They burned both Malgorn’s and the woman’s bodies on a pyre at Minervin’s insistence. Ava watched the raging inferno with Beast, unable to warm the growing chill inside her. She knew what she needed to do, but the courage to do it failed her, time and time again. And now that failure had cost the red orc his life.
Whether she and The Outpost acknowledged it or not, these were her people and Spectermere was her home. From many, including herself, it was the only one they had. Despite the hardships, she should help them defend it. But they needed information to do so, and it was something only she had the means to do.
Minervin marched angrily to her side.
“I swear if that fat merchant tries to barter his way onto our ship one more time, I might just set him aflame!” he muttered to himself and heaved out a long, frustrated sigh.
He coughed noisily, drew his robes tightly around him and turned to watch the pyre burn.
“Are you alright, child? I may not have approved of the orc and his methods, but he had his moments, especially when it came to you.”
“It should not have been this way. His body should have been set adrift, where Anarchaen Mulgrath could find it and take him to raid The Lands Eternal upon his mighty warship.”
“Yes, that would be a fitting funeral for a Warlord. You understand I could not risk the illness returning and spreading through the water?” Ava nodded. “The fire may burn the body, but not the spirit. Anarchaen Mulgrath will find Malgorn wandering the seas and be a fool not to accept him onto his ship.”
“Crastius says it is the sorcerer’s doing. He commands through the magic of the illness.”
“You think the illness and the sorcerer are connected? The illness started in Draugr Forest. I cannot see the connection to the sorcerer in the mountain yet. Let us hope he has perished on his mad journey and has not found what it is he seeks there.”
“Accompany me, Minervin. Perhaps some answers lie within Malgorn’s possessions, and you have a better eye for such things than I do.”
----------------------------------------
Malgorn’s hut was stripped bare when they entered, the walls empty of his weapons and all his belongings gone. Only the smithing forge, his workbench and the grinder remained, and Ava knew those would have been stolen too were they lighter to carry or not nailed to the ground. To know that the weapons Malgorn put so much care into crafting and maintaining were now in the hands of the inept and unworthy, he would have raged.
“These people have no shame! If there was anything of value left here to find, it is long gone now,” Minervin sighed.
Ava knew he longed to see the orc’s collection of weapons, but pride prevented him from stepping foot inside Malgorn’s hut while he was still alive.
“Perhaps not. Malgorn was no fool. He would not place the items he valued in so obvious a place. There must be something here they might have missed,” Ava said as her eyes fell on the anvil.
Why was he moving such a heavy thing, anyway? And into the same place it was before? Ava bent over it, running her fingers across its edges. There was nothing odd about the anvil itself, but a spattering of blood stained the side of the wooden block below it. She tried to move the anvil from it. It would not budge. She sat on the floor and tried to push it off with her feet.
Minervin let her struggle with it for a few minutes before removing it with his mind magic. It fell heavily to the ground.
“The orc’s innovation continues to surprise me,” Minervin exclaimed when they revealed a hollow in the block.
Inside were three coin-purses, a leather-bound book, and a sharpened piece of coal.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Of all Malgorn’s many possessions, these were what he placed value upon?
Minervin took the coin purses and opened one, tipping it out into his hand. Large gold coins fell from it. Holden’s bearded face gleamed from one as Minervin held it up to inspect.
“Well, I do believe we have found the stash Malgorn was going to pay the dwarven shipwright with,” he sat on the floor before her and started counting it.
Ava took the book from the block and untied the string. Drawings filled the parchments inside. The first few were of an orc woman, tall and shapely. Her bottom fangs were barely long enough to cover her upper lip, and her dark hair was braided loosely in long plaits. She had a fierceness about her eyes and wielded two double-edged blades in her hands.
Terrebelle, no doubt. No wonder Malgorn was so enamoured with her.
“Who knew the orc possessed such artistic talent,” Minervin said, pausing in his counting to look over at it.
“Indeed, though it would have shamed him to admit it.”
She paged through more pictures of Terrebelle, two of them were nude and made Minervin redden in the face, much to Ava's amusement. The next drawings showed a cracked land with flat mountains and spiky, bulbous trees spotting its plains. The sun could be seen setting through an arched rock formation.
“Blood Rock,” Minervin offered.
“It looks beautiful.”
“Only through an orc’s eyes would it be, I suppose. Sparse land for miles and one filthy lake, I could never see the appeal.”
“Look Minervin!” Ava exclaimed as she paged further along.
The drawing she stopped on was one of Spectermere. Dead trees cluttered the picture, but the Whirlwind swirled unmistakably between them in the distance. The end of it could be seen touching the ground. Strange figures stood beneath the trees, and more appeared closer to the twisting vortex, all brandishing weapons. They seemed to be frozen amid a fierce battle.
“What was that fool orc doing so close to the Whirlwind? He is lucky he did not die sooner. Look, Ava!” Minervin pointed to the sword of the frozen man standing closest. The way Malgorn drew the blade differed to how he drew Terrebelle’s blades. It was shaded in the centre and lighter around its edges. “It may be diamond-crust. Is that where he found the material for your weapons?”
Ava’s cheeks heated at the notion that Malgorn would endanger himself to please her. She turned the page hoping Minervin would not notice the blush, and saw herself up in a tree, hooded and holding her old long bow with a nocked arrow before her. The next one was of her as well and the next and the next, all at different times and places. The earliest one was when she was a little girl of about nine years.
“I was not aware the orc watched you so closely, or for so long. Was he – testing your worth?” he asked pensively.
“I remember this. It was the first time we met. He wandered upon me playing in the forest and scolded me for having no fear of it, then he insulted me, and I threw him with a stick. It hit his back, though I was aiming for his head. I did fear he might kill me then, but I refused to run away, and instead, he just laughed at me. That was more upsetting.”
Ava closed the book. He drew her so beautifully. It was hard to imagine him seeing her as such. She took the third pouch from Minervin when the second one revealed silver coins with Fern’s elven face on it. She tipped the pouch over her hand, expecting copper coins bearing the six lands of Archaicron.
Stones of darkest obsidian fell into her palm, so dark Ava felt lost inside. The tiny, engraved runes coating them swirled and made her dizzy and confused. Yet she could not look away.
She started when Minervin smacked them from her hand.
“Do not touch them!”
“What is it? It is only black obsidian.” She groaned and touched her fingers to her forehead. A mild ache developed between her brows.
“There is a dark enchantment on them, an ancient one. Leave them where they lie,” Minervin said, stepping back and pulling Ava with him.
He used his mind magic to put the ones that scattered back in the pouch and placed it in the hollow, sealing it off again with the anvil. He took the coin pouches and ushered her out, Ava turned back only to retrieve Malgorn’s leather-bound book.
“Minervin?”
“I do not know how the orc came by those things, but we should leave them there. Bad things happen when we tamper with magic from the Age of Gods,” he said, once they were outside.
“Like a sickness that turns a man mad and the veins dark?”
Minervin turned to her suddenly, then turned back and continued at a brisk pace. His mind was racing. “Let us hope not, let us hope the illness does not find its way back to the Outpost before the dwarf completes the ship.”
“Minervin...”
“Only a few more weeks and we will be ready to set sail from this place. With Malgorn now dead, we will have to make our way to The Motherland.”
“Minervin...”
“I do not know how we will fare in The Burning Wastes but of all the races, the Dorcas will be most accepting. They judge people based on their deeds rather than their birth. Though I may have some proving to do...”
“Minervin!”
“What is it, child?”
“I must go into the forest again. I must go south. I must go see what causes the mad illness and I must walk into the Whirlwind to see what lay at its centre,” Ava said in a rush, burdened with every word.
“Absolutely not! I will not allow it.”
“I would prefer your blessing, Minervin, but I will go without it if need be.”
Minervin paused as fear and regret reflected in his eyes. “You are set on this course? You are still so young, there is still time enough.”
“I must. Now.”
Minervin sighed, defeated. “Very well, do what you must.”