Chapter 2
Chapter two
Vidorak
“You can either unlock the door, or I will slice you open and feast on your insides,” Vidorak threatened the human man he was holding up by the neck. Orcs didn’t eat human entrails, but the man didn’t know that.
The man panicked at the threat, legs kicking out helplessly.
Vidorak had already come to the raid on edge, and this was just worsening his mood.
He was ready to toss the human to the ground and break open the door to the granary with his axe, abandoning his intention to do things the less destructive way.
Before he could act, Nazghor came over and bent down to the human’s eye level, trying to make his large orc form appear less threatening.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just grumpy because his braids got tangled. Now, if you open the door, we will let you go.”
Vidorak glared at his friend, but the words calmed the human, who nodded vigorously. He unceremoniously dropped the man, who scrambled up and fumbled to retrieve a key from his pockets.
With shaking hands, he started to unlock the door. “You won’t kill me, right?”
“Hurry before I change my mind,” Vidorak snarled impatiently.
The lock clicked, and the door to the granary opened. As the orcs made to enter, Vidorak briefly registered the man dashing away into the night.
Nazghor tsked. “He’s heading straight toward the others. If he had waited a moment, I would’ve told him to head to the river.”
“You can’t save everyone from their poor decisions,” Vidorak mumbled, the human already forgotten, as he entered the building.
“But can I save myself from your bad mood?” Nazghor responded, unfazed by Vidorak’s surly demeanor.
Vidorak ignored his friend as they grabbed bags of flour and wheat, loading them onto a cart for transport back to the mountain. He moved quickly, wanting to be done with this so they could begin returning. He didn’t have a good feeling about this raid.
As if on cue, tiny glowing dots appeared in the distance.
Vidorak cursed. “He has done it again.”
“Maybe that’s just a torch,” Nazghor commented, following his eyeline. Then several more lights popped up and spread. “Maybe not.”
“His bloodthirst will be the end of us all,” Vidorak spat out.
Nazghor grabbed him by the neck and brought him closer, his jovial tone gone. “Be careful what you say, brother. This is not the place.”
Those discussions needed to remain private to avoid the wrong orc overhearing.
For the past several years, Vidorak had been working with those he trusted to break down the chieftain’s influence.
Challenging him when so many jarls still supported his uncle’s brutal regime would make a power shift unachievable.
Due to the war, the Crown banned the human towns from trading with orcs, limiting their options. The clan was suffering in the desolate mountains. It was raid or starve.
But the destruction of homes and murder were gratuitous. His uncle’s orders bred wanton violence, harsher than necessary for gathering resources.
From a young age, Vidorak learned to remain cold and emotionless during the needlessly violent raids as he planned for change in the background.
There was still more to be done before he could officially challenge his uncle for control of the clan, but remaining quiet was becoming increasingly difficult.
Nazghor’s words were another reminder of how his control was fracturing.
“I will be back.” Vidorak stepped out of Nazghor’s hold, heading toward the fires.
Nazghor cursed. “Grushag, go with him and make sure he doesn’t end up dead. I will finish up here.”
The scarred orc nodded and stepped into the shadows, following silently behind. Vidorak paid him no mind as he made his way toward the center of Helios.
The bell tower rang, alerting the small town to the invasion. A symphony of screams and terror that was all too familiar echoed in the streets.
A townsman desperately ran down the road in his nightshirt only to come to an abrupt stop. He fell to the ground with an axe sticking out of his back. His orc attacker came forward, laughing as he pulled the axe away.
The smell of ash burned Vidorak’s nostrils as he roamed the once lively streets of Helios. Watching the violence unfold, the thrum of rage in his veins beat at the wall he’d built inside him.
Amid the chaos, Vidorak spotted a stocky orc with short-cropped hair and bone piercings in his ears entering one of the homes off a side street.
Mabanok’s loyal to his uncle was absolute, and he never hesitated to carry out every ruthless command. The brutal orc wished to become clan jarl by any means necessary, even harming his own kind.
Vidorak changed course and headed in Mabanok’s direction. Muted by the sounds of the town burning, he could pick up on the cries of small children as he approached the home.
The door was wide open, and despite the darkness, Vidorak could see clearly. Mabanok was facing away from him, his large orc frame taking up most of the room. From the sounds of it, he had a female pinned to the table in front of him.
Vidorak slipped into the house quietly, his hand tightening on the handle of his axe.
In a swift motion, he slammed the blunt end of the axe over Mabanok’s head, causing a loud crack.
The looming orc fell backward without even realizing what had happened.
Vidorak stared down at him, noting how his chest unfortunately still moved.
He turned his attention to the human female, who was trembling as she held onto her torn dress and looked at him, likely wondering if he was going to take her next.
The sound of soft crying in the corner drew his attention, and he spotted two small children huddled near the bed.
“Please don’t!” the woman cried out. “I will do what you want, just don’t hurt my children.”
His uncle didn’t care if his orcs raped the human women. In fact, if an orc had been particularly vicious during a raid, his uncle might even reward him with a human pleasure slave at the mountain.
“I will not hurt you.”
Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for any other orc who came by and saw her vulnerable.
He noticed a dresser in the corner and went over to it. With a swift tug, he pulled it out a couple of feet. “Hide behind here.”
After a moment of hesitation, the woman got to her feet and grabbed her two children, taking them behind the moved furniture. She crouched down, her small ones huddled by her, still sobbing.
“This will keep you out of sight, but you need to stop the crying,” Vidorak said and placed a blanket over the top and side of the dresser to hide the gap.
He returned to the unconscious body of Mabanok and glanced back, satisfied that from the entrance of the home they weren’t visible.
He grabbed the orc and dragged him out onto the street. Grushag was close by, watching what unfolded.
“Take him somewhere further away and dump him. If we are lucky, wild dogs will finish the job for us.”
Without even a nod, the scarred orc heaved Mabanok over one shoulder and disappeared. Vidorak continued toward the governor’s house, shouting and destruction picking up with every step. The home was at the top of a hill, overlooking the valley below.
A dark, booming laugh broke through the chaos, and Vidorak followed the sound until he spotted his uncle. Three guards wearing chain mail and carrying swords surrounded him. His uncle carried a war hammer but didn’t reach for it, instead attacking the guards with his brute strength.
Despite his age, Urim still fought like a wild boar, crushing his enemies to dust. Broken bones didn’t instantly kill someone, so screams of pain permeated the air as his uncle left his enemies fallen and writhing.
Urim was bloodied and grinning at the sight when Vidorak approached.
“Uncle, what happened?”
The raid was meant to retrieve resources only—grabbing flour from the granary, meats and cheeses from the cellar of the governor’s house. They had not discussed burning and pillaging the entire village.
“Our plans have changed, nephew.” Urim pointed to the south. “It seems the captain wants to play.”
From above, Vidorak spotted the unmistakable coloring of Captain Von Ahlen’s guard on the circular wooden shields of the soldiers. Scanning quickly, he calculated the captain must’ve brought at least one hundred men while they had less than half of that in orcs.
While favor was still on their side with their positioning and strength, it would be a bloodbath and the casualties severe.
“The losses are not worth this loot.”
“You suggest we let him chase us off?” Urim stared with thirsty hatred at the approaching army. “I will not yield to the man who murdered my brother.”
Despite everything his uncle put him through, Vidorak understood that hatred. While Urim’s rage burned hot, Vidorak’s was cold and measured.
It was almost twenty years ago that Johann Von Ahlen murdered his father, causing Urim to become chieftain and throwing the clan into an endless war.
Vidorak was just an orcling at the time, unable to do much besides hide his grief. One day the captain would answer for his crimes. But first, Vidorak needed to make sure the clan didn’t break under its own brutality.
“I suggest we retreat and approach him on our terms at a different time.” Vidorak spoke as if unbothered either way.
There was silence as they watched the guard approach. His uncle’s hand twitched, clearly aching to grab his axe. A few other orcs joined them as others noticed the oncoming assault.
One orc asked, “Chieftain, what shall we do?”
With a last hard glance, his uncle commanded, “Finish grabbing the loot and retreat north through the forest.”
The orcs nodded and left to follow his orders and inform the others.
His uncle put a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to find out how the captain came to know we’d raid here. But first let’s have some fun.”
Vidorak remained silent, waiting to find out in what way Urim would add more stains to his soul.
“Let’s have a little competition. I want to circle behind the soldiers and pick them off until they notice. Whoever gets the most kills can take first pick of the loot.”
With silent acceptance, they disappeared into the shadows of the woods and broke away from the rest of the raiding party.
When the hunt begins, turn your knife on him instead.
The voice in his head begging to end his uncle’s reign had become more persistent. If it were only him, he would’ve tried long ago. But his failure would be a price his mother and his allies would pay.
A price one friend had paid already. Orif had bravely made a statement opposing Urim’s allowance of abuse toward the human females. His uncle subsequently sent him on a mission with Mabanok, but Orif never returned. The message was clear: anything less than unquestioning loyalty was intolerable.
They stalked through the woods, and Vidorak leaned into the beastly part of him.
The part that fed off death and destruction.
Orcs were prone to violence, their brute strength giving them a predisposition in that focus.
But too much bloodshed and they could lose themselves to a berserker frenzy, killing everything in sight, no matter if friend or foe.
They stepped behind the guards, and his body moved on instinct, its only goal to bring death. One by one, dark hands twisted necks, silent cracks ending lives. He sliced the arteries of the men who had the misfortune to walk in the back, their warm blood spilling onto his hands.
“I heard their tusks are so large they can’t close their mouths. Can you imagine, Jon?” said a human soldier up ahead. “Jon?”
The soldier looked back, searching for his friend, only to see a pile of bodies littered behind and two demons stalking forward.
“Behind us! Orcs!” he managed to shout before Urim pushed a knife through his chest. The rest of the noise came out as gurgles.
The seconds it took for the soldiers to turn and take in the change in circumstance was all the time they needed to vanish into the night, leaving the soldiers to count their dead.
There was a feeble attempt to follow them into the woods, but they were long gone, the distance too great at this point.
With the competition over, the orcs circled north, heading to meet with the raiding party once more.
“You won. Seems I’ve taught you well,” Urim grumbled.
Vidorak felt no joy in that. His hands were still coated with the warmth of their blood. It didn’t matter how late they arrived at the mountain; he would wash.
“I’ll take the girl,” Vidorak stated, spotting a human female being brought back in one of the wagons, her slight frame shaking with silent tears. He would leave her with his gentle mother and then later return her to the town when this raid was forgotten.
“Finally taking a female to warm your bed?” his uncle said.
Vidorak didn’t respond and stayed silent on the way back. He saw Mabanok in the group, a red welt coloring the back of his head. His steps were unbalanced, but his eyes looked angry.
One day when he was certain those he cared for were safe, he would challenge and depose his uncle.
Unfortunately, today was not that day.
He just hoped he wouldn’t succumb to a berserker’s death before that.