Chapter 6
Grow Up, Gularzob II
They followed the tracks in the snow and Yamarz glanced back in the direction of the cave where they had left the runts. He didn't want to admit it, but he was a little bit afraid for them. But only a little. They were Orcs - though Grulmar didn't act like one yet - so he thought that they would be alright for a few moments without supervision.
“What it is, Yamarz?” asked Ghorurz, interrupting his train of thought.
“Was it wise to leave them there? What if the bear returns?” he said, trying to mask his emotions, but the question probably gave him away anyway.
“Osha will take care of them, chieftain. You shouldn't worry about them.”
Yes, I shouldn't. But I still do. Grulmar is still so young. And yet, still so immature. Gularzob grew up quickly, but not every Orc was like that. Yamarz would give anything to be able to remember his youth, but he just couldn't. It was all too blurry.
Maybe it was because it wasn't in the Orcs' nature. To look back, to think about things long gone. The only thing that really mattered was the present moment. He shook his head. “You're right, Ghorurz. There's no point in worrying.”
With these words he went ahead, with eyes focused on the tracks of the bear, clearly visible in the snow. The trail was heading west from the cave, maybe a little bit more to the Jerall Mountains. Yamarz looked back again, but this time he was looking into the distance, seeing smoke coming from a mill near a bridge across the Treva River.
Like it or not, Largashbur was quite close to...civilization. Nordic settlements were along both the southern and northern banks of the Treva River and along the Lake Honrich was where the city of Riften was situated. From time to time, some humans tried to force the Orcs into trading with them, offering smooth cloth, beverages and other things Orcs considered to be luxuries. And everytime, the Orcs sent them away. Sometimes peacefully, sometimes not. They had no taste for luxuries.
Yamarz recalled only one event when his father had hacked some merchant into pieces for insulting him. Just that merchant, not his guard. He sent the guard away and that brought a retaliation from Riften. And they were sent back in pieces too. More or less.
He noticed that Ghorurz was looking back at the way they came from with a worried look on her face. She was grinding her teeth and sometimes she bit her lower lip between the tusks.
“Didn’t you say I should not worry?” he said and patted her on her shoulder. “Come, we have a bear to find.”
She looked at him and her mouth widened in something that could have been a smile. It was hard to distinguish the mouth expressions of other Orcs, even if you were Orc. Tusks protruding from the mouth made everything somewhat difficult.
“Seems like you've infected me with your own worries, chieftain,” she grumbled. “Tell me one thing. How is it possible that Gularzob and Grulmar are so different? I mean, Gularzob is a fine example of a true Orc, but Grulmar…”
Yamarz frowned. This was a rather sensitive topic lately, all his wives were never talking about anything else these days. Especially Ragrarz and Lashzug - hearth-wife and hunt-wife. Both were pregnant right now so it didn't really surprise him that they were like that. Females stuff. But the fact that even Ghorurz talked about it was...unpleasant.
He didn't answer and Ghorurz continued: “I heard that if a mother dies while giving birth, it can damage a child's mind. And there is something wrong with Grulmar. He acts like a child all the time, he should be wiser by now. Gularzob was, when he was his age. What if Grulmar becomes another Outcast-”
Yamarz turned around all of a sudden and grabbed her by the throat. It was so quick and unexpected she didn't even have time to react. He looked closely into her surprised eyes and growled: “Don't speak about that bastard! I don’t want to hear anything about him. He brought only shame on our tribe.” He let her go, but his eyes didn't stop hurling daggers. “And there is nothing wrong with Grulmar. He actually seems much smarter than any Orc, for his age. Yes, he acts like a child, but that's because he still is one. That will change.” He turned around to continue on their path but glanced back, over his shoulder. “I don't want to hear any of this ever again. Be sure to say it to my other wives too.”
Damn females!
Yes, Grulmar was different but that was partially his and Garakh's fault. They had spoiled him, because he seemed so fragile. And maybe they had made him fragile. All because his mother had died. Yamarz was trying to be hard on him, but it didn't work everytime. Grulmar isn't weak. He is just...weaker than other Orcs of his age. Yes, that's it.
They arrived at a place where there should have been a road. It was probably still there, buried under the snow, but the snow around them had been trodden down. The wind hadn’t fully covered it with a second blanket of snow yet, and it wouldn't be surprising if there was frozen blood around. And the bear's tracks lead here.
Yamarz moved around the trodden snow. He didn't see anymore bear tracks, only boot tracks. “Five men, probably,” he said aloud. “Three humans, two elves. Or two females, hard to say. They killed the bear. There,” he pointed to a place where there was a lot of blood in the snow. “Not very long since they killed it. A day, tops. They didn't skin him here. They...dragged him away from here.”
He looked at Ghorurz who had a strange look on her face. Surprise and...fear, maybe? “I didn't know you were so good tracker,” she said.
“My mother was a hunt-wife.” That was all he said; he wasn't in the mood to explain things. He was pondering on whether they should follow the tracks or not. Someone had already killed that bear, that was clear, but why did they drag him away? Wouldn't it be easy to just take what they had needed right there? He looked at Ghorurz. “Let's follow those tracks. I'm curious.”
“Why? The bear is dead. We should return to the cave.”
Yamarz frowned at her and without a single word he pressed forward. The tracks seemed to continue west, up to a rock formation, which was south of the stone fortress on the northern bank of the Treva River.
He didn't look back, but he heard Ghorurz follow him. Why are you so reluctant, female?
Tracks lead between the rocks, up the hill and Yamarz noticed that someone had walked this way just recently. From the camp, to the east. He looked in the direction of the cave where they had left the runts and frowned. He continued climbing the hill and when he arrived at the top, there was a small camp.
One large fur tent - the kind where four people could sleep - and three small ones built around a campfire. The bear's carcass was right next to the bigger tent, skinned and cut into pieces. They didn't even bother to bury the innards. These men are no hunters.
And it was empty. Whoever was here had left very recently. He knelt beside the campfire put his hand over the coals. “Still warm. At this temperature...less than hour since they left this camp.” He rose and looked at Ghorurz. “Let's follow them.”
“Why?” she raised her eyebrows.
Yamarz didn’t feel like bothering with an answer, but he did. “These are no hunters. Bandits, more likely, and I'm not comfortable with bandits so close to Largshabur.” Then he shrugged. “Plus, I want to spill some blood.”
He heard her sigh, but he didn't care.
They followed those tracks for another half an hour. They led north in the first place, but then turned east, then south east. With each step, Yamarz was getting more worried. Those footprints led directly to the cave.
His pace quickened, but the snow didn’t make it easier for him. It was almost knee deep and trying to run through snow that deep in full heavy armor isn't an easy thing. But he was an Orsimer, a race known for its endurance and strength. He didn't slow down, his breath didn't even change. Just the repeating cycle of a deep inhalation, holding that breath, and a swift exhalation. Over and over again. He only heard his heart pounding faster.
He knew those bandits had headed for that cave. He was sure. The only thing that mattered now was to get there as soon as possible. He was certain of one thing. Whatever had happened in that cave, it was already over. Either Osha had protected his sons or...they were all dead by now. But he didn't think about that. He saw only blood in front of his eyes and that made him move forward without slowing down.
Finally he saw the entrance and ran inside with only few glances. He saw blood and tracks leading to the east, but that didn't matter now. He needed to see.
He heard Ghorurz behind him when he entered the cave and finally stopped in the bear's lair. He saw only one body and frowned. It was a Nord male, with a stab in throat. From a spear. Osha fought back. But no sign of the runts.
“They're not here,” proclaimed Ghorurz, with surprise in her voice. And Yamarz was surprised too. Did the runts run away? There wasn't any other explanation.
“They're not dead,” he said. “Either they ran away or...” his eyes widened with understanding and anger, “they were taken alive.” He looked at his shield-wife who held the hunting spear loosely in her hand, her eyes were frantically searching the cave.
“Who would...abduct Orc children?” she whispered, shaken. If there wasn't rage building up in Yamarz, he might have noticed it. But he didn't, for anger was slowly taking him over.
“I don't care. But I will get them back,” he proclaimed. “They already have a headstart, but the tracks are clear. The blood will lead us to them!” He rushed to the entrance, but Ghorurz stopped him.
“Shouldn't we go to Largashbur for more warriors? We-”
“I will get them back,” he said angrily. “It's my fault, so I'm bound by honor to set this right, one way or another. You can go back to Largashbur if you want. I don't care!” With these words he ran outside and kneeled beside the tracks and drops of blood. He took the bloody snow into his hand and sniffed. Human blood. The smell would help him track them.
He raised his head to the skies and closed his eyes. “Malacath, give me the strength to bring my children back. Let me become your instrument of rage and wrath, to reclaim my honor. Blood and bones,” he growled and opened his eyes. “Blood and bones!” he yelled at the sky. Malacath didn't answer, but he didn't expect him to do so. His blood was now boiling, so the prayer had served its purpose.
Orcs' prayers weren't meant to bring calm to those who said them. They were meant to build up the rage, to aim it at a single purpose and to hold it until the right moment came to release it. They were meant to bring an Orc's mind into a berserker state.
No calm. Because that wasn't an Orc's way.
Gularzob woke up and opened his eyes only to see...nothing. For some reason he couldn't move his hands or legs, so he couldn't find out the reason for his blindness, but he felt something on his eyes. Like a cloth or something. He was jumping up and down and it took him a few seconds until he realized the reason for all this.
He was blindfolded, his arms were around someone's neck and tied together, his legs around someone's waist and tied too. Someone was carrying him.
He felt a numb pain in his temple and remembered the fist that had hit him. The cave, those men. His first true fight. Grulmar and Osha! he remembered. “Grulmar!” he yelled.
“Hey!” yelled the man who was carrying him. “Shut up, green piggy. Or I'll gut you!”
“Can someone remind me why we have to bother with them? Why can’t we just kill them?” asked another man somewhere to Gularzob's right. “That she-devil killed Ilof, for fuck's sake. And I'm bleeding.”
“Shut your mouth, Broli!” snapped another man at the speaker, this one with a really deep and growly voice. “If that hurts that much I could just kill you to relief you of that pain.”
“Yeah, shut your mouth, Broccoli,” repeated fourth man and tried to intonate that deep voice of his...colleague. “But anyways, we're getting paid for this. He said he wants them alive.”
“I don't care what that Orc says. He said there will be only these two brats, no word about that little whore of Malacath!” complained Broli, with anger in his voice.
He? Orc? Gularzob was wondering who they are talking about. He was quiet for the whole conversation and he took pride in that. Now he knew something. They were lead by some Orc. Maybe some Orc bandit wanting revenge on his tribe? He couldn't say.
“Shut up. Didn't you see him on the wall? Now hope he hasn't heard you. That fucker scares the shit out of me,” said the man with the deep voice.
“You should be scared of my chieftain, weak huma-” started Gularzob, but someone slapped him on the back of his head.
“Shut up, brat.”
“I see you're having a good time with your passengers,” thundered a new voice. And it really thundered, a mighty voice with the accent of an Orc. “I see three, not two,” said the Orc and Gularzob noticed surprise in his voice.
“Yeah, and that whore killed Ilof. When will we get our payment?”
“Oh, don't worry, Broli. My brother will pay you - maybe even some extra for bringing her. And I imagine he will be here soon,” chuckled the Orc. “Isn't that right, Osha?”
Comments
Now I feel obliged to read your Graveknight´s Oath. On Malacath´s blood, you have my word I´ll get to it soon