, and bravery of our people have been forgotten or discarded by all but the Kin. It was not us who drew first blood and encroached upon the human lands, yet we are called the brute races. Come, our king is eager to meet you.”
Bron looked to the fallen Bojan. “What of him?”
“He will recover. Come, let us retrieve your friend so we can hear your words.”
“What of Trielle?” Bron asked as he used his magic to bend the tree low enough to reach the cage.
“Sprites are fickle creatures. Her kind’s poor attention span makes it unlikely she could remember the way here if she wanted to.”
Trielle buzzed angrily from her cage when Bron pried open the door. “Who’s got a poor attention span? I’ll show you some attention, you big, smelly lump of troll poo!”
Trielle began pounding on the shaman with her tiny fists, kicking him in the head, and yanking on his long, white tufts of hair. Kramloc ignored her as he led them through a narrow fissure at the rear of the grotto. The narrow passage ran a nearly straight path until it opened into another, larger canyon.
“You planned for this all along?” Bron asked as they walked single file through the cleft.
“I created a circumstance. How you reacted to that circumstance I could not foretell.”
“What if I had continued to refuse to use my magic as you dictated and Bojan beat me again?”
“Then he would have killed you, and your words would have gone unspoken. There would be no third chance.”
“Have there ever been other half ogres who have found their way here?”
“Very few.”
“I imagine it is rare for anyone to stumble upon this valley.”
“It is rarer a weak blood lives to draw more than a few breaths before the humans destroy it.”
It was a sobering reminder of human intolerance. As a druid of Ellanee, Bron was taught to revere all life, even the life of creatures like these ogres he had hated for so long. It saddened him to know that had his foster mother not protected him, even the people of their tiny community, every one of them professing to revere nature and worship Ellanee, likely would have left him to the elements to die, assuaging their conscience by claiming it a natural death for an unnatural creature.
“Still, I cannot imagine many of them could beat your champion. Were able to achieve victory?”
Kramloc twitched his head. “Victory was never measured as an external achievement. All true victories reside within. Look at us here. We live in the midst of this rugged valley, forced from our rich ancestral lands by the humans, but not one of us feels defeated. The humans would be pleased if we all simply died, but we still live on. We thrive even here, and nothing they can do will ever take that away. It is what makes us worthy.”
“You continue to astound me, Kramloc. All my life I believed the ogres to be nothing more than animals, worse, monsters, yet you continue to
show me so much wisdom and pride.”
“Sometimes we are monsters, when we feel the need. Our nature is not always what most races would view as pleasant or civilized, but it is who we are. It is our way, and we make no apologies to anyone for it. Do humans apologize to the deer or the fish they kill and consume? Do they apologize for killing the Kin and stealing their lands? No, and we expect no apologies from them either. It is their way.”
“But as an intelligent species, can we not choose a better way? The brutality of my own creation shows there is great room for improvement if only someone made the choice to change.”
“Who chooses what is the better way? By whose standards should all society be based upon? Should humans dictate to ogre how to behave? Should dwarves dictate to elves? Your conception was surely an unpleasant event, but would this world be better had you not been born? Think on the lives you have touched and the things you have accomplished. You are a favored son of the Great Mother, and I would surmise your worth has been weighed countless times and been found acceptable. You are worthy, Bron. The Great Mother found you worthy, and now your Kin have declared you worthy as well. Only you continue to question it.”
“Others have questioned it for most my life.”
“Why do you value their opinion above you own? Like victory, your true value must be measured internally. All else is ultimately meaningless.”
Bron looked at Trielle, now clinging to a tuft of Kramloc’s hair and sleeping on his shoulder having thoroughly exhausted herself trying to beat the ogre into submission. She was small, rude, and obnoxious, but she was intensely independent and free spirited. She would never allow anyone to define her and would certainly never accept anyone’s judgment of her character or worth. She was who and what she was, and she loved every bit of herself. She would never change to try and appease another. Bron envied her in that regard.
He had little time to mull over the wise shaman’s words as the slot canyon widened into another small gorge creating a natural stadium. The stadium seats were carved into the rock in a series of ascending benches and filled to capacity. The bulk of the races present were ogres, but hundreds of goblins and orcs also occupied the stadium in a few small groups.
Bron and Kramloc approached the end of the stadium stood before a raised section upon which stood three parties of the brute races. A score each of orcs and goblins flanked three ogres, one of which sat upon a simple throne of carved stone.
Bron stepped closer to the shaman and whispered, “I assume the one upon the throne is King Sefket, but who are the others?”
“They are the High Chiefs and chiefs of the goblin and orc tribes.”
“Are they here for me? I did not think you had that much confidence in my victory.”
“The tribal chiefs have been here for several weeks. Many of the tribes have settled within or near our valley because of the increase in human activity. Many feared it was a prelude to war against the Kin and sought council to decide what to do.”
“I wish my words were going to prove those fears false, but I am afraid they will not.”
The arrivals reached the foot of the large dais, and Kramloc began speaking without waiting for recognition or obeisant ceremony. “Sefket, Chieftains, I am pleased to introduce our newest Kin. This is Bron, favored son of the Great Mother. He has proven himself worthy and has words he wishes to share with the Kin.”
Sefket was an impressive specimen of his people. He stood strong and proud, although he was nowhere near as massive as Bojan was. Despite his slightly lesser stature, there was cunning in his eyes the champion lacked, and it spoke a great deal as to what the Kin found worthy in a leader.
“The Kin welcome you and your words, Bron, favored son of the Great Mother.”
“Thank you, King Sefket. I only wish my words were pleasing ones. Wise Kramloc told me of your worries concerning the human activity, and I am afraid they do herald the coming of war.”
A great murmuring arose around the stadium in chorus with hundreds of bestial roars and the shaking of weapons. Sefket raised a single hand and the gorge fell silent.
“Are the humans resuming their former battles, or have they decided to turn their swords against the Kin once again?”
“Neither. The focus of their preparations is a far more terrible enemy, one that threatens all the races, including the Kin. I walked through the Passage of Lore, and I know your people—our people—remember the Scions, those you call the faceless ones. The Great Mother Ellanee asked me to come to you, to warn you, and to ask you to lend your might to the other races in this battle. I know the humans have been unfair and even cruel, but I must ask, will you fight with them so that all may share in the victory once again. The higher races may not admit it, but we all know that without the might of the Kin, they will fall, and so shall we all.”
Sefket turned and addressed his people in his powerful, commanding voice. “We all hear our Kin’s words, and I find them worthy. Shall we hide in our valley and wait for the enslavers to come destroy us, or do we remind the so-called higher races of our worth?”
The combined shouts of the Kin were deafening. The stone trembled as thousands of voices rang out and stamped their feet. Bron could not discern a single intelligible word, but anyone could interpret their meaning.
Sefket turned to each of the High Chiefs. “Ranko, Hagas, I declare it time to unseal the Tomb of Legends.” Both chiefs nodded and Sefket looked to his shaman. “Kramloc, we have decided it is time to open the Tomb. Do you agree?”
“I do, Sefket.” Kramloc motioned to Bron. “Come, Bron, you should witness this. The Tomb of Legends has not been opened since we first sealed it more than a thousand years ago.”
“What is the Tomb of Legends?” Bron asked as he followed the shaman shuffled up the steps to the pinnacle of the dais.
“It is where we entombed the original heroes of the Kin. We brought them all here when the humans forced us from our lands and entombed them within, along with their fabled armor.”
“What armor is that?”
“You will see,” Kramloc replied with a smile that spoke of eager anticipation.
Sefket and the two High Chiefs stood at the wall backing the high platform upon which they stood. Detailed images of ogre, orc, and goblins doing battle with dragons and other strange creatures stood out in deeply carved relief. The King and Chiefs each pulled a gold medallion suspended by a thick chain from beneath their leather jerkins. Separating the discs form the chains, the three leaders set them into shallow depressions carved into the cliff face and stepped aside.
Kramloc and one of the goblins and orcs took a few steps forward and began chanting. Bron could not understand the language, but he sensed that it was ancient and felt the power building behind the guttural words. The medallions began to glow with a feint nimbus of light, and the stone began to vibrate. The dull grinding of rock against rock resounded through the gorge as a large slab of stone sank into the floor of the raised platform to reveal a spacious, smoothly-carved interior.
The walls bore engravings similar to those covering the outside face. Bron thought the figures were all Kin until he spotted a single dwarf occupying a place of prominence in the center of the far wall. But no matter how intricate the engravings, all were eclipsed by what lay in the center of the tomb.
Three marble plinths acted as the resting place for the bodies laid reverentially upon them. The bodies of an ogre, orc, and goblin lay head to head like the spokes of a wheel, each bedecked in armor of impossible blackness and trimmed in gold. Although the dust lay thick throughout the tomb, not a single spec marred that depthless ebony metal.
“What is that armor? Where did it come from?” Bron whispered reverently.
“These are the suits bestowed upon each of the races’ heroes in the time of the Great Rebellion. Although they are the masterworks of the dwarf Dundalor Ironforge, only the ogres possessed the strength to beat the metal into sheets for forging.”
“What kind of
metal is it?”
“No one knows. The metal was a gift from the gods. What it is, where it came from, or how it was forged is a secret lost to time. Perhaps the dwarves still know, but we do not.”
“You said this tomb has been sealed since you fled your old lands. If the armor was powerful enough to help defeat dragons, did you not think to use it to defend yourselves against the humans?”
“No. The armor was created to help us defeat an immortal foe, and the humans also possessed the armor. To have hero battling hero was unthinkable. It would be an insult to the gods and the price we paid for our freedom. The Kin also knew that if we were to use it against the humans, then it would only be a matter time before we used it against each other, so we sealed the armor within this tomb with our most worthy only to be opened in the time of our greatest need and with the unanimous consent of the three great tribes.”
Bron looked on as the three shamans spoke words of reverent prayer before gently removing the armor from the mummified corpses and strapping them onto their chiefs. Several descriptors ran through Bron’s mind as he gazed upon the fully armored warriors, but the word regal stood to the fore. The druid never thought he would use such a word for any of the brutish Kin, but the profound look of courage, strength, and purpose in their eyes could not be expressed any other way.
The three leaders marched from the tomb and faced their people with their arms held high. The mountains shook as the Kin roared their approval. The sound was as inspiring as it was terrifying, and Bron felt a surge of pride to be called one of them.
Sefket turned to Bron. “The Kin stand ready, favored son of the Great Mother. Lead us to our field of glory.”
CHAPTER 7
Tobias lay in his bunk staring at the overhead and trying to figure out where his life had made such a radical change. The when and what wasn’t difficult to fathom. It was the moment Captain Daebian took charge of the ship. What confused him was how it had all come to pass and why he and the men was so easily swayed to cast their allegiance with him. He was an extraordinary fighter to be sure, even without his dark power. He was brilliant too, easily the most intelligent person he had ever met, yet he could not shake the feeling that if they continued to blindly follow him, the Captain would lead them all into the heart of the abyss.
The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 10