by Sam Ferguson
With that, Erik and Lubbok gathered their equipment and saddled their horses, which had been allowed to roam in the grasses nearby to graze. Once all six horses were ready, the group set out at a quick, but not grueling pace across the orcish lands. On the second day together, they came to a large, stone bridge that spanned the same river that Erik and the others had forded on their way to find the Cult of Zammin. Off in the distance to the north, Erik could see the stark towers and massive walls of the orcish stronghold.
“Behold, Ocht’nien, my home,” Lubbok said as they crossed the bridge and continued onward. “My father, Chief Orgnin, has ruled there for five decades, longer than any chief before him. He is strong, and leads his people well.”
“May his strength continue and his blade ever be sharp,” Erik said, reciting the words of an oft given tribute among the Fire-oak tribe. Lubbok echoed the sentiment, and then they put the city to their backs and quickened their pace.
It took them three full days of riding to reach the edge of the orcish lands. Along the way, they saw four additional patrols of orc warriors, but none gave them any trouble once they saw that Lubbok was with them. At the edge of the orcish territory, there were several stakes driven into the ground with skulls lashed to the tops. It was a common border-marking between orcs and other civilizations. It served as a warning to all would-be intruders that orcs would not tolerate incursions into their homeland. The curious thing was that there had been no such markers on the western border.
“Lubbok, why did you not mark the border to the west?”
Lubbok turned around in his saddle and smiled. “You mean why do we not have hostilities with the caribou herders, yes?”
Erik nodded.
“They negotiated peace with us long ago. We trade with them.”
“You… trade with them?” Erik asked incredulously. “I have ever heard of orcs trading with other races before.”
“And until a few days ago, I had never heard of a human made blood kin to the orcs,” Lubbok replied. “In any case, there is a legend among our people. Long ago, our ancestors sought to slaughter the people in the west and take their caribou. As our ancestors marched toward their dome, a tall man with green robes and a strange marking on his right cheek stood in the way. The people in the west called him by the name of Zammin, but to my ancestors he introduced himself as a guardian of Terramyr.”
“A guardian?” Erik echoed. He recalled the descriptions of the guardian he had read about while studying in the monastery far to the south. This description matched perfectly with what he had read. Could it be that Zammin was that guardian? Was that why he had started the cult and tried to study the Four Horsemen early on? There were so many questions flooding Erik’s mind that he almost forgot that he was in the middle of a discussion with Lubbok. He tempered his excitement and probed for more information. “He stood alone against an entire army?”
Lubbok nodded. “He said that the people who herded caribou and followed his teachings were not the kind who were allowed to take up weapons. He had forbad them from fighting and warring. Therefore, he said there was no honor to be gained in killing them. He suggested that we trade with them. We could give them leather goods and medicines, and they could give us caribou.”
“And just like that, the army turned away?” Erik asked.
Lubbok laughed. “No. That is not the way of the orc. They tested the guardian by sending five orc warriors out to slay him. He killed them all. He then offered a challenge to the chief at that time. He said the chief could pick twenty of his best warriors, and they could all come against him in battle. If they won, then they could have the right to kill the people who herded caribou, but if they lost, then the guardian was to become our chief.”
“Your father is chief,” Erik said. “So I take it he died then?” That would explain why the Cult of Zammin have not seen him since he left. Erik thought.
“No, the guardian killed all twenty of the warriors and then held his weapon to the chief’s neck. In front of the army, he killed the chief. The remaining warriors bowed down and were ready to make their pledge to him, but he told them that he did not want to be their chief, that he had other business which would take him far away. So, instead of taking what was his, he gave it back to us. It is said he spent the rest of the day examining the surviving warriors until he came to one known as Szabol. The guardian named Szabol chief of our tribe, and in return Szabol gave the guardian a blood oath coin. You know what that is, yes brother?”
Erik nodded. “It is an honor pledge to fulfill any favor the holder of such a coin may ask. To refuse the favor will bring dishonor, and a curse from Hatmul.”
Lubbok nodded approvingly. “Correct. You know your culture well.”
Erik smiled at that. Lubbok spoke as if Erik had been born an orc. He accepted him as fully as if Erik had tusks and green skin. It was good to be among such an open and honorable people. “So let me guess,” Erik began. “The guardian used his blood oath coin to instruct your tribe to keep peace with the people in the west, and trade with them.”
Lubbok nodded. “Also, because they cannot fight for themselves, should they ever ask us for military aid, we are to commit as fully as if our own kin were in danger.”
Erik had to admit, he was liking how this guardian character behaved. To be sure, some had died during the conflict according to Lubbok’s account, but he had saved many, many more and had established a unique peace that served both societies. This guardian, or Zammin, as the cultists called him, sounded like a person Erik would be happy to work alongside.
“Did he have a symbol on his collar?” Erik asked.
Lubbok shook his head. “I am not sure,” he said. “It happened several centuries ago. I know only what I have told you.”
Erik nodded. He was fairly certain that Zammin would carry the symbol upon his collar that Erik had memorized from the book. Unfortunately, unless he was also a person of extremely long life, it sounded as though Zammin might be dead by now.
As they approached what Zefra had termed the Dread Pines, Erik felt a chill creep up his spine. The trees were tall, thick and dark. Black and dark green beard-lichen hung down from the lower branches. The dirt below was well compacted, covered in dead pine needles and littered with pine cones and old limbs that had long since fallen from the trees on which they had grown. Some of the trees had thick, slowly moving streams of amber colored pitch oozing out from holes in the trunk and traveling downward.
A black and red woodpecker tapped at a nearby tree, furiously working his beak to get at the prizes behind the bark. Squirrels leapt from tree to tree in the branches above, chattering angrily and throwing small pine cones down at Erik and the others.
They pushed into the forest cautiously. Lubbok and the other orcs drew their weapons preemptively and continuously scanned the forest floor and the branches above for any sign of danger. Erik could sense a presence, but he wasn’t sure where it was or whether it presented a threat to the group. Either way, they had to push through the Dread Pines in order to reach the ruins of Galardene.
Ever since Erik was a young teenager, he had wanted to visit Galardene, as it was Master Lepkin’s birthplace. His former instructor had only mentioned it a few times, but never in great detail. Master Lepkin was usually quiet about details of his origin, as well as some of his greater feats such as the battle of Gelleirt Monastery where Lepkin defended the monks and their monastery against three hundred Tarthuns single-handedly. Erik had often tried to pry details out of Lepkin, but the man always deflected the questions, focusing solely on Erik’s training. Now that Erik was on his way to Galardene, he was beginning to understand why the man had remained silent on this subject. Unlike Gelleirt Monastery, which Lepkin did his best not to talk about for fear of coming across as a braggart, Galardene was not a story with a happy ending. Erik was getting the distinct impression that whatever drove Lepkin and his people out of Galardene was still here, lying in wait for its next victim.
Whatever it was, it did not show itself that day. They made camp deep in the forest just an hour before sundown. Chabba and Chongor made themselves busy by creating pikes to set around the camp. Lubbok made short work of at least a dozen pine trees, cutting them down and thereby reducing how close any enemy could come by sneaking through the branches above. When he had finished, Lubbok enlisted Rafe’s help to make a hasty lean-to shelter with the logs up against a rocky bluff to further shield them from unwanted attackers.
Lady Arkyn spent her time hunting, returning with two pheasants, a hare, and three quail. The group ate their fill, and then retired to the lean-to for the night. Lubbok took first watch, Lady Arkyn took the second, and Chongor took the third. Erik slept well that night, and woke refreshed as the first rays of sunlight broke through the forest.
They quickly cleared camp and resumed their journey. The second day in the forest was uneventful as well, as was the third. They made good progress, though they found that the weather had turned much colder and were even greeted by a layer of snow and frost on the morning of the fourth day. They gathered their cloaks about themselves and drew the hoods up to stave off the biting wind that assaulted them through the first part of the day, and welcomed the warmth of the sun when it finally broke through the clouds above the forest and thawed the area in mid-afternoon.
Their luck was not to last, though, for as the evening approached, the cold came back with a vengeance. Along with it, came a party of three elves. Lubbok was the first to spot them, hiding in the trees forty yards from their position. The large orc called a halt to the group and ordered Chongor and Chabba to prepare for battle. The elves were not like any others Erik had seen before. They did not wear elegant raiment, or even practical clothing. They were bare foot and wore only loin cloths. They were armed with savage looking bows that had barbs along the limbs. Their eyes were red, almost glowing in fact, and their ears were much more elongated than other elves. Their skin was different too. It was a pale grayish tan that gave them a rather feral, sickly look.
Lady Arkyn pulled her horse alongside Erik’s. “Let me speak with them,” she said.
Erik, not wanting her to be put into harm’s way, called upon his power to scan the elves and discover their intentions. What he found was not comforting.
“Circle up!” Erik shouted to Rafe. “They are here to fight,” Erik told Lady Arkyn. He then told Lubbok and the other orcs that they were about to be attacked.
Lady Arkyn didn’t listen. She urged her horse forward and held out a hand in greeting. “I am Lady Arkyn,” she said in Taish, the language of the elves.
The three elves in the branches looked at her, and then pulled their arrows and fired. Lady Arkyn was able to dodge the arrows, but her horse was struck in the side. It reared up and would have bucked her off if not for the fact that she was extremely nimble and quick. She managed to get to her feet and use the horse’s momentum to launch herself up into a nearby tree. She then spun around and answered the attack with an arrow of her own.
One of the savage elves was struck in the heart. His body went rigid, and then he toppled out of the tree and slammed into the ground head-first. His neck broke with a resounding snap! Chongor and Chabba fired at the two remaining elves. Their aim proved as efficient as Lady Arkyn’s, for they both hit their mark and the other two savage elves were slain.
Erik drew his sword and got down from his horse. He was always more comfortable fighting under his own power rather than relying upon an animal to carry him. He saw a flash of grayish skin dart behind a tree behind the group.
“I got him,” Rafe said cavalierly as he ran off toward the assailant. Erik scanned the trees all around for more movement, but the other elves did not come from the trees above, or walk upon the ground. As Rafe ran to engage the one elf off in the trees, a hatch that had been covered with dirt and ferns flew open and three savage elves leapt out.
Rafe cried out as one of the elves managed to jab his left bicep with a spear, but the sailor did not give up the fight. He chopped down with his sword, severing both of the elf’s arms at the elbow and dropping the detached limbs and the spear to the ground. He then whirled to the right and stabbed through the chest of a second elf. He would have likely taken the third as well, but Lady Arkyn fired from her vantage point above and struck the last elf down with an arrow through the right eye.
Rafe then ran on around a large pine tree. A moment later, the elf that Erik had seen running through the trees fell backward, his head missing from his neck.
Hatches opened up all around them then as savage elves poured out of the ground. Two were near Erik, but he dispatched them before they had a chance to escape their hiding spot. Chabba, Chongor, and Lady Arkyn let their arrows fly, killing nearly a dozen elves while Rafe hacked at a group of four that came after him, Lubbok trampled down several with his horse while yelling and shouting, and Erik engaged five more with his sword.
The fight only lasted for a few more moments before all of the savage elves lay dead upon the forest floor. Other than Rafe’s wound, Erik’s group came out of the battle unscathed, though they were a bit dirty for their efforts. They regrouped in the center of a nearby clearing and took stock of themselves before resuming the journey. Rafe tied his own bandage, refusing help from even Lady Arkyn. Erik assumed the sailor had a point to prove to the orcs. Apparently, it worked, for Lubbok gave Rafe a hearty slap on the back and brought the sailor his horse.
“You all right?” Erik asked Rafe.
“Fine, I’ve had scrapes bigger than this one,” he replied evenly. “But it looks like Lady Arkyn’s horse is a bit worse for wear.”
Erik turned around and saw the large animal lying on its side, with Lady Arkyn gently stroking its neck as it grunted and twitched.
“He’s hurt badly,” Lady Arkyn said.
Erik approached and saw that two of the arrows were just behind the saddle, but they were embedded deep into the animal. The third was higher up, just behind the neck. Lady Arkyn was fortunate she had not been struck. The worst wound on the horse did not come from the arrows, however. After it had reared up and ran off, it had somehow managed to snap a branch and the sharp end had pierced the animal’s chest just below the neck. Blood was flowing freely from the hole, and there was nothing any of them could do for the beast. Lady Arkyn spoke in her elvish language to soothe the horse. It closed its eyes and relaxed its neck, placing its head down upon the ground.
Lady Arkyn then drew her bow and positioned the arrow for a decisively quick mercy shot. She whispered one last phrase in Taish and then released the bowstring. The animal didn’t so much as jerk or pull away. The shot was so expertly placed and executed that the horse felt no pain as it left its mortal shell behind.
“I see what you mean about talking with animals,” Lubbok told Erik in orcish. “You are fortunate to have such companions.”
Erik nodded. The group prepared to leave then, more than ready to put the Dread Pines behind them. Lady Arkyn shared Erik’s horse, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and leaning her head on the back of his shoulder as they continued along their way. Erik was not overly happy with the way Lady Arkyn had lost her horse, but he was more than a little excited to have her riding with him for the duration of the trip.
They finally left the Dread Pines behind for good in the middle of day five in the forest. After they were out of the woods, they could increase their speed a bit, but with Erik’s horse now carrying two, they were not quite as fast as they had been before they entered the forest. Still, it was only one more day before they reached the Black River, on the other side of which, stood the darkened ruins of Galardene, Master Lepkin’s original home.
CHAPTER 18
The Black River looked nothing like its name. The waters were a deep blueish green that flowed peacefully southward. A large bridge spanned the two hundred-foot wide river with stone columns holding up the bridge from below and wooden planks forming the walkway over the water. Erik supposed that back whe
n the city was inhabited by Lepkin’s people, the bridge would have looked beautiful, but at this time it was worn with age. Many of the wooden planks were cracked and broken, and there were several places where the wood had rotted away entirely. They had to cross the bridge in a single file line, moving slowly and walking their horses across using their reins to guide them along the sections that appeared strong enough to hold the weight. When they made the other side, they went straight for Galardene, which was another hundred yards away. Even from the distance they could see that many of the buildings had collapsed. As they entered the city, they could see that in addition to the collapsed buildings, other structures had been burned and hollowed out or covered with overgrowth and otherwise intact. They passed through what at one point may have been an outdoor market, with a few stalls still standing upright amidst waist-high weeds. From there they went into a district that seemed a mix of both houses and shops.
It was a strange feeling, seeing the remains of Lepkin’s home. He had never been informed precisely what had driven them out. It couldn’t have been the savage elves, for they were hardly fighters. They were more a barely organized rabble living wild in the woods. If Lepkin’s people were anything like him, then it must have been something much more dangerous. Perhaps Lubbok knew. His people had apparently kept their history well, judging by the account of Zammin that Lubbok had shared with him.
“Brother, what happened to the humans here?”
“We do not know,” Lubbok said. His eyes scanned the vacant buildings, looking for threats. His muscles were tense and the knuckles on his hands were turning white as he gripped the reins.
“Surely you must know something,” Erik pressed. “Did they try to leave by heading down river?”
“The Black River leads to the cliffs in the south. If you were to take the river, then you would fall over the edge of the cliffs and die. The cliffs to the south are impassable,” Lubbok commented. “When the humans fled this area, they used the river only until they reached the forest, and then had to cross the forest with the wild elves until they could get around the cliffs and down to the beaches. They crossed into our land, but it was obvious they were fleeing something, so we let them go and prepared to battle whatever had driven them out.”