by Levi Samuel
Krenin grabbed the shovel and squeezed between the runs. Tending his duties he heard the first sounds of birth from the far pen. Laying the shovel against the barricade, he stepped through to see what was going on. Leaning against the rail he watched eight pups squirm around the straw filled pen. Their fur was clean and wet, suggesting she'd already cleaned them. They fought to get at her. He was amazed by their size. Even newborn they were already the size of small dogs. An unusual movement caught his eye. He saw one of the pups dig its way from beneath the others. It was much smaller and was having trouble finding its mother. Krenin recalled his orders but he had to do something. It needed to eat. Climbing through the rails, he scooped the pup into his hand and positioned it at one of the unused nipples.
The pup latched on and started eating. Standing guard, Krenin made sure the others didn't force it away. He waited patiently, ensuring it had its fill.
“I told you to stay out!”
Krenin spun, seeing the enraged orc. “That one couldn't get food. I help him.”
The warg master glared over the run, looking at the pups. “It's a runt. No use to us. Like you! It won't survive the training. Take it out and kill it. Better die quick than suffer its whole life.”
“You want me to kill it?” Krenin couldn't believe what he was hearing.
“That’s what I said. Take and kill it!” The orc glared his command, daring the half-breed to argue.
His head low, Krenin scooped the puppy up and stepped through the runs. He heard it whimper, begging to be returned to its mother. Stepping outside he locked his arms around the pup, shielding it from the frozen wind. Carrying it to the side of the building he stared into the animal’s searching face. He watched its nose flex, learning his scent. “I can't do this!” Looking around, he made sure no one was watching. Burying the pup in his shirt to keep it warm he marched across the snow as quick as he could and entered his hut. Laying the pup in his bed he covered it in the warg fur blanket. “I'll come check on you when I can.”
Returning to the pit the warg master gave him a questioning glare. “Is it done?”
Krenin lowered his head. “Yes!”
“Good. Get back to cleaning the pens.”
Demetrix stood at the edge of the highest balcony overlooking the forest city. He could see the peaks of Idenfal in the distance. Listening to the soft footsteps behind him, he waited for her touch.
Elalon placed her hand on his hip, laying her chin against his shoulder. “Wondering where they are again?”
“I am. They should have been here months ago.”
“I think I may have something that could help. We stopped a contraband shipment this morning. It had a few items the shadow doesn't need.” Elalon gently pulled against him, silently begging him to follow.
Demetrix followed her down to one of the lower levels. Twice as many guards stood over this area as any other he'd seen in the city. Elalon waited for the double doors to open. Stepping through, she approached a wooden chest resting along the far side of the room.
Demetrix scanned the room, curious to what was so important. Shelves lined the walls. Tables stood here and there. Chests and crates covered every surface, carved extensively with alfaren runes. “What is this place?” He didn’t need to ask. This was similar to their vault back home. It was the duty of a protector to lock away powerful artifacts. Sometimes keeping them out of the wrong hands meant hiding them from the world.
“This is where we put all the magic items we find. It's the only room we've been able to ward against the sharliets.” She opened the chest retrieving a head sized orb wrapped in a bronze colored cloth. Laying it on the central tables, the only table not filled by like chests, she gestured him over. “I haven't seen one of these since I was a child. Even then, they were rare.” Uncovering the orb, she kept her eyes off the reflection.
“What is it?” Demetrix studied the crystal surface, unable to find a single flaw or imperfection in it.
“It's a seer's stone. It has many uses but for you it can show where your friends are.” She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips to his. “You just need to place your hands on it and think of what you want to see. If it's capable, it'll show you.”
Returning her kiss, Demetrix looked deep into her eyes. “Why do you do all of this for me?”
Elalon smiled. “You're unlike any man I’ve met. I could have continued on alone but I choose not to. Despite your little quirks, which I enjoy, I see strength in you. I believe you're capable of great things and I want to be beside you when you realize it too.” Gently grabbing his wrists, she guided them to the sides of the orb.
The clear stone was warm to the touch, but fogged around his grip. Demetrix stared into the reflection. Show me Ravion. The image briefly distorted and became clear once again. Ravion approached a village gate. Gareth marched behind him. They didn't appear a day older than when he left them, yet in the past months his own hair had grown several inches and a lengthy brown beard clung to his face and chin.
“I recognize that village. That's Tiermoar. It's about a month southwest of here.”
Demetrix released the orb, letting the image fade. Turning to face her, a renewed hope radiated from him. “Do you know of any way I might be able to get a message to them?”
“I can think of a couple.”
The pub was near empty. Only a few men sat here and there enjoying their drinks. The fireplace crackled, sending a few glowing embers to the stone platform it rested upon.
Gareth stepped through the door, searching the faces within. Happy to see a lack of orcs he approached the bar and leaned against the counter. “Need two rooms for the night.”
Ravion followed after, taking position beside his friend.
The barkeep tossed the rag over his shoulder and reached under the counter, grabbing two keys. “That'll be four kerilum.”
The two men paused, hearing the currency.
Ravion reached into his belt pouch. “Will you take gold?”
The room went silent. Everyone turned to face the newcomers.
The barkeeper leaned in close, whispering to them. “I wouldn't say that so loud around here. We ain’t seen gold in these parts since I was a boy. Shadow runs pretty strong through here. You're liable to end up with an orc warvich in ‘yer gut before the night's out. Go around back. I'll meet you there.” Increasing his tone he near shouted, making sure everyone heard him. “We don't use no resistance money ‘round here. Get out! Find somewhere else to sleep!”
Ravion was a bit confused, but picked himself up and left. Gareth studied the man for a moment, unsure what was happening. Shaking his head he turned and marched out.
Reaching the back door they waited patiently. A click echoed through the wooden barrier. It opened revealing the barkeep. “Sorry ‘bout that. Couldn't risk any of them reporting back. Here's ‘yer keys. Since ye ain't working fer the shadow I'll take two silver if you got it.”
Ravion pulled two gold pieces. “Take this. If things get rough you may need extra for repairs.”
“Thanks much. Come on in. There's a ladder in the store room that'll take you upstairs. I'll send a girl up in a bit to see if ya’ need anything.”
Ravion nodded his appreciation and stepped inside. Finding the ladder he quickly climbed up and stepped onto the balcony overlooking the room below.
Doors lined the outer wall on two sides. Checking the markings etched into the keys they found the two rooms furthest from the stairs, they were blocked from view by a false wall.
Stepping into their perspective lodging they closed the doors behind them.
Ravion lay on the bed looking up into the vaulted ceiling. He recalled Senaria, letting her scent flow through him. The warmth of her skin seemed so close, yet so far away. Looking upon her face in his memory he closed his eyes, hoping to dream of her. A tap at the window roused him. Sitting up he glanced out, seeing a hawk perched upon the seal. Standing, he approached and unlocked the wooden frame. Sliding it up in its
track the bird flew into the room, shedding a few of its smaller feathers. It landed on the back of the chair, waiting patiently. Ravion noticed a small piece of parchment wrapped around its leg. Untying the sinew he unrolled it, studying the ink stained markings.
R, I'm glad you're well. When able, meet me at High Point Bluff. Travel north, keeping the forest within sight to the right. You'll know it when you see it. D.
Chapter XIX
An Orc of a Different Color
Krenin ran his hand through Uma's fur. She'd grown accustomed to him while she was nursing. He held the tankard against her, working his fingers to drain what milk he could into the cup. Listening for the warg masters he peeked inside, ensuring he had enough. Quickly climbing between the rails, careful to keep from spilling it. Hearing movement outside he quickly stashed the mug behind the feed bags and grabbed his shovel.
The warg master came through the door. “The warchief believe you well enough to train. Report to Commander Mac'thar!” He passed the half-orc and disappeared into one of the rear pens.
“Yes, sir!” Wasting no time, Krenin laid the wooden handle against the rails, grabbed the concealed tankard and stashed it beneath his shirt to keep it as warm as possible. Stepping outside, he made his way across the frozen landscape and into his hut. A smile came to his face seeing the gray and white tail wagging back and forth at his sight. Krenin stared into those icy-blue eyes, feeling a sense of joy wash over him. The pup had nearly doubled in size since it had been hidden away in his hut. Krenin grabbed the hanging cow bladder from the wall support. Quickly pouring the still warm milk he sat down on the bedroll and held it up, letting the pup bite down on the end.
The bladder was empty in no time. Delightfully wagging it tail, wide paws scraped at the half-orc, trying to climb into his lap.
Krenin lifted the pup, straining against the growing weight. Gently scratching him behind the ears, Krenin felt a joy he'd never known. It was short lived. “I have to go train. You stay here and be quiet. Don't want them finding you.” Setting the young warg on his bed he stood and made his way out the leather flap, feeling the rush of cold surround him. Stealing another glance into the small dwelling he looked upon the beautiful fur coat, wondering how much longer he could keep it a secret.
Making his way to the training pits Krenin approached the armored orc standing near the front.
“Green-skin, grab sword and fall in. You behind, have lots to catch up.”
Krenin picked up one of the crude, rusty weapons lying on the rack outside the pit. Stepping between two of the unarmored orcs he took position and turned to face the commander.
“Begin!”
Krenin didn't have time to raise his blade in defense. The orcs surrounding him spun around, bringing their dulled weapons down upon him. He hit the ground feeling the ice melt beneath his flesh. The blows continued to rain, too numerous count.
Hearing a commanding shout they stopped, returning to their idle state.
Krenin weakly picked himself up. He could feel his bruised and broken skin throbbing in the cold but he would survive. No bones were broken, though it didn't mean he wouldn't hurt for many days. Staggering back into position he readied his sword, hearing the commander give the order again. He raised the blade in defense stopping the first attack he saw, though there were too many to block. Again he collapsed to the ground. Hearing a familiar echoing shout, they backed away from him.
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The half-orc stood in formation, ready for the vicious assault. They'd stopped attacking him every time, trading for the new arrivals, but he still fell victim on occasion.
Listening to the commanding shout Krenin raised his blade, deflecting the first sword. Wasting no time he knocked a second away from him, and a third. Spinning around he held them off, keeping his attackers at bay. For the first time, he’d completely held them off. Realizing his success, Krenin brought the sword low, knocking the legs out from under one of the orcs. Shoving another over the first they toppled, granting him wide girth. Securing his station, Krenin locked all others out.
“Halt!”
Glancing to the commander Krenin lowered his sword and snapped to attention, awaiting orders.
The commander approached, stepping in front of the green-skin. “Took you long enough.” Increasing his tone he turned away and addressed the unit as a whole. “If you can't protect yourself, you can't protect the orc to your side. Remember this. One day it could save your life.” Returning his attention to the half-orc he spoke in a softer tone. “Fall out. You go train with Warlord Grundar.”
Krenin turned and laid the dulled weapon on the rack. Passing the chow pit he grabbed a large hunk of boar meat and took a small bite, continuing toward his hut. Opening the flap, the large warg sat idle on the bedroll. The fur blankets had been shredded and strung across the room. Shaking his head Krenin stepped inside, making sure no one saw the hidden dog. Sitting in the bed, Krenin held the meat out.
The warg gently took it and jumped to the dirt floor where he proceeded to destroy it.
Krenin glanced at the crate lying against the wall. The layer of straw was compacted and covered in filth. It was ready to be changed. The dog was producing more and more waste each day. Krenin ran his fingers through the thick mane, watching the collection of gray and white fur bunch between them. “We gonna’ have to hide you somewhere else soon. You getting too big to stay in here.”
Abandoning what was left of the meat the young warg's ice-blue eyes stared up at him. The pup laid his head across the half-orc's lap and plopped against him.
Krenin patted his side, listening to the hollow sound echo beneath his hand. “Perhaps we sneak out in a few days. That give me time to get stuff.” Footsteps approached the door. Jumping up, Krenin rushed to the leather flap and stepped out to see one of the gray orcs a few steps away. Quickly closing the flap he waited for the orc to speak.
“Warlord Grundar waits for you. Said to get there now or suffer the lash.”
Krenin nodded, watching the orc turn and head off. Stealing a final glance at the flap he turned and headed after the orc, trying to think what his excuse was going to be.
Reaching the pit, Krenin noticed several orcs dressed in armor and carrying sharpened weapons. There were a few that carried a small number of scars upon their flesh. Compared to their commanders’ battle-scarred bodies they were minor. But markings in general made them superior to the orcs he'd been training against. Spotting the warlord standing near the front of the pit, Krenin approached and bowed his apology.
“What take you so long to get here? I've no time to wait for foolishness.” The warlord glared at the small orc, clearly not happy about his presence in general.
“I had to shit. Thought it better to do before coming.”
The orc arched an eyebrow. Shaking his head he gestured to the large hut standing alongside of their area. “Go get fitted. You gonna’ fight like an orc, you gonna’ look like an orc.”
Krenin nodded and rushed toward the open canopy. Despite the chilling wind and constant snow the open sided structure was surprisingly warm. He searched the collection of forges seeing all kinds of weapons and armor lying here and there. Looking for anyone to talk to Krenin approached the first forge-man he saw. “Warlord Grundar sent me. Said to get fitted.”
The smith glanced from his work, scanning the smaller orc from head to toe. “You awful small. What he want, kid armor?” The orc laughed at his own joke. Gesturing to one of the piles of various pieces he steeled himself, letting his laughter die off. “Dig through those. Find the closest. We modify and make fit.”
Nodding acknowledgment Krenin searched the pile, finding what he could. The women's armor was a closer fit to his smaller stature. He suspected they'd give him a hard time over it but it was better than nothing. He brought the pieces he found to the smith.
The orc took one look and busted into laughter. Calming himself he forced words. “Come back at nightfall, I'll have them ready fo
r you.”
Krenin returned to the warlord. “He said come back later.”
“Very well. Take this and fall in.” The large orc extended the greater warvich to him.
Krenin wrapped his hand around the weapon recognizing it immediately. He couldn't recall where he'd seen it before, but he knew it was his. Moving toward the rear of the collected orcs he took position, ready to defend himself if they turned to strike.
The reforged armor fit perfectly. Krenin stretched in the heavy plate. It moved as if he weren't wearing it at all. Testing his flexibility he heard some of the other orcs chuckle at his expense. He didn't care. It was comfortable and had done a fine job protecting him. That was all that mattered. Taking position in the center of the pit he watched the orcs standing around the outside ring. He rather enjoyed these exhibitions. They gave him a chance to expand his single combat skills and silence anyone who spoke out against him. Already he'd climbed through the ranks, yet there were many who still doubted him. It didn't matter. Soon they'd all respect him. Raising his warvich, he awaited the command.
The warlord stood on an elevated platform overlooking the spectacle. Banners whipped in the chilling winds, attached to jagged posts buried in the ice-covered ground. Raising his hands for all to see he called the defending champion. “Sergeant Vorak Shadowhelm, enter the ring.”
Krenin watched one of the seasoned orcs approach. He carried a smaller warvich in each hand and his thick armor was stained black. He recalled seeing this orc fight before. He was vicious, refusing to give the slightest quarter.
“Anything goes. Last orc standing claims status. Loser descends to the afterlife with nothing. Begin!”
Vorak charged, both swords raised and ready to cut the half-orc down.
Throwing his warvich in defense Krenin deflected the first strike and side stepped, letting the second fly past him. Spinning around he narrowly raised his sword in time to block the incoming attack. Looking into his opponent's face he saw a calm unlike any he had seen before. This orc hadn't begun to test him.