The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

and do the same. From within the camp, Ulam heard the sudden shrieks from his enemy as they scurried to their weapons, the reddish-yellow reflection of the fire shining across the otherwise colorless desert. Ulam stood perfectly still, cemented to his location behind the tents, his axe tightly gripped in his hand. His eyes searched every last inch of the expanse for Nilawen, but they failed to spot her. For what little fear he felt for the prospect of combat, he was terrified for her safety, not to mention Amantius’ well-being as well. Just stay hidden a little longer, I will take care of them.

Using the sound of the braying camels to mask his approach, Ulam rushed to a pile of cargo resting in the ash. As he hid behind cover, one of the kidnappers lit a torch and was walking around the camp shouting in a foreign tongue. Ulam waited for what felt like an eternity for his moment to strike, not daring to look over his barricade for even a second to see where his enemies were.

“We know you are out there,” a voice shouted from the center of the camp, followed by some words in a language Ulam had never heard before. “Come out, we are not your enemies.”

That is exactly what my enemy would say. On one hand, Ulam wanted to solve things peacefully, but on the other, he wanted to rush in and crack open their skulls in retribution. To some extent, he was irked by the kidnappers’ suggestion of parleying, but he knew their willingness to do so could also be a ruse, designed to bring him out of hiding.

“We do not wish you harm,” the same voice continued. “Come into the light and discuss your business.”

“How can I trust you?” Ulam shouted into the night.

“I would ask the same of you,” the other voice said, “he who sneaks up on a camp at night like a wolf stalking its prey.”

Ulam grunted. Fair point.

“Very well,” he yelled, “I am coming out. But just a warning, I have bloodied my axe under less egregious circumstances before, and I have no qualms doing so again.”

Neither voice spoke as Ulam climbed to his feet. He stepped around the cargo and into the camp, his jade-green axe shining brightly in the firelight. For a brief moment, he was blinded by the searing glare from the flames, his eyes having not adjusted to the brightness. But as his pupils shrunk he began to see the two kidnappers standing before him, specifically their tails and fur-covered faces.

“What are you?” Ulam blurted out of confusion. “Are you mice-people? Human-rats?”

“No need for the insults,” one of them said, “our people take great offense to being likened to rats.”

“My apologies,” Ulam replied quietly, his words floating away into the night. Though he kept his grip tight on the axe handle, the anger which had flowed through his veins rapidly disappeared. “Then what, exactly, are you?”

The Mouse-Man chuckled. “No offense has been taken. I take it you have never seen a Kalikki before, have you? Did you even know our race existed?”

Ulam shook his head. A mouse standing on two legs, as tall as a teenage Human, wearing clothes like me, is speaking the language I speak. Either I am suffering from heat exhaustion or the Alakuum is full of more surprises than I expected.

Both of the Kalikkis lowered their spears, dropping them into the ash on the ground by their feet. “Drop your weapon, Nogoon, we have no quarrels with you. Come, as is traditional in our lands we will share camel’s milk with you.”

Those things produce milk? Ulam looked at the camels, now resting in the same spots they had been before they were spooked. In the corner of his eye, he saw movement in a tent and instantly remembered why he was there; he had not forgotten Amantius, he simply had become distracted by his first encounter with a Kalikki.

“Where is my brother?” Ulam growled as he raised his axe, catching the Kalikkis by surprise.

“We have seen no other Nogoons,” the same Kalikki replied. “Sorry, no other Orcs, that is. We have only seen you.”

“Who is in the tent over there?” Ulam gestured with his axe.

“There?” The other Kalikki started, a mix of fear and pride creeping into his voice. “There is an Emberi slaver in that tent. I knocked him out cold at the last oasis. My brother and I are going to turn him in exchange for gold.”

Ulam grunted. He walked towards the tent in question, never taking his eyes off the two Kalikkis in front of him. Though he knew nothing about their race, he guessed from their appearance they were naturally quick and nimble. Ulam wagered they would remain passive while he approached the tent, but if they chose to attack him, he hoped they had never been trained for combat. If they had been, he would stand almost no chance defeating both by himself.

“Amantius,” Ulam shouted when he reached the tent, “are you in there?”

Indecipherable mumbling came from within, followed by some shuffling.

Ulam grunted; he knew he had to check inside the tent. He hated taking his eyes off the Kalikkis for a second to peek under the flap, but that was the only way he was going to know for certain that Amantius was inside. He glanced at the Kalikkis once again; both stood perfectly still, their small eyes watching intently as their tales wriggled in the ash behind them. With a deep breath, Ulam lifted the flap and looked inside, his eyes quickly focusing on the prisoner within.

Amantius was there, bound and gagged, with a blood-encrusted gash across his forehead. His eyes were half-open, giving him a concussed appearance. Without any regard for the Kalikkis behind him, Ulam jumped into the tent and used his axe to cut the leather straps wrapped around his foster-brother’s wrists. He then took the gag out of Amantius’ mouth and checked the wound for infection, wiping away the