Book III
Chapter Fourteen
SWORDS and SWELLING SPELLS
The human guards swaggered toward the tollgate. Their rusty weapons swung back and forth, forth and back, in a counterpoint with the sway of the gate in the rain.
“Festering apes,” cursed the drunk goblin under his breath.
“Hush now,” said Tha’seng. His voice was soft, but it was a command, and Thaek’rj obeyed.
Nal’kuth’ra looked to Ul’druk, whose jaw was tensed up behind the cover of his cowl.
Ul’druk’s hands always rested on his belt, but now, his sword hand slid next to his sword. He had no inconspicuous way to prepare to draw his shield, but his other hand did drop to his side, ready to move anywhere.
The human guards strode up. At first, it seemed like they were going toward Ul’druk, the orc in the group.
But (and perhaps this was the cowl’s doing) the humans looked right past Ul’druk, and their eyes landed on Tha’seng.
The tailor bowed deeply. “My Lords.”
The humans chortled.
Then, their leader’s smile fell away, and his mouth came to match the hatred in his eyes.
“Yesterday,” he said. “The invaders came on boats. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
Tha’seng kept his gaze low. “I was… I… am a tailor, my Lord, not a sailor. I don’t know how—”
“Tailor at the docks?” joked the fool with the halbard. The other fool laughed, but the captain just shook his head.
“Liars and thieves,” he said. “Tell me the truth.”
“I am… telling th-the tr—”
The captain drew his sword, and Tha’seng flinched away.
Ul’druk did not wait. He did not hesitate. Swift as a blink, he drew his sword and sliced the sword arm of the captain off at the elbow.
The forearm fell, and the sword clattered to the ground.
Before the captain could even know there was pain, Ul’druk shoved his blade through the human’s throat.
The fools behind the captain hurried to grab their swords. Because they were rushing, they fumbled and stuttered, giving Nal’kuth’ra enough time to launch into action.
Nal’kuth’ra did not know where it came from, but something filled her. Blue light came from her— from her eyes, from a few of her tattoos, from her very breath. Only the tattoos that had been “completed,” turned from lines into glyphs in the tongue of Old Giant… Those were that inklings that glowed when light filled her. Through ink and through scars, there were words that were hers now.
The water that fell from the skies seemed to feed
The torrent that churned in Nal’kuth’ra.
This something within her, told her to reach for the blood.
And she did.
She bent down, and dipped two fingers
In the rain and the blood
That pooled and mingled
Atop the densely packed, sopping wet
Sand. The skies sobbed.
She used someone else’s blood to join two tattoos, and the united word turned blue. A word that said, BEFOUL.
As it glowed, she screamed it. Not in any language she knew how to speak, but in the Primordial Tongue. The language all magical languages came from.
She spoke it in the dialect of water, and the water understood her.
It filled the two men’s bodies with water, and it did indeed befoul them.
Before their very eyes, the humans bloated and bloated and bloated into oblivion. First their ankles, then their wrists. Then their necks became puffy, and their faces, and their bellies. Then all the parts between parts, just growing and growing, filling with water.
The process was quick to start, and slow to finish.
As Nal’kuth’ra let that word go, panting where she stood, the two human men writhed on the ground, screaming for as long as their throats could still speak.
Luckily, no one was around to hear their screams, as the storm raged above them.
“Well,” said a voice behind them, “that was something.”
They all turned, and saw no one. They looked around, seeking the voice.
An orcish man dropped off the tin roof, landing with practiced grace.
“I knew you were here,” said Tha’seng.
Ul’druk yanked his sword out of the captain’s throat, and looked for somewhere to wipe it. He had always preferred the spear, but in this moment, Ul’druk was grateful to have brought a sword as well.
The sailor nodded at Nal’kuth’ra and Ul’druk. “And who are our friends?”
Tha’seng was pale and shivering, rattled from the violence. His voice came out harsh, and grumpy.
“They’re hands. For helping.”
“I can see that,” said the sailor. “Your names?”
“This is Ul’druk, Nal’kuth’ra. There’s a… another young man I’d like you to meet, once we get to the Chandler’s.”
“Oh?” said the sailor. His voice smiled, but his face was flat. He wore a bandana over a mess of hair, then two heavy cloaks on top of everything. “And what’s his name, heh?”
Tha’seng just nodded. “You’re gonna tell me, when we get there.”
The sailor was confused by that, but shrugged it off.
“Alright. The crates are this way. Careful though ; whole deal of gunpowder in ‘em. We spill anything? Not only are we dead, but we’re caught. So… Don’t spill.”
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Link to Orcish-English Dictionary
Wanna hear the music of NALA SAGA?
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