Big John IV

Big John opened his eyes and wished he hadn't.
    The sunlight sneaking past the tent flap was blinding. His throat was raw and there was a smell of sweat and blood in the air. And something else.
    Decay.
    Other men lay on linen spread out on the ground all around him. He tried to move and was welcomed by a lance of pain shooting through his back.
    "Where am I?"
    A shadow leaned over him, thankfully blocking the bright light. A sweaty hand touched his face and pried his eye open, the man squinted at him and huffed foul breath his way.
    "Army's tent for the wounded." He made a clicking noise with his tongue. "You're a lucky one alright. Our surgeon took an axe to his skull during the battle. The wounded ain't getting the help they need. Not many pulling through, but you, you have a will to live."
    "Water?"
    "That I can give you. Nice and fresh from the stream."
    Big John raised his head and wanted to grab the flask the man offered him, but another jolt of pain shot through his arm as he moved.
    "Don't worry. I got ya."
    The flask was brought to his dry lips, the water trickling into his mouth. It was good, sweeter than one of Marla's apple pies.
    A pale face and blood-soaked bandages flashed before him. He coughed and spat the water out.
    She was dead. It all came back to him in an instant. The Orcs had killed her and everyone else from Duranham. Everyone but him and his son.
    "Whoa! Take it easy. Nice and slow."
    The flask came back to his lips and this time he swallowed. His throat ached, but the water did him good. He let his head down on the linen, hardpacked earth underneath. He hadn't noticed how tense his muscles were, how much he had strained. Now, he could relax.

"You are a righteous one. Your perseverance is a clear sign that you were chosen by the Gods and they will continue to look over you."
    Big John opened his eyes and was relieved to see that it was near dark out. Only a sliver of the day's dying light slipped into the tent. Not enough to hurt his eyes, but enough to see by.
    The man hunched before him had curly blond hair and clear, penetrating blue eyes. They had a gleam to them even in the semidarkness and their focus never wavered. The man was looking straight at him, a smile spreading across his lips.
    "Water?"
    It had to have been hours since he last drank. His mouth was dry, but his throat was no longer aching.
    "Yes, of course. Even the blessed have need of sustenance."
    The man poured water from a metal flagon into a matching chalice and brought it to Big John's lips. The water carried a metallic taste with it, but it was cool and that was all that mattered.
    "Who are you?" Big John asked.
    "My name is Eddin. I came to look over the warriors of our Faith and to pray for them. I never imagined I would find you though. I knew the Gods had something in store for me, but that I would be the one to find you is a sign of divine intervention."
    A rumbling chuckle escaped Big John's lungs, ending in a gasp as his wounded back protested.
    "What? Do you you not believe in your calling?"
    "It's not that." Big John tried to sit up, but thought better of it and remained lying down. "Truth is, I don't know what to believe in. I'm a woodcutter, no more, no less. I once had a wife and a good life. That is behind me now, but I still have a son, as far as I know, and finding him is my future. Nothing divine about that. I'm only a man."
    "Wise words, my friend. Wise words. But you left out what all men are talking about. They know it and I know it and so do you." Eddin raised his eyebrows at him as if Big John truly knew what he meant. Big John did not reply and after a moments hesitation Eddin continued. "You were in the clutches of Demons and not only did you survive the evils they must have done to you, you managed to escape. Arrows that would have killed any other man - that did kill dozens - struck you down, but here you are, one of only a few recovering from his wounds. You, my friend, have been through purgatory and the Gods have seen you worthy. You are meant for more. You will play a pivotal role in these dark times that lie ahead. That is the truth that I know."
    Big John said nothing and took a moment to think about Eddin's words. He didn't know much about the Gods, but he knew they hadn't been there for him when Marla was killed and the rest of Duranham as well. It did not feel like they had been watching out for him. He had to fight in the Orc camp to stay alive and he only had himself to thank for his survival.
    Even if he did believe in the Gods and their power to protect him. He wanted none of it. Whatever blessing they had given him was too little too late. Marla was dead and that couldn't be changed.
    Big John furrowed his brow and grimaced. "I've heard enough for now. I'm tired."
    "Yes. You should rest and think about what this mean to you."
    Eddin left and with him the day's light reached its end. Big John had made up his mind, but the Gods were stubborn and remained in his thoughts. Even though his head would not come to rest easily, his body needed more energy and soon he slept.

Big John III

Big John was breathing hard, sweating and wishing for rest. Though now was not the time. The King's army was on the move. He heard the horn blowing and could hear the clatter of men marching, but he dared not turn around to see.
    Mexta stood dazed, a deep gash in her brow covered the right side of her face in blood, but he could not underestimate her. One wrong move and she would make him pay. His sword had fallen to the ground behind her and she was still holding on to her axe.
    Blinking away the blood, she took a step forward. She only had eyes for him, not aware of the Orcs around her scattering, readying for war. Their fight was forgotten for all, but her.
    Following her lead, Big John took a step back. With her step, Mexta's head drifted off to the side, making her stumble to his left. She caught herself with a growl, shaking her head back and forth.
    Big John knew what a mailed fist to the head could do. His left hand still ached, but it had been his only option after having lost his sword. He was still faced with the problem that he was unarmed and Mexta was, but at least she was no longer fresh to the fight.
    What was once a circular fighting pit had quickly turned into an open space as the Orcs started to build ranks to fight the oncoming army. Big John could see Gwarr out of the corner of his eye. The Orc Elder had drawn his great sword, shouting commands. Though he scanned the formations of his clan, he also kept an eye on Big John and Mexta.
    Big John mouthed the words "I will not die" for courage, his eyes darting toward his sword. Mexta's imbalance had moved her far enough away so that he could go for it. He had no time to hesitate, his movements brought Mexta to action. She swung her axe, bringing it down into the soft earth with a thud.
    Big John was not only strong, but also fast. In Mexta's rocked state he was quicker than her axe, diving under it to grasp his sword. Coming back up on to his feet with a roll, he placed the tip of his blade at Mexta's throat.
    She drew in a sharp breath. Her left eye, clear of blood, tried to focus on him, pupil swinging from left to right as if seeing two of him. Her hands, still wrapped around the haft of her axe, let go as her shoulders sagged in defeat.
    "Do it."
    Big John held the sword tight, putting pressure on Mexta's skin. Blood welled up and dripped from the edge of the blade. He eased off the pressure, flicking his gaze toward Gwarr.
    "I will not die here! Let me go and she lives."
    Gwarr turned his full attention toward them, grunting. "Leave the sword and go. Run!"
    Mexta hissed as the blade dropped to the ground, turning toward her leader. "You let him dishonor me like this?"
    Big John did not waste time by listening to more. This was his chance, the only chance he would get. Gwarr had allowed him to leave, the King's army was rushing toward the Orc ranks, everyone would have eyes for the battle, not for him.
    His heart pounded as he ran for the safety of the King's ranks. He heard men shout at the sight of him. They did not slow their charge, but they recognized him as their own. He would be able to let them pass and would be safe behind their lines. More than one hundred men would be between him and the Orcs.
    The weight of his armor burdened him. He didn't know how much longer he could run like this. Thankfully, he was getting closer and closer to the safety of the King's men. As soon as he was passed them he could slow down and remove the heavy chainmail and plate armor.
    The second half of the King's army still stood on the other side of the field, making a slower advance. They would surely be able to take him in before they joined the fray. He couldn't keep his mind from wandering as he ran, thinking about the strategy his kinsmen were using to engage. Having reinforcements was good, but most if not all of these men had never fought Orcs before. The more they outnumbered them the better, in his opinion.
    The thoughts worried him, wondering about the outcome of the battle. How safe would he be if the King's men were defeated. Would he just end up back in a fighting pit, surviving one day to the next by defeating anyone pitted against him or would they just kill him straight away.
    He told himself that he would not die. That he would make it out of here and would see Small John again. All these things going through his mind helped his body cope with the strain of running. He was almost at the oncoming line of King's men when he heard the familiar sound of bows twanging. The army slowed, shields being raised. Big John dared not look back, so all he saw was the face of one of the King's men. He was young and reminded him of Small John. Not as tall, but full of energy.
    Big John watched the young man's demeanor change from an angrily charging warrior to a worried, helpless onlooker. That's when the first arrows fell around him. Some arrows sank into wooden shields with a thunk, others buried themselves in the ground and two found Big John's back.

   

Mexta IV

Her battle axe gleamed along its edge. Mexta spent the morning sharpening it and preparing. The battle was nearing and she planned to trim lots of human heads off their shoulders. The human army was gathering on the far side of the field. They must have been marching over a week to have made it here at this time. They would be exhausted and easy to kill.
    On the other hand, the humans outnumbered the Brogdah Clan five to one. Not great odds, but their kind was weak compared to the broad-chested, hulking berserkers that were the Orcs. Mexta saw this battle going only one way. The humans would regret having started this war, cursing the day their king commanded them to attack the Orcs.
    Mexta stepped through the gathering crowd of Orcs, tusks held high, a twitch of a smile at the corners of her mouth. The battle would be the entire clan's victory, but her fight would be her own. She had waited for this day ever since the raid on that first human village. When she saw the Giant in battle she knew she had found a worthy foe. Someone it would be an honor to die against.
    Of course, she had no such thing in mind.
    Each of her steps radiated confidence and inspired awe among her fellow Orcs. They made way for her as she neared the fighting circle, closing the gap behind her. She was there and ready to face the man she had kept alive for the last couple of weeks. Today, the Giant would die by her hand.
    He stood in the circle armed with the longsword he had taken in his first fight. His armor was now a complete set of plate with a chainmail vest, having traded Skard's axe for the protection. Skard was pretty beat up about his loss, but glad to have his weapon back.
    The Giant was looking over the gathered group, not even the least disturbed by their yelling and growling. He was watching the gathered troops of his king. For the first time there was more than just defiance in his eyes. There was hope.
    He slowly turned to regard his challenger of the day, eyes widening as he understood. The shock was all she had hoped it would be. She had decided not to tell him that he wouldn't be facing one of the young grunts.
    "You knew I've wanted to fight you since the day we raided your village. Well, now the day has come. It's now or never."
    The Giant glared at her. He took a deep breath, lifted his sword in front of him and let it drop to the ground. "Then never. I will not fight you and you will not kill me as long as I don't fight."
    She had worried that he might respond that way. Grinding her teeth, she nodded her head to the circle's side at Gwarr. He stood tall, surrounded by his clan, wearing his scarred armor, a great two-handed sword strapped to his back. "I wouldn't kill you, but he would. He's wanted you dead since I brought you to our clan. If you don't fight me, he'll kill you before the battle for the entire human army to see."
    Gwarr grinned. He would finally get what he wanted. Mexta would hate not having had the chance to fight the Giant, but in the end Gwarr was still her Elder. It was his decision.
    She watched the Giant carefully as he processed the information and thought about his options. Not that he had many to choose from. His eyes darted across her fellow Orcs toward the human army and then back to Mexta and down at his sword. He sighed and picked it up.
    "I'll fight you." His voice was void of emotion, the strength and vigor that had built up over the last days was drained in an instant. "But if I win, I want to be let free."
    Mexta smirked at that. "If you win you'll have to kill me. This fight is to the death. Either you die or I die, there can be no other ending."
    The fire in his eyes that she had grown to relish faded. His hope of survival dwindling away. "If I kill you, your clan will kill me."
    Mexta shrugged, hefting her axe into both hands. The Giant's shoulders slumped and she realized this was not the Giant she wanted to fight against. It would not be the challenge she had hoped for.
    The defeated Giant slowly turned his body into a defensive stance. He was waiting for Mexta to attack. As she stepped forward she saw that he may have lost the fire in his eyes, but the fire in his heart still smoldered. He would fight to live, even if only for a bit longer, all she had to do was show him how serious his situation was.
    She took one slow step at a time, closing the gap between them. The Giant waited for her to strike, unmoving. Mexta lunged forward, swinging her axe over her head and bringing it down in a diagonal slash. The gathered Orcs shouted for blood.
    The Giant's eyes darted between the edge of her weapon and the movements of her body, anticipating the arc of her blow. He dodged aside, a renewed spark lighting up in his eyes, just as she had hoped.
    His sword darted out at her, thinking she had given him an opening, but she spun around with her axe and parried with a clang. Her tusks spread in a grin.
    "This is the Giant I wanted to slay." Her words were swallowed by the howls and growls of the onlookers.
    Recovering from the clash of there weapons, the Giant gritted his teeth.
    "I will not die!"
    Mexta didn't know if he was telling her, the Orcs around them or was trying to give himself strength by saying the words aloud. She didn't care. The Giant had risen and the battle blood was surging through his veins as it pulsed through her own.
    A growl built up in the Giant's throat that could be heard over the clamor of her clan. He sprung into action with speed and fury. His sword was long and nimble compared with her axe. All she could do was block the incoming blows and turn them aside with the metal haft of her weapon.
    Although Mexta was being driven back, her brethren cheered. They reveled in the action, the impending danger, the imminence of blood being spilled. Their own urge to kill would be rising and when the battle started their strength would prevail against the humans.
    The Giant repeated "I will not die!" with his onslaught. Every strike caused sparks to spring from the clashing metals. He had driven her from one side of the makeshift arena to the other, but with his next strike Mexta finally countered. She let his sword glance off the haft and drew it toward the hooked edge of the axe's blade. With a sharp twist the weapon was jerked from the Giant's hand.
    The maneuver weakened her own grip on the axe and before she could ward him off the Giant swung a mailed fist at her face. The blow knocked Mexta to her knees, but she held on to her weapon.
    A high pitched ringing sounded in her right ear. She tasted metal, seeing red as she looked up at the Giant towering over her. Deep bursts of sound pounded through the ringing. The constant roar of her clan could not be heard.
    Mexta spat blood from her mouth. Biting down on her lip, she forced herself to stand, her grip on her axe tight. It wasn't until the ringing started to ebb away that she recognized the deep sound as that of the blowing of a horn.

   

Skard

Skard twisted his hands around the hilt of his battle axe. Today was the day. His day to prove himself. He would succeed where the others had failed. Every day, since the Brogdah Clan went to march to war, one of the younger grunts had to challenge the Giant. And every day the human won.
    Not today though. Today Skard had challenged him and he was going to beat him. He was sure of it. He heaved the axe onto the plate mail on his shoulder. He was more used to wearing a leather jerkin, but a chain mail vest and plated shoulder pads and bracers were the safer choice, considering the longsword the Giant had taken from Borkin.
    After every fight the Giant claimed whatever he had managed to take from you. He now had a longsword, a leather cap, an iron gauntlet and a shield. With every day and every fight he became more daunting as an opponent, but Skard wouldn't let himself be intimidated. There was no way the Giant would be taking his beloved battle axe.
    "You ready, youngin'?" Mexta stood between him and the Giant. A crowd had gathered, building a circular fighting pit around them. Everyone was excited to watch the daily spectacle before they had to pack up and go back on the march. Even Elder Gwarr was among the viewers, although he didn't look pleased.
    The rising sun glinted off the sharpened edge of Skard's axe. He scrunched up his face and snarled at the Giant. The human didn't react. He had a solemn look, but there was a glint in his eye that spoke of wildness. He would do whatever he had to to survive.
    Skard didn't have to worry about his own survival. Mexta's deal with the Giant was that each fight could be his last. Every grunt had the right to kill him. He on the other hand had to beat his opponent and leave him alive. If he killed anyone it would be his own death sentence.
    Skard stuck out his tusks in a wide grin. He had studied the Giant in each fight and knew his strategy. He was always defensive and careful. He waited for the grunts to strike first and then when they gave him an opening he would defeat them. Skard wouldn't let it get that far.
    Mexta roared for attention and signaled for the fight to begin. Skard was overcome with yearning for glory and charged with determination. He'd attack the Giant so fast he wouldn't have time to look for an opening.
    His feet stomped the ground, his muscles burned and his eyes widened as he saw the Giant do the same. Too many thoughts raced through Skard's mind to follow. The Giant never charged, why was he doing it now? The whole clan is watching. Should he stop or try to evade the human? He had to win.
    His thoughts didn't matter. There was no more time to react and the two heavy combatants screamed for blood as they clashed together. Skard swung his axe, wedging it into the Giant's shield, his feet carrying him onward. The Giant delivered a painful blow to Skard's head with the flat side of his sword as his own strides brought him crashing into the grunt.
    Both were knocked to the ground in a tangled heap. Skard had lost hold of his axe and a long gash over his left ear was gushing blood. The Giant struggled with the straps of the now broken shield. The crowd erupted in a bloodthirsty uproar.
    Skard was half blinded by the blood covering his eye. This was not going as he had planned. He wanted to think about what to do next, but his body was forced to react on instinct as the Giant once again lashed out with his sword. The thick metal of his bracer blocked the flat side of the blade just in time to stop the blade from knocking him senseless.
    His legs were still tangled with those of the Giant and he kicked him where it hurt. The human howled with pain and swung his sword anew. This time with the sharp edge coming dangerously close to cutting off Skard's hand below the bracer.
    Luckily, he rolled to his right and the blade only scraped across one of his shoulder pads. The onlookers howled in outrage while others grunted in excitement. They were enjoying the show while dread started to sink into Skard's stomach.
    He scrabbled away from the Giant on all fours and managed to get his hand on his axe once again. He turned just in time to see the human get up and swing his blade downward. It caught on the haft of the axe as Skard lay on his back and held the weapon above him with both hands.
    With a twist he made the Giant's sword slide off to the side and the human went off balance. Quickly Skard got up onto his feet. Breath rushed in and out of his lungs. This was his moment. This was his chance. He heaved the axe up over his head and brought it down with a crushing blow.
    The Giant dashed forward, under the falling axe. With all his weight he rammed into Skard and lifted him off the ground. Together they came crashing down, the axe falling from Skard's hands and his breath bursting out of him.
    When he came to, he was on the hard packed earth. The crowd was a loud incoherent jumble all around him. He could only see through his right eye. The Giant stood over him, a smile on his bloody lips. Skard's beloved axe in the human's hands, the sharp edge hovering over his neck. The fight was over. Skard had lost.

   

Zir II

Zir sighed as he looked up the rocky hill. The trek to the Brogdah Clan was always a tiresome one. He could of course take a detour around the hill, but it would take a lot more time. He did not want to shy away from the obstacles nature put before him.
    He took his firsts steps up the hill. Small rocks dug into the callouses on his feet. Uncomfortable, but no more than a slight nuisance. The wound on his foot was already healing well. The hillside gradually sloped upward, making it more difficult to walk and more necessary to climb.
    Zir's hand took hold of a bad stone and it slipped from his grasp. A shower of some small and a few bigger rocks followed. They clonked off the bark on his arms and shins. A few bits landed on his head, but his thick hair cushioned the impact.
    Slowly, he made progress and finally managed to reach the top of the hill. The descent wouldn't be much easier, but he would make it. Nearby, he could make out the smoke of the Brogdah settlement. It wouldn't take much longer to get there.
    Zir didn't much relish the thought of talking to Gwarr. He was young and hungered for battle. It would diminish his honor to even consider peaceful actions. So why was Zir even wasting his time to go there? The same reason as always. To do nature's bidding.
    As he reached the clan's boundaries he was surprised to not be overrun by the little broods. Instead, he noticed a big commotion in the center of the settlement. A big circle was made by onlookers, shouting and screaming in delight.
    Zir squeezed through to watch what was happening. There was a human in the circle with a knife in hand, a giant of a man. Across from him a young grunt stood with a blade that shone brightly in the sunlight. The human was large, but he did not stand much of a chance. His small knife was nothing compared to the grunts sword.
    Zir tried to shout into the masses. This wasn't a fair fight. Where was the honor in this? It was the slaughtering of a human for entertainment. He could not let this happen. He shouted and tried to squeeze through the masses, but he wasn't heard and no one would let him pass to the coveted front where it was easiest to see.
    As Zir tried to get some attention, there was a loud gasp from the crowd. Zir looked up with dreaded anticipation. The grunt had charged and even though Zir had been sure that the human would be slashed down, he was wrong. The human wasn't only tall, he was strong too. He caught the grunt's sword arm in one hand and slashed across the grunt's leg with his knife.
    The Orc cried out in pain and punched the human with his free hand. Zir winced as the rest of the crowd whooped in excitement. The human still stood and began to twist the grunt's sword arm. He let his knife drop and used his free hand to punch the Orc in the face. Over and over again.
    The grunt swayed and dropped to the ground. The human had somehow taken his sword and was now holding it over the Orc. The sharp edge glinted in the sun as the tip came to rest on the grunt's throat. A hushed silence spread over the gathered crowd.
    The human had a bloody nose from being punched, but he smiled and removed the sword from the Orc's neck. He swung the blade back and forth, testing it's balance. "I think, I'll keep this." He said in the human tongue. Then he went to the stake in the middle of the circle, rammed the sword into the ground and sat down next to it, resting his back against the pole.
    Zir didn't realize how he had been holding his breath and slowly let it all out. The crowd started mumbling excitedly. Some went to help the grunt up from the ground while others just talked. No one went near the human, except for one.
    Zir recognized Mexta and decided to join her. Maybe he would be able to find out what that was all about. She was kneeling next to the human, grinning. As Zir approached she looked up.
    "Zir!" The smile on her face faded. "Does Gwarr know you're here?"
    "Not yet." He nodded toward the human. "What was all that about, just now? I was worried the clan had become prone to public slaughtering."
    The human dabbed at his bloody nose and looked up curiously. "What's he saying?"
    "I wanted to know why you were fighting the grunt." Zir answered in the human tongue.
    Mexta's tusks rose in a grin once more. "He just won his first fight. If he fights every day and wins then he stays alive. It's a deal I've made with Gwarr. Otherwise the Giant was going to be killed before the big battle. Human troops are already headed our way."
    Zir scowled. "Sounds like there isn't much time. I better talk to Gwarr." He started walking to the elder's hut, but turned around once more. "I also don't like this whole idea of the human fighting for his life. I'll have a word with you about that later."
    Mexta waved him off and he continued on his way to Gwarr's hut. He was pretty sure his talk wouldn't get him far, but he had to try. Gwarr was hungry for war and wasn't going to let an insult to the clans go by.
    A big grunt stood before the elder's hut. He smiled, recognizing Zir, but for the life of him he couldn't recall the grunt's name. He stuck his head into the hut and came back out.
    "Gwarr will see you." He stepped aside and held the flap open for Zir.
    "Thank you." Zir entered and wasn't surprised to see Gwarr polishing his sword. He always liked to present an intimidating picture.
    "Zir! You want to stop me from going to war?" He growled.
    "It's not what I want. The Earth wants that. I'm only speaking on its behalf." Zir straightened his back and prepared for his speech.
    "Tell me. What will happen if I don't do as you ask? If I go to battle the humans and kill them? What will nature do?" Gwarr put his sword aside and picked up an axe to clean next. His tusks widened into a grin.
    The air went out of Zir. "I don't know. I just know it won't be good. Not for us and the humans as well. Not for anybody." How could he make anyone see reason if he couldn't explain the consequences. "War just isn't the answer. Do you see no other way?"
    Gwarr's smile wilted. He put his axe down and got up, placed his hand on Zir's shoulder. "You are wise, brother. You know many things that I do not, but you have also forgotten things that I have not. We are Orcs and if there is one thing we are good at, one thing that we were meant to do. It is war."

   

Mexta III

"Why don't you finally just get up and fight?" Mexta held out a bowl of gruel to the Giant's face so that he could eat out of it. "I mean, why go on living for a few more days. Maybe a week. You know your fate. Why not just snap that rope and fight? Die with honor."
    The Giant ate greedily and swallowed the moist paste with difficulty. He licked some bits from his dry lips and looked up to her. "I'd rather not die at all. I still have something worth living for."
    Mexta let out a bark of laughter. "You still have hope in your survival? You think you can escape?"
    The Giant dropped his head. He knew that his chances were close to zero. She could tell. But he still didn't give up. He would still try if he got the chance. "Let's say you make it out of the settlement. I'll follow you and bring two grunts with me. We track you and catch up. What would you do then? Would you fight to get away or would you give up and let yourself be dragged back here?"
    He lifted his head, jaw clamped shut. His eyes were aflame with hatred. He still had some fight in him. She had hoped for that. It was just slumbering under a layer of doing what was necessary to survive. She would rattle him further until it was finally awakened.
    Mexta drew a knife from her belt and cut her thumb. Blood began to well up and she smeared it on the Giant's face. He tried to lean away and she slapped him for it. He hung limp, taking the beating and not the bait. He wouldn't fight her yet.
    The fire that burned within the Giant, the sheer force of brutality which he fought with was something she respected. She wanted the warrior inside of him to come back to the surface and she wanted to beat him. She would have to wait.
    She got up and went to Gwarr's hut. The sun was setting and he would be waiting for her. Brock was on guard duty in front of Gwarr's hut. It wasn't that they were afraid of someone coming to harm their elder, the guard was rather a protection from unwanted visitors. If Gwarr were in danger he would probably knock Brock aside to fight his foe himself.
    Brock wasn't the sharpest weapon in the armory, but he was tall and strong. Intimidating to most, but not to Mexta. He smiled with his big tusks thrusting out of his mouth and nodded that Gwarr was inside.
    She entered the hut and saw Gwarr studying a map he was holding in his hands. He looked up briefly with a scowl on his face. That's what it would look like to most, but she saw a slight spark in his eye. That was the only kind of smile you could expect to get from him.
    "You were with him again, weren't you?" Gwarr murmured as he resumed his work.
    "Yes." Mexta stepped up next to him, her shoulder touching his. "I think it won't be long before the Giant bites. He still has hope of living. That will make him desperate"
    "Well, he won't live long. Scouts have reported that the human army is already on its way. This," he jabbed a finger at a large field on the map. "is where I want to do battle. We'll be marching in two days. If that Giant of yours doesn't fight until then he will be executed before the battle."
    "And if he does fight he will die before then." Mexta grinned. "Is there anything else you wanted?" She turned to leave.
    Gwarr's hand flashed out to grab her wrist and he pulled her towards him. She could feel his hot breath on her cheeks. His face was only inches away. "How much longer do you want to keep this up? I want you!"
    She leaned in towards him. Lips about to touch. Her hand shot up to grab one of his tusks and pull him towards her, giving him a massive headbutt. It hurt, but the stunned look on his face was priceless. "I'm a fury through and through. Claim me and I'll gut you like a fish and I'll use your tusks as toothpicks."
    She turned and exited the hut, her cheeks flushed and a smile on her face. If she wasn't mistaken she had even seen a hint of a smile on Gwarr's lips before she left. That would have been a first. She strode past Brock too flustered to even say a plain goodnight.
    Gwarr was the greatest warrior she knew. The youngest elder of any of the surrounding clans. He would be an excellent mate indeed. One day she might consider becoming a mother, but not anytime soon. The excitement of battle was too precious to leave behind.
    In the mean time she would focus her energy on the Giant. At first, she didn't understand him and always expected him to fight at any moment. She would have torn the rope days ago and would have fought and killed until defeated. He didn't do that though and it looked like he wouldn't fight at all. Everyone from the Brogdah Clan thought so.
    Mexta had tested him often. Trying to find the right way to challenge him. He always surprised her by not taking the bait. Their talk earlier however, had led to a new discovery and a new challenge. After she hit him, even though he probably didn't notice right away, she had dropped her knife.
    To her dismay, when she neared the center of the settlement, the Giant was still there, tied to the stake. She was so sure that he would try to escape. Was he a coward to not take the chance or was he sensing a trap? She didn't know.
    The sun had set and the settlement was only lit by torches here and there. The stake where the Giant was bound was mostly dark. Mexta was only a few feet away and he wasn't moving. He was already asleep.
    Well, if he wasn't going to take his chance, she might as well get her knife back. She bent down to look for it in the semidarkness. It was hard to see with the flickering of torchlight so far away. She searched the ground where she knew the knife should be, but couldn't find it.
    Mexta lifted her head to look at the Giant and saw a smile on his cracked lips. His wrists were free from the rope, her knife was in his hand. "I thought about killing you just now." He flipped the knife and caught the blade, offering her the hilt. "But what good would it do me? You're the only one keeping me alive. If I were to escape your clan would follow and kill me. I want to live. So how do I do that?"
    Mexta snatched the blade from him, her mouth dry, but her heartbeat eerily calm. He could have killed her without a second thought, but he didn't. She gave him a toothy grin. "You have to make yourself invaluable." She offered him the knife back. "You'll need this and will have to do exactly as I say."

   

Big John II

"I will not fight. I will not fight." Big John repeated in his thoughts.
    "Come on you sniveling coward. Get up and fight me!" One of the Orcs surrounding him kicked gravel into his face. Laughter echoed around him. Another Orc grumbled something in their harsh tongue and stepped up to him.
    Big John was tied up to a stake in the middle of the settlement. A thin hempen rope bound his hands behind his back. He was on his knees, head lowered to the ground, unmoving. He would not dare fight any of them. It would be certain death.
    The large Orc stood in front of him and shouted something to the gathered crowd. Big John saw the grayish green skin of the Orc's meaty hand move under his chin. The Orc lifted his head and smiled a toothy grin. Then it spat into his face.
    A roar of laughter and grunts erupted around him. Big John trembled with rage, but he did not move. His muscles tightened as he tried to suppress his anger and he felt the rope constrict his wrists. He could snap it in an instant if he wished. That was probably the idea. They wanted him to fight.
    Fire burned in Big John's eyes as he looked up at his tormentor. The Orc growled something to the delight of the others. Big John's heart hammered in his chest. He yearned to defend himself, but he would not.
    The Orc still held his head up with its left hand. It lifted its right and gave him a sharp slap against his cheek. That insolence was almost too much to bear. The rope dug into his chafed wrists. He had been bound and dragged behind Mexta for the last couple of days on their journey to the settlement.
    When Big John still did not get up to fight the looming Orc huffed, drew his fist back and gave him a mighty punch to the face. Big John crashed to the ground. His instincts told him to get up, to spring into action, but he willed himself to stay there. It was better that way. Let those beasts lose interest. They had there fun, now they could leave him alone.
    The Orc's feet shuffled away and after a time the grunts and deep laughter of the gathered crowd began to subside. Big John just lay there, breathing in the dust of the gravelly ground. His left eye was starting to swell shut and he could feel blood trickling down the side of his face.
    Slowly he began to move back into an upright position. He stretched his legs and leaned his back against the stake. His arms were sore from being tied behind his back. Now he could try to relax and get some rest.
    The settlement was bustling with activity. Now that he was no longer the center of attention they went back to their lives. The hunters came back with game, a few males and females were setting up a big tent and some females were taking care of the little ones. A few of the little Orcs had gathered to watch him now that he was moving again, but a female came over to herd them away.
    Everything looked rather normal. Rather peaceful actually. Though there beastly shapes always reminded him of what they truly were. If it weren't for them Marla would still be alive. All of Duranham would still be alive.
    Oh Marla! At least, he had killed the beast that put that arrow through her. That had been all he could do for her. All he wanted to do. He had been ready to die after that. What else was left for him? That's what he had thought at first, in the heat of battle. But then Mexta didn't kill him, nobody killed him.
    Since that day, Mexta taunted him. Always trying to rile him up, get him to fight her. His will was all that kept him from doing so. His will and the thought of his son. Small John was surely still alive. If he ever wanted to see him again and not leave him alone in this dire time, then he had to stay strong an wait.
    They could beat Big John as much as they liked. They could spit at him, humiliate him, even starve him if they liked. He would stay strong and wait. Wait for his chance to escape and go to find his son.
    "You are one tough human, Giant." Mexta came strolling over. She had a water skin in her hand. "I don't know if I should be impressed by your willpower or ashamed of your weakness."
    She poured water over his head and he lapped it up thirstily. He should count himself lucky that she didn't starve him or let him die of thirst. She wanted him strong enough to fight if he ever gave in to that temptation. If he were weak from hunger, the victory over him would be worthless. He understood that much.
    "I just spoke to our elder. He doesn't like having you here. He wants you dead."
    And just like that his hopes to escape were scattered in the wind. "Then why are you giving me water?" Big John's voice was scratchy from disuse.
    "He doesn't want to kill you here. He will make a show of it in front of the first human army that we must face. We've been raiding your villages for some time. Your king will strike back soon. That's when you will die to strike fear in your fellow humans' hearts."
    "When do we march?" His head sagged down. How much time did he still have?
    "Not for a week at least, I think. Until then you'll get less to eat. No point in keeping you fed well if you won't fight." Mexta chuckled and walked away.
    Big John leaned his head back against the stake. He was going to die. His death would dishearten the King's soldiers and they might die as well. His willpower had kept him alive so far. Was all that supposed to be for nothing? Was he just going to let those beasts kill him for show?
    No, he wouldn't. That was not his way.
    He flexed his muscles, feeling his wrists press against the tight confines of the hempen rope. It was ready to tear at any moment. Big John relaxed.
    It didn't have to be now. A week, at least, before they marched. That gave him plenty of time to choose the right opportunity.

   

Mexta II

The battle had been short, if one could even call it a battle. It was closer to a massacre than anything else. Mexta had been the leader of the assault. The day before she had ridden up and shot an arrow at one of the farmers. Today they had killed any who didn't flee.
     When would they have a real fight? Why did the king not send his armies to stop them? It had started as simple revenge, but their elder had ordered them to continue their raids. The humans had attacked a fellow clan without provocation and the Orcs would not let that stand. Let the humans feel their wrath and face what they have brought on themselves. If they wanted to fight the Orcs, then they would get a fight they would never forget.
     But so far none of their raids had been worth remembering. Mexta enjoyed the slaughter, she reveled in it. However, if there was no fear of death, no challenge in defeating the enemy, then what was the point?
     Her thoughts turned back to the giant. Now he would have been a challenge, until the rage faded from his eyes. His lust for vengeance had been satisfied by killing Grodun. After that he would not fight anymore. He had become content.
     "Mexta! Don't clean your axe yet. A rider is approaching." Draykon, one of the younger grunts, shouted to her.
     She wasn't going to clean it yet anyway. As leader of the assault it would be her duty to treat with the enemy. Whoever it may be. "Watch my back!" Mexta strode towards the oncoming rider, great axe in hand. Blood dripped off its edges, sure to intimidate the rider.
     To her surprise it wasn't a human. It was an Elf. He brought his horse to a halt and looked at Mexta, eyebrows raised. He saw her axe and the blood, then his eyes widened as he looked behind her, where smoke was rising form the burning buildings. He looked back at her with cold disdain in his gaze.
     "What have you done? Speak, Orc!" He raised his chin and looked down upon Mexta from atop his horse. His sharp nose and the tips of his ears were clearly defined against the setting sun.
     "Leave off, Elf! The humans attacked one of our settlements. They asked for this. We are only giving them back in turn what they gave us." Mexta would have loved nothing more than to yank the creature off his horse by his long silvery hair, but her elder would probably frown upon that.
     "These humans have surely done no such things. They were peaceful men and women. We treated with them regularly. They weren't like others that have settled here. They were good." His words were harsh in the Orc tongue, though his facial expression was one of sorrow, not anger.
     "Hah!" Mexta snorted with derision. "These were different you say! Hah! All humans are the same. Their king ordered to attack a clan. If you attack one clan, then you attack all the clans. So instead of attacking one village, we are attacking all the villages. That's what they asked for."
     "You speak of a full out war. War effects us all. The Elves won't just idly stand by. We will have to interfere."
     "Oh, you want to interfere, do you?" Mexta hefted her axe. It was a large weapon, double bladed. With enough force she could cut rider and horse in half with one swing.
     "I will have to inform the Druids." He eyed her axe. His hand twitched for only a moment, but he did not grab his sword. Instead he turned his horse to ride away.
     "You do that. But remember who started this. We were attacked unprovoked." She shouted after him as he rode off.
     This was an interesting turn of events. She wondered what Gwarr, their elder, would say to this. The Elves and Orcs hadn't fought each other in decades. The Great War was over a century ago. Was this the beginning of another? And who would come out on top?
     "He's awake and shouting again." Draykon came up to her, stopping her mind from wandering.
"Then I better give him a visit." Mexta smiled, lifting her axe onto her shoulder. The Elf was gone and Gwarr would have to wait until they returned to their settlement anyway.
     She took her time walking back to the camp. She could hear him yelling more than fifty feet away from her tent. She sat down by a fire and took some meat off the spit. She ate her share peacefully, ignoring his shouting. When she was done she got up and cut some meat off the spit for him.
     When she finally entered her tent he stopped yelling. She leaned her bloody great axe against a box with her belongings. The giant was tied up to the pole holding up the tent. "I brought you some food. Is that what you were shouting for?" Speaking in the human's tongue still bothered her, but she was getting used to it.
     "I'm thirsty, too." The giant growled.
     Mexta threw the meat on his lap and untied his hands. She wasn't worried about him trying to attack her, that was the whole problem. She knew he was a fighter at heart, but the fight had left him ever since he avenged his wife's death. He rubbed his wrists and started eating the meat.
     She sat down on her box and lifted her axe. Now the time had come to clean it. "This is human blood. I killed many today. Don't you want to avenge their deaths as well?" When the raid had ended, the giant had dropped his weapon and asked them to kill him. But Orcs honored those that fought bravely and had proven strength. Killing him without a weapon in hand would have been honorless. For him and the Orc who killed him.
     Ever since that first raid, Mexta had pulled him after her. Going from one village to the next. Every day she tried to provoke him to fight, but he would not listen. All he did was eat, drink, walk and sleep. She was starting to lose her respect for him, but she still knew that deep within him there was a fighter.
     The giant did not rise to the bait. He just kept on eating while she cleaned the blood of his fellow humans off her weapon. When he asked for water again, she gave it to him. One of these days he would have to stand up and fight. And when that happened she wanted to be the one to slay him. One of these days.

   

Mexta

The night was coming to an end, dawn was breaking. The attack on the village was about to begin. The grunts surrounding her were getting restless, just like she was. The battle rage was upon them all. Growing until nothing could hold them back anymore.

     Mexta was the only fury in this band of Orcs. The only female warrior. One might think that the grunts would disrespect her for not performing her honorable duty as a mother, but that wasn't the case at all. Being a fury would make her all the more desirable when the time came to lay down her axe. Grunts would fight each other to prove their strength and be chosen as her mate to produce strong and brave broodlings.
    However, these thoughts were nowhere near Mexta's mind at the time. Her blood was boiling and she was ready to kill. The human's deserved it. They had attacked a small clan, whose grunts weren't even there at the time to protect the mothers and broods. Even if they had been, they weren't even warriors, like Mexta and her companions. They were just miners and blacksmiths.
    The humans would have to pay. Just like they had attacked a small helpless settlement, Mexta and the grunts were going to attack a weak village. They knew that the men were only farmers and herdsmen. They weren't warriors, they couldn't fight.
    Mexta and others had demanded that they just charge the village and slaughter all of them. Show the humans that Orcs should not be intimidated. Their elder had forbidden it however. Saying that that was not the Orc way. So they sent out a rider to send a message, a warning.
    Most men and women will have probably left, abandoning their homes and valuables to save their lives. That was the human way. The way of cowardice. Whoever remained would be the few brave enough to face their death. It was a shame to have to kill such courageous warriors, but they were human after all. They deserved it.
     Grodun, who was in charge of the attack, bellowed a guttural command and the grunts were on the move. They stormed out of the woods, over a field toward the village. Mexta was surprised to see that not only had the humans stayed to fight, but they were lead by a large man with an axe. He was shouting something, probably encouraging them and then they did something even more unexpected. They charged.
    Mexta had never heard of such a thing. Who in their right mind would charge an oncoming company of Orcs. When Orcs fought each other that was the norm, but whenever the Orcs fought a different kind of being the defenders pulled back, scared off by the Orcs fearsome charge and their battlecries. These humans were courageous, she had to give them that much.
     The two fronts crashed into each other. Men and Orcs alike screamed in pain and in glory. The human's were no warriors, they were ill-equipped, but the sharpened scythes, pitchforks and axes cut like any other weapon. And these human's were determined to not die without taking some Orcs with them. Even as the Orcs cut into the heart of their group, they stabbed and hacked, leaving bloodied, dead and dying grunts in their wake.
     Mexta took off a human's arm with her axe and then his head. Another one came at her with a pitchfork. He jabbed it at her, trying to keep his distance, but she closed the gap and knocked his weapon aside, leaving her plenty of space for the kill. She looked around for her next victim and saw the giant man with his axe yelling in the midst of the fray.
     He was encouraging his fellow humans, shouting obscenities at the Orcs. Mexta heard him shout something about his wife. That they had killed her and that they would pay. The battle whirled on around him. He fought one Orc and planted that big axe in his head. He tore the axe free and fended off a blow from another grunt. With a big swipe, his axe caved in the grunt's ribs.
     As Mexta moved toward other human's blocked her way. She cut them down effortlessly. She wanted a real challenge. That beast of a man was to be her foe. But Grodun beat her to it. He was in charge, so she decided not to get involved. It would not have been honorable to fight two against one.
     The man's axe clashed against Grodun's shield, one blow after the other. The grunt barely had time to lift his shield up again for the next blow. Mexta could tell that he would lose if he didn't go on the offensive. Finally, he managed to knock one of the giant's blows aside and he swung his sword in answer. The human wasn't only big and strong, but he was fast as well. He blocked the sword with the haft of his axe and the sword stuck. It was a very thick haft. The giant smiled and tore the sword out of Grodun's grasp. A few more strikes with the axe brought Grodun to the ground and a final blow crunched through the shield and into the grunt's chest.
     All was silent. Not because, the Orcs were surprised to see their leader fall in battle, that could happen in any battle. It was silent, because the battle was over. Mexta had been focusing on their fight, trusting in her instincts to warn her of an attack, but nothing had come. All the human's were dead, except for the giant.
     He looked around, dazed and exhausted. He was surrounded by Orcs. All of his friends and fellow human's were dead. He had led them into this battle and now he was all alone. He tore his axe out of Grodun's chest and shield and lifted it into the air. "I'm dead anyway." He shouted for all to hear. "Just tell me who came into our village yesterday and shot my wife. Who killed her? I want my vengeance. Only then will I stop fighting."
     So that's why he was shouting about his wife. Mexta stepped up. The man raised his eyebrows. "You, a female?"
     "No, I did not kill your wife." Mexta hated the human language. There was too much tongue clicking and many nasal sounds. The throat was barely used to distort sounds as it was common in the Orc tongue. But this human had proven strength and bravery, she was going to speak to him so that he would understand. "The grunt you just killed was the leader of this vengeful attack, for you humans killed many females and broods in one of our settlements by the mountains. You say you wanted vengeance, well we wanted it too. We've had ours and you yours. Grodun was the leader." She pointed at the grunt's dead body. "It was his duty to give the warning. He killed your wife."
     The giant let his axe drop to the ground with a thump. "Good. I've had my vengeance. Then fulfill yours. You can kill me now. I'm done."

   

Big John

"John! Come quick, it's Marla!"

     Big John was chopping wood for the village, but as soon as he heard someone shout his name, he dropped his axe. Sweat ran down his face from the hard work, he was exhausted, but something had happened to his wife, so he ran to their house as fast as he could.

     He burst through the door with his heavy frame. Several people were within. Marla was on the bed, bloody bandages next to her, on the floor. The village healer was leaning over her. "What happened?" Big John asked.

     "She was out in the fields, gathering herbs," said Gabe, a farmer. "An Orc rode up to her and shot her with an arrow, point blank."

     Big John went to kneel beside the bed and hold her hand. There was so much blood. Her hand was cold and clammy. Marla looked him in the eye, gasping for breath, face twitching in pain. "An Orc? Why would it do that? Where did it go?"

     Marla grasped his hand with all her strength. "It...it said... to give a message. Tomorrow at dawn... They...they... attack!" Her fingers slackened and her eyes closed.

     "Marla?" Big John was about to shake her. She couldn't just die. But then the healer held him back.

     "She's just unconscious. She's still breathing. But there's not much more I can do. It doesn't look good."

     Big John sighed in relief. Then got up on his feet and stood up straight, towering over everyone else in the room. "Where did that beast go?"

     "It rode off to where it came from. They're going to attack tomorrow. It was a warning." Gabe looked pale. If it was from all the blood or from the prospect of being attacked, Big John didn't know or care.

     "A warning? Shooting an arrow through my wife is a warning?" Big John balled his fists together. His breathing quickened. It was an outrage. How dare they attack. What had the villagers of Duranham done to those beasts. They couldn't let this stand. Something had to be done.

     "Mama?" Small John stood in the door to their home. He was out of breath and looked ghostly pale. They called him Small John, only because he was Big John's son. Physically, he came after his father in every regard. He was tall for sixteen years of age and was still growing. Having helped his father cut wood over the years had made him muscular as well. But looking at him now, Big John saw how young he still was.

     Big John strode toward his son and blocked the boys view of his mother and the blood. "She's fine boy. She just needs to rest. I need you to do something for me. Go outside and unhitch the horse from the cart, I'll be right out."

     Small John looked uncertain, but followed his father's orders and went back outside. Big John strode to the healer, she was the only scribe in the village, and he asked her to write a message for the King. He gathered some provisions and with the message in hand he went outside.

     Small John had just finished unhitching the horse and was putting a saddle on its back. "Come here, boy! I have an important job for you. I need you to bring this message to the King. You hear? Can you do that for me?"

     Small John looked up at him. He was tall, but still not quite as tall as his father. He seemed to feel that something wasn't right, but he nodded. "Pa, is Mama gonna be alright?"

     "Of course she is. Don't you worry. You'll be back in a few days and she'll be just fine. You'll see." Big John hated lying to the boy, but it was better than the alternative. He knew he was going to lose his wife and he knew he was going to fight against Orcs, fearsome warriors. He didn't know if he'd survive, but he damn well wasn't going to let his son be endangered as well. He had to get out while he still could.

     "Okay, Pa." Small John grabbed the provisions and the message. Before he could get on the saddle Big John grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him in for a hug.

     "I'm so proud of you, boy. That's why I trust you to do this for me. Just wanted you to know that." He let his son go from the embrace and put on a broad smile. He hoped the kid wouldn't see how fake it was. "Now go, boy. Go."

     Small John smiled back and got up on the saddle. The horse galloped away, bringing his son to safety. Big John went back inside his house. People were still gathered within, watching Marla. She was conscious again. Big John knelt down beside her.

     "Where's my small Johnny baby?" She whispered.

     Big John took her small, cold hands into his. "He's safe, darling. He's going to be just fine."

     "That's good. I'd just like to see him again. One more time."

     "Don't say such things. You'll be just fine as well."

     "Maybe... it doesn't hurt anymore... maybe you're right." Marla smiled up at him."My big handsome woodsman. I love you." All strength left her hands and the light in her eyes began to fade.

     "I love you, too." Big John kissed her forehead, a single tear running down his cheek. She was gone.