Screams and dust filled the air. A distant drum beat tirelessly, its thumping echoing high over the sea of bodies.
Drak threw his massive arms open wide and raised his face to the sky, bellowing a deep challenge and adding his voice to the fray. Returning his gaze to the ground, he locked eyes with his opponent and bared his teeth, a threatening grimace plastered on his face.
In front of him stood a towering goliath. It was swinging a thick tree trunk wildly in anger.
He roared in defiance.
Meeting the roar, Drak charged forward, unslinging his shield from his back and raising it up just as the full weight of the tree trunk slammed down on top of him. He was forced to his knees under the strain. Grunting, he shifted his weight and aimed a wide swing underneath the shield, connecting with the goliath's knees and toppling him to the floor.
Drak leapt to his feet and swung his club down, hoping to end the fight fast, but the huge tree trunk came up to block the blow. He struck the club and shield together with a loud crack as they wheeled about each other, searching for the perfect opportunity.
He dodged to the side as the trunk whistled through the air in a wide arc, filling the space in which he had just been stood and then ducked suddenly as it came swinging down from above, slamming into the ground and renting a deep gash in the ground.
Drak charged forward again, driving his shield into the heavy body of the goliath, trying to wind it, to no avail. Pushing himself away sharply he swung his club above his head in a circle once and aimed a swipe at his opponents arm. It connected, hard, but his hopes of disarmament were dashed when he saw the brute heft the tree trunk into the other arm.
With his other arm now free, the hulk slammed his fist into Drak's face with a crunch. Drak saw stars.
All around them faces and bodies blurred and the noise rose steadily. The drums pounded somewhere off to the left, closer now. He focused on the towering shape in front of him and rushed in, aiming heavy overhead swings with his club which hammered into the goliath's huge improvised weapon.
Grunting with the effort, Drak took a step back, hoping to entice his opponent forward.
It paid off. The hulk shambled toward him, raising the tree trunk high over its head, ready to pulverise Drak with one swing.
Drak had to act fast if he had any hope of pulling it off. He knew he might not have any chance like this again. Moving fast, he took another step back and threw his shield into the face of the brute in front of him, blocking his vision temporarily.
Seconds, just seconds, he thought to himself.
As the shield fell to the floor and the thick trunk came crashing down to crush him, Drak attacked. He rained down blow after heavy blow with his club onto the side of the goliath's enormous head, each time making sure to target the exact same spot as the last.
The surprise of this attack caught his opponent off-guard, and he bellowed with rage, trying simultaneously to lift the tree out of the ruins of the shattered shield on the floor and cover his head at the same time.
Evidently he could not manage both and, relenting, he dropped the trunk with a thud and raised both hands to his head to protect himself. He crouched down low, trying to minimise himself as a target.
Drak ended his tirade with a final, hard crack and a shout. Standing triumphantly over his opponent, he pointed his weapon at the mass in front of him, still as tall as Drak was himself, despite being hunched up in a crouch, and said, "Get up, fool."
An arm the size of the tree it had been holding reached out to grasp Drak's club and pulled on it. He was just barely able to stay standing as he helped his opponent to his feet.
"I told you, Gommash, a tree isn't an effective weapon!"
"Ya," said the huge mass, towering over Drak, "but it would've worked if you didn't throw your shield in my face!"
Drak threw his club down and grasped Gommash's meaty hand, raising it into the air. The gathered crowd cheered raucously, beating their chests and clashing drinking horns filled with thick liquor.
"Come," Drak said, pushing his way through the crowd, "come and drink with me, you massive bastard!" The crowd parted quickly as Gommash followed him. Easily twice their size, Gommash ducked to enter the main hall, through an opening covered with thick red cloth. He paused just inside the hall, looking around.
A huge, roaring firepit cracked loudly in the center; the smoke rising to an opening in the top of the high ceiling. Over it roasted the body of some unidentified animal, the juices dripping down and sizzling into the flames. Kegs of alcohol lined the walls. All around were signs of drunken revelry. In one corner a fight had broken out, the two knocking over stools and benches. The sound of laughter and conversation filled the large, open room and here and there small groups of youngsters darted between the adults, running off on their own adventures.
Gommash took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the mixed smell of honeyed wine and roasted meat filling his nostrils. He looked around for Drak and, spotting him by the firepit, plodded delicately toward him.
"Gomm!" cried Drak, dribbling wine over his chin, "you fought well today!" he thrust a mug into Gommash's huge hand and crashed into it with his own, spilling more alcohol over them both. Draining it, he turned and strode over to the wall to refill at the nearest keg.
Gommash looked at the mug in his hand and raised it to his mouth, draining it in one sip. He put the mug down and lumbered over to Drak, grabbing a bucket on the way. Filling it to the brim and shrugging at Drak, he poured the entire contents into his mouth. More than half appeared to have ended up down his front. Chuckling, Gommash clapped Drak on the shoulder, who buckled under the impact.
"My friend," Gommash said loudly, "you honour me by having me here in your hall and allowing me to stay amongst your people." He raised a balled fist to his chest, thumping himself heavily.
"And you dishonour us by thinking you are not welcome here," said a gentle voice behind them.
"Ah, wife," Drak said, his face lightening, "Did you see the fight?"
"Yes I did, husband, glory you for emerging victorious," she looked him up and down, "and unscathed."
"He always wins, Jalra," Gommash said, with the air of a sulking child, "it's not fair!"
Drak laughed, loud and fierce. "Life's not fair, Gomm! Don't let it get to you." He tapped Gommash's huge forehead, "you have to fight with this more than your fists."
Gommash looked down at his hands disbelievingly, staring at each one in turn.
Jalra moved to grasp his hands, but managed to only fit two of his fingers in each of her hands. "You are most welcome here with us, Gomm. You know that don't you." It was a statement, not a question.
Gommash nodded shyly, his eyes on their hands.
"Jalra, where are they?" Drak asked loudly.
"You know exactly where they are, you told them to go with Cilli and Torva," Jalra told him.
"Ah," Drak exhaled. "Good, yes good. Gomm, drink. Eat. Relax. You are family here, if nowhere else." With that he filled his mug once more and strode away, leaving Gommash and Jalra together. She led him to the firepit, sitting him on a low bench, shooing some youngsters out of the way.
Gommash sat down heavily causing the bench to groan and crack and eliciting worried but jovial looks from the nearby revellers.
"I must leave you, Gomm. Eat," she said, pointing at the roasting meat over the fire. She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek and hurried away, the last thing she saw was Gommash pulling an entire leg off of the animal over the fire and sinking his teeth into it noisily.
Jalra left the main hall, stepping out into the evening air. The sun was setting slowly, colouring the sky a deep purple. Walking through the village, she encountered few others. Most were in or around the main hall, drinking and eating. Passing a hovel, a youngster burst through the cloth door, trying to scare her. Feigning surprise, Jalra laughed as the child ran off toward a group of its friends waiting nearby, all giggling hysterically.
She came to the eastern edge of the village and sat on a tree stump gazing over the Torvald Plains. In the distance, a dark, thin line on the horizon signalled the western edge of a great forest. To the south, the Durghal Peaks broke the sky, the taller mountains capped with glittering white.
"Beautiful isn't it?" she asked, staring at the wide landscape in front of her.
"How did you know?" Drak asked, stepping up from behind her.
"You can be as quiet as a mouse, the stealthiest of trackers, but you forget who you're talking to. It's my job to know where you are, husband. You and these ones."
As if on cue, two children came running up from behind the nearest hut, each barging into Drak and hugging one of his strong legs. He grabbed them by the back of their jerkins, hoisting them high off the ground until he held them at head height, examining them carefully. He grinned a wide, toothy smile and put them down again.
"Yes, beautiful," he said as they ran off into the village once more. "I will never be able to repay you for giving us those children. They are strong. And healthy. What more can I ask for."
"And nor shall I ever ask you to. I did not give them to you as a gift. They were given to us by Neniya, as well you know, so any thanks you have must be offered to her in sacrifice and tribute." Jalra looked out again over the lands ahead. "What do you see, Drak? When you look north and east?"
Drak raised his head, surveying the wide world, slowly receding as the sun set. "Hmm. I see the same thing I saw when first we moved here," he said, casting his eyes around. "Opportunity. And danger. There is opportunity for us here, yes. We and the other clans wouldn't have risked coming so far north if there wasn't. We can have our own land here perhaps, make new friends. The land is rich and plentiful here. But we have risked, Jalra. We have risked much. This part of the world is still new to us. We do not know of much to the north, beyond the river or to the east toward the forest. There are strange creatures in this part of the world, that we know. They rule with a heavy hand and treat anyone different to them as animals, relishing in their suffering and pain." He sighed. "There is much to see, wife. Much to risk. But hopefully, much to gain also."
"We have already gained much, do you not think?" Jalra asked gently. "We have two healthy children who already question you. They will be fierce when they come of age. We have Gommash. He is a strong but gentle heart and loyal to you to the death. And we have a new home which you have helped to build for us. We have much."
"I admire your optimism," Drak said, resting his head on Jalra's shoulder, "you give me hope."
"That is because there is much to be hopeful for. Now, enough. Get back to the hall and enjoy yourself. It is an important night. Thanks to you we have been here for our first season and the village honour you tonight. You and the gods."
"I do not deserve their honour, Jalra. All I have done is lead our people when no one else would."
"And for that, you are honourable," Jalra replied, pushing Drak away harshly. "Now go and enjoy yourself. Or else."
Drak laughed heartily, but stopped when he saw Jalra cross her arms over her chest. "OK, OK," he said, backing away, "I'm going."
Jalra turned back to the east and watched the distant forest line disappear into the encroaching darkness with a smile.
Drak returned to the main hall to find the scene no different to when he had left. Gommash was sat in the middle by the fire, having eaten his way through half of the roasting meat. Drak noticed he now had two buckets of wine next to him. He found a mug, filled it once, drained it and filled it again. The fight in the corner was still going strong, with a small crowd now cheering them on. Drak walked over to join them, amusement on his face as he recognised two of his friends eagerly trying to knock the other out.
"Drak!" one of them shouted, seeing him in the crowd, "this arse needed a kickin'" he flashed a grin but it left his face fast as he ducked, dodging a well aimed fist.
"I'll give you arse you dishonourable piece of shit!" shouted the other, blocking a kick and lunging forward, trying to pin his opponent to the ground.
Some of the crowd passed coloured pebbles between them, taking and placing bets on the outcome of the fight.
"What was it this time?" Drak asked the crowd around him.
"Soran took Malak's drink," someone answered, laughing.
"Gods is that all?!" shouted Drak. "Malak, you'd think he insulted your wife!"
"He doesn't have a wife!" yelled Soran from within a neck hold, "Maybe if he did, he would be less angry!"
Malak tightened his grip considerably until Soran's breath became ragged and, arms limp, he tapped on the muscular forearm wrapped around his throat. Releasing him and standing up over Soran's limp body, Malak said, "Know your place," jabbing a finger at him. He opened his hand and held it out for Soran to grasp, hauling him to his feet. They embraced and someone in the crowd thrust mugs of wine into their hands. They grinned at each other, Soran with a slightly vacant expression, crashed them together and drained them.
Drak left the crowd as they each started emptying pockets and satchels, producing handfuls of what looked like coloured glass pebbles and handing them around. Judging by the amount of disappointed faces, the consensus seemed to have been that Soran would win. He walked to the firepit and pulled off a slice of meat with a small knife from his belt. Chewing with gusto, he slapped Gommash on the shoulder.
He grunted but barely moved. Apparently three buckets of wine was his limit and he was now very drowsy.
Probably for the best, thought Drak, as they would fast run out of alcohol and meat if Gommash stayed awake. He sliced off some more meat and left his huge friend by the fire, moving to another, quieter corner of the hall.
Here, nestled amongst the small groups of huddled conversations, he found another of his close friends and his most trusted advisor, Freyella. She was concentrating on a game of Mudstones, a popular game played with small clay figurines, the object of which was to tactically control the board with your pieces and end the game with more of your enemies' pieces taken than your own. It was a very rare occasion that she lost, Drak knew, but supposed her unlucky opponent had neither played her before nor heard of her remarkable ability with such matters.
Drak watched the game silently for a short while, before carefully positioning himself behind her opponent. She flashed him a brief wink as he caught her gaze and he quickly looked away to stifle a laugh. He left her to it, having seen her wipe the board clean many a time. He wondered why she still played.
Leaning up against a wooden pillar, Drak looked around him at his friends, family and neighbours.
He did have much, he thought to himself. He was proud to have brought them here to start a new life, along with the others in the two settlements to the west.
He was just contemplating finding his wife and taking her to bed when the far entrance flap was flung open. One of the sentries stood there for a moment, surveying the scene until, spotting Drak past the fire, he pushed his way past through the crowd straight toward him. Something in the urgent way he moved unnerved Drak. He straightened up.
"Come Golar," he said, "What is bothering you, have a drink."
"Captain," he said breathlessly, "someone approaches."
Drak's eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that Golar, I haven't been a captain for many seasons. Now, who approaches?"
"We aren't sure," Golar said cautiously, "we - Arndir and me - we heard movement, followed it but there wasn't anyone there. Arndir's a good tracker, we couldn't find anything, not a thing. But we still heard it. Someone is coming from the north. Just the one."
"Arndir is a good tracker," Drak said, thinking. "And so are you. Where did you leave Arndir?"
"By the well," answered Golar.
Drak contemplated for another moment, looking around the hall. He wrapped an arm around Golar's shoulder, squeezing his neck. "You've done well today, friend. Bring Freyella and meet me there. Speak to no one else." He pushed Golar toward the crowd and exited the hall quickly.
Outside, the light of the setting sun was diminishing fast. The sky was clear and the stars began to peek through the twilight haze.
Drak hurried between the low buildings, looking furtively around him. Suddenly, every shadow was a potential threat. He spotted the well ahead, in a clearing at the edge of the village. Hanging back by the last hut he surveyed the area carefully, looking for any sign of movement, his eyes narrowing into the waning light.
A brief, low hooting from the trees to his right caught his attention and, looking in their direction, Drak saw Arndir crouching almost entirely inside one of the low green-brown bushes.
He made a gesture, wanting to know what was going on, but Arndir just shrugged and indicated the wide plains to the north just past the treeline in which he as hiding, shrouded in deepening shadows. Arndir suddenly waved, pointing behind Drak.
He spun around warily, but saw only Golar returning with Freyella. They quietly joined him behind the hut, Freyella poking her head out to look for Arndir. Golar indicated the bushes where he had left him.
"What's going on Drak?" Freyella asked. "Golar dragged me away from a game but wouldn't tell me why."
"Shh!" Drak hissed, "Someone approaches the camp. Golar came to warn me and left Arndir to guard. I wanted you with me."
Freyella instinctively reached over her shoulder for her weapon but returned her empty hand to her side. "Should we not arm ourselves?" she whispered.
Drak shook his head. "We don't know who it is yet, but they are only one. More than enough of us to overpower them if need be."
Freyella pursed her lips, staring into the darkness. "We need to know more," she whispered, eyes darting around quickly.
There was another hooting noise and the three looked over toward Arndir, who was animatedly pointing past their hut, in the direction of a small fenced enclosure in which they kept goats.
Just beyond the light a shape moved. Slowly, it appeared to pause at the fence, leaning over it, almost climbing into the enclosure.
Drak gave a short, sharp whistle and stepped out from behind the hut, striding toward the shape, Golar and Freyella immediately behind him. Arndir jogged up from his hiding place to join them.
"You there," Drak called to the figure, "skulking in the shadows, show yourself at once."
The figure stopped as if dead. Without movement, it almost blended into the black of the night and Drak and his companions suddenly found it difficult to see if it was still there.
"No games, stranger," Drak yelled, "you are on our land now. Come forward into the light. If you come peacefully, you will be treated fairly."
A shadow seemed to detach itself from the surrounding darkness and move toward them slowly. Gradually, the figure moved toward the light, revealing itself to be an old man, hooded with a loose grey cloak wrapped many times around himself. He walked with difficulty as if in a trance, leaning heavily on a strong wooden staff, yet was tall, taller than Drak by a head at least. His face was shrouded but as he shambled into the light of the village fires, a gaunt face became slowly visible, with thin, sallow skin and dark patches under his eyes.
Drak relaxed, throwing Arndir and Golar an annoyed look. "Forgive us, it is in our nature to be cautious. I am Drak. This is my village, though it is home to many. What is your name, old one and what are you doing so far from home at night? It is not safe to wander."
Upon hearing Drak's name, the frail man stirred as if waking. "Then it is you I have come so far to see," croaked the man, breaking into a rasping cough.
"Indeed?" replied Drak, his curiosity well and truly piqued. "Golar, find my wife. Tell her we have an unexpected guest and to bring food and drink to our home. We will meet you there. Arndir, back to work. Keep your eyes open," he added under his breath. Golar and Arndir rushed off in opposite directions.
"Come then, you must be tired. And hungry? You will accompany us to my home where you will be refreshed. There we can speak freely." Drak approached the old man slowly and carefully, not wanting to startle him. The man stayed where he was until Drak was upon him, then took his offered arm, leaning equally on it and his staff.
Drak lead him into the village at a comfortable pace, leaving Freyella to follow a pace behind. This she did purposefully, wanting to watch the old man intently.
They passed several revelers on their slow walk through the village, all of whom stopped to look upon the stranger with interest. Seeing Drak helping the old man and showing such respect sparked wonder in their minds, but none dared ask questions of their trusted leader.
At length, Drak, Freyella and the stranger arrived at a large round hut near to the main hall. Freyella moved to hold open the cloth partition as Drak guided th old man inside. She paused at the entrance, unsure if she was also welcome inside. Drak turned and nodded his head into the hut, indicating she was to follow.
Inside, a small fire crackled warmly to one side and by this stood Jalra. She had brought cooked meat, bread and fruit, as well as water and honey wine. She waved to a high backed chair next to the fire, ornate and caved from dark wood, bearing images of hunts and battles.
Drak steered the stranger to the chair and said, "My wife, Jalra."
"Welcome to our home," she said, bowing her head.
"My advisor and friend," Drak said, beckonning Freyella forward, "Freyella."
"Welcome old one," she said, also bowing her head, though not as much. She kept her eyes fixed on the stranger at all times.
"You must be hungry," said Jalra, "please, eat." She sat on the other side of the fire, reclining on top of a pile of animal furs.
The old man reached toward the fruit and stopped. Drak had cleared his throat pointedly.
"Forgive me, old one," he started, "but where we are from it is customary to at least hear a guest's name before they eat our food and drink our wine."
The pale, wrinkled hand receded once more into the folds of the man's dark cloak. He stood shakily. Freyella moved to help him but stopped when he waved her away.
"Very well," he said in a shaky, uncertain voice. "My name is Ethalsten. I come from a land far from here, just as you, is it not so?"
"What do you know of where we come from, Ethalsten?" Drak asked.
"I know much, for that is why I have come to speak with you. I have come, Orc, with a proposal and a plea for help. From you and the rest of your kind. Will you not listen?"