This orc really asked for me? I wouldn’t have guessed he was the orc in question but I suppose it makes a queer kind of sense in retrospect. I know this orc to be called Ulsh, and he is my most habitual customer. He has visited my shop once a week for the last two years. Usually he browses my wares in silence for about fifteen minutes even though the stock does not change so regularly. Often he will give me a nod and leave, rarely we will converse, and every third time or so he will purchase some balms and oils that identify him as a game hunter. Pollyweed and rose hips for his cuts and scrapes, thrushpod oil to treat the animal skins, dewleaf oil to clean his knives. At leaner times he has bartered the pelts or meat for his supplies instead of coin. Those times he would also unburden his troubles at being cheated by some racist merchant or being stiffed by the butcher. It’s not difficult to imagine that an orc trying to make his living in Elysium as a hard road.
The agrarian, landlocked nation neighbors the enterprising Hegemony of Kzartosha and sees a lot of trade as a by-product. As such, it is a melting pot of races: Humans and Elves of every variety, Orcs and Goblins from Kadraka and Khanhein alike, Dwarves up from the south-eastern mountains and Lizardmen from just beyond those peaks, Hobgoblins and even the occasional Nikori kobold, all passing through on their way to or from the Hegemony. Despite this, the Gates of Elysium do not make welcome all who enter her borders.
I can relate. Perhaps that is why he would oddly patronize my shop. He sees me as another outsider in the city who receives the same nervous glances and furtive whispers when walking the streets. Since he has asked for me to vouch for him, I must assume that he keeps his distance from others as well. It could be that he has been a spy for the Hordes this whole time. If not that, what other misfortune has him here rather than among his kind ransacking the city?
I search my thoughts and assess his visits: his body language, his phrasing, and his purchases for the times he has come to the shop. Nothing stands out. Only a tacit respect. I surmise he probably isn’t a spy but, for my purposes, it makes little difference whether is he or not. I decide to vouch for him. At the very least I will engender some appreciation that I can leverage for supplies—or even a guide—when I go to Kadrakan. I’d much rather have a known, capable hunter who owes me his livelihood than hire some unscrupulous guide who supplements his income by misappropriating the belongings of his clientele.
“This is Ulsh. A hunter out of Nodkis,” I say to Corporal Level moments after entering the tent. “I have known him two years at least.”
I catch eyes with Ulsh and he appears relieved.
Level shrugs and unshackles him without a moment’s hesitation. Addressing the orc as he rubs his wrists, he says, “Your claim holds up, it appears. Though in light of the current events I’d advise you not to leave the camp. Seems like it’d be trouble for you if either side were hasty to judge. I’ll take you to the cooks; that seems like a safe place you’re unlikely to be bothered.”
I’m impressed. Corporal Level is refreshingly level-headed. Too bad they are not all like him.
On my way back to the herb cart, I walk past the officer’s tent. One is complaining very loudly about a subordinate for all to hear through the taut canvas. The other officers seem amused and are egging him on.
“Worst soldier in all my years! Undisciplined. Unreliable. Always prattling on about how he grew up fighting in the blood pits or something. I’m not sure what Wildlands bullshit he’s so proud of. Fights like a demon with a hot poker up his ass when you set him loose but I’d still take a buck-toothed cowherd with a pitchfork and a funny leg over this shit stain. At least the cowherd has enough sense to follow orders and stay with his squad!”
The tent roars with laughter. They are blowing off steam. I get it. Yet, to speak ill of others so openly, one must be either daft or self-assured. Neither option is befitting of a leader. A wise man knows he never can be certain who might be listening and how he will be judged by his words.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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