The Cursed Tribe - Chapter 7

• Posted by Karver the Lorc November 14, 2015 - Filed in TSC: CB Story - #"Karver"  #"Cursed Tribe"  - 1,666 views

  

  Chapter 7

  Grow Up, Gularzob  III

   

  What a beautiful day.

   

  The sun was shining and everything was covered by snow. There was a man sitting on a wharf, a fishing rod in his hands, his face exposed to warm sun rays. The face was scarred with multiple marks left by fights he had gotten himself into. He had multiple little scars around his eyes - those were from brawls. Another lay vertically across his nose and this one was from a brawl too. It just happened to be the case that, in that fight, the other guy had pulled out a knife. And then there were three scars on his right cheek, left there by a damn sabercat. He was glad he still had his eye.

   

  And his face was covered with strange blue tattoos,  strange runes, which looked like broken glass, and only the man knew what they meant. He opened his eyes, as grey as the sky right before a storm hits; he scratched his chin, under his black beard. His head was shaven - he hated it when his hair grew too long.

   

  He checked the fishing line in the water. He’d had to cut the ice on the lake first and that had been no easy task. A few days ago the ice had been as thick as the man's forearms, which were strong and muscled.

   

  He was a bulky human and his skin was rather pale. Maybe that's why people usually mistook him for a Nord, but the truth was that he was born in Colovia, Cyrodiil. But Cyrodiil's worth shit these days. Skyrim's better when it comes to work.

   

  He was sitting on a wharf opposite the fortress of Faldar's Tooth over Lake Honrich. You've bitten too large a piece this time, you dumbass, he thought. And it had looked so promising at first.

   

  The Jarl of Riften had promised him a reward if he were to clear out that hive of bandits. Five hundred Septims. And then Aringoth - the owner of Goldenglow Estate - had promised him a whole one thousand septims if he brings the leader of those bandits to him, alive.

   

  “Yeah, it looked so promising, right?” he asked himself and then shook his head, cursing himself for being so eager. That's not how you survive in this line of work. So he had struck a Goldpact, and he was now obliged to fulfill it no matter what. But he was definitely taking his time.

   

  He had been fishing on the island on which Goldenglow Estate stood for two days now, watching Faldar's Tooth on the opposite bank, studying its weaknesses and entry points. The problem was, it didn't have any weaknesses. There was only the main gate, and right behind it was a cage with starved wolves.

   

  He suddenly registered four men moving towards the wooden gate of Faldar's Tooth from the west, carrying something on their backs. He narrowed his eyes and frowned. They're carrying Orcs. Very young Orcs. What in Oblivion? They're shifting from animal fights to...Orc fights?

   

  A Bosmer appeared behind the gate and calmed the starved wolves. So that's how they get in. They're using the Bosmer's voodoo mumbo jumbo shit. The gate had opened and he noticed that some Orc was waiting behind the cage, but he didn't get a proper look at him. And then the gate closed.

   

  Why are you not on your way to save those Orcs, you coward? “Because I'm not some fucking hero. I like my life so much that I would prefer to keep it.” Oh come on, you're going to use the Goldpact as your excuse? You'll move your arse only if you'll get paid for it? “Of course not. But am I supposed to charge the fort? Just like that?”

   

  He looked around to see if there weren’t any of Aringoth’s Guards nearby. There weren't and he heaved a heavy sigh. “You should stop talking to yourself, idiot. Of course it's a really dumb idea to charge that fort.”

   

  He noticed that one of the bandits on the wall had caught sight of him. The bandit drew a bow, raised it and looked at the man again, measuring the distance. Then he let the arrow fly. The Imperial raised his head, watching it fly in the sky. The arrow slowly turned in the air and started falling in his direction. And he was still watching it. Oh shit. You're so dead this time.

   

  The arrow struck the wharf just a few inches away from his thigh. The man didn't even flinch; he merely looked at it, then at the bandit in the distance. “You've missed again, you dickhead! My turn!” He extended his arm to grab crossbow lying on the wharf right behind him, loaded the bolt and took a deep breath. I'll get you this time, bastard. He breathed out and shot.

   

  The bolt flew in a much lower arc, and much faster, in comparison to the arrow. It hit the stone a few inches from the bandit and sent a shower of gravel his way. “Shit,” cursed the Imperial and put the crossbow behind him again. The bandit raised his middle finger and disappeared from the crossbowman's sight. “Yeah, likewise, you son of a goat.”

   

  He was starting to enjoy this little game they'd been playing for these two days. But this time the bandit nearly hit him. He might not miss next time.

   

  He pulled the arrow from the wharf and looked at it. Its steel head looked really nasty. Its shape was designed to rip flesh if someone tried to pull it out of the wound. But it wasn't designed to penetrate armor. If that arrow hit him, his steel armor would probably protect him - at least he could tell that to himself.

   

  He pulled on his steel gauntlets and checked his steel armor. It wasn't in the best condition, dented in many places, but at least it wasn't rusty. He took care of that with some oil. I'll have to buy some pauldrons later. He noticed he still had his silver sword on his back. Damn, do I ever take that thing off? No, probably not. It's part of me, I guess. He pulled his fur cloak closer around his shoulders.

   

  His steel sword was lying on the wharf, right next to his crossbow. He had sharpened it earlier, almost as if he was expecting that something would happen today. “Dumb idea to charge that fort,” he whispered, as though he wished to remind himself how stupid a notion that was.

   

  Then he noticed two people running towards the gate. Orcs. One clad in full orichalcum armor, the other in furs, brandishing a hunting spear. “What the-”

   

  That Orc in orichalcum armor charged the gate, hitting it with his shoulder and it seemed as if the whole fort shook from that impact. The Orc roared and started hacking at the gate with his axe.

   

  The Imperial got on his feet and yelled across the lake. “Hey! That's not a good idea!” The other Orc - a she-Orc - looked at him but didn't convey whether she understood him or not. Or maybe they didn't care.

   

  That raging Orc turned the gate into a pile of splinters and those starved wolves now charged towards him. He grabbed one wolf in mid air and threw it a great distance behind. The wolf hit the ice on the lake's surface, broke through it and disappeared into the cold water. The second wolf ended up on the point of the she-Orc's spear and was tossed aside, to the snow. It was yowling, while it slowly died, its intestines spilling out.

   

  Both the Orcs disappeared inside and the man saw activity on the walls. “Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed. He loaded his crossbow and hung it on the right side of his belt while sheathing the steel sword in the scabbard on his left side, then he strapped a bandolier over his shoulder and checked if his daggers were well secured in their scabbards. He searched through his pack, still cursing. He finally managed to find a blue vial. “I hope it's not fake, Bersi. Or I'll shove your canary up your coal mine.”

   

  He drank it and almost vomited - it was that bad. Then he jumped from the wharf onto the ice. It broke under his weight, but he didn't sink. Damn potion of waterwalking works! He ran towards the fort.

  

  Gularzob landed hard on the ground and felt a stab of pain shoot up from his side. His hands - now free of the bindings - found a wooden bowl. Someone touched his face and removed the blindfold.

   

  He blinked several times. He was in some kind of cage, in a room made of stone and lit by torches. It smelled of excrement, blood and wet dogs. The man who had removed his blindfold was the same man who had attacked them in the cave. One of them.

   

  Grulmar was lying right next to him, clearly afraid and uncertain of what would happen to them. Osha was to his left in another cage. Once they had removed her blindfold, she attacked the man, but he struck her down with his fist and then quickly backed away and closed the cage. Gularzob noticed he used some small steel thing to...lock it, maybe? He’d never seen anything like that.

   

  There was some kind of pit in the center of the room, with a cage around it and benches to sit on. An arena?

   

  They closed the doors of his cage too and he noticed an Orc standing in front of them. He was huge, more bulky than Yamarz, with two orichalcum axes at his sides, leaning on a large orichalcum battleaxe. He had a cowl over his eyes, but Gularzob noticed red warpaint on his face, which looked like an open palm.

   

  But the armor… Gularzob had never seen anything like it. Leather armor with steel plates over each shoulder, the ribs and the stomach. Both the leather and steel were as black as night, hardly distinguishable from each other. And his gauntlets...leather with steel plated wristguards and three spikes protruding over the fist knuckles.

   

  “Well, well. I guess you're Yamarz's eldest, eh?” the Orc growled and looked at the bandits in the room. Gularzob counted six, seven including the Orc.

   

  “Traitor!” shouted Osha. “You're casting a shame on our race! Allying yourself with bandits!” she spat.

   

  “Seems like you have fire in you, Osha. Why am I not surprised?” chuckled the Orc. “Oh, you're probably wondering how I know your name. You see, the thing is, I remember you when you were still a runt. I never forgot those eyebrows of yours, the way you used to frown when you were angry. And you were angry a lot when you were just a runt. I see that that hasn't changed.”

   

  Gularzob looked at Osha and noticed her puzzled look. The Orc noticed it too and chuckled again. It was really an unsettling sound, a sinister sound; Gularzob hated it.

   

  “Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Lorbulg gro-Largash. Your older brother. Which means Yamarz's brother.”

   

  Gularzob frowned. He had never heard of this Lorbulg from his father. Or from anyone. Why had he kidnapped them? He looked at Grulmar and he found him looking around the room, like he wasn't even listening. Had he been hit in his weak head? His eyes were scanning the room, the men, the cage. They didn't show fear, but he had to be scared. Because Gularzob was scared.

   

  A man clad in iron armor appeared and looked at Gularzob. “So these are them, Lorbulg? Still don't know why you wanted to bring them here. And you know what? I don't care. Where's our payment?”

   

  “As I said to your men, payment is on the way.”

   

  And then suddenly they heard a scream from the hallway. And Lorbulg chuckled again. “Well, that will be the payment I was talking about.”

   

  Women came running from the hallway, screaming. “Chief! There are Orcs killing-”

   

  Her loud words were ended abruptly when she fell to the ground and Gularzob noticed an orichalcum axe in her back. He looked up and saw Yamarz. So mighty! He was covered in blood, one axe in his left hand and a two-handed orichalcum sword in his right. Ghorurz stood behind him and Gularzob's heart rejoiced. They came for us! Now you will all die, puny humans!

   

  “Oh, hello there, brother,” chuckled Lorbulg again.

   

  And suddenly, things happened too fast. The leader of the bandits shouted: “Kill them all!” and ran away through the door next to Gularzob's cell. Yamarz threw his axe at Lorbulg, but he dodged it, still chuckling. The bandits were confused, not sure who to attack, but most of them charged at Yamarz and Ghorurz. One of them dared to strike Lorbulg, but the outcast moved out of harm's way, much faster than anyone would expect from so large an Orc. His two-handed axe then split that bandit’s skull.

   

  Gularzob only watched as Yamarz blocked an attack from a bandit on his right, cutting off his arm for exchange, while another bandit struck Yamarz's side with his sword. The blade wasn't able to cut through the armor and Yamarz turned, headbutted the man and ran the sword through his chest.

   

  Then his eyes found Lorbulg. He charged him, ignoring the other bandits, leaving them for Ghorurz to deal with. Lorbulg was waiting for him with his battle axe raised. When Yamarz got close enough he swung horizontally with his sword, running at full speed.

   

  Lorbulg bent under that blow, only to meet Yamarz's knee. He staggered back and the chieftain didn't waste any time, as he swung his sword horizontally again, from the left to right. This time, Lorbulg blocked the blow with his axe, and made a step closer to Yamarz, still blocking his sword. Yamarz right hand dropped the sword - the left still holding it - and swung with the back of his fist at Lorbulg's face.

   

  The outcast bent backwards and kicked Yamarz in his groin. The chief bent forward in pain and Lorbulg then struck Yamarz in his head with the blunted end of his battleaxe, from the side. It sent Yamarz rolling down the stairs into the pit.

   

  Lorbulg chuckled. “You’ll have to try harder, brother.” With these words he slowly walked down the stairs. Gularzob's line of sight prevented him from getting a good view of Yamarz, but falling down the stairs in full armor...he had to be unconscious. “Shame. I thought this would be more fun.”

   

  Gularzob yelled: “NO!” but nobody was paying attention to him. He turned around to check Grulmar.

   

  But he wasn't in his cell.

  

  He ran across the water and ice and lifted his head just as that son of a bitch shot an arrow in his direction. It missed him and yelled: “You've missed, once again!”

   

  Then he was at the gate and he ran through it. There was a small courtyard, with two doors leading into the fortress. Part of the wall had collapsed on one of them and the other one had been smashed down by someone very angry. Something hit him in his back and he stumbled forwards. That was an arrow. But it didn't penetrate the armor.

   

  “Hey!” yelled someone from the wall and he looked up to see the bandit he’d been playing his shooting game with. “I hit you!”

   

  He grinned. “Now it’s my turn.” With one fluid movement, he took his crossbow, loaded a bolt and shot. The bandit disappeared into the tower and the bolt only hit stone. “Shit!”

   

  I need to get up there. He looked at the collapsed wall. Yeah, I can make this. He hung his crossbow on his belt again and then ran towards the wall and jumped onto a stone, from which he propelled himself into the air. He managed to grab the ledge and he pulled himself up with some difficulty. Damn, you're heavy with all this armor. When he raised his head he saw a Khajiit and a Nord looking at him, the Nord holding a bow, with an arrow aimed at him.

   

  “Hey, fellas,” he slowly got onto his feet with hands raised. “This is all one big misunderstanding, you know-”

   

  “This one believes that the pasty white nord should make a pincushion of that fool,” said the Khajiit with an axe in his hand and the Nord laughed. His laughter was abruptly stopped, however; it turned into a combination of a gurgle and a rattle, when the Imperial pulled a dagger from his bandolier and threw it, all in one fluid motion. The Khajiit's ears reclined in surprise when he saw his friend on his knees with a dagger in his throat; by the time he had looked up, the Imperial was upon him, brandishing his steel sword.

   

  The Imperial noticed the Khajiit trying to block his blow, so he exerted more force on the Khajiit’s axe, breaking through his parry, but he didn't retract his sword. With his blade still on the axe's shaft, he merely twisted it and ran the blade down, amputating the Khajiit's fingers. Before the cat was able to scream, he stepped to the side and swung his sword. He felt his sword scrape against the Khajiit's spine, after which the body fell to the ground, the throat efficiently slit.

   

  There was a wooden ramp leading up to the tower, where he suspected the chief would be. There was an Orc in a fur kilt running down the ramp, his warhammer raised above his head, a battle cry on his lips. The Imperial made a swift movement with his hand, and a dagger flew towards the Orcs throat. A curse escaped from his mouth when he realized the dagger was flying too low, only to hit the Orc's shoulder. That made the green beast roar in rage but did not even slow him down. “Ah, shit.”

   

  The Orc swung his hammer down from above, aiming at the Imperial's head. The man dodged to the side, stabbing with his sword, but the berserker blocked the blade with his forearm, earning a nasty cut, but he didn’t even seem to register it. The Imperial only saw the pommel of the warhammer and then he saw stars in front of his eyes. He blinked several times and managed to dodge the berserker's horizontal swing. The second swing came much faster then he thought and he tried to block, only to have his sword ripped from his grasp. He stumbled and the Orc repeated his horizontal swing.

   

  The Imperial dropped to the ground, grunting in pain as his armor dug into his body. He tried to roll away from the Orc, only to be stopped by one of the berserker’s feet on his chest. He saw his rage filled eyes and the hammer raised above his head. “Can we talk about this?” he grinned, as he pulled another dagger from his bandolier right under the Orc's foot and sliced his heel with it, cutting the tendons. The berserker fell on him when his leg betrayed him and the Imperial's dagger was waiting for him. He buried the blade in the berserker’s stomach, yet that didn't stop him either.

   

  He punched the Imperial in his face, breaking his nose for the second time and wrapped his hands around the Imperial’s throat. Shit! And now he's going to choke me to death, he thought. “If I can say something against this…” the Imperial said in a hoarse voice. He pulled the dagger from the Orc's shoulder and buried it into his right eye, right into the brain.

   

  The body fell on him with all its weight and he growled with the effort it took to get it off him. He sat and looked around. “No more bastards, eh? Lucky me.”

   

  He noticed the archer appear on the other side of the fort with an arrow aimed at him again. “Unlucky me,” he groaned.

  

  Ghorurz cried in surprise when Yamarz charged at his brother, leaving her with four bandits trying to cut off her head. Malacath's blood! Why didn't you bring your armor? Furs didn't offer much protection. She only had her spear and war axe, not even a bloody shield!

   

  The bandits formed a semicirle around her, quite confident. I'm an Orc! Daughter of the warchief! I will not go down that easily.

   

  The furthest man on the right charged. She stabbed with her spear, but he deflected her blow to the left. But she expected that. Her right hand dropped the shaft and her left hand - on the base of the shaft - pushed the spear forward. It ended up in the chest of bandit to the left, who was completely caught off guard by that move. The spear remained in the man’s chest afterwards.

   

  The man who charged her swung his sword, but she didn't move out of harm's way. She took a step closer, her left hand grabbing his sword arm, her right gripping his throat. She lifted him from the ground and smashed his body to the floor. The man dropped his sword and Ghorurz kneeled just to take it and block an attack from another bandit's mace.

   

  She blocked, but she was on her knees and the mace came down with terrible force. She staggered and the bandit kicked her in the face, knocking her onto her back. She looked up to see the second bandit with a battleaxe above his head.

   

  Then she noticed something behind that bandit. Grulmar! The runt stood behind the bandit with a torch in his small hands. And then he struck the bandit with it right between his legs. There wasn't enough force to actually hurt the bandit, but the fire did its job. The furs caught on fire and the man dropped his battleaxe to extinguish the flames.

   

  The other bandit looked surprised and that gave Ghorurz enough time to lift the battleaxe and swing it, still lying on the floor. She hit his knee and he let out a fierce cry, full of pain. Worse than an arrow to the knee. The bandit fell to the ground and she stood up, dropping the steel battleaxe and pulling out her own orichalcum war axe. She put the man out of his misery and looked at that bandit whose… balls had caught fire. He was lying on the floor, whining and sobbing, with hands on his crotch. Grulmar was standing close to him, the torch in his hand,  a strange look on his face. Is he terrified about what he has just done?

   

  Oh, Scamp's shit, Ghorurz! That runt just saved your life! Malacath has to be laughing right now. After everything, that little Orc saved your life.

  

  Lorbulg was watching Yamarz slowly regain his conciousness. He had smashed him pretty hard, but Yamarz's helmet had to have absorbed most of the blow. He was dazed because of the stairs probably. Who would have thought this would end up so well, eh?

   

  He kicked Yamarz's sword away, which clattered as it hit the wall. He kneeled besides his brother and looked into his eyes, which were slowly opening. Lorbulg put his fist with its spikes under Yamarz's chin and a few drops of blood appeared. “You know, if this doesn't prove that I was right, then I don't know what else I can do. You're weak! The whole tribe, and its traditions, is weak!”

   

  “I'm going to kill you!” growled Yamarz, with hatred in his eyes, but then his pupils dilated. He probably felt the poison from the spikes starting to take effect. By now, he probably couldn't move his limbs.

   

  Lorbulg chuckled again. He knew that it was an unsettling sound, but he just couldn't help himself. He liked how it made people twitch. “Maybe next time, brother. Just remember this moment well, because I have bested you. And next time,” he brought his face closer to Yamarz's, “I will kill you.” He hit Yamarz’s face with his elbow and stood up. He saw the Orc female finish off the last of the bandits and noticed that little runt with a torch in his hands. How did that brat get out of his cell? he wondered.

   

  “Well, time to leave.”

   

  He made a dash for the door. He heard that runt in the cell yell: “Ghorurz! He's running away!”

   

  “Shut up, runt!” he yelled back and sprinted through the door. He heard the female curse and then her footsteps sounded behind him. He ran into a hall, its floor flooded with water. He jumped down from the stairs and landed in the water, which was only ankle deep. He ran up the stairs, hearing the female’s boots splashing in the water behind him. Running through a long hallway full of rubble, he didn't even dare to look behind. It would only slow him down.

   

  The hallway turned left, and he grabbed a support on the corner and swung on it, not losing his momentum even a little.

   

  He came through a door and appeared in the kitchen. Empty. The other door was closed and he hit them with his shoulder at full speed. He appeared in the dining room which was full of bandits with weapons drawn. There were five of them.

   

  “Hey, that's Lorbulg!” cried one.

   

  “But the chief said we should kill anyone coming through that door,” said another one.

   

  I don't have time for this nonsense. He swung his battleaxe and caught them off guard. With one swing he decapitated one and cut another across his chest. The bandit cried out in pain and the others in surprise. He moved through the gap between them, to put some space between himself and the door and saw that female charging.

   

  He swung his axe vertically against the Redguard woman on his left. She raised her shield to block it and Lorbulg chuckled like a maniac. His axe shattered both the shield and the arm holding it and then the Orc female was inside the room. Her war axe took care of one bandit and in another second she had buried it inside the other's skull. But it got stuck there. And that was all Lorbulg needed. He jumped towards her and stabbed her in her side with the spikes on his gauntlet. She growled in pain and turned around, punching him in the face.

   

  He stumbled back and chuckled. “Ouch.” She growled, but then she froze. He raised his eyebrows, amused. “That's a paralyzing poison, you know. Someone should pay more attention to Atub’s teachings.” She fell to the ground, unable to move. “Don't worry, the poison will prevent you from bleeding out. But once its effects fade, you should tend to your wound.”

   

  And then he ran again.

  

  The Imperial was looking at the bandit preparing to let the arrow fly. And he knew that this time he wouldn't miss.

   

  There was a loud noise and four men appeared from the fortress a few steps away from the Imperial. He saw the archer hesitate for a second and he took advantage of that. He sprung up on his feet and ran towards those four bandits. The arrow whistled past his ear and he heard curses from the other side of the fort.

   

  They looked surprised, all in fur armor except the Nord, who was wearing iron armor. That's the one Aringoth wants alive. They looked surprised when they saw him charging with only a dagger in his hand. His steel sword was too far away from him and he had lost the crossbow sometime during his wrestle with that Orc.

   

  He pulled his last dagger from the bandolier and swished with his arms. His daggers found their marks, one hitting a bandit's eye, the other one ended in another bandit's thigh. He didn't stop, even without weapons. There was a sword being swung at his head and he dropped to his knees at full speed, sliding under the blade and between the bandits. He quickly got back on his feet, pulling his silver sword from the scabbard on his back in a fluid motion.

   

  He saw how those bandits were enchanted by his beautifully crafted silver sword and that made him smirk. If only Pelaex could see you now. Dulling a silver sword on some stupid bandits. The old man would pull your ears off, Dec.

   

  “Move out of the way so I can shoot that bastard!” yelled the archer from the other side of the fort.

   

  “Why don't you shut up?” shouted the Imperial in response, while trying to position himself right behind the leader. The second bandit looked at his comrade who had a dagger in his thigh. The man was whining like a woman, but he wasn't able to fight, and that was the only thing the Imperial cared about.

   

  Their leader had iron armor, a huge iron shield and a steel basket hilted sword. That sword was really fine work and he knew he wanted that sword. A weapon worthy of a true swordsman. He just hoped the leader wasn't a true swordsman.

   

  Another bandit began circling him, trying to flank him. No you don't, bastard. He quickly shifted to the side, striking with his sword and the bandit blocked with his claymore. The leader used the opening and struck. The Imperial quickly blocked the blow, using the momentum to spin around, swinging his sword horizontally with both his hands. Both bandits backed away and he extended his arm, pointing at the leader with his blade.

   

  He noticed the archer was shifting his position to get a better view of him. The Imperial saw a nordic sword lying on the ground in the corner of his eye . Damn heavy thing, but it can do the job. He grinned and looked at the bandits. He shifted hiis foot and managed to lift the nordic sword into the air. He quickly caught it in his right hand, and compared the weight and balance in comparison to his silver sword. Heavier, the balance is a bit off. But for slashing? Ideal. He gave them a spin, still grinning. “Let’s dance, motherfuckers.”

   

  His swords turned into a whirlwind of blades, his mind shutting off all thoughts, leaving himself with nothing but his instincts. He struck at one bandit, then the leader, one blade after another, shifting his attention between them, increasing his pace. They were slowly retreating under his crescendo of blades, the sound of metal meeting metal becoming overwhelming.

   

  While it was nearly impossible, he heard the rattle of a bowstring, and he saw the arrow in the corner of his eye. Not even slowing down his attacks, one blade met the tip of the arrow, deflecting it. His mind didn't even stop to think about that feat, there was only the dance now. The dance of steel and death.

   

  He struck the leader's shield with his nordic sword, stabbed him with his silver sword, then swung the nordic sword at the bandit on his right, followed by a forwards lunge with his silver sword. This time, the blade penetrated the bandit's defense, ending up between his ribs. He raised the nordic sword above his head, blade pointing down, blocking the leader's strike. He dropped the silver sword, spun on his heels, aimed at the leader's shoulder and lunged forwards again. The leader blocked the blow with his shield, but the Imperial's lunge allowed him to get in close and he shoved the leader with his shoulder, sprawling him on his back. He then kicked him in the face and then kicked him once more. Just in case.

   

  He turned around to see the archer. The archer had an arrow nocked and was watching him. “You've blocked an arrow with a sword!” the archer shouted.

   

  The Imperial shrugged.

   

  “Fuck it! I'm getting out of here,” yelled the archer and climbed down the wall, running through the gate away from the fort.

   

  There was the sound of a door opening and from the fort appeared an Orc in black leather armor. He looked at the Imperial and then jumped off the wall.

   

  “And now everyone runs,” he frowned.

  

  Gularzob watched as Ghorurz ran through the door pursuing the outcast. He wasn't able to see Yamarz and he was worried. Did the outcast kill him? He had heard Lorbulg tell Yamarz something, and then there was silence. He couldn't kill him. No, Yamarz is the chieftain. He's my father. He can't be dead! He felt tears in his eyes and quickly wiped them away.

   

  He shifted his attention towards Grulmar. He was standing over the man he burned, a shocked look on his face, tears on his cheeks. This pitiful runt saved Ghorurz? Got out of his cell? It was supposed to be me! I should have saved Ghorurz and Yamarz! I would have saved them both if I had gotten out of this cell!

   

  “Grulmar!” shouted Osha. “The keys. That man has the keys to our cells.”

   

  He looked towards her with puzzled look.

   

  “Those things on that metallic ring. At his belt,” she explained.

   

  Grulmar noticed it at the burnt man's belt. He bent over to get them, but the man grabbed his arm.

   

  “You've burnt me! I'll fucking kill you!” the bandit shouted at Grulmar, trying to pull him closer. The young Orc smashed the bandit with the torch over his face, quickly grabbed the keys and stepped back, shock in his face. The bandit was screaming with pain and Grulmar couldn't tear his eyes away from him for some reason. It's just a weak human! Don't mind him, thought Gularzob.

   

  “Grulmar, the key!” reminded Osha. The little Orc ran towards her cell and gave her the key. She unlocked the door and then unlocked Gularzob's cell. Then she grabbed an axe and buried it in the burnt man's skull, putting him out of his misery.

   

  Gularzob ran to the pit, towards his father. He was lying on his back, immobile, staring at the ceiling. He can't be dead! Gularzob kneeled over him and noticed that Yamarz's eyes turned towards him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn't.

   

  “Osha! He can't move! What's wrong with him?” yelled Gularzob.

   

  She ran over to them and knelt next to Gularzob, looking at Yamarz. “He's been poisoned. Paralyzed. It will fade off sometime soon. Look around for any healing potions. Red vials.”

   

  Gularzob ran up the stairs and looked at the cage to his left. There was a counter and Grulmar was already in there. “I have it!” he shouted and Gularzob quickly ran towards him.

   

  “Give me that!” he snapped it from Grulmar's hand. “Before you break it.” Then he brought the potion to Osha and she poured it into Yamarz's mouth. He started to choke on it, but she tilted his head back and plugged his nose. He swallowed it and after a few seconds he moved his hand. He slowly sat up, with a frown on his face.

   

  “Where is he?” he growled.

   

  “He ran off, and Ghorurz pursued him,” said Gularzob, happy that his chieftain is alright.

   

  Yamarz got onto his feet with a grunt. “Osha, take care of them. Get them out of here, the way me and Ghorurz came in. You shouldn't meet any trouble. Just be careful around those cages. The wolves are hungry.” He lifted his sword from the ground and looked at Gularzob and Grulmar. “You did well, now get out of here.”

   

  Gularzob frowned when he realized he had praised Grulmar too, but nodded.

  

  Yamarz went the same way that Lorbulg and Ghorurz had ran through a few moments ago. His limbs were still stiff from the poison and his head was still spinning from the blow. But the anger kept him moving. And the shame.

   

  He had been defeated. By his brother. By the same brother he had loved and then exiled. Lorbulg had spat on their traditions, become overwhelmed with bloodlust; he had been meant to become chieftain. If he had, it would have been the end of their tribe, and Yamarz couldn't have let that happen. Only because of his brother had he become the chieftain.

   

  He arrived at the dining hall and found Ghorurz lying on the floor amidst a number of dead bandits. He knelt beside her and noticed three stab wounds in her side. Her eyes were watching him, but she couldn't move. She was poisoned, just as he had been. Why didn't he kill any of us? he thought as he looked for something to bind the wound. Because he wanted to prove his point, he answered to himself. He always believed that Orcs were weak, not realising their full potential. He believed that war is our destiny, our food and drink. That we are meant to fight anyone and everyone.

   

  He tore the tunic off one of the bandits and bandaged Ghorurz's wound. Once the poison faded away, she would need some healing. He was hoping that they would get to Largashbur in time. Atub might brew up some potion and use some of her healing spells on his shield-wife.

   

  All this happened because I couldn't kill him. Not then and not even now. How can I call myself a chieftain if I'm not even able to protect my tribe? Apparently, I'm not the strongest.

   

  He took her into his arms and lifted her up with a growl. He followed the trail of the bodies leading out of the fort. So many dead. Would I be able to defeat so many?

   

  He arrived at the door leading out of the fort and opened them. The sunlight blinded him for a second and he felt the cold air clawing its way into his armor and body. He went up the stairs and arrived at the walls of the fort.

   

  There was a man in steel armor, with a fur cloak around his shoulders and a bandolier across his chest, all covered in blood. Yamarz laid Ghorurz on the ground and unsheathed his sword.

   

  The man turned to him and Yamarz noticed his broken nose and the strange markings on his face. He looked like a Nord, with wide shoulders and strong arms, but he was a little bit shorter.

   

  “You're one of the bandits?” he asked the man.

   

  There was surprise on that face and then the man grinned. “Me? Nah. I'm just fishing here.”

   

  Yamarz growled and took a step closer.

   

  “Whoa! I'm just kidding,” the man raised his hands. “Decimus Merotim's my name. I've been hired to clear this fort. So, thanks for the help.”

   

  Yamarz frowned. Mercenary. He noticed a man lying on the ground, tied up. “And him?”

   

  “That's the leader of them. I'm supposed to bring that one to my employer alive.”

   

  Chieftain of Largashbur growled and took another step closer. “He's going to die!”

   

  The man raised a baskethilt sword. “No, he's not. I've given my word that I will bring him back alive.”

   

  “He's the leader of the men who kidnapped my children. He's going to die!”

   

  “Put aside your hatred, Orc! He's going to pay for what he’s done!” yelled the man, pointing the blade of his sword at the Orc. Yamarz noticed from his stance that he was a seasoned warrior. The chieftain's body wasn't responding to his commands like it usually was, which meant he still had some of the poison in his bloodstream.

   

  “Hatred? This isn't about hatred, human. This is about honor. He must pay a blood-price for what he has done.”

   

  “Blood-price? Whatever that is, I'll pay it for him!” shouted the man, preparing to fight the Orc, but after his words, Yamarz stopped.

   

  “You are willing to pay the blood-price in his stead?” he asked and thought about it. That would satisfy the Code. And Yamarz didn't feel any hate towards that bandit. Only towards his brother. If one human was willing to pay instead of the bandit, then why not? “You have one week. If you do not arrive in Largashbur by the end of the week, we will find you and kill you. Clear?”

   

  “Yeah, clear,” murmured the man called Decimus.

   

  Yamarz doubted that the mercenery actually had enough honor to show up, but he didn't feel like fighting at that point in time. If he fell to the ground because of exhaustion, it wouldn't satisfy the Code.

   

  “One week, human. One week.”

  

  Lorbulg was watching Yamarz and the man argue at the walls of Faldar's Tooth. Probably something about a blood-price. What bullshit. Even from the distant hill he could see how weak Yamarz was, barely able to stand. No, he won't fight that man. He will let him live. Good. I might use that man in the future.

   

  Who would have thought that this would end up so well? He wouldn’t have, especially when that Orc in ebony armor had found him in Riften. That he had a job for him, that he knows his...relationship with the chieftain of Largashbur. That Orc wanted Yamarz's children dead and he promised that they would be in that cave. And Lorbulg had been considering that for a few moments. Killing his sons would surely make Yamarz suffer. And so he had agreed to the deal.

   

  Yet it would have been so impersonal. Killing children to make Yamarz suffer. That would be weak. He wanted to best him, to humiliate him. So he allied himself with those bandits from Faldar's Tooth, promised them gold if they kidnapped those younglings. And everything went exactly as he had planned.

   

  He wanted to kill Yamarz right there, but then he stopped himself. All this was just a reminder. He wanted Yamarz to know that he was still alive and kicking, still strong and full of hate. Now poor Yamarz would live in constant fear of his brother. He had bested him, he had shamed him. Yamarz would now doubt himself and that would make him even more weak. Lorbulg was satisfied.

   

  Yet he didn't feel any better. He had thought he would after this, but he didn’t.

   

  He noticed the sunset and looked at it. As Yamarz did on the fort. And both brothers thought about the past.