An Orc Gar's Path
letter from Reglese in his large green hand as he sat near an exterior building high upon the mountain slope of Lakjo. The paper blew awkwardly over itself in the mountain wind, in the same direction the long black hair on Karnak’s head waved. The letter had confirmed nearly all his concerns about King Sahr’s new friend Jaernok Tur of Kelvur. The letter also gave him much-needed clarity. He was thankful he had chosen not to slay Zotar and his rebels. It was the decision he had felt in his gut to be right. Reglese’s letter affirmed that decision.
When his and Gar Klentja’s squadrons had landed in Lakjo without any resistance, several of the orcs had been confused. Karnak was not sure all of them would take the news of their shifted allegiance positively. To his surprise, as he explained his concerns regarding the sorcerer of Kelvur and his twisting of their king, his squadron trusted his judgment, and none raised any noise against the change. There were a couple of questions, as orcs worried for their families back in Calrok. Karnak was able to share Reglese’s letter and Jaernok Tur’s plan to take Calrok away, which ignited greater zeal from the Scar Cliffs Squadron. They would not let the sorcerer take their home so easily.
As he leaned against the building, Karnak stared over the range before him. The sun was setting in the west. The sky’s oranges and pinks gave the mountains a warm hue, even against the biting chill of the wind. Smarlo rounded the corner of the stone structure and perched beside his gar. He sat for a minute, enjoying the view.
“I think they’re all settled now. Zotar’s people are quick to show hospitality. I think they’re glad not to be fighting a battle they would not have won,” Smarlo said, giving Karnak an update as well as his assessment of the situation. “The wyvern riders have opened their homes for our squadron. Their barracks is far too small to add all of us and Gar Klentja’s orcs.”
“Good. It will be good for them to see the families of those they will fight beside. It’s not just our home at stake but theirs as well. We fight for the same things, even if they are far apart.”
“I am glad you chose this path for us.”
Karnak paused at the comment. He knew he had chosen the right path for his people, but there were still many details to work out. Whatever the plan was, they needed to make sure Jaernok Tur couldn’t bring his troops from Kelvur into Calrok. He did not know how long they would have to fight. What sacrifices would they have to make to endure the war? The path ahead was anything but certain.
“Zotar and Klentja are ready to meet with us,” Smarlo said, recognizing he wasn’t going to get a response.
“Well, I hope they have a plan, for I can’t see the path ahead of us,” Karnak admitted.
Smarlo caught the hint of defeat in his oldest friend. “You saved the lives of a whole orc city. You saved the lives of the children and the generations to come in Lakjo. Do you see that as wrong?”
“No. That was right. But we do not know what challenges lie ahead of us now.”
“Whatever they are, we’ll fight together. As we always have,” Smarlo smiled and clapped a thin hand on his friend’s muscular shoulder. “You’ve been my best friend for far longer than you’ve been my gar.”
“Ha! Not always for the better,” Karnak joked.
“Remember that time we went hunting for treasure?”
“Yes. And we were gone so long my mother had my father rally the squadron to search for us?”
“Yes! We wandered the Northern Caves for hours looking for the ‘Lost Chamber.’ You listened to Glorto’s story and thought for sure you could find it.”
“Glorto,” Karnak shook his head at the far-off memory of the orc.
“You were so certain you could find it, and I believed you could too! So, of course, I followed you as we weaved through those tunnels and got lost.”
“Exactly. What did we get for it?”
“We never found the treasure. Gar Plak was more than upset, and we got our hides whipped, of course.” Karnak bobbed his head at Smarlo’s words; he could almost feel the sting on his rear. “I think we found something more valuable than treasure.”
“Oh?”
“We found adventure. We found friendship. We found we could rely on each other even when we were scared. When you were scared,” Smarlo shot him a wink. “When we thought we heard a rinont down that side corridor! I wouldn’t trade that memory for anything.”
“Maybe not the trouble after.”
Smarlo laughed. He could agree with that part. “We had no idea what the path looked like in front of us, but I followed you then and never regretted it. You weren’t even my gar yet.”
Karnak could see Smarlo’s point, not that he totally agreed with the reflection, as they had been children, then. He was thankful for his friend’s confidence in him.
“I’ll follow you now, even if we don’t know what the path ahead looks like.” Smarlo jumped to his feet and extended a long skinny hand to Karnak. The big orc accepted it, and his friend hoisted him up. “Now, let’s go see the map these old gars are drawing up for us. Maybe there’ll be treasure!”
Zotar resembled a large bear under his fur cloak that was, indeed, made from a Drelek silver mountain bear pelt. He sat in a large chair near the fire. The room appeared to be designed more for comfort than tactical deliberations, but Zotar didn’t think it necessary to discuss their strategies hunched over a planning table. The chamber had high ceilings, and the torches cast enough light for their orc eyes to make out every detail of the room.
There were plenty of chairs, and all were placed cozily around a large pelt rug of what looked to be a northern white elk. The creature must have been a monster, as the rug covered a large swath of the floor. Zotar and Klentja sat conversing but greeted Karnak and Smarlo as they took up two of the other chairs.
“Please, have some tea,” Zotar offered, swiping a tray from a small table next to him. “It's of particularly good spice, this batch.”
Karnak politely declined but passed the tray to Smarlo, knowing he would want some.
“Deklahn will join us shortly,” Zotar continued. “He is retrieving some things from the war room. I thought it would be more comfortable for us to meet in the den.”
“It is very comfortable,” Karnak remarked, settling into the soft chair.
“Genjak won’t be joining us,” Klentja added. “He’s busy getting the squadron settled into the homes your people have graciously opened to them.”
“The least we could do,” Zotar answered.
“Gar Zotar, I don’t mean to be rude, but I am not here for pleasantries,” Karnak started. “I know I am coming into this party late, but Reglese’s letter has spurred a sense of urgency for the Scar Squadron.”
“Straight to it, then,” Zotar answered. He let out a disappointed grunt as he sat up in his chair. “I had hoped we would be able to wait for Deklahn to return, but he will be here shortly.
“It was a rather bold move for you to insert the goblin Reglese into Ruk. Bold, but clever. What brought you to that decision?”
“When I met Jaernok Tur, I was left with a sense of ... unease. I didn’t care for our first encounter, and I knew within me there was more at work than the sorcerer let on,” Karnak replied.
“On pure instinct,” Klentja noted.
“It appears the sorcerer leaves a rather lasting first impression. Either one of awe or one of unease,” Zotar pointed out. “Our first meeting with the sorcerer was the spark to our doubts, as well. Maktom and I immediately discussed different paths. Jaernok Tur is shrouded in evil.”
“As though it follows wherever he goes,” Karnak affirmed.
“Unfortunately, as soon as Maktom brought it up to some of the others, we were marked as traitors. And here we are now. Rebels. Or at least, here we are.” Zotar’s voice wavered, and Klentja’s eyes fell into his mug. Karnak looked away, trying to fight back the searing image of the orc boy surrounded by fire.
“It seems you also saw through the sorcerer’s illusions,” Zotar got back on track. “And made some clever moves.”
“Reglese runs the tavern in Calrok, and his glorb wine is the best,” Karnak said.
“Yes, if you don’t believe us, he’ll be sure to let you know,” Smarlo added with a chuckle. The whole group was glad for the drop of humor.
“Again, very clever. But I’ve got a concern,” Zotar said.
“And what’s that?” Karnak asked.
“We only received two letters from him. In his letter, he said he sent three copies.”
“You think someone else got their hands on the third,” Karnak stated bluntly.
“The thought has crossed our minds. The flight between Lakjo and Ruk is quite easy. Pigeon carriers usually have no troubles. I discussed the matter with our own pigeon keeper here in Lakjo, and she said it would be unusual for a pigeon to be lost between our two forts.”
“So, Reglese could be in some trouble.”
“I said ‘unusual,’ not impossible. But if someone were to think him a traitor, he could be in grave danger.”
Karnak looked around the room as if trying to find a solution in the dim of the chamber. His jaw clenched, and his lips fidgeted around his short tusks. He was frustrated.
Why did I put him in that position? he thought.
“We must make haste with our plans,” Karnak growled, not at the orcs in the room, more at the general situation.
“That’s why we will fly this night,” Zotar assured him.
“We fly for Ruk this night?” Karnak started to raise his voice. “What do we know of the sorcerer? What powers does he wield?”
“We know Jaernok Tur isn’t in Ruk,” Zotar answered him calmly.
Karnak’s confusion grew. “What? How do we know that?”
Suddenly, the door to the chamber swung open and slammed against the wall. Deklahn, a tall, thin, strange-looking orc, shuffled into the room, trying to close the door with his foot. He balanced a load of scrolls and maps in his arms, but one fell to the ground as he attempted to sweep the door closed. Smarlo set his tea to the side and ran to aid the struggling orc.
“Uh, thanks,” he said to Smarlo, who picked up the wayward scroll and closed the door. “Can you grab that table?”
Smarlo grabbed the short table, no higher than his knee, and followed Deklahn. He swung around him and placed it in the middle of the great rug. Deklahn unloaded his arms, unfurling some of the maps.
“Very good,” Zotar said. “Deklahn, do you have the shell?”
“Uh, yes, my Gar.”
The quirky orc mage patted his robes, looking for the right pocket, and produced from one of them a beautiful green abalone seashell. Karnak and Smarlo leaned in to see the strange item, as Deklahn delicately laid it on the center of the table.
“This, my young Gar, is how we know Jaernok Tur is in Whitestone,” Zotar said.
“Whitestone?” Smarlo asked. Karnak did not take his eyes off the shimmering shell.
“Yes. The treachery of Jaernok Tur’s plans is not limited to our people alone, it would seem,” Zotar stated.
“What magic does this hold?” Smarlo asked Deklahn, one mage to another.
“Well,” Deklahn blinked uncomfortably, but Zotar nodded for him to explain. “Argus calls them Shells of Callencia.”
“Argus?” Smarlo asked. The name was unknown to him, which was quite unusual. The mage community among the orcs was rather small, and they all knew of each other, even if they had never met in person.
“Argus Azulekor, of Galium.”
“An orc in Galium?”
“A dwarf, actually,” Deklahn corrected.
“A dwarf?” Smarlo blurted.
The revelation snapped Karnak upright. “You dabble with dwarven magic?”
Zotar also stood. Though he was smaller than Karnak, his armor and fur cloak gave him bulk to match. He raised pleading hands to the young gar.
“When we were first marked as traitors, Maktom thought it would be wise for us to seek aid in uncommon ways. We sent Deklahn with a couple of guards as an emissary to the dwarves in Galium. We are fortunate they had a rather unusual mage there by the name of Argus Azulekor. Where others were suspicious, he saw an opportunity for our peoples to cooperate.”
Karnak’s mind reeled. None of it made sense. Dwarves and orcs had been enemies for centuries. Though the divide between them and elves was deeper, the dwarves were a close runner-up. “I don’t understand.”
“Understand this. We may not be able to fight Jaernok Tur’s forces from Kelvur without the help of the other peoples of Tarrine.”
Zotar’s statement hung on the silence of the dim chamber. Only the crackle of the fire made any noise. None in the room had an argument against his words. For really, they knew little of the sorcerer’s power. They only knew hearsay about his forces in Kelvur. They did know how crafty the sorcerer was and the fact that he was in Whitestone was an unheard-of feat.
“How has he taken Whitestone?” Karnak asked, not overly enthusiastic about the new developments but not wanting to be in discord with the other gars. They would need to be on the same page against their crafty adversary.
“Apparently, by manipulation,” Deklahn said. “The king of Whitestone was captured during a skirmish a while back. Jaernok Tur went to work twisting the king’s mind.”
“King Farrin was captured? Why didn’t news of that spread through all of Drelek?” Smarlo asked.
“Not Farrin. His son Garron,” Deklahn corrected. “King Farrin was gravely ill and died shortly after his son returned to Whitestone. Jaernok Tur has taken over Whitestone with the use of a magic mirror that turns into a doorway.”
“What?” Smarlo was intrigued by the magics he was hearing about. His curiosity led his thoughts to all sorts of imagined possibilities, which was the same intrigue that had gotten him into magical arts.
Deklahn continued, “The she-elf reported that their pegasi squadron arrived at a secret Griffin Guard location somewhere in Whitestone Forest, and they—”
“She-elf?” Smarlo snarled.
Karnak placed a large hand in front of his friend, silencing him. The young gar patiently listened, trying to put everything together.
“Y-yes,” Deklahn said, nervously eying Karnak’s unpleasant demeanor. “They have gone to aid the members of the Griffin Guard that are going to fight against Jaernok Tur. They reported the sorcerer has been bringing troops through the mirror into Whitestone.”
“With Jaernok Tur in Whitestone and the dragon with Gar Nargoh in Porak preparing for their siege on Galium, this is our best chance to take Ruk and take the throne,” Zotar said plainly.
“How old are these reports?” Gar Klentja asked.
“They are from today.”
“If they are from today, who knows how accurate they are,” Smarlo pointed out.
“I think you misunderstand,” Zotar said. “The elves arrived in Whitestone Forest today, and the report came today.”
Smarlo’s scrunched features mirrored the thoughts of Karnak and Klentja.
“How?” Karnak asked.
“Ah, yes. Well,” Deklahn knelt next to the low table, placing his elbows on top. He reached both hands together under the Shell of Callencia and lifted it just off the table. “Let me show you.”
He mumbled a few words under his breath, and a small ball of light appeared as though it were a pearl floating above the shell. The light shimmered off the variety of green and blue hues.
“Argus!” Deklahn called out.
The orb of light flickered as a voice came back in response, “Deklahn, I am here.”
“It is good to hear your voice, old mage.”
“And yours,” Argus laughed. “I was worried for you. I wondered how you would fare in the battle.”
“We were fortunate enough not to battle today.”
“Ah, so the young gar from Calrok saw the reason behind your actions?” Argus replied excitedly.
“He stands in this very room. There was little argument. He chose to join us out of his own convictions,” Deklahn explained.
Karnak stood, awestruck. He had never seen such magic, and judging by the looks on Klentja and Smarlo’s faces, neither had they.
“Are you prepared for the siege coming your way?” Deklahn asked.
“We are preparing,” Argus said. “We’ll be ready when they come.”
“Do not underestimate the dragon,” Karnak said. His words startled the others in the room, who were enraptured by the spectacle before them.
Deklahn quickly relayed the sentiment. “Gar Karnak says to beware the might of the dragon. Do not underestimate its power.”
“Wise counsel,” Argus agreed. “Pride often comes before one falls.”
It was clear the dwarven mage could only hear Deklahn, whether because the orc mage held the shell or because of the magic he used, Karnak could not say.
“We will try to take the throne at Ruk tomorrow,” Deklahn reported.
“Hmm.” The orb of light flickered as Argus hummed through his thoughts. “A bold move. But if the Riders of Loralith and the remaining Griffin Guard attack Whitestone tomorrow as planned, then the sorcerer will be divided. Certainly, he couldn’t defend both or be in both places at once.”
“Our thoughts exactly,” Deklahn replied.
“Good then. I wish you the best of luck. We will continue to prepare for the coming battle here. You win yours there. And at the end of all this, we can share a barrel of mead in celebration,” Argus encouraged.
“I prefer glorb,” Deklahn ribbed back.
“As any good orc,” Argus laughed.
“To a future hope.”
“To a future hope.”
The orb of light dissipated, and the room fell silent. They looked around at each other, Zotar waiting for anyone’s thoughts. Karnak wasn’t sure what to think, but the revelations had all been much more than he anticipated.
Suddenly he laughed, a rolling laugh from deep within him. The others started to laugh along with him, though none of them knew why. The sheer inability to understand everything that was going on sent them into laughter. It seemed if the energy did not come out as laughter, it could have come out as crying.
As they settled down, Karnak shook his head and said, “So, I suppose we’ll even be allying ourselves with the likes of man-kin then.”
“Well,” Zotar shrugged helplessly. He didn’t need to finish the thought, for Karnak had already figured it out.
Karnak pulled back the black hair on his head and tightened it into a knot, took a long deep breath, and said, “To a future hope.”