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Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six 

Chapter Seven – True Nature

“How long and far could he have traveled?” Varg asked, but it was almost a question he was just pondering on his own without waiting for an answer.

“In the desert, it’s not only about how long and far you’re traveling,” Claw replied. “What matters the most is that you know the path you’re traveling.”

“Please don’t tell me that we’re lost,” Varg said with a grunt.

Their trip through the merciless desert sun was taking a toll on all of them.

“We’re not lost, but my nose can only sense the scents brought by the wind. And if the winds change their direction, our path cannot be even or straight.”

“So, will we get where we need to be?” Varg asked again.

“We will, and we’re lucky that the horde doesn’t appear to be on the move. Even if we get delayed, we will still reach our destination.”

“How can you know that?” Toru joined the conversation. “That the horde is not moving?”

Claw lifted his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. “There is a staleness in the air, like food being cooked and consumed, and also a brew of restlessness.”

Varg wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “What could make them restless? Will they be on the move soon?” Again, he was only half-expecting answers.

“That’s not something my nose can tell,” Claw said in an apologetic voice.

Toru patted the bear on the back. “You’re helping us a lot, Claw.” He seemed much more chastised than before when he had gotten mad at the bearshifter for not telling them sooner about how Duril might become affected by the call of the desert. Most probably, just like him, Toru had realized that he couldn’t depend on his senses, as sharp as they might have always been. They depended on Claw and his keen sense of smell, and for that, even the proud tigershifter was willing to let go of his pride.

“Wish I could do better, kitty, wish I could do better,” Claw said quietly.

Varg observed Toru from the corner of his eye. He could tell the young tiger was boiling with curiosity, but he didn’t yet have the courage to question Claw at length about what he wanted to know.

“Claw, do you know many orcs?” Toru finally dared to speak up.

“Know? I don’t have any friends among them if that’s you want to find out,” Claw replied with a small chuckle.

“No, not like friends… but were you ever close enough to them to… get to know them a little?”

“Are you planning to get chummy with Duril’s kin?” Claw asked, and then laughed. “They’re not the kind to form such attachments,” he explained. “Even among themselves, there are no such things as friendships.”

“What do they have?” Toru asked stubbornly.

“They have a grand chief, clan heads, other leaders in charge of small bands, and then, there’s the chum, of course, the lowest of the low. Most of them only serve in the big structure that is the horde, and they don’t question their lives and purpose. They are there only to serve the bigger orcs, always at their beck and call without questioning. If I could use a term to describe their situation, it would be similar to that of slaves.”

“If Duril becomes one of them,” Toru started and then stopped, hesitating for a moment. “If he becomes like them, what will he be?”

“That’s a bit hard to tell. He’s not as big as them, nor as strong.”

“Will he be nothing but chum?” Toru asked, this time more anxiously.

“He’s wise and charming,” Claw countered. “Who knows? A leader with at least half a brain could see his usefulness.”

“But, still, those orcs, they will never be his friends,” Toru insisted.

Ah, so that was what the kitty wanted to know, Varg realized. He wished to confirm for himself and not only for himself that Duril would never replace them with his orc horde. That was a small sliver of hope to hold onto, but it existed, and Varg was just as willing to accept it, and even grab on to it. Duril wouldn’t have friends in the orc horde, only orcs bigger and stronger than him, as well as orcs that sat lower than him on the food chain.

“As I said,” Claw confirmed what he was thinking, “orcs are not creatures prone to forge friendships among themselves. And for that part, our friend would be, undoubtedly, hard pressed to find someone he could call close in the entire horde.”

***

“Sog,” Duril called softly at first. “Sog!” He raised his voice to make himself heard by the enthusiastic orc who was performing a strange dance around the pit, still drunk on the idea that he might get his own curved blade.

Sog finally noticed him and knelt by the edge of the pit. He stared down curiously. “Will Sog have a blade? He’ll be a big warrior?”

Duril hated to lie to him like that, but he saw no other choice. “The Grand Chief won’t forget who helped him in this time of need.”

At that, Sog turned thoughtful. “Orcs aren’t weak. The Grand Chief isn’t weak. He doesn’t need help from anyone.”

Duril cursed inwardly at his poor choice of words. “He doesn’t, that’s true. But he’ll live to fight many other days if you do as I say.”

Sog leaned over the pit, and Duril watched as his ears began to perk up. “Yarag is a great warrior. The greatest,” he confirmed.

“I don’t have any doubt about that. But now, please tell me, how did he come to fall ill?”

There was a chance that he couldn’t help the Grand Chief even if he knew everything about his illness. He was tied up and stuck inside a pit, with no access to his tools of the trade. Also, the desert well-deserved its name of the Great Barren, and that meant that finding medicinal herbs and whatnot was close to impossible. Still, it was the only chance he had and wanted to use it to the best of his abilities. He hadn’t gotten this far only to give up.

“A snake bit him. One of those hiss-hiss and duh-duh ones,” Sog explained and gesticulated to describe the slithering way of snakes to move around.

There had been few snake bites he had treated in his life, but at least he knew the basics. Duril pondered for a bit. By chance, during the little time spent in Shroudharbor, he had perused several medical texts kept by the library, and he had stumbled upon a peculiar, yet seemingly effective, method to cure such ailments.

“How did it happen?” he asked, in search of as many details as Sog could give him. “And when?”

Sog scratched his head and then swung it from one side to the other, as if he either couldn’t recall the circumstances of his leader’s falling ill or he didn’t want to share them with a stranger.

“Hey, Sog, look at me,” Duril said. “Don’t I look just like you?”

“Yes,” Sog admitted. “But you’re an ugly orc, with hair.”

“That’s true, but I’m still an orc, and like any other orc, I must pledge loyalty to the Grand Chief.”

That line of reasoning seemed to convince Sog. He leaned a bit more over the pit so that he could stare properly in Duril’s eyes. “You’re an orc,” he eventually declared. “You belong to the Grand Chief.”

“Yes, so you see, just like you, I want him to live. The other orcs wouldn’t want me,” Duril added quickly, although he had no idea about that. The chances were that they would want to turn him into stew, just as much as Sog seemed enamored of the idea. As much as the Grand Chief believed him to be some spy, he was still a better bet than the rest of the horde.

And there was, again, that calling inside his heart that told him that his fate was right here, with this clan.

“How did Yarag get bitten by the snake?” Duril insisted.

Sog looked to his right and then his left. He whispered as he lowered his head to be as close to Duril as possible, “Someone put snakes in the Grand Chief’s tent. We didn’t see who. Sog saw nothing.” His eyes shifted nervously.

“The other clan leaders, right?” Duril asked.

“Sog could be in trouble if he talked,” Sog said quickly. “I didn’t see anything.”

The poor cook would probably be punished if he said anything, and ratting out the other clan leaders would eliminate his slim chances of anyone wanting to take him in after the Grand Chief died.

“You said that there were more snakes?” Duril asked cautiously. He didn’t want Sog to back down, especially since he was so close to finding out the truth.

Sog nodded.

“But only one bit him?”

Sog nodded again. “Yarag smashed its head. Like this.” The orc smacked his fist into the ground, making dust spread and fall on Duril’s head. Taken by surprise, he broke into a cough.

He was about to say something to get out of Sog as much information as he could when a shadow fell over the pit. Suddenly, the orc was lifted by the scruff of the neck and thrown like a little girl’s rag doll. Instead of Sog’s shifty eyes, Duril raised his own to meet Winglog’s cold stare.

“The Grand Chief is going to shake you for all you know, spy.”

***

Toru observed with growing anxiety that Claw grew quieter the more they walked forward. The bear kept his muzzle held down and marched forward stolidly, but to anyone who cared to look it was evident that he was tired, more so than him and Varg. Could it be that the centuries weighing on the bear’s shoulders had become too heavy? He didn’t dare to ask, but he grabbed Duril’s big bag from Claw’s back and hooked it over his own shoulder.

But the bear needed a break. As much as he wanted nothing more than to hurry and find Duril so that he could feel whole again, Toru understood as much. But they were far away from the oasis they had left behind, and it seemed that the desert stretched endlessly in front of them.

His eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of shade. Then he began blinking them furiously. He could almost believe that his eyes had started to play tricks on him, but no, ahead of them, something like a line of trees whose crowns were swaying softly to the rhythm of the wind appeared.

“Look!” he shouted and pointed at the trees. “Let’s go there and rest a little.”

“Young one,” Claw called after him, but Toru had already leapt away and hurried toward the promise of fresh water and shade.

He ran and ran, but the trees didn’t seem to get any closer, no matter how fast he was going. To be even faster, he turned into his tiger, but still, the trees remained at a distance, out of reach.

“Toru,” Varg shouted from not far behind.

He turned his head to see his friend hurrying to catch up with him in his wolf shape.

“That’s nothing but a mirage,” Varg added. “Come back. We’ll lose the track Claw’s nose has been following if we don’t stay with it.”

“How can that be? It’s right there.” Toru turned his eyes toward the trees dancing in the wind. “Claw needs to rest,” he added, this time quietly.

Varg fell in beside him. “I know it very well.”

“So, he must rest,” Toru insisted. “His nose will catch the horde’s scent later. Am I the only one that sees those trees?”

“You’re not.” That was Claw’s voice, coming from not very far away.

Toru felt guilty for forcing Claw to run after him. “But if we all see them, how can they not be there?” he inquired.

The bear walked closer to them. “That oasis has no scent I can detect. It cannot be real.”

“And if I told you it can be?” Someone suddenly hissed the question at them.

All three of them took a step back. Toru was first to notice the giant head belonging, as it seemed, to a large snake, larger than all of them. He growled and tipped his muzzle down while keeping his eyes on the snake. His golden eyes shone like precious stones, and from his mouth, a split tongue darted in and out, now and then.

Most of his body was covered in dark green scales and was coiled in a spiral on the sand, but his head was held erect, his unblinking eyes resting on the group.

“Is this snake a mirage, too?” Toru asked.

The snake hissed, and this time the way he did it made him sound amused. “My name is Demophios, young tiger, and I assure you, I’m no mirage.”

“That’s what a mirage would say,” Toru promptly retorted.

“Toru, stay back,” Varg warned.

“Toru? So that is his name,” Demophios said as if he were speaking to himself.

Claw surprised everyone by jumping in front of the snake and growling. “Stay back, you fiend,” the bearshifter warned.

Demophios laughed, his tongue darting in and out in a way that told Toru that he was very pleased with himself. “A bear, a wolf, and a tiger walk into the desert. What are they searching for?”

Toru was about to mention Duril, but one stern look from Varg convinced him that it was for the best to remain silent.

“Surely we’re not looking for a snake,” Claw replied aggressively.

“Ah, but do you have a choice as to what you may find when you walk into a place you don’t belong?” Demophios said. “I see. You’re not good at riddles, any of you. Then consider it a token of my generosity. The answer is that the place chooses what you will find for you.” He laughed out loud, if the strange hissing sound he was making could be taken as laughter.

“That’s stupid,” Toru shot back.

Demophios appeared taken aback. He moved fast, and Toru was soon staring right into his golden eyes from up close. “Stupid.” He said the word as if he couldn’t understand its meaning. “Stupid is not to see the truth for what it is.”

“What is the truth?” Toru asked.

“The trees, the oasis you see, Toru, they are real,” Demophios said. “You only need to believe it.”

“Don’t trust him,” Varg warned. He had moved closer to Toru, clearly determined to join the fight if one broke out.

“I don’t. But I want to hear his lies.” Toru stared into the golden eyes without holding back. “Is this all you got? Some mirage only children would believe?”

No matter how only a little while earlier he had rushed toward the imaginary oasis. Now that he knew he was facing an enemy of sorts, Toru cared nothing about such details.

“I can take you there,” Demophios said, and the tip of his tail rattled. “All you have to do is find the answer to my question.”

“I don’t care for questions,” Toru said with determination. “We’ll be on our way.”

Demophios seemed, however, to have other plans. He uncoiled his long body and encircled them quickly. Toru growled and jumped out of the enclosure, but Demophios was fast, and soon, he found himself trapped again.

“I do not mind playing with you until you tire yourselves out of your minds,” the snaked hissed. “I have all the time in the world.”

Toru growled and tried to bite, but Demophios’s tough scales seemed to be made from impenetrable granite, and his fangs slid right off them.

“Young and reckless,” Demophios said with self-satisfaction. “You’ve had it easy so far, Toru.”

“You don’t have any right to speak my name like that.” He couldn’t tell what annoyed him the most about the way the snake hissed his name, but he was always one to speak his mind, regardless of the consequences. A giant snake was not enough to make him change his ways.

Demophios just laughed at his rebuke. “How much have you depended on your friends so far?” The snake wove his head around. “There should have been another with you.”

Toru froze.

“The healer,” Demophios said triumphantly. “Do you know what I am, young tiger?”

“No, and I don’t care. And this is all of us,” Toru said quickly.

“I am the key to you finding your true nature,” Demophios replied, ignoring his denials. “All your life, Toru, you’ve counted on no one else but yourself, is it not so? Why would you give up on your true power to become a weaker version of yourself?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Toru shot back.

“You do. Ever since you set foot in that place up north, your power has grown weaker by the day. What use does a strong tiger have for companions? You are the author of your own destiny.”

All the while Toru and Demophios talked, Varg and Claw struggled to escape the enclosure made by the snake’s body, but to no avail. Toru watched with dread as they were soon trapped by the coiled, elongated body and separated from him.

“What are you doing?” he shouted at Demophios. “Leave them alone!”

“Run, Toru!” Varg called out to him, but soon the snake’s body was coiled around his head and he disappeared completely from sight.

“Varg! Claw! What did you do to them, you ugly snake?” Toru roared, turning all his anger on Demophios.

“Nothing so far. Don’t worry. While you may not be able to see them or hear them, they are completely safe.”

“I don’t believe you,” Toru growled.

“You have no choice but to believe me. As you can see, you are completely powerless in front of me. Were you as strong as you used to be, without worrying about others, maybe you could win against me. However,” Demophios continued unabated, “seeing how your friends are in my power, and I have the power of life and death over them, you need to tread carefully and not make me too mad. Isn’t that so, young tiger?”

“You’re making my head hurt with all this talk,” Toru retorted. “What do you want?”

“As I told you, I am here to help you find your true nature.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I know who I am,” Toru said proudly. “Varg and Claw are my friends. Release them, or you’ll regret it, snake!”

He made another attempt at lunging at Demophios but, as before, his claws and fangs made no dent on the scaly body. The only thing he managed to do was to cause the big snake break into a loud laughter.

“You’re proud, indeed, and strong,” Demophios said, “but is it enough? You see, Toru, you may believe that I’m the enemy, but all I want is for you to succeed in your quest.”

“I was doing just fine until you appeared, you desert worm,” Toru growled again. “Release my friends!”

“I suppose I could let you tire yourself out by trying to claw and bite me to no avail, but that is not my purpose.”

“Is your purpose to annoy me?”

“No, of course not. But, you see, Toru, I am much interested in setting you on the right path, the one that is going to help you complete your quest.”

“Why?” Toru gritted out, clenching his teeth as his eyes moved frantically to and fro in search of an opening. While this damned snake kept him talking, Varg and Claw were probably losing their breath.

“Because,” Demophios moved closer to stare into his eyes, “when I succeed in helping you discover your true nature, I will become immortal.”

“You look like a big snake. Are you sure you haven’t lived long enough?”

The only answer was a cackling sound. “I’ve lived, it’s true, for thousands and thousands of years. So I am very much used to being alive, and I don’t care about… not being.”

“All things have a beginning and an end. Living things, too,” Toru said stubbornly.

“Don’t you want to live forever?” Demophios hissed and circled him, making Toru move so that they could keep eye contact. “What more wonderful wish could one have?”

“To live a life that’s worth living, not stealing others’ friends and suffocating them,” Toru retorted.

“They are fine, for now,” Demophios said and his golden stare bored into Toru’s eyes again.

“What do you want so that you will let them go?” Toru asked. He would have loved to solve this by clawing and biting and fighting very much, but it looked like that was, unfortunately, out of the question.

“To find your true nature, and the answer to my own quest, you should either give up on your friends or --” Demophios stopped abruptly.

“Or?” Toru’s ears perked up.

“Or find me an answer to this question. How can I become immortal? See, I’m giving you a choice. If you want your friends to be returned to you safely and you to fail your quest, I don’t really mind.”

“I thought your purpose was all about seeing me on the right path,” Toru said crossly.

“I can see it in your eyes that you’re determined to save those pathetic companions of yours. I do not wish to jeopardize my own desire by foolishly trying to convince you about the justness of your quest.”

“You’re just lying,” Toru said. “How can I trust you that you’ll release my friends?”

“Trust is a fickle thing, young tiger,” the snake hissed. “Difficult to gain, easy to squander. Make your choice. Walk toward the oasis in front of you,” he moved out of the way to allow Toru a long look at the vivid image of the trees swinging in the wind, “forget about your friends, and it will be there for you. Or find an answer to my question, and I’ll release them. What happens after that, I won’t care.”

“How can you be so selfish?” Toru asked. “This world, you should care about it, too. Maybe you ate too much sand, and that’s why you’re crazy.”

He kept on dallying. How would he be able to find the correct answer to such an incredible question? On top of everything else, he was alone and couldn’t count on the wisdom of his friends. Claw would surely know what to say to this horrible snake. Varg, too, with his long life experience, would know as well. And Duril was so clever, knowing so many things…

Why did he have to be the one to find the answer to such a difficult question, when all he knew was how to use his claws and fangs, and not much else?

***

Duril was pushed in front of Yarag for the second time that day. The Grand Chief didn’t look any better than earlier, and his breath was coming in quick gasps. He lay on one side like before, and the short nap he must have taken after sending him away to the pit didn’t seem to have helped him much.

“Bring him up,” Yarag said with a small wave of the hand.

Duril wasn’t given the time to ponder over what the Grand Chief could mean, as Winglog attached another rope to him and threw it over a wooden beam that was part of what kept the tent standing. As the orc pulled on the rope he was forced to soar into the air and swing back and forth. From that position, Yarag could look at him without straining his neck. The intelligent eyes observed him for a while.

There were many reasons to be afraid, but Duril felt less overwhelmed than before. The simple fact that Yarag didn’t just order him killed was enough to argue that he might live to see another day.

“Spy, where are you from?” Yarag asked, making a small gesture which brought Sog running, from where Duril couldn’t tell, carrying a bucket filled with water. The Grand Chief took a large gulp and handed the bucket back to Sog. The small orc rushed out of the tent, probably to fill it up again.

Did they have wells? But was that water? Duril couldn’t tell for sure. As far as he knew, Yarag could drink the blood of his enemies to increase his power.

“I’m from Whitekeep,” Duril said with determination.

Yarag snorted and gave him a little flick with the back of his hand, making him swing a little faster and in wider arcs. Apparently, that to and fro motion amused the Grand Chief because he grinned, displaying rows of sharp teeth.

“Whitekeep is only humans.”

Then it crossed Duril’s mind that he knew something the big orc leader didn’t. “It used to be, perhaps, but it was also my home. Now, there’s nothing left there but ruins.”

Yarag raised his eyebrows and searched Duril’s face for clues that he might be lying. Since he already thought Duril was a spy and didn’t believe a word he said, it was strange that he was pondering over that particular thing.

“You’re telling the truth,” Yarag said.

“So, do you agree that I’m not a spy?” Duril asked. “It would be nice if you untied me so that I can find a way to cure you.”

“Quiet!” Yarag barked. “Spies, clever spies, they always wrap their little lies in the shroud of truth so that not even my keen eye can tell them apart. I’ve seen spies like you, orc.”

“At least you admit that I’m an orc, like you,” Duril said simply.

Yarag stopped for a moment and then broke into loud laughter. The sound coming out of him was so overwhelming that Duril felt his ears starting to hurt. The tent shook and stopped only when Yarag was done laughing.

The Grand Chief pushed himself up to his feet and towered over Duril who was already lifted up into the air. “What of you makes you like me, orc?”

“We share a bond of blood,” Duril replied.

Yarag laughed again. “Blood? The same flows through chum like Sog. Are you saying that Sog is also like me?”

“Yes,” Duril said simply.

The clatter of something being dropped interrupted them both. Sog was there, and the bucket was on the ground, spilling the liquid it contained. Duril felt himself relax a bit more. Whatever he had feared was in that bucket, he could put his mind at ease. There was clearly nothing but water, now soaking the sand at Sog’s feet.

Yarag grabbed Sog by the scruff of his neck and lifted him into the air. The small orc flailed all his limbs frantically. “That is blasphemy, Grand Chief! Blasphemy! I don’t know this ugly orc or why he’s saying such abominable things! Your Bloodthirstiness, please, please, forgive Sog! He never once thought to be even as like you as your smallest toe!”

“You see?” Yarag turned his face to Duril and dropped Sog suddenly, making him shout in pain as he crashed into the ground. “Not all orcs are alike.”

“Indeed,” Duril said fiercely. “While Sog cares that you live and are healthy, you care nothing about him. Although he is your loyal and humble servant, you have nothing but disdain for him.”

“His purpose is to serve,” Yarag replied.

Duril had half-expected to be pushed again and swing through the air like a hanging toy, or even worse after saying those things to the Grand Chief’s face, but nothing like that happened. Instead, it looked as if he had just given Yarag something to think about.

“Yes, to serve, I understand,” he said. “As is mine, and Winglog’s, and even yours.”

“Mine?” Yarag asked. “I serve and bow to no one, orc.”

“You serve the horde,” Duril insisted, holding his chin high. “Isn’t it for the horde’s good that you kill and plunder? For its glory? For it to keep on going?”

Yarag sat, making the ground shake as he did so. Winglog was standing by the entrance and pretended to be nothing but stone, but Duril could tell that the orc warrior was all ears. Sog retreated to the entrance, too, nursing a hand close to his body and mumbling to himself.

“You’re one clever spy,” Yarag said.

“I’m not a spy,” Duril insisted.

“If you’re not a spy, then what are you?” Yarag asked.

“A healer.”

“I don’t believe a word. Orcs are not healers. Yes, they can chop a limb off when needed and pour deathgrass concoctions on oozing wounds, but they are no healers.”

“I am,” Duril said.

Yarag suddenly turned his attention on Winglog. “What do you say? Is he what he keeps yapping about?”

Winglog was so stunned to be asked a question directly that he didn’t utter a word for a couple of moments. “I don’t know, Grand Chief.”

“Does he look like an orc to you?”

“Yes,” Winglog replied.

“An ugly orc,” Sog interjected and cowered away the moment Yarag’s attention turned to him.

“Not uglier than you,” Yarag replied. “So be it. If he’s an orc, then he’s part of the horde now. Bring him down.”

Winglog hurried to obey.

“Release him.”

The orc warrior hesitated for just a moment, and then quickly proceeded to unwrap Duril from the rope that had kept him immobilized for the last several hours.

“Thank you,” Duril said as he moved his arm to get the blood flowing. “Would you allow me to see how I can cure you now?”

“No. You’re going with Sog. Since you believe all orcs are the same, you will start by being a servant to the lowest of the low.”

Duril hadn’t expected that, but he was grateful. Yarag no longer thought him a spy, or else his decision made no sense.

Sog surprised everyone as he began to jump up and down, still holding his injured hand close to his body. “Sog got a servant! Sog got a slave!” He threw himself at Yarag’s feet. “Oh, wise lord, Your Bloodthirstiness, thank you, thank you!”

“Show him what he needs to do. If he’s not a spy, he needs to prove himself,” Yarag ordered.

Duril walked toward Sog of his own accord. Sog grabbed him by his good arm and dragged him away, happy and mumbling weird things to himself, like always.

He took one look back. Yarag collapsed on his side again. He was impressive in size and strength, but how long did he really have? Duril knew he needed to use his wits to get Sog to help him deliver a cure to the Grand Chief before it was too late.

TBC

Next chapter 

Comments

MM

I knew it. Duril is a wonder and his sweet soul is bound to win over others. And our poor kitty is in the thick of things again!