Chapter One hundred and four

The forest, through which the horribly muddy and unmaintained road took us through, came to an abrupt end, giving way to cultivated fields of something that looked like corn. Orks could see relatively well in the dark, to the elves it didn’t matter whether it was day or night. Being a spirit and not having to rely only on light for sight was helpful, but I still almost yelled a warning to everyone when I noticed the dark, ork-sized figures watching us from the fields. The one thing that prevented me from doing so was the fact that the rangers simply marched along the edges of the road, hunching down so their heads were lower than the height of whatever the corn-like plants were, completely ignoring the dark, insidious observers.

I stretched a couple of my tenties out to check, and I felt totally relieved — and somewhat stupid — as I realised the figures were scarecrows, plain and simple. It seemed orks — or rather their slaves — were serious about agriculture.

We weren’t far from the city’s border now; weak, flickering yellow lights cast black shadows in the distance in the shapes of buildings, a few hundred metres maybe, giving me the first impression of the size of the settlement. A decent sized town, from what I could see.

The rangers decided to shed their ghillie-suits, presumably because it was pointless to have them now, and to increase their mobility. The two humans of the group followed Kitala Iwani practically blind, trudging behind the group, but the man at least was familiar with the terrain so he didn’t need much help and guidance. Krissy, on the other hand, had to rely on her self-proclaimed bodyguard, and had to keep her cursing quiet. She had learned a lot from the rangers, Master Fenirig Arte in particular, and her choices of swearwords reflected that a lot.

The entire road from the Harbour to the city had been completely abandoned, save for the group of kids we’d found, and we reached the first, ramshackle house that marked the entrance to Vraathblood, virtually unimpeded. From this point on, we’d have to follow Golty, Ronron and their ragtag team of teenage hooligans so we could meet this Big Wroogh fellow — presumably a local resistance leader or whatnot — and negotiate the terms of our cooperation with some “proper” people. Master Fenirig Arte gave the order to his rangers: spread out by teams, stay hidden, stay sharp and stay in constant communication through the “fucking spirit-chit-chat-thing”. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that I was an integral part of this mission, whether the bastard liked it or not.

Beyond that first house, the road leading into the city split into a number of smaller avenues or streets, spreading out like the branches of a tree, as muddy as horrible as the rest of the road had been. As far as I could tell, the houses along the streets were an eclectic mix of different shapes and sizes, most of them built with both stone and wood, and if I wasn’t mistaken, thatched roofs were in fashion. Said roofs had no problem whatsoever supporting the large number of rangers that were climbing up to them, then jumping from rooftop to rooftop, following their boss’ orders to spread out fast, silent and unnoticed, leaving the occupants of the buildings none the wiser. And the occupants were there; light was seeping through cracks in doors and shutters, I could hear grunts and growls characteristic of ork conversations, I could even identify humans speaking in their bastardised Orkish.

In a matter of a minute, only Master Fenar, his team, Krissy, Kiwa, and the ork kids were left standing at the edge of town.

Take us to your leader! Master Fenar said the most stereotypical alien invader line to Golty.

The boy grunted something with no corresponding thoughts coming through, and beckoned us to follow him. Which we did.

Golty immediately took us off the main road and onto narrower and darker pathways cutting through the densely built-up outskirts of town. I kept a few tentacles up in the air, keeping tabs on as many of the rangers as I could — they were jumping from building to building in silence, like ninjas in some shonen anime, following us, ready to intervene should the orks try to do anything untoward. A few other of my tenties went through walls, and I could confirm that being past midnight wasn’t a good enough reason for orks to go to bed. In fact, in most houses I didn’t even see beds. The furnishings were rudimentary, and ork families — men, women and children of all sizes, as well as household slaves, mostly humans — gathered around low tables not far from a hearth, eating, arguing, having “who-can-take-more-slaps” contests, and in a few cases, ork parents engaging in the act of creating more ork babies. Ork women had recognisably feminine proportions and were slightly less ugly than their male counterparts, but damn, I would have to work hard to scrub my mind clean of the imagery, and I had to thank all the gods that this world didn’t have internet and orkish porn websites weren’t a thing.

Golty led us through a veritable labyrinth of little streets and alleys, stopping and hiding only a few times when people — sometimes orks, sometimes slaves — would hurry along the deserted pathways. With those exceptions, it seemed the still drizzling rain kept most of the population indoors, and that was good for us.

In about fifteen minutes of following the boy, we reached a place that looked like a small square, complete with tall, wooden posts and sheets of canvas stretched between them like a roof. Might have been a marketplace or other kind of gathering spot for the locals, I wasn’t sure. Golty pointed at a two-storey house across the square, larger than most others I’d seen, and tried to whisper.

‘Oi, over there. Big Wroogh’s shackin’ up in there. Imma get goin’ first, tell ‘im what’s what.’

Well, as it turned out, whispering wasn’t an ork’s strong suit, but I saw no reaction from anyone in the nearby homes, so I supposed he was quiet enough.

Fenar glared at the ork kid; it was obvious he wasn’t associating the word “trust” with him, and in all fairness, he had a point. We’d known him for less than an hour, so who was to say Golty wasn’t going to stab us in the back and alert his mates to the impending elven invasion. Lucky for everyone, I had a solution.

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‘Master Fenirig Arte,’ I called out to our fearless leader. ‘The house isn’t that far, I can keep an eye on our friend and kill him and anyone in there if they try anything.’

Misery, front and center! He ordered Krissy to come forward.

She and Kiwa moved up to join Fenar at the corner of the house we were hiding behind, which took us close enough for me to have a look inside the house of the mystery ork named Big Wroogh. I stretched myself across the square, roughly fifteen metres, and stuck a tentie through the wall of the humble abode of the biggest ork I’d seen to date.

The name Big Wroogh was … well deserved, if slightly misleading. The guy wasn’t “big”. He was enormous, a giant, a colossus, the Incredible Hulk on steroids. He sat on the ground, on some sort of rug or carpet, the table next to him laden with empty, wooden mugs, two human slaves cleaning up spillages of whatever he was drinking. Well, at least the big guy was dressed, because the two greenskinned women resting on his laps were buck naked, having a good time laughing almost uncontrollably at whatever he was saying. And they were totally dwarfed by this Wroogh fellow. Hell, even Raagstrom Raagh was at least two heads shorter than him.

‘Well, the guy looks busy,’ I reported my findings.

You can see him? Fenar asked for confirmation.

‘Yeah. He’s got some sort of romantic thing going on with two … aw hell, I shall call them ladies.’

‘Yah, fuggen Big Wroogh, always busy with ‘em women.’ Ronron snarled angrily. ‘Gank went invitin’ me to push out a few brats for him. Told ‘im to go fugg himself.’

‘I’m bettin’ half ‘em streetbrats are his,’ Golty gurgled the words, bombarding the door of the house with looks that could kill.

‘Mr Popular, eh? And we’re asking a guy you hate to help us?’

‘Hate?’ Both Golty and Ronron flinched as if I had just slapped them.

‘Nah, the fugger’s great,’ Golty stated.

‘Yah, he’s da best,’ Ronron agreed.

They weren’t joking or being sarcastic. They meant it. Alright, weird orkish sensibilities then. I supposed we just had to accept that and move on.

Fenar finally agreed to let Golty go by himself, under my strict and — if necessary — lethal supervision. The boy rushed across the place, under the canvas roof, arriving at the door. And he started banging his fist on it so hard I was sure the entire neighbourhood would be up in arms in seconds. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened, instead, the door opened, and a slave pulled Golty inside before he could say a word.

***

The events inside Big Wroogh’s house took place very quickly: the big ork jumped up, the women landed on the rug, still laughing, then Golty, right when he opened his mouth to speak, got a friendly punch in the face for interrupting the guy’s happy-time. The boy, his nose bleeding once again, shooed the two human slaves away when they wanted to help him up from the floor, and started explaining to his assailant what the situation was. I didn’t understand a single word Big Wroogh said in response, and by the time it occurred to me to make a new thread to connect to the brute, the conversation was over. Golty waltzed back to the door, opened it, and beckoned our little group to rush over and in. And that was it. Forty seconds at most. I was somewhere between impressed and befuddled, but it was what it was: orkish temperament and straightforwardness in action.

I confirmed to the rangers that it was probably okay to go in there — I couldn’t see any traps or hidden orks waiting in ambush, and I was sure this Wroogh fellow couldn’t possibly pose a threat to Fenar and his team. Plus, I sensed Hank salivating over the giant ork’s equally giant soul, so eating him was totally on the table if he tried anything.

Our group filed into the house as quickly and quietly as they could, and the room that had seemed quite large before, proved to be rather small for this many people of varying sizes and races — eight ork kids, two naked ork women, four humans including Krissy, six elves including Kiwa and Fenar, one Raagstrom Raagh, and of course our gracious host, the one and only barbarian Casanova Wroogh. Quite the gathering.

I managed to hook the big guy up to our group’s comm node, just as he led his reddish eyes over his visitors and singled out the former captain of the Raagh’s Uncontested Might.

‘Wot da fuggen hell ya doin’ ‘ere, ya sonofagank?’ he demanded, pushing the women and some of the teenagers out of his way, stepping up to face Raagstrom Raagh.

My estimate was correct: he was at least one and a half heads taller than the captain, and quite a bit bulkier.

‘Ain’t been to town for ages, ya bloated pissbucket, thought imma get a looksee and go punchin’ me up some mystics.’

‘Huh! Da fuggen Raagh went growin’ a spine? Where’s yer crew then?’

‘Fishfood,’ the captain replied curtly.

‘Oi, how da fugg didya go doin’ that?’ Big Wroogh inquired. Raagstrom Raagh simply nodded his head towards Fenirig Arte and the rangers. The big one studied them for a couple of moments, then said, ‘Dem skinny ganks? Ya jokin’?’

‘Nah. That one’s the Hellspawn.’ The captain pointed a finger at one of the elves. They probably all looked the same to him. ‘Been to Hell myself. It ain’t nice.’

Big Wroogh took another look at the rangers, mulling it over in his head, probably, then said,

‘Gank ain’t lookin’ like da Hellspawn, da fugger was big as da old-timey overboss. And ya wanna go killin’ mystics with no crew and ‘em skinny ganks?’

‘Ya wanna go talkin’ bout crews, ya gank? Where’s yer crew? Or ya havin’ brats go fightin’ for ya these days? Where’s yer spine?’

As amusing as an orkish discussion was, it wasn’t really going anywhere, and I wasn’t the only one of the opinion.

Kevin! Master Fenirig Arte called out to me.

For a second, I didn’t even realise it was him. Then, the shock came: Master Fenirig Arte called me by my name. For the first time ever. Kevin, he’d said. My name. Not “shitspirit”, not “invisible bastard”, not anything else. Kevin. Holy shit, something serious was happening, no doubt.

‘Yes?’ I said.

You’re able to give me some of your power, correct? He inquired, while his team kept their eyes on the two bickering green giants as well as all the ork teenagers and slaves. The rangers were ready for action, that much was clear.

‘Yes,’ I said, still in shock at this sudden turn of events.

Master Fenirig Arte, Kevin is my familiar, and I … Krissy began to protest. Which should have surprised me, considering the respect and reverence she had for the man who had taught her most of the skills she now possessed. But Krissy was also somewhat possessive when it came to me, her familiar — I remembered how angry she had been when I left her to possess some orks, or when I retreated to the Spirit World. It was kind of heartwarming to know she was willing to argue about me, even with Fenar.

Misery, trust me on this. Fenar said to her, his usual snark and belligerence absent from his voice and words. First using my name, and now this? This could only be a bad sign, right?

Alright. Krissy conceded.

Do it! Fenar instructed me.

I briefly considered being an obnoxious prick and say something like “forgot to say please”, just to get back at him for a year’s worth of verbal abuse, but I knew this wasn’t the time for that. Instead, I quickly made a new piece of thread with Essence and Mana, and at the same time I looked for the appropriate node in the man’s bronze coloured soul. Three seconds was all it took, and I connected the node in his soul to my Mana Pool, and said,

‘Done.’

I had only done this once before, shortly after arriving to Solace, letting Akela use my Mana despite being Krissy’s familiar already. I knew it was going to work, what I didn’t know was what Fenar was planning to do with it. Well, I didn’t have to wait long to find out.