The Shaman of Neroterra (Tales of Azuleah)

by Adorno, Daniel

  Silas ran a hand through his long mane. “We have little choice now. Assign guards for now and rotate the shift every two hours.”

  “Leif, Troy!” Asher called over the large mustached soldier and a tall young man with a pointed nose. “Take the first shifts of the night guarding our company.”

  “Yes, sir,” both men replied in unison.

  After a few minutes of idle chatter and unpacking of supplies, the men settled in for the night in their smelly haystacks. Silas found his bedding to be quite comfortable, but then he’d slept on forest floors many times on military campaigns without complaint. The odor of cow dung was pungent in the hay which made it difficult to fall asleep. He tried distracting himself by reaching into his tunic and clutching the gold ring hanging from his necklace. He turned the ring between his fingers, a nighttime ritual he’d created since the death of his mother. Her wedding band was the only possession he treasured more than anything in his vast wealth. The ritual set his mind at ease and soon he drifted to sleep. Not an hour later, the heavy door of the room swung open and crashed against the opposite wall. Erlgad’s voice boomed in the chamber, “The Lord Banupal will see you now!”

  Chapter 4

  A Favor

  Silas stood shoulder to shoulder with Felix outside the double oak doors of Banupal’s chamber, waiting for Erlgad to summon them inside. The rude awakening by the orc servant had made all the men uneasy, especially Asher. Banupal specifically wanted to hold an audience with Silas and Felix. No one else was invited. Silas reassured his second-in-command that everything would be fine, even though his blood boiled at the audacity of the half-orc. He wasn’t noble in any sense of the word and yet he expected an audience with a Prince and a governor in the middle of the night!

  “This is ridiculous,” Silas said, pacing the anteroom. “Why couldn’t he have met us when we arrived?”

  “He is an eccentric leader, no doubt. But I’m sure he has a good reason for summoning us at this hour,” Felix replied.

  Silas scoffed. “There’s no good reason, Felix. This is an ingenious ploy—a means of control. He knows we must comply with that infernal treaty and he’s throwing around his weight like an emperor.”

  “Don’t be so cynical, my young prince. The orcs have odd customs compared to Aldron, but believe it or not, Banupal exemplifies the best of both races. Half orc and half human. A refined savage would be the appropriate way to describe him.”

  “An abomination would be a better description,” Silas quipped.

  The oak doors creaked opened and Erlgad’s leathery green face appeared. His smug expression hadn’t changed since he led them into their filthy bedrooms. “The master will see you now,” he croaked.

  Felix glanced at Silas with a raised brow. Silas walked beside him and they both entered the half-orc’s chamber. Purple standards hung from the stone walls on either side of them, painted with orc symbols relevant to Banupal’s clan. Large golden statues of orc deities and bronze lamp stands filled the interior. The flicker of candlelight glittered on the gilded surfaces, creating a golden aura around them.

  A dais hewn from stone rose at the end of the oval room with a simple throne placed at its center. Silas guessed the dais was converted from the priestly altar devoted to Yesu worship into this pathetic imitation of a royal court. Seated on the throne, Lord Banupal glared down at them like an owl watching mice beneath its perch. “Welcome lords of Aldron to my court,” he said in a low voice.

  “We are honored to hold court with—” Felix began.

  “What is it you want, Banupal?” Silas cut in. He was done with formalities, especially in the middle of a winter’s night.

  “I beg your pardon?” Banupal said, visibly annoyed at Silas’ impropriety.

  Silas stepped closed to the throne. “You called for immediate aid from my father. We rode out facing harsh winter to the ends of the wilderness and you ignored us. Then you wake us and summon us, for what? What is so urgent? I see nothing in this rabble of an encampment you’ve organized that shows need of military aid.”

  Felix exhaled deeply, turning to Banupal. “My Lord Banupal, please excuse the prince’s…candor. He is weary from the day’s travels, I’m sure.”

  “You need not excuse anything, Gryn,” Banupal said. “I appreciate Prince Silas’ honesty. I am half orc, after all. Candid statements are common among my kind. The truth is Prince Silas, we have quite the crisis on our hands here in Neroterra. A valuable artifact from my treasure store has been stolen and I need you to retrieve it.”

  Silas laughed incredulously. “You can’t be serious? You summoned me here to fetch your stolen trinket?”

  “This is no trinket, your Majesty, I assure you. It is a weapon of unspeakable power in the hands of a capable conjurer.”

  Felix furrowed his brow. “A weapon, you say?”

  Silas sighed, but he had to admit his interest was suddenly piqued. “Go on.”

  “Of course,” Banupal said with a satisfied smile. He rose from his throne and walked down the dais to them. “Four nights past, Lofur and Grintt, two of my best warriors spotted something in the woods to the north. No one is allowed entry into Neroterra except by my specific order. Any wayfarers traversing the forest are summarily killed. So, Lofur and Grintt set out to kill whatever creature or person had trespassed on our land.

  Lofur thought it was an old woman, dressed in rags carrying a woven bag over her shoulder. My scouts advanced with scimitars drawn, ready to kill her but a flash of light from the woman’s palm knocked them over. Lofur couldn’t remember much after that except the sound of Grintt screaming when he came to his senses. The old woman was in fact a goblin shaman named Urbengal—a nasty blighter from Northerwyld, who’s been trailing us for years. Lofur managed to escape and bring me the news. Grintt was not so lucky.”

  “A goblin shaman? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Silas said. “I thought the orcs killed all the spawn of Urr in the Northern Wars a decade ago?”

  “Indeed we did. Slaughtered them in droves—their deserved punishment for nearly eradicating us to begin with. But we lost more in the end—our land and our way of life. Without goblins as slaves and a decimated populace, the orc clans became nomads. Settling wherever the wind might have us.”

  “Settling? You mean raiding and pillaging decent villages,” Silas corrected.

  Banupal raised his chin up and squinted his eyes. He brushed off the slight and continued. “Urbengal is a threat to all of us. His family was killed in the wars and he seeks vengeance. After killing my scout, he found a way inside my city and descended into the mines. There he took his prize—an old gauntlet long forgotten since the Golden Millenium.”

  “A gauntlet? That’s no weapon to fear,” Gryn said with a smirk. Silas agreed. This entire affair seemed like a waste of their time. A goblin conjurer stealing a gauntlet wasn’t worth a constable’s time in Aldron much less a prince and a governor.

  “This is a matter for you to settle, Banupal,” Silas said. “The treaty stipulated aid on matters of utmost importance not some aged artifact missing from your collection. We will take our leave now and wish you the best on your…scavenger hunt with the goblin.” Silas turned to leave the chamber and to his surprise, Gryn followed. He expected the governor to excuse his outburst to the half-orc.

  “Wait!” Banupal yelled. “Your father entrusted me to guard that gauntlet in exchange for settling this ancient town. Do you think he’d be pleased that you refused to retrieve the central object of the treaty between Aldron and Neroterra?”

  Silas could barely make sense of what Banupal suggested. A treaty between orcs and men over an old gauntlet? “What are you talking about?” He asked.

  “The gauntlet is a gateway to limitless power—”

  “Enough, Banupal!” Gryn scolded. “You were sworn to secrecy.”

  The half-orc recoiled at the rebuke, but his nostrils flared at the affront to his authority.

  “Secrecy? You know about this?” Sil
as asked, feeling his neck tighten.

  Gryn cleared his throat. “The gauntlet is a magical artifact that must be safeguarded from everyone. Your father thought it best that no one, but he and those present at the treaty signing should know of its existence.”

  Silas could hardly believe what he was hearing. His father, the amiable and kind sovereign of Aldron, had made a pact with orcs to keep a powerful weapon hidden. He’d kept it secret from his own son. Silas felt like a child and he hated it.

  “If this gauntlet was a secret, how did Urbengal know of its existence?” Silas asked, fighting to remain calm.

  “He likely sensed it’s magical properties when he invaded the camp. Shamans are moths to a flame when it concerns such things. The allure of that gauntlet has clouded Urbengal’s judgment. Despite having every opportunity to flee the woods of Neroterra, the goblin has set up camp on the northern outskirts,” Banupal said, lifting a goblet filled with a black liquid from a table nearby.

  “That’s excellent news! We can rout the imp and retrieve the gauntlet in no time,” Gryn replied.

  Banupal laughed before gulping down the dark contents of the goblet. “You are welcome to try, my lords. But I’ve lost ten of my hardiest warriors already. Shamans are not to be trifled with, especially those in possession of enchanted gauntlets. None of my orcs stepped within a yard of his camp before being blasted to oblivion.”

  Silas thought for a moment. The northern edge of Neroterra’s forest butted up against the hills of Sylvania. If he led his men charging from the north and Banupal led a feint from the south, they might catch the shaman unaware. Not even the best mages or druids could fend off a two-front assault by themselves. The only problem was Banupal’s willingness to comply with such a move.

  “I have an idea, but you won’t like it,” Silas said.

  Banupal squared his shoulders. “I’m listening.”

  Chapter 5

  The Hunt

  Silas saddled his horse as the sun peeked over the forest canopy. He felt tired and agitated. The straw piles that served as their bedding did not offer restful sleep for him nor his men. Despite their overall crankiness, everyone woke up before dawn preparing for the day’s hunt. Breakfast consisted of sausage and a hearty porridge Leif had cooked in the kitchen inside the orc’s mess hall. Silas would not have any more orcish food on this excursion—royal etiquette be cursed. Besides, Banupal could not care less about their disdain for the food. He was more worried about sending a battalion of orcs for Silas’ planned attack on Urbengal. It took much persuasion to get the half-orc to agree on the strategy, even Gryn became exasperated at his hesitance. But the half-orc's agreement came with a catch. Every orc killed in battle would cost ten centens from Aldron’s treasury. How nice that Banupal cared so much for his troops.

  “Are the soldiers saddled and ready?” Silas asked Asher, who looked more haggard in the early morning light.

  “Aye, my lord. We only need Gryn and his company to show up before we can set out,” Asher replied. “Must he come with us?”

  Silas smirked. “Asher, if I were king, Gryn would be assigned to a remote outpost in Azuleah.”

  Ten minutes later, Gryn emerged from the basilica with his entourage. A young man with light tousled hair, presumably his squire, and his valet, a barrel-chested man who dutifully carried the governor’s many bags. They loaded their horses and a pack mule while Gryn watched and paced in the ankle-deep snow. A few minutes later, a dozen orcs filed out of a large tent behind the basilica. Banupal led the group to the square where Silas and the others had gathered. The orcs wore crude armor with fur boots and shawls. Their muscled green arms and thick legs exposed, impervious to the frigid morning air. In contrast, Banupal wore a fine linen robe covered in a heavy fur doublet. He strode toward them with his troops in tow.

  “I can spare twelve of my best fighters to aid your battalion. Lofur will guide you to Urbengal’s camp and command the feint,” Banupal said, gesturing to the large orc whom Silas recognized. He was the commander who had previously led them to Neroterra the night before.

  “You’re not coming?” Silas asked.

  Banupal smiled. “I’m afraid not. Lofur is more than capable of leading this expedition in my stead. Besides, I have matters to attend to here.”

  “Right,” Silas said, turning to Lofur. The giant orc looked displeased to be sharing the same air with humans. “Can your soldiers hold off the shaman long enough for our offensive?”

  “We have killed goblins and trolls in battle by the hundreds. One shaman will be nothing but a pestering horse fly,” he growled.

  “Fair enough,” Silas replied. “Felix, take the rear and follow our trail. We’ll be moving fast and your mule will be hard-pressed to keep apace in this snow.”

  Felix scowled, but nodded deferentially. After a brief discussion of the battle plan with Asher, Silas and his group set out with the orcs. Banupal watched from afar as they exited the gates of Neroterra and entered the snow-covered forest. Lofur spat out orders to his battalion and they marched on a northeast route. Despite their large, lumbering frames, the orcs moved quickly through the thick snow blanketing the forest floor. Even on horseback, Silas struggled to keep up. The chilling wind had died down since last night and the clouds had thinned overhead. Pockets of sunshine cut through and illuminated the pristine white all around them. Though they trudged through miles of woodland, the snowy scene appeared to go on forever. Little time was spent in conversation. Asher kept asking how much further until they’d split their groups, but Lofur ignored the question.

  Five miles from Neroterra they reached a clearing that dipped into a ravine where a stream ran in the summer. The water had turned to thick ice and a thin sheet of snow covered it. The orcs stopped at the bank and unloaded the canvas packs slung over their shoulders.

  “Why are we stopping?” Felix asked.

  “To eat,” Lofur bellowed. “Orcs don’t fight on empty stomachs.”

  “Are we close then?” Silas asked.

  Lofur nodded. “Another half-mile and he’ll detect us. We’ll hide here along the bank until you’ve reached the hills. Broku will be at the edge of the wood and wave the signal for you to attack.”

  “Signal?” Asher asked.

  A smaller orc with a bone pierced through his nose stepped up and pulled out a ragged blue flag from his pack. “One wave means attack. Two waves means retreat,” Broku instructed.

  “You should head out now. Follow the bank, it will lead you out of the forest and into Sylvania,” Lofur said.

  Silas nodded then commanded his men to leave. They followed the stream for a mile before it wound northward where the tree cover thinned. The terrain changed around them as they left the forest behind. Numerous outcroppings poked out of the snowcapped plain around them. A hundred yards away, the hills rose to create the northeast border of Joppa and Marsolas. Silas dug his heels into the sides of his horse as they climbed the steep hillside. His hair whipped around him with the return of the wind on the rising incline. The men grumbled on the ascent, but they reached the top soon enough. From the top, Silas easily surveyed the northern edge of the woods where Broku would wave his flag. Behind him, the city of Sylvania stood apart from the wintry world. Smoke rose from chimneys on the thatched roofs of houses and buildings packed tightly together. The heavily populated city was untethered from Aldronian rule and run by elected officials. Silas’ last trip to the city was three years prior. He stayed at a luxurious inn in the Scarlet Quarter. A crackling hearth and a goose-down mattress were an inviting thought here on the snowy slopes.

  An hour passed with no change in their condition. Cold and anxious, Silas wondered if this whole plan had been a horrible idea. Asher and the men had started a fire to keep warm. Gryn paced around and grumbled at his valet about not packing warmer clothing. Silas tried to tune him out by watching the forest for Broku. Perhaps Urbengal sprung an ambush on Lofur? Their proximity to the shaman’s camp might have given them away. If Banupa
l’s dozen had fallen, they’d have no way of knowing about it. There was also the sinister possibility that Banupal was in league with Urbengal. Silas had pondered why a goblin would go through the trouble of traveling hundreds of miles from Northerwyld to exact revenge on an orc village in treaty with Aldron. Although he knew little about the magical powers of shamans, he was certain a single shaman could not overwhelm an army. It seemed plausible that Banupal planned for the gauntlet to be stolen so King Alfryd would aid the half-orc. And if this gauntlet was as significant as Felix claimed, perhaps Banupal wagered that the king himself would show up to retrieve it. But why? Did he plan to assassinate his father with Urbengal’s help? No, Silas thought.. Regicide would be a suicidal course of action for Neroterra. A war with Aldron would destroy the orc remnant in Azuleah. Banupal seemed too savvy to incite such a war over a petty gauntlet. Nevertheless, Silas sensed Banupal was up to something, but he couldn’t figured out what exactly. Orcs could not be trusted, much less a half-breed who pretended to be royalty.

  “Sire, I see something moving to the northwest!” A scout named Dillinger yelled.

  Silas scanned the forest and caught the movement. A small figure similar in stature to Broku, slowly trudged through the trees on the perimeter of the woodland. Asher put out the fire and the rest of the men climbed onto their saddles. Gryn raced to Silas’ side, watching with bated breath as Broku stopped. The orc waved his flag…twice!

  “Doesn’t that mean retreat?” Gryn asked.

  Silas nodded. He saw Broku pause for a moment then he lifted the blue flag once more. Again, he waved it twice. “Something is wrong,” Silas said. The words barely escaped his lips before two arrows pierced Broku’s back and he fell dead into the snow.

  Chapter 6

  All is not well