Wizard Trials: Chapter 32 (Patreon)

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          Kal’shak and his troop of orcs led the way down the winding mountain trail. Just like before, part of the troop led in front and part followed behind. When they’d been led from their campsite being surrounded had felt like protection from potential attacks. Even in the caves it’d felt like they were just making sure Draevin and his friends didn’t get lost. Now though? There was nothing to protect them from. It was starting to feel like they were being corralled.

          It took the better part of an hour to get to the bottom of the trail. By the time they got there the sun was… well they still couldn’t see it because of the high ridges of the surrounding mountain range, but Draevin could tell that it had risen. The sky was nearly blue and he could see normally. The lights emanating from so many of the buildings in the settlement below had even gone out.

          “Put me down!” Draevin heard Sylnya say. He looked up at where she’d been riding on Grrbraa’s back for the entire trip and saw her struggling out of the rope he’d used to hold her.

          “Sorry, friend-Sylnya.”

          “Why are you carrying me?” Sylnya asked as she was placed on her feet.

          Draevin walked up and stopped in front of her. He decided to answer for Grrbraa. “Hey there, Sunshine,” he said, throwing her traditional morning greeting back at her. “Nice of you to join us.”

          Sylnya looked up and glared at Draevin while Kot’s inky black form slinked out of Grrbraa’s shadow to rub the side of his face against her leg. She patted him between the ears while she responded. “What are you doing up before me?” she asked Draevin. “And where are we?”

          Draevin raised an eyebrow. “You can’t guess?”

          Sylnya stretched and took in the view for a moment. One of the orcs behind Draevin grunted his displeasure at the sudden delay. “Orcs, crater, city. I take it this is the orc’s settlement?”

          “It’s called Fel’heem,” Peter’s voice said. “And we’re not there yet. Can you guys walk and talk at the same time?”

          “I can!” Grrbraa said excitedly.

          “Yes, of course,” Draevin agreed. He waved an arm to urge Sylnya forward and they continued their hike. They were very close to the nearest buildings now. “Hey, Gerby, you mind carrying something for me?”

          Grrbraa’s mouth lolled open in a smile. “Yes! I’m really good at carrying!”

          Draevin shrugged off his backpack full of arrowheads and handed it over. “Then take this,” he said, “my shoulders are getting sore.”

          The werebeast tried to sling the makeshift satchel over his shoulders like Draevin had been doing but quickly found he was far too big. Instead he gripped it in his mouth. “Uh upha uh unn!” he said.

          Draevin just smiled, not knowing or caring what he’d just tried to say. “Yup, just like that.” The werebeast padded off.

          Sylnya rolled her eyes at Draevin. “Lazy as always,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t wake up this early if you had a choice about it.”

          “Yeah, well maybe you’d understand sleeping in if you helped cover the watch at night like the rest of us.”

          Sylnya turned and followed after Grrbraa. “Whatever, Drae. You gonna tell me more about this place or what? How did we get here? I didn’t see any valleys like this anywhere.”

          “You remember Mount Gailen? We’re inside it. We came in through this incredibly long tunnel. We hiked most of the night to get here.” Draevin gestured an arm to the valley that stretched out around them. “Looks like they’ve filled in the entire crater. They even have some farmland.”

          “I can see that,” Sylnya said. “But isn’t this mountain an active volcano?”

          “Is it?” Draevin asked.

          Kranin spoke up from beside him. “That’s basically what it’s famous for, right?”

          Draevin turned his head to the side so he could see the closest orc following behind them. “Is Mount Gailen still active?”

          The orc blinked at him. “What mean, ‘active?’” he asked.

          “Never mind,” Draevin said with a shake of his head. He decided to ask someone that would be more likely to know at his next opportunity. Protection from vamps and storms was well and good, but if it got your whole city burned alive Draevin wasn’t sure the shelter was worth it.

          “Funny,” Sylnya said. “Mount Gailen was the last place I ever would have expected to find a thriving metropolis.” She leaned down and scooped up a handful of dirt. Beneath a surface layer of soil it was white ash underneath. “I’m curious how they make the crops grow with soil like this.”

          “Me too,” Draevin agreed. “Magic would be my guess. They seem to either have a massive supply of the stuff or a way to get more.”

          “Interesting…” Sylnya said. The way she said it made Draevin’s ears perk up. He glanced over at her and saw her narrow her eyes suspiciously. “Is this escort optional?”

          “No way!” Kranin cut in. “Mark my words, we’re prisoners. They just didn’t say it yet.”

          One of the orcs behind them grunted. “You not Sho’to,” he said.

          Draevin flashed an angry glare at Kranin. Apparently the fellow elf didn’t consider the idea that their conversation was being overheard. “We’re not prisoners,” Draevin said, “but they do seem to be concerned about keeping us under control. We’re being taken to meet their chief.”

          Sylnya’s green brows rose up. “Their chief? Oh, we’re fine then, Drae. An orc tribe would never let an enemy meet with their chief.”

          “That right?” Draevin asked.

          “Yeah, and maybe if you’d ever taken the time to learn a bit about their culture Caldenia could have avoided the whole… thing.”

          Thing? It took Draevin a second to realize what Sylnya must be referring to. The elves had a history with orcs. A military history. Early in his career Draevin had actually cut his teeth in skirmishes with orc raiding parties. At the time Caldenia had been in a cold war between Kreet and Eldesia in which the Eldesians had supplied enchanted weapons to the roving bands of orcs living along their Southern border. They’d managed to capture a few villages before combat wizards like Draevin were sent it. “There wasn’t much parleying back in the day,” Draevin told Sylnya. “I also never saw any orcs using magic.”

          “Still, I bet this brings back old memories.”

          “Not really. All that was before the eruption. This whole area looked way different. There was actually some green on the ground back then.” Even in the best of times the ashlands had never had productive farmland. That was why the orcs had managed to take ownership of it in the first place. Normally they were known for raising goats. Growing crops seemed like strange behavior for orcs. As did settling down in a single place.

          Peter turned around. “Did I hear that right, Draevin? You fought against orcs? Is that going to be a problem?”

          Draevin shrugged. “I don’t know. How long do orcs live? This was well over a century ago. I doubt many of the ones that fought back then are still around. And besides—it was a defensive war for us. They raided our towns, so we hit them back. When they stopped raiding, we stopped hitting them back. That’s all there was to it.” It all seemed kind of pointless now. The whole conflict had really been between Caldenia and Eldesia with the orcs caught in the middle. Now both those “great” nations were gone and somehow the orcs had outlasted both sides.

          “Well, let’s hope they do remember you,” Peter said.

          Draevin shook his head. “Did I hear that right? You want them to remember me?”

          “Of course. In orc culture they honor those that defeat them in battle.”

          “I wouldn’t call what we did back then battles…” Draevin’s mind flashed back to his time handling orc raiding parties. It had only ever felt like one-sided slaughter. Surely there was no honor to be had in that.

          “Well we can ask their chieftain about it,” Peter said. He turned back to face forward.

          “Hey, wait!” Draevin said before he completely lost Peter’s attention. “What’s with the arrowheads?” The question had been bothering him for quite some time. With their limited space and weight on the airship it had always seemed like such a strange inclusion, and now, with extremely limited options for what they could carry from the wreckage they had been deemed important enough to bring with them.

          Peter didn’t even bother turning around when he answered. “Orcs use arrowheads as a form of currency.”

          That made sense. Come to think of it, it actually made a bit more sense than coins. It was more practical than coins anyways. “Wait a second!” Draevin suddenly shouted. “Our original mission was never supposed to go this far South. Were you planning to crash the airship here?”

          Peter glanced back over his shoulder and frowned. “Honestly, Draevin. Why would I plan to crash the ship I built?”

          “Yeah, Drae,” Sylnya said. “Cut him a little slack.”

          “But you had all these arrowheads ready!”

          Peter sighed. “Because if we ran across any orcs I wanted to be able to barter with them.”

          Peter’s explanation made perfect sense. But then again, all his explanations made perfect sense. Draevin wasn’t sure if he believed the crafty human. He would have kept pressing, but the time for questioning his motives was past. They were finally approaching the closest buildings of the orc settlement and their conversation broke off. The first of the buildings they passed weren’t actually buildings, but large, gray canvas tents. Considering the orcs had always been a nomadic people that actually made a certain amount of sense. Come to think of it, Draevin wasn’t even sure what type of buildings he’d expected them to have.

          “This way, Istven-tribe,” their orc guide, Kal’shak, instructed them. He led the way between the rows of tents along a well-worn trail.

          “Istven-tribe,” Draevin laughed. “That’s a funny name.”

          “Wouldn’t Haedril-tribe make more sense?” Sylnya asked.

          “We introduced our leader as Istven,” Peter pointed out. “We can’t expect them to know his surname.”

          “The name they assign to our tribe does not matter,” Istven spoke up. He sounded irritated.

          Kranin elbowed Draevin in the arm and whispered, “You think he’d say the same thing if they’d called us Peter-tribe?” Draevin just snickered in response.

          After a few more minutes of walking they finally stopped in front of a tent as tall as a two-story building. Several rough-looking orcs were posted up outside of it carrying spears taller than they were.

          Kal’shak held up his hand to bring them to a stop. He and Peter’s Sho’to, Moz’shak, exchanged some words in orcish for a few moments. “Wait here,” Kal’shak said. “I speak with Chief Bo’zrok.” One of the orc guards pulled a flap of heavy-duty gray canvas to the side and let him enter. The rest of them waited. Kranin dropped his pack onto the ground and collapsed against it. Grrbraa followed Kranin’s lead and set down his pack of arrowheads, then began to sniff around the space their escorts allowed them. The orcs grunted at him when he got too close but he just snuffled at their feet and kept moving. His tail thumped a happy beat.

          Peter pulled his goggles up around his face and took a look around while Grrbraa was doing that. It was quiet enough Draevin could actually hear the faint click-click-click as the human made adjustments to his glasses. He muttered quietly to Istven, “Magic defenses around this tent. Some kind of bubbling armamancy.” Draevin happened to be close enough to overhear. Istven just nodded his understanding but said nothing.

          After a minute Kal’shak emerged. “The chief will meet Istven-tribe now,” he said.

          Draevin moved to enter the tent with the rest of their party. Kal’shak shook his head. “Not whole tribe. Only chief and… tribe champion.”

          “What is a tribe champion?” Istven asked.

          “Champion is great warrior. Most honor,” Kal’shak explained.

          The orc that was currently serving as Peter’s Sho’to cleared his throat and spoke up. “The human Peter earn great honor when—”

          “Grrbraa,” Istven said, cutting the orc off. “With me. Just stay quiet when we go inside.”

          Moz’shak looked disappointed, but he didn’t object. Draevin thought he understood: it would lessen the blow of having been defeated by an enemy tribe if Moz’shak got to tell all his orc pals that the enemy tribe’s greatest warrior had defeated him.

          Grrbraa’s tail started wagging fiercely. He padded up to Istven. “I like this place!” he said. “So many new smells!”

          “Hold on,” Peter said. He held up a hand to stop Istven. “Draevin has a history with these orcs. It might be better to pick him.”

          “Yeah,” Draevin agreed. “I’ve got to be a better choice than the dog. No offense, Grrbraa.”

          “Mother-Oleno says it is not offensive to be called a dog,” Grrbraa spoke up. “I am one-third dog.” That made Draevin curious about what the other two parts might be, though it seemed the dog part was certainly dominant. Or had been, anyway, since his return from Tel’Andrid.

          “Fine,” Istven relented. “Draevin can be my champion. But the same rules apply to you. Keep your mouth shut.” Draevin nodded and stepped forward, not actually planning to stay quiet if he felt like saying something.

          “And that one,” Kal’shak said, pointing to Peter. “And his Sho’to.”

          Peter grinned. At least someone was happy to be included. Before they entered the tent Peter leaned in and whispered in Draevin’s ear. “You should stand just behind Istven and at his left shoulder.”

          “Why do you know all these rules?” Draevin asked.

          Peter just shook his head. “I read. You should try it some time.”

          Inside the tent Draevin was shocked by how large the space was. He’d almost thought there would have been a second story, but instead it seemed they’d given the space massive vaulted ceilings. There were streamers of silk streaked with gold spilling down from the ceiling, flapping gently and creating a dazzling display. There was a path from the front of the tent to a large throne, but the rest of the space was occupied with voluminous silk cushions. There were scantily clad female orcs splayed out in the space, lounging upon the cushions. They were no less muscular than the males. Draevin could only tell they were females from the smaller tusks and mound of their breasts underneath their clothes. The females whispered among each other and pointed at the new guests, giggling. The procession reminded Draevin far too much of trying to find a spot to eat his lunch back in school.

          Sitting upon a throne which seemed to be constructed entirely from bones, was undoubtedly the chief. He had the largest pair of tusks Draevin had ever seen on an orc. They dominated his mouth, curling up nearly to his forehead. Draevin wondered if they naturally got like that or if being chief afforded him the ability to magically grow them longer somehow. The chief was wearing a loose-fitting silk tunic that showed off his bulging muscles and… another bulge between his legs. Draevin caught a potent scent on the air the burning incense couldn’t cover. He blushed and looked away from the chief only to lock eyes with a giggling female orc. He looked directly at the ground instead. “I think I can guess what this guy does in his free time,” Draevin commented to Peter.

          “Indeed,” Peter said. “I guess it is true what they said about an orc with big… tusks.”

          “Don’t finish that statement,” Draevin warned him.

          Peter laughed. “It’s not entirely irrelevant. In their culture the females have a sort of veto power when it comes to picking a chief. This sort of chief is really common. Especially in times of war, when they need to replenish their population. Just don’t underestimate him. He wouldn’t have united all the tribes if he wasn’t also handy in a fight.”

          “We are not planning to fight,” Istven said firmly, “we are planning to negotiate.”

          Just before they stepped up to the base of the chief’s throne Peter hurriedly whispered, “Don’t bow,” he warned Istven. “We’re supposed to be equals. It would send the wrong message.”

          “I never bow,” Istven answered simply.

          When they reached the throne Istven said, “Chief Bo’zrok. I have come to bargain. We have a Sho’to from your tribe.” He gestured towards Peter’s orc slave, Moz’shak. The orc had his head bowed and was staring intently at the ground between his toes.

          The orc chief shifted on his throne, leaning forward to examine the Sho’to in question. Draevin was more than a little relieved to find that he didn’t have to divert his eyes once the chief’s posture shifted to better… cover him. “Ah,” the chief said. “Youngh Mosh.” His words were horribly garbled from having to speak around his massive tusks. Draevin thought he might have said “Young Moz.”

          “Wha you wanh foh hish releesh?” the chief asked.

          “A mystic’s staff,” Istven said matter-of-factly. Draevin was expecting the negotiations to be a little more subtle than that. He probably should have known better.

          The orc chief’s brows drew together and he shot out of his throne. He pointed accusatorily at Istven with a finger as thick as three of Draevin’s own. “How dahre you! Sush a thihng ish noht dohne!”

          “These are unusual times,” Istven answered calmly. “Perhaps it is time to reevaluate old customs.”

          Bo’zrok narrowed his eyes and stared down at Istven for several long moments. Everyone in the tent went quiet while they stared at each other. Draevin almost felt sorry for Bo’zrok. Nobody could beat Istven in a staring contest. The seconds ticked by with Bo’zrok glaring at Istven. The eldrin once-king didn’t so much as twitch. He met the orc’s yellow eyes with his glowing ones. The stare-down just made Bo’zrok angrier and angrier and he began growling like some kind of animal. Istven didn’t react. Finally—with great reluctance—Bo’zrok looked away first.

          “Bah!” he bellowed. “You not know our waesh.”

          Peter leaned forward and Draevin heard him whisper in Istven’s ear, “Ask him to consult his ancestors. He can seek their approval without bringing shame on his tribe.”

          “Ask your ancestors,” Istven said. “If they will not allow us a mystic staff, we can negotiate for something else.”

          Bo’zrok just grunted and nodded his head. He sat back down on his throne and slammed a hand down on one of its arms. “Gro!” he shouted. “Come, Gro!”

          Draevin heard a tapping sound. Soon a section of fabric behind the chieftain’s throne parted. A wizened old orc with a long grey beard entered the tent, leaning on a wooden staff. Draevin recognized him instantly. “Ah,” Gro’shak said, “Draevin, Istven and even Peter. You’re finally here. The ancestors told me you would come.”

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