“I wasn’t always a warrior,” growled the chief.
Adam failed to imagine a young, inexperienced chief. In theory, nobody was born as a grown, blooded, fighting orc but every atom of the chief today screamed power and war.
“When I was young, few orcs became warriors. Only the handpicked were trained and went to war. For every orc chosen as a warrior, there were nine who weren’t. I was one of the nine.”
Impossible, Adam thought.
“My family anticipated that I would not be chosen. With their help, I apprenticed to become a linker.”
“A linker?” Sam blinked.
“I forget you have pretty much grown up on the frontier. A linker. A builder. One who ties things together. I was trained to support our warriors by providing what they needed to wage war. Fine huts. Sharp weapons,” the chief sighed.
Adam knew the word from hearing older orcs use it. From what he could put together, a linker was something more than the kind of support orcs that were in their camp now.
“A linker. A real linker,” the chief continued, “was the lifeblood of a camp. They erected walls, built clubs that would not shatter on shields, and organized the camp. Away from the front, they’d build things that took more time and skill.”
He gestured towards his war axe, which he had leaned on the table.
“This was built by a linker, or at least a linker of sorts. Not taken, not won, but built by orc hands,” he said. “The reason you have not heard the title, even in my time, linkers were rare. The master I learned from was at the end of his life, and only taught me because my family paid enough to support his last years. Other linkers wouldn’t teach so easily. They feared competition, or couldn’t find young orcs with the dedication to learn.”
The chief stood and turned towards the map.
“Do you know what this camp used to be called?”
Adam and the others looked at each other, but nobody answered.
“Midlands camp. This wasn’t always our border. This was once deep in our territory.”
—
The orc who would one day become the chief lifted his hammer and drove one more blow at the lump of iron.
“Steel is fine, boy. But for a club, iron does as well. And we can make three of these studs for a club in the time it would take to forge one from steel. At a tenth the price.”
The young orc inwardly groaned at the retelling of the reasoning behind iron-over-steel for clubs.
The old man loves iron, he thought. But if we lose even one more customer to shops that work in steel, we won't have money at all.
As the young orc put down his hammer, the bustling noises outside poured in. The old man’s workshop was in a lively part of the camp, but the sounds were different from the normal comings and goings of the camp. All the footfalls were headed in one direction - to the center of the village.
“Old man, is there a meeting today?”
“Not that I knew about, but these orcs are headed somewhere,” the old man drew a ladle of water out of a bucket and slurped down on it. He tried to stand up, winced, and thought better of it. “Go, go. Find out what’s going on. I’ll stay here and clean up the shop.”
Even knowing that “cleaning up the shop” meant the old man would likely just sleep and leave the work to him that night, the young orc dashed out of the shop and followed the crowd to the town center.
The chief was already addressing the gathered villagers, “…and with this declaration of war, the humans have given us a great gift. We will win their weapons. We will expand our lands. We will rise!”
Later that day, the young orc eagerly explained to his mentor the coming glory of the war. The shop had been on the wane and this would bring it back.
“Think of the weapons that will be needed!” he waved his hands excitedly. “The armor! The arrows! We won’t be able to keep up on the orders!”
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“Young one… are you so certain that a war comes so cheaply?”
There was something in the old orc’s voice that made the young orc look closer at his mentor, who had propped himself up on his elbow in his cot.
“Not for free. But when have humans ever been able to stand against orc might?”
“I warn you that things are rarely as easy, or as sure, as they might seem to be to the eyes of youth. Orcs are stronger, yes. But humans have a strength… not like orcs, no. But a strength of their own, all the same,” the old orc looked for a moment like he had something to say, then wilted. “Pay no attention, young one. I’m just tired. I’m sure the glory you speak of will come to pass.”
With that, he laid back down and rolled over to face the wall. The young man cleaned the shop, then went to bed himself.
When he went to wake the old orc the next morning, his body was already stiff and cold as a stone.
—
“At first, we laughed at the human’s challenge. To us, they had been prey. Our border camps would raid and take what our mines and woodlands couldn’t provide,” the chief turned back towards the table. “And there were victories, at first. Raids on villages which returned great wealth and glory. It was as I expected. But the war, the real war, took longer to start than I expected.”
—
The young orc would go to the village center every day for news. Orcs would leave with supplies to trade at the front, and return bearing human coin and news.
At first, the news was as expected. Orcs conquered and human villages fell. The young orc had not learned everything the older linker had to teach about linking, but he had learned enough to send things to the front to sell. He would cast steel spikes for armor and sink lead weights in clubs.
Slowly, the news began to change.
“Far-reach has fallen!” The orc merchant reported, and the crowd gasped. Far-reach camp was strong. It was held by hundreds of fighting orcs, and protected the richest ore mine that the orcs possessed.
“The humans have massed together all their forces into large groups, thousands strong. They turned the sky black with arrows above far-reach.”
The reports of fallen camps didn’t stop. The humans would strike in numbers greater than the orcs had ever seen. Slowly but steadily, the human armies pushed the battle lines back further and further, past fortresses, camps, and fields that were stained with the blood of orcs.
—
“It wasn’t just the deaths,” the chief said. He looked at each of Adam's group in turn as he spoke. “It was where the humans chose to cause them. Every attack hit at something we needed to wage war - a mine here and a quarry there. And finally, one of the largest clans called to match their numbers, saying that every orc of fighting age should come, blooded or unblooded, trained or untrained.”
The chief put his hand gently on top of his axe.
“I answered the call. I burned the last of the old man’s coal and melted the last of our iron to make this, and I went. That’s how I became a warrior. We fought the humans four times.”
The chief held up four thick fingers, then curled the first back.
“The first time, our numbers crushed them like an avalanche. We won, they were scattered, and we went back to raiding. And then they raised another army.”
He curled back a second finger.
“The second army had learned. They shrunk their army into rows. We would crash into their line, and they would push us back with spears. They died, and so did we. Neither side won. And it was then that the humans began to show their strength.”
He curled back his third and fourth fingers.
“The next battle, they sent groups of knights after our ancient orcs, our leaders, our best fighters, and cut them down. Their armor and formation protected them as they cut through our lines, again and again. We couldn’t stop them, and they massacred our best.”
“After that, there were no more orc armies strong enough to face them. We were tired and scattered. The humans would attack and lose men, but gain ground. They carved out the entire western side of our land. They took all of our richest mines, all of our best forests.”
He sighed.
“We don't have enough left now. Not enough orcs, not enough land. And we're… smaller, since then. In all ways.”
The room was silent for a moment, then shook awake by a roar from the chief. He brought his fist down hard on the table, nearly splintering it.
“I have had enough of this shrinking. Orcs used to take. Orcs used to win. There was glory in being a warrior. None of these bounties, none of this negotiation. We need to take back our roots. We need honor, and glory, and strength. We need to stand again, as orcs. To remember who we are.”
I’m going to regret saying this, Adam thought.
“Chief. The humans beat you through formations and through tactics. And you reject them. How can we expect to beat the humans without changing? You said yourself that the tactics were their strength, but you reject…” said Adam.
In the dim light of the room, the chief’s fist caught Adam’s jaw before he even saw it coming. He flew out of his chair and sprawled across the floor. The others hurried to stand, only to be knocked down - first Dax, then Max and then Sam were battered to the ground by clubbing punches they couldn’t dodge.
Only Luke, ever watchful, got back in time to avoid his wrath. The chief let him go, and stood looming over the scattered bodies of the rest. He pointed his finger down at them, shouting.
“NO. Orcs will not win in human ways. We will win by being STRONGER. None of these tactics. No human ways of thinking. We will be orcs. None of you are warriors - not proper warriors. Not like orcs used to be.”
The chief pulled his belt knife and stabbed it down into the map, directly on the nearest human village. The tip sunk into the wooden table beneath.
“You try to be human. Because you have never really seen what it is to be an orc. But no more. Tomorrow, I will teach you. I will show you what we can be.”
Adam sat up on the floor and saw the emptiness of the past few days replaced by a fire, dark and sinister, lit in the deepest part of the chief’s eyes.
“Tomorrow, we go raiding.”