T Lain - City of Fire

Ian, even with his wounds, started to outdistance the heavier members of the group, and Naull grew worried he would pass beyond their sight. She’d just made up her mind to sprint ahead and tell him to wait when he halted. As she, Regdar, Early, and Alhandra caught up, they saw a pair of figures, a halfling and a young boy, approaching from the south. They reached Ian at the same time as did the rest of the party.

“You’re back!” the boy exclaimed.

Naull recognized him as the innkeeper’s son. She couldn’t remember the youth’s name, though. His father, Eoghan, had done much of the talking for the villagers during their hiring. The boy panted, clutching his side, and the halfling looked at him with grim amusement.

“We came looking for you,” said the halfling. His voice had the fine timbre common to his race—not high-pitched or thin, but light and strong.

“Why?” Regdar asked. “What happened?”

“We caught one,” the boy gasped before the halfling could answer. His face was flushed, but he obviously wanted to be the one to break the news.

The halfling smiled and said, “The outriders—the ones you said we should have circling the village—they found one and brought him in. He was exhausted. It looked like he’d had a helluva bad time.” There was no sympathy in the halfling’s voice.

Regdar nodded, jerked a thumb back toward Windlass and the horse’s burden, and said, “So did we.”

The halfling paled slightly as he looked up at the two bedrolls and instantly guessed their contents. He looked from one adventurer to another, his gaze pausing briefly on Alhandra.

“Trebba?” he asked. “And the dwarf…Yurgen?”

Regdar nodded solemnly and the halfling’s eyes dropped.

“What’s your name, young man?” Alhandra asked gently but firmly.

“E-Eoghan…” he stammered, “but everybody calls me Straw, ’cause Eoghan’s my father’s name an’ I’m in charge of the stable.”

“Straw, can you take us to where they have this prisoner?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “They’ve got him at ol’ Urthar’s farm. It’s all the way around the village.”

“All the way around? To the south?” Naull asked.

“Yeah,” the boy answered.

“Why all the way around there?”

“That’s where they caught it, I guess,” the boy shrugged.

He looked up at Alhandra and she nodded. He started off down the path, with Ian and Early stepping up beside him.

Naull shook her head and yawned. Her head felt like it was full of cotton. Not surprising—they’d all been up for nearly twenty hours. Beneath the dirt and grime, she could see the dark rings under Regdar’s eyes and realized she must look pretty ragged herself. She glanced at Alhandra’s nearly spotless face and perfect skin, and felt her blood grow a little hot. She turned to the halfling.

“I’m sorry; I don’t know you,” she said.

“I’m Otto—Otto Farmen.” The halfling bowed slightly and added, “I’m a friend of the boy’s father. I work with the traders of times, but I’ve been out of town on business.”

“Did you see the prisoner?” Naull asked. “The orc the outriders captured?”

Otto nodded and said, “They sent to the inn right after they caught it. I was just getting up an’ Eoghan an’ I hustled down to the farm with some others. Eoghan sent me back to light the fire and go looking for you. Straw insisted on coming along.”

“Did they really catch it south of the village?” Naull continued.

“Yep. It was down at the edge of the Sandrift, collapsed by one of the springs. Looked like it’d been running all night.” He noticed the pair frowning and asked, “Why?”

They told him about their adventures, paying careful attention to their time estimates. Otto took the stories of Yurgan’s and Trebba’s deaths without comment, but they could see anger smoldering within him.

“So,” the halfling said as they concluded their tale, “you don’t think this orc is one of the band that’s been attacking our traders?”

“Right,” Naull answered, and Regdar agreed. “We’re certain no others escaped from the ambush, and an orc would not have had time to leave the lair and get all the way around the village before dawn, even if there’d been some reason to do so.”

Otto frowned and asked, “So where do you think this orc came from?”

Naull shrugged and Regdar shook his head.

“I guess that’s what we’ll have to find out,” Regdar said. “It bothers me, though.”

It bothered Naull, too.

When they reached the village, the square was nearly deserted. One woman stood tending the fire. She waved at them and Straw ran toward her. The party started in her direction then a sound erupted from the south, like a hundred voices all shouting at once. Naull didn’t like the sound of it. She turned toward Regdar to say something, but the fighter was already loping across the square. Naull started in surprise to see Alhandra jogging along right beside him.

Another shout reached Naull’s ears as they cleared the village square and headed along the south road. The party rounded a corner and headed up a muddy path toward a low ranch house. It looked as if the entire village had walked over the soft earth. A third shout came from behind the barn. They could see parts of the crowd on either side. Some people waved clubs, others torches, and a few had weapons.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Regdar said.

Naull didn’t either, though she didn’t know why. If the town truly caught one of the orcs that had been raiding their settlements and trading caravans, they had every right to execute it, though Naull didn’t care much for mob rule.

The sight that greeted her when she rounded the corner confirmed her worst fears.

From the hayloft pulley hung a nearly naked body. Streaks of blood ran down the scarred, well-muscled chest and legs. Grayish skin looked almost purple in the morning light. Wounds on the face had closed one eye and the other stared at the crowd dispassionately. As Naull watched, one of the villagers jabbed the hanging figure with a pitchfork. The body twisted and blood seeped out of the wounds as the crowd yelled, but the figure made no sound. It breathed heavily, though, so Naull knew the creature was still alive.

“That’s no orc,” Ian hissed in her ear.

The wizard gaped. She couldn’t imagine how she’d been so blind. The figure twisted back toward her so she could see the face and features clearly. The eyes bulged, the forehead sloped, and one fang protruded from a prominent underbite, but Naull had fought and killed enough orcs to know the difference between those brutal, barbarous humanoids and this poor wretch.

“He’s a half-orc,” Naull breathed.

“Probably an evil son of a bitch, too,” Ian said. Before Naull could object he added, “But he doesn’t deserve this. Not just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Are you sure of that?” Regdar asked. “He could’ve been up to something.”

“Everybody’s ‘up to something’,” Ian answered coldly. He glared at Regdar, then shook his head. “Doesn’t mean he had anything to do with our orcs.”

“Is it any of our business?” Naull asked, but she knew the answer.

Regdar smirked and said, “Hey, it’s not as if we have anything else to do—like sleep.” His tanned face was lined with fatigue but also grim resignation.

“How do we stop it?” she asked, looking from Ian to Regdar.

The sharp sound of steel being drawn broke the tired wizard out of her thoughts. She started, seeing Alhandra with her weapon in hand, her silver armor gleaming in the sunlight. The paladin stepped forward. Naull had a horrifying flash of her hacking a path through the unarmored villagers and she put out a hand to stop her.