The black coach’s steel wheels rolled passed a snake. As fast as it could to snake across the earthen track, it was still caught in the path of that beast of a coach. First, the horses’ hooves did not spare it. The first horse stepped right onto its head completely squashing it into the earth. The snake body contorted and writhed on the spot, a natural response for a squashed snake and the horses behind simply trampled over that limping body. Then, the front wheel rolled past cutting it in half and the rear wheel cut the halves into another halves. The four segments writhed and coiled among themselves, bloodied and hopeless. What a mess. The only consolation was that life had deserted the snake long before. At the driver box, a being in black cloak covering him from top to bottom was holding six reins from the six horses. The reins disappeared into the right sleeve as the hand was hidden well within. Whether the being had a role to play in the squashing was not to be known. The reins were slack. The spirited black horses were running on their own accord. They seemed to know their destination.
These giant horses were no other than the legendary warhorses of the Orcs. They were tall and large, with bulky muscles and curly black mane. They had the perfect combination of stamina, speed and strength. With one prance, they could trample an armoured elf to death. With one back kick, they could flip a ballista. They could run a whole day without stopping. Their coats were so dense and sleek that could glance off strikes. Their muscles were tough and hard and could withstand a full blow from a minotaur. Such horses were prized throughout the Great Plains and except for the handsome silverly horses of the elves, called Lightning, there was no other contender. These orcish horses were completely black except for the eyes which were ruby red. In the night, with their war masks on, they were indistinguishable from the darkness. These Spirean Horses, as people of the Plains were not that fond of the name Orcish, were seldom seen anywhere else for the orcs did not sell them freely, especially the top tier ones. In fact, these black horses were among the three items under the Prohibition Order issued by the Controller of Trade of the Hordes.
“Are we there yet?” asked Dono, in one of his impossible poses.
“A few more hours,” replied the coachman, the being in black cloak.
“Finally,” said Dono as he extended his limbs from his contorted form. “Perhaps, I should take a few hours of sleep. Wake me up when we’re near the gate. I need to dandy up, you see.”
“Yes, boss.”
Dono rested himself on the comfortable chair, picked up a bottle of Sea Breeze from the side cabinet and drank all of the blue liquor in one gulp. “Aaahhh, nothing like a good drink after a good exercise.” He then threw the bottle out the window. The cabin was quite large and able to accommodate four large sized beings on its two comfortable cushioned benches with white leather cover. They were installed opposite of each other at the front and back. The sides were the doors and windows and small cabinets containing life essential articles for travelling such as smokes and liquors. Dono pulled a small lever up and a round table unfolded itself from the centre of the cabin floor. There were two rows of such small little levers hidden within the left armrest and each of them operated a certain apparatus of the Black Coach. Dono rested his two big hooves on the table, made himself comfortable on the chair and got ready to sleep. When everything was settled down, he dozed off just like that.
Dono and his coachman had been travelling for many days stopping intermittently for meals, amusements and overnight boardings. During the day, they journeyed and Dono would be in one of his poses to train his Core energy. He believed in consistent training and he had consistently trained every day since that fateful day in his youth when he discovered the importance of progressing, and thus, for at least two hours a day, sometimes the whole day, if he could spare it, he would train and he trained with a hunger, as if he needed it, as if some great overwhelming enemy was in need of killing, as if some incredibly difficult tasks he needed to accomplish. In reality, he had no enemy in the Great Plains. He was too strong and too powerful. Only the very best, the top of the top tier could challenge him. But still, he did not rest. He kept progressing.
Around 250 years ago, he had reached a plateau and he thought he could not go forward anymore. The progress was at a snail pace. He was miserable and lost. Still, he kept training. But 150 years ago, he found a route. It took him another hundred years to map out his whole path to ever more progress, to more power. By now, he had more than doubled his Core and there were still plenty of rooms for advancement, so to speak. His target was to triple his core and with that he calculated, would make him practically invincible. So, he liked travelling in the coach very much. No one would disturb him. He could train all day and then stopped for pleasure. In Rock Bottom, he had too many friends and too many females, not to mention official businesses. He needed to hide. If it was not for his impeccable discipline, he would have side-tracked.
The black coach continued on its journey on the earthen trail at a quick speed. Six Spirean horses had a lot of muscle power. To the horses, this was still a stroll in the park. It was just after noon and the sun was shining remarkably bright but the trees had shielded the track from the sun. They had left the river just this morning and were progressing on schedule. By sundown, they would reach the city, unless some idiot coach like the one in front blocked their way.
The coachman said in a loud boom, “Coming through. Move to the side.”
The trail was indeed wide enough just for two coaches to get through but that idiot was right at the middle. In that coach was an aging apeman with a bushy beard and messy hair.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“What a damn rude voice. Who was that?” he asked the driver through the little window to the driver box. He was with a young apelady. She drew the curtain on her side and looked back at the incoming black horses. They frightened her as she had never seen such beastly looking horses.
“Not sure sir. But it’s all black. I’m slowing down, just in case,” replied the driver.
“What! Slowing down! Why? Go on. They can follow from behind.”
But the driver not only slowed down, he parked the coach at the side of the trail. In fact, he was far too accommodating that half of the coach was outside on the grass and bushes.
“What are you doing? This is ridiculous. You’re stopping to let him through. I’m not paying you a single coin for this.”
After a moment of dreadful wait, the black coach swished past. A flipping silver coin was flying through the air and went straight into the driver’s front pocket. The old apeman continued badgering the driver all this while. He was enraged that the driver gave way and without his permission at that.
The driver was smiling and said to his passengers, “Sir, that was the black coach that just passed.”
“What black coach?”
“You’ve not been around here, haven’t you?”
“No, I …”
Before he could finish the sentence, the driver cut him off, “That’s the black coach of the boss of Rock Bottom, right there.” He was pointing the back of the black coach. “That’s Sootie, right there.”
The young lady looked at the trail of dust left behind by the black coach. She was curious. But the father was still angry.
“So, what? Why do you have to let him through.”
“Why not? They’re faster. Those are orcs’ horses there. Six of ‘em. Can’t match that. And the boss might be in there.”
“What boss? I’m an employer myself. And you’re my employee for the trip. And you let that thing through without asking me.”
The driver was amazed at the old man. How stupid can he be?
“And what orcs’ horses. There’re orcs here, right here.”
“No, no, not here. They’re way over there. Months away. And about not paying me. You’re sure you want to do that.”
“Well, …”
“No, sir. My father didn’t mean that. He’s just angry. He says foolish things when he’s angry.” The young girl looked at her father with the eyes of disapproval. She was very charming when she had that stern look on her face. Every male should be mesmerized by that look.
“Please continue on. We’ll pay you double if you can tell us a bit more about that coach and the boss,” said the young girl in her sweet young voice. Any male should be adequately soothed down by that voice, not to mention the double of the pay.
“Very well then, I can tell you all sorts of stuff about the boss, little missy,” said the driver getting ready to move again. He tugged the horses lightly and they started to drag the coach out from the grassy side and into the trail.
“His name is Dono. There’s no one like him around here. Tall and big and furry and those monstrous horns, better looking horns than the minotaurs, I would say.”
“Why, monstrous horns? I would like to see that,” added the little missy, moving up to the row of seats nearer to the driver box.
“Yep, he’s quite a fellow, a regular fellow. When I’m in Rock Bottom, I’ll always go to his tavern. Oxtrail it is called. Spectacular place, but it’s not a place for you little missy. Too rowdy, if you get what mean. Not a place for pretty young girl like you.”
“Tell me more.”
“Well, what’s there to tell. He’s a regular fellow. He talks with ya, drinks with ya, gamble with ya, like he’s not a boss, and sometimes he’d ring that bell, oh how I like him to ring that bell coz then all the beers are free.”
The driver had a big smile as he reminisced about the fun time he had over at the Oxtrail. He did not know him personally but he definitely had some of those free beers.
“What about the horses? Are they really that fast?” The father kept quiet, not saying anything but he paid attention to everything that was said. He was going to pay the driver double for these so might as well not waste it.
“Oh yes, those are fine damn horses. They are fast. My chestnuts here would never catch ‘em, even if I have six of ‘em. Those are orcs’ horses. Very hard to get. And did ya see that gloss. Those are top grade horses. And he has six of ‘em. My gosh, ya can’t even buy one of ‘em.”
“And how did he get them if he can’t buy them.” interjected the father. He could not resist. “He can’t be stealing them.”
“No. No one knows how he got ‘em. He just got ‘em, I guess. And he got Sootie too. That’s one of a kind. My buddy, now he knows his stuff, this buddy of mine. He deals with all those wagons. The elves’ wagons, the dwarves’ wagons, the orcs’ wagons, the beasts’ wagons, the apes’ wagons, whatever wagons there are he deals with ‘em and he’d never seen one like it. He told me that it was a warwagon, one of the orcs. Ya see, they modified ‘em, for their own use, supposedly, coz there’s no more war and warwagons are useless now. Made from the black ores itself, he said. Damn. That’s a prohibited item. His boss tried to get one but he can’t get one. The orcs aren’t selling coz it’s prohibited. That just shows how over the top the boss is.”
“What’s a prohibited item?” the father asked again, making full use of his money.
“Oh, it’s just whatever stuff that happens to be in the prohibition list of the orcs. Whatever that’s in there, ya’d need a licence to buy. If ya ’re caught dealing with one without the licence, the Prohibitor’d kill ya.”
“So, they can sell and we can’t buy.”
“Sort of. I don’t really know about this trading stuff. I don’t have enough of those damn gold coins to begin with.”
“What’s in the list?”
“Well, it’s simple really. They boil down to only three. Those black horses, anything to do with the Black Ores and the Black Orbs. They’re all Black Somethin. So if you see anything named 'Black' in these parts, be really careful. Coz not every Black Somethin are black in colour, if ya know what I mean.
“I like those horses, although they’re terrifying. I’d be nice to ride one in the countryside,” said the little girl. She was a bit disappointed when she heard that they were not for sale. “Can’t we somehow get one.”
“Ya can get the low grade one, if they’re in stock. They sell like hot cakes, ya know. And they’re still damn fine horses.”
They kept on talking for another hour or so on a variety of subjects like where were they from, what were they doing here and what were they going to do later until the driver suddenly stopped the horses.
“Why are you stopping again?” complained the father.
“Well, I’m afraid there’re dead bodies up ahead.”
And the father and daughter looked at each other immediately and then squeezed their heads to have a good look through the little window.