Calrok by the Sea
gathered guardians, waiting solemnly for news. Their crowd had grown over the days since the battle of Calrok. The orc mage stepped through the doorway into Healer Kitia’s home, where the healer orc performed her most amazing work. Ellaria and Healer Kitia sat together, talking quietly.
“Where is he?” Smarlo asked.
“He’s still in there,” Healer Kitia said, pointing. “We’ll need someone to retrieve his body. He died in the middle of the night, succumbed to his wounds. Even with this one’s help,” she jutted a thumb toward Ellaria, “we weren’t able to save him.”
Smarlo cursed under his breath. He’d hoped the man would survive. “And him?” he asked, nodding toward the other room.
“Still hasn’t woken up.”
The orc mage pressed a sigh through his gritted teeth. He gingerly prodded at the bloody wrappings on his ear.
“How is your ear?” Healer Kitia asked.
“It’s fine,” Smarlo said, waving away her concern. Compared to the losses and injuries many others had suffered during the battle, he felt the loss of half his ear was a minor inconvenience. “Let me know straight away if he wakes.”
“We’ll send Taglan running to you.”
Smarlo nodded his approval of the plan and swept out of the home. Many of the loitering guardians looked up at him as he exited. The orc mage did his best to hide his frustration and hurried off to the Calrok mage library. He turned down a cobblestoned street, thankful for the solitude it provided. He relished the brief time when he could be alone with his thoughts before returning to constant discussions.
Since the battle ended, the library had become headquarters for leaders of the various gathered groups. Over the last few days, they’d discussed the casualty and readiness statuses of each group.
Belguv had reported they’d lost several Scar Squadron members, leaving their wyverns without riders. The commander planned on heading to the Spinefish Tavern to enlist any who were willing. Smarlo had no doubt they would be able to pair each of the wyverns with a new rider. The city was charged, everyone up in arms and ready to do whatever it took to ensure Calrok stayed safe from their enemies.
Jeslora, the captain of the city watch and a rather large female orc, had reported she’d had numerous orcs already approach her to join the city watch. They’d taken heavy losses in the battle by the docks, which had been waged by not just the watch. Civilian orcs had sprung from surrounding homes and buildings, joining the fray to repel the Kelvurian forces from the sea.
The city watch and the Talon Squadron had cleared the ship, which they learned from the captain’s log was named the Harbinger. They also learned that the stone-like creatures were called geldrins. Having warded off the attack on Calrok, Smarlo was already making plans to use the Harbinger. But they still had much to finish before any attempts to cross the sea could be made.
On top of all the other activities, King Genjak was flying in from Ruk with several of his counselors. Smarlo knew the council well, but it seemed a daunting task to host the king’s staff while the orc mage still tried to put the pieces of Calrok back together.
As the library came into view, Smarlo’s steps shortened, an unusual reaction to one of his favorite places in the world. He didn’t mean to slow down, but the orc was not looking forward to sharing the bad news with the rest of them, especially High Commander Mattness. After fighting side by side with the woman, he had a deep respect for her. It was painful for him to be the one to tell her.
The windows of the library were open, and Smarlo’s ears caught the sound of the unending discourse within. He closed his eyes and dabbed at his wrapped ear while he took a couple of slow breaths.
Alright, he thought. Let’s get this over with. The orc mage opened the door and slipped inside.
Garron opened his eyes at the stirring noise. His gaze met the wide eyes of the deep gnome, sitting across the bed from him. Ezel’s little brows were raised expectantly, and Garron suddenly realized why.
"Hey now,” the man said, stepping from his chair and pressing lightly against Pernden’s shoulders to keep the king from sitting up too fast.
“Where am I?” Pernden croaked. He grabbed at his side.
“Don’t you bother with that,” Garron said. “You don’t want to twist your bandages. Healer Kitia doesn’t take any nonsense. She reminds me of an orc version of Dona.”
Pernden returned his cousin’s grin with a weak smile. Garron took a cup from the side table and lifted it for his cousin. The king sputtered as he choked down some water.
Suddenly, Ellaria stepped into the room.
“You’re awake!” she started.
“I guess so,” Pernden said, sheepishly. “Was it ever in question?”
“The sword wound you took was terrible,” the woman said. “It appears you’re as stubborn as Orin. Must be a family trait,” she teased, with a sideways glance at Garron.
Pernden eyed his cousin. “Were you wounded?”
“No,” Garron said, shaking his head. “A couple of nicks and scrapes, though I thought we were done for down in the mines. The whole ceiling was crashing down around us, but Ezel conjured us a protective barrier. As stalactites and massive slabs of stone fell upon us, they struck the magic barrier instead and fell away. It was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The king turned to the deep gnome and said, “Thank you.”
The genuine solemnity with which Pernden expressed his gratitude, struck Garron deep within.
“I’m sorry,” Garron said. “I should have been up above. Maybe I could have met Jolan near the docks. You almost died and—”
“The orc healer’s not the only one who takes no nonsense.” Pernden shot a tired smirk at him.
“Cousin—” Garron started to say.
“You were doing what you needed to do, and I was doing what I needed to do. This was not your fault,” the king said, scrunching his face in pain as he shifted in the bed.
“And he’s going to live, anyway,” Ellaria cut in. “But he’s going to need a lot of rest.”
She started shooing Garron and Ezel out of the room, but Pernden stopped them.
“Wait,” he said. “Did we defend the city?”
Garron breathed a laugh. “We did.”
“Is High Commander Mattness alright? How did our orc friends fare? Did we take any prisoners? What happened to the ship?”
“There will be plenty of time to catch you up on all those things,” Ellaria said sternly. She pressed against Garron’s shoulder to usher him out of the room.
“Garron?” Pernden called weakly.
The man looked back at his cousin, lying in the bed. The king’s eyes were wide with worry. Garron glanced to Ellaria, who sighed and rolled her eyes. She nodded her permission, but he knew he better keep his answer quick. He looked to his cousin.
“Rocktail?” Pernden asked.
Relief flooded Garron. “Alive and well, cousin. Now, get some rest. King Genjak is on his way from Ruk. You’ll want to be well-rested for his arrival.
“And there are no prisoners to question?” King Genjak asked.
Smarlo winced at the orc king’s question, taking a quick glance at High Commander Mattness who gritted her teeth angrily. Smarlo’s eyes fell back on the king. The younger orc still had the same quiet strength Smarlo remembered, but he’d grown more comfortable speaking up when he thought it was important.
“We had a man-kin,” Smarlo said, tentatively. “He was a traitor from Whitestone who fled with the sorcerer before. It seems he was leading the attack from the sea.”
“You had?” Genjak asked.
Smarlo scratched at his once-long ear. “Yes. He was mortally wounded. Healer Kitia wasn’t able to save him.”
“How do we know he was leading the attack?”
“Well,” the orc mage explained. “We captured their vessel and read the logs. Also, we had several witnesses from the Griffin Guard and the folks down by the docks suggesting the same thing.”
“And there were no survivors in the mines?” Genjak asked.
“No,” Smarlo admitted with a disappointed sigh. “The miners have been cleaning up the cavern in the Gert Section of the mine for the last three days, and they haven’t found a single geldrin survivor. A couple of ghouls have been put down. They have no language and would prove useless in interrogation.”
The orc king rose from his seat and paced in thought. He walked over to a shelf loaded with tomes and scrolls and absently thumbed the corner of a copy of Mountainstead Reflections: A Treatise on Cutting Mountain Cities by the old goblin architect Biq Lendrak. Everyone sat in silence, waiting for the orc king to speak. When he finally turned to address them, he had an air of authority Smarlo had never seen in Genjak before, and for the first time, the orc mage saw a proper king of Drelek.
“Smarlo,” he addressed the mage directly. “You will remain as the interim Gar of Calrok until such a day as we learn of the true fate of Gar Karnak. If he is gone, I will install you as the gar in a more permanent fashion. Belguv will lead the Scar Squadron in Karnak’s absence.”
Belguv grunted from the corner of the room, placed a thick orc finger to his brow, and gave a slight bow, acknowledging the honor the king bestowed upon him.
“My King,” Smarlo said, blinking in confusion. “I can’t stay in Calrok. I must lead the mission across the sea to find Gar Karnak.”
“You have performed your duties admirably here in Calrok in his stead. But now you also must take up the mantle of Master Mage of Calrok. Do you not think you have enough tasks on your plate already?” Genjak asked, though his question was rhetorical.
Smarlo didn’t care whether the king intended the mage to answer. “I can’t just leave him out there. Calrok needs its gar!”
Genjak looked to the side where a large orc sat, thick with deceptive layers of fat hiding strong muscles underneath. Gar Klentja sat up with a pensive look on his face. He was one of Genjak’s most trusted advisers, and rightfully so. The orc king was originally Klentja’s second-in-command when he was with the Borok Squadron.
“Smarlo,” the large orc spoke kindly. “By your own account, there is already a squadron of the Griffin Guard that has sailed across the sea to find Karnak.” The mention of the name forced Klentja to slow down. He cleared his throat and continued. “We all want to bring him home. But we don’t know if he’s even out there. You told us you haven’t been able to communicate for some time with the troop that left. You can’t leave Calrok when we have so little information about what’s going on out there.”
The mage leapt to his feet, his anger getting the better of him. He ripped the Shell of Callencia out of a pocket in his robes and tossed it to the table in front of him. “Does that really matter?” he spat.
“Smarlo,” High Commander Mattness said, attempting to calm him. Her respect for the orc mage had grown greatly through their service together.
“No,” he waved to her. “What does it matter, really? The sorcerer has attacked us twice now. Granted the first time was more deceptive in nature, but he brought a dragon into Tarrine and pitted Drelek orc against Drelek orc, forcing us to fight one another.”
Smarlo paused and looked around the room. No one said a word. Mattness shrugged her shoulders at him, as if to indicate that he wasn’t wrong.
“Then he kidnapped my best friend. A gar of Drelek. Even after taking Karnak, he still attacked Calrok. This won’t end. Who knows how he’ll try to finish us next time. What if he has more dragons at his disposal? What then? How long will we be able to withstand him? Does the sea ever withhold its waves? No. They crash upon the stone relentlessly. Eventually, even the hardest of stone crumbles.”
An orb of light flickered into existence a couple inches above the Shell of Callencia. It blinked wearily.
“Your shell is lit,” King Genjak pointed out.
Smarlo waved it off, his tone changing. “It’s been doing that. Argus thinks its Lanryn attempting to reach us from across the sea.” The orc mage let out a long sigh and straightened himself. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m tired. Maybe even hungry. Shall we get some food and reconvene tomorrow? Perhaps King Pernden will have some thoughts as well.”
King Genjak didn’t say anything at first. He inspected Smarlo, and the king’s features softened. “We will work this out, my friend. You have fought hard. I know this hasn’t been easy on you.”
Smarlo appreciated Genjak’s compassion. It seemed genuine, but the orc mage was too flustered to accept it fully.
Suddenly, the blinking orb steadied and sent shimmering reflections off the abalone shell.
“Hello, Tarrine. This is Lanryn. Can anyone hear me?”
Smarlo dove for the shell and, in his haste, fumbled the thing away from himself. High Commander Mattness picked up the shell, quickly trying to get it back to the orc mage.
“Blast,” Lanryn’s voice said from the orb. “Alright, what else can I try …” the elf murmured to himself.
“Wait!” Smarlo said, finally retrieving the shell from Mattness. “Lanryn, we hear you! This is Smarlo.”
“Smarlo?” he replied. “Is it really you?”
“Yes!” the orc mage declared with a hearty laugh.
Everyone in the room leaned closer, listening in.
“I cannot believe it. I have been trying everything I could think of to get the shell to work.”
“Well done, my friend!” Smarlo exclaimed. “You’ve done it. How is everyone? Did you find Gar Karnak?”
Everyone in the room held a collective breath, waiting for the elf’s reply.
“By my ears,” Lanryn said. “Do I have a story for you!”
Garron smiled as he strode into the room where Pernden was healing. How many times did he visit me in the dungeons? he wondered. His cousin had been so good to him, even though Garron didn’t deserve it. Though he never would wish harm on his cousin, he was glad to have an opportunity to reciprocate with Pernden.
He grinned as he took the seat next to the bed. How many times did he sit in that chair next to my cell and talk with me? Garron was happy to sit in silence and merely be present for his cousin. Even if he didn’t feel like there was anything he could do.
“You know, you’re not as quiet as you think you are,” the king said, peeking through squinted eyes.
“Oh, is that right?” Garron whispered back. “Or are you just bad at resting?”
“All I’ve been doing is resting,” Pernden said with a frown, opening his eyes all the way. “Ellaria won’t let me do anything else.”
Garron smirked. “She can be pretty persistent.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“She just wants to see you well. And she is very good at healing,” Garron said with a shrug. “Look at me.”
As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. He wasn’t the same man he was before his encounter with Jaernok Tur, and he didn’t believe he ever would be. No amount of magic healing would be able to fix him completely. But to his surprise, his cousin looked at him, pressed his lips together, and nodded approvingly.
Perhaps, Garron thought, he doesn’t think I’m hopeless after all.
“Alright,” Pernden said, raising a hand in surrender. “But I’m going to the library tomorrow to meet with the others. I can’t lay in here doing nothing while they’re discussing our next course of action.”
“Speaking of that,” Garron said. “I have word of Nera.”
“Is she back?” Pernden asked, sitting up quickly and instantly regretting it.
“No. We received word from Lanryn through the shells.”
“What did he say? How is the mission going? Is Nera alright?”
“Yes. Nera’s fine.”
Relief swept over Pernden, and his entire body relaxed. “Good,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Garron.
“They found Merrick and Karnak, but there was a battle.”
“A battle? Did they make it?”
“Yes. But I have much to catch you up on.”
“Well,” Pernden said with a sheepish grin. “I’m not very tired. I could do with some conversation.”
Garron smirked, looking both ways to make sure Ellaria wasn’t behind him, and leaned in to relay everything Lanryn had told them of the events in Kelvur. As he did, a pit grew in Garron’s stomach. Knowing the battle didn’t bring about the sorcerer’s demise plagued the man.
Just as he felt the repelling pull of the dark tongue, he sensed Jaernok Tur’s wickedness in the world. Garron didn’t know why Ellaria’s healing magic couldn’t rid him of that spur deep within, but he was starting to believe that slaying the orc sorcerer might be the only way to remove it. He would do almost anything to see both tasks through.