Tarn stared back at the orc captain, his plans stopping in mid-stride. In his mind, he had already placed the orcs and their situation in the hands of Ramad. He needed to get his team back into the Sword, and find some way to both reach the Axe Dungeon as well as determine what Yarex’s plans were.

There were enough variables in play as it was. The last thing he needed was some crazy orc making demands.

“Look…. Narsol, right?” He put up his hands, trying to sound firm but reasonable. “We’ve got a lot of pots on the fire here already. I appreciate what you did, helping us out there on the docks. I’d love to hear more about how you even got that gem. But right now-“

“-right now, I would guess you want capable fighters.”

Narsol pointed to the yellow gem embedded in his chest. He had cut his leather armor around it, framing it with stitching and orcish runes.

“No one handed me this gem, human. I earned it – in the very dungeon you seek to access. Yes, I have been inside the Axe, where no doubt you intend to go. That alone makes me valuable to you. But I also fight with the memories of a dozen Blood Summers. I have seen battle and death, and it will not break me. Can you say with honesty you do not need someone like that?”

He’d been inside the Axe? He defeated a still-spawn, without a gem? It was hard to accept, but the evidence was right there in Narsol’s chest.

Tarn grit his teeth. The arguments to allow him to join were compelling. Narsol had already proven himself not only comfortable and capable, and his ‘Obelisk’ class seemed the perfect replacement for Rykin. Someone who could stand in the fray and soak up damage. His knowledge of the Axe Dungeon would be a huge benefit, as would having another combat-experienced veteran on the team.

But he was still an orc, and one they barely knew. How would the team react? How would Bog?

“Narsol, down below are dozens of refugees. Wounded, elderly. Children. They’re in a strange land, surrounded by those who might see them as enemies. Don’t your people need you?”

“Don’t yours?” Narsol glared. “If the impossible is true – if the hated Lurim is truly dead as I have heard, then you are the most powerful man in this Realm. Yet you choose to leave, even when your leaders obviously want you to stay.”

Tarn stared back at the orc. This argument was compelling as well. He’d had it with Ramad a dozen times, but he didn’t expect to be on the other side of it.

“I have helped my people as best I can,” Narsol replied, jaw clenching. “I dragged them across the sea, through storm and fire. I came to you humans on my belly. Begging my enemy for sanctuary. Not for me, but for them. And now I wish to help them again, by going with you. Into battle, into conflict. That is where I have value.”

Tarn could feel the clock ticking in his mind, running down like a pulse timer in his gem’s interface. They needed to get moving, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of a compelling reason to leave a valuable asset like Narsol behind.

“Alright.” Tarn laughed. “I guess I can’t argue with that, probably more than you know. And having someone with us who knows the terrain, the layout. That would be huge. But I will absolutely run this by the orc on our team. You saw her on the pier, I trust her with my life. If she says no, you don’t go.”

Narsol’s face shifted, moving from a defiant and confident scowl to something resembling reverence.

“Of course.” His tone changed as well, losing the fire and gaining a measure of respect. “She should be consulted. I will respect whatever you and … your teammate decide.”

“Okay.” Tarn nodded. “Go find Isca, she’s the Kithikin – the woman with wings. She should be below, and she will get you set up. I’ll talk to the rest of my team, and we’ll let you know.”

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

“Understood.” Narsol’s response was crisp, as was his turn back to the hallway. His straight posture spoke of military experience, his reply showed comfort with a chain of command.

Rykin’s replacement indeed. One thing scratched at the back of Tarn’s mind, like a spider scurrying across the ceiling.

“Narsol.” The orc stopped, turning and facing Tarn in the half-shadow. “You seemed to recognize my friend, down on the pier. To us, she is called Bog. But you seemed to know her from before her memory was taken. Have you met?”

There was a sharp intake of breath, as Narsol tensed. Tarn watched the decision run across the orc’s face, a weighing of both options and word choices.

“I do not know her personally, but I know of her,” he said. “Any orc would. To us, she is the Kai Vae-Riyah. It is not a name, but a title. One you would not know, would rarely hear any orc speak. It is not my place to explain it. If she wishes her past secret, then her wound is not mine to open.”

Without waiting for Tarn’s reply, Narsol turned and walked back into the shadowed hallway. As the orc passed the approaching Urthin and Bog, he gave the Monk a respectful nod. Narsol avoided eye contact with his fellow orc, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

Urthin made no reply, but continued walking as if Narsol was invisible. Bog looked back at the departing sea captain in confusion, shaking her head.

Tarn thought about explaining to the Narsol that Urthin wasn’t being rude by his silence but decided against it. If he ended up on the team, he’d figure Smiley out soon enough.

Urthin stopped just inside the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. Making a humorous show of it, Bog pushed her way past him and walked toward the center of the room.

“The preparations are ready, Tarn. ” Though Urthin seemed stoic as ever, a faint note of emotion still ran through Urthin’s voice. It was deep below the surface, but still Tarn could hear it. “We have two volunteers for your team. Jental and Aryo.”

Jental. He supposed that wasn’t a surprise. The kid was though.

“I know that Jental girly is a pain in the ass, Tarny.” Bog folded her arms. “But I’ll keep her in line. She’s a sharp knife, we’ll need those. But the farm boy – I’m worried about bringing the kid.”

“Yeah, me too.” Tarn sighed. “He’s barely had any training, and he froze up in the last fight. We’d have to worry about him in every battle, he’d be constantly underfoot.”

Tarn thought back to his own younger days, cooped up in the orphanage during Blood Summers. He wanted nothing to do but run out into the world, to fight and explore. The more the adults tried to keep him locked in, the more he ran away. It was a miracle he hadn’t been killed.

“The kid’s coming, isn’t he?” Bog laughed, the deep sound echoing through the council room. “Oh of course he is, nothing can get by that big heart! Don’t worry Tarny. Me and sourpuss here will keep him safe. As long as we get going – anything is better than staying around here.”

Bog’s voice dropped, some of the mirth leaking away. Tarn could see her impatience to leave, and he knew why. It only made his next task harder.

“I agree with our large and loud friend here,” Urthin said. “Lash should be sufficiently rested, and Isca has gathered the supplies. We should make haste, to keep sufficiently ahead of Yarex.”

“Yeah.” Tarn shared the feeling. The council room was too much of a reminder of everything he didn’t want to get pulled into. “Hey, maybe Yarex won’t figure out how to make the key at all.”

“I would not count on that outcome.” Urthin paused, then frowned. “I sense reservations, Tarn? Did Ramad disagree with you leaving?”

“In a manner of speaking, but no it’s not that.” He took a deep breath. Enough stalling, Tarn. Better to just put it on the table and deal with the results. “Narsol wants to come with us.”

“The orc captain?” Urthin’s eyebrow raised. “Unexpected, but tactically advantageous. He seems proficient with the gem, and no doubt has combat experience and familiarity with our destination. Thus, I fail to see the source of your—"

He paused, looking at Bog’s ashen reaction.

“Ah yes. I understand the complication now. Group dynamics do fail me at times.”

“Bog,” Tarn reached up, putting his hand on her shoulder. “He asked to come. He’s an experienced soldier, he’s been in the Axe Dungeon, and he knows more about where we’re going than we do. But none of that means a damn thing to me if you don’t want him there. Say the word, and he’s gone.”

In most scenarios Tarn could predict what Isca would say, what analysis Urthin would offer, or how Lash might react. But Bog was always the mystery, her emotions firey and unpredictable. When she sighed and broke into a pained nod, he was as surprised as if she had flat out refused to go with them.

“Tarny, you were the first person to ever talk to me like I was ... me.” Bog pulled her bangs away from her forehead, showing her mage scar. “You rescued me from this, helped me build who I am. I can’t be afraid of testing that, even around him. I’d rather do it where I feel at home, in battle with you.”

For the first time since the Shadowed Scars, when the word of the orc fleet had come in, Tarn felt a little of his tension ease. Whatever lay ahead, he would have his team on his side, and he would be back in the thick of things, making the choices he understood.

“Then let’s get Lash up.” He smiled, throwing his arm around each of their shoulders. “And get back in the game!”