Page 44 of X’nath (Dark Orcs of Helfallow)
GORRUK
I was in the training grounds when Yargol found me, darting between the shadows. His red, furry body nearly tripped me up as I was swinging my weapon, honing my skills. The weasel bounded ahead as if shooting out from the mountain, then came to a stop, his head turning back toward me with a frantic flicker of his eyes.
The little creature trilled, his voice urgent, calling me to follow.
I grunted in response and followed him through the thickening woods just outside our mountain barrier. His excitement made me uneasy—Yargol didn’t rush for no reason.
When we reached the dense forest, I saw the cause of his distress. X’nath stood over a fallen human body, his posture rigid, every muscle tense. The man was sprawled on the ground, lifeless, the blood pooling around him staining the earth. The closer I got them, the more I held back a snicker. The corpse was missing a few limbs and his stomach was filleted open. It was a vulgar display of power—seemed the kill was personal. There was no doubt that the orc warrior had a hand in it. X’nath’s axe was still in his grip, glinting under the fading sunlight with dark, crimson stains.
“What’s this, X’nath?” I asked, my voice rough as I stood beside him. “What’s happened here? Did you get carried away in all the fun?”
X’nath glanced up, his eyes meeting mine with a coldness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand. He wiped the blood from his axe, though it was mostly unnecessary, since the man before him was already beyond care.
“This, Gorruk,” X’nath said, his voice low and measured, “is one of the slavers. One of the men responsible for the women being lost at sea. The ones who took Gracie and others from their homes in chains.”
The words hit me like a slap. Yes, as orc raiders, we had thieved, we had pillaged when necessary. The flesh trade wasn’t something new, but as our new members of our clan continued to fully assimilate and integrate themselves into our everyday lives, it was hard seeing them as anything other than our females. Slaves? These women? Never. Not under our watch.
But to catch a human slaver this far out? This far inland, close to our mountain? To hear X’nath’s words spoken with such finality made everything sink in. This wasn’t some random human. This was a message in itself—a signal that things were changing.
I stepped closer, examining the body. The man had been older by human male standards, probably beyond his prime, yet there was no denying the death he had met hadn’t been swift. It was brutal. Just like the one he likely doled out to the women he had stolen. How many had he peddled in his lifetime? If we hadn’t found our women out at sea, where would they have ended up?
It was no surprise when we crossed paths with the dragon riders. In Helfallow, females were prized possessions, treated like treasures to be guarded and protected. But in the human settlements, it didn’t seem to be the same. Women there were often seen as little more than commodities—something to be traded, bought, or sold like pieces of meat.
“Your work, I see,” I muttered, noting how X’nath’s hands were steady, his expression unreadable. Though the scent of blood was strong in the area, so was the scent of his mate.
He nodded. “I had to make sure Lak'osh is never hurt again. Not here. Not with me.” X’nath turned to look at me, a wicked glint in his eyes that promised something beyond mere retribution. He had always been a loose cannon, driven by his arrogance, but ever since he found his mate, something had shifted in him. He was no longer just the reckless warrior—he had become something far more dangerous, more focused. “But it’s not enough. I need to send a message. And I need you to help me do it.”
I looked up at him, narrowing my eyes, suspicion clouding my thoughts. “A message?” I asked, my voice low, heavy with caution. “What kind of message are we talking about?”
Back in the old days, wars between clans were fought with blood and bone, each battle a brutal reminder of the cost of defiance. My mind couldn’t help but drift back to those times—when disputes were settled by the size of a blade and the will to shed blood. Surely, X’nath wasn’t suggesting we resort to the same savage tactics, was he?
But if he was, I knew exactly where to go. The old warriors always knew where to turn when it came to sending a message—someone like Greag, Karg, or even Vakgar could get it done, the kind of warriors who specialized in sending those “messages.” But in order to reach the human settlements, we’d have to consort with someone with access to travel by air…
And if X’nath was considering something like that, I couldn’t help but feel a chill of excitement run down my spine.
X’nath stepped away from the body and turned toward me fully, his gaze intense. “I need you to send the pieces back to where he came from. Gracie had spoken of the docks where the ships were. She’s also described a bit about her previous home, one I recognize through talks with some of the traders that have come by our clan over the years. They’re located to the far west, just beyond the sea.”
I was silent for a moment, my eyes flicking between the body and X’nath. The skaevin birds were often used to carry messages by a particular orc clan, the Cliffers. They were trained in various ways and could very well be used as a sort of primal way to communicate over vast distances.
For the past couple of decades, I had quietly forged an alliance with a rogue member of the Cliffers, though I hadn’t shared that with many of the other warriors. It wasn’t something I boasted about—alliances with rogue clans were always a tricky thing. But it seemed the rumors had found their way through the branches of the forest, because X’nath had specifically sought me out for this task. If anyone could ensure the body would reach its intended destination, it was me.
“You speak of old war tactics, X’nath. You do realize this may cause war among our people and the humans?” I asked, my voice quiet, contemplative.
X’nath’s lip curled into a smile that was almost too cold to be called friendly. “Savage Claw Clan is more than capable of taking care of its own. This warning will make it clear that there will be consequences for those who think they can take what isn’t theirs. We won’t let them get away with it. I don’t want to see another one of these slavers near our females again. We make sure the rest of them know that the consequences will be… no so swift but deadly.”
I stared at the body again. It was a grotesque sight, but the idea of sending a message—the message that this world would not bow to the slavers, the invaders, the ones who thought they could claim anything they wanted—suddenly made a grim kind of sense. History had a way of repeating itself, and maybe it was time for the cycle to turn once more. As an old warrior, the anticipation of what was to come stirred something deep within me, a thrill I hadn't felt in years.
“Aye,” I said, my voice gaining excitement. “I’ll send it. Let the humans know their brothers in arms won’t get away with it.”
X’nath grunted in approval. “I knew you’d understand.”
The young orc warrior turned away from me, leaving the body and their scattered pieces where they lay for now. I followed his gaze for a moment, scanning the edges of the woods in the direction of the swamps that stood between us and the sea. I could almost hear the rustle of the skaevin wings in my mind, though they were still far away. It was time to get this done.
Before I moved to find my connection to the Cliffers, I turned back to him. “You’re sure about this, X’nath? Once we send this back, there’s no going back.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “It’s the only way forward. They’ll know what we’re capable of now. And they’ll remember.”
I nodded, and without another word, we went to work. I had learned long ago that in our world, action spoke louder than words. And this action—this message to the humans—would echo louder than any words ever could.
I studied X’nath for a moment, wondering what he would say when he returned to his mate, Gracie. "What are you going to tell her?"
His eyes hardened with resolve as he met my gaze. “I’ll tell her the truth,” he said, voice low and unwavering. “I’ll tell her that I’ll always do what it takes to keep her safe. No matter the cost. This... this was the cost of that promise.”
I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. The world we lived in wasn’t a forgiving one, and sometimes, to protect the ones you loved, sacrifices had to be made—sacrifices that would be remembered.
A few hours later, I stood at the edge of the forest. The night was thick, and the air was heavy with secrets and trepidation. That’s when I saw him—Wurgoth, a rogue from the Cliffer clan, stepping out of the shadows. He looked as if he’d been waiting for this moment. His grin stretched wide, and I could see the amusement flickering in his eyes.
"You sure this is the message you want sent, Gorruk?" Wurgoth asked, his voice light, but there was a dark edge to it. He looked at the slaver’s body with a twisted satisfaction. "Seems like a hell of a way to get your point across."
I met his eyes, unfazed by his tone. "Take the body. Get it to the humans."
Wurgoth’s grin only grew, and he stepped forward to grab the slaver’s corpse and detached limbs with ease, slinging it over his shoulder in a sack. "Consider it a favor, Gorruk. One I’ll very much enjoy delivering."
"Make sure they understand the message, Wurgoth. No mistakes."
Wurgoth’s laughter was sharp, cruel. "I never make mistakes."
Without another word, he turned and vanished into the trees, his footsteps barely making a sound on the forest floor. Above, the deep thrum of large wings beating through the night air.
And with that, I stood in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. The forest felt colder now, the air thicker, as if the very earth itself held its breath. The world around us was shifting, like the quiet before a storm. What the humans would do next, I couldn't say, but one thing was certain: the message would reach them. And when it did, they would understand the cost of crossing the Savage Claw Clan.
The finality of it sank into my bones, a heavy, dark certainty that whatever came next, there would be no turning back. And, perhaps, I would live to see another glorious battle—one that would carve my name into history once again.