by J. Langland
“So why have the Unlife held back for the last few thousand years? You said they have gotten stronger; why have they not attacked?” Baysir asked.
“We speculate that, from what we can determine, they have been purposefully holding back,” Dashgar said. “They do what it takes to keep us from expanding, but they have not tried the sort of large-scale attacks against us that we saw thousands of years ago. Given that the strength of the Unlife our people are encountering has been increasing, they are trying to build up more experienced, more powerful forces so that when they do strike, it will be far more successful.”
“Well, this appears to be exactly that. A major battle coming, and soon,” Stevos said. “We”—he gestured to himself and Timbly—“feel we should be here. Given that we are asking them for aid, we should be willing to grant ours to them.”
Dashgar nodded and looked to Inethya and then Baysir, who obviously had been thinking on this.
After a few moments, Baysir spoke. “I am fine with it, if it is fine with you, Inethya. I would aid if I could, but we all know the politics of that.” He smiled at Inethya, who grinned and rolled her eyes.
Hilda suddenly spoke up. “Well, if you two are staying, I would like to stay as well. The Unlife are my calling, after all.” `
Baysir tilted his head. “I am not opposed to your doing this, but we should certainly check with Moradel and Beragamos. I do not want to have to explain your eternal demise to them; they have taken a shine to you.”
Inethya chuckled, raising her glass. “Indeed, I am loath to risk losing access to your wine cellar!”
Isle of Doom, Krallnomton: Early Third Period
Talarius woke to midmorning fierdlight. His first thoughts were of concern regarding how late it was; he had slept half the morning. His next thought was that he really did not feel like moving. Nope, I really do not want to get up; I’d be good with lying in this pile of hay for the rest of the day.
That thought caused him to bolt upright. Vertigo kicked in immediately as the world swayed around him. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I under a spell by some dark magus? Where the hell am I? When am I? Why am I lying in a haystack? He was feeling extremely disoriented; it had to be some sort of confusion spell. He really could not get his bearings.
Who is that? Talarius thought, staring at the alfar lying next to him in the haystack. The fellow was half in and half out of his armor. Talarius looked down at himself. He was in the same state; it was as if they’d been trying to get their armor off in order to sleep more comfortably, but had not succeeded before falling asleep or passing out.
He knew the fellow; he was a Knight Magus. One of the El Ohîm? Stainsberry. That was it. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only made his vertigo worse. He was pulling it together now. He was on Nysegard, in a field, presumably somewhere between the henge and Krallnomton. What in the Abyss had happened?
“A D’Orcing,” Talarius muttered to himself, answering his own question. It was all coming back in a rush. He remembered it all now. What an incredibly surreal experience. Lord Tiernon! That unholy ceremony had been unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Utter paganism, drugs, dancing and excessively loud music. The lights, the colors, the sounds. The agonizing scream of the newborn D’Orc.
“A D’Orc, a demon orc; a demon created from a normal orc.” He now remembered Stainsberry’s words. “D’Orcs are just demons that come from orcs. There are also demons that come from humans, elves, dwarves and most other intelligent species.”
Chills raced down Talarius’s spine. He was not sure how to process this. It was well known that demons lured humans, all mortals, into acts of evil, consigning them to eternal torment and damnation. But they were consigned as victims of the demons’ perversions, not as a demon themselves.
People did not become demons due to their vile acts. It was not like virtuous people, who were rewarded with eternal life as a saint. More thoughts, discussions came as his memories returned slowly. For orcs, becoming a D’Orc upon death was the same as a human being canonized. D’Orcs were orc saints; yet they were demons.
Talarius suddenly felt nauseous. It was not from the vertigo, though; it was these heretical thoughts in his head. “Indeed, all demons have to come from somewhere. Other than the D’Orcs, very few demon races procreate frequently; therefore, they rely on wizards and other mana wielders to conjure mortals into the Abyss to resupply their ranks. Making a human demon is no different than making an orc demon; the only difference is the mortal race they started as.” Stainsberry’s words echoed in his head.
The horrifying implication was that wizards and their ilk were recruiting or kidnapping people and turning them into vile and despicable demons! He had always suspected there was something off, something utterly nefarious about those damn wizards. He had never really trusted them. Other than Stainsberry, who was also a knight, one of the El Ohîm and thus not a traditional, shifty wizard—he had a code of honor. Demons were created, not born, or something like that. Stainsberry had implied that some were born, or could be. Half-demons, most likely.
He had no idea what the implications of it were. It was a known fact that demons were by their very nature evil. Not so much the ones he was currently with, he had to admit. Tom and his crew had been crass and obnoxious, even threatening—at least, Tizzy was—but he had not seen them do anything particularly evil. All the torturing going on at Mount Doom seemed to be consensual. Odd as that seemed.
Here in Nysegard, Tom and his D’Orcs were actively fighting the same enemies as the Five Siblings. By definition, they should be neutral with respect to Unlife, if not allied with them. However, they were actively engaged in open warfare with the creatures.
He had to stop and think about some of the things Tom had told him. So much of what the demon had said early on, Talarius had written off as demonic lies. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult to believe that everything Tom said was a lie; and now with this new information, perhaps the demon’s reactions had been sincere. Talarius shuddered. Ascribing human emotions and motivations to a demon was heresy, he was fairly certain.
Yet if Stainsberry, and for that matter his own eyes last night, were to be believed, much of these demon creatures were formerly mortal—human, orc, or alfar beings to which traditional motivations could be applied. It would therefore seem that one could ascribe such motivations to them.
Talarius sighed. He was going to need a long day of prayer and contemplation. He should probably fast, but his morning hunger after the night’s rest was far greater than normal for some reason. He really wanted something to eat. It needed to be huge, a good snack, sweet, salty. Hmm…
Astlan, Orcan Plains, Stone Finger Camp: Mid Third Period
Tal Gor finished checking both his own and his tribe’s bandages. Fortunately, he had not been responsible for bandaging and healing, as a shaman normally would be without a healer. He could bandage as well or better than most, but his shamanistic healing was not quite what he might like. However, that had been taken care of by Ferroos, the shaman for the Stone Finger tribe’s camp, where they had spent the night.
It had been the Stone Fingers whose tents Zargvarst had spotted to the north of where they had been attacked by the alvar. They had flown there, not stopping to tend wounds; it had not been that terribly far when flying.
Naturally, their arrival had been greeted with shock and fear, but Lob had quickly shown the Stone Fingers their credentials from Mount Orc, which included a Stone Finger talisman. Their news and the obvious state of the orcs had further worked to smooth the introductions.
The Stone Fingers had quickly mounted a wargback party to retrieve prisoners and corpses. Nagh Felwraith led a band to the alvaran crash site. It went unspoken, but Nagh would be able to provide additional support should more alvar have survived than they suspected. The other D’Orcs stayed with the Crooked Sticks and Stone Fingers should any aerial attacks occur from other alvaran resources.
Elgrida Far Eye
s, the chief of the Stone Finger band, also sent riders out to nearby tribes and bands to alert them. While awaiting the return of those seeking the remains of the alvaran force, Ferroos had treated the Crooked Stick wounds, which fortunately, were mere flesh wounds. No organs or serious damage had been done, in large part thanks to the skillful nature of the D’Wargs in shielding their riders.
During their patch-up, Elgrida mentioned that Ferroos had spotted the flying patrols, but had not been able to determine who they were. Tal Gor and their band had just confirmed their worst suspicions. This, added to the fact that the alvar had broken the armistice, was definitely cause for a small celebration.
Not only was war coming and they could begin plotting their strategies, but the Stone Fingers were anxious to hear of the battle in the sky. It had been a great long time since the orcs had had such a decisive victory. Five D’Orcs, six orcs and ten D’Wargs taking out one hundred alvar and another hundred hippogriffs was a monumental victory! Victory against ten times one’s own forces was legendary.
They had feasted and were well into celebratory toasts when the recovery expedition returned near midnight with about a dozen wounded alvar and a similar number of hippogriffs. Naturally, they had confiscated all the alvaran treasure they could locate before burning the bodies. They had cleared the area safely and monitored the fires until they began to die down; at that point they had left, leaving only a large cloud of oily black soot oozing into the sky.
Suffice to say, they had not gotten to sleep until the wee hours of the morning. To the consternation of the Crooked Sticks, D’Orcs neither slept nor got drunk on glargh. While they’d sipped some of their x-glargh, they preferred to remain vigilant through the night. Even with the late start to the morning, most of the orcs in the camp were feeling a wee bit glarghvosted.
“Let us harness the D’Wargs and get ready for the morning training session!” Zargvarst told the band.
Lob Smasher nodded. He had just finished a morning meeting with Elgrida, discussing plans for both the Crooked Sticks and the Stone Fingers for the next few days. The battle with the alvar had clearly outlined the need for the orcs to have more battle training on D’Wargback.
Thus, the plan was to pitch their tents and spend the next few days with the Stone Fingers, and to train the Crooked Sticks in more advanced air-to-air and air-to-ground combat. The Stone Fingers would also participate in the air-to-ground combat training, as they would need to be prepared to battle alvar on hippogriffs.
“What are you staring at?” Zargvarst growled at Nagh, who was shading his eyes and staring up at the clouds. Nagh pointed towards one particularly good-sized cloud.
“I realize it has been thousands of years since I’ve stood upon the Planes of Orc, but do not clouds typically all follow the same general airflow at a given altitude?” Nagh asked.
“They go where the wind blows, obviously.” Zargvarst shrugged. “You have not forgotten that.”
“Well, in that case, that is a very unusual cloud.” Nagh nodded to the cloud he was pointing at.
Tal Gor used his Eagle Sight, although at such distances with such a nebulous subject, it did not help that much. However, it did seem like the cloud was moving in a different direction to those nearby.
“Hmm.” Zargvarst shook his head, indecisive. “The tall spires of the Doomalogue’s outer ring probably cause all sorts of odd airflows, and that cloud is probably at a different altitude. It is very hard to judge such things from the ground.”
Nagh nodded in agreement. What other explanation could there be? What harm could a single rogue cloud do? Rain on them?
Astlan, Orcan Plains, Nimbus: Mid Third Period
“My lady, the courier is in the upper hanger, should you wish to question her,” the ensign handing Trevin a sealed leather pouch said.
“Thank you,” Trevin told the ensign. “Excuse me one moment,” she said to the others around the table as she proceeded to open and read the message.
Trevin, Elrose, Maelen, Jenn, and Gastropé were all enjoying tea and biscuits, as had become their custom of late, at the time called “nineses” by the ship’s chef and galley master, Bernaud, as well as his fellow hearthean crew members. It was essentially a late-morning tea break for heartheans.
The galleys, in various combinations, served all the hearthean meals and then some, given that the Nimbus when on a mission operated around the clock. For those on a normal schedule there was dawn’s break at 5—typically fruits, biscuits, cheeses, juices and hot beverages; full breakfast at 7.5, which was a large meal with both hot and cold meats, eggs, pastries, griddle cakes, syrup toast, and a plethora of other calorific wonders. Nineses came as a brief respite before lunch, and was mainly tea and biscuits. Lunch was served around 11, and was usually sandwiches and salads, things that were easily taken with one to eat at work. At 14 was high tea, which was once more tea, but often with a nip of something extra in the tea, small sandwiches and pastries. At 17 was dinner, the big meal of the day—a full multi-course meal that varied by the day. At midnight, the twentieth hour, was supper (unless dinner was still going, which could often be the case). As the name implied, supper was often soup and bread, or perhaps some reimagined version of what was left from dinner. This meal, while always served on the Nimbus, was a bit less well attended due to the hour and the fact that many were sleeping. Under normal circumstances, heartheans would then be sleeping until either dawn’s break or full breakfast. However, on the twenty-hour clock of the Nimbus, there was a reverse schedule that started at 15 with dawn’s break for the other shift and concluding with supper at 10 the next day.
Gastropé only attended nineses and high tea with the group from Freehold, as that was when they all met to chat. He attended the other meals sparsely, as his hunger dictated. Dinner was his most frequent, given that it was often the most formal, with the Captain and senior crew members attending. It was an excellent opportunity to hear tales and legends.
“Frost lizards bite my toes!” Trevin cursed, surprising everyone.
Gastropé looked up from his reverie as Trevin lowered a small piece of parchment to her lap. She shook her head. “So, we arrive too late,” she said.
“Too late?” Maelen asked with a look of concern.
“As we knew, the alvar had hippogriff patrols around Jötunnhenj; well, yesterday they encountered their first group of orcs and D’Orcs,” Trevin informed them.
“So there has been another incursion from the Abyss?” Elrose asked.
Trevin wobbled her head from side to side, as if not completely agreeing. “Incursion is a matter of perspective. Given that we know the D’Orcs have been with local orcs, presumably Crooked Sticks, that means that they are on the orcs’ home territory and doing nothing wrong. Under the current armistice, the incursion would be the alvar into orc territory.”
“What happened?” Jenn asked.
Trevin sighed. “Apparently the orcs and D’Orcs also spotted the alvar. They landed and armed up.”
“Not good,” Maelen said quietly.
“No, not good. The alvar went for reinforcements, reinforcements sufficient to take out the orcs and D’Orcs…” Trevin said, trailing off and shaking her head.
“How many were there?” Gastropé asked, thinking about Tal Gor; he would have to guess the shaman was one of the orcs.
“Five D’Orcs, six orcs and ten D’Wargs—four were apparently carrying supplies,” Trevin said.
“And how many alvar were judged sufficient to handle this?” Maelen asked. His tone implied skepticism as to whether the alvar had handled it.
“A forward party of forty alvar on forty hippogriffs, and a hidden rear party of another sixty pair to engage the orcs and D’Orcs from the rear after initial engagement. Of the alvar, ten were Rialto Alvaran knights, and they had a powerful wizard, Hetgar Fielos; someone I happen to know.”
Jenn made an indrawn breath. “That is like ten to one, plus a wizard. It must have been a massacre!”
�
�Not the way I bet you are thinking,” Gastropé said, thinking back to what he’d seen with Tom. Gastropé could not help remembering the way Tal Gor’s D’Warg had seemed ready to shred him.
“What do you mean?” Jenn looked over at him, seeming slightly annoyed.
“You are both correct,” Trevin said, looking even older than usual. “It was a complete massacre; the alvar had no chance. The orcs and D’Orcs suffered no casualties, only a few scratches to the orcs.”
“And the alvar?” Elrose asked with trepidation.
“A rout. Hetgar was forced to flee, teleport away after the last of the team went down. It seems there was a very powerful warlock with the orcs, who was able to fling Hetgar’s magic back at him.”
Gastropé furrowed his brow. Vaselle did not seem to fit the description of a powerful warlock. He wasn’t that much older than Gastropé and really didn’t seem to be quite so together as to do something like that. How many other warlocks could Tom have recruited? He was also not an orc. Tal Gor was an orc, but he was a shaman. One would think an alvaran wizard would know the difference.
Gastropé blinked in shock. Damien? Could a councilor succumb to such temptations? He shook his head; he needed to think more clearly. Damien was also not an orc, and there was no mention of a human. Besides, this was Tom and Damien he was talking about, not some actual dark lord.
Gastropé suddenly realized Trevin was still speaking. “They sent a rescue force, but by the time they arrived, the orcs and D’Orcs had burned most of the bodies. From the looks of the trails leading away, there were some survivors, now prisoners, but not very many. Trevin stood. “That is about all I have. I am going to go see if the courier knows more. I’ll let you know what I find out at high tea. I am going to have to make some long mirrorings in the next few days.”
Trevin left the room with the ensign, leaving the others in silent contemplation.
Suddenly Jenn spoke up, looking at Gastropé. “How did you know that the orcs would win?”