Black Metal: The Orc Wars Read online

  The Ghalik was the only orc with a woman all his own. While he had the privilege of breeding with her and choosing his heir from his own litters, all other Angir males had to constantly compete for breeding rights. The women would only deign to breed with the strongest and mightiest orcs of the tribe. So it was with most orc tribes, ensuring that the race as a whole moved ever closer to supremacy.

  Ma-Gur also thought of these things as he paddled the boat steadily onwards. Last night he’d had his first mating experience, his bruises from the encounter still fresh and sore. Having had such an impressive Blooding rite, Ma-Gur had been chosen by one of the younger women to share her bed. So after a few days of healing his wounds he had gone inside the Motherhut.

  Orcish women are violent and passionate creatures, often quite dominant during the act of love. Many a tale was told around the campfires of mighty orc warriors being “savaged” by their women. Laughter and a few knowing looks usually accompanied such stories.

  A harsh whisper tore Ghalik from his reverie and Ma-Gur from his bruises. The raiding party had neared the fortified village. The glow from the sentry’s torches could be seen in the distance. The raiding party quietly grouped their boats together, silently moving towards the dock en masse.

  As they neared the docks the orcs steered their boats towards the dockside shore. Once they reached more shallow water they disembarked their vessels, sliding silently into the shoulder deep water. It was frigid in temperature yet no warrior flinched or complained. They pushed their boats ashore then returned to the shoulder depth shallows. They waded towards the docks as their hot fetid breath hung in clouds all about them.

  The docks were built to service the main town gate. All of the loading platforms had walkways across the shallows and right up to the main gate. A handful of sentries were posted at the docks and two guarded the main gate. None of the sentries noticed as the orc raiding party waded towards the gate through the water right underneath them. The sentries had no worry that such a thing would be attempted. No man could stay in that water for more than a few moments without risk of freezing to death, but these were not men.

  At a gesture from Ghalik the main group of orcs continued towards the gate while Ma-Gur and four of his blood brothers stayed behind. Their duty was to disable the group of sentries on the docks as the main force brought down the gate. The young orc had no idea how the wizard was going to open the gate, but Ma-Gur did know exactly what to do about the sentries.

  He gestured to each orc, indicating where he wanted them and what they should do. It was an advantage of the orc race that so much information could be communicated without words. Soon each orc nodded in turn and set about his task.

  The orcs spread out underneath the dock. Then the orcs grasped the support beams and each one began to climb up a different beam. Their claw like fingernails and bulging muscles allowed them to climb stealthily upwards with relative ease. As they reached the top the orcs peered out onto the surface of the docking platforms.

  There were four sentries armed with crossbows walking a lazy beat around the docking area, totally unaware of the looming threat. Ma-Gur ducked back under the dock to peer into the darkness towards the underside of the platform nearest the gate. With his orcish night sight he saw the hulking forms of Ghalik and his older, more experienced warriors right next to the gate. Ghalik noticed Ma-Gur’s inquisitive look and nodded back. Ma-Gur gave his four comrades an affirmative nod and began to climb.

  As the sentries walked their beat one of them heard a scraping noise. He turned on his heel, his crossbow held before him, but say only the empty edge of the dock. Suddenly, just as he relaxed and lowered his weapon, an especially nasty looking creature with a white tattooed face rose up from its perch upon the support beam. Before the guard could react it hurled a wickedly barbed spear straight into his chest.

  Hearing the impact of metal and flesh the other guards turned towards the sound. As they did three other orcs launched themselves onto the platform, hurling spears as they came. Two of the guards went down without a word, their surprise melting away as they collapsed with spears in their chests. The third sentry was faster than the others and with his off hand managed to deflect the spear away from his chest and into his leg. Biting back the pain as he fell to one knee the wounded guard aimed his crossbow and fired. The arrow caught one of the orcs in the throat, which stumbled back and fell into the water as he gurgled and choked. The sentry drew his sword to defend himself but died instantly when Ma-Gur’s sword splint his skull as the orc came running up from behind.

  Once Ghalik nodded for Ma-Gur to begin the assault the ugly wizard had waved his hand at the two warriors nearest him, gesturing for them to kill the two gate guards. The two experienced warriors sprang into action, each one taking a different side of the dock. They moved quietly and quickly as they waded out of the water and crept towards the two gate guards. When the attention of the sentries was distracted as the battle on the docks began, the two orcs made their move.

  Just as the sentries looked up to witness the ambush on the docks the two orcs came at them from both sides. The guard of the left never saw them coming, dying soundlessly as the orcish mace crushed his helmeted head. The guard on the right was given a few moments to react due to the longer climb forced upon the other ambushing orc. He managed to bring his spear into a defensive position and brace for the attack. The orc rushed furiously towards him brandishing a large cleaver with both hands. The oncoming orc leveled a powerful blow at the guardsman, who just managed to duck out of the way, the cleaver making sparks fly as it chipped off a piece of the stone walkway. The guardsman stepped foreword with a counter strike, plunging his spear into the enemy’s guts.

  To his horrifying surprise the orc did not go down, in fact, with an intensified fury it pushed itself down the shaft of the spear. To late the guardsman realized his mistake, as the orc further impaled itself it was drawing closer to the man holding the weapon. The guard tried to let loose of the weapon and flee, but before he could the berserker orc dispatched him with its cleaver.

  The guard’s body crumpled to the ground as the wounded orc bent over, supporting its weight upon its upturned cleaver. Ghalik and the others were making their way up to the gate, they were quickly joined by Ma-Gur and his remaining ambush party.

  “Hold him,” Ghalik commanded as he moved closer to the wounded orc. As the old wizard rummaged in his belt pouch the older warriors moved to support and brace the wounded orc. Many of them had seen what was about to happen and tensed, the younger warriors looked on in wonder.

  Ghalik pulled from his pouch a small sack, which appeared to be full of some kind of powder. The wizard walked up to the wounded orc and drew forth a fistful of a glowing green dust like substance. He held it aloft and spoke in the broken syllables of magic, as he did the glow of the green dust faded. Then he began to smear the powder all around the wound until it was completely covered. He took a quick step back and broke off the shaft of the spear, leaving the point securely embedded in the wound.

  The old wizard quickly stepped back and nodded at the warriors holding the wounded orc, who tightened their grip in anticipation of what they seemed to know was coming. Ghalik gestured towards the rest of his forces.

  “Split into two groups, one on the left and one on the right,” barked Ghalik as he un-shouldered his waraxe, hefting its weight like a familiar friend, “Lorak will take the center.”

  At this the older warriors cast a wary glance towards the wounded orc, Lorak, who was now shaking uncontrollably. Only the brute strength of the others holding him down kept the orc from convulsing so hard he injured himself. The younger warriors hesitated in curiosity of the wounded orc plight, but were quickly jostled into formation by the older warriors.

  The two groups of orcs stood in loose clusters on their respective sides of the gate. While orcs were not known for making uniform or complex battle formations, they did have a grasp of strategy. The primary reason for their seemingly s
imple organization was that once the fighting began each individual orc would basically do as he pleased, so formations tended to crumble into seething tides of berserkers.

  Ghalik knew this, and he used it to his advantage. Once inside the town everyone would to their own way, each seeking his own glory. Thus, the battle would spread quickly throughout the area as the orcs jockeyed for position. Yet Ghalik also knew that the older orcs now feared Lorak, and that fear would spread to the younger warriors. Fear would keep everyone in formation long enough for his plan to work and bring victory to all.

  Ghalik stopped close to the city gate, its metal hinges and sturdy wooden planks barring the way of the would-be invaders. He began to sway back and forth as if in a trance, his eyes closed as he whispered in the maddening language of orcish magic. He began to flex his arms and heft the axe as if he were going to strike the gate. Then he would let the waraxe fall slack again. He repeated the process over and over again, each time reaching a higher crescendo.

  Ma-Gur looked at Ghalik with an intense mixture of fear and admiration. He knew that Ghalik was the oldest orc Angir, some said the oldest orc alive. There were legends of his exploits told to Angir children and songs of his glory sung over the burning villages of the enemy. For Ma-Gur it was like taking part in a legend, as if just by being a witness to the evening’s events were enough to include him.

  Then he felt a tingling sensation of the back of his neck. A strange glow was being emitted from the waraxe in Ghalik’s hands. It was as if the very air around the murmuring wizard was shimmering and pregnant with powerful energies. Ma-Gur felt as if he too was in a deep trance as he watched the wizard craft his spell.

  Suddenly Ma-Gur’s attention was torn from the Ghalik by a low rumble that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He turned to investigate, his eyes falling upon the wounded Lorak. The two warriors who were holding him down had backed away, leaving the wounded orc kneeling alone. As he stared in wonder Lorak’s head shot up, his now bright red eyes boring right into Ma-Gur’s very soul. Even as those eyes seemed to burn him, the pupils emitting wisps of red smoke which could not be natural. As they stared at each other Lorak’s eyes sent a message that Ma-Gur could not help but to receive. This was no longer an orc, but death made manifest. The horrible truth struck him as he turned away, fear and elation threatening to pull him apart.

  When he turned back he could see that Ghalik appeared to have completed his ritual, and was now standing before the gate with his feet planted and his shimmering axe held high. The shouts of the guards on the other side of the gate could be heard, drawn no doubt by the Ghalik’s incessant bellowing. The orc horde tensed as Ghalik slammed the blazing waraxe against the sturdy gate. The blast of energy was amazing as the enchanted weapon hit home. The entire gate blew apart with the sound of a thunderclap, all of the splintered wood and twisted metal bursting into flames as they flew in all directions.

  The older orcs paused a moment before rushing to battle, causing the younger warriors to look about in confusion. Then an earth-shaking roar sounded from behind them. Some of the younger orcs turned to witness Lorak, or more precisely something that used to be Lorak, launch itself from its crouched position towards the smoldering gate. It still bore Lorak’s face, though its body had almost doubled in size and strength. Its nails had turned to claws and its lower teeth into tusks. Even the Ghalik hurried out of its way as it lopped past, easily covering the distance in a few strides.

  Most of the guards who had gathered at the gate were dead or stunned and offered no resistance as the Lorak creature strode past them, its hungry gaze falling upon the town as alarms were raised an the townspeople began to wake. As its hulking form disappeared down the main street of town the two orcish forces moved in on either side. Now Ghalik’s plan went into action. As he had hoped, one of his warriors had been mortally wounded during the ambush, giving him a body into which he could summon the tribe’s killing spirit, the Gor-Angir. Now he wouldn’t have to sacrifice one of the orcs himself. Leadership wasn’t always about brute force alone. Fear of the Gor-Angir would keep the two raiding parties on separate sides of the city. The killing spirit would undoubtedly perish, but it would throw into chaos what defenses this port town could muster, leaving the orcs free to pillage the town without being set upon by large groups of organized troops. Ghalik smiled, this was shaping up to be a rather enjoyable evening.

  The two groups of orcs headed in their respective directions, organized in that they did not stray towards the central street but otherwise moving as a seething horde of muscle and steel. The defenseless gate guards were the first to die, lying in helpless heaps as the orcs butchered them without breaking stride. Soon the gate complex was empty save for the soft moans of the dying and the sounds of battle coming from inside the town as the orc menace spread out to plunder and kill.

  Ma-Gur stepped out into the main street, the smoldering creak of the blasted gateway filling the air as a wind blew up from the shore. The young orc barely noticed the icy breeze as he stare down the main street of town, after Lorak, or the Gor-Angir as Ghalik had told them. They were all to stay out of its path, skirting the edges so that the town’s defenders would be occupied with dispatching the berserk monster and not be able to mount a formidable resistance as the night wore on. Ghalik had gone with one of the groups, even the mighty wizard shied away from the killing spirit.

  But they had not gazed into its eyes, thought Ma-Gur. They did not see the truth about what Lorak had become. Those eyes said ‘let the world burn’, so honest and so brutal. The young orc was mystified, desiring nothing more greatly than to witness the Gor-Angir in action. He wanted to see what it was capable of, and in many ways, what he was capable of in comparison. Ma-Gur tightened his grip on the bloody sword in his hand, slung his shield onto his arm, and took his first steps down the town’s main street.

  It seemed to him as if he had been creeping along forever. All about him were burning buildings and corpses of the slain. Most of them were townsfolk, mostly women and children. Awakened from their beds no doubt. Judging from the sorts of wounds on the bodies Ma-Gur found that he was not only able to track the progress of the Gor-Angir, but could move at speed because of how messy and obvious the killing spirit’s victims were. Bodies rent to pieces were not the work of fast moving raiders with blades, but by the taloned hands of a creature from beyond the pale.

  He carefully picked his way along as possible, avoiding the rampaging orcs as they glutted themselves on the vulnerable city and its inhabitants. As the young orc quickened his pace an old woman ran around the corner in panic. Almost before he realized what he was doing he had rammed his meaty fist into her jaw, snapping her head back and breaking her neck. The poor woman’s knees buckled and she collapsed as Ma-Gur continued on his way without further pause.

  His blood screamed with battle lust as he heard the freakish bellowing of the killing spirit just up ahead. He broke into a dead run uphill towards what appeared to be the town square. The sounds of intense fighting could be heard coming from the square. Ma-Gur slowed his pace and peered out into the square from behind a corner.

  His eyes widened at what he saw. The Gor-Angir was covered from head to foot in wounds, arrows, and broken spear tips. It was visibly weakened and appeared to be losing much of its power. Yet strewn all about the square were the broken bodies of more than a dozen men at arms and pikemen. There was still that same number standing, fighting a desperate battle with the monster.

  Their strategy was simple, after losing half of their number so quickly simple tactics were all that remained for the hard-pressed survivors. They had surrounded the creature and were barely managing to keep it at bay with the combined might of their spears. As Ma-Gur watched several archers came from the vantage points of doorways and alleys to get closer to the beast for easier shots.

  The young orc suddenly realized that if nothing was done the Gor-Angir was about to perish. Ma-Gur realized that the creature was meant to die, but it seeme
d almost an affront to the killing spirit for it to die not in battle but pin cushioned by the arrows of cowards. Summoning up all his fury and courage Ma-Gur rushed out from his hiding place.

  He kept his wits about him, and instead of uttering a battle cry he allowed the crouching sound of the nearest pikeman’s head speak for him. It was only when the eyes of all the men went to him, as well as those of the Gor-Angir, that he realized how foolish he had been.

  With a bestial roar the Gor-Angir lashed out and caved in the chest of a nearby man at arms. Then, with surprising agility for such a wounded and hulking creature, it spun on its heel to avoid the sword swipe of another man at arms. With a furious howl it raked its talons across the man’s midsection, spilling his steaming guts into the cold streets.

  Ma-Gur tore his attention away from the creature as he suddenly found every bit of sword and shield training he had ever received tested by two men at arms intent on ending his life. He backed towards the center of the square as he gave ground to his attackers. He took a chance move and allowed a strike past his guard, catching the oncoming blade at the last moment in the shield’s sword-breaking grove. His luck held as he turned the shield aside, both breaking the blade and leaving the man at arms unable to parry the blow that separated his head from his shoulders.

  Before the young orc could recover from his strike the other man at arms closed in for a vicious stab at his midsection. Ma-Gur did not try to parry the attack, but instead closed distance himself and twisted his body away from the blow. The sharp blade passed right by as Ma-Gur pirouetted and brought his shield around to bash in the back of the human’s skull. Ma-Gur smiled savagely at the sound of breaking bone and crushed metal as the man at arms flew forwards and to the ground.

  His reverie was interrupted by a deep rumbling sound with filled him with its menace. He turned towards the source of the sounds and his blood run cold as he found himself face to face with the Gor-Angir. It paused for a moment, the din of battle seeming to melt away for that one instant that the two locked eyes.