Chapter 4
COMPANION
Corpses littered the courtyard. All of them, human. Their ears and eyes leaked blood, and every mouth was frozen in a scream of anguish.
The one Bakura had cut looked different from the others. They always did, when he used the dagger on them.
He wasn’t sure exactly how the dagger worked, but he knew what it did. He knew that it healed him. He knew that it drank the magic out of the blood that touched it. At least, that’s what it did to human flesh.
There was nearly no magic in human blood. Even animals like deer and chickens had more magic in them than humans did. Still…
It had been enough.
Smoke leaked out of the sliced edge of the wound. All the blood inside of him seemed to have burned up, turning the poor person into a mummy, wrapped in his own skin. He was utterly unrecognizable, though Bakura hadn’t made any attempt to remember what the ape looked like.
The spell was over now. His skin was clammy, both eyes back to normal. Bakura felt drained.
But he did not rest. There were prisoners to free.
Bakura hated Guttry. The whole region was too wet, and everywhere smelled bad, and all there was to hunt was frogs and snakes. It was his least favorite kind of place, and he said so (to no one in particular) as he stumbled toward the cage’s door.
He looked back to normal, but was now covered in a sheen of sweat, and was having a hard time focusing. The orcs in the cage watched quietly as he approached, as if he were some hungry tiger, sauntering toward a robin’s nest.
His eyes looked back to normal. Back to slitted blue, swimming in white. In truth, they had nothing to fear, for Bakura loved orcs as much as he hated humans. Maybe even moreso.
Bakura set the prisoners free, opened up the cage. He cut their bonds with his dagger, one at a time.
“Come on,” he said. Then he cut the rope. “Come on, get out of there. It’s okay. Get out of there.” Then he’d cut another.
As he repeated the mantra, the orcs filed out.
Some of them were afraid of him. After all, they had just watched him slaughter an army with a word, after brutally murdering the soldiers that had kidnapped them.
At first, it had seemed like they all kind of looked the same. But once he was closer and could focus clearer, Bakura saw that beneath the grime and above the bone, these orcs were from all over. Blueskin orcs and red, black orcs with grimy white hair and spotted sandskin orcs like him.
Well, not orcs. Just one. Just one with skin and eyes like Bakura had.
Just like him. Another Yegorah.
He was too numb to say anything, but as he freed them, he wanted to weep.
For years now, he had thought he was the last of his tribe. The very last. The end of his culture. And yet… Here was a huge orc, Bakura’s age, maybe a couple years younger. But tall. Broad shoulders already, even at 13 or whatever he was. Frightening build, but a gentle disposition.
He cut his kin loose.
“What is your name?” Bakura asked him, stunned.
“Brun,” said the Yegorah boy. “Brun of the Yegorah, my Lord.”
Bakura scoffed at that. “Lord. No, maybe once. Now, I’m just another strider.”
“You saved us,” Brun said.
But Bakura didn’t listen. He just kept on going, continuing to cut the prisoners free, one by one, one by one.
They asked him questions, and heaped praise on him, but Bakura didn’t like to talk.
“How did you do that?”
“Your name, Lord! Your name!”
“I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“The blood…”
“Who are you!”
He didn’t answer any of them.
They all came out. The day was high now, and washed the orcs in harsh light.
“The day tastes different when you’re free,” an elder muttered, closing his eyes and facing the sky. “I’ve never prayed to the Sun before, but—”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” interrupted Bakura.
The dagger hissed at him, irritated, HHHHHH.
“Oh stop it; I was joking,” he told the dagger.
Hhhh…
“I don’t know where it is,” Bakura grumbled. “You killed him before I could get it out of h—”
Hhhh!
“Before I could get it out of him! I recognize the idiot who had you, but I don’t see the mask anywhere.”
“Mask?” muttered a withered old orc, so starved he shouldn’t have been standing.
Bakura’s eyes snapped to the man, waiting.
“Well?” barked Bakura. “Speak!”
The old orc stammered, suddenly afraid.
“I-I-I heard them… t-talking about it. Took it to the… Duke’s castle.”
“Duke?”
He nodded. “Duke Gaddle, my L-l-l-lord.”
“I thought this was Gaddle’s Castle?”
“One of them,” the man said. “Smallest of the area. He’s got three.”
“Which one is he at?” demanded Bakura. “Where are they?”
“E-e-east and… A bit South, toward Neium?” the man said.
“Which one is he at?”
“That’s all I know, that’s— That’s all I know, I s-swear it, I—”
“What’s so special about this mask?” a girl interrupted.
Her skin was red as earthy wine, he’d thought. Yellow eyes, with orange ridges. Charcoal hair and fierce eybrows.
Bakura’s eye snapped to her.
“It’s mine,” he said simply. “And I want it back.”
Ushga gulped. “F-fair enough.”
Bakura hadn’t meant to frighten her. Not really. Or maybe what felt bad was that he had meant to frighten her, and it had worked. He turned around, looking for something else to do. He’d had enough talking for a moon’s turn, or more. He hated talking.
Action. Action, he thought. Boots! Then, to one of these ape’s castles.
“The blood is gone,” said a girl.
She pointed at the dagger.
“Where did all the blood go?”
“Ushga!” hissed the one named Brun. Bakura noticed how close Brun was to her.
“Hush, child!” said the girl’s elder. “You’ve gotten us into enough trouble as it is!”
“I didn’t see you clean it,” said Ushga.
Bakura let a smile crack. “That’s why it’s called the Drinking Dagger.”
“What kind of an answer is that?” said the girl.
Fierce, thought Bakura. He wondered if Nala was still there. She should see this.
“Come, Ushga!” urged her elder. She put her arms on the young girl’s shoulders and tried to pull her away. “Best not to bother the—”
The girl shook free, still focused on Bakura.
“What is your name?” she asked.
Bakura wouldn’t say.
“Ushga, hush now!” said the grumpy elder.
“I am Ushga,” she said, “as you can hear. Of the Guttry, and you have saved me and my family. Please, we would know your name. We would sing of you, so let us.”
There was a silence.
Hhhh…
The wind curled over the castle walls, and whistled through the leaves of the courtyard.
Hhhh…
The sun was high indeed.
Hhhh…
“Been here long?” asked Bakura.
Many faces nodded.
“Three moons,” said the one named Brun.
“No food,” said another.
Bakura nodded. “I can see that.” Even Brun looked a bit peaky.
“Their kitchen is there,” Bakura said, pointing.
The prisoners had been in a big clump up to that point, but now they ambled apart. Eventually, all but one of them went to the kitchen.
Bakura felt numb, distant, disconnected from his body.. The adrenaline had worn off; now, he turned his attention to the dead, walking over them, looking for something. He wandered off among the splayed corpses of the human army.
Only Ushga followed him.
“You saved us,” she said.
“Uh huh,” grunted Bakura.
“What are you looking for?”
“Boots. Someone to loot, with boots my size.”
Ushga scoffed. “Boots?”
“Greatest weapon ever created,” Bakura said. He grinned. “Before boots, nature always wins. After boots? Nature wins sometimes. Good weapon. Here we go.”
Bakura found someone his size, and pried the boots off the bloodiest corpse in the courtyard.
“Let me come with you,” Ushga said.
“No.” Bakura didn’t even look up.
“Please.”