Private Tales Out of Place

[Hath Charosh]

It was the most genuine smile she would have seen since they had reached the top of the wall. Hath had been picking at his bread. It was dark and full of seeds. His gut wasn't used to eating such processed grains and an orc couldn't live off bread and gruel like the humans could. His gaze drifted off to one side as he entertained a small fantasy that made him forget the meal and lack of game to hunt.

"Force marching those boys back to the company? Beating them into shape?" his voice trailed off at the possibility. He pictured the one who had squared up to him falling behind and receiving a well-deserved boot to the rump to encourage maintaining a good pace.

"Yes, we can probably head there now," he replied, turning his thoughts back to business. They had a formal letter to provide to those who ran the two main recruitment centres of the city. They had to evaluate what was on offer and haggle on the cost which would be fulfilled by the company's financiers in one of the city banks. He assumed Scabhair would fulfil the second half of their task. The cost of things was still bewildering. One could buy bread for next to nothing, but fancy fabric and rare spices were being sold for a small fortune. It made him consider raiding merchants on their way to Vel'Anir on a more regular basis.

Hath swiped his chunk of bread around the bottom of the bowl in a slow circle and bit it off. He left the crust. That part of their loaves seemed particularly unpalatable to him.

 

[Scabhair]

“Thought you’d might enjoy that,” she said with a small smile. Scabhair didn’t think of herself as particularly vengeful – certainly she had nothing on the blood vendettas of the southern tribes – but a good comeuppance was sometimes as satisfying as it was a valuable lesson to the asshole who deserved it.

And the humans of Elbion could stand to learn some manners.

When it became clear the bread wasn’t to Hath’s tastes, Scabhair pilfered the piece and cleaned up her own broth with gusto. Being a mongrel had its advantages. Some of them, it seemed, were dietary.

Fishing out a few tolare, the half-orc went up to the bar to pay for the food and lodging. Much like Hath, she’d gotten enamored with the idea of taking those boys to task. If she hadn’t been lost in her thoughts, she might’ve seen how the eyes of the pale customer followed them around like prey.

Or that they were red, at least.

“All done here,” was what she said instead as she joined Hath outside. “I know a shortcut to the square, come on.”

And if they had a third shadow glued to their heels, Scabhair noticed nothing at all.

 

[Hath Charosh]

The morning sun peeked between the buildings as they walked, forcing him to shield his eyes on each occasion. There was a strong bitter scent in the air. Eventually he realised the source was the large building next to them; someone was brewing beer. Recently hops to preserve beer had started to move brewing in the city to larger, commercial breweries instead of street corner ale houses.

No one seemed to drink water here. Just ale and beer. Given the disgusting state of the streets he doubted anyone would want to drink from the riverside. He actually missed the clean taste of a fresh stream. His own people had long ago adapted to the dry seasons, living off precious little water until the rain came and offered more than they could possibly drink.

The street was quiet. No shops or houses here. Just warehouses and places of work. Ahead he could see it opening into some open, green space. He'd seen very little of that here. Ahead were the permanent barracks of the guard as well as tents for those "recruited" to be drafted into the small standing army or the various forces of nobles and mercenary companies.

A figure stepped out into the path ahead. He came to a stop. So did he and Scabhair. Hands as pale as snow emerged from the dark red cloak to push the hood back. Even for a human this one was particularly pale. His eyes were a blood red and looked slowly from one orc to the other. He wore metal bracelets. Not bracelets Hath realised, but heavy iron manacles. Like the kind humans bound their prisoners in. Yet there were no chains keeping this man bound.

Hath's hand was already at the pommel of his short sword.

"I have questions," demanded the raspy voice.

Hath opened his mouth to reply. He never got to speak. Runes seemed to burn with an unnatural flame across those iron clasps and something launched out from the shadows of the man's cloak. The length of chain struck Hath square in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs and slamming him back against the brewery wall.

 

[Scabhair]

As usual when bad things happened, they happened quickly. She cursed her carelessness, then her reflexes as Hath hit the wall to her right. Like all Aiforn she relied on her companion. At times like these, when Inodeirr was far away, Scabhair felt as if she were missing a limb; as if one of her senses were snuffed out.

Still her axe was in her hand before she’d processed a conscious thought. Her shield she grasped just in time to push the second chain to the side. The force of the blow forced her to take a step backwards, digging her feet into the wet earth as she thanked the spirits humans hadn’t paved this part of the city yet.

“Could’ve just asked,” she said, voice held level like a predator poised to pounce. His bloodshot eyes widened a little, as they ever did with people who expected nothing of orcs but growling and grunts.

Scabhair moved to stand between the pale man and Hath as their attacker weighed his words. There was a knife stuck in the back of her belt – he could grab it as he found his feet, and the albino would be none the wiser.

Probably.

 

[Hath Charosh]

The weight of chain slammed him against the wall, giving Hath just enough time to tuck in his chin such that his head wasn't cracked against the masonry. His fingers wrapped around the pommel of his sword, but the chain slipped around his forearm and thigh and bound tight.

"I will ask," the man replied in his raspy voice. Behind Scabhair Hath growled in frustration. "At a time when I trust the answers." There was a renewed confidence in his voice. A conviction of purpose that wouldn't be blunted so easily.

Hath took the knife. The chain around his arm had struck him hard, but didn't seem to actually have to power to stop him moving entirely. It's strength was in how tightly it coiled around his arm and thigh and prevented him from drawing his sword.

Hath rounded Scabhair on the right and closed the distance, moving lightly for such a large creature. For an instant he thought he had caught their assailant off guard. The knife swung in a reverse hand grip for the throat.

There was a sudden resistance. As if his knife had struck a mossy rock. Soft for an instant, then hitting a firm, impenetrable barrier. The albino was suddenly on the other side of a semi-transparent barrier. Like a fractured pane of glass between them that broke his image up into a thousand pieces.

The second chain returned, snaking around his neck. It couldn't drag with much force, but it was enough to topple him with surprise alone. The free end of the chain dragging across the floor, looking for something to bind Hath to.

The assassin swung out his right hand. A sword length of flickering glass appearing within it. The speed at which he struck at Scabhair made Hath's movements appear glacial by comparison.

 

[Scabhair]

The brief respite they’d gotten to exchange words had been just that – brief. After a lunge and a miss, Hath ended up even more entangled, and she with vivid black cut open on her cheek. She stumbled back again, out of range, silver eyes brimming with tightly wound rage.

Her fingers shifted on the handle of her axe. If she got a strike past that fancy magical shield, nothing short of proper hardened plate would save him. The spike of her axe made short work of gambeson and flesh alike, and this pale human didn’t seem to have much of either – just skin and bone.

“Stop wasting our time.”

Spirits, she missed Inodeirr now. She’d have snuck up on the bastard, tear his throat open before he’d know there was a lion on his back.

“Ask your damn questions, or I’ll axe you.”

Scabhair kept one eye on Hath, always, even as she circled slowly around the albino at the edge of her reach. That chain went both ways, and they both knew it – if push came to shove, they could have him face-down in the mud swift as can be.

 

[Hath Charosh]

On few occasions had he seen magic used directly in combat. A shaman had once called upon a gust of wind to knock down a wedge of human cavalry bearing down on them. This was different. Magical weapons and shields. And a damned length of chain moving of its own accord. The entire length now slithered across the floor, no longer held by the assassin.

It was like wrestling a pair of snakes. Even when he lifted them from the ground, some unseen force kept them moving. He didn't growl in frustration, he roared. Pinning one chain he stabbed down with the knife. Slender enough to go through the links, it pinned it down into the mud.

Theassel offered Scabhair a withering stare. He wouldn't be ordered around by the likes of a common orc fighter. The shimmering blade in his hand vanished. He held his palms out wide.

"Axe away," he offered indifferently.

 

[Scabhair]

Damned mages.

Wasn’t the first time Scabhair felt like cursing the lot off the face of Arethil. Those from Elbion were arrogant bastards almost down to a man, and so full of their self-importance they’d burst as soon as you pricked them with a needle.

This one, though, he seemed different. With his parchment skin and dead eyes and shards magic drawn about him like broken glass, he seemed anything but a College wizard.

The memory of a book read long ago gnawed at the back of her mind. Senseless passages stirred from the cobwebs of knowledge crammed too hastily in the wee hours of the morning.

“Don’t be stupid,” she hissed as the man spread his arms wide – an arrogant bastard after all. “I’ve no want to spill blood for an unknown cause. Speak.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Theassel narrowed his eyes. "You don't want to spill my blood? Steal my shipment and sell it back in my city and you care about spilling my blood?"

He had delivered over thirty steel coins. They had begged, they had bartered and the end result had been the same. He wouldn't even reply, just go about his duty. That was the unshakable conviction of a coin bearer. Even now, the one in his purse tugged at the back of his mind. The slow ache crawling into the back of his skull.

Only incredulity at these wild orcs trying to negotiate like humans had him responding. Theassel shook his head slowly. He had come here with a plan. He was not about to turn away from it. In any case they had seen his face; it was too late for any other course of action.

"Sca..." Hath grunted from behind her. He couldn't form the words, but there was warning in his tone. The only other warning was a single footstep behind her. The incorporeal blade swinging from low to high towards her back as the illusion before her faded.

 

[Scabhair]

“Steal your—”

The words caught in her throat as the pieces fell together. Before she could say anything else, her gaze was drawn to Hath, to the warning delivered on ragged breath.

On instinct she twisted aside, watched with wide eyes as the sizzling blade singed her arm, sliced off a piece of flesh razor-sharp, bit into her back—

and was stopped short by the plate she wore underneath.

Pain would come later, surely as sun followed the rain.

But in that instant, she felt nothing but the thrum of blood in her own ears. As the wind blows through the bones of a traveler, Scabhair followed through the motion of her turn, and her axe followed. The menacing bit came down swift as any northern gale, meant to chop into his foreleg and pin the illusory prick down for a proper lesson in orcish manners.

 

[Hath Charosh]

The rage bubbled up from deep within Hath's core. Like a hot brand to the skin it set his pulse racing. He snarled and roared as he pushed his fingers between his neck and the chains. Scabhair had already been cut twice and he was still wrestling the magically animated chain. Death could come at any turn, but after a month on the road he couldn't bear the thought of watching her get stabbed through the back in a filthy alley for no good reason.

He bucked and writhed, rolled away from the chain pinned by the knife and stretched out with his free arm. Instead of purchase he found the handle of his axe sticking out from his pack.

Theasell was caught out by the swift reaction, forced to stop the striking axe on another shield of glass. A myriad of colours and reflected shards of the sky danced across its surface as it caught the strike.

Theasell stabbed straight forwards and backed away. The magical construct he used to strike out grew to accommodate the additional space between them. He spoke quickly in a foreign tongue to reinforce the barrier around himself.

Behind him, the chains went slack. There was only so much a mind could hold at one time. He ignored Hath and kept his gaze on Scabhair. It had taken hours and hours of preparation to create the barriers he shielded himself with. They would hold the male orc long enough to finish this.

Hath saw no way around the barrier so swung with all of his strength. The runes etched into the head of his axe flared to life an instant before striking the barrier. There was a brilliant flash of white. A crash that made his ears ring. A weight striking his chest that drove him back again.

Around the mage a thousand shards of glass tumbled weightless let to the dirt. As they landed they broke apart into tiny sparks before slowly fading. Hath didn't see any of it. His world span as he stumbled back.

Theasell stood in shock. The backlash from the ancient dwarven anti-magic shattering his constructs had lights dancing across his vision.

 

[Scabhair]

Death was a natural part of life. Growing up in the steppes, Scabhair had accepted this fact from a young age; had seen adults and children perish; witnessed gathamhr succumb to the wounds of foul beasts; watched the old Shaman give up his soul to the wind with a smile.

But acceptance did not equal enjoyment. Unlike many of her kin, she did not pursue the scent of blood until either she or the other bastard were dead.

She’d tried the peaceful avenue. The pale assassin refused to listen – the eternal failing of mages and men.

Words had fallen short.

Her axe would not.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath couldn't see the wizard's expression until he had stumbled back into the wall. Pure shock, his eyes almost conveying outright offence at this turn of events being allowed to pass. Blood trickled from the corners of his lips. Crimson on almost pure snow white. The axe had bitten deep, eviscerating his torso from neck to sternum. What was left of his lungs would be full of blood.

Hath still lifted his axe as the wizard opened his mouth. He very nearly swung to take his jaw off, just to be sure he could not curse them with his last breath. Scabhair was a step ahead still, another swing snuffing out the mage's life just in case he had another spell waiting to spite them.

Hath had never seen such an ostentatious use of magic before. His own tribe had a shaman who Hath was convinced did have a power, but it was a much more subtle one. This pale man had split himself in two, blocked blows and struck at them by fracturing the very air.

The runes along the edge of his axe still shone. There was a warmth coming off the blade. He wasn't sure if the thing had finally done something useful with its magic or it had just been a lucky strike. He suspected the former given how much it had caught the albino off guard. Everything before that had been so calm and methodical.

"Didn't know mages made such killers. Turn about?" he asked. They needed to leave soon, but he needed to check how deep that blade had bitten into her first. Scabhair had been the one to try and calm the situation down. Orcs didn't live up to the stereotypes, but she had a level head for their kind. The human on the other hand had started and finished the encounter with nothing but their murder on his mind.

 

[Scabhair]

“It’s fine,” she brushed him off, moving to attend the mage instead. Her mind was running a hundred miles an hour, trying to work out where they’d messed up. She nearly zoned out kneeling in front of the man before another dying twitch of his leg nudged her back into present.

“A nasty bruise, nothing more. The plate stopped it.”

Taking care to avoid the pooling blood, the half-orc rummaged through his pockets until she found his purse. She thrust it out for Hath to take – they’d inspect its contents somewhere safer – and then yanked her knife out of the earth for one last unpalatable task.

One disfigured albino later, Scabhair rose so they could drag his corpse to the nearest ditch.

Her hands were smeared with red, after, but only her hands. Among all the ignobilities of battle, cleaning the matted blood from hair and clothes was among the worst. Walking around Elbion drenched up to your elbows was, of course, also one of the fastest ways to land in the dungeons.

“Doesn’t need sharpening, does it?” she finally spoke again with a hint of humour whilst wrapping up the wound on her arm. “It’d be us in that canal if it weren’t for your fancy axe.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Get those binds off. Hide those manacles elsewhere," he offered as he realised what she was doing to the corpse. A regular pair of manacles might have convinced the authorities not to look hard into the case of a dead convict but he expected magical runes could identify the man.

Speaking slowly in all tongues, struggling with numbers, it was easy to assume that Hath was not intelligent. He just lived in his own small part of the world and spent most of his time isolated. If he hadn't possessed a level of cunning he would have perished long ago in the wilds. An orc seemed dangerous to a human. They looked like food to the predators of the wild.

"Hadn't tried hitting something made of magic with it before. Probably still would have been in a ditch if you hadn't put him down. Left me dazed." It hadn't been pleasant feeling that shock lance up his arms and settle behind eyes. Better than death.

Pern had taken a look at the axe, but she was no sorcerer. It still felt warm as he put it back in his bag with the stolen purse. The length of chain was tossed up onto a roof, the manacles could be buried in the roots of one of the trees he could see outside the parade ground.

"Give me that," he grunted. There wasn't any sympathy in his voice; she had told him she was fine. It seemed pointless Scabhair trying to tie off the bandage on her own. He pulled it tight without warning to stem the flow of blood.

"Ever see someone summon a blade of glass before?" he asked as they set off, putting some distance between themselves and the body. He took the purse from his bag and rifled through the contents. Eyebrows rose at the number of gold coins he carried. He didn't find anything that stood out about the purse. Just a plain leather bag.

"What are these worth?" he mumbled. Turning over an entirely blank, steel coin in his fingers.

 

[Scabhair]

The tug on her bandage elicited a sharp hiss, her features pulling into an involuntary grimace. Bitch, that hurt. She’d gotten a few scrapes in her life, broken bones too. The deepest mark on her body came not from an enemy, but a friend and companion – Inodeirr.

“No,” she answered after a moment, jerking her mind from wandering thoughts. The past was the past. “Doesn’t look like any College magic I’ve seen.” To say nothing of the Shamans – it was like comparing water and oil.

She had one foot on the stairs already when her gaze followed his question.

Scabhair stopped dead, silver eyes wide as docatte. The nagging in the back of her mind, the ceaseless wisp of a memory trying to worm its way from the cobwebs of her college years, it finally crystallised at the sight of the steel coin.

“We,” she breathed out, “are so fucked.”

Her gaze flicked back to Hath.

“How attached are you to working for Steelheart?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath recoiled at her expression. He hadn't seen Scabhair look so perturbed by anything so far. He'd seen her in a large military skirmish, in the wilds, assaulting a camp in the dead of night, and climbing the inner walls of the city. The crowd on the inside of the inn the previous night had put her on edge. She wasn't panicked. She was simply telling him in plain terms that they were in real trouble now.

"Steelheart? Not at all really," he said. After a month on the road he wouldn't have had the same of her.

"Who was that?"

 

[Scabhair]

It took her a moment or ten of chewing on her words. “I don’t know… exactly. Records are sparse at best, and likely more hearsay than fact. But—”

She worried a tusk with the tip of her tongue, eyes closed.

“An assassin. I think.” There was an edge of frustration on her voice, stemming wholly from her hate of not knowing. “I’d go check in the library, only… his order is here. In Elbion.”

“That coin,” she pointed at the plain steel piece in his hand, “might well be meant for us. I’m not sure. He mentioned stealing… damn it.”

Uncertainty burned worse than any fire. She directed her hard gaze over Hath’s shoulder, to the distant spires of the College. “We need to get lost.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath gave a grunt of agreement. "Seemed a killer," he said. If it was about theft then it seemed most likely it was the spice they had sold. Had the apothecary sold them out?

"The gates then? Maybe he worked alone. Maybe not. Not many gates for someone to get a message to stop two orcs," he reasoned. Hath had everything he owned on his belt and over his shoulders. They could head east instead of south. In that open land no city dweller would find them and there was far too much open ground to come across Steelheart. He knew much of that land too.

"Don't want to be trapped here being hunted," he said with a slow shake of his head. This was their territory, not a landscape in which he knew how to cover his tracks.

 

[Scabhair]

“Could always use the sewers,” she said with a twisted smile, though somehow she doubted the assassin had sent word to the gates. He’d been far too certain of his success.

“Steelheart doesn’t pay enough to risk staying here. Let’s go.”

Scabhair led the way back through town, weaving down steep stairways, pushing past fishwives and through the morning crowds.

If anyone had seen the mess they’d made of the albino, they were wise enough to turn the other way and forget anything had ever happened. It was better for one’s health. And on the off chance that a witness had been struck by a sudden bout of civic duty, the two orcs would be long outside Elbion’s walls by the time the guards mustered a force to pursue them.

The captain was the same man that had welcomed them into the city – such as his welcome had been – and was more than happy to see them leave so quickly.

 

[Hath Charosh]

They hadn't even talked of where to go on the way out from the city. In the crowds by the gate it didn't seem wise and as soon as they were free he wanted nothing more than to put some space between them and the city. Then there was the small job of finding the third member of the group...

Hath repeated the loud call for the third time. This time his hopefully look was met by a curt nod. Having found some traces of Inodeirr beyond the city he had started to suspect that any time gained by heading in seperate directions and calling for the great lion would be nullified by the time it took him to mimic the call to her satisfaction.

“See you soon then,” he said to Scabhair. They stood on the slope of the dusty ridge from which he had first looked down at the city. Up close it had been a very different prospect. Hath had come to the firm conclusion that he preferred it from a distance. No crowds, no stench, no magical assassins.

Setting off at a jog he crested the ridge and disappeared down the other side. Before Scabhair could even put some distance between them a strangled cry came from his direction. As she reached the top of the ridge however, that had turned into a series of colourful swear words grunted in orcish.

Inodeirr looked up at Scabhair with her jaw wide open. The lion looked thoroughly pleased with herself with Hath pinned, face down, under one paw.

The paw lifted and Hath - still muttering curses - started to crawl away. He had felt the pressure lift from his back but couldn't see the devilish swish of a tale.

He cried out again as half of the lion's considerable weight was dropped on his back from a small pounce. The air was blasted from his lungs and two paws between his shoulder blades kept him pinned.

“Oh come on,” he said after spitting out a fresh mouthful of dirt. Hath went floppy and stayed still. “I'm dead, I'm dead.”

Clearly this wasn't amusing enough as Inodeirr gave him two swift pats to the back of the head, rocking her weight back onto her hind legs and growling playfully.

“Please?” he asked Scabhair pitifully.

 

[Scabhair]

Though her arm still stung and her mind still raced with all the potential repercussions of their actions, the sight of Hath pinned under Inodeirr nonetheless painted a wide grin on her face. A light chuckle shook her shoulders as she strode forward through the dust of their tumble.

“It means she likes you, you know,” she said, silver eyes twinkling with quiet mischief. Leaning forward, Scabhair gave the gathamhr a scratch behind the ears. The lioness didn’t exactly purr, and the sound would certainly seem to the uninitiated a growl, but the attention did eventually coax her off the hapless orc and onto the willing one instead.

Fully expecting the weight of a whole Baaran lion, Scabhair rolled with the pounce. Her hands came up, wrapping around the broad torso of the beast until she managed to grab the scruff.

Then it was just a matter of holding on through the rolling and the twisting. After several moments, Inodeirr finally wriggled to a standstill on her back, paws outstretched every which way.

“Are you done?”

The lioness licked her face and gave a satisfied chuff.

“Guess that’s a yes.”

After that, extracting herself from a tired Inodeirr was practically child’s play. Or literally, if you grew up an Aiforn. She stood, dusted herself off with a wince, and sought out Hath with her gaze.

“You know Aberresai better than I. Where can we best disappear?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

A smile did find its way to his lips as he watched the two at play. He just had to wait for the flight-or-fight response to fade. It might not have hit him so strong and sent his pulse pounding if he had seen the lion coming and known what thrown him to the floor. Being back out in the open and watching the two seemingly renewing their bond was like balm to the soul.

"Almost anywhere," he said with a shrug. "It's the dry season so no city mage is tracking us there without a guide. Orc tribes spread out. They mark their territory and won't be friendly to anyone when food and water is scarce.

"If we head due east we won't go close to Steelheart. Can track back south and my tribe would take us in for winter at the edge of the woods. Could go north in spring, our shaman knows how to make a key for the portal stones to make the crossing."

Hath canted his head to one side and considered the lion that was now smoothing out her fur. "Not sure whether Inodeirr would get on with portal travel."

 

[Scabhair]

As Inodeirr went about cleaning her fur, so did Scabhair unwind the strip of cloth from her arm to check on the wound. It stung something fierce, and the pale textile came back caked black. She winced as she gave the raw flesh a ginger prod. Tender like a newborn lamb.

She’d kill the mage all over again if she could.

With a sigh she cast the useless cloth into the dirt and started off towards the rising sun. “Does bhraichlis grow in these parts?” Despite the turning season, the plains here still seemed scorched brown, with nary a green leaf in sight. Back home she’d have picked the proper plants along the way, plastered them over the injury to keep it from going foul.

“Never used a portal stone before.” You needed a mage for that, and Scabhair spent most of her travels alone. Her eyes slid over to Inodeirr at their right at his dubious tone, brow furrowed. “What’s it like?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Haven't heard the name. Describe it," Hath said. He cast a curious glance at her arm. There were no signs of infection yet. He supposed a magical blade was quite clean. The city itself hadnt smelled clean. Better to be out in the dry heat, though they would have to go far south to reach the arid brushland.

Orcs were not medical experts, but they had learned before humans that an unclean, blood stained blade could kill by infection. Damp and dirty was bad, a fresh bone needle for sewing was less likely to leave a hot rash. Odd that they had learned that it first given how frail humans were and how frequent disease ravaged their cities.

"Absolute darkness. Your eyes are open but you see nothing at all. Breathing feels weird. Then you are somewhere else." It was likely enough to spook the lion in his opinion, but that was up to Scabhair to appraise.

"Didnt get my boots," he suddenly realised.