The rock giant’s words mollified Whiska in a way nothing else had. She sat back down, looked at Borg, nodded, and then downed the rest of her drink.
“So…Skendrick?” I asked.
Nadi looked at Rummy, who nodded, then at Borg, who did the same. When she looked at Whiska, the Ratarian just licked her lips to get the last of her ale off of them, but we all took that as a sign of assent.
“To Skendrick,” replied Nadi. “With a detour through the orc encampment.” She looked grim. “We leave at first light.”
Chapter 13
SO WERE SLAIN THE FOUL ORCS OF THE GLOOM FOREST
The heroes set off on their journey to Skendrick to lay claim to the quest of slaying the foul beast Dragonia, but not before first stopping to destroy the encampment of orcs deep in the heart of the Gloom Forest, whose vile presence was a threat to all of the goodly folk of the area.
After three days’ ride, our heroes, saddle sore but spirit strong, reached the edge of the wood and did fierce battle with the orc outriders, defeating them handily and preventing them from giving their foul kin warning of the heroes’ coming. With stealth and poise did Nadinta lead her charges into the heart of the encampment, shying not from the combined might of the orc forces, knowing that the righteousness of her cause and the combined might of her company would be proof against all resistance the wretched orcish forces might muster.
The heroes crept in under cover of darkness, and the mighty Whiska woke the foul creatures with a display of raw power, sending bolts of lightning and great balls of fire springing forth from her staff, such that many perished before they could even rise from their filthy bedrolls.
Whiska’s companions were not idle in the midst of this maelstrom of destruction, for Nadinta’s sword rose and fell a hundred times, and a hundred orcs lay dead at her feet afterward. The mighty Borgunder stood as a bulwark against those orcs who tried to fight, deflecting blow after blow and sheltering his companions as they rained death upon the orcs. Even Rumscrabble struck repeatedly at the terrible creatures with his mace, his fury driving him on and giving him power that he had never known he possessed.
Through it all, an unassuming bard witnessed their display of courage and sang out at the top of her lungs (showcasing impressive octave range), exhorting and encouraging the adventurers to new heights of glory, her music giving them strength and stamina to ease the strain of a battle fought so long and so hard.
When the sun arose many hours later, when the first of its pink rays dared surmount the horizon to bathe the world in the soft glow of predawn, our heroes finished their virtuous work, a blow from Nadinta felling the last of the despicable monsters.
The companions paused, each laboring to draw breath after their exertion, but knowing that their efforts would save the lives of countless individuals, for never again would these base marauders raise their rusty and wicked blades against an innocent.
For a few moments they rested, reflecting upon their mighty deed, and then, with a deep breath, they continued on the road to Skendrick, knowing that each moment they delayed was another moment that the dragon might strike.
Chapter 14
OKAY, FINE, SO IT TURNS OUT THAT THE ORCS WEREN’T REALLY ALL THAT FOUL
Full disclosure: I was pretty much raised to hate orcs.
Elves and orcs are like fire and ice, salt and wounds, or Janiperian turnip plants and codswattle bugs. The whimsical, nature-loving tendencies of the elves contrast sharply with the literal-mindedness and casual disregard for the world around them orcs tend to display. But, there’s a chance that orcs’ bad reputation is as much a result of the fact that there are very few orcish storytellers (most orcs can’t read or write and wouldn’t have the faintest desire to learn how to do so even if they had the opportunity) and very many biased elvish (or, in the case of your lovely narrator, half-elven) bards and poets as it is because of the orcs’ own actions.
So, while I don’t like the fact that the orcs may not come off as evil and disgusting and gross as I would like them to in this story, I promised you the truth, and so the truth you shall have, even if it ends up making you feel kind of bad about how much you used to hate orcs, and making people hate orcs less is about as much fun for me as getting stabbed in the stomach with a fondue fork. (Side note: yes, I have actually been stabbed in stomach with a fondue fork, and no, I didn’t enjoy it, though I do like fondue very much, and still do, though maybe not as much as I once did, and I’ll never have fondue in Plorigen ever again.)
It turned out that “first light” for this crew meant just before midday, which was just fine with me, but clearly annoyed Nadi. Whiska was not an early riser, Borg took a solid two hours to eat breakfast (I stopped counting after he ate his thirty-seventh egg, which he claimed was not a record, but was “a pretty…good effort”), and Rummy kept saying he had “forgotten” things from his room, only to make them “magically” appear somewhere. To be fair, it was pretty impressive to watch him pull his mace out from behind Nadi’s ear, but she seemed less wowed by the trick than the rest of us—even Whiska, having knocked back a stiff Bloody Lindy, applauded. (A Bloody Lindy, incidentally, is a twist on a Bloody Mary wherein the mixer is not tomato juice and a combination of spicy seasonings but is, instead, clam juice and lime, and it tastes as awful as it sounds.)
Eventually, however, we hit the road, only, unlike in the heroic version the bards sing, we went on foot—gold being in short supply, we were in no position to purchase (not to mention feed) mounts. So, the journey to the orc encampment took almost two weeks, and absolutely nothing of interest happened along the way. You hear about the high points of the adventuring life in songs, but most of it involves walking down a dusty road in the hot sun singing “Ninety-Nine Pints of Ale on the Wagon,” or maybe beating whoever in your party keeps singing “Ninety-Nine Pints of Ale on the Wagon” (Rummy) in the kidneys with a bar of soap wrapped in a cloth, in an effort to trick your brain into forgetting how incredibly bored it is.
On the plus side (mostly), I had plenty of time to get to know my new companions.
Despite his relatively undwarf-like appearance, Rummy grew on me quickly. He was unfailingly (and sometimes irritatingly) cheerful—even when something bothered him, he got over it in less time than it takes most dwarves to chug an ale, which is approximately three seconds (not that I’ve ever timed it). He was clearly both smart and clever (there’s a difference), but tended to purposefully obscure that fact behind a stream of inane chatter. He was basically your favorite (if occasionally annoying) uncle, who would alternate stupid, punny jokes with playing the “got your nose” game—only in Rummy’s version, instead of tucking his thumb between his fingers to make it look like he was holding a nose, he would use his sleight-of-hand skills to produce a schnoz fruit, which looks remarkably like a human nose, save for the fact that it’s purple. He also had a habit of stealing things from you in the midst of all the patter and prestidigitation, though he always gave everything back immediately (he said that it was necessary to “stay sharp” while on the road, though I think he really just enjoyed how much his taking things annoyed Nadi).