I can see the decision in his eyes before he says it. I interrupt him and step forward, saying, “If you turn him away, you will lose me.”
The Jarl shuts his mouth and gives me a look that asks blankly, “Why?”
“This orc has sworn to you, by shedding his own blood, that he will serve you as a member of your army. If you cannot accept him, I cannot stay here. I cannot fight for someone for whom I have no respect.”
The Jarl reconsiders. Then, speaking slowly and deliberately, he says, “Master orc.” Ullrog looks at the Jarl, still clenching his right hand tightly. “What is your name?”
“I am Ullrog,” he responds. “I desire place in your ranks.”
“And so one you shall have,” the Jarl says with an overly calm snarl. “I see you have your own sword. Do you have your own armor?”
“Yes.”
“Then we welcome you as the newest member of the Gilgal army,” the Jarl says. “You may stay here with the men, and eat with them. What is ours is now yours.”
The orc nods as the Jarl looks to me. I can tell we are not done talking about this, but he turns and heads back into the castle.
What about the oath? I think.
“No,” says one of the guards. “That’s not right.”
“How’s your hand?” I ask Ullrog.
“Fine,” he growls. “Need bandage.”
“We can get you one in here,” I reply. “Let’s go.” The guards reluctantly step aside and we enter the castle.
“Kadmus!” Nathaniel exclaims when I enter the bunkrooms. They each appear to have just emerged from their beds. “Where have you been?” Then he sees Ullrog enter.
“I stayed the night at Ullrog’s camp,” I reply. “And now he is a member of our army.”
“What is he doing in here?!” one of the soldiers cries. “Letting an orc into the castle?”
“Shut it,” I dictate. “Or you’ll find yourself on the street. If you don’t like him here, you can keep it to yourself.”
Ullrog looks to me for clarification. “Here’s where we live,” I say. “You can stay in here with us.”
He responds, “I go to my camp outside city and collect my things.”
“I will notify the guards of your new status. They will allow you in and out as you please or they will have me to answer to.”
He stops and turns to face me. Then he hits his right fist on his left breast, and rests the same hand on my shoulder. “Rheyoth, blaknie,” he says. Then he turns and walks away.
“What does that mean?” Nathaniel asks under his breath.
“No idea,” I respond.
I accompany Aela to the armory, where we fit her for armor and she chooses two long thin swords, which she sheathes on either side of her waist.
“Interesting choice,” I comment. “You’ve trained with these before?”
“I prefer light weapons to big heavy ones,” she says. “Shields are too heavy for me to move as fast as I would like.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then?”
She nods, studying the pommel of one of her blades. As we leave she asks, “Why did you help that orc?”
“Because he needed help,” I respond.
“Even though he’s an orc?”
“Of course!” I reply, a little shocked to be having this discussion. “Just because he’s an orc doesn’t make him any less a person than you or I.”
She nods. “There are many who believe differently.”
“I learned that recently,” I respond. “I wonder why?”
“Why what?”
“People don’t like orcs.”
She thinks for a moment. “The stories,” she decides. “You know what I’m talking about. Slaughtering men, taking their gold and burning their homes. Their race knows nothing but war.”
“How do you know that?” I ask
She is startled. “Know what?”
“The stories aren’t just stories. Have you ever seen an orc plunder a house or kill a man?”
She shakes her head. “But,” she continues, “How do you know they are just stories? Why else would we have driven them out of our lands centuries ago?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I reply. “But something doesn’t seem right about it.”
Percival shows up in the barracks right after dinner. Apparently he’s allowed to sleep outside the infirmary now, but he keeps the crutch beside his bed. As he sits, James asks, “How’d it go?”
It’s a simple question, but it burns in the air until Percival grins and answers, “I like her.”
James smiles and coaxes with his eyes. “Well?” he finally says. “What did you do?”
Percival shakes his head and says, “Why do you care?”
James raises an eyebrow and hoots loudly.
Percival goes red immediately and exclaims, “No, no! It wasn’t- we just took a walk and talked!” I find myself smiling at him.
“Really?” asks James.
“Yes!”
“Really?”
“Yes! Look, she gave me this!” He holds up a small silver necklace, pulling the end up out of his shirt, as if it will somehow prove his point. On the end hangs a thin slice of wood over half the length of my thumb. On one side is carved an intricate insignia of some sort, and the other is smooth.
James makes to say something else, but I give him a nudge. “Leave him be.”
He rolls his eyes and tries to find something else to make fun of.
Ullrog stands in the corner with his arms folded, unamused by our antics. He stares silently into a candle on the wall, the light of the small fire flickering off of his dark eyes. He’s deep in thought and I leave him alone
His pack sits at the foot of the bed on the wall. His armor is hidden beneath some of his things, and his sheathed sword lies on top. Though I’ve never seen authentic orcish material, it appears to have come from his own land. It’s of no make I have seen before.
“Hey greenie!” one of the soldiers yells from the other side of the room. He’s a larger man, muscular, and wearing a simple tunic. Ullrog doesn’t so much as blink. “You! Hornblower!”
Ullrog’s eyes flick to the soldier.
“Hornsplitter,” James corrects quietly.
The other soldier raises his eyebrows and stands, moving towards James. “You got something to say about this… thing?”
James stands up and faces him. “Only if you do.” Ullrog studies the situation curiously.
“Why? You like him?” He doesn’t wait for James to respond. “He’s an orc! He doesn’t belong with us! He belongs in the dungeons with all the rest of the scum that dares to-”
“That’s enough!” I command calmly, standing.
“You too?” he says.
Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see Ullrog standing calmly. He says only, “Okay. Leave him be.”
The soldier is shocked and makes to say something, but Ullrog’s glare forces him into a silent submission. Then Ullrog nods to me and returns to his corner.
Percival disappears the next morning, but he doesn’t miss much of anything. Except for the incident at breakfast.
The sight of Ullrog draws attention to our table. I sit across from him, but even my friends won’t sit within a few feet of him. He eats like a bottomless pit, filling his plate and emptying it again.
Some soldiers simply ignore the fact that he’s there. Others object loudly. One in particular stands and says, “Who let the green vermin in?” He draws his sword and strides towards Ullrog purposefully, but Ullrog doesn’t even pretend to look. “Time for a little extermination.” Before I can react the sword swings at Ullrog’s head.
Without turning his head, the orc grabs the hand of his attacker and stops the swing dead in the air. Then slowly he rises from his bench and turns to face the soldier, who stands over a foot below the orc. Ullrog never releases the blade.
With a single twist, the orc wrenches the sword from the soldier, and then slams it up to the h
ilt in the table. The soldier, now sporting an expression of dumbfounded fear, stares wide-eyed at the orc’s hardened, unmoving face. Then the orc says one word, breaking the silence.
“Leave.”
The soldier stands, frozen in shock. Then he darts out the door.
Ullrog sits and, oblivious to the crowd of staring soldiers, continues to eat.
“Whoa,” James breathes.
“Glad he’s on our side,” Nathaniel agrees.
The rest of the day we train a little, but mostly laze around. I let Jarl Hralfar make all of the arrangements for the meeting at Balgr’s Monument, and instead I am able to find a chessboard.
“What have you got?” Aela asks as I enter the room.
I hold it up. “Want to have a go?”
She eyes the board for a second. “Yes,” she says. “Let’s.”
Ullrog approaches as we begin the first match. He observes for a few moves, and then says, “I watch?”
“Of course,” I reply.
He sits at the table and watches silently. At first it’s a little awkward, but we warm up to his presence.
The first game goes quietly and I win, if only just. As we reset our pieces, she asks, “Where did you come from?”
“I thought you knew that.”
“I mean… what was your childhood like?”
I sigh and take a moment to think. “I wouldn’t ask for a different one,” I finally reply. Ullrog studies me perceptively.
“Why not?”
“Because I had parents that cared about me,” I reply. “Everything I needed was provided, but I was taught the value of work.”
“And you spent your life in Terrace?” she asks.
“Virfith,” I clarify, moving a pawn.
She nods. “That’s close to Terrace?”
“Yes.”
She thinks about her next move carefully and ends up moving one of her bishops across the board deliberately.
“What about your childhood?” I ask.
“Nothing much to say,” she answers. “I was raised in an orphanage. In fact I had only just left when I made that trip to Terrace.”
“How old are you?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “Eighteen probably.”
“You don’t know?” I ask. Though I know she is telling me the truth, I cannot help but feel that there is something that is going unsaid, perhaps that she is keeping from me.
“No,” she says, moving her bishop again. “Your move.”
We sit in silence for a few moments. Then Ullrog speaks. “Arthensgulf.”
I give him a funny look. “I from Arthensgulf,” he clarifies. “Tribe Grokh’naht. Felverar Yrgrothim.”
Aela shoots me a look that asks what he’s talking about. I shoot the same look at Ullrog.
“Fellhammer Stronghold,” he explains. “Felverar Yrgrothim my native tongue. Southeast corner of region Arthensgulf.”
“That’s no small distance,” I mutter.
“Long travel,” he says. “Worth it to fight.”
“Why do you want to fight?” Aela asks.
He pauses for several seconds. Then he says, “My reasons.” He waits another moment and then rises from his chair and clomps away.
We exchange looks and our game resumes.
Percival doesn’t return until just before dinner, but nobody says anything to him about where he’s been. It’s no mystery.
The next day goes much the same way. We want to be well rested and ready for the march that is ahead of us. Clouds start to move in and the sky turns grey, but there is no rain.
Once again, Percival returns just before we eat.
“Oh good, you’re here,” I say. “We’re leaving tomorrow. You know that, right?”
He nods gravely.
“Good. I’m just making sure you’re not so obsessed that you’ve forgotten.”
He doesn’t respond.
We pack that night, but he does so with incredible swiftness and then speeds back into the city, I assume to say farewell to his dearly beloved. When we get to bed, all is packed and ready. We will leave for Balgr’s Monument in the morning.
March for Balgr’s Monument
As I predicted, the clouds begin to leak on us as we march through the city. It’s only a slight drizzle, but every soldier pulls out their travelling cloak anyway. The city is quiet, but for the constant pattering of the rain, and we leave without much of a ceremony.
I march at the front with Jarl Hralfar and Commander Magnus. Nathaniel, Jericho, James, Aela, and Percival march just behind me. Percival’s limp has gone and he walks well; he has recovered quickly.
Ullrog marches on the far left column next to Nathaniel. The soldiers have been warned concerning him, and so most of them simply ignore his presence. There are others that are not so kind.
His sword is strapped to his back and his pack sits on top of that. He does not wear his armor, but instead wears the same fur trousers. I still am unable to see his armor, which lies strapped to his pack, because it is shielded from the rain by a cloth blanket of some kind.
I strap my captain helmet to my belt because the constant dinging of the rain quickly became maddening. Instead I wear my brown travel cloak with the hood up.
After we trek across the gargantuan bridge, we turn southward and follow the curvature of the river around the city to a much smaller bridge that will lead us back into the province of Greendale. Immediately after we file across the small bridge, we follow the road south towards the Ha’avjah Desert.
Setting up camp isn’t very fun that night. Right when we start to put the tents up, the clouds decide it’s time to break the dam. By the time we actually take cover inside our hastily erected structures, we are soaked through. Some take to building small fires inside their tents on the wet grass, and we decide to follow suit. The wood is wet, however, and doesn’t burn well. Dinner is cold, and the rain continues throughout the night.
A deafening clap of thunder wakes me. I start and find myself standing, holding a knife in my right hand and my hammer in the other. Others around me have woken as well, but James continues to snore almost as loudly as the thunder. Percival sits upright, as does Aela. Jericho is frozen in his bedroll, as if the thunder scared him into a coma. Nathaniel shakes his head and rolls over.
I take a few deep breaths and sit back down. I don’t bother laying my head back on the pillow, not only because I know sleep will evade me, but because I do not need it. Instead I stay up and think.
Mostly I wonder how my mother is faring by herself in Terrace. Lord Archeantus agreed to help her financially, so that isn’t what I’m worried about; I’m concerned with her emotional welfare.
A gaping hole lies in my heart. It is the void caused by the death of my father, and it refuses to be filled. Every day I think on him and his sacrifice, and every day I feel the anguish of his death. If I feel such things, I can only imagine what my mother feels.
As of late I have accepted his death, but I have still not come to terms with it. Lucius Swordbreaker is dead, but he was only a pawn of the game. The king of the board is Ollgorath, and it is he that I must kill to find revenge.
At the same time I wonder at the children of those I have slaughtered. Do they feel the same thing? Am I not to them what Lucius was to me?
My nose wrinkles and I shake my head. I cannot afford such thoughts.
I feel a pair of eyes on me and look up. Ullrog sits cross-legged in the corner of the tent, watching me. When he sees my gaze, he closes his eyes and bows his head slightly. I lie back down.
Dawn comes quickly and the rain dies to a slow drizzle. We seize the opportunity and break camp quickly, forging southward for Balgr’s Monument.
The sun teases us a little before midday. After only a couple of hours, it hides behind the clouds once again and the air chills. Then the sprinkling begins again.
The dirt road is muddy. The harsh ground, unused to this amount of precipitation, refuses to absor
b all of the water, resulting in puddles and soaked… everything, really.
We are walking in the small stretch of plains between the Ha’avjah Desert and the foothills of the Wolfpack Mountains, where the terrain is rocky and green, with lots of shrubs and grass. The road splits from the river, which turns to head southwest. We follow the road south.
Lightning strikes a mile or two away from us as we begin to set up camp. It puts me on edge, but I show no sign.
We are able to get fires going that night and dinner is hot. Ullrog sits to my left. We have known each other for such little time, but a bond has started to grow between us almost akin to brotherhood.
Aela sits quietly on my right, eating her little bowl of stew. The others sit around the campfire on rocks.
Then a soldier enters our ring. I recognize him as the same soldier who had harassed Ullrog a few days earlier, and I prepare myself for a similar encounter. Though Ullrog has been patient thus far, I do not want to see what happens when he gets angry.
The soldier glares at Ullrog as he walks forward, but then his eyes rest on Aela. Something flashes behind his eyes and then he takes another step forward. “Such a treasure,” he says. “What brings you here to the battlefield?”
Aela ignores him.
“Such beauty should not go unnoticed,” he continues, leaning forward. His hand reaches out for her shoulder. “I could provide-”
By the time I’m halfway there, somebody has already beaten me to it. Ullrog grasps the forearm of the soldier firmly.
The soldier looks at Ullrog with an eyebrow raised. “You dare to touch me?” he rages. “To get in the way of-”
Ullrog stands, towering over the soldier. “You not touch her,” he growls.
“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do, you scum!” the soldier roars. “You and your kind are filth, a scourge that needs to be cleansed from the land!”
Ullrog growls deep in his throat and I fear that the soldier has no idea what he is getting himself into. I do not act, only out of sadistic curiosity.
Dragonhammer: Volume II Page 4