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I draw the knife, not to use on the orcs, but to use on Laney and then myself. It’s the only way I can spare her the suffering that’s sure to come.
“I’m sorry, Laney,” I whisper under my breath as the orcs fuss about with our wagon. They remove everything of value, including the onager, and then set it on fire with a lot of whooping and hollering.
I worked hard to find and repair that wagon. It’s taken us thousands of miles, and now it’s going to burn to ash.
It’s not fair. Nothing has been fair for us humans since the orcs and dark elves invaded. All we can do is try to mitigate our suffering.
Like I’m going to do now. This is what I promised my grandad on his deathbed. That if the time came, I would not allow myself and Laney to be captured. I would set us free in a way that could not be undone.
I hold the knife to my sister’s snow-white throat. My vision blurs with tears. I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t.
I stuff the knife back in the secret pocket and hold my sister tight. Tears stream down my face. The orcs think it’s hilarious. My pain and misery are entertainment for their lot.
I don’t even care anymore. Nothing matters. I can’t bring myself to fulfill my vow because I can’t bear to kill my little sister. I could probably turn the blade on myself with less effort. There’s no way I can take the easy way out and leave my little sister to suffer.
What are we going to do?
2
JOVAK
Red sun, red water.
Normally that only happens when the rising sun hits this old pond just right. But not today. The red sun is setting, not rising. The angle is all wrong.
Still, it’s not hard to tell what turned the waters crimson. The pile of dead orcs lay sprawled across the rocky shore of the pond, their bodies twisted and mangled. Even though they’re the brutal and untrustworthy Red Wyrm Clan, I still mourn for them. They are orcs, after all. My people who were slaughtered by dark elves.
It looks like their little company was separated from the main battle unit and then forced to retreat until they wound up at the pond. Then the elves slaughtered them. Several green-gray bodies float in the water, so many arrows sticking out of them they look like hedgehogs. No doubt the dark elves continued their sport even after the swimming orcs were long dead.
I wonder how many others of my brethren lie beneath those murky waters. As I said, there is nothing I can do for them. It is all I can do to keep my own Shattered Rock tribe safe.
That’s the only reason I’ve ranged so far from our territory. Usually, my walks don’t take me away for more than a day or two. But once I saw the dark elf army on the march, I had to follow in order to assess the danger to my own tribe.
Of course, after three days of following in their wake, it became apparent they were not going anywhere near my tribe’s land. After that point, I was just indulging my penchant for wandering.
Being the chief is a heavy burden to bear. I have to get away sometimes. I’m just not normally gone this long. I can already imagine what they’re saying about me. How I’ve shirked my responsibilities as their leader again.
Still, I’ve gone too far now to stop. I need to see this through just in case the dark elves are a threat to my tribe. Yesterday one of the rear guards of the dark elf army spotted me, and I had to flee for many hours to escape him.
Thus, I’m at least a day and a half too late to witness the battle. Judging from the smoke trailing into the red-gold skies, I’d say that it was quite the blaze. I can smell the burned bodies and the start of rot already.
The acrid smell of fresh smoke stings my nostrils. My eyes narrow, and I reach to my belt for the twin axes I keep there. Perhaps this battle is not completely over after all.
If I see a chance to bury my blades in the skulls of some dark elves, I’ll gladly take it. And if the Red Wyrm tribe wants to tangle with me, they’ll get the same. I am the greatest warrior of my tribe … a tribe made up of exceptionally great warriors.
We’ve held the shattered rock far longer than most of the other clans have existed. All creatures, great and small, fear our arrows, our spears, and our blades.
My great-great-grandfather came through the portals from Protheka, fleeing the dark elves and their damnable ways. Here, we found a new species that called themselves human beings. Their technology didn’t save them from us in the early days when magic still coursed through our veins like liquid fire.
We no longer hunt and oppress the humans. The Chief of the Crimson Sun has taught us a better way. The humans might be weaker than us, smaller … but they are very crafty, industrious, and more capable in battle than their size would suggest.
Some of my tribe members have even taken humans as their mates. I am not one of them. When I mate, it must be with an orc female. Since there are few fertile orc females being born any longer, I have been mateless for the entirety of the ten years I have led the tribe.
The truth is I’m content with this. If I had a mate, she would no doubt object to my spending long periods of time away from home. I would not be able to wander. They would no longer call me Jovak the Longstrider. What would they call me, Jovak the Tamed? Jovak the Housebroken?
The axes feel good in my hands. Their weight is a comfort to me. In these axes, I can put my trust. One of them is ancient, wrought with numerous runes and embossed ivy leaves on the black metal blade. A minor enchantment that hasn’t entirely faded makes the blade immune to corrosion or rust. The handle has been replaced several times, but otherwise, it is still the same ax my …
I shake my head. No, no good bringing up that memory. I endure the shame of it enough as it is. I have no room in my head for cloudiness. I must keep my mind, body, and spirit ready for whatever awaits me on the other side of this hill.
