Chapter 11: The Silver Hand

Aela was angry. When she had first seen the orc Marzuum leap from the western watchtower outside of Whiterun to slay the dragon, she had thought she finally might have met a warrior that would breathe new life into the Companions. Sure he was no nord, not even human for that matter, but it didn't change the fact that the orc was an impressive specimen. He was a head taller than her, with thick horns that curled over the side of his head like a ram, and was a solid wall of muscle from his neck down to his legs. Imagine what a warrior like that could do with the Beast Blood, she had thought. When Marz had returned from his Trial, she had personally volunteered to be his forebear in the ritual that would allow him to become a werewolf. Unfortunately, things had not quite worked out that way.

The Companions had not only invited the orc into the fold, but into their inner Circle, and the beast had had the nerve to decline the Blood without so much as an explanation. Some cowards in this land can't stand the sight of glory before them, she thought bitterly.

"Is that it there?" The orc grunted almost unintelligibly. Aela clenched her jaw and nodded. The fort of Gallows Rock loomed before them. In an attempt to convince the Circle, that he would never betray their secret, the orc had volunteered himself to avenge the ambush of Farkas by taking the fight directly to the Silver Hand. Even worse, he had petitioned Kodlak to allow his follower Uthgerd, entry to Jorrvaskr as a favor once this task was complete. A favor Kodlak had agreed to.

To add insult to injury, Aela had been the one assigned to accompany the orc on his assignment. She took a deep breath and followed the orc as he charged through the gates, not unlike Skjor had done recently. The Huntress nocked her arrow and drew her bow, but by the time she had sighted, both of the Silver Hand guards on the outside had been slain by the orc. He had split the skull of one with his dragonbone axe, and thrown the other from the top of wall above the entrance to the fort. Maybe this will be interesting after all, she thought.

*

The smell of blood permeated Gallows Rock. Werewolf heads had been put on spikes near the entrance and there had been a dead werewolf, hanging in the first room they entered. Aela quietly swore to herself that the pair would not leave this place until every single Silver Hand was dead. Despite her blood boiling, she was pleasantly surprised that the orc could move as quietly as he had been since they entered the fort, and she wondered if he was a hunter as well. She was curious enough to ask, but only after their bloody work was done. She had no intention of ending up like the dead wolves she had already seen.

The pair moved quickly and quietly through the fort. Marz was in the lead with his own bow, with Aela close behind. They moved into a room lined with cells, and Marz signaled to her that there were two guards. Aela nodded, and pointed to herself and then the one in the chair. Marz nodded. She waited for Marz to fire first. His arrow flew true and struck the Silver Hand that was walking down the hall. As the second guard stood from his chair, Aela's arrow took him in the throat, and he went down without a sound.

They passed a few cells before the orc signaled her once more. Two more guards. This time, he took the one seated, and she took out the one leaning against the wall lazily. They moved quietly down the next flight of stairs. More wolf heads on pikes lined the corridor. Aela felt her blood boil, but she took a deep breath to calm herself. She couldn't afford to transform here and now. Not yet, anyway.

The orc peeked carefully through the next door, and signaled. Five. There were five Hands in the room. It would be impossible to kill them all quietly. The orc placed his bow on his back and drew his axes. Aela watched as his muscles flexed and relaxed in anticipation of the skirmish to come. She moved to the doorway, selected her target and fired, before backpedaling out of the way as the orc charged into the room. With one Hand down, and a charging orc, the other Hands froze. Marz lowered his head and rammed the Hand closest to him, flinging him into the wall. The rest recovered and began to circle the orc.

Aela took aim once more, and brought down another, as Marz engaged the remaining two Hands. Aela watched, captivated, as the orc took them both down with ease. To her surprise, he left one alive who was trying to crawl away. She entered the room. "Didn't know orcs were capable of such mercy," she said. The orc chuckled.

"A gift," he said, gesturing to the injured Hand. "For you." The Hand looked at Aela with pleading eyes. "Mercy!" He cried. The Huntress smiled, and drew her hunting knife.

*

"Careful, we're getting close." Aela said as quietly as she could. "Their leader is tricky. She's called the Skinner. I don't think I need to tell you why." she finished grimly. The orc nodded and continued sneaking down the hallway. They opened the next door, and saw four more Hands. All four looked their way, shouted and charged. Marz threw one of his axes at the closest Hand who went down without a sound. Aela took down another before discarding her bow. This was a close quarters fight now. Krev the Skinner charged straight at her smiling, while Marz engaged the other Hand.

Aela was a good fighter, but her dagger was little match for the Skinner's axe. She gave ground quickly, barely dodging the Skinner's blade until, "AELA!" She turned toward the sound of the orc's voice, and ducked just as his axe went whizzing by her head. It took the Skinner right in the chest. Krev's face turned red, and she fell to her knees from the pain. Aela took advantage of the vulnerability and lunged forward with her knife, shoving the blade under the Skinner's chin. She watched as the light left her enemy's eyes, and howled her victory, turning to thank the orc for his assistance, but he was no longer behind her.

She glanced around the room and saw him kneeling near one of the Hand's tanning racks. The Huntress walked over to him. "There's nothing better than a good fight eh? We showed those damn Silver Hands. Wait til we tell–" she trailed off as she saw what Marz was looking at. Lying on the ground in front of him, with blood covering his wolf armor, and blank eyes staring into the darkness, was Skjor.

*

Shing, shing, shing

The sound of Aela sharpening her knives was louder than the crackling fire that Marz was now busy using to roast some rabbits. The two were camped out down the hill from Gallows Rock. It had been dark by the time their bloody work was done so the orc had suggested they camp for the night before returning to Jorrvaskr at first light. Aela wanted nothing more than to shift into her beast form and run under the moon slaying anything she came across, but Marz had convinced her that she was just angry enough to actually do it, so reluctantly, she had agreed to camp for the night.

So engrossed in her work was the Huntress that she didn't even hear the orc approach until he dropped a plate of roasted rabbit at her feet. Aela looked up, but the orc was already walking back to his side of the fire. She watched as he devoured his rabbit in just several bites, and then turned his attention to the wine bottle next to him. When he was done he looked up, and met Aela's gaze. Neither looked away.

"I am sorry for your loss," the orc grunted. Aela glared back at the newest member of the Companions. "Was it not your loss too?" She snarled. "Was he not your Shield-Brother as well?" Marz met her gaze easily, but Aela couldn't tell if he was glaring at her or not. His face always bore a fierce expression that made it difficult to tell when he was actually angry. "Of course he was," the orc said quietly. "But he was my Shield-Brother for but a week. You have known the warrior for years it would seem. It only makes sense that your pain be greater than my own."

The Huntress jumped to her feet, with her fists raised. "Lies!" She shouted. She ran at the orc who made no move to defend himself. Her first punch took him in the jaw, and it felt like punching a stone wall, but the physical pain somehow alleviated the emotional pain she felt. She swung again, but this time the orc caught her arm and tossed her several feet away into the grass. She leapt to her feet and saw that Marz was now standing as well.

"I see now," his voice rumbled. "Some drown their grief in tears, some in wine, and yet others in blood." The orc lowered his head, and looked the Huntress directly in the eyes. "I know now which one you are."

Aela felt her face flush, and she yelled as she charged at the orc once more. For several minutes she swung blows at the orc, as he did little to defend himself. When she swung a kick at his groin, he grabbed her leg and tossed her once more. This time, when she regained her footing, she couldn't control her anger. She felt it take over, and twist her body until her arms grew longer, and her legs thicker. Claws sprouted from her fingers, and her face pushed outwards until it was a mouth filled with razor-sharp fangs.

She turned to face the moon and howled her pain to the stars above.

*

"I dishonored myself tonight, I'm sorry." The words had weighed heavy in her heart, and they only came through great effort. She looked at the orc who lay on his bedroll looking up at the stars. He shrugged, "Not necessary." She sat on her own bedroll cleaning her armor. She needed to keep her hands moving. "Why did you refuse the Beast Blood?" She blurted out.

The orc turned to look at her, and then shifted his gaze back to the stars. "The Beast Blood is a gift from the Daedra Hircine, yes?" Aela nodded. "My kind serve Malacath, and follow his Code. If I were to forsake him for the Blessing of Hircine, he would surely abandon me and all my suffering would be for naught."

Aela frowned. "I don't understand. What suffering? Why would he abandon you?"

Marz sat up to look at his shield-sister. "You nords go to Sovngarde when you die, yes?" Aela nodded again. "But as a werewolf, you are taken to Hircine's hunting grounds after death?" The Huntress nodded once more. "We orsimer go to the Ashpit."

Aela opened her mouth, but the orc held up a hand, anticipating her next questions. "The Ashpit is the afterlife for my kind. It is not unlike your Sovngarde actually. The strongest are granted their own stronghold to rule there, along with a hundred followers and wives. All who are brought to the Ashpit spend their time feasting, fighting and fucking. If any grows tired of their time in the Ashpit, all he or she must do is walk into Malacath's Forge so that their strength, hatred, and grudges can be forged into the next generation of orcs."

Aela frowned slightly. "Why would you want your grudges to be forged into the next generation?" She asked.

"Malacath respects strength, and strength is only achieved through trials and tribulation." Marz explained. "Surely it is no secret that my people have been hunted and persecuted all across Tamriel. Not unlike how werewolves are treated." His eyes met Aela's. "We believe that the realm's hatred of our kind only serves to make us stronger, both in this life and the next. Malacath is the Daedric prince of Curses, Outcasts, and Vengeance. He promises that as long as we live by his Code, and embrace our suffering, we shall all have our place at his side."

Aela pondered what the orc said in silence for a moment and then–"If he's the prince of Outcasts, why then does he not claim the werebeasts as well? Surely he knows we are outcasts among the realm too?"

Marz shrugged. "That's a question for a priest I would say. I do not know the answer."

"Then there is no way you could ever take the blood?"

The orc shook his head. "Not unless I abandoned the Code completely. Although–" He fell silent for a moment as he thought. "No–there might be a way, but that would require Malacath's permission."

Aela raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Would he grant such a petition?" She asked.

Marz shrugged again. "Perhaps," he said. "He has granted exceptions to his Code sometimes for great sacrifices or conquests in his name. Most likely in this case he might only do so in the event of a marriage though."

The Huntress frowned, "Would Malacath grant such a union?"

"It depends. Malacath respects strength. Were the other, one of renowned strength, I'm sure he would not mind. Malacath has permitted unions between my kind and others before, it is known. However, it is far less common for other races, aside from Dunmer, and Bosmer to seek such unions."

Aela's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why did you join the Companions Marzuum?"

The orc told her of how Malacath had spoken to him, and commanded him to build an orc stronghold, the greatest in all of Skyrim. He told her how among his kind, only the strongest, the Chiefs were permitted to marry and produce children. As such, they often took four wives; the Huntswife, the Forgewife, Hearthwife, and Shield-Wife. Aela's suspicion grew. "But why did you join the Companions, Marzuum? Surely, your quest could have taken you far from Whiterun. Skyrim is a large province after all."

Marz was silent for a moment, and it looked as if he were pondering his words carefully. "I have the land I need for my stronghold. Now I just need the gold to build it, the wives to save it, and the renown to attract followers."

The orc laid back down on his bedroll and was silent thereafter, leaving Aela to ponder the significance of all she had been told that night.