“I said, is there something I can help you with, orc?”
Saffron snarled at the unkempt creature. She despised orcs as her experience taught her they were crass, brutish, and nomadic bullies. Before the Tinkers Uprising, they would sweep through small towns taking what they wanted with little regard for life. Like most raiders, they leave as quickly as they arrived before the law would come. It was common for them to avoid the threat of war and instead would skulk back to their homes in Orkslasch . Territorial skirmishes and raids were common to them, where battlefields weren’t their expertise. Upon first glance, a person would think they lacked intelligence. Thick overhanging brows, hunched posture, and proclivity for aggression often give that impression. When focused, orcs are superb military strategists. The beasts would use subterfuge and guerrilla tactics to make themselves a challenging adversary.
Orcs had an uneasy alliance with the Gnomes until their cities had come under technological attack, just as the other races had been. Orc leaders soon allied with the 5 Kingdoms in joining their war against the diminutive terrorists. In exchange, the orcs agreed there would be 20 years of peace for their help with no pillaging, burning, or raiding in any territory owned by the Kingdoms. In their civilization, honor is of paramount importance, and they’ll do what they promise to do. Each society agreed to share resources and expertise for unity. It will be that way for two decades. What comes after that? Who knows?
“I’m addressing you.” She repeated.
The orc sagged in his seat, his legs spread wide. She stood between them with a slight hunch. His gaze shifted from the tips of her boots to the empty scabbard on her hips. He moved up to meet her steely stare, inspecting the purple silk wrapped and tucked beneath her chest. Haven’t seen many drow like this. Snaking from his mouth, his black tongue protruded from its place to moisten his cracked bottom lip. “What’s yer name, lurker?” His raspy voice hissed while his black pupils stared deep into her expressionless face.
She straightened up. “Drow Affairs Guild Inspector Saffron DeGuerro. You?” Her hands rested on her hips.
He chuckled. “Whew! Take a breath before you say that mouthful, yeah? A Dagger, huh? They say you’re a strong bunch, whispers in the night, and all that.” He waved his hand about. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but you look tougher than your daisy-eating cousins over there.” He pointed a fat digit at the robed high-elves on the other side. “I’m Croom, and these are the Warpigs Mercenary Company. Now, why don’t you take your seat and enjoy the flight?”
Saffron glanced at the other orcs, who stayed silent. A motley crew of warriors but one that has seen intense action. Four hardened faces stared back at her. The female orc’s look was dreadful. Stringy crimson hair cascaded over her shoulders. Matching red hide armor shrouded her slender frame. Her eye patch stood out the most, contrasting with her gray-green skin. Black leather covered her face’s right side, deformities poked from beneath. Burnished metal studs stuck out from the surface.
The Inspector’s gaze looked past the orc woman’s leg, which she slipped under her seat to conceal a canvas bag. Her keen eye noticed a tarnished iron rod emerge from the sack’s open end and a faint rosy glow from within. Maybe a spellslinger? Each of the brutish soldiers carried scars on their bodies from battles both won and lost. These orcs have experienced a lot of war and violence from their appearance.
“Mercenaries, I should’ve guessed.” She smacked her lips and nodded. “Yeah, I will sit down soon enough. You sit there and keep your eyes off of us. Got that?” Her indignant tone brought a smile to Croom’s face.
Air Marshall Bertramm had been watching this exchange with careful observation. Once he decided it had gone on long enough, he stepped in. “Ma’am, you stay with your group and take your seats.” He looked at the orcs. “Everyone should take a nap and stay out of the other’s way. I have a cage in the ship’s belly, and I’ll put the lot of you in there if there is any trouble.” His fingers tapped against the rough leather of the spellslinger holstered at his side. The twelve inch magical rod poked from the bottom. Its tip, a simple, clear white stone, was inert at the moment. Developed by elves during the Tinkers Uprising, a spellslinger could cast ranged magic of varying types. Lightning (which this one appeared as) and force bolts were most common. A matching operator’s ring was necessary for the weapon to function. His “slinger” had clearly seen battle in its day, which was made apparent by the chips of paint and carbon scoring at the tip.
Marmund attempted to ease the tension at the front of the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are preparing for departure. Please take your seats until we are in the air. Our flight will be four hours, so please walk the observation deck to pass the time.”
Saffron moved back to join her unit without saying another word.
In a short time, the shudder of the vessel’s engines roared, breaking the silence. CLANG-THUNK-CLANG-THUNK! A rhythmic thump of pistons and gears turning filled their ears, and the cabin vibrated. A few of the passengers to gripped their armrests to ride out the vibrations. Some people never get used to flying in these things.
“I really hate this part. My stomach always feels like it is coming out of me backside.” Maarko complained.
“Ah, suck it up, old man.” Thulaeth was quick to tease him. The sickened drow shot him a wicked glance.
The deck of the Black Dog was a hive of activity. Deckhands moved from bollard to bollard, letting go of the massive mooring ropes. Captain Hammer commanded the four Aeromages orders and instructed them to begin their respective parts of the flight. Two used their magic to regulate pitch and yaw, one to handle the craft’s spin, and another to focus on the elemental control. This was an intense act of creating and controlling a positive wind stream. Their other responsibility would be to keep the vessel safe from extreme weather, such as lightning or vortexes. The task required much focus until after they were in the air, when they could relax with sporadic checks for correction.
With a slow ascent, the “Black Dog” drifted away from the ground. Maarko sensed that dreaded moment and took an audible swallow of the lump in his throat. The ship lurched left, then right, its passengers swayed with the vessel. Finally, the steamer pulled upwards and for a single flash, Maarko’s stomach felt weightless, along with the contents within. His colleagues had grown accustomed to the uncomfortable feeling, but he never had. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and moaned.
Saffron rolled her eyes. “Oh, really Maarko? Come on then. Every time?”
He clutched his gut. “It’ll pass, mum. Soaring like a bird isn’t natural. Izzara would’ve given us wings if that were the case.”
Thulaeth ignored him and glanced from the window, where he saw the landscape fade as the ship climbed. As the crowds grew smaller, the entire city became visible. Silvertop Castle, Aire Nexbridge, even Drowchard shrunk and resembled children’s toys placed in the middle of a grassy meadow. Soon, the wispy fluff of low-hanging clouds obstructed his view and caused the landscape to disappear. He turned his attention back to Maarko, still cradling his stomach. The color of his face had become a shade darker with a purple hue.
The old drow grabbed the attendant’s arm as he walked through the aisle. “Excuse me, Marmund, is it?”
His ridiculous grin stretched across his face. “Yes sir! Can I get you something?”
Maarko belched and tasted a mouthful of bitter acid before choking it down. “I really must use your facilities.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Confused, the attendant repeated. “Facilities?”
He fumbled for the correct words. “Ah… the privy? Privy chamber?”
“Of course. Down this aisle and to the left. Be careful, however. It’s a hole through the bottom of the ship, so use the bars to hold on to.”
Maarko humphed. “Wonderful. Thank you, my friend.” He stood and crept past the still grinning attendant.
Were he not distracted, he would’ve noticed the burly orcs staring at him with mischievous smiles on their faces. Also, had his bowels not been turning and flopping in his gut, he would have seen one orc who had stuck his foot into the aisle he scrambled through.
Maarko caught the steel toe of the orc’s boot and tumbled to the wooden planks. “Whoa there, old-timer! You really should be more careful!” A gruff voice bellowed. “Hey! You scuffed my boots, lurker!”
The elder drow rose to his knees. As fortune would have it, the trouble in his bowels ceased for the time being, while anger replaced it. Teeth gritted, he looked up at the face of his adversary. A grinning maw of yellowed fangs peeked between cracked gray lips. Orcs were an ugly bunch of freaks. “You mean this shit-covered scrap of leather, you low-browed primitive slag?”
Meaty green hands tipped in crusty chipped nails reached down and pulled the drow up. A stink of rotten meat drifted from his open mouth. “Why you son of a -” He tossed the drow down the aisle where he tumbled for several feet and groaned.
Saffron’s attention caught the disturbance. “Hey! Take your hands off him!”
Croom, the largest of the orcs, yelled. “Esmerelda, Apex! Get ‘im!”
Esmerelda’s muscular legs hopped over the seats, and she lunged at Saffron. The Inspector could see the glint of brass wrapped around the orc’s fingers but didn’t have time to react. Her weighted right hook snagged the Inspector hard on her jaw. Saffron’s head twisted, jolts of energized nerve endings shocked her brain. However, it didn’t stun her enough to make the snap decision to retaliate. She brought her own fist around and slammed the orc woman in her gut, where she doubled over with a breathy groan from the air being knocked out of her.
Dayne moved into the open aisle and met the orc called Apex. He wasn’t like any that the experienced drow had seen. His skin was as pale as the color of a dried mint leaf left in the sun. Scrawny by orc standards, he wore a red leather vest over his bare chest and ragged hide pants. A thick iron ring locked tight encircled his neck, stained with crusted blood. Dried blood? What the hell is that shackle for? His thought fleeted as the orc growled and swiped at him with sharpened nails. The claws scraped and peeled the flesh from Dayne’s forearm in long, bloody ribbons.
“You nasty animal!” The massive elf pushed the feral orc away to gain distance and prepare for his next move.
All other occupants of the cabin scrambled and screamed. In a frantic fervor, the group of robed elves chanted an arcane tongue. A shimmering blue field erupted and encircled them with glistening sparkles of vibrant energy. They continued to mumble and gesticulate with their eyes shut tight, as if closing the world around them away.
Thulaeth snaked his way around Dayne, who had Apex’s head under his arm, and struck sharp jabs to the pale orc’s face one after another. A generous stream of dark blood leaked from the pudgy nose of the creature and formed a puddle at his feet, leaking between the worn wooden boards.
Croom rushed to help Apex, still busy slicing at Dayne, cutting jagged rips into his dark uniform pants. “Thipp!” His attention was to the orc, who was pounding thrusts into the old drow’s stomach. “Forget him, get to Apex!”
Saffron pushed Esmerelda to the exterior wall of the vessel. She grabbed a handful of the greasy red hair and slammed her head against the wall of the ship. She drug her face along the planks and tried to force the woman’s skull out of the porthole and into the cool air 1000 feet up. Esmerelda wrestled and grabbed a fistful of the soft leather of the Inspector’s coat. She brought her knee up, delivering it into the drow’s gut. Saffron gasped and loosened her grip on the orc woman.
Croom pressed forward, trying to help his people. The tight quarters left his little choice, so he grabbed the chair in front of him and pulled it from the floor to create some room. Cracking wood echoed through the cabin and metal bolts snapped as the thin chairs broke from his strength.
He thought he heard someone behind him. “Stop.” The sound was calm and recognizable, but his focus was on beating these shadow elves to death, not paying attention to the words.
Without warning, his body tensed, muscles locked into place rigid like a statue. Every single nerve ending screamed and panicked. Lightning traveled through his massive frame, and forced him to quit all resistance. Unable to move, pain shocked his brain. His vision tunneled to a single point of light, and everything went dark.
A fading hum of electricity, combined with the sterile smell of ozone, filled the cabin. The brilliant flash of light caused all the fighters to stop and look around for the source. Apex, Esmerelda, and Thipp, the orc who still held Maarko in his hands, stopped and their jaws dropped at the sight of their leader, stunned by the magic.
Saffron, Dayne, and Thulaeth ceased as well, frozen mid-battle, and looked at Croom. He had a look of frozen surprise on his face. Locked in a twisted form, he spun and collapsed to the floor with a resounding thud.
“I said STOP!” Air Marshall Bertramm’s voice bellowed and echoed through the now silent cabin. Clenched in his hand was the glowing end of his spellslinger, still raised in the air. Thick, gray smoke trailed from the tip, illuminated by the soft light of the operator ring on his finger. A Duddster Arms Lightzing model. Amazing. Maarko recognized the slinger.
Bertramm held his aim true on the raucous group. “I swear! A man cannot take a piss without you people trying to kill each other.”
Dwarven deckhands funneled from the upper deck after hearing the scuffle, clutching iron cuffs and batons. They encircled the group, tapping the wooden clubs in their meaty hands.
Apex took advantage of the distraction and dropped Maarko to the dirty floor. He lept towards the canvas bag under the seat, which Saffron had noticed earlier.
Saffron released her grip on Esmerelda, who pushed back and moved away. The orc spit on the floor, splashing her darksaber boots. “Filthy wretch!” She spied Apex’s sudden movement and pointed to him. “Stop him! They have a spellslinger!”
Thipp pulled an enormous machine from the pack. Fashioned from blackened iron, a large notched cylinder spun with brilliant red stones that pulsed with a vibrant and angry intensity.
When Saffron saw the weapon emerge from the bag, her heart dropped. An orc crafted illegal slinger covered in tarnished brass and copper. Fiery gems cast a crimson glow over its wielder. “It’s a bloody Fire Hog!”
This brought Bertramm’s attention and spellslinger over to Thipp. His slinger pulsed with energy, then fired. Blue energy transferred from his ring to the carvings and gems that adorned the silver shaft in his hand. With the same flash of power and electrical sterile ozone smell, a single white bulb of magic ejected from the tip. It struck the orc in the face and displays of light traveled over his contorted features.
A whisper of urine sounded, and he collapsed to the floor, much like Croom a minute earlier. The front of his trousers darkened before the stink hit. Those closest to him winced and gagged at the rancid ammonia stench.
Maarko, despite his pain, chuckled. “He pissed himself! Haha! That is rich!”
“Never mind that.” Bertramm moved the tip back to the rest of them. “I told you, no trouble. What did you guys do? Fisticuffs and ripping seats from my ship!” He gestured towards the orc’s weapon, rocking back and forth on the floor. “A damn Fire Hog, for crying out loud!”
“They started it! They tripped my man there and threw him!” Saffron yelled at him. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth from her upper lip, which was split open from the fight.
“Well, I didn’t see that because I was trying to take a peaceful piss!” He placed his weapon back in the holster and looked at the deckhands. “Put the cuffs on these orcs and stick ‘em in the brig!”
Esmerelda protested. “What about them? They were fighting too!”
Bertramm approached the Inspector. “They did, but I’ve dealt with orcs before. You people are always itching for a fight and don’t care who gets hurt in the middle of it! They were kind enough to point out that you and your people brought an illegal spellslinger on board. A Fire Hog at that! I don’t know how in the second hell you got that on here, but you’ve violated at least three edicts.” He gave the hardened, one-eyed orc an angry glare. “This is a wooden ship! If he had fired that, this ship would be a flaming ball of tinder with all of us dead, you idiot!”
A high elf, still in their protective magical bubble, spoke up. “Actually, we wouldn’t. You see -”
“Shut up!” The Air Marshall’s patience had worn thin with orcs and elves. Paper thin.
Bertram turned to the Daggers. “Listen up. We got about four hours until we arrive. The rest of you sit down and shut up, you hear?” He holstered the weapon. “If I catch so much as a peep from any of you, ya’ll can beat each other to death in the cell, yeah?”
Saffron helped Maarko to his seat. “Of course, Marshall. What’s going to happen to them?”
“When we get to Port Behlego, I’ll hand them over to Sheriff Dixon along with that slinger. Thank you. Now please leave me alone and enjoy your flight.”
He turned to walk away, saw the high-elves sitting in their bubble and shook his head.
While the others took their seats and bandaged each other up, Maarko looked at Saffron. “I still need to use the privy.”
“Oh you. Go then!” She slouched back into her seat and dabbed her bloody lip with a kerchief.