Chapter 3

Up till now, I had very little to do with anything that had gone on. I was in the southern part of Makilim, dealing with multiple tribes of orcs who had ran south after Sauron had lost his ring and power. I remember my last encounter best, however, mainly as it was the only one in which I didn't drink myself into a stupor afterwards.

Head held high, I intentionally walked into an orc ambush. It wasn't that difficult as they can be seen a league away. It was how to catch an orc-band by getting caught and while they are busy tying you up, your friends attack. There was no orc this side of Mount Doom who would ignore an opportunity to torture a Makeel and thus none who did escaped our tactic. If we succeeded, it would be our greatest victory. If we lost, it would be very, very painful, for me, that is. As I stood and waited for the orcs to charge from the bamboo grove that they were 'hiding' behind, I heard their leader yell and shoot out. Behind him came a large number of orcs, maybe a hundred. I considered killing him now, but that would only cause the others to scarper and we wanted them all. I faked fighting and one orc ran behind me and struck me in the back of the skull. I blacked out. When I came to, I was in a collar and was being dragged along by not one but three chains. They knew all our tricks, obviously experienced.

Once I was back at their camp, my feet were tied and my wrists were put in cold steel manacles. I was then taken up to a bamboo stump, about 2 meters tall. The chain that held my wrists was placed upon a hook at the top of the tree. I looked up, and assessed my problems. My chains weren't that tight so I could still reach the blade in my sleeve, and my ankles were restrained by rope. Thank goodness they thought I was a stupid bumpkin.

A tall orc came forward; his face was no more than a slack-jawed mouth and large dark eyes in an amorphous lump of pock-marked flesh. I stared, and even though I knew it may make my life shorter and more painful, I decided to insult him.

"Ouch, you must be the ugliest, lowest and most disgusting life form I have ever met. I would punch you now but I'm afraid your flesh may slough off your empty skull."

Not impressive but all I could think of.

"Shurrup or you'll feel a lot of pain. You won't be so cocky when I finish!"

"Come on, there isn't anything on Middle Earth that's worse than your breath."

With this insult ringing in the holes in his head that I assumed were once ears, he bellowed something incomprehensible and two goblins dragged forward an old Makeelian portable forge.

"Typical," I thought, "trust them to do something as unoriginal as branding"

In truth, I was terrified. Not one sane Makeel could claim to have witnessed an orc branding in action, but the burnt mutilated corpses of victims were scattered across the countryside. I nervously looked up. About twenty meters away, I saw Giskhan, balancing on the top of a bamboo plant. Most think that, because we Makeel live on the plains, we lack the skill and grace of climbing trees as our northern cousins. In truth, we have kept that skill finely honed by climbing bamboo. I looked at him tersely. He held his palm open and looked down. Obviously, the thought of fighting a hundred and twenty orcs was enough to make you nervous. I was chained here, facing not only that but a professional torturer who had no train of thought other than which limb of mine should he burn off first. If there was anyone who should feel a shiver of worry, it was me. Then, the torturer pulled a poker out of the flames. It had a crude sharp edge and was red-hot. I looked up again. Giskhan had dropped out of sight.

After the orcs got bored of taunting me, they started to shriek in anticipation of the kill. I took a chance and pulled with my teeth, from my shoulder epaulet, a small yet ingenious device, a narrow bamboo tube full of ground dittany bark which, if broken, gives off a burst of vapor that will ignite easily. As soon as the torturer was within range, I blew hard on the tube and a jet of powder surged forwards, which was then ignited by the poker and exploded in his face.

At that moment, Giskhan burst out of his hiding place and soared several meters over the ground, hollering, until he finally landed on his feet and drew out his two scimitars. Then, not only did a wave of Makeel mounted soldiers charge forwards from behind him but a second came in the opposite direction. The orcs were so stunned that I had a chance to pull a hidden blade from my sleeve, jackknife my legs up and cut my ankle bonds. Now with my legs free, I planted one of them firmly on the base of the plant and got ready to jump. I then kicked the torturer on the head. I then had enough force to swing myself up and onto the top of the bamboo where I was able to unhook my chains. The torturer, although still lying on the ground, swung round the poker. It cut the bamboo and I fell, losing my dagger. He was up on his feet instantly and swung the poker around. I blocked the attack by locking the chain around the poker, sliding the chain down to the handle. What followed was a brief struggle between the two of us, as we tried to force the poker into each others faces. I took a step backwards and tripped him up. He fell and let go of the poker handle. I yanked the chain and it swung round and into his face. His hands shot up and grabbed the red hot metal. He screamed as I unwrapped the chain and pushed down on the handle, his hands eventually turning black and he rolled onto his side. He got up and, as his hands were too badly burnt to be of use, he head butted me. I was ready for him and wrapped the chain around his neck and pulled backwards, hoping I could garrote him quickly. He was strong and tried to jerk me over his shoulder. I pulled him backwards again, but then my eyes fell upon the forge which they used to heat up the poker. Without thinking, I swung him round and forced him face first into the fire as if to drown him. He struggled, trying to remove the chain and get his face out of the inferno. After less than a minute, he stopped moving, his lungs inhaled their final breath of flames and forge oil, and then he collapsed. I then pulled him up. His flesh had sloughed of his bones, as I had predicted. Until now, the other orcs had been too busy to notice me, but I knew that wouldn't last. I then noticed something in the forge, another poker. I pulled it out, it was nearly white hot. I picked it up and ran forward, ready to kill. An orc grabbed a rusty sabre and swung it at me. I blocked it, his sword snapped with a shower of sparks. He was still dumbfounded when I hit him with an uppercut, the hot poker hitting him just below the cheekbone. Imagine being clubbed, slashed and seared all at once. He fell back stone dead; his cheek was torn, off showing his peg like teeth. More orcs ran at me. I swung low, slicing the first at the knee and then stabbing him in the chest. He screamed like an animal as smoke spewed from his wound. The second ran at me, with his spear ready. I deflected it, searing a horrific burn on his head. I spun round and, before I knew it, I was face to face with the third. He crashed into the poker. With his last scream, he released steam like a dragon, and then slid down the weapon to the ground. I turned round and ran, swinging my poker like a windmill; it glowed fiercely as it span. I slashed left and right, laying blow after blow, as orcs exploded like fireworks of blood, sparks and screams.

When it all ended, I was surrounded by dead orcs; the stench of burnt flesh was everywhere, like a mist. Orcs lay dismembered and drawn. The poker had cooled down by then. For the first time since I had grabbed it, I let it go. It hit the ground with a soft thump, although in my head, the noise was deafening. It is a strange phenomenon, during a fight, your mind speeds up, all sounds and thoughts disappear, just your enemy, and your weapon slashing, deflecting his blows; the only noises are the clash as your arms collide and their screams as your weapon finds its targets, and the chokes that are their last breath. Now was the only time anyone dared go near me. Giskhan approached cautiously and stared at the ground.

"You were late." I joked

"Not that late!"

"Enough to get me concerned."

"You survived, didn't you?"

"Come on, before the kangkhars smell you and think you are their meal. We have the orc chieftain, and we need you to do the honours. It's your reward for being bait"

"Good, nice to know your appreciated round here, Right, first go to the forge they had, and see if they have anything to get these off."

"You managed to fight with them on?"

"That poker is heavy, you need two hands anyway. However," I stretched my arms to their limit, "they aren't that constrained, I could box you wearing these."

"I wouldn't advise it"

"I know. Look for a small pair of manacles in the forge."

Once freed, I picked up the poker. There was work to be done and orcs to be done in. The chieftain had realized shortly after we charged, that the battle was not going his way. He was found hiding in a ditch. Now he was up against a tall bamboo plant, restrained at spearpoint. I clicked my fingers and the all-too-familiar forge was brought up. I turned around and got ready. The smaller pair of manacles was brought forward. They were too small to fit his wrists, so we heated them up until they had expanded enough and could be put on. We then secured them with hot copper wire. Working fast and with the stench of burnt orc in our noses, we firmly nailed the chain at the top of the bamboo and manacled his feet in similar fashion onto a rock we found. This rock was so large and heavy that it took ten kangkhars to carry it here. Now we rested, watching him wriggle and spit.

"Fools, do you think I will suffer here? You can come back in a month and I will still not have starved."

I walked forward, my expression growing colder and colder, a sneer stretched across my face.

"Why do you think we want you to starve? Do you feel the chains contract and pull at you now?"

As I spoke, you could see the chains cool down and shrink; he stopped wriggling as he was slowly stretched by the chain. I carried on.

"Ever notice how bamboo can grow back, no matter how many times you chop it down? That is because bamboo grows from the base. By tomorrow, the bamboo would have grown a little, and so would've the space between your hands and the ground. In a month's time I would be very surprised to find you are still there and in any less than two pieces."

I smiled, the orc still tried to look proud. Denial, I guess. I paused, ready to give him the ultimatum

"We are not total murders, like your kind, you have a chance. Notice how in each chain there is one link that is broken. If the chains are ever slack, they will allow the manacles to break. If you are strong enough to break the bamboo," I had to pause, several of those behind me started sniggering, "you can break free. When free, although you won't be strong enough cause any more death, you will be able to live."

We left him there, cursing and swearing. We rode out to a small hamlet a short way to the north. In the vast expanses in Makilim, water from the mountains flows down to deep underground where it then surges up, forming groundwater springs. Around these springs, there are some of the only permanent settlers in all Makilim. They started out as farmers, but after a while, such springs become popular with travelers. Inns and taverns sprouted up as weary travelers, emissaries, traders and bandits need places to sleep, food to eat, water to drink, markets for trade and a stable for any of a variety of beasts of burden and paddocks for goats or sheep. One such place was near our garrison. It was a small place, with several farms, producing mainly either chickpeas or potato for food.

The soldiers often went down there, to one of the various bars or taverns. After a fight however, we always went to one in particular. It was large type of tavern called a gulos. It was built over a spring, so it always had much needed water and something else a lot stronger.

In Makilim, it is commonly known that if you feed bacchus beetles yeast and adequate amounts of plant growth, they will ferment the plant sugars internally, swell to the size of your fist and give off a loud, high-pitched, somewhat rude sound; the first being the most useful ability. The beetles then are slit open, fluids from their abdomens collected and then distilled. The resultant liquid can be distilled further and be used either to treat wounds or as a high quality fuel, or, if mixed with mint oils or juice, it makes a popular, intoxicating drink called groohakh. It is named after the sound you make upon first drinking it.

I sat down next to Giskhan and several others. Boorchu came up to us. She used to be a

part of our southern brigade but now runs this establishment with a few others. She eyed us warily. It was not because of our impeccable manners that we had pretty much been kicked out of every other gulos we could afford.

"The usual I suppose?" she asked dryly

"No," I said "for tonight we'll need the best cider and groohakh you have. We need a celebration after today."

She raised an eyebrow, "You got another orc band, didn't you?"

"Yes, one more orc chief is being stretched on a bamboo, wondering which of his limbs will pop out first." Only answer you could really give, to be honest.

"What happened to the Makeelian virtue of tolerance for all, regardless of who they are?" she reprimanded, as if to a naughty child. All of a sudden I was young again, facing my father as he preached about honor.

"It was overridden with the Makeelian instinct to avoid being given serious injury." The very reply I have used all my life.

"Speaking of serious injuries….," she began.

If this was my father, he would have clipped my ear, but, since it was Boorchu, this could only mean one thing. She walked round the bench, cornering us.

"Today….," she began,

"…is payday, our credit has finally ran out," we completed. It was obvious.

"Well, does that mean you all will be planning on giving me something?" she asked, but her imperative, sarcastic mood dropped instantly as we laughed. Dekher stood up. I looked down, he was new, and judging by his stink, had already started drinking. He leaned his hand on her shoulder,

"Com'on, give us a break, you were once a soldier till you started working here" he said, acting like a charmer.

Boorchu didn't say a word, she twisted to one side, sending him stumbling. She grabbed his arm and twisted it. He stopped short, his face screwed up. She turned round to face us, still holding Dekher in an armlock but keeping him at arm's length, holding his hand daintily as if it was a large, offensively foul spider that she picked up.

"I get more violence and fighting in here on a rowdy night than you have all week" she said grimacing, "Money, gentlemen!"

We didn't need a second telling, pulling a handful of bronze coins from our pockets, even Dekher trying his best with only one arm. But still, we fell a little short of the mark, obviously many of us were keeping some for tonight. Giskhan then stepped forwards, pulling a chain necklace out of his pocket, showing Dekher the proper way to charm Boorchu.

"A lovely piece of jewelry here which would look wonderful on you, milady, only two previous owners, firstly, a Makeel woman like yourself. As for what caused her to lose such an item, the less said the better, but more recently, today in fact, I pulled this out of an orc's stomach which I had just slit open. Well cleaned by yours truly and still in mint condition."

Boorchu smiled, and slackened her grip on Dekher. She held the trinket up to the light.

"Is this an alternative payment or just a bribe to let you friend escape in less pain then I want to inflict on him?" She asked. Her sarcasm was back.

"Both." he said, "It should cover tonight as well, and, if any money from it is left over after tonight, consider it a tip."

She smiled and brought us drink and then briskly walked off.

"What's with the rush?" I asked

"I need to drag up another keg of cider from the cellar, or perchance by some miracle you lot won't want second and third rounds." She said smiling sarcastically.

As her prediction went, we did order another round, and, judging by Dekher's expression, he would need a lot more still. But then, Boorchu handed Giskhan a letter, on which it stated we were to read this after having no more than one drink each. He read it furtively before passing it to me. It said we were must travel north to the city Kharkoom. Even though I only read half, I knew it was from Giskhan's brother, Tamjin, who ruled the city and that Tamjin was in trouble. We stood on the bench and Giskhan hit a shield hanging on a wall to get everyone's attention. He then spoke.

"Khwarhazarm and I are going up north. We do not know how long we'll be up there and we may never return. So, I must plan for if I never return, by announcing two things. Firstly, Tangut will be in charge for now, and, more importantly, all drinks tonight are on us."

This more than anything gave us a farewell cheer. Now, it seems so long ago that we set off, carrying no more than most nomads. We had to travel light and fast. When we started, we rode slowly. Our heads were still steeped in groohakh. As we passed the farms, the vast plains of Makilim lay before us, stretching to the horizon . As we sped up, the drink having cleared up and competition taken full hold on us, the kangkhars reared on to their hind legs, and ran. Our steeds then took an almighty jump and started to bound along, resembling bucking horses. After many hours, the mountains loomed up in the distance. Kharkoom was a few days away.

Writings of Khwarhazarm

General of The Third Tumen

Makeel Imperial Army