‘When did you meet him?’
Leni hesitated, thought back to the day in question, and took a deep breath before telling his tale.
❖
A chill wind rattled through the forest, whistling a haunting tune and creaking boughs as it found its way between the trees. The leaves of most had fallen during the autumn leaving a springy carpet that lingered, having not rotted sufficiently during winter, spring or even summer.
A younger Len’i ignored the cold ground burning into his bare feet. He was too intent on remaining hidden in the undergrowth. He was crouched low behind a prickly bush, the green of his skin blending perfectly with his surroundings. Not so the others with him. Several paler skinned hunter Orcs in dark clothing did their best to hide in what cover they could find.
He shook his head at an Orc to his left who had taken it upon himself to cover up with leaves and lay prone on the ground.
‘Bad mistake,’ Len’i muttered. He knew that all his precious body heat was being lost to the earth. Though tell the troops as he might, they just didn’t seem to want to listen to him, despite his authority as leader. He could order them to stop being foolish of course, yet with a choice of having an Orc dying from the cold, or hearing complaints ringing in his ears all day, he would rather lose one to the elements. It would teach them a lesson.
A squad of twenty Orcs, plus himself, had been chosen by a Madorine commander to abduct or kill the elders of a village nearby for failure to repay a debt owed. This was no different to any other raid, other than they had been given explicit instructions to follow, and none of those included ransacking the village or harming the other occupants.
The squad had crossed from Madorine at dusk aboard a shallow bottomed watercraft. They landed ashore and secured the boat complete with oars and made the treacherous journey across the high mountainous pass that led to the Valley of Arrom.
They had watched two sentries patrolling the entrance to the valley on the outskirts of the village for hours, waiting for darkness to take hold; only the clouds that had gathered earlier in the evening vanished revealing the moon.
Eventually, the sun had set, turning the clouds red and sending tendrils of multi-coloured light in all directions, and then night fell and with it the cold. Coming from the perpetually warm climate of Madorine meant he and his troop felt the cold.
It was surprising to Len’i how cold it was, considering it was summer in Rosthagaar. The birds of the forest had long ago headed high into the canopy to roost. The occasional call from one bird or another and the odd nocturnal mammal rustling in the undergrowth disturbed the quiet of the night.
The sentries turned and headed away from the silent hunters. Spears thudded the dry soil, and the odd twig snapped noisily underfoot. The guards carried flaming torches that cast eerie shadows about them and in turn gave them the jitters. They had wrapped up warm with thick woollen over tunics in response to the unusually bitter summer night that brought with it the chilling wind.
At a signal from Len’i, two of the lithest Orcs stealthily crept forward while keeping to the shadows and away from shafts of moonlight that penetrated the canopy and littered the ground. The light beams danced with the motion of the trees and the leaves high above, and more than once did the Orcs have to change course quickly to stay ahead of the light.
As they silently made their way through the forest in pursuit of the sentries, they carefully checked their footing for signs of twigs that would snap and give away their presence. Having watched their prey for hours, they knew that their guards would trudge up a rise and disappear over it for several minutes before returning. They followed as closely as they dare until the guards vanished out of sight.
Len’i watched satisfied as two Orcs hurried up the rise and took cover close to where the sentries would return shortly. Now the real waiting game had begun.
The minutes seemed to go by slowly. Were the guards going to return? Would they be spotted and the alarm raised? These and many other scenarios played across Leni’s mind as he stood silently behind a thick oak tree.
It was not too much longer until a now familiar glow lit the canopy just over the rise. The sentries were returning with torches in hand. Len’i and the others stiffened, ready for action.
‘—I said to her, I said, “If you think for one minute that I’m going to work on your father’s field this year, you have another think coming”,’ the taller of the sentries told his friend.
‘What did she say?’ the other asked.
‘Well, you know you asked me why I stink like a pig?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been sleeping with them ever since.’
His friend burst into fits of hysterical laughter and stopped walking to hold his stomach where a stitch was forming. He bent double to try and ease it and then stood upright after realising it would not help. Immediately he ceased his mirth, and his eyes widened in shock. He tried to speak, except words failed him.
His fellow sentry looked at him puzzled and saw too late that his friend was looking beyond him. Before he could turn to see what his friend was looking at, a sharp pain engulfed his senses, and his expression turned to agony. A second later a strong clawed hand wrapped around his mouth and the tip of a curved blade punctured through his chest. Blood splattered across the face of his comrade.
Sensing he was in trouble, the survivor turned to run for one of the many warning bells that had been placed throughout the forest. He had to alert the village at all costs; only his fate was sealed. Despite his bravery and quick thinking, he dropped dead mid-stride. A long arrow protruded from his chest directly through his heart.
The bodies were hidden and torches doused. The raiding party regrouped and formed a circle so that Len’i could give his final instructions. He looked about him at the assembled Orcs. They were the elite, and frightening in appearance to boot. Before now he had seen grown men faint before this scarred, snarling band of blood-hungry warriors. That also worried him. He had been given explicit instructions from his commander to harm only the elders of the village and guard patrols, except when this troop of Orcs became excitable, there was often no way of stopping them from ending a raid with a bloodbath.
He had witnessed, several years ago, six of the finest Madorine warriors take down a dozen giants in battle, the only issue being that at the time the Giants were allies. Of course, that changed the course of the battle, and instead of one enemy, they ended up fighting two.
Time would tell what his troops would do in the heat of the raid and whether or not they would stick to their orders. Far too many Orcs under his command had been executed for direct insubordination. Perhaps he was not the leader he aspired to be.
‘Meroth, take half of the patrol, hunt out the elders and bring them to me. I’ll secure the perimeter with the rest,’ Len’i ordered his Second.
With the swiftest of motions, Meroth chose his unit with a clawed finger, and they were off running without a word.
Len’i watched the hunters disappear quickly into the undergrowth and had a feeling of foreboding.
Meroth and his squad, with the aid of long powerful arms, used all four limbs to power through the trees and within a minute they had reached a vast lake. They circled it quickly and crept up a hill towards the village. Several frightened sheep bleated in alarm and scattered. Other than that, the hillside was void of life. Meroth cursed the sheep and crouched low with his Orcs at the brow of the rise. After checking the coast was clear they bypassed a dark and solitary farmhouse.
They followed a line of trees that hid them from a small group of humans milling around. At the edge of the tree line, they paused to let a family pass. A thickset man and his wife carried two small children wrapped in sheepskins. They were slowly heading away from the village deep in conversation. They were unimportant at the moment.
Meroth clicked his finger to the nearest Orc. ‘Find us horses.’
The Orc gave a toothy grin and sprinted away into the darkness.<
br />
From their vantage point, the raiders could see that a celebration of some kind was in full swing inside a stone hall in the centre of the village square. Drunken, rowdy laughter and song punctuated the air.
Meroth turned to his squad. ‘Obey me, and you will get to kill today,’ he said in his unusually educated parlance.
A look of glee and delight passed between them. Their new leader, Len’i was a stickler for observing the rules of war, and here Meroth had countermanded his orders and offered them free rein.
No self-respecting Madorine would pass up a chance to deal death to an enemy, whether they be man, woman or child.
Meroth’s scout returned then with four horses, tethered at the neck with a stout rope. Meroth took the horses and handed a rope each to four of his troop. ‘Seal them in,’ he hissed and then turned to the remainder of his squad. ‘Follow me.’
The squad set off after the horses at breakneck speed with swords and clubs drawn. Small groups of humans screamed and ran as the Orcs approached, and soon the invaders reached the Great Hall. Meroth flung open the heavy oak doors with a clang.
It took a moment for the revellers inside to realise that a band of horrific looking Orcs were leering at them from the doorway.
Screams from the women and children followed by cries of anger and cursing ended the festivities. Instruments stopped playing, and chairs and benches were pushed over in an attempt by the guests of the hall to back away from the encroaching Orcs.
Meroth took further steps into the hall and growled, spittle dripping from his sharp pointed teeth in anticipation of what was to come. His warrior instinct, bred into him from birth and engrained in his ancestry, came to the fore and urged him on.
‘Where are the elders?’ he roared.
Elder Rangsan stood, and despite his trembling, he addressed Meroth with a quavering voice. ‘We ... we are here.’
Meroth smiled wickedly. ‘Torch it!’ he said with a wave of his arm.
Four large Orcs stepped forward with flaming torches in hand; their faces lit eerily as they prepared to throw.
Screams began in earnest and pleas for mercy and to spare the children rang out. Half a dozen men attempted to rush the Orcs and were cut down to die in bloody pools. The screaming intensified when the Orcs threw the torches into the expanse, their aims true as the flames ignited flammable sheepskins and other adornments. Flames caught quickly and licked at the wooden frame of the building.
Satisfied, Meroth backed out of the building. Strong arms closed the great doors and held them shut while a thick plank of wood was driven through the iron handles to prevent them opening.
Smoke began to billow from cracks in the roof and firelight danced in the high windows. Coughing and agonised screaming almost threatened to drown out a warning bell that sounded in the distance.
Meroth was impressed at the speed with which the hall had caught fire and turned to two Orcs standing close to the building, ‘You two, stay here, let no one escape.’
The duo cackled and stood their ground.
‘The rest of you, have fun.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Except you three.’
‘Why us?’ said a whining voice.
‘We’re going to have some fun of our own. Come on.’
The four of them hurried through escaping villagers, swiping with curved swords at any unfortunate enough to get in their way. Meroth was eager to pay a visit to a female he had spied earlier, and a lust urged him to partake in his own kind of fun. From the corner of his eye, amid the ongoing chaos, he witnessed a rather large male take down one of his own on horseback, and after retrieving his sword and the horse, head away from the village.
Meroth laughed as he witnessed the human receive a sword strike to the abdomen. An Orc had stepped into view and issued the blow as the rider rode through the village gates. The horse continued a short way until the rider fell from his mount and rolled down the hill and into the lake.
Meroth had changed direction and caught up with an Orc at the village gates. ‘Nice hit Zam. It looked like he was going for help.’
‘Not no more,’ Zam gloated.
‘Meroth!’ Thundered Len’i, who had appeared from nowhere. ‘What have you done?’
‘What you would not,’ Meroth replied.
Len’i raged and smashed a massive fist across Meroth’s jaw. That was a mistake. Meroth was considerably larger than Len’i and took the punch in his stride and clenched his own fist.
Len’i found himself grabbed from behind by two other Orcs and was forcibly restrained.
‘You dare break your oath to me?’ Len’i yelled.
‘You bring shame to our warrior name. You follow blindly orders from afar; from fools equal to you.’
‘Your orders—’
‘Are no more. Your hunters will now only listen to me. A change of command is in order.’ Meroth looked at each of the troop in turn for signs of approval or dissent.
Each made eye contact and held an arm aloft or grunted approval.
Meroth faced Len’i ‘You see? Give them what they want, and they’ll follow you anywhere.’
‘Until someone else wants to be leader,’ Len’i growled.
‘That’s our way; show weakness, and you’re fair game.’
‘Meroth, we served the King together. Why do this to me?’
‘You bore me. Always have, with your liberal ways.’
His words cut Len’i deep. ‘What now?’
‘My boys will tear this place apart, and you will meet Lord Kalom today.’
So, Meroth had sentenced him to death, and he was to meet the four-headed beast of the volcano realm known as Lord Kalom, a fallen god who would enslave him for eternity. This was the worst possible end to befall a Madorine.
‘Take him to the lake, drown him and remove his head for good measure,’ Meroth ordered.
Len’i was lost, broken and betrayed, and permitted himself to be led away silently without a struggle.
Further down the hill and out of earshot of Meroth and the others, Len’i realised that he could not permit Meroth to win and kill more innocents against his direct orders. It was settled, and a renewed determination overtook him. His executioners held him under the arms, though quite without warning, he jumped in the air and brought the soles of his feet down hard on his captors’ knees. With a crack, the kneecaps shifted and dislocated, and they were brought to the floor with cries of agony.
Len’i fell forward and rolled a little way down the hill. He righted himself and looked about for signs of pursuit, or that Meroth had spotted him. He saw that his quarry was close to the lone farmhouse with three others. He returned to his former escorts who were cradling their legs and relinquished them of their swords, then regretfully slit their throats.
He made haste to chase after Meroth. He had to stop the traitorous dog before he caused more harm. If he could take him out, then the others would fall back in line. So intent on his next task was he, that he failed to hear light footsteps behind him and neither did he feel the studded club impact the back of his skull.
❖
How long he had been unconscious, he had no idea. All he knew when he came round was that his head hurt as if Lord Kalom himself had smashed it with a mountain-sized rock and left him to die.
Beside him lay two large human males and an Orc called Kil, all quite dead. A quick assessment of the scene told him that Kil had clubbed him and the two humans had died while they attempted to take down the Orc. He guessed that one of the humans had somehow managed to get a lucky strike at Kil before succumbing to his own wounds.
Above him and to the right, the village lay in fiery ruins; only a small farmhouse to his left still stood intact. From where he stood and with blurred vision he saw that someone or something was moving just outside of the door of the home.
He unsteadily made his way towards the farm, eager to dress his head wound with anything he could find. He hoped that there was a well; he was as thirsty as the fires that raged in Moun
t Dibor.
He stumbled towards a figure sprawled on the ground, half lying, and half sitting. The human male was cradling a wound to his side, and as Len’i approached, the person attempted to back away toward the farmhouse.
Len’i, unsure of how to deal with humans on a personal level, raised his hands to show that he meant no harm. Despite this, he must have looked a terrifying sight.
‘Get away, monster. Have you not killed enough today?’ the human male cried.
Len’i spoke as softly as he could, attempting to soften his natural growl. ‘My hands have not killed today. Nor do I wish to kill. Let me help you.’
Despite the surprise at being able to understand the well-spoken Orc, the human remained on his guard, half-expecting the creature to finish him off at any moment.
‘Stay away from me. Let me die in peace.’
Len’i shook his head and skirted around the dying man, aware that his every move was being monitored suspiciously. He spotted the battered and torn remains of two of his former troop lying dead not far away, and wondered if the human had killed them.
He trudged over to the open stone well and located a bucket. Emptying a dirty rag from it, he tied it to a length of rope and then lowered it into the inky blackness of the well. He listened for a splash and after a moment hauled the bucket back up to the lip of the well. He untied it, carried it by his side and crossed the threshold of the farmhouse.
‘Stay out of there!’ yelled the human. ‘Leave her be.’
Len’i paused momentarily and chose to ignore him before stepping inside the dark interior of the farmhouse. Very quickly his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and with the aid of the moonlight streaming through the battered doorway and window, he carefully picked his way across the room. He stepped over the body of a woman and spotted the barefoot of an Orc. He immediately dropped to his knees to identify the victim. Meroth lay there dead in a pool of his own blood. Len’i spat at the corpse and exulted at the usurper’s death.
‘Perhaps if you’d listened to me, old friend, you’d still be alive.’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 69