Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 11 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten 

Chapter Eleven – By Fangs and Wits

Duril stood close to the large fire Sog had made, unwilling to stray too far from the fascinating process happening under his very eyes. Orange flickers rose and died in the air above their heads while Sog kept feeding the flames and humming to himself. His long arms were streaked by thick veins that bulged under his skin as he worked fast. The rock he had chosen for Duril had been placed into a large metal bowl, and Sog pushed it around with a long stick.

“We must have it hot,” the orc said. “So hot that it will turn into blood fire.”

Duril said nothing. How would that turn into a blade? The thought filled him with unexpected happiness. A curved blade of his own. Now he understood why Sog had been so happy at the prospect of getting one, and why it was part of who all orcs were. His hand itched to grab the hilt again, to feel it in his hand, and only hours of assiduous work separated him from it.

“How can I help you?” he blurted out.

“Sog works alone. Sog works his magic,” was the reply.

“I can’t just sit around and do nothing. There must be something I can do,” Duril retorted.

Sog pursed his lips then smacked them. “Tell Sog a story.”

“A story? What about?”

“One of your own.”

Duril first smiled but quickly frowned. Who had he been until today? His mind muddled through memories slippery like fish, and he couldn’t hold onto one if it were all that mattered. He had a remembrance of being a healer, but when had that happened? And where? “I was born today an orc,” he said.

Sog nodded in agreement. “Tell Sog the story of the fight.”

“The fight from today? But you were there.”

“I couldn’t see much. I’m not a big orc,” Sog said mournfully.

“All right, then let me tell you how it all went down,” Duril began.

At times, Sog interrupted him with questions about this and that, expressing his delight each time one of their enemies was defeated and shouting angrily each time one of them landed a hit. Duril felt his chest swelling with pride as he retold the events through his eyes, reliving everything like it was the only memory that mattered.

***

“We must be on our way,” Claw said as he shook them gently from their nap.

Varg groaned and rubbed the last grains of sleep out of his eyes. Toru continued to pretend to be asleep, so he had to pinch his lovely butt to make him stir. “To think that you didn’t even want to sleep at first, kitty,” he teased him.

Toru stretched and yawned. “What is that?” he pointed at the sky, as he was now on his back.

Varg raised his eyes and noticed the streaks of silver crossing the night canvas. “Shooting stars.”

For centuries, wiser minds than his had struggled to find meaning and significance in the rare event. Some said that you could wish for anything, a long life, riches, the return of a loved one. It seemed appropriate, given their circumstances. But, at the same time, Varg also recalled others, just as wise and long-lived, saying that shooting stars could be a sign of the heavens weeping when a new wound was split open by evil’s work. He kept his silence, not wanting to give Toru’s troubled mind more reasons to worry. It was a blessing that he had found a bit of rest in the midst of all that upheaval.

“Where is Demophios?” Claw asked.

By the look in the bearshifter’s eyes, he could tell that he wasn’t the only one who knew of what the meaning of the shooting stars could be.

“I put him in the bag because he was really annoying,” Toru said promptly.

“We need his guidance, so let’s get him out of there,” Claw suggested with a small smile.

Toru pouted for a moment but obeyed quickly. Varg couldn’t help but notice that Toru was much more inclined to listen to Claw than to him, but he wasn’t the kind to hold grudges. The tiger was still so young, and it was a truth he was painfully aware of. He would have to grow up fast, but, at the same time, Varg realized that he loved how Toru and his carefree laughter appeared to remain the same even at the heart of chaos.

All the more he didn’t want to see that handsome face marred by sadness at the thought of their companion being now with other people, even if those were his kin. He stood and patted down his clothes to brush away the blades of grass stuck to them. “Let’s not waste another moment. Duril must be wondering by now where we are and how come we haven’t reached him already.”

That put a smile on Toru’s face right away. “He must be,” he said and nodded. “Demophios, come on, what does your nose tell you? Where’s the horde?” He held the pendant between his fingers, eyeing it closely.

“I don’t have a nose. And let’s continue to travel north,” Demophios said promptly. “We are not very far now.”

“Do you see the sky?” Toru held the pendant up. “All these stars falling?”

“You don’t have to show it to me. I see it with the eyes of my mind,” Demophios replied.

“What are they all about?” Toru asked.

“The skies are weeping,” Demophios said, much to Varg’s dread.

So it would be a prophecy and forewarning for something bad, after all.

“What for?” Toru insisted, oblivious to how his companions had stiffened by his side.

Claw was thinking of the same thing, for sure, Varg thought.

“Destruction,” Demophios offered his reply.

“Did it happen yet? Or will it come?” Toru asked.

“It has already started,” Demophios said.

Toru groaned. “Do I really need to pull every word out of your mouth?”

Demophios chuckled. “Tigers and their curiosity. You’ll patch the sky one day, Toru.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll know it after the deed is done.”

Even Toru had to see that the wise snake was in no mood to share any more than that, so he gave up. Varg was still in awe over how the tigershifter had brought Demophios to heel, and it was all because of his unbridled nature and honesty. In his love for Duril, he would spare nothing. But Toru also loved him, and the surety of it all made Varg’s heart swell in his chest with old and new feelings alike. There was enough love in the tiger for everyone, no matter what he said, and it was because of that he had been chosen to save the world.

***

After their refreshing nap, they were all walking with a bit more determination. Toru was happy beyond what his words could tell, with each step they took. Of course, he kept pestering Demophios with questions over how long they had until they reached the horde. His companions, however, were quiet. He stayed back and waited for Varg.

“Are you worried, mutt?”

He tried to make light of his words, but it was true that the chances were that they would go against an army like no other. The horde, Demophios explained, was made from different clans, each one with leaders and their caste of warriors, which meant that it had to be like nothing Toru had ever seen in his life.

“I must admit that I am. We’ll reach the horde soon. And that means that we will have to negotiate our way through to get to Duril.”

“Do orcs trade?” Toru asked.

Claw intervened. “The correct question would be if we have something worth trading. All nations trade, one way or another.”

“What do orcs like?” Toru was all eyes and ears.

“They prefer steel and flesh.” That was Demophios who only rose from his silence whenever he deemed appropriate. Toru had put him back in his place, pinned to his shirt, so the snake could be privy to all of their talks.

“We don’t have either to spare,” Claw pointed out. “Do you have any advice for us, Demophios?”

“Only to be honest. And just so you know, orcs do not easily go against shapeshifters. They’re part of bigger nations in their eyes, so they won’t stir a pot they don’t intend to feast from.”

“Ah, so they’re just afraid that Varg would come after them with a large pack? Are they scared of mutts?” Toru laughed.

“Do not provoke them,” Demophios warned. “Their pride as warriors tramples all. Do not expect them to give Duril back willingly.”

“Are they keeping him prisoner?” Toru asked worriedly.

“No. He went to meet them of his own accord, don’t you forget, young tiger.”

Duril would surely want to come back. Maybe they could stick with his big family of orcs for a few days if he so wanted, and Toru would allow it, but only after having Duril swear that he would never do something like that again, leaving him alone.

He stole a glance at Varg. It was true that he wasn’t alone, but Duril was still a big part of his heart, and hadn’t Varg said something about how no one could live with a heart that wasn’t whole? And there was also Claw, with his impressive presence and wise words, who appeared to care for him just as much.

No, he wasn’t alone, but it still felt like a part of his heart was missing ever since Duril had woken up in the middle of the night and decided to join his tribe. Although it was barely night again, the events from the last day felt like they had taken a lot longer. He could feel the tiny scars they had left in their wake, the fear when Demophios had separated him from Varg and Claw, the longing he felt for Duril.

He wouldn’t dwell on such things when the road lay in front of him. Secretly, he was proud for defeating Demophios, although the giant snake, without a doubt, would have told it otherwise. His pride had nothing to do with his battle prowess, this time, hence its different source.

Varg and Claw were now here because of him. Before, he had dealt in quests and whatnot, offering his services when it suited him, or the need for a temporary shelter and a warm meal in his belly was too great. A new purpose blossomed in his life, and it had to do with those he held dear, something he would have never said before.

***

Demophios had offered them keen advice on how to talk to the orcs once they reached the horde. Varg still grasped the hilt of his sword, his unease only growing greater as they approached their destination. The wind had changed, something in how it smelled bringing back to them new scents. Claw sniffed the air and offered him an understanding smile when they exchanged a glance. There was reassurance there, and Varg, albeit not admitting it for the world, was grateful for it. They had each other’s backs, and they wouldn’t walk into danger by themselves.

The caldera opening at their feet took his breath away for a moment. The clamor of metal on metal, the sounds late in the night, a sign that orcs needed a lot less sleep than other species, announced that they were finally on the last leg of their journey.

“They are so many,” Toru expressed his wonder. “How will we find Duril among them?”

Demophios offered his reply, regardless of whether the question had been addressed to him or not. “A half-orc like him, we’re sure to find just by asking. His arrival didn’t go unnoticed.”

“So, are they going to take us to him right away?” Toru asked, without hiding his excitement.

Varg wished he could share the same sentiment, but he knew better than that. “Kitty, keep your eyes peeled, and your claws and fangs at the ready. This lot is not to be trusted, and don’t forget about how bloodthirsty they are.”

“Demophios said they wouldn’t touch a hair on your mutt back,” Toru replied.

“As much as I’d like that to be the truth, I know very well that it’s not.”

“Be cautious,” Claw added. “This bunch is not known for their kind feelings. It would be better if we didn’t drop our guard.”

With that unanimous decision, Varg stepped in front and began the descent toward the horde camp. Fires bloomed everywhere, which meant that many orcs had to be hard at work, polishing their weapons, crafting new blades, and preparing for a new day of their chaotic ways.

***

Duril couldn’t believe it. Sog called it magic, and rightfully so. First of all, he would have thought that a blade like that should have taken ages to make, but there it was. Sog dropped it in a bucket of water, making the air hiss, and the water rise as mist, and then pulled it out and held it high above his head.

For a few moments, Duril didn’t know what the orc was doing, until he saw the light of the moon reflecting on the edge. It was a sight of wonder, indeed, and he felt giddy at the thought that the blade would belong to him. It was just as much as he could do not to reach greedily for it and try it out for size by swishing it around. He did have just the one hand, but it had proven battle worthy only earlier that day, and there was nothing else that mattered now.

“You’ll cut stars with it, Not-orc,” Sog said while handing him the blade.

Duril felt the hilt and his fingers wrapped tightly around it. “This is a wonderful blade, Sog. Thank you. It feels like it was made for me and me only.”

Sog puffed out his chest in a gesture that signaled that he was proud of his hard work, as he should be. “I knew that rock was for your blade. She held it in her heart,” he added.

Duril moved the blade around, fascinated with its movement. “If you’re such a great blacksmith, why don’t you make a blade of your own?”

Sog’s shoulders dropped, and his eyes darted sideways, afraid and cautious. “Chum don’t deserve blades. They’re for the warriors. You’re a warrior now, Not-orc.”

That he was. He couldn’t remember feeling this elated ever before, not that he remembered much of a life that seemed to have happened so far away into the past. Only that now, the silver-like reflections of old memories fading no longer bothered him.

He was born an orc, and an orc warrior for that matter.

***

Toru kept near Varg and Claw who were flanking him like they knew that he needed their protection. If asked, he wouldn’t have admitted it as the truth, but the sight of the horde camp, now within their view, was part frightening, part exciting. So many warriors in just one place. Who was the strongest? Whose blade was the quickest? He wanted to challenge them all and prove his worth to Duril who must have thought this tribe more worthy than him.

Demophios had warned him, however, about stirring up trouble, which meant that he needed to be on his best behavior. Not an easy thing to achieve, not with his need to see Duril again only growing stronger the closer they were to the camp.

“Halt,” a voice called from the dark, and a group of four orc warriors hurried toward them, their weapons drawn.

Toru felt his tiger stirring, wanting nothing but to bare his fangs and show these orcs a thing or two about who was the bravest. Varg’s hand on his shoulder made him ease back a bit.

“We are here in search of our friend,” Varg spoke for the entire group.

The orcs barked laughter, and they approached, showing no sign of wanting to sheath their blades. “A friend? Among the orcs? You bunch smell like shapeshifters to me,” one said.

“And not the kind we’d like to eat,” another chimed in.

Toru ignored Varg’s silent warning and stepped up. “His name is Duril, and he’s kind and gentle. He’s half-orc.”

“An orc, kind and gentle?” The orc guards broke into laughter. “Go back where you came from, shapeshifters. There’s no such thing here.”

“He’s not an orc like you,” Toru insisted. “He has brown hair here,” he gestured to the top of his head, “and big kind eyes. And he’s only half orc. His tusks are smaller than yours.” He continued to gesture with his arms, trying to explain to those orcs what Duril looked like.

Three of the orcs laughed, but one examined Toru with keen eyes. He slapped his companions upside the head so fast that their laughter stopped abruptly. He appeared to be their leader since the others growled at the disciplinary action, but fell in line behind him.

The leader of the guards crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re here to see Not-orc.”

“His name is Duril,” Toru insisted.

“Then you’re not here for Not-orc,” the orc said, proving that he wasn’t particularly bright.

Varg moved forward, too. “What does Not-orc look like?”

“His skin is light, and he has hair. But his name is not Duril.”

Toru wanted to protest again.

“Can we see Not-orc?” Varg said before he had a chance to get another word in.

At that, the orc barked laughter, and his companions followed. “Not-orc belongs to the Grand Chief. He proved his taste for battle and victory today by his side.”

“That doesn’t sound at all like Duril,” Toru said. “Maybe he’s not here and just went another way.”

Varg didn’t want to argue with the tiger in front of the orcs. Claw came to the rescue. “Our friend is brave, indeed. We’re not surprised that he earned himself a place by the Grand Chief’s side. We must see him.”

The leader gave them a long thoughtful look. “Zukh Kalegh never opens for those who aren’t orcs.”

“And yet,” Claw argued but all the while keeping his voice smooth like butter, “you accepted Not-orc as one of your own.”

“He’ll never be one of our own,” the leader said, setting his chin high.

“Do you disagree with your supreme leader?” Claw asked calmly.

That was enough to make the orcs exchange looks between them.

The leader had a nasty grin on his face. “Who’s going to tell him if we do?”

Toru knew by instinct alone to shift that very moment, at the same time with Claw and Varg. One of the sharp curved blades aimed at his throat cut through nothing but air, that fast he had turned into his tiger.

He growled and jumped at the leader’s throat, sinking his fangs into the tough skin with a vengeance. The taste of fresh blood did nothing to appease his anger. How did they dare to speak of Duril belonging to someone else? If the healer belonged to someone, it was him and Varg, not some faceless orc, be him Grand Chief or not.

He dropped the lifeless body on the ground and turned in time to see Varg and Claw doing the same to two other orcs. That left one who hadn’t been attacked yet, and Toru lunged after him as he tried to run.

“Don’t let him escape,” Claw warned. “He’ll raise the entire horde against us!”

That had been his thought exactly, and within a few bounds he was jumping on the runner’s back, bringing him down and executing him as ruthlessly as he had done with the orc before.

Claw and Varg had to drag him back from the corpse. “Toru, we don’t have time to waste,” Claw warned. “If these guards need to report to others, which is most likely, the ones that are in charge of getting a signal from them will sound the alarm.”

These guards must have been in charge of protecting the perimeter, as they were still at a fair distance from what looked like the edge of the camp. Toru took in his surroundings with wild eyes; if need be, he’d leave a trail of bodies behind him until he reached Duril.

***

Varg wasn’t happy about the bloody resolution they had to exact on those orc guards, but they were a nation that only knew one language, the one of violence. Claw was right. They needed to move fast now, reach the heart of the camp, as it was there that Duril had to be at the moment if what those guards said was true.

“Now would have been the right time for getting a disguise,” Claw said, and Varg couldn’t say that he didn’t agree more.

“Indeed,” Demophios suddenly said, albeit keeping quiet throughout their conflict with the orc guards.

“Well, do you think you could help us with that?” the bearshifter pressed, when the wise snake said nothing.

“Yes.”

Varg was as surprised as Toru. “You can? Then what are you waiting for? And why did you let us fight these guards if you already knew you could make us pass as orcs?”

Toru grumbled in agreement at every one of his words.

“Pass as what orcs? Only now you can. Take their armor and dress up,” Demophios said.

Varg tipped his head in apology. “Forgive us for being quick at getting angry,” he offered. “You are indeed wise.”

Unlike him, Toru scoffed. “Demophios is just like the old witch Agatha. He waits us to ask him questions, and even then, we have to ask the right ones.”

“Would you like to win by fangs alone?” Demophios asked. “And I’m not allowed to put any thoughts in your head, only so that later you could consider them yours. I would taint your minds, willingly or not.”

“What’s wrong with winning by fangs alone?” Toru bristled.

Demophios laughed. Varg and Claw were quick to strip the armor from the dead orcs and put it on. “I thought you took great pride in having wits, too.”

Toru huffed but added nothing. Varg handed him the leather strips and metal plates and helped him into them.

“Are you sure the others will think we’re orcs?” Toru asked, letting his suspicions show.

“For as long as needed, but you will have to be fast. Now think up a lie to tell the others who will ask why you left your guarding duty,” Demophios suggested.

Varg nodded. The great snake’s plan was excellent. But, indeed, they needed to get through the entire horde by wits, as well, since not even they could take on an entire angry horde of orcs armed to the teeth.

***

Toru knew Demophios was right, so he kept his mouth shut and his head down, as Varg explained to another group of orcs guarding the perimeter that they needed to deliver important news to the Grand Chief, news related to shooting stars that had just crossed the sky. When pressed for more details, the wolfshifter cleverly avoided answering on the basis that only the ears of the supreme leader were entitled to hear them.

The horde was like nothing he had ever seen before. One who looked closely could easily see their hierarchies, their division between clans, the occasional bouts of violence even between those belonging to the same group. Toru eyed everything with unease. Some orcs appeared to be at the bottom of the food chain, as they carried considerably less armor and weapons, and they were pushed around by the others. Was Duril now a slave like them? He didn’t want to think of anyone treating the healer in that manner.

But the guards they had killed spoke of something unfathomable, of a Duril called Not-orc who had fought some important battle only today. Unless a wizard like no other had the power to rearrange time and while he, Claw, and Varg had walked here only for an entire night and day, Duril must have been here for a long time during which he had been forced to become a fighter and a warrior.

Otherwise, that didn’t sound like Duril at all, so Toru felt within his rights to wonder whether they weren’t here on a wild goose chase, wasting time when they should search for Duril in other places. Yet, Demophios was adamant about the healer having walked here on his own accord, to be part of this tribe of bloodthirsty creatures.

***

Duril couldn’t get enough of his blade. Although night had fallen for a while now, he kept on slashing the air with his new sword, experimenting with different moves, while Winglog offered him curt, but well-intended advice from the sidelines. Sog was there, too, blabbering continuously about how he found the perfect rock for the perfect blade.

Yarag stood at the entrance of the tent, arms crossed over his chest, and although he was silent, Duril could tell that there was something in the Grand Chief’s attitude that told him that he agreed with him. That alone was enough to make his chest swell with pride again.

Winglog suddenly stood to his feet and sniffed the air. He growled under his breath lowly and menacingly. “Someone’s coming,” he said.

Yarag remained impassive. “Go see,” he said shortly.

Sog was an orc of many more words. “Who’s coming? Orcs or foes? If they’re foes, are they good to eat?”

Winglog slapped Sog lazily upside the head as he walked away. Unlike before, Duril didn’t think that was a manifestation of violence; he had seen worse and done worse, too, and, in a way, he noticed that such things were part of the bond the orc warrior and Sog shared. Sog never minded being put in his place, neither did he stand there for too long.

Duril wasn’t curious at all about who was coming. He needed to perfect his blade technique, and that was the only thing on his mind right now.

***

Toru was all eyes and ears as they approached the Grand Chief’s tent. Demophios had guided him through quiet whispers so that they didn’t appear unknowledgeable of the workings of the horde camp. Without meandering for long, they finally reached the core of the horde, where a proud tall tent stood. He wondered why anyone would need a tent this big, but maybe there were many orcs who lived there, under the same roof. Or the Grand Chief needed a lot of space because he was fat and ugly.

A giant orc warrior, bigger than the others he had seen along the way, stopped them before they could move farther. Toru wanted to jump up and down and look over his shoulders, as a sort of high enclosure surrounded the tent, unlike other places he had seen so far around the camp.

“What do you want?” the orc warrior asked them directly.

Varg spoke for all of them. “We have news to deliver to the Grand Chief.”

The orc warrior’s nostrils flared. “Weren’t you on guard?”

“We left one behind to stay there until the shift changes. The matter we want to discuss with the Grand Chief suffers no delay,” Varg insisted.

“Why didn’t you leave three behind and only one of you came all this way?” the orc warrior questioned.

Toru scrunched up his nose. He didn’t like this orc warrior; he was too clever, asking questions like that.

“The information we have is too important to be left to just one,” Varg explained. “It is about the shooting stars tonight and the ill omen they bring with them.”

The orc warrior moved his nostrils and appeared to be sniffing them. That Toru didn’t like either. It was as if the orc was trying to sniff them out as imposters. They were so close and couldn’t let that happen.

Finally, the orc warrior moved out of the way to allow them entrance. The mention of the shooting stars seemed enough to convince him that the information was worthy of being heard by the Grand Chief’s ears.

Still, he needed to rein in his impatience. If it were up to him, he would push the orc warrior out of his way and reach inside that enclosure to see if Duril was there, indeed, or if they should have been looking someplace else.

The damned orc was so huge that it was hard to see around him. Varg caught his arm as he had stepped forward a bit too fast. “Easy,” the wolfshifter whispered.

It would be bad to blow their cover right now; he knew that. So he reined in his impulse and stood slightly behind, allowing Varg to walk in front as their leader.

His thoughts were brought to a halt by the sight in front of him. In front of the huge tent stood a creature like no other. It was still an orc, but one as large as three. He stood and towered above them. “What news do you say you bring?”

As per their understanding, Varg began to speak. “The shooting stars, Grand Chief. A desert snake whispered to us that destruction is in its wake. It’ll reach Zukh Kalegh within a matter of days.”

“Destruction? What destruction?” The Grand Chief sniffed the air.

Toru began looking around, and then he saw him. Duril was not far away, his eyes intent on a blade he swished through the air. His feet made him move of their own accord. Yes, it was Duril, but what was he doing with a blade?

And why did he seem so enraptured, not paying any attention to anything around him?

Toru rushed to him before Varg or Claw could stop him. He caught Duril in his arms and hugged him fiercely. Then he released him and stared into those eyes that held only love and kindness in them.

Yet, now, they were filled with nothing but confusion.

“Who are you?” Duril asked him and made his world turn upside down.

TBC

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