Chapter One hundred and three

Master Fenirig Arte listened to my explanation — he was on a different comm-node so he had only heard snippets of the orks’ discussions, if that. His reaction wasn’t at all what I had expected: instead of magically grabbing my invisible and immaterial body and breaking me in half, he simply hummed thoughtfully before saying,

‘Put me through to the green cretins!’

I almost cried out with relief that I had narrowly avoided a fate worse than death at the hands of the elven war-machine, but I managed to hold back and get to work, making a new piece of thread to patch him through to the orks. At the same time, I also contemplated why I was so scared of the man when I didn’t actually believe he could do anything to me. My best guess was that his insane but completely justified confidence was to blame, as well as my own emotional landscape shaped by my hopefully fading pushover-ness. Yep, I had come a long way, but there was still work to be done.

The orks, including Raagstrom Raagh, were more or less quiet now, nervously eying all the bushy rangers in the darkness surrounding them. Yellow Paint Boy and the sole girl in the group had their eyes glued to Krissy, probably thinking she was the leader, on account of wearing a mask and her ghillie-suit falling apart already — I supposed at this point this kind of concealment was redundant anyway. They looked rather shocked when the response they’d been waiting for came from a voice in their heads that they couldn’t connect to any one of the bodies.

Listen up, you jolly green bastards! Master Fenar addressed them without stepping forward or making a move of any kind. Your people might know me as … oh shit, I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. Well, you shitnuggets might know me as the “Hellspawn”. I was there when your lot arrived from wherever the hell you came from, in fact, I’m the one who had slain that idiot Gralnohr Whatshisname.

‘Gral … Gralnohr Grendaar, Overboss of all Clans Gralnohr Grendaar? Yer sayin’ yer the fugger who went killin’ im old-timey Overboss? The fuggen Hellspawn?’ The teenage ork girl spoke up first, while the rest of the boys, as well as Reggie, were just staring into nothing, seemingly having a hard time processing Fenar’s claims.

‘Oi, Ronron, Overboss and Hellspawn? Twas like a thousand years. Gank ain’t the Hellspawn, that ain’t real stuff,’ Yellow Paint Boy protested the claim.

Two hundred and seven years you dimwit, that’s not that long ago. Don’t you fuckers learn history? Fenar growled at the gobsmacked kids.

‘Oi, oi, oi, Golty, Hellspawn ain’t no kid-tale, old man Sargahr sayin’ twas real as pain,’ the girl — apparently Ronron — informed Yellow Paint Boy — apparently Golty.

To everyone’s surprise, the human slave stepped to Golty and put his hand on his shoulder.

‘Master Goltrohk, if I may,’ he began to say, but Golty stopped him.

‘Golty. Toldya to go callin’ me Golty!’

‘Right. Master Golty, the Alliance has records that state the Hellspawn was an elven … pardon me, a pointy-ear gank warrior from Fayr-Sitan, and a mystic, and the Adventurer Union has information that the Sitanese ganks believe he’s still alive.’

I’m alive, thank you very much. Fenar commented.

Golty opened his big, toothy mouth to say something, but nothing came out; he was clearly trying to process the new information, and he wasn’t the only one.

I had heard from Fenar and his wife about the war against a giant tentacle horror — or evil god — and I remembered them saying the green guys had arrived in this world around the same time. This new detail that Fenar had killed the then-leader of the orks, kind of explained how at least his nickname had made it into orkish folklore. Quite frankly, I was becoming interested in the story, but I supposed it had to wait. Plus, I wasn’t sure what the natural lifespan of an ork was, but if we were three or more generations after those events, the story may have been since embellished or changed somewhat, so relying on orks for an accurate account of events would have been a mistake. But I could understand why Golty was sceptical about accepting the talk of mythical heroes and villains. I would have been, too, in his shoes.

But that wasn’t the main issue: Fenar’s introduction had sparked a weird conversation and had taken us off the topic. I still wanted these kids to survive, no matter how annoying they were, and we were not getting closer to work out what to do with this situation. Fenar seemed to have some ideas, the ork kids seemed to have their ideas, I had no idea, so I wanted to steer the conversation back to something more constructive.

The human slave must have had the same thought; he spoke before I could say my piece.

‘Also, Master Golty, I would advise getting back to discussing a possible deal with these ganks would be the thing to do right now. Whether the Hellspawn is real or whether he’s here or not, is irrelevant.’

He was of course right, except I didn’t see how the presence of the Hellspawn was irrelevant in any way, shape or form. The man was a highly trained and capable killing machine who could probably slaughter everyone here even without a familiar, and I included the rangers as well in the assessment. I dreaded to think what he could do if he had access to Mana.

‘Ya wanna go makin’ a deal with ‘em ganks?’ Raagstrom Raagh asked, sounding not so much angry but befuddled, bending down a bit to bring himself to eye-level with the kid.

‘Yah,’ Golty told him to his face. ‘Ya seafuggers ain’t got no clue whats goin’ down in Vraathblood.’

‘Time we went takin’ the clan back. Whatcha gon do? Run?’ Ronron added.

‘I ain’t no runner,’ the large ork proclaimed.

‘Except when it comes to Hell,’ Hank giggled.

‘Hell ain’t nice,’ he retorted, then said to the kids, ‘Imma help ya wee ganks, I’m Vraathkill. And I’m hopin’ to shit it ain’t just ya brats.’

‘We got numbers …’

‘Master Golty? The deal?’ the human slave interjected calmly.

‘Yah. The deal,’ the boy nodded, turning away from Raagstrom Raagh, then took another step towards Krissy. He must have still thought she was the head honcho of the skinny-pointy-eared gank contingent.

Don’t look at me ya gank, I ain’t the Hellspawn. Krissy sent a fittingly ork-style thought.

Golty and Ronron didn’t have time to react.

So, what is it you’re offering? Master Fenar stepped forward from his formation of rangers.

***

In twenty minutes the ork kids had given away so much information on the city of Vraathblood, the so-called mystics, and just the general state of affairs of the Clan, that we all began to suspect that without some assistance, it might not be possible to infiltrate the place and get the kidnapped elves back. To start with, the Clan was large; thousands of orks — neither the kids nor Reggie knew exactly how many thousands though — at least three times as many slaves, and of course visiting “tradinfuggaz” from other clans. At least half of the Clan lived in the city, which meant a population of two, maybe three thousand greenskins, four to six thousand slaves, plus visitors. According to the original plan the rangers had come up with, it wouldn’t have mattered; sneak in at night when most residents were hopefully sleeping, find the captured people, then sneak out. Kill only if someone gets in the way. No problem. In theory. But, according to our new friends, Golty and Ronron, the infamous Skraath Ironbite and his best buddy Zootagh Gutspiller had been on constant high alert for almost a year, and they had their few dozen spiritualists and few hundred regular followers dispersed in groups across the city. Apparently, orks didn’t particularly like being told by the mystics how to live, most slaves — with a few exceptions — didn’t particularly like being slaves, and the shaman-led, spirit-aided government was in a constant state of vigilance so they could crack down on dissent. And of course the government goons were extra watchful at night, because that’s when banned activities tended to take place. And thus, the old saying “no plan survives contact with the enemy” proved itself once again.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Master Fenirig Arte came to the conclusion that we could actually use some help, if nothing else just to create a distraction so at least some of our rangers could free their countrymen from the slave-pens unimpeded. And so, a new plan was born, a new alliance was forged, and we were on our way to Vraathblood.

***

Vraathblood, the capitol city of the Vraathkill Clan, was at least three miles from the little clearing where we had run into the teenage mutant revolutionary ninja orks, which meant another twenty or so minutes of muddy road in the darkness and drizzling rain. Twenty minutes wasn’t a lot of time, but Master Splinter had questions, and I had it in my mind to get some answers while still on the trek to our objective.

Since the comm-node I had designated for the Navy officers was now unused, I decided to connect the human slave to it for a private conversation. Rangers and orks were pretty fast walkers, even on the uneven, slippery road, and I considered it lucky that the only ones falling slightly behind were Krissy, Kiwa, and the man — I had no trouble rummaging around in his soul, disconnect him from the joint elf-ork network and plug him in for a pseudo-telepathic chat.

‘Hey, how are you doing?’ I asked the guy. ‘Oh no, no, no, don’t stop, just keep walking, mate, and don’t look around!’ I warned him as he was about to stop and look around. ‘It’s me, the spirit guy.’

The man faltered only for a second, then resumed his trudge, trying to keep up with the rangers in front of us. Then, he opened his mouth wanting to say something.

‘No, mate, don’t talk out loud. Use your thoughts!’

Uh … like this? I heard his thought-voice coming through.

‘Yeah, yeah, exactly, keep it up!’ I cheered.

Oh, so, you’re the familiar of … the Hellspawn? he asked.

‘Name’s Kevin, and I’m not the Hellspawn’s familiar.’

Oh, that elf isn’t the Hellspawn? He’s lying? He asked, sounding rather disappointed, maybe even a little worried.

‘He is the Hellspawn. For real,’ I informed him. ‘I’m just not his familiar. I don’t even think he’d need one. I’m Kri … uhm, Misery’s familiar.’

Misery?

‘The one with the mask.’

Which one? The man asked, glancing over his shoulder at Krissy and Kiwa bringing up the rear.

‘The slightly shorter one. The other one’s a spiritualist, too.’

Hm. Maybe we do have a chance then. He mused. I know familiars in rare cases talk to their spiritualists. Why are you talking to me?

‘I have questions.’

Alright, ask!

‘You’re from the Fentys Alliance?’ I asked.

I am. Trevor Berean at your service, Master Familiar … Kevin, was it?

Trevor, huh? A nice, Earth-y sounding name. When I’d first learned the names of the two sailors on Misery Island, and one of them turned out to be Tommi, I’d thought that was a fluke. Now Trevor? Maybe Wensah wasn’t the only one who had ever visited my home world from here.

‘How did you end up here?’

Long story short, I was on an expedition. Adventurers from the Traiga branch, as well as soldiers of the duchess.’

‘Duchess?’

Ingred the Heartless, duchess of Traiga.

‘Not Fentys Alliance?’

Traiga is one of the three states of the Alliance.

‘I see. So, you’re an adventurer?’ I asked the man, but I had my doubts. He looked more like a paperpusher than a warrior, and even for that he looked rather bland. And balding. And thin.

No, I’m not an adventurer. He sent the thought and sighed out loud at the same time. I work … worked, I guess, for the Union. But I was a clerk and a surveyor. I never thought they would ever send me on an expedition. Unfortunately the barbarians were bothering the border forts, and some idiot … I mean, some wise and brilliant strategist somewhere, decided an expedition was in order to see what was going on. And some other wise and brilliant strategist somewhere, or maybe the same one, decided the expedition needed people who were adept at surveying the land for … I don’t even know. Gold mines? Land to cultivate? Forts to build? Take your pick. Then we fought, some of us died, the rest of us were captured. The Braakbone Clan, I learned later. They sold some of us to the Vraathkill.

‘When was this?’

Seven years ago.

‘You’ve been a slave for seven years?’ I asked, genuinely surprised.

A skinny guy who would probably struggle to even lift a sword or a shield, surviving in a place where conventional wisdom was “brawn over brain”? I didn’t know whether I should be impressed or horrified. But then again, the way he had been interacting with Golty and the other ork kids, suggested there was more to life in the Clan than swearing and fistfighting. I recalled the accounts of Raagstrom Raagh, who had said that some slaves, craftsmen mostly, were actually valued highly and treated relatively well. Trevor seemed to have picked up on my reaction, and said,

It’s not as bad as you might think. Well, I mean it is for some, like those sent to the galleys, but for most of us it’s bearable once you learn to speak their mockery of a language. The ones born here don’t even know they’re slaves. I’m not saying I’d stay if I had the chance to flee, of course.

‘Of course,’ I acknowledged the subtly suggestive statement. ‘So, what do you do? I mean here?’

Teach, mostly. Arithmetic, reading, writing. Basic things. I have been sneaking some philosophy in as well. You wouldn’t guess how receptive the young ones are just by looking at them. Even some older ones.

‘Nature versus nurture, huh?’

Hm. That’s a good way to put it. He said, nodding his head and almost stumbling on a tree-branch under the mud.

Good way to put it indeed. And I was beginning to suspect that education might have played a major role in the emergence of a green and brawny anti-government movement. I wasn’t surprised; if history had shown us anything, it was that the best way to bring a system down, whether an empire or a corporation, was to do it from the inside.

‘Do you think this … ad-hoc cooperation will work?’ I asked.

It should. I hope. The barbarians are very straightforward creatures. Crude, sometimes cruel, but straighforward. The Hellspawn is a figure of legend to them, someone who had once beaten and killed the best and strongest of all the clans. Hated and respected in equal measure, but most importantly, outside and above any current affairs. The Clan majority despises the mystics, they will rally if they see someone they believe has a chance to beat Skraath Ironbite and his cronies. Some will join the fight, some will assist in other ways, some will stay out of the way. Many of the slaves, especially newer arrivals, will join as well. A common enemy is quite the motivation.

‘Will they let the elves take all their people back?’ I asked.

As I said, they’re very straightforward. If they say they will, then they will. He stated confidently, and I had no reason to doubt someone who had spent seven years among the creatures. He probably knew what he was talking about. Then he said, I’d like to ask a question as well.

‘Go on!’

Your people don’t look like Sitanese elves. You’re not from Fayr-Sitan, are you? He asked.

‘No. These are Solace rangers.’

Oh my! Trevor gasped. Not something you see every day. So, the new slaves were from there? I can’t believe Skraath Ironbite would risk messing with Solace. That’s pure ignorance.

‘Well, I can attest to the capabilities of the Solace Rangers and the Navy. A well organised bunch they are.’ I giggled. ‘I mean, it took them half an hour to take the Harbour and raze it to the ground.’

Hm. A bad loss for the Clan, but … I suppose there’s a price to pay for everything.

I was about to reply and voice my agreement, when our column of rangers and orks stopped. I quickly spread my tentacles out, scanning for any threats, but the only thing I could see was some sort of faint, misty bubble of light up ahead, maybe half a mile away. That must have been the city, I concluded.

We’re almost there ya ganks, so ain’t no noise, we’re gon be takin’ ‘em backstreets and go meetin’ up with Big Wroogh, I heard Golty’s thought-voice on the joint comm-node, then grunts of agreement from the other greenskins, including Raagstrom Raagh.

If I see even an ear twitch the wrong way, there’ll be hell to pay, you understand? Master Fenar issued a warning to Golty and his people.

‘We ain’t stoopid, ya Hellspawn gank, deal is a deal,’ the reply came.

Then, it was time to make our way into the city. Good times ahead.