Chapter Forty-Eight: Crucible

Chapter Forty-Eight: Crucible

Tom had Sere wait while he told Val his discovery. They were perched on adjacent branches of the same tree, and after their whispered conversation, he instructed Sere to continue on. The little birds would be able to see more than they would, and they wouldnt be able to get much closer to the camp without being seen, anyway.

Tom paid close attention to the images Sere sent him. She spotted another pair of sentries, these two seemingly arguing over something. It looked like their disagreement was on the brink of devolving into a fight.

Remembering back to the days of his capture, that seemed pretty normal as far as orc group dynamics went. They were a fractious and volatile lot. The entire time the orcs had held them captive, they had bickered incessantly. The only thing that had kept blood from being spilled was the presence of the massive Idealist orc leader.

Tom used the second pair of sentries to orient Sere towards the camp. Several sparrows hopped and flitted between branches in small bursts, slowly working their way forward.

He was aware of Val watching him intently as he focused on the images from his familiar. He tried his best to ignore her. He sent patience and caution flowing down the bond, though he felt it unlikely any of the orcs would notice the birds, and even if they did, they were one among millions that lived in the Deep. They were slightly oddly coloured, but there were plenty of oddities around. He was confident that brightly coloured sparrows would attract no attention at all.

They crept ever further forward, and Tom began to get other impressions from Sere. The birds didnt seem to have much of a sense of smell, but they recognised smoke drifting from up ahead. They noted uneven windcurrents, low levels of turbulence in the air too.

The trees began to thin. The hulking shapes of the Nails became clearer through the widening gaps in the foliage. They suddenly crested a small ridge, and there they found the camp.

It was set in a shallow depression, the ground sloping off slowly and slightly from the top of the shallow ridge where the sentries were arranged, until it bottomed out in the middle of the camp and, in the distance, began the gradual climb to the foothills at the base of the mountains.

The trees had been cleared for a thousand yards or more, and as far to either side, as well. Tom could make out the ragged stumps dotted everywhere, all different sizes, like lily pads in a pond.

The entire space was filled with orcs. Teeming with them.

Tom tried to get some sort of rough estimate of their numbers and quickly realised it was useless. There were tens of thousands, easily.

As he watched through the eyes of birds, they swarmed, and fought. Cooked huge slabs of meat on spits and rutted like animals in the open next to them. He saw casual murder, and squalid birth treated with the same indifference.

Hunting parties brought continual streams of carcasses to the perimeter, where vicious fights immediately erupted over the fresh meat. Orcs died in the melees, and their bodies were fought over too. It was chaos.

Tom was horrified. Terror boiled in him. He was repulsed. Bile threatened his throat. Groups of orcs this large were always referred to as an infection, an infestation, and he could see why.

They had poisoned this place, dug into it and subverted the natural, recurring, sustainable processes and took. They consumed. They had drained the order and balance, and left rot and turmoil. It was a travesty.

Tom felt his breath hitch in his chest, his heart pumping, and he forced himself back to calm. There was more to see. Much more.

Great plumes of smoke rose from near the centre of the camp. There, huge, crude structures had been erected, and dark gouts of smog belched from rude chimneys. Several other large buildings sat nearby, in the true centre, and one area was ringed by a palisade made from sharpened logs.

This was all wrong. Orcs didnt build, they broke. They didnt create, they destroyed. They were scavengers, beasts whose greatest achievements were to tear down the works of better races and defile them, turning any haphazard scraps of armour, any of their weapons, even bent or broken, against their creators.

And yet, here, the orcs were doing something.

If they had manifested Ideals, then they had to reevaluate what they knew of orcs. If they were suddenly building things, even in such a crude facsimile of true creation, then the danger they posed had grown exponentially.

It spoke of planning, beyond the pure animal ferocity they usually acted with. And it did not bode well for Wayrest.

Tom had to know more. He pushed Sere to flight, and several birds flickered from the treeline and over the camp.

Their tiny shapes danced through tendrils of oppressive smoke. They skimmed through air buoyed by the rank breath of countless savage thousands of orcs.

Filthy dogs! We could push them harder were they not so weak! And these are the vermin that sought our extinction? Pathetic!

Coldness sluiced over Tom. He recognised the orc speaking. It was the leader of the party that had captured him and hunted him. He could see the twisted scar on its shoulder from where he had stabbed it in their fight. The brute seemed even bigger than last he saw it. Had it not even been fully grown?

DO NOT KILL THE HUMANS! the orc leader raged. The subordinates shrank away from his anger. Clearly none of them wanted to test his patience. The leader did not restrain his anger, but much of it suddenly abated, restrained.

We need them. We need more Idealists, still. We are close - close! But not ready yet. Have we taken any more captives?

The ones who prowl this forest are wily. We lose as many as we take trying to capture them. They are no lambs like those they sent in force, another said.

The orc leader reclined slightly. Its tiny eyes narrowed in thought.

They could have stamped us out, then. But they retreated. I still wonder why he pawed at his chin with fingers like prison bars.

No matter. It was weakness for them to retreat. We will burn their city to the ground as soon as we have enough Idealists.

The other orcs let out a collective, hair-raising growl of anticipation.

We need more captives. Every Idealist we take is hundreds more we can forge. We are close. Go. Find them. I dont care how. Bring. Me. Idealists.

The gathered orcs slowly made for the exit, moving with unconscious, predatory grace. Tom reeled at the implication. This supposed Great Smith was somehow turning humans into orcs? Or using them to make Idealist orcs?

The blood rushed from him, and he felt pale and dizzy. He was aware of Vals hand on his shoulder, her concerned, whispered questions, but he absently waved her off. He had to confirm this. This changed everything.

The little bird worked its way back out of the roof. The last image it sent Tom before leaving was the Smith sitting on his bench, clearly deep in thought. Tom burned it into his minds eye.

When Wayrest readied for war, the Watch would be loosed. This Great Smith was still only one orc. An assassins blade would do as well for it as any king.

There was only one structure left in the camp to inspect. Tom sent Sere towards it, though he already knew with sickening certainty what it would contain.

The ringed palisade wall came closer. He had time to note the huge amount of guards, all seemingly the same size and quality of the ones guarding the Smith, positioned all the way around the wall, and then Sere was over it. Within its wooden bounds sat almost fifty humans.

They were miserable. Every single one looked one step away from a skeleton. They were starved, living in filth. Huddled together for the meagre company their fellows presented. Tom seethed with rage and pity and fear.

That could easily have been him.

They all looked whole, though. Some had bruises, or other injuries, but none appeared to be in any imminent danger of death. Just severely mistreated.

Tom supposed whatever foul industry they were being used as fuel for required them to be, if not healthy, then at least alive.

He was not sure how much longer they had, though. The Smith mentioned they were close, several times. Would they keep their human captives, then? Were they that valuable? Or would they toss them away once they had a bigger harvest to reap?

Tom recalled Sere, urging the little birds to speed.

They had news for Wayrest, and it wasnt good.