Dragonhammer: Volume II (4 page)

He pulls his face from the meat and lowers the meal.  Juice drips from his chin and a strand of meat hangs from his right fang.  “You want?” he says, after swallowing.

Until now I had not thought of my own need for refreshment, and remembered that as of yet I had not had dinner.  “You would share?” I ask.

He ignores the question and repeats, “You want?”  He gestures the meat towards me.

“Yes please,” I respond.

With a satisfied nod he digs his fingers into the meat and throws me a sizable chunk.  I didn’t expect the throw, and so the meat almost slips from my grasp and into the dirt, but I manage to catch it before it touches the ground.  I look back up and see Ullrog ripping through his meat.

I try a bite and find myself both surprised and impressed.  The orc must have seasoned the meat with something more than salt when he stashed it away this morning.  The outside is deliciously crisp, on the verge of burnt, and the pork has lost very little juice to the fire.  The rest of it gushes into my mouth.

I find myself licking my fingers when the supply of meat has gone.  The orc belches loudly and picks a strand out of his teeth, and then slurps it up like a noodle.

He looks at the dark sky.  “You sleep outside? Not in city?”

I nod.  “Maybe my absence will prove a point.”

He thinks about my sentence for a moment, and seems to grasp the concept.  Then he says, “I have blanket you use.”

“I couldn’t take away your own bed.”

“Extra,” he says.  Then he pulls a blanket out of his pack.  The item reminds me vividly of the almost identical item I had given Nathaniel for his birthday in Terrace only months ago.

“Thank you,” I say, catching the thrown item.

“
Freyash
,” he responds.  He does not catch the fact that he has spoken in Orcish, but I do not correct him.

I sleep under the blanket with my head resting on top of my balled-up jacket.  The night is cold, but tolerably so.

Induction

I
wake to the sound of tightening ropes.

I start and sit up, breathing heavily, feeling about my chest for the ropes that I’m sure he must have tied around me- only to see him looking at me amusedly from the other side of the clearing.

He pulls a rope that is slung over a long branch high in the tree, hoisting his pack higher and higher into the tree with every heave.  I notice that he has woven pine branches onto the pack, disguising it nicely in the brush.  The rope is slightly conspicuous, but he isn’t worried.  He ties it off on a low branch and slings his sheath onto his shoulder.

“You had breakfast?” I ask.  The sun has hardly risen; the first rays of daylight are just beginning to come up behind the mountains to the east, so most of the world is still cloaked in the umbra of night.

“Food?” he asks.

I nod.

“Not hungry,” he replies.  “Eat later.”

I nod my understanding and roll up the blanket dutifully.  He watches, and then takes it when I hand it to him.  Because his pack is already in the tree, he simply hides the blanket in the brush underneath the hanging rope.

“You have plan?” he asks, scrutinizing me with his black eyes.

It takes me a moment to recall what he is talking about, probably due to the fact that I’m still waking up.  “Yes,” I reply.  “I’ll get you into the army.”

We time our approach to the city so perfectly that the drawbridge opens just when we get within a hundred yards.  The sun is still in the process of rising, so the sky is gray and the world is lit in twilight.

“You!” says one of the guards atop the gate.  He points at Ullrog.  “You’re not allowed into the city!”

“Under what charges?” I pose.  “Offering his sword in service of the Jarl?”

“Captain!” the guard exclaims in surprise.  “Those were my orders!”

“Well, I must ask you to suspend them,” I command.  “Because we’re coming in whether you do or not.”

Then I and Ullrog enter the city.

Fragruss is still just beginning to wake up as we walk down the main road towards the castle.  I am thankful.  It means there are fewer eyes on us.

“Halt!” call the guards at the entrance to the castle.  “What is he doing back in the city?”

“He is here to join the army,” I reply.

“I’m not letting him in the castle, Captain,” says the guard.  “Jarl’s orders.”

“Then bring him out.”

The guard blinks in disbelief.  “What?”

“Then bring the Jarl out.”  Every one of my words is overly annunciated and emphasized.

“But-”

“Do it.”  My words silence the guard and he opens his mouth as if to say something else.  He decides against it and hurries inside.

We wait in awkward silence with the other guard.

An angry voice breaks said silence.

“What in the blasted dingflies-” the Jarl rages, stomping across the narrow bridge that leads out of the castle.  “-do you think you are doing, Captain Armstrong?”

“Let him join,” I command.

The Jarl’s eyes widen.  “I respect your opinion, Captain,” he says, “and I respect you as my Captain and my advisor, but I will not take orders from you, no matter what you may have proven in battle.”  He must look up to see into my eyes.

“Then listen to my opinion,” I urge.

“He’s an orc,” Hralfar says, trying very hard to keep his voice steady.  “I cannot.”

“Why?”

“I believe I answered that yesterday.  End of discussion.”  He turns away and begins to clomp back across the bridge.

“He could take the oath,” I call.

Abruptly the Jarl turns back.  I can almost see the steam pouring out of his ears.  “That orc,” he seethes, “can make no oath to me that I will ever respect.”

Suddenly a huge hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me back, away from the Jarl.  I look at Ullrog just as he pulls a wicked dagger from his belt and raises it.

The guards scramble for their weapons and the Jarl stumbles back.

Then something happens that no one expected.  Ullrog grips the blade of the knife with his right hand and slowly drags the dagger across his palm.  The sound of splitting flesh pierces the air.  Black blood drips from his clenched fist and he raises the dagger to his mouth.

His tongue sticks from between his fangs and licks the side of the dagger clean in one swipe.  He lowers the dagger and a drop of blood falls to the stone.  The guards stare in utter shock and Jarl Hralfar follows suit.

“
Thiem gar blakmos shakhor oshnïl!”
  The orc’s voice booms across the bridge and penetrates my bones.  He repeats his words in our understanding:  “With my blood, I seal my oath!”  The Jarl blinks consciously, flabbergasted.  Then Ullrog finishes, “I serve Lord Jarl Hralfar!”

The Jarl is at war with himself.  The guards around him, as well as every other soldier in the army, expect him to turn away the orc like the scum they think he is.  I, his captain and advisor, am trying to convince him otherwise.  What is he to do?

I can see the decision in his eyes before he says it.  I interrupt him and step forward, saying, “If you turn him away, you will lose me.”

The Jarl shuts his mouth and gives me a look that asks blankly, “Why?”

“This orc has sworn to you, by shedding his own blood, that he will serve you as a member of your army.  If you cannot accept him, I cannot stay here.  I cannot fight for someone for whom I have no respect.”

The Jarl reconsiders.  Then, speaking slowly and deliberately, he says, “Master orc.”  Ullrog looks at the Jarl, still clenching his right hand tightly. “What is your name?”

“I am Ullrog,” he responds.  “I desire place in your ranks.”

“And so one you shall have,” the Jarl says with an overly calm snarl.  “I see you have your own sword.  Do you have your own armor?”

“Yes.”

“Then we welcome you as the newest member of the Gilgal army,” the Jarl says.  “You may stay here with the men, and eat with them.  What is ours is now yours.”

The orc nods as the Jarl looks to me.  I can tell we are not done talking about this, but he turns and heads back into the castle.

What about the oath
? I think.

“No,” says one of the guards.  “That’s not right.”

“How’s your hand?” I ask Ullrog.

“Fine,” he growls.  “Need bandage.”

“We can get you one in here,” I reply.  “Let’s go.”  The guards reluctantly step aside and we enter the castle.

“Kadmus!” Nathaniel exclaims when I enter the bunkrooms.  They each appear to have just emerged from their beds.  “Where have you been?”  Then he sees Ullrog enter.

“I stayed the night at Ullrog’s camp,” I reply.  “And now he is a member of our army.”

“What is
he
doing in here?!” one of the soldiers cries.  “Letting an orc into the castle?”

“Shut it,” I dictate.  “Or you’ll find yourself on the street.  If you don’t like him here, you can keep it to yourself.”

Ullrog looks to me for clarification.  “Here’s where we live,” I say.  “You can stay in here with us.” 

He responds, “I go to my camp outside city and collect my things.”

“I will notify the guards of your new status.  They will allow you in and out as you please or they will have me to answer to.”

He stops and turns to face me.  Then he hits his right fist on his left breast, and rests the same hand on my shoulder.  “
Rheyoth, blaknie
,” he says.  Then he turns and walks away.

“What does that mean?” Nathaniel asks under his breath.

“No idea,” I respond.

I accompany Aela to the armory, where we fit her for armor and she chooses two long thin swords, which she sheathes on either side of her waist.

“Interesting choice,” I comment.  “You’ve trained with these before?”

“I prefer light weapons to big heavy ones,” she says.  “Shields are too heavy for me to move as fast as I would like.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

She nods, studying the pommel of one of her blades.  As we leave she asks, “Why did you help that orc?”

“Because he needed help,” I respond.

“Even though he’s an orc?”

“Of course!” I reply, a little shocked to be having this discussion.  “Just because he’s an orc doesn’t make him any less a person than you or I.”

She nods.  “There are many who believe differently.”

“I learned that recently,” I respond.  “I wonder why?”

“Why what?”

“People don’t like orcs.”

She thinks for a moment.  “The stories,” she decides.  “You know what I’m talking about.  Slaughtering men, taking their gold and burning their homes.  Their race knows nothing but war.”

“How do you know that?” I ask

She is startled.  “Know what?”

“The stories aren’t just stories.  Have you ever seen an orc plunder a house or kill a man?”

She shakes her head.  “But,” she continues, “How do you know they
are
just stories?  Why else would we have driven them out of our lands centuries ago?”

I shake my head.  “I don’t know,” I reply.  “But something doesn’t seem right about it.”

Percival shows up in the barracks right after dinner.  Apparently he’s allowed to sleep outside the infirmary now, but he keeps the crutch beside his bed.  As he sits, James asks, “How’d it go?”

It’s a simple question, but it burns in the air until Percival grins and answers, “I like her.”

James smiles and coaxes with his eyes.  “Well?” he finally says.  “What did you do?”

Percival shakes his head and says, “Why do you care?”

James raises an eyebrow and hoots loudly.

Percival goes red immediately and exclaims, “No, no!  It wasn’t- we just took a walk and talked!”  I find myself smiling at him.

“Really?” asks James.

“Yes!”

“Really?”

“Yes!  Look, she gave me this!”  He holds up a small silver necklace, pulling the end up out of his shirt, as if it will somehow prove his point.  On the end hangs a thin slice of wood over half the length of my thumb.  On one side is carved an intricate insignia of some sort, and the other is smooth.

James makes to say something else, but I give him a nudge.  “Leave him be.”

He rolls his eyes and tries to find something else to make fun of.

Ullrog stands in the corner with his arms folded, unamused by our antics.  He stares silently into a candle on the wall, the light of the small fire flickering off of his dark eyes.  He’s deep in thought and I leave him alone

His pack sits at the foot of the bed on the wall.  His armor is hidden beneath some of his things, and his sheathed sword lies on top.  Though I’ve never seen authentic orcish material, it appears to have come from his own land.  It’s of no make I have seen before.

“Hey greenie!” one of the soldiers yells from the other side of the room.  He’s a larger man, muscular, and wearing a simple tunic.  Ullrog doesn’t so much as blink.  “You!  Hornblower!”

Ullrog’s eyes flick to the soldier.

“Hornsplitter,” James corrects quietly.

The other soldier raises his eyebrows and stands, moving towards James.  “You got something to say about this… thing?”

James stands up and faces him.  “Only if you do.”  Ullrog studies the situation curiously.

“Why?  You like him?”  He doesn’t wait for James to respond.  “He’s an orc!  He doesn’t belong with us!  He belongs in the dungeons with all the rest of the scum that dares to-”

“That’s enough!” I command calmly, standing.

“You too?” he says.

Then I feel a hand on my shoulder.  I turn and see Ullrog standing calmly.  He says only, “Okay.  Leave him be.”

The soldier is shocked and makes to say something, but Ullrog’s glare forces him into a silent submission.  Then Ullrog nods to me and returns to his corner.

Percival disappears the next morning, but he doesn’t miss much of anything.  Except for the incident at breakfast.

The sight of Ullrog draws attention to our table.  I sit across from him, but even my friends won’t sit within a few feet of him.  He eats like a bottomless pit, filling his plate and emptying it again.

Some soldiers simply ignore the fact that he’s there.  Others object loudly.  One in particular stands and says, “Who let the green vermin in?”  He draws his sword and strides towards Ullrog purposefully, but Ullrog doesn’t even pretend to look.  “Time for a little extermination.”  Before I can react the sword swings at Ullrog’s head.

Without turning his head, the orc grabs the hand of his attacker and stops the swing dead in the air.  Then slowly he rises from his bench and turns to face the soldier, who stands over a foot below the orc.  Ullrog never releases the blade.