Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 16 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen 

Chapter Sixteen – The More, the Merrier

Both Toru and Sog seemed to be completely deaf to his pleas for them to let go of one another, and they just continued to growl and pull at the leather bag. Duril sprinted toward them and took hold of the bag as well. The two adversaries must have been so surprised by the sudden jerk from a different direction that they let go of the bag at the same time. Duril stumbled backward and rolled on his back under the force of his own pull.

Varg laughed and helped him to his feet. Toru lunged toward him, shifting into his human form. He immediately took Duril in his arms, pressing the bag between them. The tigershifter looked over his shoulder at the intruder. “Get out of here, you filthy disgusting creature!”

Duril pushed Toru gently away. Sog was holding his hands to his chest, turned inward, as he did when he felt ashamed or scared, as Duril knew by now.

“Toru, please, don’t call him that. He is my friend,” he said.

The young tiger didn’t appear so easy to convince. He stubbornly placed himself between Duril and Sog, trying to stop him from moving toward the unexpected guest. “Don’t get any closer to him, Duril. He just wants to eat you.”

“He doesn’t,” Duril protested and began laughing.

Sog’s ears were twitching, and something like a smile was curling his lips. His eyes were wide, and he appeared to be much pleased with being called a friend. The fact that Toru appeared so adamant in his efforts to keep Duril away didn’t bother him, by the looks of things. Still, he didn’t dare to move from his place, and his eyes flicked to Varg and Claw time and again, as he was probably impressed by the size and power of the other two shapeshifters.

“Toru, believe me. Sog may like his stew a lot, but he values friendship more. Isn’t that so, Sog?” Duril called to the orc.

Toru reluctantly allowed him to walk toward Sog. Duril took one of Sog’s hands and squeezed it tightly. “Why are you here, Sog? And why did Yarag let you come?”

Sog pulled his hand away shyly and brought it to his chest again, like before. But this time, Duril wanted none of that. He took Sog’s hand once more. “It’s all right. I’m glad to see you’re still alive.”

Demophios had told him something about orcs not understanding tears. But could they understand hugs? Duril was willing to risk that, so he let go of Sog’s hand only so he could pull him into a hug.

He didn’t dally and let Sog go after a short while. However, he still kept his hand on the orc’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?” he asked in a playful tone.

His friends gathered around, and Sog hunched his shoulders, his ears flat against his head, his eyes once again filled with fear. Duril didn’t want him to believe that the others would hurt him in any way. “It’s all right, Sog. You’re among friends here,” he insisted.

“Friends?” Sog croaked, like he hadn’t spoken for a while.

“I’m not friends with this ugly orc obsessed with stew,” Toru said with a huff.

“And we’d like to hear his story first,” Varg followed.

Duril could tell that the wolfshifter didn’t want to have Toru think that they were all too friendly too quickly with the orc just so that the young tiger could be eased into this unexpected friendship.

“I came to bring the bag back to Not-Orc,” Sog blurted out. “I followed, yes, Sog followed, he’s good at it, at seeing tracks.” Now that he started talking, the words were tumbling out of his mouth like stones down a hill.

“This creature followed us?” Toru asked in utter disbelief. “How come Claw didn’t smell you, creature?”

“Toru, please, his name is Sog,” Duril insisted and took Sog by the shoulders so that the others could see that he didn’t want them to believe him to be an enemy.

Varg had taken his bag from the ground where he had dropped it to hurry back to Sog. The wolfshifter looked inside and then presented it to Duril. “Is it everything in here?”

Duril looked. The tome had its cover and the edges of the pages a bit burnt, but otherwise, it seemed fine. The pearl was there, too, and some of his herbs, the ones that hadn’t been devoured by the fire. Nothing of value had been misplaced, which meant that Sog must have gathered all the things and put them back in the bag so he could bring them back to Duril. Maybe the orc didn’t know exactly why he had done that, but his good heart was in it.

A small detail that Duril wouldn’t say anything about. The chances were that Sog would consider that an insult rather than a good thing. Orcs didn’t value good hearts, without a doubt, and Duril didn’t need the wisdom of Demophios to know that.

Only that this orc with his lanky body, a single tusk, and a penchant for making stew, had a good heart. If needed, it would be a secret Duril would never share with any orc from any horde on the face of the earth.

“Nothing’s missing,” Duril confirmed and blinked one time to let Varg know that everything was fine.

He got a subtle nod in return.

But Toru wasn’t one for subtleties. He grabbed the bag from Varg’s hand and looked as well. One arm buried inside it, he scrunched his nose and pursed his lips in all kinds of amusing ways. “That’s not true!” he shouted in indignation. “Where is Duril’s cabbage?”

Sog, much to the amusement of Varg and Claw who started to chuckle under their breath, made a disgusted face. “Cabbage’s not food. I threw it away.”

The wolf and the bear no longer held it in, and they burst into laughter at the same time. Varg gave Toru’s back a friendly slap. “You and Sog must be of the same mind,” he said.

Toru dropped the bag and crossed his arms over his chest while pouting in the most adorable way. Duril wanted so much to kiss him right now, but he didn’t want to encourage more of the young tiger’s shenanigans, especially when he acted a bit spoiled like right now.

“Thank you for returning the bag to me, Sog. But how did Yarag let you leave the horde?”

At that, Sog’s eyes darted sideways in fear, and the gnarly hands turned inward in a defensive gesture. Duril felt the need to comfort him. “Did you run away?”

“Sog grabbed Not-Orc’s bag. He didn’t know what to do,” Sog whined. “So, I ran, ran and ran, sniffing Not-Orc’s tracks. Yarag would eat Sog for breakfast if he could. So, Sog ran.”

The slipping in and out of talking about himself like a different person was another sign indicating how distressed Sog had to be.

“My friends,” Duril said gently, “I know I’m asking for a favor like no other, but would you really mind if Sog joined us?”

“Join us?” Toru stared at him in disbelief. “He’ll eat us in our sleep!”

Varg was, once more, the voice of reason. “Kitty, are you afraid of Sog?”

“Am not!” Toru protested right away. “But he’s like a vicious dog!”

Varg growled playfully under his breath. “Watch it, kitty. Do you really want to pick that bone with me?”

“I’m not eating any bones,” Toru continued his protests. “You can have them all. But when this thing,” he pointed at Sog, “comes sniffing your leg at night and takes a chunk out of it for his stupid stew, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Young tiger.” They all fell silent at the sound of Demophios’ voice. “Sog’s heart is full of good intentions.”

“And his belly’s empty,” Toru retorted. “Who told you you could butt in?” he added for good measure.

“I’m your companion, not a pet,” Demophios pointed out with the same calm manner and slightly patronizing tone he appeared to use only when talking to Toru.

Duril had a hunch that the wise snake was not entirely above petty teasing, but in a way, he didn’t mind it. Toru’s rambunctious ways were bound to make some frustrated, especially an ancient being who must have felt at least a bit slighted by being vanquished by someone so young.

Toru said nothing, so Duril looked at Varg and Claw with pleading eyes. He would have to mend things later with the tigershifter. Sog was a good orc, and even among humans, he would prove better than a lot of them. Duril would make Toru see it, even if it took a lot of convincing.

“The horde is after us anyway,” Claw pointed out. “And Sog appears to have some interesting abilities. Indeed, not even my nose managed to pick up his scent.”

“I know how to follow,” Sog said. “Sog walks and walks, not right behind, so that the wind doesn’t catch with him. And he walks the path that’s still and the air doesn’t move,” he explained.

Duril watched as Toru turned his back and walked away. He exchanged a quick look with Varg, who immediately understood and took Sog by the shoulders. “Tell us more about that,” the wolfshifter told the orc and gestured for Duril to hurry.

Young hearts tended to bleed quickly at the slightest wound. And Duril had promised himself that he would never let that happen again, not when it was Toru who was bleeding.

***

Toru sat on the grass at the edge of the oasis. How could Duril like that ugly beast? He was so bald, and his skin was creased everywhere. He was disgusting, he decided, although he could still feel Varg’s judgmental look thrown his way. What was the wolf about anyway? How could they not see that beast for what he was? That horde was made of nothing but bloodthirsty creatures, and that orc was no better.

But he did bring back Duril’s bag, and that meant that he did like Duril. Anyway, that didn’t mean that Duril was allowed to like him back. Just when he thought he had saved the healer from the curse of that horde, the horde was catching up with them again.

Duril surely pitied that creature. He knew how to make himself look pitiful with those big liquid eyes and his single tusk. Toru huffed and crossed his legs and arms. And Varg and Claw were both so annoying! How could they take in Sog so fast?

Lost as he was in his own imaginary battle against his companions, he missed someone creeping up on him. Duril’s warm hand on his shoulder took him by surprise, but he relaxed right away after tensing for a moment.

“I want to talk to you about my time with the horde,” Duril began.

“But I don’t want to hear about it. You’re mine now,” Toru replied, wincing at how harsh his words sounded. Like he wasn’t interested in Duril’s things and life. It wasn’t true, but he was…

“You have no reason to be jealous,” Duril said, just as if he were reading his mind.

Toru bristled at that. “I’m not jealous! Sog is ugly and an orc. And you don’t like ugly orcs, do you?”

Duril remained silent for a moment, but then he sighed and began laughing softly. “Sog is just a friend. He’s not to me the way you and Varg are. Do you think I’m that kind of person, going about, collecting lovers?”

The idea of Duril collecting lovers wasn’t as farfetched as the healer tried to make it sound. Everywhere he went, all kinds of creatures fell in love with him, even orcs. That Grand Chief, the big orc, he hadn’t wanted to let go of Duril at all. Because of that, they had had to fight for their lives and send hundreds of orcs to their deaths.

“You could,” Toru accused.

To his surprise, Duril slapped his shoulder. “I cannot believe you!”

Ah, that must have sounded like Toru thought Duril had an easy heart. “That’s not what I wanted to say,” he backpedaled immediately. “It’s just that you cannot help it if they all want you.”

“Who are they?” Duril questioned. “I don’t understand--”

Toru turned abruptly and hugged the healer tightly. “No, you don’t, because you don’t realize how easy it is for everyone to love you. But I’m sharing you with Varg, and Varg only.”

Duril caressed his hair slowly. “Oh, Toru,” he said, and his voice was filled to the brim with love. “You are the one in my heart. And I love you because you’re brave and you know to do the right thing. Isn’t it because we both want only the good to win in the world, never evil, that we love each other so much?”

Toru had to admit it. But he had no idea where Duril was going with that. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“Sog is not evil. He’s not bad. Sometimes, he’s just really, really hungry. That was why he bit your leg that time. But orcs don’t eat shapeshifters. Sog likes meat, just like you, but not the kind that comes from creatures who think and talk. Now let me tell you about how he and I came to become friends. Would you do this for me? Would you listen for a while?”

Toru fidgeted for a bit. He didn’t want to know, not really, but it was Duril asking, and he couldn’t just say ‘no’. “All right,” he murmured but chose to pout just to make sure that the healer understood how he wasn’t in the least interested, but he was doing him a favor.

“When I set foot in the horde camp, Yarag thought I was a spy. But he reconsidered it and gave me to Sog to be his slave.”

“That creature was your master?” Toru clenched his fists tightly, but Duril placed his hand over them to stop him.

“He could have treated me badly, but he didn’t. Instead, he was happy to have someone with him. You see, Toru, in the horde, chum are not considered to be the same as warriors. They are ignored, despised, trampled upon, and used.”

“They are so bad, these orcs,” Toru confirmed his belief. “You never want to go back there, do you?” He threw Duril a suspicious look.

His belligerent streak was quickly subdued by a kiss from the healer. “Never. I belong with you forever. Now listen for a bit. I cannot agree with how they do things in the horde, and I could never be part of it, but these are their ways, and it is not my place to question them.”

“But they always kill, and plunder, and enslave,” Toru pointed out. “Others, not their own.”

“Which is why I suppose they have the bad reputation they do,” Duril said and chuckled. “And also why I strongly believe that I will never be a part of them, not completely. Sog was never mean to me. He helped me, albeit unwillingly, to concoct the remedy for the Grand Chief, when he was ill. And after I fought side by side with Yarag and helped him secure his position in the horde, Sog made that amazing blade for me.”

“He knows how to work with metal?” Toru felt his ears perking up. Varg’s sword was getting a bit dull. Maybe Sog could help and give Varg’s blade a new shine. He quickly brushed the idea aside. Sog didn’t belong with them, even if he was as skilled as Duril said.

“He has his own kind of magic,” Duril replied, cutting his thoughts short. “Demophios calls it skill.”

Toru threw a brief look at the silver pendant, but it appeared that the wise snake didn’t care to butt into this particular conversation. “We don’t need weapons,” Toru said cuttingly.

Except for Varg, and now Duril. They carried blades, so they could find a use for Sog and his metalworking magic.

“Maybe not,” Duril said in a placating tone, “but Sog risked his life so that he could help us when we needed to free Varg from the belly of that creature. And again to bring back my tome and the pearl from Shroudharbor. His life with the horde is forfeit, and all because of me. If I had never hurried to meet the horde because of the call I felt in my blood, he would have never come to be in this sort of predicament. It is my fault that he--”

Toru couldn’t stand another moment of listening to Duril chastising himself for what he had done by leaving them for the horde. Varg was wise and Claw, too, and they believed that Duril couldn’t have fought that call of blood even if he had wanted to with all his heart.

So he stopped Duril by kissing him. “Do you want the stew-crazy bastard to come with us?” he asked.

Duril nodded, his eyes full of hope.

“Then he comes. But if I catch him anywhere near my leg, or anyone’s leg--” Toru let the menace hang in the air. It wasn’t Duril who needed to hear it, but he was sure that the healer would do a much better job of explaining to Sog what he could and could not do now that he was part of their group.

“Thank you, Toru. You have such a good heart. And Sog, you’ll see, he can be a friend in his own way.”

“We’ll see,” Toru replied, still a bit miffed. “I’ll keep my eyes on him. If he tastes as little as a toe, even one as hairy as Claw’s, I’ll have him eat only cabbage for a week.”

Duril laughed wholeheartedly at that. “I think it will be enough to threaten him with such a great punishment, and he wouldn’t even dream of doing anything like that, no matter how hungry. Which reminds me,” he said and pushed himself to his feet. “We should have something to eat.”

“Meat?” Toru asked, his eyes full of hope.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Duril said with a secretive smile on his lips.

They had no meat, so what was Duril smiling about? Toru scrunched up his nose and was about to comment on that when his eyes were drawn to the skies above. The stars continued to fall from the heavens.

***

Varg hadn’t asked Sog to do anything, but the orc had taken it upon himself to grab a flint stone and Varg’s sword, to get himself busy and probably show that he was willing and able to earn his keep. It was true that the blade had been in terrible need of a blacksmith’s care for a while now, but he hadn’t thought that he would find one in the middle of the desert.

Sog was working fast with his hands. His arms were long and wiry, nothing but stringy muscles, and his fingers were gnarly, but he knew what to do with them. Varg had to admit that he was a bit impressed by the nimbleness of those hard-tried hands. By his side, Claw was watching the same thing as him.

“I should gather some wood to make a fire,” Claw said. “I saw the mushrooms you brought earlier. Those will make for a tasty treat. I believe that not even Toru would say ‘no’ to those.”

“He might protest against the lack of meat, but these oases brought to life by Demophios only lack one thing,” Varg commented. “But we shouldn’t complain. The water is sweet, and the fruits even sweeter.”

He could tell that Sog was attentively listening to their conversation. Varg smiled as an idea came to him. “You’re a cook, right, Sog?”

The orc stopped brushing the flint stone across the blade for a moment and looked up. “Sog cooks,” he confirmed.

“We have mushrooms, fruits, and some herbs. What should we do to make this meal better?” Varg asked directly.

Sog looked around. “Meat,” he said shortly. “I’ll bring.”

He abandoned the blade, and Varg watched him go with curious eyes. Then he took the blade and looked at it. He pressed his thumb against it, the familiar sting letting him know that he shouldn’t press any harder. He huffed and put the thumb in his mouth.

Claw laughed. “Your sword turns into an orc’s blade. The latter is known to cut through everything like butter.”

“Sog is really good,” Varg pointed out. “I don’t think my sword was ever this sharp.”

“He’s making himself useful.”

Varg nodded. “He may be considered chum by the horde and its chief, but he’s an intelligent one.”

“Agreed. And right now, I bet he’s coming up with some pretty eccentric ideas about the meat we’re going to have on the table. But, as the old saying goes, the more, the merrier, right?”

Varg laughed. “You ate all kinds of things while you were trapped in that labyrinth. I doubt anything he brings will surprise you.”

“True,” Claw admitted. “And you know exactly what to do to help Sog win over Toru.”

“Indeed, that was my thought. I can only pray that Sog will keep his mouth shut about the provenance of the questionable meat he finds. Toru might not be keen on eating anything that he has never tasted before.”

Claw smiled and looked around. “Toru and Duril have been gone for some time. Do you think our kitty needs a lot of convincing, or he is using this as a ruse to have Duril plead with him some more? You know, just for the sake of having more assurance from our beloved healer.”

“Toru is possessive, and you know it,” Varg commented. “But I think that, this time, Duril needs to use his sharp mind to convince Toru that Sog has only good intentions at heart.”

“It is quite the leap of faith. I mean, it is enough to take a good look at any orc, and you wouldn’t think twice of cutting him through before he manages to do that to you, right?”

“I can only agree with you, friend,” Varg admitted. “But Sog is a friend of ours now, I believe.”

“You better believe it, yes,” Claw replied with a small laugh, “because I think that Duril can be as fierce as our kitty when it comes to people he cares about.”

Varg was in complete agreement with that. And Sog had to be a special type of orc, too, because it was unheard of for a member of a horde as large as Zukh Kalegh to abandon his kin only so that he could follow a friend.

He didn’t know a lot about orcs, not about how they lived, or the things they cared about, but what he knew was enough to tell him that Sog, pathetic skinny Sog, had done a brave thing to give up the protection the horde offered, even to chum like him, and chase after a friend only so he could give him back the bag he had stolen in the first place.

Lost in thought for a moment, it took him a bit to realize that Claw was still scouting the skies with keen eyes. Then he remembered. As distracted as they had been with the appearance of Sog and Duril’s presumably lost bag, they had forgotten about the bad omen appearing in the sky in broad daylight.

“When heavens weep, the earth aches,” Claw said slowly, as if he was reciting something he remembered from a long time ago.

“The shooting stars. How is it that we can see them like this, while the sun is still up in the sky? They must be burning like a furnace.”

“A furnace hurtling through the skies,” Claw confirmed. “It is a sign, my friend, so let’s enjoy ourselves for as long as we can. I’m afraid we’ll have to prepare for another battle soon.”

***

Duril watched with undisguised pleasure as Toru attacked another fried mushroom and a stick on which an unfortunate lizard had been impaled. It looked like there was a truce of sorts between the tiger and the newcomer, as Sog had proven to be quite useful in finding enough meat to stave off their hunger for a bit longer.

While they were busy devouring their meal, Duril couldn’t help looking up at the skies time and again. He wanted to ask Demophios what he thought of it, but he didn’t want to disturb the others while they were still eating. Whatever it was, it could wait for a bit. Or could it? The thought alone was enough to give him goosebumps everywhere, and not in a good way.

Sog helped him clean around the fire, while the others lay on their backs, their bellies full and satisfied now.

“Sog,” Duril asked gently, “did you see Yarag and Winglog before you left?”

Sog shook his head violently. “They would have eaten me.”

“I don’t think so,” Duril retorted.

“Grand Chief said ‘you’re a traitor’, that’s what he said. And traitors get eaten.”

Duril had his doubts about that, but a fate that wasn’t any kinder than being devoured surely awaited anyone who dared to cross the mighty ruler of Zukh Kalegh. “You didn’t betray the horde, Sog. I’m so grateful that you came to me and brought my things back. I truly am.”

Sog made a guilty face. “Sog should have given you the bag.”

“I don’t think it would have made a lot of difference. Maybe Yarag would have just thought it a good idea to throw me in with my friends to fight that beast.”

A gurgle-like sound came from Sog’s throat. It took Duril a few moments to realize that the orc was laughing. It was their way, to be cruel and unforgiving, so Sog thought it completely possible that Yarag would easily choose to put him to fight to the death against the entire horde.

Duril knew that Demophios would be a source of knowledge if he wanted to ask about the signs blazing their way across the sky, but as Toru had pointed out, the wise snake couldn’t be always reliable. His, Agatha’s, and Elidias’ convoluted manner of delivering information could be taxing for the unwary solicitant. The truth was in there, but you needed to be clever to unravel it for what it was.

Since he didn’t consider himself that clever, Duril thought that it wouldn’t hurt to ask a question. “Sog, have you ever seen the sky like this?”

The orc straightened up and stared at the sky. Duril admired the orcs’ ability to stand the heat and even look at the sun directly as Sog did right now. They were creatures like no other, and their astonishing resilience made them redoubtable opponents.

“We must hurry and leave this land,” Sog said and turned back to his work of cleaning the place of all the signs of their last meal.

“Why? What will happen?” Duril asked.

Sog seemed slightly surprised that his knowledge on the matter was required. “The biggest storm of sand. Wind will make it rise,” he explained while gesturing to illustrate his words better. “Not-Orc, you’re not a full orc. And the others are not orcs at all,” Sog added.

“We’ve lived through some astonishing adventures,” Duril said. “What is about this sandstorm that we should be so afraid of?”

Sog shook his head. “Sandstorms can kill everything. Each grain of sand can turn into a blade as it spins and spins.” Again, the orc made a gesture as if he were churning food in a large pot.

“It cuts through the skin?” Duril asked, a new sensation of apprehension gripping him.

“To the bone,” Sog confirmed. “But not orcs. They have hard skin.” To make a point, Sog grabbed the skin on his arm, pulling at it. Indeed, it appeared leathery and tough, an armor in itself.

Duril didn’t mind telling his companions to gather their things and hurry as far as they could get, but something of Demophios’ words stayed with him, something about how he would have to heal the entire horde of Zukh Kalegh. With the wise snake, maybe some things could be seen as unreliable, due to lack of proper interpretation, but that didn’t make them less true.

If he were to be the healing power to the horde, he needed to stay. Could it mean that he would have to make another impossible choice? If he stayed, his friends would suffer. Duril didn’t doubt Sog’s words about the sand turning on them, guided by the eye of a new storm. But what if it were a sandstorm like no other?

What if the horde wasn’t as protected as Sog believed?

***

Toru had to admit that Sog wasn’t all that bad. Throughout his travels, he had eaten less or more savory things, but he wasn’t one to back down from eating a lizard or two if they were properly fried. He patted his belly and sighed contently.

Varg and Claw seemed to be as satisfied as he was. But at the same time, they kept talking about something and pointing at the sky. They were worried about that bad omen.

“Demophios,” he started, knowing that the snake would be awake, “what’s this bad omen all about? The shooting stars and all?”

He doubted he’d get a straight answer, so he was surprised to hear the wise snake talk.

“A storm is brewing and it will engulf Zukh Kalegh,” Demophios replied promptly.

“Do you mean, the whole desert?” Toru asked.

“I mean,” Demophios said, “the whole horde.”

“Ha, that’s good,” Toru commented. “It will get it off our backs, right?”

“You and your friends are here, too,” Demophios pointed out.

“So? Let the sandstorm eat the horde. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t, but what about Duril?”

Toru pursed his lips in frustration. Why did Demophios have to put his head to thinking like that? No wonder he never asked him anything.

TBC

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