by Sam Ferguson
Hermean shrugged. “Besides the seven watching us? Hard to say. Could be there are fifty, could just as easily be five thousand in the eastern mountains.”
“If they leave us be, then we shall allow them peace as well,” Gorliad said.
“No, you don’t understand,” Hermean said. “I am a hunter, and I am trained to launch a full assault whenever I see such creatures near my border. You may only see a handful now, but they are not here for peace. They are here to slay us. There is nothing else in their minds except to conquer and destroy. That is what they do.”
“Are they animals?” Gorliad asked. “Or are they higher beings?”
Hermean looked up at Gorliad and stamped his axe on the ground. “They are evil. That is all I know.” He spat on the ground. “They are not dragon, nor are they dwarf. They are orc. Orcs are spawned from the same void that gave us the frost trolls, the ice-wraiths, and that gargantuan beast down by the lake, who is still lying there I might add.”
Gorliad looked down to Hermean with disapproval. “Where would you like me to take the body? It is larger than I can move easily.”
“Burn it,” Hermean said. “Burn it and be done with it. The ice and snow will keep it from festering and rotting, but sooner or later that thing will begin to stink.”
“They come,” Gorliad said suddenly. Hermean turned away from Gorliad and looked out across the tundra.
“Kill him,” Hermean said resolutely. “Whatever he says, don’t believe him. He has nothing but evil in his heart. Kill him now and end this before it starts.”
Gorliad snorted. The dragon offered one more glance at the dwarf and then he launched into the sky. Within less than a minute he dropped to the ground, landing fifty meters from the charging sled. He studied each beast that pulled the contraption. Fur gray as slate, teeth of yellow, and eyes large and hungry. Each beast was enormously large and muscular. The shape of the head would make the impression that it was related to a wolf, yet the body was more aptly describe as appearing bullish. Broad, round shoulders with a thick, massive neck enabled the beasts to pull against their harnesses. The torso was thicker at the top and tapered down to a narrow, yet visibly powerful waist and thickly muscled hind legs. Their feet were covered by large tufts of fur so that he could not see what shape their paws were. The beasts had only short tails, but it appeared to Gorliad that the tails had been docked long ago.
The animals snarled and growled as they pulled the sled, a couple of them had frozen bits of slobber stuck to their chins. They all veered off to Gorliad’s right and drew the sled in close. Hermean was most definitely right. The being in the sled was an orc, a snow-orc to be exact.
Its skin was white as the snow. The orc’s fierce, ruby red eyes stared out over a broad nose and sharp set of bottom tusks that jutted up out of the thing’s mouth. In many respects, it was built similar to a dwarf. Broad shoulders, thick waist, powerful arms and legs. It was as if a pair of dragons had grabbed hold of the creature and stretched him to be tall, for he stood nearly two meters, which was tall for their kind. The orc had no hair, but a crown of iron sat upon its brow, adorned with pointed animal teeth and a pair of eagle feathers.
“Dragon,” the orc spoke in a low, deep voice. “Never have I seen your kind in the flesh. You are as mighty as I have imagined you to be.”
Gorliad narrowed his white eyes on the orc. “Never have I laid eyes upon an orc,” Gorliad replied evenly. “What is it you want?” Gorliad expected the orc to challenge him. He was certain the orc would try to lay claim to the land. What happened instead, however, surprised him entirely.
“I have come to pay tribute, dear dragon,” the orc said. The orc turned and pulled a buffalo hide from the back of his sled to reveal a crude chest. He twisted a lock on the front and popped the lid open with a mild squeak. “This is one tenth of our treasure. I offer it to you.”
Gorliad saw the gold and silver pieces in the chest and the fires in his chest grew hotter. He was not crazed by gold, but the sudden sight of the treasure woke a desire in him that he had long forgotten. Again he heard the music calling out to him, and he longed to have it with him forever. “Why would you offer this?” he asked as he shook the music from his head.
The orc bowed low and swept his arms out to the side. “For many years we have fought against the terrible Burork. We occasionally managed to injure it, but could never slay it. It preyed upon my people, eating us and hunting us like prized quarry. I dare not think about how many of my kindred have left their bones in your mountain.” The orc rose to stand upright. “I suppose you have seen them for yourself, have you not?”
Gorliad nodded once. “I have seen the piles of bones.”
“Then let us thank you for releasing us from our plight. The treasure is our gift to you. Take it, but let us continue to live in the mountains to the east. Do not fall upon us and bring us death.”
“You assume I come to conquer you as well?” Gorliad asked.
“Have you not come to lay claim upon the lands?” the orc asked. “I was told all king dragons lay claim upon new lands and then eradicate anything from within so they may start anew.”
Gorliad shook his head. “I am no king.”
“Yet you travel with an army,” the orc pressed.
Gorliad almost corrected the orc, but then he decided better not to. Even if he had no intention of fighting, there was nothing to gain from telling the orc that there was no army. Why not let him think it was an army. Then perhaps there would be additional reasons to convince the orc to stay peaceful. “So long as your people do not attack my people, I see no reason for us to be enemies,” Gorliad said. “Why move according to the dictates of tradition when two may reason together and find an alternative?”
The orc smiled. “You have my thanks,” he said. “Peace between us both, and long life to our peoples.” Gorliad returned the blessing. The orc moved to climb into the sled again, but stopped short. He turned back with a strange smile on his face. “Allow me to take something from the Burork?” he asked.
Gorliad turned back to glance at the giant carcass. “What is it you wish to take?”
“The heart,” the orc said. “Allow me to take the heart.”
“For what purpose?” Gorliad asked.
“It is a custom among our people to eat the heart of our enemies.” The orc laughed self-consciously and then almost blushed. “It is a legend that it allows us to absorb their strength. It is not so, of course, for the heart is only meat, but it would do much for my people’s spirits to consume their tormentor’s flesh.”
Gorliad thought for a moment. A tiny feeling in his gut pulled at him, trying to warn him that something was amiss. He looked into the orc’s eyes, looking for whatever might be wrong. All he found were two innocent eyes looking back at him from over a pleasant smile. “How would you carry such a thing away? Have you many orcs?” Gorliad asked, trying to see through the smiling red eyes.
“We number only slightly more than what I see you have at your command,” the orc replied. “But I would not bring them all into your land. I would bring but a few, with sleds.”
Gorliad decided to listen to his gut. True, he was not sure what caused his apprehension, but with the curiosities he had seen over the last week, he was not about to take any unnecessary chances. “Allow me to speak with my dwarves. We may meet again on the morrow, and discuss the request.”
“Speak with them?” the orc echoed. “Are they not yours to command?”
Gorliad left the question hanging on the wind.
The orc shrugged and pulled the chest of gold out. “I will leave this here for you. Do with it as you see fit.” Then he cracked a whip and the gnarly beasts zipped away as quick as the driving wind.
Gorliad looked to the treasure and listened to the song coming from the chest. It required no small amount of effort, but the dragon left the treasure there in the snow and flew back to find Hermean.
The dwarf stood at the edge of the forest, holding his
axe out and glaring venomously at Gorliad.
Gorliad landed before Hermean and noted the dwarf’s displeasure.
“No good will come from speaking with children of the void,” Hermean said.
“They wish for peace,” Gorliad replied. “They deposited a chest of treasure as tribute, and wish to be left in peace.”
Hermean shook his head. “I would rather allow an atorat infestation to build within the mountain. The orcs mean us nothing but evil. If he embraces you, it is only so he may slip a blade into your spine and pull with both hands.”
Gorliad frowned. “What would you have me do?”
“Find them, and kill them.”
Gorliad looked over his back to see that the orcs had disappeared from the area altogether. “It is one thing to destroy the frost trolls, or the giant, but the orcs have done nothing to us. Furthermore, their enemy was the giant.”
Hermean spat on the ground. “What did he ask for?”
“The giant’s heart. He said they would eat it in celebration of the giant’s demise.”
“You intend to give them the heart as well as peace?” Hermean asked.
Gorliad shook his head. “No. While I am not ready to exterminate an entire tribe of people, I see no wisdom in giving them the heart. I think it wiser to reduce the body to ash, as best I can.”
Hermean nodded. “That sounds better. Who knows what powers they might reap from eating the heart?”
“Dragon kings eat the hearts of challengers, yet it grants us no benefit other than ritual triumph and trophy,” Gorliad pointed out.
Hermean shrugged. “But the giant is a child of the void, as are the orcs. Perhaps for them there is something to be gained.”
“What about the offer of peace?” Gorliad pressed.
Hermean shook his head. “I don’t trust it.”
Gorliad looked beyond the forest to the busy dwarves. “Perhaps we should all weigh in and share our opinions,” Gorliad said.
“Do what?” Hermean asked incredulously. “You and I have chosen the path up until now, to add more voices into the decision would only encumber us.”
“But is it right?” Gorliad asked. “You and me stand here and discuss whether we should send all of them to fight. Is that the way it should be?”
“That is the way it has been,” Hermean said with a shrug. “Except, normally the dragon does not ask even my opinion more than just to hear council before making a decision.”
“That is the way of kings,” Gorliad commented dryly. “But I am not a king.” The dragon looked down and stared into Hermean’s eyes. “Neither are you.”
Hermean twirled the shaft of his axe, flinging snow out from the blades as they spun. “Children and those not involved with a battle need not be asked,” Hermean said. “We can talk to the warriors and leave it at that.”
“Do the warriors not have families?” Gorliad asked. “Are not all involved in some measure? Why ask only those who fight, for they are not the only ones who sacrifice.”
“Be careful here, Gorliad,” Hermean warned. “If you give voice to some now, it will be harder to take that voice away later.”
Gorliad nodded. “Perhaps a council, then,” he offered. “A few of the older members, picked by the others to speak for them. Such a council could decide on issues of battle, like this, or perhaps on other issues that affect the whole group.”
“How often are we to really be faced with this kind of decision?” Hermean asked. “In all of my years as a hunter, I have never seen its like. Form a council if you wish, but with the understanding that it is only for this decision. All further decisions shall be made between you and me.”
“That would make us dual kings,” Gorliad said.
Hermean shrugged. “I know you did not raise yourself up to be a king, but perhaps that is what you were always meant to be.” The burgundy dragon opened his mouth to speak but Hermean shook his head and pointed his axe up at Gorliad, calling for silence. “You have all the great strengths of a king, yet you have something that others before you did not. You have empathy, and a different sense of how the world should work. Unfortunately, while we may have found a perfect setting for our new home, we may have no choice but to make you our king.”
“What are you talking about?” Gorliad said. “Geldryn is far away, and other dragons will not come here for there are too many wild creatures and powers in these lands. We will have a buffer from the traditions that force dwarves into subservience. I have no need of title or such dominion.”
Hermean frowned. “The frost trolls, the ice-wraiths, and the giant are all children of the void. The orcs yet stand near also. Unless you claim this land as a king, the void will always have power to send its spawn against us. True it may be that dragons fight against dragons, but even a lifetime of such strife is not so barbarous as a decade under siege from the void. Why do you think that rogue dragons quickly die? It is because without the Aurorean’s blessing, the dragon can never fully be buffered from the void.”
Gorliad stood silently for a moment. He had never heard such words from the dwarf before, or from anyone for that matter. “What are you saying, exactly?” Gorliad asked.
Hermean shrugged. “I am not so well versed in tradition and law as other dwarves, but I know the role of kings. The Aurorean grants the king a power to claim a land. Somehow, when the king does this, it summons a great clash with the nearby creatures of the void. If the king wins, then the void is banished from using its power over the land, and in turn it keeps all children of the void out as well.”
“Why summon a great clash if we are concerned over fighting a small tribe of orcs?” Gorliad asked. “That does not seem logical.”
Hermean nodded. “Not yet, it doesn’t, but it will. Now, this land is wild. It is untamed. Until it is tamed, the void will multiply the creatures around us and attempt to slay us. That is why dragons build kingdoms. Each kingdom is one less area the void can rule over, and it increases the Aurorean’s hold on the world.” Hermean sighed and shook his head. “Algearon would know much better than I how to explain it. I am surprised he never did.”
“Maybe that was to be taught once I reached the prince’s chamber,” Gorliad mused. He looked back over his shoulder and then to Hermean. “How does a king actually claim the land?”
Hermean shrugged. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”
“So, you knew of this, and let me lead you all here anyway?” Gorliad asked angrily.
Hermean nodded. “You shared your mind with me, and it gave me hope. Still, I was not certain I could trust you. More than that…” his words trailed off but his eyes stopped to rest on Gorliad’s lame foreleg.
Gorliad snorted. “You weren’t sure I was strong enough to do it.” Hermean nodded silently. “So you thought at the least you could have me to help fight alongside you as you moved the others to a safer place away from Geldryn.”
“The wilds are dangerous, but Geldryn would bring swift death to us. For what it is worth, my faith in you has grown one hundred fold.”
“But we don’t know how to claim the land. Additionally, I told them I would not conquer them.”
Hermean nodded. “You can claim a land and be king without being a tyrant.”
The words struck deep into Gorliad’s heart. “A king who holds council with his fellows,” Gorliad said.
Hermean smiled. “I can’t be king. The Aurorean did not create dwarves to be kings and lords over the lands. He did not create us to fight the void and drive it out of Kendualdern. That is why he created dragons, and among those great creatures he chose the best and the strongest to be kings. I am a dwarf, and I live to serve my dragon king.” Hermean dropped to his right knee and bowed his head. “You may not have been accepted as a prince, but I would be glad to have you as our king.”
Gorliad looked at the dwarf and shook his head slowly. “No, this is not something we can decide between the two of us, nor is it fit for a small council. Come, we will speak to the others.�
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So the two took to wing and flew back to the mountain. Hermean rode upon his drake while Gorliad silently led the way. They dropped down and called all of the dwarves to them. Hermean explained everything he had just told Gorliad, and the burgundy dragon sat quietly, watching and studying the dwarves as they listened. No one shouted. None of them rebutted Hermean’s arguments. They just stood and listened until the dwarf had finished speaking.
Finally, an old dwarf stepped out from the crowd. He was still thickly built, like most dwarves, but age had bent his head and shoulders low to the ground. His beard was white and his gray hair was thinning atop his head. He used a wooden cane and moved forward at a snail’s pace. He stood before Gorliad and with some effort bent himself back to look up at the dragon.
“My last king died from disease,” he said in a raspy voice. “I watched my children, their children, and their children’s children die as a pox swept through our mountain. Terrible creatures moved into the land as our forces weakened. Perhaps they sensed our demise, I do not know. What I remember most, was that the king and his family died in the mountain. They let the disease take them, and they let it ravage everything in the kingdom.” The old dwarf pointed a bony hand at Gorliad. “I see in you a dragon who would fight for his people. I see in you a courage that I have not sensed in any other dragon I have ever known, and I have known quite a few. So tell me, dragon-friend, will you fight for us, and protect us as family, or would you trample us underfoot once you have your title and your lands?”
All were silent. Gorliad slowly bent his head low until it rested on the ground before the old dwarf. “I too have seen how dragons are. I have witnessed the constraints of tradition and law eat away at the soul of society. I prefer friendship to title, and I prefer love to land. I would accept this only if every dwarf here asks me to do it, otherwise I am never to be a king, for I have no such desires. My soul longs for freedom, and my heart yearns for respect and compassion. Those are my driving principles now, and forever. Whatever threat comes to us, whether I am king or not, I will fight it, until my dying breath.”