Dagger of Souls
Dagger of Souls
Chapter 7
The morning sun climbed high enough to light the small encampment as it filtered through the bare branches of the surrounding trees and sparse evergreens creating intricate patterns of light and shadow. The prisoners from Stalford were hard at work moving thick logs that were cut to equal lengths. A captive villager named Grellis was separated from the others where he was suspended from a thick tree limb of an old oak tree. The back of his short, sandy blonde hair was caked with dried blood where he was beat in the back of the head before being dragged to the tree. An orc guard stood behind him and removed a whip like object from his thick belt on his leather armor.
"You.. hoo-mons make me sick," the burly green-skinned orc growled at the prisoner as he held his face up by pulling on his beard so he could look him in the eye. The captive man was dirty and covered in sweat and fresh horizontal lines of dark red blood on his pale bare back. He shook in the chill winter air, whether from the cold or the intense pain or a combination of both wasn't certain. He couldn't move from the rope tied around his wrists and slung over a tree limb that kept him upright with his feet barely touching the mud-snow mixture on the ground.
The muscular orc held a small wooden handle with several long, leather strings with wooden beads attached to them at various intervals. He raised it up in the air and then brought it down hard causing it to crack as it whipped across the human's exposed back. The man let out a scream from the intense pain as more blood flowed freely down his back further staining the top of his tattered brown pants. The pale, green skinned humanoid grunted in a guttural voice, "You work harder. We no need hoo-mons, if you work bad. You want live, you work more!"
After the man made no reply other than sobbing, the orc grabbed his short, sandy blonde hair and yanked it hard. "You hear me, hoo-mon?"
In between ragged breaths the frightened man was able to respond in a broken voice, "Please… don't kill me. I'll work harder."
The large orc gave a satisfied grunt and put the crude whip-like device back on his large belt. He looked up and saw a hooded man approaching the camp on a black stallion. Several orc soldiers surrounded him immediately. He handed them a parchment and they looked at it and each other in apparent confusion. They turned toward the orc with the whip and yelled to him in their guttural language. "Sho'Varg. This human has a paper in their tongue. Can you read it?"
The orc was expecting a human in black robes to come pay a visit. He had seen them before. The agents of Deveron had come to check on their progress a few times. If this was the same agent he couldn't tell since they never fully showed their faces. "No, I can't read their language only speak some words. Check the symbol on the paper. You were shown which one is the mark of the Cult."
The warrior grunted an acknowledgement and pulled out a paper with a symbol from his belt pouch. He looked at the paper again to make sure the symbols matched before allowing the human to pass. Another younger orc was sent to fetch the tribal leader Tu'Grol, but the old warrior was already moving to greet the agent having heard the conversation from his command tent.
Arlin and the other prisoners stopped their back breaking work lifting and tying off the vertical logs that were being used for the walls of the fortification to watch the new visitor. Looks of apprehension were apparent on each of their dirty, sweaty faces. The captive farmer no longer held out hope that visits from these men of their race would help their plight. He knew that somehow these men were in league with the orc monsters and were even giving them orders. Worse yet, they had collected the captive women and took them away. Women from their village were taken somewhere for what purpose, only the gods would know. He could tell from how they grabbed the girls like a rabbit pulled from a trap before they skinned it that they were not going to be released from danger. Their fate was much likely worse than the forced labor the male captives of the village had to endure. Arlin was just a simple farmer, working and trying to survive in the northern part of the Western Heartlands of Faerun. He made enough money to have a modest house, with his wife Savarah and their two boys Jelric and Andel. They were able to have plenty of food on the table from things they grew themselves or from people they traded with in their home village of Stalford. It was a simple life, but usually a quiet and enjoyable one. Arlin's only solace was that his young wife had not been captured yet. But that could soon change the next time these pig faced bastards raided their village again. He had to find a way to get free and find help. He reached behind his thick brown hair and pulled at the leather collar around his neck, which was attached to a long rope tied to a heavy log as were the other four farmers that were connected with him. The collar was tied with leather strings around the rope loop in the back of his neck. He couldn't see it but instead tried to feel the knot and pulled on it to test it.
Another orc guard saw them stop their work and growled at them as he pointed at the unfinished section of outer wall, "D'vaas Krug Low'Chuk, Hoo-mon!" The farmer couldn't understand their language, but it was apparent that they were to get back to work. He stopped his prodding with his collar and he and the other farmers went back to working on the log walls. They feared to get a bloody whipping like Grellis just received. They were exhausted, but fear kept them moving. Arlin took one last glance at the cloaked human speaking with the orc leader, wondering what they could be discussing.
Tu'Grol greeted the Cult agent with resigned indifference. "You bring news, human?"
The man beneath the deep cowl drew his eyebrows together and scoffed at the question. "I am no messenger, but I have come to check your progress. The other orcs have complained that your clan is holding up the war effort. They are ready to fight and they are forced to wait for you to complete this simple task."
"Let them begin the attack, if they can't wait!"
The agent was clearly frustrated and scowled deeply, "You know very well that we need this base ready so that we can attack the supply lines and reinforcements once you take Red Larch. You must finish quickly so we can proceed."
The orc leader let out a growl of frustration as he answered, "we are working as fast as possible. These humans are slow and weak! They..."
"I wasn't sent here to collect excuses," the agent interrupted with a sharp, agitated voice, as he glowered at the orc leader.
The orc guard standing nearby couldn't understand the human, but understood his tone and the fact that he cut off their leader while talking, which was a blatant act of disrespect. He grabbed the smaller man at his shoulder. Faster than he could blink the man in black robes whirled around behind the orc, yanked the guard's wild black hair back and held a silver dagger against his broad green throat. The second guard pulled out his large axe, but the chieftain motioned for him to back down.
Tu'Grol shook his head and spoke to the guards in their native tongue as he scowled at them. "Put your weapons away. We will have war soon. I'll deal with this hoo-mon. For now, he is our ally."
The orc guard put his axe back on the clip on his wide leather belt. The other guard with the knife at his neck put his hands up in a peaceful gesture.
The agent released the green-skinned humanoid and twirled the dagger skillfully before he returned it to a hidden sheath underneath his cloak. He stepped over next to the war chief, his voice turned to a hiss, "Be warned. The next act of aggression will result in a swift death." It was no idle threat. His eyes belied the dangerous intent and resolve to kill without hesitation. His voice returned to somewhat normal, but strained, "You have been given five days by the good graces of our Lord Deveron, do not fail us. You also need supplies to last several ten-days, once this starts there will be no chance to re-supply you. Your guards seem restless and able enough. I suggest you put them to work."
Tu'Grol did not look happy about the ultimatum, but he was wise enough to know failure means the other clans or Deveron's assassins like this agent would be sent to deal with him and his tribe. His orcs were already either guarding the camp or sent on raids making the task near impossible, but he was not going to argue. "We will be ready on time."
The human looked at him with a weary eye, seeming to bore into the humanoid and merit his words carefully. "See that you do. Did you obtain any young female prisoners?"
The orc nodded, "Just one girl. She is tied up in my tent."
The agent raised an eyebrow as well as his voice. "She is to remain pure…"
The large orc leader shook his head vehemently. "No. No, I just put her in my tent so she would be separated from the others. She has been treated well enough."
"Good. Bring her out and I shall be on my way. I will return in a few days to check your progress again. He looked over at the two outer walls of the fort and the third one barely started and no roof at all. "I hope for your sake it is much closer to completion."