The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (23 page)

More importantly, he understood that he did not agree with the ogres’ ways. Violence seemed to be something they indulged in and enjoyed, rather than used solely to survive. He felt he was surely at a crossroads. He could claim the ogre within him and push past the feelings of guilt and shame and give himself over fully to their ways. This thought did not sit well and anxiety washed over him and his stomach felt suddenly queasy.

Alternatively he could attempt to insert himself into humanity… attempt to find a city where they might accept him for whom or what he was. He pondered this heavy burden that he carried as he began to wash the Tyrantian gore from his furs and body.

The easy choice was to continue along the path already set in motion. Muurg was cruel but cunning and a leader that offered survival at the very least. After all, the humans apparently had abandoned him once before. They very well might do it again, he considered, splashing the cool water on his face and staring down at his hands. Grizzled fingernails with slightly sharpened edges gracing the tips of his fingers and the thick skin covering his bones gave him pause as he studied them for several minutes.

Human or ogre?

Did
he want to continue down this path of violence?
Were
all humans like the ones who abandoned him? Would they shun him just as much as the ogres? All these questions and more still needed answering as he found himself finally clean of the gore.

Orngoth turned and continued to give heed to these confusing thoughts as he made the journey back to the ogre grotto. In a state of total contemplation, he reached the cave where he saw the four well-known wolves—Muurg’s personal pets—standing guard at its mouth. They growled at him as he passed but then returned their attention to the pieces of bear scraps still lying upon the hard cavern floor. Two of them began fighting over one particular morsel, tugging at the meat, one on either end.

Orngoth continued on deeper into the cave with shoulders slumped in resignation at his surroundings.

“He comes now,” called one of the ogres, seeing Orngoth approach. Muurg strode into the cavern, coarse hair and a scowl planted firmly upon his face as the half-ogre came into view. The massive ogre chieftain wiped a bit of dried food from his mouth and his brow furrowed.

“The wolves took their fill. You can eat now, half-breed.”

The ogres all bellowed with laughter in satisfaction at that declaration.

“We are going to raid the travelers that come by our routes this day,” Muurg announced once the laughter had died down. “You are coming, too.” He pointed at Orngoth and smirked. He knew the half-ogre did not like raiding or sacking any of their victims, but Muurg did not care.

“It is time for you to earn your stay again, half-breed. And I see you have a new weapon to aid you, too,” Muurg observed with great sarcasm, gesturing toward the club Orngoth had strapped to his back.

As Muurg turned his massive frame from Orngoth, two of the ogres wandered in to administer the usual beatings. The first was a massively muscled one, Muurg’s physical equal—or so he thought—named Lunka. The other was the opposite in size and demeanor. Bengog, a smallish and hideous ogre that was slight of build and slightly deformed, joined Lunka. This ogre was burdened with a left arm that was atrophied and a right arm that was overly used and encased in muscle, adding to the creature’s oddity. Muurg stopped them as they advanced, however, which surprised Orngoth.

“I want him at his best when we leave,” he growled, glowering at the two ogres, who immediately turned and moved away from their leader, disappearing around a corner. Muurg looked back at Orngoth, scowled again as if hating himself for having to delay the beating, and then strode off, leaving him alone.

Orngoth made his way toward the extension of the cavern that the Ironskulls used for cooking. The huge area was filled with scraps of uneaten food left by the ogres, as well as various bones, tinder and several pieces of firewood and kindling. In the center of the area was a huge fire pit. He sat down in front of the flames that still burned brightly, and found some scraps of bear meat that had been overcooked or tossed aside by the ogres for some other reason. A pot of soup hung precariously by a pair of rusted handle bars atop the fire. Inadvertently, Orngoth glimpsed his own image in the dull, reflective surface of the pot and sighed. He tinkered with the leather straps he had affixed to hold his new club in place and made a few adjustments to tighten the knots. Then he turned to the food. He ate his fill quietly and afterwards fell asleep on the rough ground. Neither his dreams nor the inflexible sleeping surface provided him any comfort.

Orngoth felt a sharp pain in his side that forced him awake. A brutish ogre’s face leered at him with its black eyes unblinking and full of hate. Orngoth recognized him as Lunka.

“Get up,” he growled and planted another solid kick. Orngoth rolled with the force of the kick and made it quickly to his feet. His fingers went immediately to the handle of his club and he removed it from his back. Lunka laughed uncontrollably at that action, disrespecting the mere thought of him defending himself—especially against Lunka. Laughing ensued from a second source, intermittently mixed with gurgling coughs, the familiar sounds of Bengog.

“Did you not understand my command?” called a deep and booming voice from behind them all.

The two ogres swung round to see Muurg standing menacingly in his chain and leather armor, a club in one hand and a greataxe in the other—though the latter weapon looked like a small hand axe in his massive grip. Beside him stood three more ogres, all smaller than him—and Lunka, for that matter—waiting for their master’s commands.

“I told you to leave him be,” Muurg stated clearly, speaking directly to Lunka since he was the more intimidating of the two, while Bengog was merely his lackey. It was common knowledge that Lunka had challenged Muurg’s authority on more than one occasion, but Muurg still held the rulership of the clan with an iron fist. There were approximately forty ogres under his command in the Ironskull tribe, none more decorated than Muurg.

“For now,” Muurg finally added with a smirk as an aside to appeal to Lunka’s  compliance in the matter, rather than argue about it. Muurg often used his higher capacity for shrewd cunning to manipulate the less intelligent ogres. Lunka certainly fell into that mold.

Orngoth moved forward reluctantly and into the crowd of ogres, ready for Muurg’s instructions.

“Me and my group will head south and into the paths near Heartwood Valley,” Muurg explained. “You three and two others will move north toward the sea and watch paths there.”

Orngoth nodded, looking back toward the grinning Bengog, to whose group he had been assigned, along with Lunka, who remained stoic. Two more ogres were assigned to their party. One of the two had scars adorning his features as if he had once been engulfed in a fire that had left burns about his neck and face. The other was a toothless wretch of a thing that hunched over severely when he walked and who spat when he spoke or laughed. They stood silently as Muurg assembled his own group.

A few more of the Ironskulls had entered the cavernous area to receive their assignments and were told where their posts would be along the roads nearby. It occurred to Orngoth that not many would be left within the cavern to guard it. But the wolves would remain behind and were ferocious enough to deter most would-be invaders.

After many more positions were ascribed, the ogres began to filter out. Orngoth followed Lunka, Bengog and the other two out of the tunnels of their home and down the winding path that would take them toward the High Sea. Later that afternoon, the group settled into a stretch of land well north of the Blackstone Mountain range. It was a well-known and well-traveled path in Wothlondia and one that would see its fair share of itinerant merchants. Most of the travelers would have guards and sellswords accompanying them to protect them from harm, in exchange for coin or a sense of honor, but they would be no match for the ogre attackers. Not once when they had relieved the merchants of their goods or wealth had any escort been able to withstand or repel the ogre barbarians, Orngoth reflected solemnly.

The ogres sat overlooking a valley that was oft used as an ambush site. As they got into position, Lunka assigned himself and Bengog to be on one side of the road while Orngoth and the other two were to station themselves opposite them.

Hours passed as they sat waiting for the inevitable and unsuspecting travelers to appear. Orngoth gave heed to the fact that he would be involved, but he would most likely attempt to stay far away from the action, if possible. He sometimes got away with it, but this only drew ridicules of cowardice, followed by more beatings. The ogres usually rushed into the fray to seek the glory of battle and to claim bragging rights, as they would compare exaggerated tales once back at the grotto.

 “There,” whispered one of the ogres in a deep, resonating tone, trying to keep his voice low. Scar-face, as Orngoth referred to him, towered over him, his foul ogre’s lip curled up and melted directly to his face. He pointed toward an approaching caravan of wagons. There were at least four of the vehicles with mounted guards in various armors beside them. This was surely a private army of mercenaries or sellswords, Orngoth realized. Some mercenaries across the realm were more accomplished in the martial arts than others, and only time would tell which type these would be.

As the caravan approached, Lunka signaled that he would lead the assault from his side of the overlook to the north. In typical ogre fashion, they would simply charge the wagons with no real plan of attack and overpower their enemies. And with Lunka present, that was never really an issue. Orngoth had seen the creature single-handedly fell dozens of well-armed, well-trained warriors.

Orngoth gripped the handle of his weapon and sweat began to moisten his hands. He was nervous. Not fearing for his own safety, but instead he feared for the mercenaries and the bloodbath that would ensue. And he knew that once the bloodlust claimed him, as it always did, there was no turning back.

He saw Lunka charge with Bengog following close behind. Scar-face and Toothless went storming right after from their position on the southern hill. The ogres hit the first wagon hard, Lunka barreling into it and knocking it on to two wheels. It tipped and swayed, threatening to fall to its side, but righted itself with a loud thud. The enraged ogre redirected his attention and smashed his fists into two nearby mercenaries, sending them to their final resting place.

Several riders raced toward the fray at the front of the caravan, weapons drawn to defend their masters. Orngoth stood motionless, gripping his club tightly as if trying to squeeze the sawdust right out of it.

Bengog came out from behind Lunka’s shadow and clubbed a sellsword who was struggling to his feet after Lunka’s assault had sent him soaring from his saddle. That was Bengog’s typical role in the battles, Orngoth judged, as he watched the bloodshed from above, still unmoving. He saw Lunka grab one rider by the arm, lifting him from his horse and then driving him straight into the hard gravel of the road. Then Lunka simply tossed aside the bloody stump of the limb which had been torn from the torso with the sheer ferocity of the attack. Lunka was under the full effects of the rage and the Gods of Order themselves could not save these mercenaries now.

Scar-face and Toothless hit the lines at the rear of the caravan and Orngoth could swear he saw Toothless take a sword to his gullet, running straight into a counter-attack. Scar-face brought his spear to bear and buried it right through horse and rider alike, then began flailing away with a club, crashing its solid surface onto the soft flesh and inexpensive armor of the riders.