have gone missing,” said
Ulacht. “Ulacht is the headman of Rzoldur, and my kinsfolk tell me
that seven of our children have disappeared! We orcs do not value
our children so lightly that we fail to notice when they
disappear.” He growled. “Ulacht thinks that cowardly men from
Victrix slew our children to boast about how they defeated terrible
orcs in the wild.”
Linus’s face got darker. “That is preposterous! You
will tell me what you have done with the children, or I shall make
sure the Dux in Castra Marcaine hears…”
“Silence!” roared Ulacht. “You shall return our
children, or you will see what an orcish warband can do!” He
growled again. “We may have sworn to the High King and his God, but
we have not forgotten the old ways!”
The priest lifted his fists and the orcish headman
his club, both men preparing to fight.
Then one of the orcs saw Ridmark and shouted
something, and suddenly the entire mob was looking at him.
He took a deep breath, and decided that the situation
called for some authority. Specifically, Ridmark’s own as a Knight
of the Order of the Soulblade. He had seen his father adjudicate
disputes before. Ridmark could do the same.
He hoped.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ridmark said, making
sure to keep his voice calm. “Why are you blocking the High King’s
road?”
Father Linus cleared his throat. “Sir knight, this
is...”
“Run along, boy,” growled Ulacht, pointing his club
at Ridmark. “This is none of your concern. Get out of my sight, or
I'll take your horse and send you barefoot back to your
father.”
Ridmark decided more persuasion was necessary.
He drew Heartwarden, the soulstone in the base of the
blade flashing with white light, and the orcs flinched in alarm
while Linus’s eyes grew wide. They recognized the soulblade for
what it is.
“I am Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii,” Ridmark
said, “son of the Dux Leogrance of Taliand, and a Knight of the
Order of the Soulblade. You will answer my questions.”
Both the priest and the headman looked at each other,
and then at Ridmark.
“Tell me what is going on. Now,” Ridmark said. “And
for the love of God, talk one at a time.”
“I am the priest of the village of Victrix, sir
knight,” said Linus. “Five of our children disappeared in the last
fortnight, and we believe that some from the orcish village of
Rzoldur,” he glared at Ulacht, “have turned to the worship of the
old orcish blood gods and slain the children in their black
rites.”
“Foolishness!” roared Ulacht. “Ulacht is the headman
of Rzoldur, Swordbearer, and he tells you that we are good subjects
of the High King and followers of his God! We leave the humans of
Victrix alone!” He pointed at Linus. “But the humans, yes, the
humans think they are so brave, and boast about slaying terrible
orcs! Seven our Rzoldur's children have disappeared in the last
fortnight, and Ulacht thinks the humans have slain them!”
“By God and his saints!” Ridmark said, exasperated.
“Did it not occur to you that this is the Northerland? There are
creatures of dark magic and worse things in these forests, and they
prey upon man and orc alike.” He waved a hand at the trees. “It's
only the Lord's mercy that all this shouting has not drawn their
attention.”
“Your pardon, Sir Ridmark,” said Linus, “but we men
of the Northerland are not fools. We know what the devils of the
forest can do. Perhaps even better than a nobleman's son from the
south. An urvaalg would devour its victims and leave blood and
bones and a trail of carnage. Our children have simply disappeared,
and I have no doubt that the orcs crept in under cover of darkness
and kidnapped them!”
“Villain!” said Ulacht.
Both Ulacht and Linus began shouting at each other in
Latin, while the orcs grumbled to each other in their own tongue
and lifted their weapons. Ridmark took a deep breath to shout them
down…
…and then the ghastly shriek cut through
Ulacht. “Ulacht is the headman of Rzoldur, and my kinsfolk tell me
that seven of our children have disappeared! We orcs do not value
our children so lightly that we fail to notice when they
disappear.” He growled. “Ulacht thinks that cowardly men from
Victrix slew our children to boast about how they defeated terrible
orcs in the wild.”
Linus’s face got darker. “That is preposterous! You
will tell me what you have done with the children, or I shall make
sure the Dux in Castra Marcaine hears…”
“Silence!” roared Ulacht. “You shall return our
children, or you will see what an orcish warband can do!” He
growled again. “We may have sworn to the High King and his God, but
we have not forgotten the old ways!”
The priest lifted his fists and the orcish headman
his club, both men preparing to fight.
Then one of the orcs saw Ridmark and shouted
something, and suddenly the entire mob was looking at him.
He took a deep breath, and decided that the situation
called for some authority. Specifically, Ridmark’s own as a Knight
of the Order of the Soulblade. He had seen his father adjudicate
disputes before. Ridmark could do the same.
He hoped.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ridmark said, making
sure to keep his voice calm. “Why are you blocking the High King’s
road?”
Father Linus cleared his throat. “Sir knight, this
is...”
“Run along, boy,” growled Ulacht, pointing his club
at Ridmark. “This is none of your concern. Get out of my sight, or
I'll take your horse and send you barefoot back to your
father.”
Ridmark decided more persuasion was necessary.
He drew Heartwarden, the soulstone in the base of the
blade flashing with white light, and the orcs flinched in alarm
while Linus’s eyes grew wide. They recognized the soulblade for
what it is.
“I am Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii,” Ridmark
said, “son of the Dux Leogrance of Taliand, and a Knight of the
Order of the Soulblade. You will answer my questions.”
Both the priest and the headman looked at each other,
and then at Ridmark.
“Tell me what is going on. Now,” Ridmark said. “And
for the love of God, talk one at a time.”
“I am the priest of the village of Victrix, sir
knight,” said Linus. “Five of our children disappeared in the last
fortnight, and we believe that some from the orcish village of
Rzoldur,” he glared at Ulacht, “have turned to the worship of the
old orcish blood gods and slain the children in their black
rites.”
“Foolishness!” roared Ulacht. “Ulacht is the headman
of Rzoldur, Swordbearer, and he tells you that we are good subjects
of the High King and followers of his God! We leave the humans of
Victrix alone!” He pointed at Linus. “But the humans, yes, the
humans think they are so brave, and boast about slaying terrible
orcs! Seven our Rzoldur's children have disappeared in the last
fortnight, and Ulacht thinks the humans have slain them!”
“By God and his saints!” Ridmark said, exasperated.
“Did it not occur to you that this is the Northerland? There are
creatures of dark magic and worse things in these forests, and they
prey upon man and orc alike.” He waved a hand at the trees. “It's
only the Lord's mercy that all this shouting has not drawn their
attention.”
“Your pardon, Sir Ridmark,” said Linus, “but we men
of the Northerland are not fools. We know what the devils of the
forest can do. Perhaps even better than a nobleman's son from the
south. An urvaalg would devour its victims and leave blood and
bones and a trail of carnage. Our children have simply disappeared,
and I have no doubt that the orcs crept in under cover of darkness
and kidnapped them!”
“Villain!” said Ulacht.
Both Ulacht and Linus began shouting at each other in
Latin, while the orcs grumbled to each other in their own tongue
and lifted their weapons. Ridmark took a deep breath to shout them
down…
…and then the ghastly shriek cut through
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