by Jim Galford
Estin walked past the others, approaching the nearest coffin. The stone was smooth beyond the engravings, but also badly worn by age. In places, it had cracked as it had worn too thin, though the stone slab still felt solid as he touched it. Gently, he ran his fingers across the symbols, which were unique to each coffin that he could see—some kind of marker for who was inside.
“There’s something over there,” Lorne called out, pointing to the middle of the room.
Looking up, Estin had to stare a long time in that direction to see anything. Finally, he made out a single statue, surrounded by the coffins.
Estin walked around the coffin, joined by Atall as he moved toward the statue. They passed more than a dozen of the stone containers before they finally reached the lone statue.
Standing about six feet tall and covered with dust and debris, the hulking male orcish figure had no particular pose. Instead, it was standing with its arms hanging freely at its sides, as though the man had simply stopped walking to stand there for all time.
Taking the statue for some kind of distraction, Estin surveyed the area immediately around it. The only item that stood out to him was a single massive broadsword that had been driven into the floor, the hilt within reach of the statue. At the statue’s feet were a few bones that were heaped as though one or more creatures had been killed and their remains left to decay where they had fallen.
Estin knelt, checking the nearer bones. Though the creature was not one he knew, he could tell that it was vaguely humanoid, but also possessed enormous bone plating, like an insect. Whatever it was, Estin had no desire to meet a living one.
“Why have you come?” came a voice, rumbling off the walls.
Atall turned in place, trying to find the source of the voice. “Dad…” Atall said softly. “Where is it?”
A faint crackle of sand and stones hitting the floor made Estin spin on the statue. The only sounds in the room other than Lorne’s gasp and the feet of the various wildings moving on the stone floor were coming from the statue itself.
As though the statue was nothing more than an orc who had been covered by centuries of dust, it blinked away the sand covering his eyes. Pebbles and white dust fell away from him in sheets as he lifted his head to look at Estin, and then Atall, and finally Lorne and the kits.
“Your kind do not belong here,” the orc told them all, wiping his face clear of dust with one enormous greenish hand. He then pointed to the bones. “Just as they did not.”
Even without the layers of debris on him, the orc was still among the largest men Estin had ever seen in his life. Estin stood just over five feet tall and this orc towered over him, with shoulders nearly as wide as Estin’s legs.
Beneath the dirt, the orc wore a long robe of black, though the color was faded nearly white by dust. Strapped over the robe was a suit of thick leather armor, studded with pointed metal bits in spots, though most of those appeared to be missing.
As the orc cleared the powder and pebbles from his face, Estin went from nervous to terrified as he spotted rows of tattoos near his eyes. The markings were a match in style both to Arturis and the coffins in the room.
“You’re one of them!” Estin snarled, raising his weapons. “Atall, take the others and run!”
“I am On’esquin,” replied the ancient-looking orc, surveying Estin and the others again. “What, or who, do you believe me to be?”
“Turessian,” Atall blurted out, raising his hands defensively, his claws glowing faintly with barely-restrained flame. “You’re a necromancer.”
“Not hardly,” the orc replied, flexing his hand and eyeing the hilt of the sword that was still embedded in the floor. “I am something else. Do not confuse yourself, outsider, but do tell me what a Turessian is. I have my guesses, but the name is new…or at least new to me.”
“Undead abominations that have slaughtered most of the known world,” explained Estin, leveling one of his swords at the orc’s head. The other, he kept back in reserve, in case he had to block an attack. “You have the same markings as they do.”
On’esquin brushed his fingers along the ridge of bone around his eyes and smiled, revealing sharp tusks.
“Those who have failed my master Turess’ last orders to abandon that path have taken his likeness then,” the orc mused, shrugging absently. “No matter. My mission is unchanged and Turess is far beyond caring about who abuses his name anymore.”
Estin exchanged confused glances with Atall.
“Neither of you are marked as scholars,” noted On’esquin, motioning to his markings. “You have no place here. That makes you either slaves or intruders. Whichever it is, I will be forced to kill all of you if you do not leave immediately.”
Estin motioned for Atall to fall back, but the boy snarled and held his ground.
“We’re looking for ways to fight the Turessians that invaded our lands,” Estin attempted, lowering his sword just a little. The orc appeared completely unconcerned about either his weapons or Atall’s magic, which worried Estin greatly. “You said you’re not one of them.”
“What does it mean to you to be called a necromancer?”
Estin thought briefly, then answered as best he could. “Those who raise the legions of corpses that destroy our cities, kill our kin to bolster their numbers, and actively work to destroy all life…those are the necromancers we call Turessians.”
Chuckling, On’esquin glanced down at the two piles of bones near him, then back to Estin, the intensity of the orc’s yellow eyes unnerving him.
“Our order is not about destruction, you imbecile,” the orc said warningly, taking a step toward Estin. Dry leather in his boots crackled as he moved. “Turess taught to preserve life. If your civilization is being attacked, either you stand in the way of progress, or have picked a fight you cannot win.”
“What does digging up our graveyards have to do with preserving life?” demanded Estin, planting his feet as the orc nearly pushed into him. “Decaying corpses marching as an army are not life that I recognize.”
The orc blinked and looked Estin up and down. “Nor do I. We would not raise your dead, only our own,” he noted, brows wrinkling. “We once raised our family as tribute, but we always destroy their remains if they become so damaged as to be unrecognizable. You say that this is done to outsiders? People of your lands? People long dead?”
Estin nodded and pointed at the orc, saying, “They’re turning anyone who’s not Turessian…human Turessian at that…into zombies or worse. Those with magic are turned into more necromancers.”
On’esquin started to open his mouth, but then stopped, looking confused. He asked, “You mean to imply that only humans are calling themselves Turessians, or that it is the humans causing this?”
“The only Turessians I’ve seen are humans. Everything else is treated as an uncivilized beast and killed freely. I think they sometimes will take others, but they sure don’t like them…and they kill my kind and yours on sight.”
Taking a shaky step backward, On’esquin balanced himself on the hilt of his sword.
“They have truly fallen from Turess’ teachings,” he said, though mostly to himself. “I had not thought it could have gone so far. Perhaps this is why he asked me to do this.”
“How old are you?” Atall asked, looking around the tomb again.
“I have waited on Turess’ orders for nearly two thousand years, by my count,” the orc answered. “Perhaps longer. It was the price I paid for a mistake. Turess’ family could have asked for far more of me.”
“Can you help us stop the others?” Estin asked, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this ancient creature might be willing to stand against what could very well be his descendants. “If this was not your way, what can we do against them?”
Shaking his head, On’esquin slowly drew his sword from the floor, the blade screeching as it came free. “If they are able to turn anyone they wish into more like me, there is nothing you can do. The fear of such rampant abuse of pow
er is why Turess had all of these fools imprisoned here and sentenced me to watch them for all time, to keep others from learning what I found out.”
“They cannot turn those who are dead without a place of strong healing magic. Those were mostly lost in the war. I believe the Turessians are limited in number until they find a way to rebuild the old magics,” Estin explained quickly.
On’esquin stopped, staring intently at Estin.
“They require healing focal points?” he asked, turning to study Atall as well. When Atall did not dispute Estin’s statement, On’esquin noted, “We changed ourselves and required no such thing. The magic they use may have weaknesses that those in this tomb do not. Pray that is the case, mortal. I doubt your lands would still exist if any of these prisoners were released.”
On’esquin’s entire demeanor changed in that instant as he brought the sword up and shifted his feet into a more combat-focused stance. Both Estin and Atall fell away from him, trying to stay out of reach of his massive sword.
“Their ignorance is their undoing,” On’esquin went on, now focused on the kits and Lorne. Estin swore he saw a sadness in the Turessian man’s eyes. “Our people could only declare the ignorant and savage to be unworthy of training. If only humans now stand in their ranks, they have decided everyone to be unworthy. With that loss of diversity, they have clearly lost knowledge.”
“What are you doing?” Atall demanded, taking a few more steps back. “We’re allies in this.”
On’esquin aimed his sword at Atall, holding the immense weapon easily with one hand. “My command was to kill anyone who came down here that was not part of my order,” the orc told Atall.
“There is no need to fight us,” Estin implored, as Atall’s hands burst fully into flames in preparation for battle. “Do not do this!”
Turning the sword to point at Estin, On’esquin smiled grimly.
“I am saving your world by destroying all of you,” he said, his gravelly voice sounding very tired. “What lies in this tomb could give the fools that you now fight the knowledge they lack, or even bolster their numbers. I would rather kill children and the uneducated than see power-hungry monsters who claim Turess’ good name destroy everything.”
“What do we need to do to prove we won’t help them?” called out Atall, shifting to put himself between On’esquin and the kits. “We’re not going to tell them about this place.”
“I cannot be sure how powerful they are and whether they can make you tell,” On’esquin said in return. “Please know that I am sorry that I must do this.”
“We are not your enemies!” Estin shouted at the man, but On’esquin turned and swung his weapon again, making Atall back away from the tip of the long sword. “Fight with us, not against us!”
Atall was not so hesitant to engage, likely wanting to act before On’esquin found a way to get to Lorne and the kits. With a dramatic flourish of his hands, a horizontal column of flame flew forth, engulfing On’esquin.
The fire lit up much of the room, giving Estin his first good look at the place. The rows of coffins went far back into the long room, numbering easily fifty stone boxes.
As the flames died down, On’esquin stood unscathed. Beyond a few thin streams of smoke, nothing on him gave any indication the flames had ever existed. “Child,” On’esquin said softly, “I am all that stands between your people and destruction. The moment this sword leaves this place, either it will be used to destroy every living thing in these lands, or it will be used to stop the Turessian army you tell me of. I cannot risk which it would be used for. Your life is paltry compared with the harm that could come from letting you live.”
Seeing the orc’s attention turn to Atall, Estin attacked, hoping to give the boy—as well as Lorne and the kits—time to run.
Leaping to On’esquin’s side, Estin lashed out with his swords, slashing with both across the orc’s back. The blades slashed through the dry ancient leather of his armor, cutting into the man’s back, but the wounds closed faster than Estin could strike.
“You are braver than those we enslaved in my time,” On’esquin remarked, backhanding Estin.
Tumbling backward, Estin slid several feet away, his shoulder and neck aching from the impact.
“I would spare all of you if I could,” the orc went on. More flames slammed into his back, which he all but ignored as he walked casually toward Estin. “I find nothing pleasant in murdering the weak or innocent. That was the true horror of what I had done… in aiding the unworthy I empowered those with dark intentions, forcing me to be like them to protect the rest of the world. Now, I must kill to prevent others from dying.”
Estin rolled away as the orc’s sword slammed into the floor, creating a wave of wind and electrical sparking where it struck. Though he had narrowly avoided harm, Estin could feel the magic radiate out from the impact and knew that being struck by that weapon could well kill him, even if the blow was glancing.
Channeling magic and bringing with it the rush of disembodied voices, Estin flung a burst of energy at the orc, hoping that On’esquin was undead like the other Turessians. The magic that Estin threw could be used to heal the living or to harm the dead, but against this man, it fizzled as though he had thrown nothing more than flower petals at him. He was something else, or was just too powerful.
“Your magic cannot affect me,” On’esquin said sadly, stumbling only slightly as Atall’s magic slammed into him again. “The curse of immortality brought me many gifts. I doubt either of you have the means to cause any real harm.”
Raising his sword high overhead, On’esquin stepped closer to Estin, cornering him against a coffin. When Estin started to move to one side, On’esquin moved with him, easily blocking any escape.
“Speak your final words and if it is within my power to pass them on, I will,” the orc said, holding the weapon ready to strike.
Atall screamed as he flung spell after spell into the man, sending flames roiling over On’esquin’s shoulders and ice clattering to the floor around him.
“Answer me one question,” asked Estin, leaning back against the coffin. This was not how he wanted to die, but he had been close to death enough times that he was not nearly as scared as he would have expected.
“If I have the knowledge.”
“Is that sword really capable of saving our world from the others?”
On’esquin smiled, his tusks and the aloft sword giving the normally pleasant expression an evil cast. “Yes,” he said, as flames washed over his shoulders harmlessly.
Closing his eyes, Estin listened to the voices one more time, knowing that in seconds he might be joining them.
“Take the power of that weapon,” whispered one voice, insistently repeating the phrase.
“The weapon is more important than anything,” said another.
A more familiar voice added, “Taking it for yourself could give you vast power. You will need to be more than what you are to fight Arturis.”
“A trial is in that weapon, child,” warned another voice. This one Estin was certain was female and one whose tone prompted immediate reaction in the back of his mind, though he could not put a name to it. “Take it and do what you will.”
Opening his eyes again, Estin sat himself up straight.
“If I could take that weapon from you, I could enforce my will on these lands,” Estin said. “I could be greater than the Turessians.”
“Yes,” answered On’esquin. “That being what it is, I believe we are done here. Goodbye, wildling.”
Raising his left hand, Estin twisted the magic at his disposal, feeling the threads of energy flow through him. They lashed out, wrapping invisibly around the orc’s sword and snapped taut. With a flick of his fingers, the magic exploded, shattering the sword into a thousand pieces that clattered across the floor of the room.
Mingled with the ringing metal, Estin faintly heard the voices in his head laughing as they faded away.
“Why would you destroy your only chance?
” On’esquin asked, staring in amazement at the hilt he still held, though no more than an inch of the blade remained. “I told you that it was your only chance…that it held unlimited power.”
“I won’t even try for a chance that can be used against us if I fail,” explained Estin. “We’ve lost too much already. I won’t risk making it worse.”
Scowling at the broken weapon, On’esquin cast it aside and offered Estin a hand up. “You passed a test I did not expect the untrained to even think through,” the large man stated, rocking slightly as Atall’s spells continued slamming into his back. “Could you have the youth stop that, please?”
“Atall, enough.”
As Estin leaned to call out again to Atall, he saw that the boy was barely conscious, his shoulders hanging and his tail limp. He still held his hands up to continue his attack, but looked as though he would have dropped dead of exhaustion before he yielded without Estin’s prompting. When he did stop, he wavered once and, then fell to the floor in a seated position, staring dazedly.
“Impressive skill from one so young,” noted On’esquin, sitting down beside Estin when he did not stand. The orc’s bulk hit the floor hard enough that Estin felt it through the stones. “Where did you find him?”
“He’s my child, as are the three little ones hiding behind the female.”
Lorne was still on the ramp, trying to shuffle the kits up to the upper floor, but having no luck with it. The three hid behind her skirts, peeking out, but were not willing to leave the area.
“I take it she is not their mother,” chuckled the orc. “Strange family resemblance, if she is. I would assume their mother is an eastern fox or that you are not their birth parent.”
Trying not to let the strangeness of the situation unnerve him, Estin just stared at the massive orc, now sitting beside him, as though they had been friends or allies all along.
“He is worthy of the markings of a scholar,” added On’esquin. “I could give him the tattoos, if you wish. As his father, you are the one to judge whether his training has gone well. I would be honored to mark him as a wise one.”