Chapter 4 Vidorak
Chapter four
Vidorak
Unplanned meetings were never a good thing.
In Vidorak’s experience, it either meant they would discuss another raid, or punishment would be doled out.
Their pillaging of Helios was recent, making Vidorak guarded.
He was not the only one. Jarl Bruk sat stiff-backed in the war council chambers.
The other jarls and their seconds remained at ease as they faced his uncle, who occupied the chieftain’s chair.
“I received an interesting letter.” Urim slid the parchment across the circular wooden table toward the others.
Only Jarls Bruk and Kinar read as their seconds hung back, not knowing the written language.
Vidorak’s mother had taught him how to read as an orcling, but he kept his eyes on his uncle.
Urim wore the ruby amulet proudly as a satisfied grin spread over his face.
He was infrequently without the dragon’s eye amulet since the raid at the sanctuary many years back.
While they read, Urim continued. “Captain Von Ahlen wants to meet in Ettera. It seems the Crown is waving the white flag.”
Jarl Bruk was the first to speak. “This could be a trap.”
It was definitely a trap.
Urim waved away this concern. “And if it is, you will kill him.”
“I agree with the chieftain,” Jarl Kinar interjected. “We have won every battle against the captain this last season. He surely seeks peace.”
They had several wins recently, but winter was on the horizon and their food stores would suffer. The lack of food made their warriors weak, and the captain won more during that time of year. Peace talks were not needed when all Von Ahlen had to do was wait them out.
“I don’t care about peace,” Urim said. “I want to know about payment. What he offers for a truce.”
Vidorak knew his uncle would never honor any peace agreement. As the jarls discussed terms, Urim’s dark gaze shone with hungry greed.
“Jarl Kinar, I want you to go with two of your orcs. Mabanok, you will join.” With a final touch to his amulet, he added, “This is just the beginning. Soon our reach will spread past the Ihoi River.”
The amulet’s legend completely consumed Urim. Legend stated the amulet had been around since the beginning of time, when magic was feral and potent. Those who possessed the amulet were destined for greatness, accumulating unimaginable wealth.
As the orcs left the war council chamber to ready themselves for the road, Urim stopped Vidorak. “I want you to go as well. But I want you to watch Jarl Kinar closely. There are those who whisper against our family, nephew. But don’t worry, I will find them, and I will kill them.”
Meeting his eyes, Vidorak wondered if his uncle suspected him, but quickly threw out the thought. Urim preferred his punishments direct and savage; psychological games were not his method.
There was a time when his uncle’s stare felt like he was being flayed alive.
Vidorak still remembered his first kill as an orcling—a weakened human male his uncle had taken prisoner after a raid.
Vidorak had gotten sick afterward, and his uncle’s ire was so great, he made him kill again and again until he could hold back his stomach contents.
“I will get answers.” Vidorak’s voice was steady.
He left the chambers and walked through the tunnels toward his family quarters, where he resided with his mother. He gathered weapons, food, and furs for the trip. On his way out, he stopped by his mother’s bedchamber, knowing she was prone to spells of melancholy since the passing of his father.
The clan shaman was treating his mother as she sat with eyes closed in her furs.
Rhunga was slightly younger than Vidorak yet had served as clan shaman for longer than anyone else during his uncle’s reign.
He had kept this role for so long because of his ability to speak as smoothly as a Sanograd nobleman.
Rhunga’s dark curly hair swayed as he danced around Mor holding a bundle of burning sage. Vidorak was convinced that Rhunga made up half of the things that he did. However, the rituals brought peace to his mother, so he held his tongue.
They made eye contact, and Rhunga gave him a quick wink before finishing his dance and setting the sage bundle in a ceramic pot to burn the rest of the way.
“Remember two drops in your water each morning.” Rhunga placed a small vial in his mother’s hands.
“What is that?” Vidorak asked suspiciously.
“Just essence of lavender. What else could it be?” Rhunga answered slyly, then left before Vidorak could respond.
Knowing he had limited time, Vidorak focused back on his mother, who still sat in the furs looking down at the vial as if it contained all her answers.
He had heard tales growing up about Mor the Bold and Mor the Wild. A beautiful orcess who was strong and witty and could throw daggers as well as any male orc. Occasionally, that side of her would emerge, but those striking moments were fleeting.
A part of his mother had died when his father was killed.
His parents had not only loved each other, but they had been mates.
One benefit of the lack of mate bonds in the last few years in the clan meant they didn't have to endure any agonizing losses. Losing a mate was akin to losing one’s heart and one’s mind.
“I need to leave the mountain for a bit.”
“A little soon for another raid.” Her eyes sharpened. While he knew she disliked Urim, Vidorak kept his plans to challenge him a secret from her.
“Uncle is sending a group to discuss peace negotiations,” he said, noting the skepticism in her eyes. “Promise me you’ll go to the evening meal tonight.”
She nodded, but he knew better. He’d have Nazghor come and check on her later. It was the rare person who could resist Nazghor’s calming manner.
He finished gathering his things and met the group at the mountain entrance. The others were visibly eager, and they set out toward Ettera right away.
It took a day’s travel on horseback through the wastelands before arriving at Ettera.
This was the closest settlement to the Orc Mountains.
It attracted humans and other magical races who shared the desire to disappear from the eye of the law.
There was no magistrate or governance house here.
Even the northern guard didn’t venture this far.
They left their horses at the stables and headed toward the tavern where their meeting was to be held.
The noises of the tavern radiated into the street, and they entered to an energy that never slept.
The patrons were all in various degrees of inebriation while they played cards, fought, danced, and even fucked in the corners.
There were elves, trolls, and even a few clanless orcs occupying the tavern. Many years back, a brutal disease had decimated nearly all the orc clans in the south, leaving them with numbers so low they simply fell apart. Those who survived traveled north for work or to join larger clans.
They were in the tavern briefly before a man led them down a side hallway toward a room in the back. He opened the door and stepped aside to let them through.
Vidorak held back as the others entered, observing the tavern one more time for signs of a trap before stepping into the office. The moment also gave him a chance to brace himself before seeing his father’s murderer.
Sitting behind an uneven wooden table was Captain Johann Von Ahlen. He wore an unpleasant expression on his face as he finished his glass of whiskey in one quick movement. Behind him were three of his guardsmen and one individual who wore the golden colors of the capital.
Seeing the man from the capital didn’t bode well for the meeting.
In the past, the royals from Sanograd had tried to intervene in the northern war and force a treaty, but it always required the orcs to agree to serve in their human armies.
The last time they’d suggested such stipulations, Urim had threatened to cross the Ihoi River and raid the southern district.
“Your chieftain didn’t see it fit to join us for this?” Von Ahlen stated, observing each of the orcs.
It would only take a couple of strides to cross the room and slam his dagger into Von Ahlen’s chest. Even with his guards present, Vidorak knew he was fast enough for an unexpected attack.
He wouldn’t make it out alive, but he would see the life leave Von Ahlen’s eyes. Despite how enticing it was, he couldn't abandon his clan while his uncle was in charge.
Jarl Kinar spoke, breaking Vidorak’s thoughts. “Chieftain Urim sent us on his behalf. That should be sufficient.”
Captain Von Ahlen scoffed but proceeded. “As long as it doesn’t cause any delays.”
One of Kinar’s men, Tarnith, imprudently called out. “Quit stalling. What are your concessions?”
“I would mind your insolence,” Von Ahlen snapped. “I may have requested this meeting, but don’t expect things to be given easily.”
“Then why exactly are we here?” Jarl Kinar grew impatient.
“I’ve been asked to propose a deal. You will get your peace treaty and payment. But there is a condition.” Von Ahlen poured himself another glass of whiskey. “In case you haven’t heard in your isolated mountain, there has been a minor problem in Taybe.”
He criticized their segregation at the Vestrahorn mountains as if they had chosen it, ignoring how they were forced to wither away there.
“We are not so isolated as to have not heard of the district lord’s passing,” Jarl Kinar spoke.
“He passed rather quickly when his heart was ripped from his chest,” Von Ahlen responded after a brief pause. “It seems a group of rogue witches has decided to make a grand, but ultimately fleeting, mark on the region. They have taken over the Haworth estate in Taybe and put up a resistance.”
“Get to what you want of us,” Kinar growled. “I’m sick of talking around subjects.”
“What I want matters very little,” Von Ahlen muttered, and Vidorak didn’t miss the annoyed glance he gave toward the man from the capital.
“If you want the peace treaty, you need to bring the red-haired witch, who goes by the name Calypso Galanis, to Sanograd. Upon delivery, you will receive your first payment, and the treaty becomes official.”
Von Ahlen pushed forward a piece of parchment toward the jarl, who looked it over before storing it away on his person. Vidorak didn’t see what was written on it, but he caught sight of the royal seal at the bottom.
“Galanis?” Jarl Kinar repeated. “Is this a common surname?”
The man wearing the capital robes spoke up. “We believe this is the daughter of Seraphina Galanis. It is of the utmost importance to stop her.”
Even on the opposite side of the realm, the story had spread of the witch counselor who’d gone mad and killed the king and queen.
While shocking, the happenings in the capital had no effect on the orc clans up north.
They remained at war regardless of whether it was the young prince or the regent king who ruled at the helm.
Satisfied with the proposal, Jarl Kinar nodded once. “We will discuss this with our chieftain. But he will likely find the terms agreeable.”
The jarl made to stand and leave, but Vidorak spoke. “Why not do this yourselves? Why sign a peace treaty when you can march your guard to Taybe?”
Kinar’s look was thunderous, but Vidorak ignored him.
“You did good work in decimating our numbers.”
Not a single part of him believed those words. Vidorak meticulously noted the numbers and casualties with each raid over the years. Losses were had on both sides, most notably on the humans in recent times. But nowhere near decimated.
“Not so much that one witch should scare off your entire guard.”
Before Von Ahlen could say anything further, the man from the capital slammed his hands on the desk. “That witch killed a lord of this realm! That is an affront to the capital and an affront to the royal family. The regent king wants her to stand trial for this crime.”
Tirade finished, Vidorak persisted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
The man practically vibrated with indignation. “That’s because your question doesn’t matter. If you want your peace treaty, you will do this.”
That seemed to be a good enough answer for Jarl Kinar because he stood with finality. “We will be in touch.”
He gave Vidorak a pointed look before filing out of the room with the others. Vidorak hung back, still leaning against the wall, studying the old captain.
The years of war had certainly left their mark. Around the peppered scruff of his jaw were scars, some of which Vidorak had placed himself. Where once he had looked ferocious, now he seemed more worn and haggard.
“Do you have more commentary to add?” Von Ahlen asked, barely looking up from his drink.
“This peace treaty changes nothing. You will pay for killing my father,” Vidorak swore.
Von Ahlen’s bloodshot eyes sharpened at those words, but instead of fear there was confusion. Not wanting to hear any more of the captain’s voice, Vidorak left the room and joined the others outside.
The promise of payment calmed Kinar’s mood, and he looked to have let go of his earlier displeasure at Vidorak’s interruptions. “Tarnith, I want you to ride back to the mountain and inform the chieftain of what has occurred.” He turned to the rest. “We have a witch to capture.”