Magoza shook her head. “That is because you were a headstrong youngster determined to become the fiercest orc fighter. You saw your father’s kindness and diplomacy as weakness. The truth was your father was always a strong warrior, but he chose a different path. He used his brains and words to help keep the peace between his people and ours. His words did far more for peace than any orc sword. That is why your mother loved him so. She saw the strength inside him. She understood how strong he had to be to do things his way.”
Bazur nodded. He loved his father, but he had always thought him weak, especially compared to the orc warriors of the stronghold. Something this cowardly human attack had only proved, yet his father had been anything but cowardly. Today he had been a true orc. Regret crept into his mind as he thought back to the harsh arguments he’d had with his father anytime he thought his father was being weak. Perhaps is had been Bazur who had been weak and not his father. Perhaps one could truly be a warrior with both weapons and words. He now wished he could have had a chance to apologize to both his father and mother for not seeing so.
“We can bury them properly later. However, with Rilug dead there will be a vote.”
Magoza was right. The death of the leader was a significant loss to the stronghold. The orcs would gather and declare a new leader as soon as possible. Once that was done, they would begin to care for the dead. Bazur knelt down and closed his father’s eyes. He then took the large dagger from his father’s hands. The dagger had been a wedding day gift from Shel to her new husband. The dagger signified his acceptance into the orc people. Bazur stood up and started heading toward the main lodge. It was time to declare a new orc leader.
When Bazur and Magoza entered the lodge, they found the other orcs were already arguing and petitioning one another, looking for votes for their chosen leader. An orc stronghold leader was an autocrat. His word held absolute power and would dictate the lives of the entire stronghold. Choosing a new leader was no easy task, especially now that they were at war.
Dalthu found Bazur. “Where have you been?”
“Seeing to my parents,” said Bazur. He wished he had more time to pay them their respects, but the vote was a pivotal moment for any orc stronghold. “What is happening?”
“So far it looks like there are three serious contenders. Uram, Haguk and Snagluk. I doubt many will support Uram.”
Bazur glanced around the room. Many of the orcs had started to separate into groups around their chosen leader. The crowds around Haguk and Snagluk were large, while Uram’s was significantly smaller. It did not surprise Bazur. Uram had been one of the most vocal orcs about not going to war. Now that the Oclesh army had attacked the stronghold, no one wanted peace. Haguk was one of Bazur’s friends, a smart and powerful orc, but likely too young to be considered by the older orcs. Many of them would likely vote for Uram if not Snagluk. Snagluk was one of Bazur’s least favorite orcs. His ill temper and attitude toward Bazur had long been an issue, Snagluk hated and distrusted humans and Bazur, with his human father, was human in Snagluk’s mind. When Rilug had been leader, it had not been a serious issue. Now with him gone, it could be a different issue.
“Should we stand with Haguk?” asked Dalthu.
Bazur shook his head. He would be proud to stand by his friends, but today, with the cowardly attacking of women and children, anti-human sentiment would be running high. Snagluk would not be the only orc looking at Bazur as if he were an outsider. “You can. But everyone here knows Haguk is my friend. Standing with him will not help him win votes.”
“Not all think like that,” protested Dalthu.
“Enough to make a difference. No, Dalthu, I shall vote for Haguk when the time comes, but I wouldn’t be helping his cause by standing with him. I cannot. Haguk must not be seen as a human sympathizer. He must stand strong. He must stand without me.”
Dalthu shook his head but walked away from Bazur to join those surrounding Haguk.
Yakha, one of the stronghold elders, came around and handed Bazur three small sticks of wood. Each stick of wood was painted a different color. Yakha explained, “Yellow for Uram, blue for Haguk, and red for Snagluk.”
Bazur palmed the three sticks and waited his turn. At the front of the lodge sat a wooden box. One at a time each orc walked up and placed the stick of the color of his or her chosen leader in the box. Orc society was very respectful of its elders and the voting was conducted by age. The oldest orcs voted first and then on down to the youngest adults. As one of the youngest adults in the room, Bazur would be among the last to vote. When it was his turn, Bazur walked up and dropped his blue stick in the box. Besides being his friend, Bazur thought Haguk would make the best leader.
When all the orcs had voted, Yakha and another elder started pulling the sticks from the box and sorting them into three piles. Bazur watched the piles as they grew. As he suspected, the pile for Uram was small, and the piles for Haguk and Snagluk were growing at a similar pace. Bazur couldn’t tell which pile was bigger. It was going to be a very close vote.
Yakha placed the last stick in its pile and announced the results. “By three votes, this council has elected Snagluk leader.” Bazur sighed. Again he would have to prove all over he was worthy to be called an orc to his new leader. Life was going to be harder. He would have to swallow his pride often and accept insults. But he resolved to show his worth. He’d earn their respect.
A cheer rang out among Snagluk’s supporters. Snagluk strode to the front of the lodge to join Yakha. “I vow to be the strongest leader Lagvon has ever known,” said Snagluk. “I shall lead us to glory.”
“What of the Oclesh army?” asked Hagluk softly. “We know from our scouts that a second wave of their army is heading our way. They outnumber us five to one. There is no way to stop them.”
“We shall head north to the stronghold of Larnow,” said Snagluk. “There we will fight the humans.”
As much as Bazur disliked Snagluk, he did respect the new leader’s decision. The stronghold of Larnow was much farther into orc lands. It was questionable whether the armies of the Oclesh would dare march that far into orc lands.
“Take what food and weapons you can carry,” said Snagluk. “We leave in the morning. Tonight we build a funeral pyre for the dead.” Snagluk then called Bazur forward. “Bazur, you are half-human. With the death of your mother, you no longer have a connection to this village. You are no longer one of our people.”
In shock, Bazur looked around. Surely Snagluk was kidding. But in his heart, Bazur knew this was no cruel joke. It was Snagluk establishing his position towards humans, even half-blood humans, as the enemy. Bazur felt empty. First his parents and now the rest of his community were being ripped from his heart. Alone he truly was. From the groans and cursing behind him, Bazur could tell the decision was not a popular one, but as leader Snagluk’s word was final. Bazur was now an outcast among the only people he’d ever known. Bazur lowered his head, turned and walked out of the lodge. As he slowly walked away, orcs who disagreed with the decision reached out and touched Bazur on the shoulder, showing their remorse at his banishment. At the door of the lodge stood Dalthu and Magoza. Bazur faked a smile as he reached the last of his friends. Bazur had never imagined Snagluk would be so cruel. He knew Snagluk disliked him, but banishment? It was a severe ruling that showed the true depths of Snagluk’s hate.
Dalthu grasped Bazur’s shoulder and squeezed it tight. “Tis an awful dark day, brother.”
Bazur said nothing. He nodded and grabbed Dalthu’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze of his own. Of all the orc’s, he would miss his friend Dalthu the most.
“Where will you go?” asked Magoza.
“I have no idea,” said Bazur. “I’ve never thought about leaving before.”
“You won’t be welcome in any orc strongholds now, thanks to Snagluk. Go to the human lands. Humans are slightly more tolerant of half-bloods than orcs, especially if you have coin to trade.” Magoza dropped a small purse into Bazur’s hand. “It’
s not much but it is all I have. If it were me, I’d head toward the badlands around Pera. Plenty of food and water if you know where to look, and the trading posts there don’t care what you are as long as you have something valuable. The coins will get you started. Take whatever coins your father had as well.”
Bazur looked at Magoza carefully. “You don’t normally carry coins around. Did you know this would happen?”
Magoza nodded. “The moment your mother died your place among the orcs was jeopardized. I didn’t know that Snagluk would become leader, but even if one of the other orcs had been declared leader, there would’ve been pressure to have you banished. Your mother was a very strong orc, and her father, when alive, was one of the most powerful orcs in the land. Because of Shel’s father supporting our trade with humans, your father was invited to stay in Lagvon. When they fell in love, Shel petitioned your grandfather to make sure the elders and the orc leader, Quilge, would allow it.”
Bazur remembered Quilge. The old orc leader had been a fierce and proud warrior, but he’d always treated young Bazur with kindness. Other orcs had been less kind. Childhood had been difficult for Bazur; he’d had to fight more than any orc child. Now it mattered not how well or bravely he fought or how many victories he earned on the battlefield. Bazur had tried throughout his entire life to prove he was the equal of any of the orcs, but now at the first opportunity Snagluk was sending him away. It seemed Bazur had never truly been of the stronghold in their eyes. Only an unwelcome visitor they had to allow to stay because of his mother. With her death they were removing him. Bazur partly understood, after all humans had just attacked the village, humans were the enemy. But even as he tried to justify Snagluk’s actions, Bazur could see the folly in the logic. Humans were not the enemy. The Oclesh were the enemy, they were the ones constantly raiding orc lands and now attacking defenseless women and children. It was the Oclesh actions which had drawn the orcs into the war, and now it was the Oclesh acting without honor that left Bazur without parents. The other orc strongholds still considered the kingdom of Azmarin their allies. No, this was not about all orcs hating humans; this was about Snagluk hating them. Bazur thought about what Magoza had said about the badlands surrounding Pera. Pera was a small human village in between the kingdoms of Azmarin, Draisha, Oclesh, and the orc province of Irri. The badlands were a large harsh place that divided the lands of men and orc. None of the kingdoms wanted the lands or to deal with the locals who lived there. Pera was a free-town. It owed no allegiances to Azmarin, Irri or the other surrounding kingdoms that bordered the vast wasteland, yet it had traders who did business with all. Bazur would take her advice. The badlands promised a life of hardship and welcome solitude, where he could grieve for the loss of his family. Azmarin offered suspicion and hatred, while Irri and all of Khara offered death thanks to Snagluk. “I shall pack and head for Pera. Thank you for your wise council, Magoza.” As Bazur walked away, he could not believe how quickly his life changed. That morning he felt alive and strong, like nothing could stop him, and now he felt alone and empty. His family torn from this world, his community gone. He no longer had anyone he could rely on. From here on, he was on his own.
2
DRAISHA
THE dark room was lit only by a single torch. A thick oak door and even thicker stone walls insured the conversation was for their ears only. In the middle of the room was a simple and plain desk, made of the same oak as the doors. On the other side of it sat a man. Jasper walked up and took the seat across from him. He eyed his prospective client with care. The man was dressed poorly like a commoner, ragged cloth pants and tunic with a thick hood covering his face. He obviously was trying to appear poor, but Jasper knew this to be a ruse. The man had hands as soft as a baby’s butt. Besides, no commoner had the kind of coin necessary to arrange a meeting with him. Not that it mattered to Jasper how the man dressed. If he thought it necessary to hide his identity, that was his problem. Jasper’s fees were expensive, but he was worth it. Since becoming a mercenary, he had never failed to complete a mission, and his reputation as a swordsman was fast becoming legendary in the mercenary world. Jasper was an elite mercenary. So the man had better not try and pretend to be too poor when it came time to put coin on the table.
“Thank you for meeting me. Semaj says you are the best.”
Semaj, bar owner and all around shady fellow, was often an intermediate for Jasper. People would come to Semaj with a job, often dangerous, always illegal, and Semaj would find the right person to do it. When it came to murder, espionage, terror, and kidnapping, Jasper was often the right person. When Semaj said he had something big for him, Jasper accepted the interview. He rarely met with clients, but this one insisted. But for the money, Jasper would put up with his eccentricity. “Semaj is correct,” said Jasper.
“For your sake I hope so. You will need to be for this job.”
Jasper shrugged his shoulders. He’d heard this song and dance many of times. Every client thought his job was the most important, dangerous, rewarding, blah blah blah. “How about you tell me about the job.”
“I want to wage war against an individual. I was to hit his business interests. I want his friends murdered and his allies too terrified to support him. I want him living in a sea of confusion and despair, unsure where the next attack is coming from, or who it will strike. I want his life to be a living hell.”
“It can be done with the right resources, but these type of jobs bore me. Perhaps you need someone else.” Personal vendettas were easy; they didn’t offer any challenge or enough pay to offer to make it worthwhile.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I think this job is sufficiently difficult enough that you would do it just to say it could be done. More importantly, I think you will take this job for personal reasons,” said the potential client in his bad disguise.
“Who could you possibly have in mind that you think would inspire me to take such a job.”
“Prince Valentine Astor.”
Jasper smiled. Well, that was interesting, very interesting. “That is a rather large job. One that would take significant funding if I were to undertake it.”
“I understand. I am prepared for such costs.” The man slid a coin sack across the table to Jasper. “That should get you started.”
Jasper ignored the coins. “Besides the cost of such a venture, there is the risk factor for myself to consider. Once I start down this road, there will be no turning back. I will likely have to flee Draisha if I am found out. Even if it is successful, I may have to leave if things don’t play out the way you plan.”
“There is enough coin in this for you that you will be able to go anywhere you desire and live out your days as a rich man. The reward equals the risk. I have a list of names of people I want to meet a most tragic end. There are also several shipments of goods that can’t make their destinations. They will be part of well-guarded caravans, especially after the prince realizes he is being targeted.”
“Caravans are easy. There are plenty of bandits and mercenaries that can be bought for cheap. The killings, I will take care of personally. We can’t afford any screw-ups.” He’d seen enough plans destroyed when a would be assassin was caught and interrogated that he wouldn’t risk using any underlings for those important parts of the plan, those he would do himself.
“So I take it you are interested?”
Prince Valentine Astor was a man Jasper would gladly kill, getting paid to make the man’s life miserable was a job he couldn’t say no to. “Yes, but how do I know you actually have the coin to make this all happen? One small sack of gold coins isn’t enough for something like this.”
The man lifted the hood off of his face, revealing his identity.
Interesting, thought Jasper. Not someone I would’ve expected to hate the prince. But it does make sense.
“Now you know who I am. You know I have the coin, and you know I am now tied to you. I expect results. Failure will have a high price.”
“Save your threats fo
r your lackeys. We both know failure means death or worse for both of us.”
The man smiled. “True. But the chance to destroy the prince is worth it. Now, this is what I had in mind to start…”
3
DRAISHA
KYRA opened the shop door. The pleasant aroma of fresh baked sweets and exotic teas filled her nose. Her mouth watered reflexively as she identified the scent of cinnamon tarka cake. The sweet and savory treat was her favorite, and was her second favorite reason to visit the bacco. Hoggard’s bacco was a simple affair, a few tables spread out to offer maximum privacy and the main counter where his treats were displayed.
Kyra walked up to the counter and grabbed the piece of tarka cake that Hoggard had waiting for her. The soft and sweet cake melted in her mouth. Kyra slowly savored the treat before turning her attention to the waiting bacco owner.
“Do you have the merchandise?” asked Hoggard.
Kyra glanced down the counter. No one was within hearing distance. Hoggard was confident that none of his patrons were spies or the sort to sell him out, but Kyra wasn’t willing to trust that easily. She only trusted a few people and none of them were here. She slid a leather pouch across the counter. “Release papers signed by the duke. Not authentic, but only the duke himself would know the difference.”
Hoggard slid the pouch under the counter, opened it, and quickly inspected the forged document. “You truly have a gift, Kyra.”
Savage Page 2