The Missing Dragon Ch. 05

So, stop letting the pain and the hate boil in your gut and go talk to your friends. We're all waiting. That's a good first step. Some of them will probably put their foot in their mouths, but you should forgive them because figuring out what to say is hard. Listen to their stories about Torren and you'll come to know him better. Then you'll realise you aren't alone in this, and though you loved him the most, you're not the only one feeling his loss. That'll make you stronger, and after a while you'll be able to think about him again, and how happy he made you. The pain will still be there, but it won't cut as deep, it won't burn, and the memory of the happiness he gave you will outweigh it. You have to fight to get there, but it'll be worth it."

"How do you know this?"

"I don't, but it's a way forward. I'm pretty sure it's what Torren wanted for you, but you'd have to ask Janette for specifics."

Talina took an expression out of Emmet's playbook and furrowed her brow at that.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you remember when Janette died that night? Her spirit came to me. She told me she'd seen Torren's before he passed on, and that he said I should look out for you. He was worried about you."

"That's impossible."

"Oh yeah, definitely. But with that ring on my finger I figure I managed quite a few impossibilities that night. Anyway, I thought you should know I'll be doing as he asked and prodding you back into the land of the living until you give in." He blinked and then looked down at the weapons and the thin razor-chains still resting beside her. "Or until you turn me into a shish-kebab with these things."

"I would never hurt you, master."

"I hoped that'd be the case. Don't think that we're not going to have a conversation somewhere down the line about these things and how you got to use them, by the way." He returned his attention to her rather than her tools of evisceration. "But for now, let's go out and get dinner with the others. Then we can go to the funeral and remember our friends, and how happy they made us."

Talina remained still for a time, and her gaze wandered back to the rack of tools. Then she shut her eyes tightly as she forced a change in her mind, or at least the veneer of one. When they flickered open once again, her gaze was more in focus and it shifted back toward Gregory. She stood up and he followed her lead. Hand in hand, they felt the strength of their friendship in their touch before walking out together into the sunlight.

- - - - -

Many turned out to pay their respects to the courtesan and the blacksmith. Nearly every orc who had used Torren's practice weapons in the training glade turned up carrying what the craftsman had made for them. Every smith in the Embervine encampment turned out for the event as a sign of respect for the human's work, and for his bravery.

Gregory saw a number of orcs and human slaves he wasn't familiar with at first, and discovered they were Lydia's regular customers. They sat in a circle as the assembly was formed and told the stories she had loved to tell them. Fiona sat with them for a time, before searching out Talina so that they could cry together for their friend.

Once the assembly was finished, the time came to light the fires. Both Torren and Lydia's bodies had been placed within a chamber of branches on top of several crossed stacks of wood. Flammable oil had been doused over the pyres, and as Gregory approached them it smelled oddly sweet rather than carrying the chemical musk he'd expected.

Silence fell and heads lowered in mourning when Valise handed him the first torch. He had been told that it was his duty to light the fires, as a master's sign of respect to his fallen servants. The act symbolised a last service to them in thanks for theirs to him in life.

He walked around the pyres, lighting them in the places he had been told and trying his damndest to do the job right. Tears were streaming down his cheeks by the time he was finished, and he offered the torch back to Valise.

The flames began to roar up into the darkening sky, and one by one the orcs began to sing. It was a slow, mournful song. The Last Song. Not something often sung for the passing of humans. Gregory couldn't join in, but he found the slow rhythm of the melody and hummed along with it whilst wiping his tears away and looking into the flames.

When the song finished, the crowd began to disperse and only a few came to speak with him afterward. The first was the father of Frun, who carried with him a long torch of his own and said his name was Idrik. He was a bulky orc, and had a bald head along with large black beard streaked with silver. A golden ring pierced his ear, and the resemblance to Frun wasn't difficult to spot. When he introduced himself, Gregory felt something inside him almost break. It was only uncertainty that kept him silent, as he was unsure how to apologize for the death of the orc's son.

Idrik didn't seem to want an apology.

"My son always had trouble fighting. He was too stout for the charge, and he wasn't the fastest. I am glad that he met you, Gregory Hopkins. He fought well with you." The orc smiled sadly, and then as if remembering it was in his hand he offered out the torch. "On the night he died, Frun fought with this. His monument will stand in our home, but I had heard you might be raising human death-stones here for your friends. My son talked of the smith, and a little of the courtesan. He liked them. I thought his last weapon might give light to their resting places."

Gregory didn't quite know how to respond to that, and he felt that his voice might tremble if he tried to respond. So he took the offered torch and offered a grateful bow to the bulky orc. Idrik smiled sadly and reached out to offer the human's shoulder a reassuring pat. Then without another word, he turned and departed the glade.

"Master? May I take that for you?" Valise asked.

He nodded and handed her the torch. "See to it that it's put in my tent until we can raise it over the headstones."

"Yes, master." Valise nodded.

"Is there anything else?"

"Tragoth Ironheart wished to speak with you before you departed. Talina also wanted a word before you retired for the night." Valise took the torch from him with the respect it deserved.

"Alright. Who's Tragoth Ironheart?" Gregory asked.

"He is the master smith of the Embervine Forest encampment."

"Oh, ok then. Which one is he?"

That question became almost silly as soon as Valise pointed to him. He was huge, even by orc standards, and had arms as thick as tree trunks. Unlike most orcs, he covered his body in a heavy tunic with thick leather patches along the belly and on the forearms. The top of his head was bald, and his bright red hair had been grown long around that bare peak and was pulled into a tight ponytail behind his head. His beard grew wildly about his face, and matched the fiery colour of the rest of his hair, although it had several blackened scorch marks around the edges. At some point in his life, he seemed to have misplaced an eye somewhere and had opted to cover the empty socket it had left behind with a black leather patch.

Gregory approached the big orc, who spotted him half way along the journey and offered him a respectful nod by way of greeting. He seemed uncomfortable in the situation, but was clearly making an effort despite it.

"Gregory Hopkins. I am Tragoth Ironheart."

"Thanks for coming here, Tragoth. It means a lot to me, and to Torren's mate, that you and the other smiths showed up today. We weren't expecting it." Gregory held out his arm and they clasped wrists, which seemed to take some of the tension out of the orc's massive shoulders.

"Damned waste of talent." Tragoth shook his head in dismay. "Torren didn't get as much work as we do, with him being human. So when he got some free time he'd come help one of us out. Didn't take nearly as much as he should have in pay. Said he wanted to learn. You know how much of his stuff I passed off as mine without a single damned questioning glance? He didn't know everything, but at the rate he was going? Quite a few of us would have been going to him for lessons in a few years. We liked him too. Even with his habit of..."

The orc trailed off, realising that he was on the edge of being disrespectful.

"Being a huge klutz whenever he wasn't at the forge?" Gregory smiled. "Yeah. I always found that endearing."

Tragoth laughed at the human's honesty.

"Yes! I swear I don't know how he managed it. Whenever he was at the forge or the anvil? I've never seen such natural, confident movements, or such an instinct of how to work the metal. Then he'd finish, put down his tools and go trip over the nearest whetstone he could find." He shook his head, then his smile faded and he got down to business. "We wished to honour him, his friendship, and his talent. Do you know what became of the armour you wore on the night of the battle?"

He remembered the armour as if for the first time. Trying to recall that night in full was a difficult task as his brain didn't seem to have the processing power it had when he'd worn the ring. Only certain parts could be recovered at any one time, and he'd almost completely forgotten about the armour he had made that night.

"I remember it, but I haven't seen it since I woke up."

"Do you remember how you got it?" Tragoth's curiosity on the matter was evident in the way his single eye glinted almost hungrily.

"It was the ring. I put it on after I'd gone to look for my practice armour in the training glade. After the fight with Rolk, I took the metal from his armour and the ring kind of melted it down and reforged it to fit me." He had to stop there, but lifted a hand to show Tragoth he wasn't finished speaking as he tried to recall something. "That's it! Yeah, after the armour was on me I remember I also melted down some gold and put it inside the armour. It ran through the metal like some kind of circulatory system."

"I knew it!" Tragoth clapped his hands in excitement. "Gregory, you somehow made yourself a suit of imbued armour. That is a very, very rare thing. The secrets to it have been lost for centuries."

"Cool." Gregory waited a beat. "What's imbued armour?"

Tragoth blinked in surprise. "You've never heard of it?"

"Nope. I'm still pretty new around these parts."

"It is..." The orc stopped and considered for a moment how to explain the concept. "Metal that is good for armour does not work good or powerful magic, yes? Iron is bad. Gold and Silver are good. The black metal we use is a kind of iron, but it is worked into a stronger metal that retains magic better. Though it's still not nearly as good as gold or even bronze."

"So you're saying I made something with the best of both worlds? It's got the durability of orc metal, and the golden veins and arteries I put inside it let it carry magical energy?"

"Exactly that! The work is so fine that the suit now bears a tremendous amount of magical energy. You could have gotten hit in the chest with a spear-tip mounted on the end of a battering ram and you wouldn't have even moved."

"Wow. Ok."

"The only problem with it was that it wasn't suitable for wearing. It was forged only of metal. I don't know how you wore it without tearing yourself apart at the joints. So, we asked to examine it and affixed the necessary elements for you to wear it properly. The armour was sized to fit you, and we might need a few adjustments, but all in all we are confident in our work. The moment I saw it I knew that if Torren saw such a creation gathering rust he'd have broken out in a cold sweat. So I thought it might be a good idea to finish it in his name."

"Oh." It was Gregory's turn to blink in surprise. "Tragoth, that's amazingly kind of you. Thanks. And thanks to the other smiths. Given the amount of times people have tried to bludgeon, skewer, slice or crush me since I've gotten here I'm pretty damn sure I'll be glad of it."

The thanks and the knowledge that the armour would be put to good use brought a wide grin around Tragoth's tusks.

"You will find it at your tent when you return home. Should you need anything more, and should you be able to afford it, I will be at your disposal." With that, he bowed to Gregory and then turned to depart back toward the group of blacksmiths that had accompanied him.

Gregory turned and saw Talina nearby talking with a pack of pups who had yet to be summoned for a Grand Proving. Each of them trained regularly at the glade, and they had used Torren's services quite a few times. Talina had hosted quite a few such conversations that day, of orcs wanting to mention how Torren's work had helped them. Even Ulag had stopped by to comment impassively on the matter.

As Gregory approached, the pups saw him and made their goodbyes and final thanks to Talina. She managed to smile at them, and her eyes had reddened from crying throughout the day. They still glistened with fresh tears, but she was managing to keep them in check.

"Master," she offered him a little bow as he approached.

"Hello, Talina. How are you doing?"

"Better. I talked with Fiona after you came to me last time. It was good. I started to see what you had been trying to tell me. Today has also been good. I did not know Torren had such respect. I did not know Lydia had so many friends. It is a nice thing to know. It..." She trailed off, struggling for an explanation.

"It makes you feel less alone?" Gregory suggested.

"Yes. It does."

"You and Fiona should come and sleep with us tonight." He only heard how that sounded after he'd said it, and his eyes widened with a silent apology. "I mean you shouldn't be alone. Not-" He was speaking too fast, so he stopped and took a deep breath. "I wasn't trying to suggest anything inappropriate. I meant that we can lay out more furs so we can all be together, and we don't have to be alone with our thoughts."

Talina had formed an amused smile at her master's bumbling offer.

"I think we would like that, master. Thank you. I will stay here a little longer before coming home, but I have something to give you."

With that, she turned and walked through the glade. Gregory took the hint and followed along beside her. The training equipment that usually inhabited the clearing had all been moved to the outskirts. Talina moved toward the tree line where they had stored the weapon racks, and offered a momentary pause to indicate he should wait there. He nodded, and watched as she disappeared amongst the weapons and equipment to vanish behind a tree. She emerged a few moments later carrying a long package wrapped in linen and tied with black string. Holding it out before her across her palms, she walked back toward him and offered it out for the taking.

"A last gift from him, master. After he and Valise crafted the weapons for the proving grounds, he began work on some more battlefield-appropriate alternatives. He wanted the Dragons to be properly armed when they next take the field."

Gregory took the package and pulled the string loose. The linen material spilled away to reveal the pommel, grip, and guard of a sword within a sheath. Sliding it out from the material, he unsheathed the blade to reveal a length of black orc-metal. It gleamed like fresh ink, and its broad-blade was perfect for slashing, thrusting and the piercing of armour. The hilt was practical rather than ornate, with a simple cross-guard that curved up slightly at each end to better catch and hold any blades that might clash with it. A grip had been carefully coated with a layer of leather bound directly to the metal beneath and held fast with a length of thin wire wrapped about it in a helix. The only decorative element of the sword was to be found on the pommel, which had been fashioned into a thick and pointed dragon's head.

"The hilt was finished by one of Ironheart's men. Torren hadn't been able to add the finishing touches, but he'd forged the blade and left a clear plan of the design. The dragon's head was the only variation, as Ironheart thought it would be appropriate."

"Talina this is..." He trailed off, being unable to quite put his thoughts into words. Even with his limited knowledge of smithing he knew he was holding something quite special in his hands.

"It is the last thing he made. Take care of it."

"I will. Although I think that given how much trouble I often find myself in? It's probably going to take care of me more."

Talina smiled then, and it was a genuine one. A single tear finally escaped from the corner of her eye and she absently wiped it away.

"That is what he would have wanted."

- - - - -

Algra stood naked by the stream, alone. She had come to bathe. The urge to clean herself had been too frequent since the night of the battle. The night when she once again worn her old armour and taken up the mantle of who she truly was. At the time she hadn't really considered the weight of the matter. She needed weapons and armour that fit her, so she had returned to their tent and opened the chest her uncle had restored to her. The remnants of her old life had lain within. The armour she had worn and the weapons she had brandished alongside Rowun.

She'd truly never wanted to see them again.

So now she often found herself bathing. The feel of the jungle air on her bare skin was a pleasant contrast to the memory of wearing her old armour. That humid warmth made the contrasting icy water all the more cleansing whenever she submerged herself. In that moment, she felt truly clean. Though that sensation didn't last long.

"What are you doing?" Ulla's voice asked from behind her.

Algra had been standing there thinking for far too long. Her thoughts had led her to distraction. Hearing Ulla was an alarming surprise given how often she had promised to Algra her after their proving. It made Algra turn to immediately assume a combat stance.

Ulla was stood at the tree line upon the pathway that led out toward the camp. Upon seeing Algra preparing for a fight, she tilted her head to the side in a casual display of submission. She wasn't there for a fight.

"I did not wish to disturb," Ulla said. The slow pace of her words and her formal tone implied she was choosing her words carefully. "I have wanted to speak with you alone."

"Then speak." Algra stood upright, not seeing any need to clothe herself. She did not appear relaxed.

"For many years I have hated you. You left my brother to die alone when it was your duty to die beside him."

"I did." Algra nodded.

Ulla visibly tensed up and clenched her fists at that open admission.

"Why?" she finally asked.

Algra waited a beat after that. The simple question came as something of a surprise.

"Why are you asking me now? You haven't been interested before."

"Because I thought you were a coward." Ulla made the statement as blunt as possible. "You not only left my brother. You left our people to hide out here."

"Yes. That is true." Algra's tone became less defensive, and she let out a slow breath.

"No, it isn't. I saw you in battle. You were..." Ulla's orcish honesty momentarily clashed with her pride. "I had thought I would kill you easily. I was wrong."

"You were." Algra nodded.

Ulla visibly tried to hold back a frown at hearing that. She told herself that she'd come to talk, and so resisted the urge to start a fight over her injured ego.

"You are no coward, Algra. I saw you charge through fire into a hopeless fight. You were an army unto yourself. I know now that if you were at my brother's side, he would still be here. So I ask you. Why? Why did you leave him to die? He was my brother Algra. He taught me to fight. He taught me honour. He made me laugh when no other could."

Algra was momentarily taken aback when, upon speaking those last words, Ulla's eyes filled with tears. The words themselves hit her like a punch in the gut, for they were as true for Algra as they were for Ulla. Rowun was nobility personified, a warrior beyond all others, and if he so desired he could have made a fallen tree laugh itself back upright.