Orcblood Legacy: Skirmishes: Orcs by Bernard Bertram (good inspirational books .TXT) 📕

old senator could see she was weary. The length of her strides had shortened and each step seemed to take a minor toll. Yet still she stood strong, walking with pride. Theiran knew she had spoken the truth—that Bothain had indeed been the one to spare Bitrayuul. However, it was she who bore the sacrifice, it seemed. A cost she must have known would have been paid in return for the half-orc’s life. He turned to Bitrayuul as his companions lifted him onto their shoulders, then to Tormag whose tears of joy proved just how loved the orcish warrior was. Thank ye for savin’ him, Bothain. Ye know he earned it.

Bitrayuul watched Theiran as he joined the company and offered a pained smile. “Glad to see you are safe, Senator.”

“Aye, lad. Thanks to ye,” Theiran replied, taking the half-orc’s hand in his own. “Thanks to ye.”

SAFE

Bitrayuul’s eyes cracked open slowly. It felt as if he had been asleep for a full moon cycle—and the crust in his eyes did little to dispel the thought. His body felt stiff as he strained to pull himself up in the bed. As his weight shifted, an odd crumbling sound came from beneath him. Pulling back the thick cloth on which he sat, the half-orc was surprised to see he had been sleeping on a sheet of gravel.

The half-orc peered around the room as he rubbed his eyes. Everything was made of stone. From the chair in the corner to the table it was paired with, there was naught but carved rocks in sight. Bitrayuul lifted his hands toward his temples but stopped upon seeing bandages on his arm and shoulder.

Just as Bitrayuul struggled to remember the cause for his nearly healed wounds, Tormag entered the room. “Oh! Yer awake!” The dwarf’s face lit up in an instant as he rushed over to his adoptive son and wrapped his thick arms around Bitrayuul.

“W-where—” the half-orc began, struggling to breath beneath Tormag’s strong embrace.

The commander noticed the effect his squeeze was having and relinquished his hold. “Sorry, son. I’m just so happy yer alive.”

Bitrayuul returned the smile but remained confused. “What happened? Where am I?”

“Hmm, seems ye don’t remember. The cleric was right.” Tormag strode to the other end of the room and struggled to lift the stone chair before carrying it back toward the half-orc’s bed and setting it down with a gasp of relief. “Ye remember anything at all? The trolls invading the mines, chasin’ after Theiran into the tunnels?”

Bitrayuul shook his head.

“Right . . .. Well, t’ keep it short, ye went and rescued the senator—after I telled ye not t’, mind ye!” Tormag raised a finger at his son and waggled it in disappointment. “But ye went anyway. And ye saved him from sure death, don’t ye doubt. Though, ye got cut up a bit in the process.”

Looking down at his bandages again, Bitrayuul lifted a wrapping to see the edge of a new scar. When he looked back to Tormag, he could see the concerned look on the dwarf’s face. “You mentioned something about a ‘cleric’? What is a cleric?”

Tormag’s face lit up once more. “Ah, a cleric be a follower o’ Bothain—a healer. She be the one who saved ye. We were lucky that she did, else . . . ye would’ve been lost in those mines.” The dwarf seemed to be choking back tears. Clearing his throat to avoid the awkwardness, Tormag added, “So, she said ye needed t’ rest. Ye’ve been here fer about three days.”

Three days? Bitrayuul thought. At least it wasn’t a full moon cycle. “Can I see the cleric? I’d like to thank her.”

“Eh, we’ll see. Clerics are an odd bunch, sure as stones. Besides, the Council has demanded they see ye once ye wake. So have a wash,” Tormag’s hand waved to a large, hollowed stone full of water on the far side of the room. “When yer cleaned an’ dressed, I’ll be outside.”

Bitrayuul grew nervous at the thought of meeting the council. When he first came into Tarabar, many dwarves were not accepting of him, and Theiran had warned of the Council’s expected disapproval. But before he could raise his concerns, his father was already walking toward the door. Bitrayuul’s shoulders slumped with worry and he sighed.

The half-orc failed to notice Tormag had stopped at the door and turned back toward him. A genuine smile was plastered onto the dwarf’s face. “I’m glad yer safe, son.” With a nod, the commander stepped out, leaving Bitrayuul standing in the stone room alone to prepare.

ANXIOUS

Bitrayuul stepped out of the small stone dwelling to greet Tormag after finishing his wash. Seeing his adoptive father’s cheeks spread in joy brought the half-orc some comfort, though still his stomach fluttered anxiously.

“So, to the council?” Bitrayuul asked.

Nodding in response, Tormag motioned for the half-orc to follow. “Ain’t far, son.” He could see the trepidation on his son’s face. “Don’t worry, lad. Everything’ll be alright.”

The dwarf’s reassurance did little to lessen Bitrayuul’s fears, but he fell in line behind Tormag anyway. Together, they made their way through the passage lined with dwarven hovels. It was the first time Bitrayuul had ever seen this part of Tarabar—or even homes in general. Everything was so different from the simple cave in the woods in which he was raised. For as far as his eye could see, nearly every object was made of shaped stone, iron, or steel. Even the dwellings to each of his sides seemed to be a stout edifice of fortification. Much like dwarves, he realized.

The foreign environment only added to Bitrayuul’s twisting gut and the curious stares of dwarves that he passed didn’t help either. He was still an outsider here and always would be. Staring at Tormag’s back, Bitrayuul felt guilty for the devotion the dwarf had for him. When he was younger, the dwarf had always spoken fondly of Tarabar, but now that they had returned, Bitrayuul realized that Tormag had given up everything for him and his