The Savage Land of Greenfall
Silence had settled over the battlefield. The red orcs stood mute, parting to open a path.
As if in respect for the victor.
They made no move to pursue as the gray orcs and I passed. They simply stared at the corpse of the shaman who had led them.
I ran with the gray orcs.
"Cough... hngh..."
A dry, hacking cough tore from my throat as I rode atop Nightmare. Having spat raw flame, my mouth and throat burned as if scalded. Blood flecked the coughs now and then—proof that something inside me had been scorched raw. Worse, I had emptied every scrap of mana; my body hung limp and heavy.
I needed rest, yet the threat of another red-orc ambush left no room for it. Nightmare seemed to sense my condition and kept to a measured pace.
On the horizon where sky met earth, black smoke rose without end. From every direction the soot-clouds climbed, swallowing the clear sky and draping the land in gloom.
The true war had begun. That smoke was its herald, stirring a vague dread of what was still to come.
I glanced back without a word. The orcs who had fled Kaum still followed close behind me. We shared no common tongue, yet I could feel their reliance on me.
What now? Returning to Storm Hill was out of the question. In the end I decided to lead them to Greenfall, the largest city in this land. We would have to pass through it anyway if we ever meant to leave the country; the detour was no great burden.
As time wore on, the ash-laden clouds blurred the line between day and night. Under that uncertain sky we ran without pause. Every settlement we passed bore the scars of red-orc raids—nothing left but blackened ash and the twisted, desiccated corpses of orcs whose ends had been anything but merciful.
The gray survivors burned with rage at the sight, yet there was nothing they could do. They swallowed their fury and pressed on toward Greenfall.
A week had passed since we left Kaum. We met red orcs several times along the way, but never more than five or ten at a stretch—scouting parties, by the look of them. We cut them down with little trouble. I stripped their gear and distributed the weapons among my gray companions. The older orcs gripped the blades once more; the dying embers of their fighting spirit flared back to life. Age had stolen the raw power of their youth, yet the combat instincts honed over decades remained. Those veterans took the vanguard and helped me clear the road.
The path to Greenfall was a chain of black smoke and blood. Proper food was nonexistent. Even my magic could not keep enough water flowing; exhausted orcs began to collapse one after another. Their ends tore at me, but the refugee column had no margin for stragglers. The others marked each fallen comrade with a single glance—farewell enough—and kept moving.
Roughly two weeks after we set out, we finally reached Greenfall, the greatest city in the land.
The city already knew war had come; the air was taut as a drawn bowstring. Dozens of guards manned the gate, every one of them bristling with readiness. I approached with the orcs at my back. The sentries first eyed me with suspicion, then saw the survivors trailing behind and welcomed us in.
"Re ka se tsoge re."
Still an incomprehensible tongue. I managed a weary smile and entered Greenfall with the others.
We were far from the only refugees. The streets thronged with orcs. Food was issued at once, and temporary shelters—simple tents raised on open ground—were provided. Even so, the survivors' faces softened with relief as they rested. I looked them over and smiled faintly. Our time together had been short, yet the bond forged in life-or-death battle ran deep.
But this was as far as our shared road went. With my business here finished, I could not linger in so dangerous a place. I packed a little food, mounted Nightmare, and headed for the gate, intending to leave the country at once.
The guards, however, refused to let me pass—me or any other orc. The orcs listened to the sentries' explanations and withdrew with understanding looks. I, unable to understand a word, could only stand baffled.
"This is ridiculous..."
"A ka se t?wa."
Their expressions said they were worried for me, yet without a shared language the meaning never truly reached me. I kept tugging Nightmare's reins, arguing with the guards.
Then a familiar voice rang out from a short distance beyond the main gate.
"Ceris!"
I turned. A massive man with skin darker than most humans came running—Agul, the half-orc, half-human.
At last, someone I could talk to. I exhaled in relief and waved.
"Agul!"
He reached us in a few long strides and began speaking with the guards in fluent orcish. As the conversation lengthened, his face grew darker. When he finally finished, he turned to me.
"You're planning to leave the country, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, but you can't. Not now."
With a grim expression he explained: the moment war broke out, an unknown barrier had blanketed the borderlands between Greenfall and the Holy Kingdom. That barrier stole the life of every living thing that touched it.
"So no one can leave?"
"Right. Everyone who tried forced their way through is dead."
I frowned. The claim sounded absurd. A mana veil covering the entire frontier was one thing; a magic that killed at a mere touch was harder to believe. Yet Agul had no reason to lie to me.
"And if I still insist on going?"
"Hmm... I could let you through, but..."
He asked again whether I truly meant to leave—whether I meant to die. He warned that if I returned, the gates might not open for me a second time.
I said nothing, only stroked Nightmare's mane.
"What do you think?"
Nightmare snorted and shook his head, then trotted deliberately away from the gate. I gave a wry smile.
"Looks like he thinks this place is safer."
"Smart choice. Stay somewhere safe until the war ends..."
"Is there any safe place left?"
Agul closed his mouth. The way he stared up at the sky with a hard face told me Greenfall itself was far from secure.
Day by day the number of orcs sheltering in the city swelled exponentially. Watching the crowds grow, I felt the war pressing right against our throats. My heart hammered without rest; more than once I caught myself biting my lip without realizing it. The constant anxiety made true rest impossible.
So I swung my sword.
Day and night I cut the air, painting starlight and moonlight with the blade, contemplating the inner world I had forged. Worlds as numerous as the glittering stars poured endless new inspiration into me.
On the dawn of the fifth day in Greenfall, when the soot-clouds finally smothered even the stars, a horn blast rolled across the city—the signal that full-scale war had begun.
The chill of early morning vanished beneath the heat of orcish breath. Vague dread was drowned out by the grand roar of horns and drums. I climbed the outer wall and watched a crimson tide approach from afar.
Hundreds? No—thousands. An army so vast the eye could not take it all in.
From the heart of that red wave a single orc stepped forward. Clad in a dark-crimson robe, he looked every inch a shaman. Ominous mana trailed behind him like a cloak. He drove his staff into the ground.
Boom—!
Even at this distance the impact rolled through the air. At the tip of the staff a magic crystal blazed, just like the one set in my own sword.
"Bula mojako!"
The shaman's voice, laced with a strange tremor, rode the mana and spread outward. It was not loud, yet the power within it carried the words to every ear in the city.
Then a towering orc appeared at the center of the wall. Unlike the others he wore full plate. He drew his sword; light flared along the blade and a savage bolt of lightning erupted.
KRA-KOOM!
"Lwa!!!"
A short, fierce roar. The instant it ended, the gray shamans stationed along the wall unleashed their magic. Burning orbs and frozen spears streaked toward the red host—and the counterattack began at once.
"Whoa!"
In that same breath the orc knight vaulted from the wall. The massive warrior hit the ground running and charged straight at the enemy. Brave, yes—but to my eyes it was reckless. Abandoning the advantage of a defensive wall? I feared the pressure of war had driven him mad.
Then the great gates swung open and a tide of frenzied orcs poured out. They raced after their champion without a moment's hesitation.