Chapter One: Orthus
The battlefield was heavy with the stench of death, the smell pervading the air like it had always been there. Healers, escorted by guards to protect them, searched the sea of bodies to find those that may still be helped. Survivors from the barbarian side were tended to and taken to the main healing sites, while those of the enemy side were rounded up and taken to the command tent. For a barbarian army, they were strangely disciplined - the fires in the fallen town were being systematically put out, trusted officers emptying the houses for any valuables to be fairly distributed. There was none of the uncontrolled looting and rampaging that usually followed in the aftermath of such struggles.
"How are they, Chalice?" The speaker was tall, taller than most orcs. That wasn't the only thing that set him apart from his kin, either - there was a definite air of command around him, a sharp intellect gleaming in his eyes. Not a brute, this one - even if his natural bloodthirst was still there, a burning desire for power and dominion that had thrust him to become the king of this barbarian horde.
"The way they usually are, Orthus." Had Orthus seemed unusual, Chalice seemed truly out of place. A delicate woman nearly two heads shorter than her king, she was dressed in flowing white robes that had - as usual - gotten dirtied during the battle. Shaking her head distastefully, she pulled out the ponytail she'd had hidden below her robe and opened it, letting the long brown hair fall freely on her back. Looking at her, few would believe that she was the group's second in command - and even though the priestess was Orthus' lover, she had only become so after earning her position fairly. "Frightened, desperate, some of them still defiant. But they have all heard the rumors and are sure that they'll die in a horrible way."
Orthus nodded. "Do what we usually do. Find the ones you deem most suspectible and bring them to me. If our soldiers want to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh with the others, let them. Just have all of the townsfolk you don't bring to me killed afterwards."
"My king", Chalice bowed and rose. Orthus watched her for a while as she left, then sat a moment in thought before rising and leaving the command tent as well. He walked through the field, stopping every now and then to speak with some of his soldiers. Apparently safe from the challenges of leadership that so often sounded in armies like these, he slowly left the battleground behind him. Like always after a victorious struggle, he needed time alone to think and reflect on his plans.
He walked a long time, long enough to lose all sight of his men. There was a hill nearby, a forested, rocky hill, and Orthus climbed it. There was a clearing at the top, and he stopped there, turning his eyes towards northwest. Narrowing his eyes and staring for as far away in the horizon as he could, he could almost imagine catching a glimpse of the famed Kwythellar in the distance. For a long time he only stood there and imagined the city.
It would still be a time before they would be able to take it.
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By the time Orthus got back, Chalice had finished picking the prisoners to be taken to him. Not many of them, only a couple of dozen. They were all young men, most of them wounded in the battle before. Guarded by a couple of barbarian warriors, the prisoners all took a good step back when they saw the orcish leader approaching. He smiled a little and turned to face them.
"Men of Aranthar. I am Orthus, the Barbarian King. When we came to your gates, we offered you a chance to surrender peacefully. We said that should you resist, you would all be killed. You chose to resist, and therefore your town will die." He gauged their reactions as he spoke. A few looked down when he said his final words, a few clenched their jaws and look defiantly at him. He smiled a little, at that. Defiance was good, courage was good.
"Of your town's death, there can be no negotiation. Many of the townsfolk were killed during the battle, and the rest will be slain during this night. If somebody you know isn't standing here now, know that you will never see them again." Some ears perked up at that, and some of the men looked questioningly at each other. "Are you going to make slaves out of us?", one of them asked, stepping forward and glaring challengingly at Orthus. The orc smiled wider at that.
"No, you will not be made into slaves. Neither will you be killed, if you take my offer. For I am giving you an opportunity. Your home is destroyed, your families are dead. Not all of them have been put to the sword yet, but you might as well think of them as gone. You have nothing left to lose and everything left to win." He paused, eyeing them - some were beginning to realize what he was saying, he could see it on their faces. He began pacing around them, letting his eyes fall from person to person as he circled.
"We have been on the move for a year now, and in every battle we have been victorious. Yet we are those who've been the most ravaged by time and destiny, those who have suffered from hardship after hardship. You don't look so rich yourselves, have the last seasons not been a fight for survival? Have you not forever lived in fear of a barbarian invasion, just like this one? Hasn't your life always been one of difficulty and pain?" There was something magnetic in eyes now, his voice rich with promise. It was hard for the captives not to stare. "You saw how we beat you, just like that? Is it really a life you would like to live, wouldn't you rather be part of something greater?"
"You know the city of Kwythellar, just like I do. You've heard the rumors of it, maybe some of you have been there." He had stopped now, to give his words more weight. "The largest, richest city in the whole world, they say. Full of rich, fat arrogant cityfolks. Do you think they care for your suffering? Do you think they care for anything but their own fat bellies? What happened here today was their fault, why didn't they have their legions defend you? You've suffered a lot more, wouldn't you want to storm that city and take its riches to yourself?"
"For that's what I'm offering you. For we are building an army, nay, a nation where none of you will suffer anymore. You will be trained and taught how to fight and hold your own, and if you're threatened, this whole horde will be your brothers and come to your aid. Do your best to excel, and you'll become my trusted leaders, thousands of men under your command. Kneel down and swear your loyalty to Orthus, Barbarian King, and become richer and more powerful than you could ever imagine... or stay on your feet and refuse me, and die like the rest of your kind. Which shall it be?"
They on their knees before Orthus had even finished his speech, staring up with fear and worship in their eyes.
"Very good", Orthus smiled with satisfaction. "Tonight you will get your baptism in fire, leaving your old world behind you and joining my legions of vengeance."
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The bonfires rose high and tall, the flames fueled by wood the army had collected for the occasion. Night had fallen, and most of the barbarians had gathered around the huge funeral pyres to celebrate their victory and say their goodbyes to the ones slain in battle.
Somber and quiet, the men who'd chosen to join Orthus stood around the fires, watching as the bodies of their families and former loved ones were one by one fed to the flames. Some of them wept openly, while others grit their teeth and only stared in front of them, the fires reflecting from their eyes. In the shadows, Chalice stood watching them, observing the faces and expressions of each one.
Orthus stood at a distance, watching his followers from the hill he'd found earlier. Many races were united under his banner - humans, orcs, lizardmen, even some skeletons brought to life by the orc shamans' magic. For all their differences, the same things united them all - a past of pain and exploitation, a desire to strike back at those who were responsible for it. They wanted safety, they wanted the riches the city-dwellers so flaunted and were proud of. They wanted bloodshed and vengeance.
And by gods, Orthus slowly swore. He was going to give them their revenge, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
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Just in the nick of time. Nothing ever gets done without deadlines, so I promise that the next part will be posted no sooner than next week.
Feedback's welcome.Oh, and shameless plug: if you have difficulties waiting, my website has more of my writing. Just click on the "stories" link in the top menu.
Complicated issues
