Chapter Seventeen: An Outsider's Eyes (Part 2)

Borgakh

The rest of the afternoon passes slowly as Brand and I entertain ourselves.

Brand strolls around the stronghold to chat with the tribe and I stay at the hut and make a show of polishing my warhammer. Though other races tend to see it as a sign of aggression, orcs take it as a sign of affection and comfort with our surroundings. We care for our weapons like others might care for a family heirloom or a priceless treasure. We certainly don't take the time to polish them among enemies where we might need to use them at any moment.

This also allows any orcs who want to speak to me or confront Brand alone can do so. Brand runs no real harm if any of the orcs get rough and I might get a few confessions from the tribe.

To my dismay, no one comes to speak with me. Brand returns at dusk looking discouraged.

"Any luck?" I ask.

"None." He scowls.

"Me either."

Brand sits beside me, leaning back against the hut and stretching his legs in front of him. "Yamarz has a heavy hand, but these orcs seem very dedicated to him," he says thoughtfully.

"It is all they know," I murmur. "They do not question him because, in their eyes, his authority comes from Malacath."

"Does it though? Does Malacath really bless chiefs like Yamarz?"

I sigh and shrug. "I suspect we are about to find out." My eyes flick across the yard to where Atub is leaving her hut. She heads our way and stops in front of us.

"I trust you both are well?" she asks.

When we both nod, she shakes her head. "I apologize for the poor accommodations. I did not think the Chief would show his disdain so…openly."

"We take no offense," I say.

"We've stayed in worse." Brand shrugs.

Atub looks as if she wants to ask Brand what he means, but instead she says, "It is time to consult Malacath. Join me?"

We fall in behind her, Brand with one hand on the hilt of the glass sword at his hip, me with my warhammer held casually across my body. Neither one a threat. Yet.

Atub goes straight to the longhouse and doesn't knock before walking in, Brand and I behind her. Yarmarz looks up from where he lounges on his throne, attended by two orc women holding platters of food and drink.

"Chief Yamarz," Atub says, as if she's his mother and she's ordering him to pick up his room. "It is time to commune with Malacath. Your negligence has gone on long enough!"

Yamarz lurches to his feet, upsetting one of the platters. Grapes, plums, bread and cheese scatter across the floor. "What is the meaning of this?" he roars. "Dare you challenge me?"

Atub stands firm. "This is not a challenge. It is an entreaty. For your good as well as the tribes'. We need Malacath's favor to survive. You know this."

"Do you deny that I have the Blue God's favor?"

Atub grimaces. "I do not deny anything, Chief, until we speak with Malacath himself."

Yamarz crosses his arms and stares at me, then Brand, eyes narrowing. "This is your fault, Dragonborn." He thrusts a finger at Brand. "You have brought this trouble on our tribe. As an Outsider, you are the only one Malacath could be -"

"No," Brand interrupts, quietly, but with power that nearly brings the room to its knees. Only I stay steady, but only because I have felt the Thu'um before.

Yamarz seems to shrink until Brand towers over him, though neither one has physically changed size. The whole room holds its breath.

Brand continues. "I have done no such thing. To bring Malacath's shame implies that I am a follower of Malacath. Blood-kin I may be, but I am not Orsimer. Nor do I owe particular loyalty to the Shunned God." Brand speaks boldly and I wonder if Malacath agrees with his assessment. "I cannot shame Malacath. I cannot bring misfortune on your tribe because I am not one of you."

I bite my tongue, not sure what Brand wants to accomplish by setting himself apart from the orcs so thoroughly when he's been, so far, trying to assimilate.

Brand stares down Yamarz. Yamarz glares back. If looks could kill, Brand would be a smoldering puddle on the floor. But it takes a lot more than that to stop my Dragonborn.

The room is frozen.

"Commune with Malacath, Chief," Brand says. "Find out who dishonored your tribe. If it is me, I will personally let you cut off my head."

Brand doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he spins dramatically on one heel and leaves the long house.

We all stare at the door as it shuts behind him, as if the worn wood will give us answers. I smile. Yamarz cannot refuse to commune with Malacath now.

We gather in the courtyard of the stronghold. The whole tribe is here. Atub has a fire burning on the shrine in the center of the courtyard, along with several pieces of armor and weaponry laid out along the flat stone, the daedra heart, the bowl of troll fat, and myriad herbs and flowers.

Brand stands nearby, legs apart, arms crossed, expression fierce in the firelight. The tribe watches him surreptitiously. Many of them look impressed. I see a few dark looks tossed his way, but also at Yamarz.

Brand's declaration in the longhouse may have been exactly what the tribe needed to shake them out of their stupor.

Atub begins adding ingredients to the fire and chanting. It doesn't take long before the smoke from the fire glows an angry red and then disappears altogether as a voice booms out over the gathered orcs, "You dare to summon me, Yamarz,norgimin goltragga?"

"Dying chief," I translate in Brand's ear.

Every orc's eyes are glued to the Chief.

Yamarz's face twists with rage. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you insult -"

"Silence!" the voice interrupts. Like when Brand used the Thu'um, many of the gathered orcs stagger or go to one knee. "Do you know who I am, Yamarz? I am your god. I am the Shunned One. I am Malacath."

Yamarz goes a shade paler. In an orc, that's quite a feat.

"Why have you dishonored me, Yamarz?" Malacath asks.

"What? I didn't -"

"You let giants overrun my shrine! You let outsiders desecrate my holy place! This is why your tribe suffers. You have become weak. Lazy. You are not strong enough my shrine, your honor, or your people."

Yamarz opens his mouth as if to argue. Cries of outrage scatter among the tribe.

Malacath doesn't give anyone the chance to interrupt. "I will give you one chance to restore my favor. If not for your sake, for your tribe's. Bring me the club of the giant leader who resides in my shrine and I will consider restoring my favor to your people."

Yamarz breathes heavily, anger smoldering in his eyes, but he cannot refuse. There is too much riding on this decision. The tribe would rip him apart if he does not accept. I get the feeling Malacath would do nothing to stop them.

"Fine," Yamarz finally growls. "I will do as you say, Malacath."

Malacath's laugh rumbles overhead. "See that you do. And do not foist this responsibility on your tribe. This task is yours to undertake and yours to win. I will return in one day to determine your worth."

The voice goes silent, the fire dies and silence reigns.

Yamarz sends the tribe away almost immediately, though he demands that Brand, Atub and I stay. We do.

The rest of the tribe reluctantly go back to their business, but the sense of unease pervading the stronghold is palpable.

Yamarz is dark as a thundercloud. As soon as the rest of the tribe leaves, he crosses his arms and glares at the three of us.

"You, Dragonborn! You are coming with me." He says it like an order he fully expects to be followed.

"Why?" Brand asks, voice low, a hint of Valenwood strong in his accent.

"Because this is all your fault,rohi voshu," the Chief spits.

Brand scowls. Though he may not know the meaning of the orcish words, their intent is clear. It is never difficult to recognize an insult, no matter the language.

"How is this my fault?" he asks.

"If you hadn't meddled, Malacath would not be displeased with me."

"IfIhadn't meddled,youwouldn't be taking action to restore your tribe's honor. Speak plainly, Yamarz. What do you want?"

"I want you to make sure I make it to the giant leader without harm and back to my tribe the same way. Small price to pay for your meddling." The chief smirks, as if he expects this declaration to shock Brand.

I don't interrupt. Brand is more than capable of bandying words with Yamarz.

"Fine," Brand says. "I will accompany you and Borgakh will accompany me."

Yamarz opens his mouth as if to argue, but Brand cuts him off. "She goes everywhere I do, Chief. Besides, it's only fair, right? If you get to take a bodyguard on this venture, why shouldn't I?"

Yamarz grinds his teeth, but he can't very well refuse Brand's request without acknowledging how demanding he's being. "Be ready at first light. We leave with the dawn," he growls.

Brand tosses him a lazy salute. With as much dignity as he can muster, Yamarz returns to the longhouse.

Behind us, Atub lets out a breath.

"Hurry up, little elf. You are not worth much as a bodyguard back there," Yamarz calls from where he stands outside of Fallowstone Cave the next day. We spent most of the morning following Yamarz across the Rift. He disparaged Brand the whole way.

"If I wanted to be worth much as a bodyguard, I'd be trying harder," Brand mutters as he and I climb the rest of the short incline up to the cave.

I snort.

"What was that?" Yamarz narrows his eyes.

"Nothing, chief." Brand gives Yamarz a convincing smile.

Yamarz scowls, but he makes no move to go inside the cave. Brand rolls his eyes and walks in first. I make Yamarz go second. Although I'd rather not have him at Brand's back, I know Brand is capable and I don't want Yamarz out of my sight. I don't trust him, especially not after Malacath's declarations last night.

We descend underground to the sound of a trickling stream. Giant tribal paintings decorate the walls and mushrooms and other plants bloom along the ground. Eventually, we enter an open-air cavern with several waterfalls feeding an underground river. Rib-cages and spines of long-dead animals litter the ground. This cave was obviously home to something violent and hungry at one time. Could be the giants, but I would put my money on trolls. Brand notes the bones as he passes, but nothing challenges us in this part of the cave.

Not long after, we encounter a couple of cave bears, which Brand and I make short work of. Yamarz, unhelpfully, puts in a swing or two. After we dispatch the bears, Brand walks over to a few bodies lying against the wall. Both are old and savaged, clearly fodder for the bears. One of them is an orc, though he is unarmed and unarmored. The other looks to be a bandit. Brand kneels by the orc and glances at Yamarz. "One of yours?" he asks.

Yamarz scowls. "Of course not! Why would one of mine be dead in this cave?"

I narrow my eyes. Yamarz's forceful protest reads false to me.

"You sure you didn't send anyone else up here to try to take care of the giants for you?" Brand asks drily.

"I did no such thing," Yamarz denies.

"He looks woefully unprepared," Brand says.

"I did not send him!" Yamarz shouts.

Brand stares at the chief until the chief looks away, but he doesn't press the issue further. He does say a small prayer over the fallen orc before he stands. I wonder if it was to Malacath, or one of the Eight. Or to something else entirely.

Brand leads the way through the rest of the cave with a grim expression. We don't meet any more challengers and come out into a small grove, hemmed in by natural stone walls on all sides. There is blood spattered on the ground here, by a small pile of more bones, one of them a mammoth skull. It looks like a butcher's workstation.

Giants.

We've found their lair.

Brand draws his glass sword and advances cautiously. To my surprise, Yamarz doesn't hang back, but keeps pace with Brand. I ready my warhammer and walk up to Brand's other side. We crouch behind a rock overlooking the bottom of the grove, where I can clearly see a large fire burning and three giants meandering around it. What looks to be a sabercat is spitted over the fire, roasting slowly.

"I can see why Malacath is angry," Brand murmurs beside me.

I take a second look and see what he means. The giant's fire is built on top of a stone shrine. I see various bowls and other utensils strewn around the ground that are not giant-sized - holy relics and offerings, most likely. By the way they are pushed to one side of the clearing, they've been there for some time.

"Time to go split some skulls, then," I reply.

Brand nods and turns to consult Yamarz, but the orc chief is already half-way down the hill towards the giants.

"So now he decides to go first." Brand rolls his eyes.

"You really think he's going to take on three giants by himself?" I ask dryly.

Brand gives me a somewhat devious look and shrugs.

I sigh. "Come on, Dragonborn, before he gets himself killed."

"You follow him, I'll circle around. When you hear me Shout, attack," Brand says.

I nod and hurry down the hill to join Yamarz. Brand slinks off to the right, circling across the stones above the giant's camp.

I touch Yamarz's shoulder as I draw up beside him.

He whirls on me with a scowl, expression softening only slightly when he realizes I am not Brand.

"Wait for his signal," I say.

Yamarz scowls. "Why should I wait on that little -"

"Krii Lune Aus!" Brand's shout interrupts whatever Yamarz was about to say.

The giants stagger and turn as one to face the direction of the Shout. A faint, purple haze rises around each giant.

"What did he do?" Yamarz demands.

"Marked them for death! Now attack!" I break cover and run for the nearest giant, warhammer raised high. I hear Yamarz behind me just as Brand takes a running leap off a rock overhead and lands on the shoulders of one of the giants. Caught off-guard, the giant staggers, roaring in surprise and pain as Brand plunges his sword into the giant's spinal cord. The giant doesn't even have time to look confused as Brand rides his sword down the giant's back, splitting the giant open from neck to groin. The giant tumbles to the ground with a thunderous crash.

Brand leaps free and gives me a crazy grin before sprinting past me to join Yamarz.

I dodge the heavy foot of the second giant and bring my warhammer crashing into his ankle, rolling right before his club strikes the ground where I was standing. He howls and smashes his club against the ground again, a hairsbreadth from my side. I stand my ground and smash his ankle again. With a heavy groan, the second giant falls to an ungainly kneel. To my surprise, it's Yamarz who leaps over me and buries his orcish sword in the giant's chest - not once, but three times. The giant sags sideways and collapses under the chief's deathblow.

Yamarz turns to me and gives me a war-stained smile, tusks on full display. I can see why he was once proclaimed chief. He fights with almost as much grace as Brand, despite his larger size, and his battle rage is impressive.

Between the three of us, we weave a deadly dance, and the last giant doesn't stand a chance. We fell him in short order and before I know it, the haze of battle settles and the three of us are the only ones left standing in the clearing.

As the last of the dust clears, I find Brand. He's a slight figure next to Yamarz, though his eyes shine just as bright with the lust of battle as the chief's. The two stand shoulder-to-shoulder where they dealt the last blow to this giant together, for a single moment brothers-in-arms. It is times like these that I glimpse something close to Brand's true power and it is no leap to imagine him as the dragon slayer he is.

Yamarz says something to Brand I can't hear, then pats Brand on the shoulder, as if congratulating him on a job well done. The chief glances at me and I do not trust his look as he throws one arm across Brand's shoulders. He was not this friendly with us before the trek to Fallowstone and a man as insecure and prideful as the chief cannot be satisfied with only helping to take down the giants. Can he?

Yamarz says something else and Brand actually laughs.

Have I judged the chief wrong? Was the heat of battle what he needed to reawaken his former self? I rest the butt of my warhammer on the ground, feeling slightly more at ease.

Maybe Malacath was smarter than all of us. Maybe he foresaw just this end.

That is when a glint of light off something in Yamarz's off-hand catches my eye. A knife - a deadly, wicked blade.

"Brand!" I shout and throw a hand up. I'm already moving, but I know I won't make it in time.

Brand catches my expression and raises an eyebrow just as Yamarz rams his knife into the joint in Brand's armor. The blade plunges into Brand's side. I see blood.

Brand looks at Yamarz, then at me, mouth open, but no sound comes out.

Instead there is only blood.

The insult Yamarz uses for Brand translates roughly to "worthless"