The thought of Devon and Vesna threatened to overwhelm Catelyn. This was all too much. Sliding to the hard floor, she focused on her breathing. The thought of her family flooded her with pain. The harder she tried to shut out the past, the greater the detail that bubbled to the surface. She remembered a story Devon had told her, just days before the blood-soaked Equinox Festival. A story of youthful carelessness. An evening spent on a strange shore, lashed savagely by a storm. Midnight hours in the company of an old man who wanted desperately to die. A man who claimed to be a mage.
“My father,” she said finally, recognizing the truth. “He was tainted. I don’t know how, but he was.”
With surprising sensitivity, the orc remained silent while Catelyn processed her self-discovery.
“My name is Catelyn,” she said quietly. She was flattened, defeated by a sinister presence she’d never known existed. What, exactly, had she been carrying all her life? Was it slowly killing her, like Zan said it would? A second tremor shook the walls. This time, stones and mortar crumbled from weak points in the ceiling, almost striking the pair. Hugging herself against the world, Catelyn brushed past Zan and paced the central walkway.
“What’s happening out there, Zan?”
The orc’s gaze was somber. “The threat is of my creation. Three dire worms, to be exact. As we speak they are boring under the castle.”
Catelyn looked at the mage in horrified wonder. What had he done?
“You’re hideous,” she gasped, backing away. “Hundreds will die. For what?”
“I was dispatched ahead of the main host,” Zan said. “My skill lies in disruption and decay. But I am not with the army. I was forced into this attack when my master caught up with me.”
“Then tell me why you’re here at all,” Catelyn said, barely controlling her anger.
“My main objective is to reach King Rosten in Lakeshore. I have a critically important message for him. You must believe me.”
Catelyn’s mind whorled. All she saw was a murderer of humans. Her people. There would be no siege. The orcs had means to bring the castle down much sooner than expected.
“I have no reason to believe you,” she spat, lifting a rock and aiming at the orc’s head.
“I am under no obligation to tell you anything,” Zan said calmly. “I could have killed you where you lay. Many times over.”
It was true. Feeling infuriatingly impotent, Catelyn abandoned her crude weapon and made for the door.
“Guards!”
“They are probably at the ramparts,” Zan said gently.
But the orc was wrong. The door was flung open and a pair of battle-ready soldiers rushed in. The Baron himself followed, scowling at Catelyn.
“What have you done?” he shouted, spittle spraying her face. “Speak or I’ll tear you limb from limb.”
Horrified, Catelyn stepped back, but realized that took her in Zan’s direction. She wanted to sob, she wanted to bury her face in her hands and not look at these men ever again. But the steel in her was stronger than that. She took a steadying breath and matched the Baron’s withering look.
“I’ve told you already - I’m not your enemy. If you won’t take my word for it, do what you will.”
“The beasts coiling themselves underneath us are of my creation and will obey my command. Swear that I will be conveyed safely to Lakeshore and I will spare your lives.”
Catelyn looked sharply at Zan - the orc hadn’t been lying earlier. Duskovy ejected a mirthless chuckle.
“By the Fat God, why would I choose to negotiate with a rabid orc?”
“Elesta is under threat,” Zan said evenly. “Not from orcs. Not from elves. You must convey me to your capital immediately. Millions of lives depend on it.”
Duskovy stepped past Catelyn and used his extra height in an attempt to intimidate the orc. She could smell white oak resin on his sword. Soldiers only applied that when battle was imminent.
“Our orchard is dead,” the Baron said in a voice thick with violence. “Worse, six weeks of cold-pressed chaff rations have spoiled. Every inch of fibrous material in my castle is decayed. I would have an explanation. Now.”
“The worms’ aura causes living material to degrade,” Zan said. “I am acting under direct orders from Tibus, Kanoor of the Orcish nation. He dispatched a missive to Lakeshore a day ago. Our people are at war, sir, and unless you put me on the road to Lakeshore, I will dismantle this castle stone by stone.”
The men stood toe to toe for what seemed like an eternity. Catelyn was certain Duskovy would cleave the troublesome mage’s head from his shoulders. But that would’ve been a disastrous course of action. If what Zan claimed was true, he was the only one who could reel in the abominable creations currently wreaking havoc in the noble stone of Resolute Bluff. On the other hand, whisking Zan away to Lakeshore seemed equally foolhardy considering his value to Duskovy as a prisoner. In the end, the Baron simply drew his sword and dashed Zan over the head with the heavy butt. The mage crumpled to the floor for a few moments, but recovered quickly. When he rose to his feet, he seemed as quietly defiant as ever.
“See to your walls, human,” he said with icy composure. “Do not return without my freedom.”
“I will go where I please!” bellowed Duskovy, his anger again getting the better of him. Catelyn winced - the orc had successfully goaded the Baron into a wretched corner.
“Let him go,” Catelyn urged. “Surely he’s not worth so many lives.”
The back of the Baron’s steel gauntlet caught her on the cheek, knocking her against the bars and momentarily stunning her.
“If I let you go, your army must withdraw,” he demanded, paying Catelyn no further attention.
“I do not have that power,” Zan said. “But removing the dire worms will force my brethren to deploy a more traditional siege, buying you weeks.”
As if to emphasize the point, the walls shook violently. Catelyn grabbed hold of one of the bars for support.
“There is a third option, mage,” Duskovy sneered, galvanized by the tremor. “I withdraw my army to Andra with you in tow. Yoii will untangle your secrets along the way, and every time you obfuscate, every time you displease us, we will remove a strip of your putrid orcish skin. With any luck, you’ll be ready for stewing by the time we reach the Ebbe.”
The soldiers flanking Duskovy laughed harshly. Catelyn had little tolerance for obsequious cowardice and glared at them. It was obvious where she would sit within Duskovy’s scheme - right next to Zan, manacled and beaten to within an inch of her life. Whether she liked it or not, Yoii had detected her innate similarities with the orc and that connection was her death warrant.
“To me, girl,” Zan murmured. “These people want you dead. I do not. Make your choice.”
The last thing Catelyn wanted to do was fall in alongside an orc, but it was patently obvious that Zan was her only viable path forward, at least in the short term. So she joined Zan at the far end of the dungeon, confirming her culpability in the Baron’s eyes.
“Take them both,” Duskovy growled. “And don’t be gentle.”
His men stepped forward, swords raised. They were both seasoned knights - the kind Catelyn could only dream of becoming. She felt sick as she watched them approach. How had things come to this? Zan clutched her shoulder for support. A pale grey-blue foam had collected around the corners of his mouth and his heavily dilated pupils roamed aimlessly.
“Come to me, ziagat,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
Catelyn threw herself to the floor as the cobblestones erupted less than a yard in front of her. An enormous, fleshy coil burst through, tossing heavy rocks in a deadly fountain. By the time Catelyn had scrambled out of the way, the creature had withdrawn. What happened next rivaled the worm’s brief appearance for sheer terror. The knights were faltering. The foremost assailant had dropped to one knee and was reaching out to Catelyn, his face a rictus of pain. As she watched, the flesh on his cheeks tightened and lost its color. The skin bec
ame dry and papery, flaking off like autumn leaves. She couldn’t help but sob as the knights decayed before her eyes. A horrible, meaty smell filled the dungeon and she retched uncontrollably. The doomed knights were little more than skeletons as they clattered to the floor. Zan dragged an insensible Catelyn further into the rubble.
“Fall back!” Duskovy bellowed as more knights appeared behind him. “Load the cages!”
With that, he was gone. The Baron had every reason to fall back. Several figures pulled themselves through the breach created by the dire worm. These were more like the orcish grunts Catelyn had been conditioned to fear. Swarthy and hulking, they moved quickly and with intimidating bloodlust. Each carried scored, weathered battle axes that winked in the sputtering torchlight. An orc sporting a red helm, possibly a captain, squealed excitedly when he spotted Catelyn.
“She’s mine!” Zan boomed, his voice so commanding, so final, it repelled the orc soldier. “Secure the castle. The humans are retreating across the gorge.”
The orc captain darted a hideous look at Catelyn before moving on.
“I am senior among my people,” Zan said, his shoulders sagging from his exertions. “But the chains of command between battle-born and scribe-born aren’t always clear.”
“What happens to human prisoners in a roving orc host?” Catelyn asked.
“Flesh bricks for rape or consumption,” Zan said. “The cultural origins of which we have little time to debate.”
“Agreed,” Catelyn said, shrinking from the stream of orc warriors pouring through the breach. “I have one question - why wasn’t I affected by the dire worm?”
“Dire taint,” Zan said crisply. “Hosts are always protected.”
“I see,” Catelyn said in an empty voice. She felt like she’d entered into a pact with the devil.
“Let’s move,” Zan said, taking her by the hand. His flesh was surprisingly soft. “We gain little from lingering here.”
Catelyn swallowed her fear and allowed herself to be led. Through a bizarre twist of fate, Zan had become her only chance of surviving the nightmare Duskovy Castle had become. Several orcs cast hateful glances at her as Zan pushed through their ranks. The orc hadn’t been lying about his status among his kin - only a high-ranking individual could have stilled their hungry blades. Intense relief flooded Catelyn as the marauding orcs peeled off at the first landing and thundered through a narrow doorway. Taking three steps at a time, she and Zan continued up the square stairwell. Breathless, the pair emerged into wan sunlight at the keep’s upper rampart.
Catelyn was grateful for the stiff breeze that lifted her matted hair and freshened her lungs. She rejoiced at the caw of fleeing ravens and the sharp smell of bird shit on the cobblestones. Zan marched straight for the north balustrade, scanning the courtyard battle with keen interest. Catelyn’s gaze was immediately drawn to a spine-tingling vista to the south. Every spare yard of land from the raised drawbridge to the smoking ruin of Guill was consumed by a makeshift settlement. At least ten thousand orc warriors stood patiently in battle-ready formation on Felwood Hill. Their thick, near-impenetrable armor was the color of blood. Eager corporals sauntered through the lines, the wind carrying snatches of their gruff entreaties. A detachment of horse knights, the infamous ziguran, had peeled off to the north, presumably to head off Baron Duskovy’s retreat.
An undulating sea of fur-crafted orcish yurts stood beyond the imposing army. Each was imprinted with stylized symbols that presumably represented various battle-born clans. Catelyn was struck by how many women and children she saw there. Orcish soldiers were famous for bringing their families to war, creating an all-consuming host that devastated the surrounding terrain. But this … Catelyn was no expert, but the sheer scale of that camp was unprecedented and raised disturbing questions around the orcs’ primary objective. Frightened, she tore her gaze away, stepping along the eastern balustrade to see where the ziguran were headed. There was better news here - though the horses were moving swiftly, the recalcitrant, spiteful chasm known as Kain Gorge prevented further progress. Catelyn’s sharp eyes spotted movement in the abyss - cages suspended on a cable spanning the length of the gorge.
“What …?”
“The Baron isn’t as dumb as he looks,” Zan murmured with good humor. “Most of his troops will withdraw across the gorge and make it to Andra before the ziguran can cut them off. The next siege will begin there.”
It was difficult to accept that the castle was actually falling. The orcs had achieved what countless armies throughout Ardennian history had not. Incredibly, their point of access was the bottom of Kain Gorge, where Zan’s grotesque dire worms had penetrated the castle foundations. The clash of steel was a sharp reminder of the battle raging below. Catelyn scrutinized the heart-rending scene. A fiercely determined detachment of knights was defending the northern rampart, where the bulk of the garrison were launching across the gorge in the cages she’d seen earlier. No one had ever mentioned this means of escape - the Baron had wisely kept it under wraps until it was needed.
The orcish invaders pushed aggressively, favoring a bruising, impactful fighting style. Their battle axes allowed for vicious, powerful arcs that could sunder heavy armor. In theory, the direct style left them open to flanking attacks, but Duskovy’s knights couldn’t abandon their defensive position. As a consequence, the orcs made steady progress through the human ranks.
“I should be down there with the garrison, sword in hand,” Catelyn murmured, but she knew she was too weak, too feeble to provide anything but a minor distraction. Zan gripped her shoulder, his expression surprisingly earnest.
“Most of your kin will survive,” he said. “Those champions down there will give their brothers more than enough time.”
“You’re responsible for the dead,” Catelyn said in a hollow voice.
Zan snorted. “If it wasn’t for my dire worms, Duskovy would be facing a long, painful siege. Months of starvation and hardship. Besides, our people are at war. I apologize, but I cannot show you the official declaration right now.”
Catelyn turned away - it seemed even orcs could be sarcastic.
“Am I your prisoner?” she asked, frustrated. “My chosen path doesn’t involve magic. It never has.”
Zan drew Catelyn away from the balustrade, probably to kill any notion of a suicide mission.
“Our relationship must be based on mutual respect, Catelyn,” he said. “You are free to do as you wish. However, I am obliged to outline the realities of your position. My kin are here to stay. A threat has emerged far to the west, a superior force that has already accounted for over a million orcish souls. As a result, the Orcish Nation requires a new home. Elves and dwarves have provided us with unequivocal support and recognition.”
Catelyn felt a stab of dread in her chest. She knew Ardennia’s relations with elves and dwarves were at an all-time low, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept the picture Zan was describing.
“To favor orcs over humans,” she said. “It’s unthinkable.”
If Zan was offended by Catelyn’s racism, he didn’t show it.
“From your point of view, perhaps,” he said. “Unfortunately, humans are no longer respected. The mutual trust of the Old Wars has been eroded over time.”
Catelyn’s eyes filled with tears as she watched Duskovy’s best knights fall to brutal, scything axe blows. The orcs were soldiers possessed, pressing home their palpable anger and ensuring there were no survivors.
“So be it,” she found herself saying.
This was no time for misplaced heroics - somewhere out there, far to the east, Dahal Rane was still at large. Catelyn could not possibly throw her life away until her family had been avenged. But finding a patron to oversee her training was a remote prospect at best. The Southern Reaches was a province in chaos, a land sundered by the orcish force pouring in from the west. The idea of traveling with Zan to Lakeshore seemed too fantastical to contemplate, but Catelyn couldn’t deny that her best chance of fin
ding a patron also lay in that direction. It would be foolish to try and cross the riverlands alone. With Zan by her side … well, perhaps they could protect each other. If he was to be trusted, he might also be able to shed some light on her latent - and unwanted - dire taint. If she could somehow learn to control the magic that threatened to consume her, there was no reason she couldn’t continue her martial training.
“Do you have any melee skills?” she asked Zan suddenly.
The orc peered at her through hooded eyes.
“Your heart lies with the blade, I see. That is good. You should never abandon your passion. The marriage of magic and melee disciplines requires fierce concentration and unwavering commitment. As always, history is a useful guide. The last great human battle mage was -”
“Nanomine. So you’re saying it’s possible.”
The hint of a grin played on Zan’s lips.
“Orcs do not believe in fate,” he murmured. “Seems I only have myself to congratulate for meeting you.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I use customized weapons, designed to complement my dire taint. Not the other way around.”
Zan’s piercing look challenged Catelyn to disagree. She was loathe to abandon her devotion to the humble short sword. The weapon had been one of the dependable constants of her teenage years. In any case, it reminded her of the dusky smell of the training yard at Tavalen. Of long afternoons with Doran. She couldn’t imagine switching to a strange orcish weapon, but that was a worry for tomorrow. There was little point in lingering on the rampart - the bulk of Duskovy’s force had made it across Kain Gorge and the orcs would soon hoist their flag above the castle.
“We need a way out of here,” she said, tearing her gaze away from the fading battle.
“Then you will travel with me, ungil?” Zan asked intently.
Catelyn knew the term - one of many orcish words for ‘human’, and possibly the only one with a positive inflection. It was an old word, from happier times.
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