The Cursed Tribe - Chapter 12

• Posted by Karver the Lorc May 30, 2016 - Filed in TSC: CB Story - #"Karver"  #"Cursed Tribe"  - 1,601 views

  

  Chapter 12

  The Tide of Blood

   

  There rose a garden of slender trees, and wound about the trunks were vines festooned with lilylike flowers. A multitude of spheres moved, deep in the sky, as distant and pale as the moons. There was the sound of chirping birds, but it was a doleful sound, as if something with a vague memory of having been a bird was trying to reproduce sounds it no longer felt.

   

  The sky was filled with emotions; a sun of sadness, clouds of despair, rage filling the sky with thunder, fear colouring it with lightning, and raindrops of shame.

   

  And the flowers...the flowers. Anguish rose from their leaves, whirling and twisting into blossoms of humiliation.

   

  What was this garden?

   

  There was a garden…

   

  There is a garden…

   

  There will be a garden…

   

  As long as you will remember. As long as they will remember…

   

  This echo…

   

  Echo of what? But there wasn't an answer for that, there never was. At least, never a definite one. For what is an echo? Something that has been before and now isn't, it only...resonates, longer than it should. Does one want it to resonate? Can one take it back?

   

  Every action has an echo. A shadow. Ripples. Nothing disappears, not immediately. But what if the echo lasts...forever? As long as someone remembers it. Can an echo change? It can, with time, yes. But what if it changes after the passage of time? From echo to whisper. From whisper to rustle. From rustle to...silence. Or maybe not silence - the echo of an echo?

   

  There was a woman in that garden, with rosy gold hair, alabaster white skin and emerald eyes. Next to her stood a man, as tall as possibilities, as strong as sadness, with hair black as anguish and eyes with the colour of echo.

   

  And they both were looking at something, something in the sky, beyond the garden, beyond possibilities.

   

  They were looking at a wall of deceit, made from bricks of treason. And the wall was getting closer, threatening to crush the ostracized flowers.

   

  They are so blind, said the woman with a voice that wasn't hers.

   

  Help them, replied the man with a voice that wasn't his.

   

  They must help themselves.

   

  Both figures then became blurry, suddenly becoming a pile of ash and dust, which whirled and disappeared completely.

   

  And the wall...it wasn't a wall. It was a tide. A tide of blood.

   

  A young Orc woke up and rose up in his bed, scanning his surroundings and, when he realized he was in his bed, still in the Longhouse, he calmed down. He looked into the darkness that was all around him, he looked with more than his eyes and whispered: “The tide is near.”

  

  “... and then an Orc strode into our camp, told us we're trespassing in their territory, their land. Land of Lar...Lar-something. But that's not important-”

   

  “It actually is important,” said a black haired woman, who stepped forward and looked at the tired, terrified Nord, her eyes scanning the rest of the Jarl's court in Mistveil Keep. They were all shocked by the news which this man had brought, but she wasn't. She couldn't be. Someone had to take control of this situation, and there wasn't anyone calculating enough to do it. Except her.

   

  “Maven?” asked Laila Law-Giver, Jarl of Riften. Maven looked at her and had to force herself not to scowl. How such weak woman can be Jarl of Riften is beyond me. But on the other hand, weak-willed women can be controlled. And actually, she knew the answer as to why she was Jarl. Because both her father and husband had died in Great War. And that was her weakness. She was never expected to rule; she wasn't really prepared for that. So the moment Laila came to power, she needed a guiding hand. Maven's hand.

   

  There were others too - the Mistveil Court. Anuriel, Bosmer female who thought she was clever but actually wasn't. It was all just a show, a way to make her seem important. Her interest in young boys - Laila's boys - was certainly useful to Maven when it came to dealings with her.

   

  Wylandriah, the Court Wizard, was a Bosmer too and Maven found it interesting that after the Great War, there were two She-Mer in positions of power in Riften. But still, Riften was more forward thinking than the other Nord Cities. Wylandriah was very sclerotic, but Maven knew better. It was just pretense; her mind was clear and sharp, but her mannerism made others leave her mostly alone, to do her experiments. And what kind of experiments? Better not to talk about them, am I right, my dear Court Wizard?

   

  There were also both of the Jarl's sons: Harrald - the spoiled and arrogant brat that should have been beaten from dawn to dusk to get that attitude out of him - and Saerlund - a skinny boy that always seemed to be sick, making everyone pity him. Neither were older than twelve, so what did that say about everyone's favourite Steward Anuriel?

   

  Then there was Unmid Snow-Shod, a dangerous looking Nord glinting like a chest full of gold in his elven armor - armor which he took from the corpse of an Altmeri soldier back in the Great War. A Housecarl who failed to protect his Jarl - Laila's father. Who failed to protect Laila's husband. It was smart not to let him forget that, because shame could become a powerful weapon for those who knew how to wield it. And Maven knew.

   

  “Maven?” asked Laila again and the matron of the Black-Briar clan smiled, reminding herself to focus. “You wanted to say something.”

   

  “Yes, I did,” Maven nodded and looked at the Nord hunter, covered in blood, standing right at the bottom of the stairs leading to throne. “I did. Which tribe? What was the name of that tribe?”

   

  The man hesitated and Unmid snorted. “Why do you bother, we know which tribe it was. There is only one there, Lar-”

   

  Black-Briar raised her hand and furrowed her brows, looking directly at the glimmering Nord. “But I want to hear it from this man. I want to hear the proof, so shut up, dog, and listen.”

   

  “Maven!” Laila snapped at Maven, righteous fury on her face. “He's my housecarl.”

   

  Black-Briar gave her a look, a look that was meant to remind the Jarl who had been at her side all those years, who had supported her and had given her all that on advice as to how to rule her Hold. And it worked; Laila hunched, trying to make herself as small as possible and Maven had to resist another urge to scowl. Don't forget who's really in charge here, my Jarl.

   

  Her gaze returned to the Nord hunter. “So? What about the name?”

   

  “I-I can't remember. He massacred my friends, just like that. He was a damn savage,” said the man, trembling because of the memories, but Maven didn't give a crap.

   

  “The name!” she barked.

   

  The man started shaking and Laila began to say something, but Maven stopped her with a raised hand.

   

  “Lar-something. Largul...Larga...Yes, Largash!” he blurted out. “Largash! That's it.”

   

  “Largashbur,” Maven corrected him and turned to Laila. “Now we have proof it was them,” she looked at the hunter and then nodded at Laila. “Send him away.”

   

  “You are dismissed,” said the Jarl as kindly as she could. “We will make sure justice is served. Guards, get him to a tavern, buy him some food and drink. He needs it.”

   

  The hunter was shaking as they escorted him off and when the doors to the Keep closed, Unmid snorted. “Told you it was them. Damn beasts.”

   

  “It doesn't make sense though,” said Wylandriah, deep in thought, her finger tapping on her lower lip. Attention was set on her, everyone was waiting for what she would say next. But she kept tapping on her lip. Laila said her name and she blinked a few times. “Yes, you were saying, my Jarl?”

   

  Maven sighed. “Alright. We know it were the Orcs from that stronghold. We need to bring them to justice.”

   

  “How?” asked Anuriel. “We barely have enough men to keep the peace in Riften, how can we hope to bring those Orcs to justice?”

   

  “Kill them all!” yelled Harrald and Laila shushed him.

   

  “I could put together...maybe a dozen veterans and another dozen guards,” grumbled Unmid. “But that's not enough. There are at least three dozens of those beasts, hidden in their fortified camp.”

   

  “So what will we do then?” asked Laila. “We can't just do nothing, right? We have to do something about it. But as Anuriel points out, the Great War has left us weakened. We don't have enough men, we have a city full of beggars and cripples, mothers and daughters who lost their husbands and fathers, and thieves and murderers roaming the streets. What can we do?”

   

  Maven smiled. Not a bad speech. Almost something I would say to convince these idiots to listen to reason. “I might have a solution.” She looked at the Court, her eyes remained set on each individual for several seconds, scanning and calculating. “Great War took a heavy toll on us. We all lost our loved ones in it, but the most important thing is that we were weakened; we're low in numbers. Our guards can barely keep order in Riften, as Anuriel pointed out. So what can we do if we we can't do it on our own? We find help.”

   

  Unmid snorted. “From who? Other Jarls? They barely have enough men to keep the peace in their own Holds. And Riften is just a dump to them. Why would they waste their own-”

   

  “Just think before you say something, dog,” Maven interrupted him with a cold voice and he pursed his lips into a thin line, with a frown on his face. “I'm not talking about asking for help from the other Jarls. What I'm talking about is hiring mercenaries.”

   

  The Court was silent for a few seconds and then everyone started talking at the same time.

   

  “Let others do our work?”

   

  “Can we trust them?”

   

  “What is the state of the Jarl's treasury?”

   

  “Can we even afford them?”

   

  Maven squeezed her nose between her thumb and forefinger, closing her eyes and shutting off the sound. They are like children, all of them. Thinking about the problem, not the solution. She opened her eyes and sat on a table in front of Jarl's throne. And waited. She heard all their arguments and when the arguments slowly died off, she said what she had in mind.

   

  “The Black-Briars can finance this enterprise.”

   

  Everyone looked at her and Anuriel scowled. “Of course you can finance it, Maven. But where's the catch?”

   

  Maven winked at her. “It's a loan, dear Anuriel. The life is hard and you can't really expect me to give anything away for free, can you? But still, would anyone of you be willing to pour so much money into this? I doubt it.” She looked at Laila then, with a cold stare. “It's up to you, my Jarl. Either you'll do something about those Orcs, or you'll do nothing. I'm just offering you a solution.”

   

  “How much gold are we talking about here?” asked Laila, with a somewhat shy and fearful voice.

   

  The matron of Black-Briar family looked at her and let the question hang in the air for several seconds, feeling the tension. “Ten thousand gold pieces,” she replied and heard a few gasps - even Wylandriah's facade cracked for a short moment, her eyes nearly popping out of her sockets when she heard that sum.

   

  Unmid whistled and laughter danced in his eyes. “That's a lot of money. And the Court would owe you all that, right? I wonder if it's only the money the Court would owe you.”

   

  Maven snorted. “That is my proposal. Take it or don't, it's up to you if you want to see justice. You know where to find me.” With these words, she turned on her heels and strode out of Mistveil Keep.

  

  He was leaning against the wall, on the left side of the door leading to Mistveil Keep, his face hidden under a leather hood. He was looking at the ground, looking at the shadows dancing at the whim of torches. But whose whim does fire follow? The wind’s. So everything had its master. And yet, he was standing there, without a master. He had only an employer.

   

  It was already night and he could still hear their arguing. Mere seconds ago he saw guards leading a bloodied Nord to the tavern and he couldn't resist chuckling. How stupid are these Nords? Very. They are all weak, no matter how much they boast about the old ways and being true Nords. Bullshit, all of that. They're weak, just like everyone else.

   

  The doors were angrily opened and shut with pretty much the same temper. He saw a black-haired Nord woman in brown clothes step outside and stop at the peak of stairs leading down. She sighed and looked at the stars.

   

  “Didn't go as you planned?” he asked and she quickly turned around, squinting into the shadow in which he was standing. Then she recognized him and relaxed.

   

  “Pretty much. They're worse than children. But they'll agree eventually. What are you doing here anyway? You were supposed to wait at my cabin-”

   

  He stepped into the light and bared his tusks at her. “Sorry, female, but I don't play by your rules.”

   

  She sighed. “You're nothing but trouble, Lorbulg. What if that hunter recognizes you?”

   

  Lorbulg chuckled and shook his head. “He won't. I'll be gone very shortly. After you pay me. You personally.”

   

  “I said to you I'll send the money to my cabin-”

   

  “And I don't give a tusk what you said. You could just as well have told your bodyguards to jump on me and slice my throat.” He took few steps to her and looked down at her, from his impressive height. “So I said to myself I could spare us the unnecessary dance. This way I won't kill all your men and eventually you, and you'll pay me and I will walk away.”

   

  Two guards standing by the door now took a step forward, with their hands on their weapons. Might have been be because they heard the magic word “kill” or maybe because the big Orc was standing too close to a woman. Either way, one step forward and they are both dead.

   

  He saw how Maven's eyes went towards those guards, then to him and his hand on the dagger at his side. He grinned at her - which had to be quite frightening when she could see only the orcish smile of death under the hood and nothing else.

   

  “It's alright,” she said towards those guards and frowned at Lorbulg. “Let's take a walk, shall we?”

   

  He nodded and kept grinning. Maven gestured for him to follow her. When they got out of the sight of the guards, she stopped on a wooden sidewalk hanging over the canal and looked down. There were people down on those wharves, sleeping under flea-ridden blankets. “You see what this city has become?”

   

  “Yeah, and I don't care,” Lorbulg snorted. “Now you'll probably say something like you want to change it, sacrifices need to be made and similar bullshit.” And he really meant it. He didn't care about these Nords, Imperials or any other idiots. Not even the Orcs. For Lorbulg was important only Lorbulg. “So spare me the talk and just pay me. And do it quickly or I'll reconsider what I said earlier and throw you down the canal with a slit throat.”

   

  “Charming,” she murmured. “Why do you think I wanted to kill?”

   

  He bared his tusks. “I might be an Orc, but I'm not stupid. You hired me to kill some hunters, and let one live so he could pin the blame on the Orcs from Largashbur. So what if I go and tell that to someone, right?”

   

  “You really are clever, aren't you?” smirked Maven and Lorbulg frowned. The way she said it...like if she was actually much clever than him. These humans think they're so clever. But what use is cleverness when you no longer have the head on your neck to use it? His hand shot forward, with a blade hidden between his fingers, which stopped right under her left eye, barely piercing her skin. He saw how her eyes popped out in surprise. His eyes looked around, but the house they were standing close to was throwing shadow over them, so anyone could mistake them for...lovers? Haha, now that's a funny thought.

   

  “It would be so easy to gouge your eye out with this sharp blade. So easy. So listen carefully. I don't like it when someone is trying to screw me over and you're lucky you're not dead yet. Pay up and I'll walk away, without saying a word to anyone. And for the future, you'll remember that no one screws me over and lives. Got it?”

   

  She nodded and he let her go. She rubbed the blood from her face and looked at it. Now Lorbulg smirked. Not so confident now, are you?

   

  “You'll regret this, Orc,” Maven growled, and that made Lorbulg chuckle.

   

  “Don't make promises you can't keep. Or promises you won't want to keep one day.”

   

  “What does that mean?”

   

  He chuckled again and kept chuckling for few seconds - mostly because he noticed how it made her nervous. “Because you might need the services me and my friends provide one day. And so far, you haven't started off on the right foot. So keep that in mind for the future. You never know, you might need a professional to do the dirty work for you again. And we don't accept contracts from people who try to backstab us.”

   

  “We?”

   

  “You'll figure it out, one day.”