Keith DeCandido: Cycle of Hatred

Rising from the stool while Rabin was in mid—sharpen, Bolik said, "We'll finish this later, Rabin."

Getting up off his knees, Rabin nodded his head. "Very well, Captain."

Bolik grabbed his father's mace and exited his cabin into the narrow corridor beyond. Orgath'ar—which Bolik had named after Orgath, his noble father and the original owner of the mace, who died fighting the Burning Legion—had been built by goblins, since he wanted only the best. The shipbuilder, a sharp old goblin named Leyds, had assured Bolik that he would make the corridors extra wide to accommodate orcs' greater girth. Unfortunately, the short goblin's notions of "extra wide" were less generous than Bolik's, so the captain was barely able to squeeze his massive frame through to the staircase that led to the deck.

As he walked up the stairs, he saw his first mate, Kag, stop himself from coming down. "I was just coming to see you, sir." Kag smiled, his long tusks almost poking his eyes. "Should've known you'd feel the change."

Bolik chuckled as he came up to the deck. As soon as he arrived, he regretted not calling Kag back downstairs to meet him. The fog was almost thick enough to cut with his sword. He knew Orgath'ar well enough to walk to the edge of the deck without being able to see where he was going, but now that was the only way to get there. Kag followed, standing practically nose to nose with the captain so they could see each other.

Realizing that he wasn't going to be able to see any other ships—indeed, he barely had any empirical evidence that they were actually in a body of water, since he could hardly see that—he turned to his first mate. "What is it?"

Kag shook his head. "Hard to say. Lookout can't see much. He's caught glimpses of a ship, but sometimes he thinks it's one of the Theramore military convoys—other times, he says he looks nothing like any regular human or orc boat."

"What do you think?"

Without hesitating, Kag said, "Lookout wouldn't say if he wasn't sure. If he says he saw Theramore military, then says something else, that means he saw something different the first time. I think it's two ships. Besides, the wake's enough for two, or for one going 'round in circles. This fog, one's as like as the other."

Bolik nodded his agreement. Their lookout, Vak, could look at two specks on the horizon and tell you which was the fishing boat and which the troop carrier. Probably tell you whether or not the fishing boat was built by gnomes or humans, too, and whether the troop carrier was made before or after the Burning Legion's invasion. "Three ships this close is asking for trouble. We may need to sound the horn. Get—"

"Ship ho!"

Casting his glance up the mast, Bolik tried to see Vak, but the mast above his head was swallowed by fog. Vak's voice carried down from what humans called the "crow's nest," for reasons Bolik never understood—he knew that a crow was a type of bird, but he wasn't sure what its nest had to do with a lookout post—but the captain could not see him.

Kag called up. "What do you see?"

"Ship approaching! Humans! Not flying no colors I can see!"

"What about the military ship?"

"Can't see 'em now, but caught 'em a second ago! Runnin' parallel now!"

Bolik didn't like this. A human ship flying no colors usually meant pirates. It might not have—flying colors was almost pointless in fog like this—and they might simply have been unable to see the orc ship. Bolik wasn't about to risk the possibility—or his cargo. If the crates in his hold weren't safely delivered to Razor Hill, Bolik didn't get paid, which meant the crew didn't get paid. Days the crew lost wages were never good days to be a shipmaster.

"Sound the horn. And put guards on the cargo hold."

Kag nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Harpoons!"

At Vak's cry, Bolik cursed. Harpoons meant only one of two things. One was that the other ship had mistaken Orgath'ar for a large seafaring creature such as a whale or a sea serpent. The other was that they were pirates and the harpoons were attached to boarding lines.

Since sea serpents and whales didn't migrate this far north as a general rule, Bolik felt safe in assuming it was the latter.

The harpoons slammed into the deck, the side of the staircase that led belowdecks, and other places Bolik couldn't see in the fog. Then the lines that were attached to them went taut.

"Prepare for boarders!" Kag cried.

Bolik heard a voice say, "Cut the lines!"

The sound of a fist hitting flesh was followed by Kag saying, "Don't be a fool! Swords can't cut through those ropes, and you'll leave yourself open."

Any other conversation was cut short by the sudden arrival of the very boarders in question, appearing as if by magic in the fog. They were human, Bolik saw, and not in any kind of military uniform. Beyond that, Bolik wasn't sure what they were wearing—humans' fascination with outerwear beyond what was absolutely necessary was something that had always baffled Bolik. He knew what Lady Proudmoore's military wore, but that was it.

"Kill the pirates!" Bolik cried, but his crew needed no such prompting. The battle was joined. Bolik lifted his father's mace in his right hand and swung it at the closest human, who ducked out of the way, then lunged with his sword.

Bolik parried the sword with his left arm, but by the time he was able to whirl the mace around his head for a second strike, the human had gotten his sword up to block the mace. However, when he leaned in to do so, the human moved his stomach closer to Bolik, making it easy for the orc captain to punch his foe with his fist. Doubling over in pain and coughing, the human collapsed to the deck, and Bolik brought his mace down on the back of the human's neck.

Two more then leapt in front of Bolik, no doubt expecting him to cower at two—to—one odds. But Bolik was made of sterner stuff. Though born a slave in this world, he had been freed by Thrall, and swore he would never cower before a human again. He had fought alongside them, true, but never would he bow to one as an inferior.

Nor to two who came at him with swords.

The pirate to his left attacked with his blade—a curved one of a type Bolik had seen only once before—while the one on his right swung two shorter swords. Bolik blocked the curved blade with his left arm, though this time the edge bit into his forearm, while using the mace to deflect one of the two short swords. The other short sword missed Bolik's chest by a hair.

Although the movement sent searing pain through his left arm, Bolik brought the limb swiftly downward, the blade still stuck in it. His superior strength and leverage meant that the foe on his left was now disarmed, his weapon lodged in Bolik's own flesh. Kicking at the pirate to his right, Bolik grabbed the head of the one on his left and pushed down, forcing the pirate to his knees.

The one with the short swords flailed as he stumbled to the deck, managing to avoid a leg—breaking kick, but unable to keep his balance in the bargain.

Bolik, still with his massive left hand on the head of the curved—sword—holding pirate, cast that fool aside. The human's head hit the mast with a satisfying thud.

However, that move gave the other one a chance to regain his footing. Even as he lunged with his two tiny swords, Bolik leaned back and to his right, straightened his right arm behind him, then swung the mace over his head, bringing it smashing down on the human's skull, killing him instantly.

"Vak!" Bolik yelled up the mast as he removed the curved sword from his arm and tossed it to the deck next to its insensate owner. "Sound the horn!" The pirates likely didn't know the orcish tongue, and so wouldn't expect it when the foghorn went off.

Seconds later, an ear—splitting noise filled the air. Bolik was prepared for the sound that felt as if it vibrated his very bones, as were his crew, he assumed—he couldn't really see most of them.