Chapter One hundred and one

From what I could see in the rain-drenched darkness, at least ten teams were heading up the road, maybe more, forty or so rangers led by none other than Fenirig Arte. Honestly, I felt better having the elven terminator leading the rescue party than anyone else, and I kind of hated that feeling.

The road — and it was charitable to call it that — was a wide, wet, muddy path cutting through the vast, forested area. I was convinced it had been created by decades of traffic rather than any conscious road-building effort on the part of the locals, and it didn’t seem like they put any stock in the concept of “maintenance of public infrastructure” either. The so-called road zig-zagged among the trees like an antilope fleeing from a lion or something, the trees on the edges generously providing all manners of obstacles from fallen branches to occasional larger roots sticking out — a fun little trek for anyone, and I had to wonder how on earth the orks transported goods from the Harbour to their city. Then again, when you had hundreds upon hundreds of slaves to carry your bags for you, you didn’t really need to worry about minor nuisances like road conditions. That’s how on Earth we had the pyramids, the Coliseum, that’s how the Ottoman empire could even attempt to conquer Europe in medieval times, and that’s why it crossed my mind that maybe the bloody orks — given their established practice of slave-keeping — should have been able to build and maintain proper roads. If the Romans could do it — often using bored legionnaires as opposed to actual slaves — so should the green weirdos.

The constant drizzling of rain didn’t help, but the rangers — Krissy and Kiwa included — trudged along the edges of the path with grim determination, not letting the poorer than poor conditions slow them down. I kept all my tentacles focused on our surroundings while listening to the chatter on the different comm-nodes. The marines — with a little help from the rangers on perimeter watch — had taken the Harbour, unfortunately not without casualties. They had lost nine men, a few more had been injured, but all in all, the operation was a success, and the naval engineers could begin their work to destroy the galleys, the piers, the warehouses and shipbuilding workshops in the area, without the enemy able to object in any way.

I almost didn’t notice, but in less than half an hour we reached the point where the Navy ships on sea were about five miles from our position. I could sense my threads stretching and refusing to grow in length, despite having plenty of Essence and Mana in store. There wasn’t much I could do about that, so I informed everyone on every channel that the rangers led by Fenirig Arte were about to go dark for the rest of the mission. The marines and rangers assured us they’d hold the docks and wait for our glorious return, then suddenly they were without voice-chat, and we were on our own.

***

Well, glorious return aside, we still had a few miles, maybe three, of the muddy, wannabe road ahead of us before our glorious entry to the famed city of the Vraathkill Clan. Shortly after disconnecting us from the rest of the expeditionary force, Toven stopped and squat down at a nearby tree, followed by his team and the rest of the contingent, becoming hardly noticeable additions to the wild and wet undergrowth of the forest. I could just about see the Master of Third Rangers some fifteen troops and twenty metres ahead of us, his head popping out of his ghillie-suit, looking ahead intently.

Buildings up ahead. There’s some movement. He announced to the rest of us through our voice-chat.

Go around? One of the team leaders asked.

We shouldn’t leave enemies behind our backs. Toven suggested.

Even with little to no tactical expertise, I agreed with him. Enemies at our backs were a bad thing. The only problem was that no matter how much I stretched my tenties in that direction, I couldn’t see a thing except soggy darkness up ahead. Damn, elven eyesight was something to be envied.

Surround and ambush. Six teams left, six teams right. I expect quick and quiet work. Fenirig Arte gave the orders, and he was already up, heading into the forest on the left with his team to commence the “surround” part of his plan.

Toven and his team — and therefore my host — went right. Even I had trouble seeing anything under the thick canopy, but with Kiwa’s help, we managed to keep up with the rangers. It took some ten minutes until the teams circled the place.

The road cut through a fairly large area cleared of trees, perhaps fifty or so metres in diameter, littered with wooden buildings of various sizes and shapes, on both sides of the road. It reminded me of abandoned frontier towns in old western movies, tumbleweeds thrown around by the hot, dry wind the only things missing.

Master Fenar was right. From the edge of the clearing, it was now easy to see dark figures cautiously moving among the seemingly derelict structures. I didn’t have a good feeling about this. I was by no means an expert, but whoever those figures were, they weren’t acting like they belonged in this place. The only word coming to my mind as I watched them move between the houses, was sneaking. They were sneaking, constantly looking around as if they were afraid to get caught. Not only that, but they were all carrying something like bags or buckets. Thieves, maybe? I imagined ork society wouldn’t be very forgiving of thieves. Maybe they were thieves, maybe they weren’t, and frankly, I wasn’t even sure if they were orks to begin with. Some of them were quite stocky, sure, but none of them were nearly as large as the green barbarians I knew and loved.

Four of them on our side. Master Fenar reported from their side of the clearing.

Five on ours. Toven gave his own report.

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Nine enemy combatants then? Shouldn’t really be a problem for twelve ranger teams. The question was whether the buildings had more people in them or not, and why neither Orkuz Graal nor Raagstrom Raagh had mentioned there’d be a quaint little resting spot on the way to the city.

Who or what in the hell are these? I heard one of the team-leaders pose a question.

Kids. Fenirig Arte grumbled through the voice-chat, observing the scene from the opposite side of the clearing. Fucking barbarian kids.

Kids? Really? I had to have another look at the five shadowy figures on our side, and that wasn’t exactly easy, as they have just vanished behind one of the houses about twenty metres from us.

‘Krissy! Please move down towards the road a bit. A few metres. Or paces. Please,’ I asked my host.

Why? She asked.

Why? Toven asked, too.

‘I want to have a look. I have a bad feeling about this.’

‘What is it, bro? You think kids will taste worse than the grown-ups?’ Hank suddenly joined in. ‘Mushrooms are mushrooms, young or old, right?’

‘It’s not that. I don’t want to kill kids,’ I replied without thinking, even though I wasn’t sure if that was what I’d wanted to say, or what I really thought.

‘You sure about that? I mean, saying that after hundreds of orks and slaves, you know …’

‘Well, excuse me for being a creature of contradiction,’ I snapped at him.

Contradiction or not, an enemy is an enemy. Toven stated.

Do I move or not? Krissy demanded, looking annoyed.

Let the spirit have a look. Check what’s inside the houses, too. Master Fenar chimed in with his usual, grumpy and disapproving tone.

‘Yes, please. Just a little. They’re behind one of the houses nearer the road,’ I said to Krissy immediately.

Kiwa led Krissy slowly and carefully, and we managed to move at least five meters along the treeline, arriving almost at the edge of the road. I estimated we were close enough now, and I pushed my spherical body as far from Krissy as my connecting tentacle allowed it. I stretched another tentie out, pushing it through a house that turned out to be empty — save for some simple and degraded shelvings along the walls — then through the larger building behind which the alleged kids were hiding. And there they were, the tip of my tentacle stopping only a few inches from the face of one of them.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ I groaned.

What is it? The question came from multiple people, including but not limited to Krissy, Kiwa, Toven, Fenar, and other team-leaders. So, basically everyone on our voice-chat.

What was it? Well, ork kids of course. Four of them, plus one human, presumably a household slave or something, but that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that while three of the small greenskins seemed to be engaged in some artistic endeavor — holding buckets of paint and brushing generous amounts of it on the wall of the building — the fourth one, right in front of my tentacle, had his weird looking trousers down, his equipment out, and was pissing on his section of the wall. I was a spirit now, and as such I was above most mortal concerns, therefore there was no reason for me to feel jealous of an ork teenager’s divinely blessed anatomy. And I wasn’t. I had tentacles, and that was an automatic win.

‘Ork teenagers doing graffiti,’ I answered.

They what? The confused question came from everyone.

‘They are kids, probably quite young, and they’re painting stuff on the wall. It looks like … texts or symbols. They’re quite good, actually.’

I had seen the kind of chicken-scratch that passed as writing for orks — those logbooks or whatnot from the Graal’s Enormous Pride were quite an eye-sore — but these stocky, human-sized ork kids were doing a fantastic job in making the texts somewhat pleasant to look at. It really was graffiti; I could tell the letters or characters were exaggerated, they added different outlines and decorations — although in the darkness it was difficult to distinguish the colours from each other — and whatever they were writing had a nice flow to it. Proper little graffiti artists. No wonder they were sneaking around in the middle of the night — I imagined they’d get into some kind of trouble if caught, maybe with their parents, maybe with local ork authorities, maybe even with the spiritualists themselves.

I murmured thanks to every god, real or imagined, that the kid in front of me finished relieving himself and pulled his trousers up. The human slave — a man who I guessed was in his early thirties — handed him a bucket and a brush, and he began to work on his section of the wall.

‘Bro, what are you waiting for? They’re vandalising someone’s property. That makes them dinner, legally speaking,’ Hank proposed, not unexpectedly. I knew he was going to say that.

But the thing was: I didn’t want to eat them. Sure, they were kind of ugly, kind of frightening, and had a weird, mossy shade of green to boot. But as I was looking at these kids, grunting at each other while painting graffiti, giggling in a hoarse way, talking to their accompanying human in a tone that might have even been friendly by ork standards, I felt the exact opposite of wanting to eat the mushroom-y little twats.

I was also sure one of them was a girl. I hadn’t seen a female ork before, but one of these kids — upon a closer glance — had slightly different proportions; somewhat wider hips, the face a little narrower, and under her leather tunic-like top, the beginnings of two mounds. Well, I guess orks were mammals after all, just like humans or elves.

What’s the hold up, spirit? Fenirig Arte demanded over the voice-chat. The enemy is there. Do your evil-spirit thing and do it quickly and quietly. We’ll deal with the one on our end simultaneously, then we can move on.

‘Wait, wait, wait, not so fast!’ I screeched, trying to come up with some excuse to avoid killing the kids.

As Hank had pointed it out minutes earlier, it was rather contradictory coming from me. Or hypocritical. Or something. I’d had almost no qualms slaughtering hundreds of unarmed and restrained rowers, so in theory there shouldn’t have been anything holding me back from turning a bunch of young orks into spirit-food. But in the end of the day, I’m the one who had to deal with my own conscience, my own feelings, my own sense of right and wrong in any given situation. In this particular situation, I decided I did not want to kill these kids. Why would I? Were they really enemies? Did I need their souls that badly?

Not so fast? Listen you shitspirit, get it done or stand back and we’ll do it! Master Fenar’s thoughts thundered through the comm-node.

Kevin? What the hell are you up to? Krissy asked, sounding worried.

‘Just give me five minutes. I’ll sort this out,’ I stated as confidently as I could.

Unfortunately, having decided what not to do, didn’t come with any insights into what to actually do. So, I needed help.

‘Come on, bro, let’s eat the little green men!’ Hank pleaded.

Well, Hank obviously wasn’t the help I needed. And I had a sudden epiphany.

‘Hey! Raagstrom!’ I called out to the poor galley captain dealing with his own, personal Hell.

Arrhggg … hrrrrr … lemme outa here! He squeaked, and I could tell he was nearing the end of his rope.

‘Right, listen… uh … Reggie! I’ll let you out. If you help me with something,’ I informed him.

For a moment he was quiet, then, as if life had been breathed back into him, he screamed as loudly as he could.

Imma help ya gank! Anythin! Just fuggen lemme outa here!