by Rosie Scott
It was the 54th of High Star, and though we still traveled in the forest, the Celds I recruited informed me we were only a few days from leaving it. Our plan was to exit the forest and contact the griffon messenger we had sent to Hasani back on the first day of the new year. The griffons Zephyr had brought with us were antsy and frustrated in a forest that had no skies, and thus, our decision to ask the messenger to wait for us along the western edge of the woodland had been the correct one. I could only hope that our request was delivered to Hasani and he would move his armies north to support our attack of Comercio. I felt heartache and nostalgia when I thought of seeing Chairel's capital city again for the first time in years. That was where we'd met Jakan, and Theron had been with us then. But I also felt a happy nostalgia remembering the budding relationship I'd had with Cerin and the fun times I'd managed to have with my friends there. With luck, my next visit to Comercio would include a happy reunion with Hasani and a victory of conquest.
The expensive black boots Cyrus bought for me in Celendar were as shiny as the thick mosses below them as I led our armies westward one step at a time. The forest floor was so lush here that I realized the only time I'd seen large amounts of soil was when I'd gone mushroom hunting with Azazel. Birds chirped happily in the trees throughout our trek thus far, but they were oddly silent today. No sooner did I think this when Azazel abruptly stopped me with a hand on my arm and turned back to our army to yell, “Halt!”
The army followed his order. I trusted Azazel's judgment and said nothing as I watched him take a few steps ahead and stare through the forest to the north. Without a word, he strung his bow. In the army behind us, a murmur rose as thousands of soldiers gossiped.
Cyrus wandered over to us as his Sentinels all stared to the north in concern. He was quiet, waiting for Azazel's direction like I was.
Cerin finally murmured, “The north is the last place we want him to be looking.”
Cyrus glanced over at the necromancer. “There are only mountains to the north. Comercio is in the west and Sera is so far northwest that sending their men rather than the capital's to Celendar would be stupid.”
Cerin only replied, “One of our greatest threats doesn't come from the cities.”
My nostrils flared with realization. I turned to face my men. “Keep quiet and prepare for battle. Spread the message back.” I looked forward again at Azazel. “How many?”
Azazel stared, unblinking. “Thousands. They bring giants.”
Marcus frowned, but the giant said nothing for fear the vibrations of his deep voice would call more attention to our location. Cyrus appeared perplexed and asked the question Marcus was thinking. “Giants? Giants are not native to Chairel.”
Neither Cerin nor I explained the misunderstanding because we didn't have the time. Confirming our fears, bleeding out of the brush in the wide expanses of forest between humongous white trunks in the distance were thousands of battle-ready orcs.
These orcs were prepared for war. Though they had no discernible formation, they moved as one horde, trampling over forest debris without a care, red and black eyes set on our army. Most of the orcs appeared to be full-blooded, with features far more harsh and alien than Anto's had been: protruding brow bones, sunken eyes, wide nostrils. Many of the orcs wore little to no chest armor, revealing thick hair on many of the men and bound breasts of the women. Rough battle scars were superabundant over green and gray skin, and if a body part wasn't necessary and had been injured, it was removed. One orc was missing his nose, and it was shaved down to the nostrils leading into his head. Another orc had one of her breasts amputated. A few had eyes scarred over with tissue and clipped ears.
The last time I fought an orc, I was young and weak. I repeated the thought in my head a few times, trying to let it calm me. Without the repetition, my brain insisted on recalling my fears about the orcish war parties weakening my rebellion enough to make my armies noncompetitive against Chairel's.
Not now. Not after twelve years of work and heartache. This cannot lead to my downfall.
“Their numbers don't stand a chance against us,” Cyrus murmured, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I only replied, “You've seen Anto fight.”
As the orcish war party neared, Azazel finally loosed an arrow. The black ammo splatted through an eye that matched its color. Blood drained from where the arrowhead split the orc's lower eyelid, trailing down his gray cheek like a tear. But the orc did not fall. His breaths became labored with adrenaline as if the scent of his own blood had triggered his berserker rage, but he didn't rampage toward us. Instead, he grabbed the arrow and ripped it out of his skull, causing a few of our soldiers to gasp and gag at the sight as the injured eye came with, still attached to the socket by a string of muscle. Holding the muscle with one hand and his own eye with the other, the orc ripped the two apart. Blood spurted out of his empty socket as he threw the arrow and eye to the ground. The orc behind him trampled it without a care, smashing the juicy organ into mush over a blanket of moss.
“Dear gods,” Uriel murmured, his voice muffled behind the beat of my heart.
Azazel hesitated to fire again. He glanced over at me with intense confusion and said, “Kai, they do not attack.”
“Kai Sera!” My name was called out over the masses of green from the rough, guttural voice of a male orc I could not see.
I swallowed hard and tried to find the one who called me. Along the edges of this war party were Celdic, human, and goblin slaves, all equipped with stolen or looted bows and slave collars. Standing guard in the rear ranks of the army were armored ogres with packs of war supplies on their backs. The giants in our own army noted these creatures with both fascination and intimidation, for many of the ogres rivaled their height.
The orc with the missing eye pointed at Azazel as his socket continued to spurt blood. “We don't speak to you. We want Kai Sera.”
I took a step forward, then another. The fear of my soldiers was tangible in the air. “I am Kai Sera. What do you want?”
The injured orc stared at me with his one remaining eye and squinted. “Golden eyes!” he roared, and the orcs behind him cheered until the vibrations of their roars and stomps shook the leaves of the greenery throughout the forest. “We found Kai Sera!”
I stood deathly still. My heart pounded against my chest so hard I swore the others could hear it. “What do you want?” I repeated, shouting it over the masses.
Then, all at once, the last thing I could have expected happened. Starting with the orcs closest to us, the muscular green and gray men and women lowered themselves to one knee. The green army rippled like a retreating wave, and with each line of orcs who took a knee, their slaves followed the action. Even the ogres in the far back grunted with effort as they bowed their heads and sunk to the forest floor.
One orc stayed standing. He was massive in every way imaginable, with muscles that bulged out to connect his neck and shoulders in thick slopes. His skin was the perfect mixed hue of green and gray. His broad skull was shaved, leaving only a short mohawk of black hair that led from the center of his forehead to the back of his neck. He wore no chest armor, but his exposed skin was flawless when it peeked between fields of dark chest hair. Two double-bladed axes hung from his belt, appearing far too heavy to carry so effortlessly. The tips of two bottom incisors were yellowed from exposure as they stuck between his lips. The orc walked confidently through the middle of the war party, only slowing once to put the sole of his boot on the cheek of a kneeling orc's face to kick her to the side and out of his way. She grunted with distaste but complied with the non-verbal request, scooting over to let him through.
The massive orc stopped before me feet away with a clatter of gear. I could tell right away this one was far smarter than the rest, far older. Though I didn't show it, I felt intimidated when I looked into his eyes. For not only were they cold, distant, and sharp with brutality, but they were just as gold as mine.
The orcish god noted my eyes. “We
have found you,” he said, as if he'd needed to check for himself. In the kneeling army behind him, the eyeless orc finally fell dead with blood loss, but none of the others seemed surprised or made a move to help.
I stared into the god's golden eyes. “What do you want?” I asked again.
The god lowered himself to a knee before me. “Kai Sera,” he began, his rough voice croaking out each syllable, “take us to war.”
Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.
I turned to stare silently at Cerin. His eyes were as wide as mine, and he was just as speechless. He shrugged with both confusion and shock, and I turned back to the god.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice shaking on the first word with a mixture of emotions.
“I am Rek,” the god answered.
“I have not heard of you.”
“That is by design,” Rek replied.
“Yours?”
“Yes.” The god stared up at me with eyes that matched my own. “I am the last orcish god alive. I wish to hold on to that title until the end of time.”
“How old are you?” I questioned.
“Old enough.”
“Why are you bowing?”
Rek tilted his head. “Do you not understand? My kin worship you.”
My gaze traveled over the masses. Other than the dead orc who was lying in a pool of ever-expanding blood, the rest of them still knelt. Many of them breathed hard with adrenaline at the scent of his blood, but they didn't fight me or my men. That only would make sense if none of them viewed me as an enemy.
“What reason have I given the orcs to worship me?” I questioned. “They worship Malgor.”
Rek stared at me a moment. “Malgor is dead.”
“...yes,” I agreed, still confused.
“Orcs worship the strong. We worshiped Ahebban for many generations. Then Malgor bested him. We worshiped Malgor for hundreds of years even though Malgor wanted nothing to do with us. You bested Malgor in a gladiatorial battle. Now,” Rek summarized, “we worship you.”
I remembered Anto telling me about how orcish children often killed their own parents to prove their strength. Leaders of tribes were only succeeded by those who challenged and killed them in battle whether the fight was fair or unfair. If Rek's words were truthful, the orcs worshiped their gods using a similar thought process. I felt faint with realization as I connected these dots. For years I'd only assumed that killing Malgor would anger those who worshiped him.
These orcs appeared to be led by a god. I had bested Malgor in battle, but I had done it with magic, not physical strength. I had to wonder if Rek was here to challenge me.
“You seek to best me in battle,” I said aloud, “so that you may take my place as their god.”
Rek finally stood to face me, the movement causing me to waver on my feet as I thought of a defense to being attacked. But the god only met my gaze from his taller stance. “I want to live forever as the last orc god,” he repeated from earlier. “I have lived many years in this tribe of my kin. I have no need to be worshiped. I am orc. I worship the same gods as my kin. When they worship you, I worship you. Besides, you take us to war. I will kill thousands and keep my immortality.”
I hesitated as I tried to understand him. “You have heard of my magical methods of granting immortality?”
Rek frowned. “No. I don't care about magic. I have my own methods.”
“Your powers?” I questioned.
“Yes.”
This god clearly wasn't one for words. I asked for clarification. “Which god are you? What are your powers?”
“I am the god of brutality and carnage, descended from the orc gods Bardarik and Ravage. Bardarik, the god of the ax. Ravage, the goddess of consuming. Their blood flows through my veins and quenches my thirst. Like every warrior I best in battle, they empower and immortalize me.”
I stared at him a moment, feeling lost. “How are you empowered, Rek? Do you regenerate your wounds and your energy?”
“Yes. By feasting.”
I hesitated. “On men?”
Rek seemed confused by my shock. “You take power out of the blood of your enemies with magic. I drink the blood out of their veins and tear the flesh from their bones. Our powers are similar.”
“Oh, boy,” Nyx muttered behind me. “Let's take a couple of hours to dissect that powerhouse of a moral complexity.”
Rek glared at Nyx, having noticed her quip. “You allow your worshipers to interrupt you?”
“You call the other orcs your kin,” I said. “This is how I view each soldier of mine. I rule by kinship.”
I'd specifically chosen my words to appeal to him. It had become clear over this conversation that the orcish culture was so vastly different from any other I'd come across that even talking presented barriers to mutual understandings. As Rek nodded, I exhaled with relief.
“You want me to lead you into war,” I said, remembering his words from earlier. “But my methods differ from those of the orcs. I cannot lead men who will destroy and rape and pillage.”
Rek shook his head, but it appeared to be because he agreed with me. “You take land,” he said simply, motioning to the west. “We take the land for you. Once it is yours, we cannot harm it. Because it will belong to you. Our statues dedicated to you go unblemished. Everything else can be destroyed. Everything but our shrines.”
“Rek, I need you to understand. I will not lead men into battle who will rape and pillage.”
Rek hesitated, thinking. “We go to war. We are not looking for mates and loot. We are looking for battle. You have traveled every land fighting for power. You want allies. Orcs follow you.”
I exhaled with frustration. “You worship me. Will you follow my rules?”
“Yes,” Rek replied.
“Prove it to me.”
Rek nodded once like he accepted the challenge.
I pointed to the nearest Celdic slave before moving my arm across the view of their army, encompassing everyone. “Every slave you have with you. Free them.”
Rek tilted his head, confused. “Slaves do weak labor for us. Scouting and shooting and boring manual labor.”
“You are orcs,” I replied evenly. “You are strong, are you not? Why do you need the weaker races to do anything for you? What use do I have for an army of men who aren't strong enough to do simple manual labor?”
Rek's eyes lowered from mine as if deep in thought. One greenish hand fell to his belt where a crudely fashioned key ring hung from a ripped hole in his leather trousers. He turned to the still-kneeling army and threw the key ring toward one of the first soldiers in line. The keys hit the orc in the head and clattered to the ground.
“Free them,” Rek commanded.
The slaves watched nervously as the warrior took the key ring and went about doing as I'd asked. One at a time, each of the dozens of slaves the orcs had brought with them was released from their collars. Some of them ran, particularly the goblins who were just as uncomfortable around elves and humans as they were the orcs. Others wavered on their feet in confusion before hurrying toward my army, seeking the safety they felt we offered.
“What else do you command?” Rek asked, before looking through the western forest. “We follow you to Comercio. Large human armies wait for you there.” The god lifted a fist and pounded his chest once. “We will feast on their corpses together.”
“Can you give me a moment to discuss this with my people?” I questioned.
Rek tilted his head in a nod that never quite came to full fruition. “You talk. I will eat.” The god turned back toward the war party, leaving my friends and me in a state of silence.
Cyrus gazed over my overwhelmed face and sympathized, “Where to even begin with this?”
A long exhale blew out of my lips. “There are only thousands here, but each orc is worth a dozen warriors. If we send them as their own unit and keep them separated from our armies, our men will not be at risk.”
Cerin laughed dryly with disbelief. “Are w
e seriously considering allying with orcs?”
“Anto was with us for four years,” I reminded him.
“Anto was half-Celd,” Cerin pointed out.
“We spent so long worrying about fighting orcs here,” I argued. “That same fear and dread of meeting them in battle will do wonders for us against Chairel. Their men will fear them. It may confuse them to see an army of orcs working alongside us. It will lower their morale and—”
CRACK!
Our conversation quieted, and we all turned our faces to the orc army still waiting in the north. Rek stood over the corpse of the one-eyed orc, holding one of its arms after breaking the humerus away from the shoulder socket. The arm was still connected via strips of muscle and flesh, but Rek held the body with a boot as he ripped the limb free. Pulling the arm up to his face, Rek took a large bite out of its gray flesh. Blood drizzled from his lips as he chewed, and the body still on the ground continued to leak, staining the lush green ground with bright color.
A bite or two later, Rek hesitated from eating more, lifting his face to the canopies and spreading his arms wide. His veins protruded against his skin and he trembled with renewed power. After rolling his head until the bones of his neck popped, he went back to feasting.
Bubbling laughter sounded out from Nyx. She pointed at the scene as she stared back at us, trying to contain her giggles. “This. This is ridiculous. This is hilarious. Cannibal orc gods who worship you, Kai. Kind of makes you wanna look back on the last few years and wonder where the hell we went wrong, huh?”
“Or where we went right,” I countered.
Cyrus watched me carefully. “You're serious about accepting their offer?”