Chapter 9: Trinket

         Grom sat in silence, strapped to the ground and kept under the watchful eyes of the orcs. It took him a while to become accustomed to the foul smell that permeated from all around. He never cared for the stench of orcs, but few yearned to be around the pungent odor of sweat, dirt, urine, and blood. In fact, the only time a dwarf and an orc saw eye to eye was on the battlefield. Notorious for their evil and bloodthirsty ways, all races came to fear the violent orc marauders. Since leaving his home in the mountains, this was the first time that he had seen the true chaos and destruction that the savage beasts could inflict. He hated them now more than ever, and he wondered how they could cause so much pain and suffering to so many innocent people. There had to be some reason for all the attacks; King Gregory’s death had been intended for some evil purpose.

         The cloth covering of the tent opened and in stepped another orc with shoulders and head slouched, giving him a hunchback appearance. A leather strap secured a worn axe close to his side. He walked over to the guard keeping watch over Grom and grumbled something in a strange tongue. Grom was unfamiliar with the growling sounds that made up the orcish language; however, each word that he heard the beast utter made the very blood in his veins boil with rage. He wanted nothing more than to break free from his bonds and cut the entire lot of them open from neck to gut. Above all else, Grom yearned to be free.

         The active guard on duty ducked through the entrance to the tent, leaving the new orc to take his place. Grom could discern few differences between the orcs that wandered in and out of the tent, nor did he even care to take the time to examine their features. He saw them as green-skinned menaces, unworthy of breathing the same air as the free peoples of Feldos.

         The forceful jamming of a boot rustled Grom from his thoughts. He lifted his eyes toward the guard that had come in as a replacement. Grom narrowed his eyes in defiance, but the orc spewed a gurgling cackle and nudged him again. Grom lowered his head and wished the orc would leave him alone.

         “Stupid dwarf! The least you could do is lemme hear you groan or curse,” the guard said in a low growl. When Grom continued to look away and ignore his request, his captor pulled his foot back and kicked Grom in the ribs. Grom winced but refused to cry out in pain.

         “Leave him alone,” came the voice of a new orc entering the tent. Again all Grom could see was a face similar to all those he had already encountered.

         “What’s a little dwarf doing sneaking into here all alone anyway? I’ve heard that dwarves were stupid, but this one is dumber than ‘em all! He would have been better off walking through the front gate and offering himself as a prisoner,” the guard said. He reared his head back and let out a terrible gurgling noise before spitting a glob of thick green snot in Grom’s face.

         “I said leave him alone,” the other guard said again.

         “Why are we even keeping him hostage? Why not slice open his belly and watch all the gooey bits splash out onto the ground? I’ve never seen the insides of a dwarf before,” the guard said, reaching to his side and pulling his axe from the strap. From’s eyes locked onto the rusty blade, causing his body to tense.

         “Enough!” the other guard bellowed. He reached out and grabbed the handle of the axe, pulling him around. “He remains our prisoner until we hear otherwise. If you do this, you disobey the order of our leader. Crog would not be happy to find a dead body. You’ll do what we all do, and that is to watch over him. You hear me, Klakk?”

         The orc known as Klakk nodded his head reluctantly and lowered his axe.

         “We are to watch over him and make sure he stays right here. I do not know why, but Crog wants this weakling alive,” the guard said. His gaze remained focused on Klakk.

         “Does Crog think this whelp will be of any use to us? He can’t know anything about what we seek,” Klakk said, securing his weapon in his strap once again.

         “All I know is what Crog orders. He said that this one stays alive. He may have useful information about the artifact. If not, then Crog should reward us for our job. If you’re lucky you might be able to slice open our little piggy if he doesn’t know anything,” the guard said, scratching at a tuft of black hair on his head.

         “I’d enjoy that very, very much,” Klakk said, his mouth twisted into a grin of jagged and cracked yellow teeth.

         Unable to wipe away the orc’s filth from his face, Grom clenched his fists and felt his hatred for these orcs grow stronger inside. While he lay on the cold earth, he had nothing better to do than to ponder what the two orcs had discussed. He wondered why they had bothered to keep him alive. It seemed that they expected answers from him. What was this artifact that they had mentioned? Grom knew nothing of any such item, but he began to wish that he did. It appeared that his fate was indeed sealed. He did not wish to die by the hands of these disgraceful orcs, but few options remained open for his survival.

         It was all that damn kobold’s fault! The thought of the strange little creature Kravitz ran through Grom’s head over and over again. He didn’t know why he placed his trust in such a mischievous wretch, but he swore to himself that he would never make that same mistake again.

         The covering on the tent was pulled back yet again. Instead of another guard shuffling in as a replacement, Grom turned his gaze toward the very orc that killed King Gregory and ordered his imprisonment. The creature known as Crog marched into the confined area with a purpose. He towered over Klakk and the other guard, barely able to stand upright. He wore leather armor lined with metal studs that fit like a thick second skin over his first layer of dark green flesh. The worn and chipped blade of a familiar axe peeked up over his right shoulder. Grom noticed a tint of red dried along the blade’s edge, and he felt his blood begin to boil again with rage. He struggled with the ropes holding his hands behind his back, but the knots stayed tight. The guards lowered their heads out of respect.

         “You are both free to leave your post. I have a few things I need to straighten out with my friend here,” Crog said, sarcasm hidden in his voice.

         “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay here with you?” Klakk spoke up as he raised his head.

         “Are you questioning an order?” Crog asked, taking a step toward Klakk. He stood an entire head above him and peered down at the much smaller orc. Crog raised his hand toward the weapon on his back as a warning.

         “My apologies, sir,” Klakk said, dropping his head.

         “Why are you still here?” Crog asked, grinding his teeth and keeping his hand on the axe.

         The other guard slipped out through the opening without question. Klakk hesitated for a moment before turning and following suit. As they pulled back the cloth, light came through like a momentary sign of hope. When Klakk disappeared, both the glow of the outside world and of hope vanished. Grom realized that he was alone with King Gregory’s murderer.

         “You have come here to gain some sort of revenge for what happened in that shithole town. Am I right?” Crog asked. His tone of voice had softened a bit, which Grom found even more menacing than its bestial howling.

         Grom did not respond.

         “You thought that you would be able to just sneak your way inside of here and exact your revenge on an entire camp of orcs. You thought that you alone could kill fifty of us, each trained and versed in the art of combat. You thought for even a moment that you would be able to kill us all. You thought that, didn’t you?” Crog asked again, chuckling at the thought.

         Grom found Crog’s eloquence of speech disconcerting. Had Grom closed his eyes, he might have thought the voice had come from a human and not an orc. Grom wanted nothing more than to be free of his bonds and twist his hands around Crog’s throat. Seething with hatred, he still refused to answer his captor.

         “Your rage made you so blind that you trusted the word of a little scrubby kobold. To think you bought everything the little shit told you,” Crog said, snickering once again.

         It all made sense to him now. Kravitz and the other kobolds were acting as scouts for Crog and the orcs. Grom took the bait, and he now suffered under the watchful eye of his adversaries. He bit his lip and remained silent.

         “Are you listening to anything I’m saying? Say something!” Crog demanded, showing signs of losing his cool. He bent down and struck Grom across the face with the back of his hand. The sickening smack echoed through the darkness of the tent. Grom felt the sting spread out across his face like a wildfire. He struggled in an attempt to pull himself away, but the restraints prevented him from moving.

         “Say something, or I’ll cut off your head and be done with it. Trust me, there are a lot of crows around here looking for a cold, dead meal,” Crog barked down at Grom. A grin crept across his face, stretching a long scar that ran along his left cheek.

         “If you want me dead, then just do it,” Grom muttered, feeling a wave of defeat and loathing wash over him.

         “Be patient, my little worm. I need to make sure you are of no use to me before I feed you to the carrion,” Crog answered.

         “What makes you think I’ll help you with anything?” Grom asked.

         “It’s simple,” Crog answered, reaching forward and clasping his hairy hand around Grom’s throat, “You’ll tell me what you know, or I’ll kill you. If you don’t tell me, then there’s no point in keeping you alive. It’s an easy process that works in my favor.”

         Grom gasped for breath with wide eyes darting all about. No matter what direction he looked, his gaze always fell back to Crog.

         “We’re looking for something of value. It is an amulet that we have been ordered to acquire. An old legend claims that it lies somewhere within this land of Feldos. We have searched high and low for it, burning everything in our path, but we have found nothing among all the ashes. That is why we invaded that small speck you consider a kingdom. We are not going to stop until we hold that amulet. If you know anything at all, then now is the time for you to tell me. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to take my troops up into the mountains and slay each and every dwarf until I find what I want. I’m sure those greedy miners know something useful,” Crog explained in a low growl. He released his hold on Grom’s throat, who began coughing and gasping for precious oxygen. He tried to muster up enough strength to answer, but the sound of rustling behind Crog forced him to stand and turn around.

         “Sir, one of our scouting groups have returned and they wish to speak with you,” an orc guard said, bowing his head.

         “Can it wait?” Crog yelled at the orc.

         “They told me to bring you to them no matter what. It appears they have something of value,” the guard persisted. Crog took a step toward him, and he winced, expecting a blow to come his way.

         “Fine. Take me to them. This had better be worth my time,” Crog said. The guard turned away, and Crog gave him a forceful push out the door. He followed after him, grumbling as he made his way out into the night.

         Grom laid there in the silence for a moment before he realized he was alone. The sounds of footsteps outside of the tent floated to his ears. As he lay there, he thought about what had just happened. All of this was over some amulet. He had no idea what Crog was even talking about. He knew very little of jewelry or artifacts, save for the tales and legends of magical swords and rings he heard as a boy. Wonder filled his thoughts. Why would they be after this thing anyway? What purposes could it possibly serve? The way they were searching, he knew that this amulet had to hold some sort of power. Whatever this trinket was, Grom knew that his usefulness would be revealed to be nonexistent when Crog returned from his little talk.

         Hearing a scratching sound, Grom tried to turn his head around behind him. From could turn his head enough to see a faint shadow maneuvering around the back of the tent, pressing something against the leather sides. Grom closed his eyes and listened to the object slicing a hole through the side of the tent. After a few quiet grunts and some more torn material, something made its way inside behind Grom. His mind began to race as to what it could possibly be, and he hollered when slender fingers grabbed at him. A hand clasped over his mouth and nose and muffled his cry. His eyes shot open, and he looked up at a shadowed image of Cloey.

         “Quiet, Grom. If we’re going to get out of here, then you’re going to have to stay as silent as possible,” she whispered to him. He tried to talk again, but her hand suppressed his words. Cloey raised a finger to her lips and glared at him. When he stopped trying to speak, she removed her hand from over his mouth. She lifted her dagger from the ground and with a little work, cut the ropes holding his feet and hands. He sat up, and Cloey slipped away from him to the new opening in the opposite side of the tent. She turned toward Grom and waved to him. He crawled beside her and slipped through outside the tent.

         “Cloey,” Grom began to whisper, but she gave him another angry glance.

         “Thank me later. We need to slip our way out of here unnoticed before we can celebrate,” she whispered, her words no louder than a shallow breath. They both kept low to the ground as they made their way around the tent. Cloey stopped and peeked around the corner into the heart of the camp. Grom couldn’t help but look as well, curious at the ruckus that was escalating into a thundering uproar.

         “What do you mean you had it a minute ago?” Crog yelled, throwing his hands up into the air. He stood in the center of the encampment, a few orc guards standing behind him. Among the guards was Klakk, who gripped his axe in both hands. Another group of orcs stood across from them, one of which stepped out ahead of the others. He wore a helm crafted from the skull of a ram, each of the curling horns running down the sides of his face. His chest was bare except for straps of white fur fitted over his shoulders like a coat.

         “I had it only a few minutes ago. We raided the elven city of Anon and found the amulet in their vaults. I don’t know what could have happened to it,” the helmed orc said, turning and looking back at the orcs behind him in bewilderment.

         “You insolent fool!” Crog yelled and lunged at the orc, grabbing hold of one of the horns and striking him in the stomach with a hard closed fist. The other orcs began to step in to break them apart, but they were swept into the fray. A brawl broke out between the two groups, which brought more orcs from around the camp into the center to join or cheer on the fight.

         “They must have dropped the amulet around here somewhere! We need to find it before they do,” Grom whispered and started to move. Cloey grabbed him by the ear and turned him back around to face her.

         “Forget about that! This is our only chance to slip out of here without being seen. Quick, follow me this way,” Cloey said, dragging Grom along by the lobe of his ear.

         They moved as fast as they could without drawing attention to themselves. Luckily for them, the orcs remained occupied long enough for them to slip out of their line of sight. Cloey led the way to the opening in the wall that Kravitz had created. They both knelt down beside the opening, looking back at the fighting orcs.

         “Get through here and run for the forest!” Cloey instructed.

         “What about the amulet?” Grom insisted, his face stricken with worry.

         “I said forget about it!” Cloey said, giving him a shove toward the hole.

         “The prisoner is trying to escape!” a voice shouted somewhere behind them. They both turned to see Klakk sprinting toward them, waving his axe in the air. Grom tried to turn and stand his ground, but Cloey gave him another shove toward the opening. She pulled out her shining dagger and sent it spinning through the air. The blade hit its mark, digging deep into Klakk’s thigh and sending him down to the ground with a howl.

         “Go!” Cloey shouted at Grom, giving him another push. Grom scurried his way through the hole in the ground and managed to squeeze out onto the other side to freedom. Cloey scrambled through after him and made a mad dash toward the hill. Grom went to follow, but stopped long enough to take hold of his axe that remained outside of the camp walls. Carrying his axe in one hand, he followed his halfling friend back up the hill and into the cover of the forest.

         The two traveled for what Grom thought to be an eternity before Cloey finally stopped and leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree. Grom dropped his axe and collapsed onto all fours, heaving and puffing for air. Taking a moment to compose themselves, Grom turned over and sat on the cold ground.

         “You could have died back there, you know!” Grom yelled at her.

         “I was expecting a thank you, but I guess I’m going to have to settle for that,” Cloey said with a dramatic huff.

         “I’m sorry,” Grom sighed, “What you did back there was really brave. To think I thought you were a no-good thief who only cared about your own hide. I guess you proved me wrong.”

         “No-good thief!?” Cloey screamed, throwing her arms into the air, “Just who the hell do you think you are, you stupid, smelly dwarf!”

         “Calm down, kiddo. I was trying to compliment you,” Grom said, waving his hands in front of his face. He sighed as Cloey turned her back on him, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips. “Just how did you find me, anyway?”

         “I went to see you the morning that you left the castle, but that dumb Prescott said you left and let you walk off alone. I wasn’t going to stand for that, so I chased after you. It was hard to find you, and I actually got pretty lost out in the woods. It was cold, too! There was this wolf who ran after me, but I managed to slip away from it and hide up a tree! Then this giant bird . . .” Cloey flew into a rant, gesturing wildly with her arms and making growling and cawing noises to accompany the story.

         “I didn’t ask for a campfire tale,” Grom grumbled.

         “Fine!” Cloey snapped back, refolding her arms, “I ran into some stupid kobolds who had some of your belongings. I caught one of them and pestered him until he confessed which way you were going.”

         “Just like a woman,” Grom muttered.

         “What was that?” Cloey asked, raising her eyebrow and voice.

         “Nothing,” Grom said, coughing to cover up his utterance, “I just said . . . what a woman!”

         “Right,” Cloey said with apparent doubt in her voice, “I followed the way he said and then I found you with the stinky orcs. Now where’s my thanks!?”

         “Thank you, Cloey,” Grom said, bowing his head out of respect.

         “I can’t believe it. You actually thanked me. I must be dreaming or something,” Cloey said, eyes widening in amazement.

         “Now for my next question. Where are Isac and Prescott?” Grom asked.

         “I’m not sure,” Cloey said, tucking a strawberry blonde lock behind her ear. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “The only thing I know is that they had plans of their own. I don’t think Prescott wanted me to go after you. I think he had something else in mind.”

         “Knowing Prescott, he probably went off in search of an answer to why the orcs have been attacking all these villages. He should have followed me, because I found out what they are looking for,” Grom said.

         Cloey’s blank stare caused Grom to burst into a hearty laugh.

         “Do you remember the fight the orcs got into?” Grom asked.

         “Yeah,” Cloey said.

         “They were arguing because one of them lost an amulet. That big lug that murdered King Gregory questioned me, asking if I knew anything about an amulet that holds some sort of special power. That’s why I didn’t want to leave the camp so quickly. They dropped the amulet, which was the perfect chance for us to snag it and figure out what it does,” Grom explained.

         “Oh, you mean this little trinket,” Cloey said. She reached for a pouch at her side and opened it, pulling out an amulet made from a dull black metal. There was a single obsidian gem, carved into the shape of a skull, placed in the center of it. Grom’s jaw dropped open as she tossed the amulet from hand to hand.

         “How the hell did you get that?” Grom asked, spitting and sputtering in disbelief.

         “I snagged a few things on my way into the camp. That poor orc never saw it coming, either,” Cloey snickered.

         “I can’t believe you,” Grom said. He was going to ask her how she managed to sneak off with it, but the sound of footsteps nearing prevented him from doing so. He grabbed Cloey and pulled her behind a bush. Cloey pocketed the amulet and peeked through the leaves in anticipation. At first all they could hear was the faint sound of footsteps, but the noise soon resonated louder until they could see a marching line of orc soldiers in heavy black armor. At the head of them walked a lithe figure with ghostly white hair and pitch black skin.

         “Is that who I think it is?” Cloey asked. Her hand slipped down to her boot, and she slid her fingers along the handle of the black dagger that the drow they met used to kill Anne’s kidnapper. She shuddered at the thought of his cold, colorless eyes, and she felt as though he were watching her now, even though he marched far away from them.

         “I think it is, and he’s heading straight for the orc’s camp,” Grom whispered.

         “Does that mean he’s working with the orcs?” Cloey asked, doing her best to stop her body’s trembling.

         “No,” Grom whispered, “I think the orcs are working for him. Cloey, is there anything in the direction that they are coming from?”

         “I’m not sure. I’ve never been this far out in the wilderness before,” Cloey said.

         Grom watched the last of the orcs disappear off into the distance. When he thought it safe, he stood from his position behind the bush and made his way off toward the direction in which the dark elf marched from.

         “Where are you going?” Cloey called out to him.

         “They just came from somewhere, Cloey. Wherever they were, people might be in danger,” Grom called back to her, not bothering to stop.

         “I have a bad feeling about this,” Cloey whispered to herself.

         “Come on, slow poke!” Grom yelled.

         “Wait up!” Cloey yelled back at him.

         Cloey ran after Grom, not wanting to lose sight of him again. Grom somehow knew that he would find Isac and Prescott where they were heading. He just hoped that he would find them both alive.

ID: 924129   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 10: Reunion  The heroes reunite and the amulet is revealed to all. by The Lemon