A keen mind had devised them, although it wasn’t likely that they would be able to launch anything but the thin darts and not fast enough to kill a man. That was what the poison was for. He assumed that the only reason why he was still alive was that he was too large for conventional doses and so they had merely drugged him. His light armor had no doubt also helped somewhat, although it had let most of the darts through.
They would not be effective if the victim wore heavy armor or thickly padded leather, but they were an interesting weapon to have in his arsenal if he ever needed to use it.
But that was something to think about later. Night had fallen over the region and while Skharr believed the lizardfolk would not attack, he had no reason to rely on his reasoning. Besides, the swamp had its dangers too. In the darkness, traveling through the bog would be treacherous and if he lost his way, he would either be caught or unable to find a way out. Both those possibilities would almost certainly end in death.
Which meant Brahgen would be left to a painful death.
He made slow progress as he followed the stars for direction. It was odd that he didn’t feel the need to rest a few hours later, although Skharr was willing to explain that with whatever the goddess had done to him with her kiss.
His luck was truly bizarre. Most folk didn't gain the attention of the gods once in their lives and there he was with the full attention of three, if not more.
The island was fairly large but it wasn't long before he was out of the swamps. Now, he moved slowly for another reason entirely. The possibility that the orcs had no idea that the lizardfolk would no longer attack them made his imagination immediately leap to the notion that he could be turned into a pincushion by a volley of orc crossbow bolts.
He therefore moved slowly and carefully and walked in the very center of the path. Even in the darkness of a moonless night, there was no way they could mistake him for anything but a barbarian who meant them no harm.
Hopefully.
His instincts—or perhaps simply his imagination—proved correct. As he moved along the path, he began to hear the soft grunts and mutters he recognized as the orc language. Before too long, three of them appeared in front of him, their crossbows at the ready.
They began to make the gestures they used to communicate, and Skharr shook his head.
"I can't understand you," he replied. "The hags are dead, the mist is gone, and the lizardfolk will no longer bother you. And now, my friend was kidnapped and taken away and I don't have the time to play any games."
The orcs paused and two of them took a few steps back and grasped their weapons a little tighter. One paused to talk to those he now realized didn't understand what he was saying. After a moment, they lowered their crossbows and motioned for him to follow them.
They could see a little better in the dark than he did, and he remained close behind as they led him to a palisade guarded by another group of the orcs.
The guards were still awake but it seemed like the rest of the tribe was asleep. One of them began to pull the gates open and another immediately went off in search of the chieftain. The barbarian was prevented from going much farther than a few feet past the gate itself, and while he was in a hurry, he did not intend to antagonize the orcs. If they thought he was a threat, he had no doubt that killing him would not be far behind.
Thankfully, he didn’t have long to wait before the chieftain appeared. She looked tired and very much the worse for wear as she approached. He noted that none of them questioned where his smaller companion was, which meant they knew precisely where Brahgen had gone and who he had gone with.
"You've been plagued by the fucking hags, lizardfolk, and mists for how long now?" he asked and tried to keep his tone as level as he could.
The orc realized that he couldn't understand their regular means of communication and signaled with two fingers, then a circular motion.
"Two years?"
She nodded.
"And today, aside from what we dealt with, have you seen any of the lizards? Or noticed that the mists are gone? The hags are fucking dead and the dwarf who killed them was carried off under your noses."
She shrugged and began to go through the familiar and yet unfamiliar hand signals.
"I can't fucking understand you." Despite his good intentions, he growled his frustration.
The chieftain's eyes lit up and she took a step forward. She was almost as tall as he was, although a good deal leaner, but the barbarian did not doubt that she would rank among the toughest fights he'd ever engaged in. Chieftains were not elected among orcs, after all. They had to fight their way to the top and fight to stay there as well.
After a moment during which she stared balefully at him, her expression softened and she shook her head and cleared her throat before she tried to speak. "Humans…kill…humans. Orcs…not…bother."
Skharr narrowed his eyes as he tried to translate what that meant. Eventually, he decided she meant that orcs wouldn’t bother with the altercations of humans. They had done what they'd done for their reasons and these had nothing to do with the orcs, who would not interfere as long as the fate of their tribe was not on the line.
"Even so," he answered, "I intend to save him. I know where they are headed. I need to know what they look like and I'll need my boat back. If you feel no sense of…gratitude for what the dwarf did for you, there must be some kind of arrangement we can reach."
The chieftain nodded. "Gra…gratitude…we tell. Boat. You pay."
The information would come thanks to what Brahgen had done for them. Skharr would have to buy the boat.
"Leader…Samor." She indicated his height compared to the barbarian and pointed to her hair. "Gold. Follows…" She tilted her head and finally held ten fingers up.
A golden-haired man named Samor, tall for a human and leading ten men. He could tell she was as annoyed as he was but she did a good job of providing the information.
He nodded. "How much for the boat I came in on?"
"No coin.” She shook her head. “Only…trade."
It took him a moment to understand that and when he did, it made sense that they were interested in something more useful than gold or silver. He nodded, unhooked the ax from his belt, and ignored a dozen or so crossbows being drawn around him as he turned it carefully and slowly to offer it to her handle-first in a non-threatening way.
Her eyes narrowed as she took the weapon from his hand. Her grasp was firm and experienced but after a moment, she handed it to one of her lieutenants, who examined it as well. He nodded after a few test swings and returned it to her.
The chieftain focused on Skharr and gestured to show that more was needed. He narrowed his eyes, shrugged, and lowered his pack. The sword he carried and its paired dagger were not anything he would use to redeem a small boat, but something he carried would have to be.
Finally, he paused and drew a deep breath before he withdrew a small, simple wooden box and handed it to the chieftain. She looked curious and opened it carefully to see a handful of corked vials with powders, dried leaves, and other assorted spices.
"DeathEater spices are famous enough that even you must have heard of them," the barbarian said. "They'll stop the food from spoiling and it will taste better once eaten. Perhaps not enough for your whole tribe but they are certainly worth more than the boat we arrived in."