Virtos Bend was lost.
It was inevitable, like the rising of the sun every morning. Sullen and pallid mood pervaded the soldiers as we retreated. Placing as much distance between the invading horde and ourselves. Yet, none dared to utter a complaint.
Even that silence was an illusion. For I knew, soon, very soon, one of the officers would approach me with burning questions.
Granted, I was expecting it, but still, it came as a surprise, not because of the demand for an explanation but from the one it came from -- Theko.
“Grand Dark Mistress,” said the bugbear, holding the sharp edge of his twin-bladed staff face down in reverence, “Why have you not brought your son to stop the army?”
My Son!. The words staggered me.
“You mean, Talus?”
“Yes,” replied Theko without a moment to spar.
“We are all mildly curious,” added Captain Jorrel who kept pace beside us.
“Two hundred Orc Ashen Bulwarks supported by six hundred Viridian Dawn Rangers was the only sure way to stall the enemy at Virtos Bend.” At my response, a still silence settled -- not the tensed sort of a calm before a storm but more of an anticipatory silence of an audience before the curtain rises.
“Two companies of Ashen bulwarks with hundred orcs in each supported by three companies of Viridian Dawn Archer with two hundred rangers in each, rotated periodically to defend the pass is how I can stall the enemy.”
I let the heavy silence following words settle, precariously.
“But your son is undefeatable,” asked Theko.
“Had I sent Talus to defend, Virtos Bend would have fallen in a single day.” My revelation only raised multiple tired brows. Some in surprise, others in disbelief, and some in a challenge.
“That seems counterintuitive,” came the voice of Captain Jorrel, while his counterpart from Baron Beoric edged closer, his interest in the topic suddenly flared.
“ The One-Horned Warlord has three hundred thousand brutal warriors at his side and an unholy alliance of necromancers and demons to swell those numbers. We will definitely lose, if we consider this as a war of strength and attrition.”
“If not a war then what is it?” The question lingered on tip of everyone’s lips waiting to spill out.
“Approach it like a gamble at a tavern.” I continued, “The One-Horned Warlord knows that we have a powerful warrior at our side, the knowledge of where we have placed Talus eludes him. He knows we have a powerful piece in our hands but he does not know when I would play him. This forces him to go with trial and error methods to draw out Talus.”
Brows knitted in confusion. Only Taltil had the smug smile of someone who pretended to understand.
“Had I sent Talus, we would have lost the benefit of uncertainty and he would have adapted.”
“But how is that possible?” asked Taltil, finally surrendering to her innate curiosity. “Your son is invincible. Theko tells that he forced a demon to commit suicide.”
“The Cambion Warlord has numbers to his advantage. He would split his forces, and send the infantry to keep Talus occupied, while the Komodo Riders, harpies, and Wyvern Knights would have marched ahead. Virtos Bend would have been lost in a single day.”
“How did you know he had recruited Komodo Riders and Wyvern Knights?” asked Captain Hilam.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“I did not. Uncertainty is the nature of war and I listened to the voice of caution.” I answered.
“What if they use the Wyverns to directly assault High-Crag Hold?” pondered Captain Hilam nervously.
“Wyverns are not high flyers like dragons or Gryphons. They are low gliders. The Cambion Warlord will not be able to direct the Wyverns to fly all the way to High-Crag Hold, nor can the harpies do such a long-distance flight.”
Granted my words did bring a tiny morsel to relief on Captain Hilam’s face, but the anxiety still lingered around the man.
“Besides, there are ballistae mounted on High-Crag Hold. When the horde reached Arlene will have command of them. With Talus holding the ground and Arlene controlling the Ballistas, we need not fear the Wyverns or harpies or the komodo riders.”
Captain Jorrel’s eyes darted to the periphery of his vision, conspiratorially seeking the presence of Merowyn before he stated, “I guess the famed brutality and ferociousness of Orc warriors only manifest themselves while raiding hapless travelers and outer lying villages.” He clearly considered Merowyn an Orc despite his identity as a wood elf. Neither Merowyn nor the Viridian Dawn Rangers covering our retreat were within earshot distance.
“They have not responded to our requests yet,” continued Captain Jorrel, unconcealed anger seethed out.
“Granted Orcs are uncivilised but I have met a few who held their share of the bargain, always,” retorted Captain Hilam.
“Political alliances are extremely fickle and unpredictable,” I interjected between them while suppressing my own dark coils of apprehension snapping at me, “Even the supposed grand alliance between Arch Duke Lothmar and Grand Paladin Zelaphiel fell. Perhaps, Urganza is facing an unknown threat.”
“Could it be that the horde split? With an equal force marching through the Orc lands?” asked Theko.
“Or Perhaps, those High elves decided to attack the Orc, hoping to decimate them in a pincer attack?” spat Captain Jorrel. It was unclear who he hated more, Orcs or High elves.
“Or Perhaps, an internal clan feud exploding,” said Merowyn boisterously.
At his approach, I raised a single eyebrow.
“They are consolidating their forces. No pursuers. We have time.” Merowyn answered my silent question before continuing, “After all, clan feuds are not new among orc clans. Whole clans decimated because of a single gaze delivered the wrong way.”
Mild curiosity tugged my sleeves, for this was the first time Merowyn ever indicated any interest in his Orcish heritage. The way Taltil snapped at him with a sharp tilt of her face, and the arched eyebrows of both the captain, made it evident. I was not alone in my curiosity.
As if reading the unspoken thoughts roaming inside our heads, Merowyn volunteered, “Not to confuse you all, I am a wood elf. My parents are wood elves and I grew up in a conclave, accepted by the commune as a wood elf.”
Closing the gap with another leap, he approached closer.
“It was my parents’ idea, should I grow up, and wanted to know my roots.” Merowyn sniffed, uninterestedly. “They found a whole clan butchered. Slaughtered to every male, female, and child.”
“So you were the last survivor?” asked Captain Hilam, empathy stirring suddenly.
Merowyn ignored the comment of Captain Hilam. “They even approached a few other orc clans hoping to find more, but none would talk. They are weird.”
Only Taltil glared, seemingly unaffected by the wry and mirthless laugh on Merowyn’s face. “So why were you spared then?”
“No, I wasn’t. When my parents found me, I was a week or two old baby in a wicker basket, far away from the carnage. Only a single tusk of a pre-adolescent male orc was the only item of personal value found on me.”
Like the premonition of something horrible, a slow and cold shiver crawled up my spine as Merowyn spoke more.
“The common story was that one of my older brothers, no more than a child and mortally wounded, carried me to safety and sensing his own impending death left a tusk of his as a last parting gift for his younger brother.” Contrary to the expectations of all, Merowyn chuckled.
“Merowyn, is the sacrifice of life a simple jest to you?” Hilam’s words carried traces of his suppressed anger. Perhaps, it was my presence that held his acts from lashing out at Merowyn.
“No, you mistook me. It is a nice tale. One that, I do not believe a bit. There is evidence against it. When High Marshall Raelian when to investigate the spot, he found no traces of blood. Sure, the tracks left were consistent with a young orc but the pattern did not indicate any severe life threatening impairment or damage.” Merowyn gave another wry laugh and shrugged as if bereft of any culpability.
Only Theko squirmed, unease twisting inside.
“When I was young my parents told the first story to make me feel special, but the older I got, the more I could see for myself,” said Merowyn.
“The thing with tusk is,” finally spoke Captain Hilam, “orcs have two tusks. Ever wondered who has the other?”
Merowyn, perturbed by Captain Hilam’s question, shifted uncomfortably. He might be a consummate warrior willing to stand against a ravenous horde but still, there are questions, he would dare to avoid.
Theko refused to cast his eyes on Merowyn. He wished he was anywhere except here, near Merowyn.
Something about the lone tusk stirred in the fathomless depth of my memory, like shadows under a moonlight, yet it eluded my grasp.