Chapter 6 #3
“I’ll tell you why,” he finally said, leaning a little closer to Alwyn. “Do you remember when you asked about the clan I came from?”
Alwyn blinked. He did remember—mainly how Krujha had been uncharacteristically quiet in response. “Yes.”
“When I was about, oh, eleven or twelve,” Krujha continued, but he had a faraway look in his golden eyes now.
“The Warlord’s men came to our clan with a summons.
Every able-bodied orc over sixteen years old in our clan was being conscripted into Hrul’s army.
That was almost the whole clan. Everyone was rounded up, except for me, two younger children, and two women.
One of them was pregnant, and the other had a newborn child.
Everyone else was forced to leave—my father, my mother, my older siblings, aunts, uncles, friends.
Every single person I knew who was older than me.
I was only spared because I was still too young, but I was old enough to know what was happening—to know I would have to grow up quickly if the remnants of our clan were to survive.
I still remember seeing my mother weeping as they were led away.
But what could she do? She could refuse the summons and stay, and the Warlord’s men would kill her on the spot.
Or she could go with them, for the chance to survive whatever battles there were to be fought and return to us someday.
That was how Hrul was able to control so many clans; he ruled with an iron fist and killed whoever didn’t cooperate with him. ”
The orc sighed, falling silent. His golden eyes had dropped to the ground the longer he spoke, his brows furrowed.
Alwyn’s heart was beating fast in his chest. He had never been truly curious about Krujha’s past, much less thought about the lives of orcs under the former warlord; but now he was desperate to hear the rest of the story.
He didn’t know why the tale of Krujha’s own family, short as it was, felt so compelling. Maybe because he had grown up without a family of his own. Or maybe because it was one of the few times he had seen Krujha’s cheerful, friendly persona fade.
“None of them ever came back,” Krujha said abruptly, his eyes darting back up to Alwyn.
There was a hardness in his expression that Alwyn had never seen before.
“I did my best to help take care of the younger children, but I was still a child, too. And a pregnant woman and a nursing mother could never take up all the work needed to keep a clan going on their own. We joined up with a caravan heading to Drol Kuggradh, and parted ways there. Clans came and went through the city, but I didn’t want to join up with any of them.
I wanted my own clan back, and I knew that would never happen. So I had to do something different.”
“What did you do?” Alwyn heard himself asking, before clamping his mouth shut, embarrassed. But Krujha managed a small smile at the question, his pained expression easing a little bit.
“I realized it was the Warlord who had done this to me,” he said, with more conviction in his voice now than Alwyn had ever heard before.
“That his greed for land and resources drove him to wage an endless war, with no regard for the lives of the orcs who would die so he could push the border a little further south every year. And I vowed to myself I would do whatever it took to have my vengeance against the man who destroyed my family.”
The words hung heavily in the air for a long moment. Alwyn felt frozen, barely able to breathe, much less look away from Krujha. He didn’t think he had ever felt so strongly about anything in his life, and hearing Krujha’s words felt like the very foundations of the world were shifting beneath him.
He had never considered why this war had gone on as long as it had.
He had never considered that the orcs who fought and died had no desire to be there.
Why would he? All he had ever known was the Order, and they were above such matters.
Though the war had only been definitively ended two years ago, it suddenly felt real to Alwyn in a way it never had before.
It had never once affected him, yet it had shaped Krujha entirely—and now here they both were, together.
“But, obviously, I ended up missing my opportunity,” Krujha finally added, a grin splitting his features again.
Alwyn blinked in surprise, startled at the orc’s sudden shift in mood.
“But I had been working with Gorza and her network of, well, people like me for some time. So when the first rumors of this rebellion started, I was ready to follow the threads wherever they led me. I might not have been able to have my vengeance against Hrul, but I could ensure the war he took up would never be waged again. And that’s why I’m here. ”
“How did you end up working with Gorza?” Alwyn asked, frowning. Krujha chuckled.
“I started off the day I arrived in Drol Kuggradh as a messenger,” he said. “No one in the city is paying too much attention to where orphaned boys wander. I gained a reputation for being quiet and observant, and the people looking for that helped hone my skills from there.”
“Couldn’t some of your clan still be alive?” Alwyn pressed. Krujha nearly flinched at that, looking away. “Couldn’t they have gone back to where your clan was originally? It was by the coast, you said.”
“Perhaps. But they would have come looking when they arrived to find no one there,” Krujha said after a moment, shaking his head.
“No, I don’t think any of them survived.
I encountered many clans in Drol Kuggradh, lone wanderers, too—those who had fled the army and were in hiding.
If they had escaped and found our clan gone, surely they would have gone to Drol Kuggradh.
And if they were there, I would have known.
But none of them ever came, so, well, I have to assume that means none of them made it out. ”
Alwyn was silent, unsure of how to respond. “I see,” he managed, his voice small. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. It was a long time ago now. And if you look at the bigger picture, I was lucky. I made it through all of that. Not everyone can say the same.”
Alwyn nodded. “I, um... I was an orphan, too.”
He didn’t know why he’d shared it, but it felt wrong not to answer Krujha’s vulnerability with something of his own.
Krujha’s eyes softened. It took Alwyn a moment to recognize the expression as one of compassion. “I’m sorry we’re in the same sad club, then.”
Alwyn managed a bitter laugh, glancing away self-consciously. “Me too.”
They were both silent for some time. When he risked looking back at Krujha, the orc was still watching him, as if waiting for him to say more. But his pulse was throbbing in his throat, and he didn’t think he could speak more on it, even if he wanted to.
He had never talked about it with anyone, really.
He assumed most everyone in the Order was the same.
They were students of the Library, of course; but they did not have families that visited them, or places to go on holidays, the way other students did.
It only made sense: they were raised up to do some of the most dangerous work possible, so naturally their ranks would be filled with elves who would have no connections that could be exploited or used against them.
No one to miss them. No one to notice if they were gone.
Alwyn had never spoken about his dreams of the waterfall house and the family there.
He had never voiced his uncertainty about whether those memories were real, or just something he imagined.
He had never asked about how he had come to the orphanage that eventually sent him to the Library, allowing him to be found and raised up by Tessarion.
He had never wanted to say any of those things aloud, but now it felt like it was all crowding his throat, choking him.
“That’s where our similarities might end, I suppose,” Krujha said, startling Alwyn from his thoughts.
He suddenly remembered why they were having this conversation in the first place.
Krujha smiled, and this time it held an edge of danger rather than cheer.
“You see, no one ordered me here. There’s nowhere I’d rather be. This is the work I want to be doing.”
“I—I see,” Alwyn stammered, finally looking away as his face burned with heat. They sat in silence after that, watching the performance continuing onstage. When the song changed, Krujha brightened.
“I know this one,” he said, as they began to sing in orcish, smiling down at Alwyn. “Want me to teach you the words?”
But something in Alwyn felt unsettled by the conversation. The spell had broken, and now he just wanted to get away—to think about the story Krujha had told.
“No,” he mumbled, getting to his feet. “I’m going to lie down. I...” He trailed off, unsure of what else he wanted to say. Krujha shot him a questioning look, and he had to turn away. “Good night.”
He felt more than heard Krujha sigh, even as he walked away. “Good night, Alwyn.”