5. Varkul
Varkul
I have gathered my strongest orc warriors in my war tent to discuss the human’s proposal.
As is tradition, a feast is laid out for us on the wooden table. Decisions cannot be made on an empty stomach.
Today we have freshly grilled swine, and as much mead as an orc can handle.
“I do not trust the humans,” Garomshir says as he bites into a thick chunk of meat. “They are treacherous, snivelling creatures.”
“Yeah. It could be a trap,” a warrior named Harkol says.
“We should wait for that human to return, and then string him up by that thin neck of his,” Garomshir says. “Send them a warning!”
My orcs laugh rowdily. I listen patiently as they list reasons upon reasons why we should never trust a single word out of a human’s lips.
This is why I am Warlord, and they are not. It is easy to throw out words, accusations, threats.
It is not so easy to lead.
When our meal is finished, Garomshir takes a large swig of ale, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at me.
“Well, Varkul? How shall we do this? Shall we send a message to the humans, and lure that male back here?”
“Yeah!” My orcs shout.
I stand up from my throne and gesture for everyone to be silent.
It is instantly so quiet we only hear the sounds of the distant jungle. Birds chirping, trees rustling, a fire outside crackling.
It is the silence before the storm.
“I have decided to accept the human’s offer,” I say. “I will travel to the human facility first thing tomorrow morning.”
After a moment of stunned silence, chaos erupts. Orcs rise to their feet, pointing and shouting. Garomshir pulls out his axe and slams it into the wooden table. Mead spills everywhere.
“Silence!” I thunder.
Everyone freezes.
“I have made my decision,” I say loudly. “Who dares question it?”
“Varkul,” Garomshir says, his voice filled with anger. “This is madness!”
“What other choice do we have?!” I shout. “Our clan has no more fertile women. Not since Xalaka passed in childbirth, spirits rest her soul. If we do nothing, Clan Blackfang slowly withers away into nothingness. I must risk it!”
“We could raid another clan!” Garomshir shoots back. “According to the whispers, Clan Darkwood has three fertile women. Three! Surely we can take at least one?”
“I have heard the same whispers. We could raid them, yes. But how many orc lives will it cost? How many strong men will we lose? Clan Darkwood will defend their fertile women to the death.”
I scan each and every one of my orcs’ faces.
These proud warriors would follow me to war without hesitation. If I tell them Clan Darkwood dies tonight, they would not stop until the last drop of blood has been spilled.
“I would gladly die for our clan,” Garomshir says, thudding his fist against his chest proudly.
“I know. Your loyalty is not in question — but the survival of our species is . Think about this, my orcs: The raid will kill more orcs than a fertile orc woman can ever birth.”
I take a moment to let my words sink in.
“Our clan might be victorious today, but in the long run, we are dying. And the weaker we get, the easier it will be for the humans to push us around. If these humans promise offspring, we must listen to what they have to say. Not only for our clan, but for all orc kind.”
Garomshir spits on the ground. “Heresy! You would abandon our people?! You would bow before these humans — you would mate with them?!”
I tolerate discussion.
I do not tolerate dissent.
My forehead slams into Garomshir’s. He drops down to the ground hard, falling over a chair as he does so.
“I will save our people,” I growl. “I will travel to the humans, and risk my own life to save our people. To save orcs everywhere! And if you do not think me fit to lead Clan Blackfang, Garomshir, then raise your voice at me again and challenge me. I dare you.”
Garomshir slowly crawls up to his feet. His lip is bleeding, and in his eyes I see begrudging respect.
“I don’t like it,” the orc warrior grunts.
“Neither do I, Garomshir,” I answer. “But is a risk I must take. I will travel to the human facility at first light.”