Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Vidorak
In a single day, Vidorak had committed half a dozen offenses that could get him executed, all to help that demanding witch.
He scowled even as his heart softened with thoughts of her. The frustration stemmed from how long this was taking. He thought locating the amulet would be simple, allowing him to return and share a final meal with his mate before sending her to Taybe.
The evening meal had come and gone, and his witch was probably asleep or awake and furious with him. She’d be even more furious if he returned without the amulet.
He had been overly confident that he would find it in his uncle’s treasure room. That’s where other prized relics were stored when not worn or in use.
Anyone entering the chamber without permission committed a punishable violation, even if related to the chieftain. His treason was ultimately for nothing as he left empty-handed.
Thinking his uncle’s ego might’ve led him to store the amulet in his own bedchambers, Vidorak checked there next. The search there was also unsuccessful. The rest of the day was filled with speaking to orcs he trusted and gathering more information about the amulet without inciting suspicion.
That led him here. Deep in the heart of the mountain lay the forgotten orc forge. It had taken over an hour just to get here as most of the tunnels had broken down.
The mountain of Vestrahorn contained a vast amount of buried gems and metals.
The clan crafted their weapons from the metals and used the gems for décor and jewelry.
While coveted deeply by humans, for the orcs, their value had dimmed.
Gemstones were not edible, and they couldn’t make soil fertile or keep a body warm.
No one would trade for them because of the war, so in essence they were worthless.
Once, the forge had been an area of pride, but over the years, the knowledge of working these materials waned as the young orcs joined the war efforts and raiding parties. Now, only the elders would visit the deepest part of the mountain.
Vidorak felt the heat of the fire before seeing it. He stepped off the last stair and entered the forge. A cart full of metal ingots waiting to be processed stood to the side. Scattered shards of gems decorated the ground.
There was the rhythmic clanking of metal against metal as the old blacksmith flattened a sword on his anvil. The elder orc didn’t falter in his work as Vidorak came into his view.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Vidorak Ushnarsson.”
It had been many years since he’d set foot in the forge. Once, this had been a place of refuge from his uncle’s brutal training. A place he could mention his father safe from his mother’s pain and uncle’s anger. With time, coming here felt more like a weakness, and he stopped.
“Just Vidorak now, Kallsson,” Vidorak responded, and the elderly orc grunted his disapproval, having always preferred the old ways of naming. “Still prefer to work through the night, I see.”
“Old habits are hard to change. But you aren’t here to discuss my work hours.” Placing down the flattened metal, Kallsson looked up with his one good eye. “What can I help you with, just Vidorak?”
It was a shock to see him and notice the changes of age.
While the muscles he’d earned from his trade were still strong, the once looming orc now appeared shorter, and his hair was completely white.
His hands still bore the red Orcish markings, but his knuckles had swollen and fingers twisted with age.
“I’m searching for the dragon’s eye amulet. I heard it was sent here to be fixed.”
The old orc made a tsking sound. “You heard wrong. The amulet sent down by the chieftain was a reproduction I made a long time ago. The true one has been safely stored for the past seventeen years.”
Since the raid on the sanctuary.
“Urim never wore the true amulet?” Vidorak asked, surprised at the admission.
Kallsson was an honest orc who valued tradition above all else. It was not like him to do these kinds of tricks.
“Such a powerful thing would’ve been dangerous in his hands.” Kallsson’s statement was blatantly treasonous.
“My uncle doesn’t need the amulet to be dangerous.” Then Vidorak asked, “Where is it?”
The older orc seemed undisturbed by the truth he had just shared. “A better question is not where it is but why you need it?”
Vidorak hesitated before answering, “I am searching for it for my mate.”
Whether he was surprised, Kallsson didn’t show it. “Strong motivation indeed.” He too had been a mated orc, but his mate had died before Vidorak had been born.
The orc continued to talk casually as he wrapped leather around the knife handle. “Do you know the amulet’s origin?”
Impatience sparked at Kallsson’s avoidant questions, but Vidorak stamped it down. “Everyone on the mountain has heard of its legacy.”
Worn by conquerors of Shalimar past, the dragon’s eye amulet was rumored to magically aid whoever possessed it. Urim often reiterated that and wore the amulet as if it were an approval from the gods.
Kallsson grunted in displeasure. “I did not ask about the legacy, but about its origins. Luckily for you, I have time to educate the youth.”
Vidorak bristled at being referred to as a youth, but took a seat on the stool next to him, knowing better than to rush the old orc.
“In the days of dragons, magic was different. It flowed throughout the entire realm and was often unpredictable and fickle. At that time, humans lived very harsh lives as they couldn’t harvest magic the way other beings could.
Because of this, their numbers lessened quickly.
Until that fickle and unpredictable flow of magic decided to give the humans a fighting chance. A chance in the form of a sword.”
“The sword of King Duran,” Vidorak recalled, remembering the tales his mother told when he was an orcling.
Kallsson nodded. “King Duran’s sword was laced with magic that allowed him to slay the dragons and steal their treasure.
The problem is once such power and wealth were tasted, it was hard to stop.
He killed dragons young and old, driving him deeper into his madness and bloodlust, until the proclaimed last dragon, Azara. ”
“I’m aware of orcling stories, Kallsson. The king slew the last dragon and then fully gave in to his madness, killing himself.”
“You never did like to wait.” Kallsson chuckled.
“That ending isn’t what happened. He didn’t kill Azara.
The king killed her remaining young, and in turn, she killed him.
Having lost her young, the dragon wailed from the heartbreak.
The earth flooded and shook with her sorrow until an old witch took pity on her.
She offered the dragon a deal. To bring back her young in exchange for Azara’s life.
The last dragon accepted, and the spell was cast. The witch placed the spirit into an unassuming amulet, to await the day when the dragon could be safely reborn. ”
Both versions were tales of warning about the destructive nature of possessing magic.
His mother had often ended the tale with a warning against greed and trusting in your own strength.
In an unexpected moment of nostalgia, he recalled a memory of his father overhearing the story one night near the evening fire.
His father had jokingly commented on how fortunate he was to have a mate so concerned with the risk of greed that she took preventative measures of relinquishing him of his treasures.
There was something worrisome about the version Kallsson shared. It was a story left unfinished. It was clear his mate believed some power truly sat within the amulet, and she meant to use it. What would the price of that be?
Kallsson stepped away and reached into a chest of malformed and broken weapons. He rummaged for a moment before pulling out the object he was looking for. The sacrifice of a mother for a death that shouldn’t have happened.
He held up his fist and let the ruby amulet dangle from the silver chain like a drop of blood. Without hesitation, he walked to Vidorak with a slight limp in his gait and dropped the amulet in his palm.
It sat small and light in his hand, nothing that seemed worth traversing all of Shalimar for. “It does not feel magical.”
“That’s because it requires a sacrifice of magic to unlock it. Whoever unlocks it would tap into powers that have been long gone in this world.”
“Thank you, Kallsson. I appreciate it.”
The orc patted him on the shoulder. “Tell your witch to be careful. The amulet demands a price for its use.”
He didn’t like the sound of that, or the story Kallsson had shared. The old orc had been right to hide the amulet, and Vidorak wondered if it wasn’t better to keep it that way.
However, he had made a promise to his mate. She was the one who dealt in magic and could tell him more about her intentions with it.
Pocketing the amulet, he left the depths of the mountain and ascended. He hoped to kiss her at least one more time before she left. To feel her soft lips and breathe in her scent. That way, the taste of his mate would be the last thing he remembered before facing probable death.
The ache in his heart was a blessing. Some orcs went their whole lives without finding a mate.
Not to have known the warmth and love of such a bond would’ve felt like a life not lived.
While he yearned for more than just these few days, he knew even years would not be enough.
He would always desire more, desire eternity.
“In another life perhaps,” he muttered to himself.
He arrived at his quarters to see Nazghor approaching him. Vidorak was relieved he wouldn’t need to go searching throughout for him. Finding the amulet took so much time that they would need to delay the journey until the following evening.
The look on Nazghor’s face made him forget that and instead he asked, “What has happened?”
“He has her.”
Ice-cold rage slashed through his veins. “Who?”
“Your uncle. They are at the fighting grounds.” Nazghor hesitated before adding, “Vidorak, he means to execute her.”