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The next morning, Thurk and Galmar packed up camp in silence. Even in the desert, the early mornings were crisp and cool. A slight mist rose with their breath as they worked.
They had saddled up the horses and were ready to leave when Galmar pointed to a nearby rise, “Look, orc.”
Thurk turned and saw a large black shape atop the rise. Just behind it, two smaller shapes stood close together.
He smiled. “Her cubs, I’d imagine.”
Galmar nodded, “Makes sense. Nothing quite as ferocious as a mother defending her children.”
After watching the mother bear and her cubs lumber off toward the horizon, the pair turned north. Neither had been through this way in a long while, but the landscape had not changed much, and they knew the general lay of the land.
They rode onward for less than a mile before coming upon a small patch of vegetation in the desert. An area in the center had been dug out into a narrow burrow, and clumps of black fur clung to the surrounding brush.
“The bear’s den,” Thurk said, dismounting.
“What have ye got? A death wish?” Galmar said. “Get the ‘ell away from there.”
Thurk ignored the dwarf, moving closer to the burrow and sniffing deeply. It smelled of bear, yes, but there was something else here. Kicking aside some loose bracken, he found what he was searching for.
A single bone; a femur. And it was human. Powerful teeth had gnawed on the bone, and it had been bleached white by the sun. Thurk could not tell how long it had been here.
“A man-eater, fer sure,” Galmar said.
But Thurk was not so sure. Picking up the discarded bone, he spun it around in the sun. Underneath the tooth-marks was a deep slash in the surface of the bone. It was long and straight, as though it had been cut by a sharp blade.
Thurk sniffed at the bone again, detecting some other smell there beneath the scent of desert and bear. An acrid scent, and one which Thurk recognized well:
Tobacco.
He scowled.
“What is it, orc?”
Thurk put the femur back in its place and climbed into his saddle. “I don’t think a bear killed this person. We should get on toward Gaynesville.”
Galmar did not ask the ranger how he knew, he just nodded and spurred his pony on. He was beginning to learn to trust the orc’s nose.
The quiet desert morning seemed made especially to mire one in their thoughts, and Thurk found himself wondering what had sent him to this place in life. He knew as well as any how strange it was for an orc to wear a star on his chest, but it had been a dream of his for just about as long as he could remember.
One of Thurk’s earliest memories was when Albara Rangers had stopped by his family’s village when he was just a boy. Five of them had ridden through on proud horses, their stars glinting brightly in the sunlight. Each had a big iron strapped on their hip and wore a hat that seemed to take up the whole sky. All had been humans, but young Thurk had pictured an orc there among them. The orc looked just like him, only a bit older and a bit more gruff around the edges.
Those rangers that day had been riding through in search of Branag the Tusk, the most vicious orc outlaw of the time, and they had not even spared a glance at Thurk as he watched them pass with wide eyes. It was likely that none even remembered the little orc boy. He had not forgotten, though, and he had made it his life’s goal to follow in their footsteps.
He supposed he had made it. He was an Albara Ranger, after all.
Riding only a few feet from Thurk, Galmar’s thoughts were far away across the ocean. The dwarf remembered his days in the old country. He had been raised long before these new lands had been free, thousands of miles away on the isle of Forgemire.
Life had been good there, working at his father’s forge, smithing weapons and other goods to be used around the world. The living was good, and the forge would be passed to him upon his father’s death. Galmar, though, had wanted more. When tales had come to Forgemire of great riches to be found in the New World, of vast deposits of gold and silver to be exploited, Galmar had shipped out the next day. His father had warned him against going, said that any son who left the isle was no son of his.
Maybe Galmar should have listened, but he had not.
He had slaved away beside thousands of his kinfolk in coal mines, working for humans, or worse, elves with enough money to buy the world. Before all the elves had died, that is. He had fought in their wars, too, killing for coin despite his soul. He had done things on this new soil that would make his family shudder.
His old greybeard of a father was surely dead by now, Galmar knew, but he often wondered what would be waiting for him back home if he ever left this place.
But no, Galmar decided as he gazed out at the landscape, he could not go back there. This place, with its deserts and plains and mountains, was more a part of him now than his homeland ever had been. The mists and hills of Forgemire were home, but this new land held everything anyone could ever dream of. You only had to reach out and grab it.
“Galmar, look,” Two words from Thurk broke the old dwarf from his reverie.
“What is it?”
Thurk pointed off into the distance behind them. At first, Galmar could see nothing. Squinting his eyes, designed more for use in dim mines beneath the ground than wide prairies, he eventually noticed a shape making its way along the path after them. It looked to the dwarf like a lone rider atop a horse.
“Thinkin’ we’ve got company?”
“Been following us since morning, keeping that same distance.”
“Reckon we ought to turn back on ‘em and do a little talkin’?” Galmar patted the axe at his side.
Thurk shook his tusked head. “They’d probably just run away as we approached. We should keep on, and if they do stick on our trail we'll have to figure out a plan then.”
The lone rider kept their pace, following the travelers through the day. When they stopped for lunch, the rider stopped along with them. When they saddled back up and rode off, the rider followed.
“A bit creepy, don’t ye think?” Galmar said sometime before nightfall. “Him keepin’ after us like that.”
“Doesn’t seem dangerous, though,” Thurk answered. “We’ll set a trap tomorrow morning, see what exactly we’re dealing with here.”
Again, the companions watched as the sun set and made their camp while bathed in its soft red glow. After drawing straws, it was decided that Galmar would take the first watch.
So, with a whetstone in his hands and his axe across his lap, the dwarf sat beside the fire. Thurk climbed into his bedroll and pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes.
Back behind them on the trail, another fire burned, a twin to their own. Galmar stared out at the distant light. It looked almost as though a star had fallen from the sky to land upon the ground.
“Think it's a trick, and they’re sneaking up on us this very moment?”
Thurk shook his head, sucking in air through his wide nostrils. “Doubt it, I smell meat cooking. No good traveler would waste rations for a ruse like that.”
“Hmph, ye can smell that from all the way over here?” Galmar ran his fingers through his beard. “I knew you folk could smell better than the rest of us, but that’s like trying to find a diamond in a pile of broken quartz... What else can ye smell?”
Thurk laughed and breathed in another drag of night air. “I can smell the horses, our fire, the steel of your axe... Farther than that, well, there’s a fox’s burrow somewhere nearby with pups. And an owl has been by recently, left a few pellets over that way.”
“Wow... All that with just yer nose...” A wistful look came over Galmar’s eyes then, and it was clear that he was daydreaming again. “Tell me, orc, can ye smell the magic? Is it still here?”
Thurk pulled the hat from over his face with a sigh. “I’m sorry dwarf, I can’t.”
Galmar’s face fell at those words, though he had expected nothing more.
“I’m sorry, stupid of me to ask. Fool to think...” Galmar stared into the fire before him, “it wasn’t all gone yet, ye know? When I was young, it was still here. I remember little bits of it. Me grandfather would whisper to the flames as he worked. His steel was the strongest on the isle, you know—made my family’s fortune. But when he died... Well, me father never could figure it out.”
“It’s not all gone, you know,” Thurk said, speaking to the stars. “There’s still some out there. Tales from the wilds and from distant lands. I met a goblin once, in the swamplands. A witch she was, and she swore she could still work voodoo. She knew all the chants and all the signs. I’ve heard of dragons, too, that still fly. There are some up north, in snow country.”
“Ain’t been no dragon born in hundreds of years, orc. And voodoo is just something you green folk talk about to scare yer runtlets.”
Thurk did not answer. Instead, he pulled his hat back down over his eyes. The orc ranger fell asleep to the rasp of Galmar’s whetstone working the edge of his axe.
As Thurk dreamed of dragons and voodoo, Galmar remembered magic. It had been weak, even when his own parents had themselves been children; magic had been dying for hundreds of years.
Many wondered at the cause. Some claimed that it was a natural cycle, and that the magic would return soon. Others claimed that the gods were punishing them for disobeying their ancient sanctions.
Galmar knew what had happened to the magic, though. They had killed it. Human hunters had shot the last unicorn for its horn. Dwarves themselves had harnessed the power of blasting powder, first for use in the mines and then in weapons which they sold to the humans to wage war upon one another. Trains driven by burning coal had carved up the landscape, spewing black soot. Pox had taken the elves, and the magic of the forest went with them.
The world was changing, and it was no place for an old dwarf like Galmar.
Humming a quiet song, Galmar sat through the rest of his watch. It was an old song, and though he did not remember the words, it always reminded him of home.
The dwarf let Thurk sleep till well past midnight, and only when he could no longer bear to hold his eyes open for a moment longer did he finally wake the ranger.
Without a word, the orc rose and retrieved his gun, taking Galmar’s place by the fire. It had burned down to mostly embers by then, and he tossed another log in.
As Galmar drifted off to sleep, the glow of the fire through his closed eyelids looked as red as the setting sun.
Thurk passed the time cleaning his guns in the dim firelight. He was used to nights spent this way, as he was usually alone in his travels. He had been accepted as an Albara Ranger, yes, but only after proving his worth again and again. The other rangers, though, would never fully accept him. Once, when he was a younger man, Thurk had thought this could change. Now, he knew that it never would. Perhaps his grandchildren’s children would live in such a world where the tusks on their faces would not define their destiny.
He himself had fought for orc freedom from oppression, though his family had luckily never been among those enslaved. The war had been vicious, and Thurk had witnessed sights so foul as to scar his mind forever. Many humans had fought beside him in that, and a few other races as well, even dwarves. But still, in the depths of their hearts they could not view him as an equal.
Orcs were brutish beasts, too stupid for their own good and too violent to be trusted. Or so most believed. Once, Thurk believed he could change those views single-handedly. The lone orc ranger, saving the world one cattle rancher or damsel in distress at a time.
He supposed that might be naïve.
But somewhere inside, the orc still believed it.
––––––––
A’TIAMI STOOPED OVER the remnants of a fire. Two men had camped here last night, and they had been attacked. That much was obvious. What they were doing crossing through this land was not so much so.
A’tiami was of the Na’anti. His people had been the only humans in this land for thousands of years. In fact, other than in a few pockets around the continent, there had been no other intelligent humanoids at all. The Na’anti were some of the best trackers, hunters, and gatherers there ever was.
Bits of black fur lay around the camp, and parts of the ground had been torn to raw earth. A’tiami knew of a mother bear in this area, and it had surely been her that had attacked these men. The young man hoped that she had escaped unscathed.
Bears were protectors of the land. They were great warriors, willing to do anything for their family. And so was A’tiami.
Three shells from a rifle lay scattered around the camp, but there was no blood to be found. By the looks of it, neither the bear nor the trespassers had scored any critical wounds upon each other.
Over by the fire, A’tiami found a patch of torn brown fabric. It was part of a duster jacket, the kind worn by cowboys and desperados all over the west. That did not provide A’tiami with much vital information about who he was tracking.
Their tracks, though, showed that they were heading directly towards Gayne County. A’tiami’s people did not go to that place—not anymore.
Something dark lived in the town of Gaynesville. Something hungry stalked the night, and whatever it was, it fed on flesh, and it fed often.
Not many things scared A’tiami. He knew this land as well as any ever had, and few things here were unknown to him.
That place though, and that thing, they scared him.
Lately, the darkness around Gaynesville had become restless. A’tiami and the other hunters had found evidence of it farther and farther from the town proper. They feared that before long, it would find its way into their own village.
The arrival of these two strange men could not be mere coincidence. They had something to do with what was going on in Gaynesville. A’tiami knew it.
––––––––
THE SUN BEGAN TO RISE. Kicking dust over the remnants of the fire, Thurk began packing up his things while Galmar continued to slumber. The dwarf snored mightily as he tossed about in his bedroll. Thurk feared brutal retaliation should he wake him.
Eventually, the dwarf arose on his own to find that Thurk had gotten both horses saddled and ready to ride.
“Our distant friend?” The dwarf asked.
Thurk gestured to the southern sky, where a thin tendril of smoke was rising through the air. “They put out their fire when I did ours.”
“Hmph, what do ye reckon we do about ‘em?”
Thurk cupped a hand over his eyes and looked back in the direction of the smoke. Turning back to the north, he gestured to a nearby ridge.
“We can hide over on the other side of that rise. If he doesn’t see us, hopefully we can get the jump on him.”
“Aye, and then we split ‘is skull!” Galmar mocked swinging his axe at an imaginary enemy. “That’ll show ‘im for followin’ us about.”
Thurk looked down sideways at the dwarf. “Well... how about we ask a few questions first? Before we go bashing in any skulls.”
Disappointed, Galmar looked down at the ground. “Alright orc, but if things go south, you’d better believe I’m taking out ol’ reliable.”
Together, the companions mounted up and rode out toward the rise. The path became more narrow and rockier as they climbed upwards. At the top of the rise, they gazed down over a small ridge. The path which they rode upon led down the ridge to a small gully on the other side. The spot was completely invisible to any approaching traveler until they were already upon it.
Leading the horses a few yards away and stashing them behind a large rock formation, Thurk and Galmar took cover among some brush in the gully. There they laid in wait for their mysterious pursuer.
After a few minutes, the sound of hoofbeats became audible through the quiet desert air.
Within moments, a white horse came charging over the hill. Galmar and Thurk jumped out before the beast, with weapons in hand, and it reared up in fear. Whinnying madly, the horse slashed the air with its hooves.
But there was no rider upon its back.
“What the ‘ell?” Galmar asked.
As if in answer, a shrill war-cry sounded from above. When Galmar looked up the ridge, all he could see was a body careening down toward him with a stone club in hand.
The dwarf got his shield up just in time, and the sound of stone on metal rang out over the landscape. Again, the club came swinging, and Galmar lifted his shield to block it.
His opponent was human and wore the colors of the Na’anti tribe. No older than sixteen, the boy wielded his club ferociously. Long hair lay in a braid down his back, and he had smudged dark mud beneath each of his eyes to combat the harsh desert sun.
With each swing of the boy’s club, Galmar took a step back. The dwarf was biding his time. He waved his axe in Thurk’s direction when he noticed the orc raise his rifle to his shoulder.
“Don’t shoot, orc, I’ve got this!”
Thurk was not so sure, but he kept his finger off the trigger.
Calling out to the Na’anti boy, Thurk spoke, “Calm now, boy! We mean you no harm.”
As the boy faltered slightly and turned his head toward Thurk, Galmar set his stance and put his shoulder behind his shield. Pushing up, he slammed the shield into the young man’s midsection, lifting him clear from the ground. Then, pumping his stout legs, Galmar charged forward and launched the boy away from himself.
As he hit the ground, the Na’anti dropped his club and rolled. He came up in a crouch, ready to keep on the fight. Thurk, though, was already there, staring down the sights of his rifle at the boy. His finger rested comfortably on the trigger.
“Alright, calm now, I’ve got you dead to rights.”
“Shoot me, pig-man,” The boy spat on the ground. “I am not afraid.”
“I ain’t gonna shoot you—unless you do something stupid, that is,” Thurk said. “Now, what is your name?”
The young man looked up at Thurk defiantly, and the orc feared he might indeed do something stupid. After a few seconds, though, he sighed. “A’tiami.”
“Okay, A’tiami, why were you following me and my short friend over there?”
“This is our land, not yours. I should be asking what you outlanders are doing here.”
Thurk took a step away, but did not lower his rifle, “You are right, this isn’t our land, but we mean your people no harm. We are headed to Gayne County—do you know it?”
A’tiami’s eyes widened and his mouth clamped shut. He looked away from Thurk and he suddenly seemed very intent on studying a nearby pebble.
“What is it? Do you know the place or not?”
A’tiami nodded. “I know it, pig-man. Though I would not go there if I were you.”
Thurk looked sideways to Galmar, who returned a similarly curious look. “Why? Is something going on there?”
“The people there... they are not right... We do not go there, not anymore.”
“What happened?” Thurk asked. “What is going on in Gaynesville?”
A’tiami stuck his chin up at Thurk. “How do I know that I can trust you?”
“The only thing I want is to keep people safe,” Thurk answered. “The people of Gayne County are in danger, and so are yours.”
“My people can take care of themselves.”
“You evade Gayne County out of fear, you said it yourself,” Thurk reasoned. “I want to take care of whatever evil is plaguing that place. If I do so, then you and your people can live in peace in your own land.”
“You would evade the place too, if you knew the danger there.”
“I cannot know if you don’t tell me,” Thurk said. “I found a femur in a bear’s den. It had been chewed on and dragged from somewhere else. There was a deep gash in the bone. Have you seen anything like this?”
A faraway look came over A’tiami’s eyes. “I have seen this, orc. A few months ago, my friend Atsuko was hunting in the prairies near Gaynesville and he saw... He saw...”
“Come on now, we haven't got all day,” Thurk said.
“Something is killing people out there... And eating them.”
“Gah! Superstitious lot of savages!” Galmar muttered and turned away.
A’tiami turned on Galmar with fire in his eyes, “It is true, little one! I went back with Atsuko, and I saw!”
Galmar went to speak again, but Thurk interrupted him, “What did you see, A’tiami?”
“I saw... hundreds of bones... gnawed on and burned. Cracked to get to the marrow. The place stank of evil.”
“Human bones?” Thurk asked.
“Mostly, but there were others... Some like the short man’s...” A’tiami stopped. “And some were so small... Like children's bones.”
Galmar was silent. He looked down to the ground at A’tiami’s words. Thurk lowered his rifle.
“How far was this place from here?”
“A day’s ride, it is just outside of town, in an old riverbed.”
“Take us.”
A’tiami scrambled back on his hands, “I do not wish to go back to that place.”
“Please, A’tiami. I have to find out what is going on here.”
The Na’anti boy was quiet for a few moments, but finally he nodded, “I will take you.”
He had been a coward, he knew. He had known of the danger in Gaynesville, and rather than seek out a way to destroy it, he had run away. A’tiami realized that this orc ranger might prove a powerful ally, and it was time to stop running.
––––––––
THEY WERE MOUNTED UP in minutes and riding hard out over the desert. A’tiami took the lead, his lean white horse eating up the miles without breaking a sweat. Thurk followed close behind on Bluebell, his rifle lying across his lap. Galmar rounded out the rear, jouncing about on the back of his little pony.
Before long, night began to fall, and A’tiami pulled up on his reins. “We can camp here and be there early in the morning.”
Thurk nodded. “I thank you for your help, A’tiami.”
“It is nothing. If you were a white man, then perhaps I would not have decided to help you... My people have no quarrel with the green folk.”
“I am not just an orc, A’tiami, I am also an Albara Ranger. And the Rangers have not always gotten along well with the Na’anti.”
“The Rangers are good warriors, and you fight with great honor,” A’tiami answered. “My people hold much respect for yours.”
After they had dismounted and built a small fire, the three travelers sat about and looked into the flames. A’tiami produced a bit of antelope jerky and passed it to his companions.
“Take this as an offering of apology. I am sorry that I attacked you this morning,” the young man said. “We have been fearful lately. What me and Atsuko found in that place... I fear that it is surely dark magic.”
“Ain’t no such thing as magic no more,” Galmar muttered.
“You are wrong, short one. There is magic everywhere, if only you stop to look. But you are too busy digging into our mother earth and stealing from her to even notice her true bounty.”
“Dwarves ain’t no strangers to magic. An’ we’ve been digging in the earth since before ye humans even put two sticks together to make fire. It’s the way of things. Ye don’t mess with the way of things.”
“You are wrong,” A’tiami gestured all about them. “What is this but magic? The fire, the stars, the stones. There is magic in all of it.”
“I did no’ come on this trip to hear sermons from a human. Ye dolts don’t remember magic. Not the way it used to be.”
“My people remember. We remember everything.”
“Hmph.”
“Now, Galmar, don’t be so quick to reject what you don’t understand. You may be old, but you don’t know everything,” Thurk said.
“Bah, shut up, orc.”
Thurk laughed and bit into the antelope jerky A’tiami had given him. It was dry and a bit salty, but it was good. The orc looked up at the boy and, for the first time, noticed an ear poking out of his long dark hair. The ear was sharply pointed. Strange, for a human.
Narrowing his eyes, Thurk studied A’tiami’s face. Where before he had not noticed anything particularly out of place, he now saw the strangely angled features on display there. The orc sniffed deeply and realized a singularly earthy note in the air.
“A’tiami, what is your family like?”
The Na’anti boy looked up. “My tribe is my family... My parents are gone now.”
Thurk nodded, thinking. “I mean no offense, but were your parents both of the tribe?”
A’tiami fidgeted slightly and looked away. “My mother was, yes.”
“And your father?” Thurk asked. “I do not know how much you know of orcs, A’tiami, but our sense of smell is exceptional, and I can tell that you are not fully of the Na’anti. In fact, I don’t believe that you are fully human.”
A’tiami looked back at Thurk, a slightly defeated look in his eye, “My father was of the Kalaivi.”
Galmar grunted. “Kalaivi my arse, ain’t been no elves in...”
“One hundred and fifty years,” A’tiami answered, his voice beginning to waver.
Thurk looked up at the half-blood boy. “You mean to say that you have been alive for well over a century?”
A’tiami nodded. A lone tear rolled down his face, cutting a clear path through the dark soot and mud he had smudged there.
“Elves all got the pox, none lived,” Galmar said.
“I am only half-elf.” A’tiami said. “I got sick. Very sick, but my people cared for me, and I survived.
“By Uunthu, A’tiami, you don’t look a day over sixteen!” Thurk exclaimed.
“I have aged faster than a true Kalaivi, though not nearly as quickly as if I were only human. I was but a child when my mother died of old age.”
“Do any outside of your tribe know of this?” Thurk asked.
“No. And you must not tell them. The blood of elves is believed to be gone from the earth, and it would be better if everyone kept on believing it as such.”
The sound of a far-off pack of coyotes reached the group of travelers then. The little beasts yapped and howled into the night. Harbingers of doom for some poor rabbit or fox hiding in its den.
Galmar looked up from the fire at A’tiami. “Don’t yer people have a saying about coyotes?”
A’tiami laughed. “It is not a ‘saying’, dwarf. Coyote is a trickster. He is not evil, but he always brings trouble along with him. It is in his nature. We have similar tales about people like you, little man.”
“So you take that to mean we’re to run into trouble on this journey?” Galmar asked, ignoring A’tiami’s closing remark.
A’tiami smiled and shook his head, “No, dwarf. I take it to mean that coyotes are out on the plains tonight, as they usually are.”
Galmar grunted in return, seemingly placated, and turned back to the jerky in his hand. Thurk was not so sure, though. He had always placed more stock than most in omens, and A’tiami’s talk of gnawed bones and dark magic had the orc worrying that he might need more than a half-elf and an old dwarf by his side if he was going to get out of Gayne County alive.