Merdon wished they'd gotten a horse before leaving. They'd had horses before, but with nowhere to stable them upon reaching Verist's tower the beasts had wandered off during their days-long trek through the white structure. Expected as that was, given how long they had been gone by the time they finished their fight with the witch, Merdon was missing them quite a lot as he carried Sarel, and her pack, and his own pack, through the land of the orcs. The kobold had watched him sleep for much longer than he expected her to and was near to collapse herself when he woke up. This was the closest compromise he could make for the time being. All around them was flatland, not so much as a tree in sight. For all the questions the sight raised, such as what the orcs were doing with an open and uninhabited stretch of land like this, perhaps even where any trees might have gone, was pushed aside by the knight's sheer exertion of carrying quite literally everything in the world he cared about.

It wasn't fast but his pace was steady. That was all that mattered to Merdon as he walked. There was no time to stop and ponder his direction. Until their encounter with the Eyes of Ethral in the forest was nothing but a distant memory, both physically and metaphorically, he would keep moving straight away from the place. It didn't matter how much he had to carry to keep them safe, he would shoulder the world itself if he had to. Though, as bold as he felt doing it, Merdon realized it was slow going and sooner or later the pace would put them at a disadvantage. All he was looking for was a place to lay low for the night. Somewhere sheltered, hidden from view where he could lay Sarel down, no fires, no signs of life, and just rest. They could plan as much as they needed to once they were back in fighting condition.

His silent prayers were answered at the sight of a small ravine to one side. A river he'd seen had been his goal for some water, but upstream was exactly the kind of location he needed. It looked, as he moved closer towards it, as if a small mountain had existed there at some time, or perhaps a full-sized one long ago, that had been cut down by the water flowing from it. The area was distinct, that was a danger he realized, people would naturally investigate it if they were following his rough path, but it was defensible. As he moved into the mouth of the area, Merdon realized it was only the ending of a long stretch of raised land. What appeared to be a hill, invisible for all the land around it, was actually split in the middle and ended with this rocky outcropping.

Merdon roused Sarel and shown her their location. The kobold looked behind them and grinned. She was pleased with the progress they had made and was well-rested enough after hours of plodding that she jumped off his back and scouted ahead. While the knight walked behind her slowly, examining the area in detail, Sarel discovered a small dugout in one of the walls of the ravine. With some rocks moved around, Merdon was able to slip into the area and push them back, forming a small wall between them and the outside world. It wasn't a large area, big enough for the two of them to lay down and be unseen from afar, but it would do nicely. Once the rocks were in place, along with some creative organization of their tent pieces, the human removed his armor and curled up in his bedroll. It didn't matter to him it was just after noon. His body was still sore, his mind was foggy. In short, he was tired and needed the rest.

Sarel watched out for him again until evening, at which point she woke him up with a cold meal of their rations and some of the fresh water from the ravine. It looked safe enough after all. The knight ate quickly and eagerly. With a decent sleep under his belt, other things were returning to the forefront of his mind, like hunger. They had shelter, for a time, and with the last of the light from outside, Merdon pulled out the map and looked it over with Quickclaw. It was difficult to tell where, exactly, they were any more. Vague guesses about distance and landmarks were all they had. No orc villages had been in their path, and they'd moved in a fairly straight line from the forest. Merdon pressed a finger to a spot on the map and shrugged. That was the best he could offer.

“We should turn West then,” Sarel said, glancing out of their hiding hole at the river. “Follow the river's flow for some time.”

The knight nodded in agreement. “At some point there we should see a village to the North, which will be our cue to back up and head North ourselves.” Out of sight of the village, of course. “After that, it's a complicated dance to try and get to their stronghold.”

Sarel frowned and sat back against the cave wall. “What will we say when we arrive?” she asked seriously. “Have we thought that far, verakt?”

“Not quite,” he admitted as he packed the map away. “At this point, it's something like... hi, I want your help overthrowing the king of Avant.”

The kobold giggled. “Well, someone will listen,” she joked. “How seriously they take it, however, is in the air.”

“Yeah, getting them to take me seriously is the part I'm not sure how to do.” The knight sat back himself and frowned while the last few strands of daylight faded away. “How would you convince a whole race, one who hates your race, to honestly believe you're willing to fight your own kind?”

Sarel's smile faded like the light and she looked at her mate in the darkness. He couldn't see the way she could. The way she saw his face in the dark as if it were early morning, the cloudy expression he was trying to hide in the shadows. “We will convince them,” she assured him. “Whatever we have to do.”

Merdon exhaled softly and nodded. “Get some rest,” he told her, reaching over and giving the kobold a firm hug and a short kiss. “I'm going to need you on watch again so we can both be ready to go tomorrow.”

She agreed, her mood greatly elevated by those signs of affection. Even so, the kobold fell asleep quickly once she was wrapped up tight in her roll. While she slept, Merdon went over his gear as quietly as he could. His armor still well buffed, but his sword needed a little work, what he could in the darkness anyway. The most concerning thing was his shield. It was cracked in the middle of the face, a small rend but significant enough. An enemy could get their weapon stuck in there, use it to push him, a strong weapon might even destroy the shield. While it was a question, it wasn't one he could ponder over at that time. There was nothing he could do about it, the shield needed proper repairs and not just buffed or cleaned. He wondered when the next time they would get a chance to fix it would even come. Perhaps if the orc leader liked what he had to say an orcish smith could handle the job. That was still a big if.

The knight sat in the darkness listening to the sounds of the stream while he tried to come up with something to say to the orc's leader. He thought of many approaches, being blunt, simply telling them he wanted to raise an army to dethrone the king of Avant. That, he figured, would be met with laughter and disbelief, making it a hard sell, but possibly his best chance of not being killed on the spot. Alternatively, Merdon considered testing the waters. If he faked being a messenger of the king he could gauge their cooperation without revealing his plans outright. Until it would benefit him anyway. However, the deceptive method had a greater risk of the orcs simply killing him, or challenging him to life-threatening combat. Both choices had a coin flip, but only the second one was likely to happen before anything else. Being upfront about his desires would at least make sure he was listened to.

It was a difficult thing to think about given his lack of experience with orcs. All he had to work with were rumors and hearsay from other folks, being Avant rarely allowed orcs inside the national borders. Sitting there in the alcove, alone with his thoughts, Merdon started to feel antsy. His instinct was to do something more, but his equipment was cared for, and he couldn't just get up and stretch his legs. They were in unknown territory with the possibility of being followed or watched at every turn. Taking a late-night walk was not on the list of acceptable activities, even if he felt mildly cramped inside the hole in the wall. He tried to think about things more, but the harder he tried to distract himself the worse his desire to get up and move became. A rare feeling for him, to be sure, but not an unsurprising one given what he'd gone through in the last few days.

“Come out where I can see you,” a deep voice echoed through the ravine suddenly, waking up Sarel as it got Merdon's attention.

The thief looked at Merdon with an accusatory gaze, silently asking him if he knew about whoever that was. Merdon shook his head and moved closer to look out of their shelter. A tall figure stood ankle-deep in the ravine's water, nearly a foot and a half taller than the knight himself, and was looking right at their place of rest. “I can see you,” he said, prompting Merdon to pull his head back inside and look at Sarel.

Quickclaw was putting some of her gear on, especially her dagger and armor. The human thought to do the same, but worried the sound would call the orc, it had to be an orc, to attack early. He settled for his sword and shield before stepping out into the night air. Glad as he was to be moving, his nerves were back with a vengeance at the sight of the orc before them. Belted on its side was an ax, wide and long, capable of cutting a man in half no doubt. Which gave Merdon a prickling feeling in his side, right near the bottom where the only thing keeping him whole was some skin and his backbone. An easy place to cleave him in two, especially without his armor.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

The orc looked between the two, his dark skin color made him blend easily into the night. He grumbled and demanded, “Put your armor on, human. It's not a good fight if you die in a single swing.” Merdon frowned and looked back in the alcove for a second, unsure if he wanted to turn his back on the orc. “I won't,” the dark-skinned orc told him. “That wouldn't be sporting of me.”

Sour faced, Merdon went back into the hole and began putting his armor on bit by bit, slowly though. He was thinking some more. While he busied himself, a light started outside. A quick look shown a small fire on the bank of the stream. The orc had lit the place. His claims for a fair fight seemed genuine. That struck the knight strangely. Why did he keep bumping into honorable creatures? Perhaps his perceptions were just colored poorly. Whatever the case, when the human stepped back outside, his opponent was ready, ax in hand.

“Sure we can't talk about this?” Merdon called, leaving his helmet off for the time being.

“Talk?” the orc laughed. “Since when do you humans talk?” He looked at Sarel and added, “Besides, there's no need for me to talk after seeing her. You'll be free soon, sister.”

Sarel blinked and opened her mouth, but she was cut off by the orc roaring into the air. A fierce and loud noise which made her cover her ear holes. Merdon, realizing there wasn't much room for discussion, put his helmet on and got ready for a brawl. As soon as his sword was out, he banged his shield and started its spell. The orc moved first, and fast. Speed was not something the knight would have attributed to an orc, especially given its weapon of choice, but it was faster than he expected. Luckily, he'd taken the precaution with his shield, and the ax was diverted straight to it. Unfortunately, the orc struck with enough force to nearly buckle Merdon's arm. He barely had time to thrust in response before the orc moved away and laughed.

“First time fighting an orc?” he taunted. “It'll be your last too.” The orc swung again, smashing his ax into Merdon's shield, with the exception that the knight was ready for him this time. He didn't almost topple, and his retaliation came much faster, almost nicking the orc.

“I'm a quick study,” Merdon grunted, feeling the pressure of the fight already. He wouldn't give up. If he was against a stronger opponent then he needed to be faster and think better. The knight tried to strike quicker, keep the orc off balance. His second swing came out before the orc's third, forcing him to defend. Sadly, the orc was used to defending himself and easily twisted Merdon's sword out of the way before thrusting his ax. It wouldn't stab anyone, but it bashed against Merdon's shield and pushed him back out of his sword's reach.

The orc laughed. “Nice try, hume, but not good enough.” He swung again, a massive overhead blow that Merdon barely managed to dodge out of the way of, the heavy ax slamming into the ground and spitting mud everywhere.

Attempting to capitalize on the attack, Merdon stomped his booted foot onto the back of the ax, pushing it deeper into the ground. Continuing with his advantage, Merdon swung at the orc's hand, forcing him to let go of the ax. He stepped off and pushed while he was able to, swinging and thrusting at the unarmed orc, but making no real attempts to kill him. Not until they knew what his purpose was. That was when the fight turned sour.

In a matter of seconds, Merdon found his blade hitting air, and then a fist catching the side of his helmet. Ear ringing, a second fist slammed into his breastplate and knocked him on his back. The orc was much stronger than he thought. Stronger than any opponent he'd ever faced and it all clicked as to why Avant was so worried about them starting another war. It would take at least two men for every one orc, and with the way this one was beating on him, even that might not be enough. He barely managed to put his shield up to stop a foot from crushing him, and even so his arm had been pressed against his chest just trying to hold the orc back. While pinning him with a foot, the orc freed his ax and raised it up, stepping off to get the maximum angle.

Winded, dazed, Merdon only held his shield up in defense, protecting his face from the coming blow. The ax fell hard and fast, the orc roaring in triumph. Its blade sharp and landing at the right angle. An explosion reverberated through the air, sliding Merdon backward and into the ravine wall while throwing the orc back into the stream. The knight was left holding a handle and nothing more as fragments of metal rained down around them. His head still ringing, it took him several moments to realize what had passed. Red's gift had broken, the shattering of the shield releasing the spell in a magnificent fashion. A finale that gave him a reprieve, but not a victory. Wrangling his thoughts, seeing the orc stand stunned across the way, Merdon looked at Sarel desperately.

“Quickclaw!” he shouted, trying to impress upon her the need to flee. That wasn't what she understood though.

Rather, the kobold darted forward, drawing her knife and leaping at the dark-skinned beast across the water. Mid leap, however, something came off the orc's back, jumping at the same angle and tackling Sarel out of her own jump. The pair rolled in the mud until the blue-scaled kobold pushed her attacker off and got a glimpse. Another kobold, as black as the night itself, face obscured, and carrying a pair of daggers. Sarel froze for a moment at the sight. A full-blooded kobold assassin, nearly as much a mythological concept as a kobold knight.

The assassin didn't waste time. It dashed forward and swung, but clearly its heart wasn't in the fight. It didn't want to kill Sarel, only keep her from attacking the orc. Who was moving back towards Merdon with his ax over his shoulder. Merdon had nowhere to run, hide, or defend himself with. He could only stand and two hand his sword, which was not quite designed for such combat. Sarel would have to hold off her own opponent or risk her verakt getting a knife in the side again. Such worries fueled her parries and counters against the black kobold.

“Nice try,” the orc told Merdon, setting himself for combat a few feet away from the human, letting him recover. “But you can't get your slave to do your dirty work here.”

Merdon grit his teeth and stood up, clenching his sword. “Not my slave,” he growled before charging forward.

Without a shield, the only thing Merdon could do was be as offensive as possible. It was tough, the orc was fast and his ax had the range. The knight was battered, out of his element, missing equipment, and sadly out skilled. No matter how he saw it, the orc was his better. For the second time in as many days, Merdon had met someone that could do much more than stand toe to toe with him. His lack of training was becoming more apparent, and it was wearing on him. Without missing a beat, the orc managed to yank Merdon's sword out of his grip and kick him back over. There was no fight left in him after the last several blows. In just a few minutes he had gone from even, to at an advantage, to bested. He had no room for anger, only worry as he looked over at Sarel.

The kobold looked behind her and her eyes went wide. She was open, the black one saw it, but it stopped as the blue one moved, spoke, without regard for herself.

“Verakt!” Sarel shouted, lunging at the black orc, her dagger cocked back and thrown as hard as she could manage. The assassin stumbled, intentionally, its own dagger missing Sarel's shoulder by centimeters.

The orc was well aware of the coming blade, easily turning his arm to avoid it, but the black kobold did more than the dagger ever could have. “Halt, verakt,” the assassin called, making the orc pause and look at her; the voice definitively feminine.

“What?” he grumbled, keeping an eye on Merdon.

The black kobold sprinted past Sarel and nimbly climbed the orc. “You heard the blue one,” she said. “The word she spoke. Our word.”

Merdon was frozen, his eyes stuck on the ax looming over him, the orc like an executioner.

“Yes, she said verakt, mate, the human could-.” His comment was cut off by the kobold on his back slapping his head.

“No slave would call a rapist their verakt,” she hissed. “No kobold is so dense.”

The orc grumbled. “She could be mesmerized,” he reasoned.

“Not fighting the way she did,” the black kobold once more argued. “She isn't slow, her wits are clearly about her. I sense no alterations to her mind.”

After a pause, the orc set his ax down and grunted. “So... who are they?” he asked.

With a sigh, the kobold on his back said, “Why not ask them yourself, Grot?”

Sarel answered without being asked herself. “We were seeking the orc capital.” The blue kobold stepped over, putting herself between Merdon and the orc. “To raise a rebellion.”

Grot, as he was called, blinked and then laughed. It was an earth-shaking sound that felt like it would echo without a ravine around them. “A rebellion?” he asked, incredulously. “What ever for?”

Merdon recovered his wits and sat up, taking his helmet off. “My name is Merdon,” he told the orc. “But many more know me now as the kobold whisperer.”

The kobold on Grot's back looked at the orc. “The whisperer? We have heard … stories.”

“About a massacre in Ardmach?” he asked, the kobold nodding in response. “Yeah, that was me. They captured my friends, I saw things I-.” He stopped and shook his head. Merdon couldn't go back to those thoughts.

“You saw what they do,” Grot grumbled. “Well, what do you know, a human with a conscience.”

“He is not the only one,” Sarel told the orc. “Their government lies to them, keeps them in the dark.”

The black kobold gave a short laugh. “They do as humes do,” she simplified.

Merdon shook his head. “No, this is different. Kobolds are more related to dragonkin than monsters,” he told the pair, causing them both to raise a brow.

“It sounds like you know a bit more than we do,” Grot admitted. “What exactly were you hoping to achieve here, human?”

“I wanted to speak to the chief of chiefs,” the human said earnestly. “To see if he was interested in getting some payback for the great war.”

Grot smirked and then burst with laughter again. “You've got balls, hume,” the orc joked. “To see the chief of chiefs, however, you'll have to get endorsed by a chief yourself.”

Merdon picked himself up off the ground. “Fine, how do I do that?”

Grot rolled his shoulders, the black kobold slipping to wherever she'd come from on his back. “You want that? Come with me,” he told them. “Get your stuff and we'll go to the village across the way. We can discuss it with the chief there.”

Sarel nodded and went to get her pack before stopping and turning back. “How did you know where we were?” she asked, looking at their hiding place. It was quite well hidden.

Grot smirked at her and said, “Our scouts saw you enter the ravine this afternoon. When you didn't come back out, we knew you were camped in here.”

The knight frowned. Clearly, they weren't as stealthy as he hoped they were. It set in that the offer could be a trap, but he picked up his pack anyway, keeping his armor on. Just in case.