Foundations (The Silver Blade Trilogy Book 1) Read online

Arkhet cut him off with a slash to the face.

  The orc chief howled in pain. Using his left hand, he attempted to cover the nasty bleeding wound that stretched from his left ear to the corner of his mouth. Morag hacked again with renewed vigor, hampered by the fact that he was now only using one hand to wield the massive weapon.

  Arkhet danced around skillfully, avoiding the blows. He began counting the poorly executed strikes, timing them within his mind. As the next downward chop rained down, Arkhet stepped in close, raising his sword with all his might.

  The two swords collided with such ferociousness that the resulting impact created a shower of sparks and a deafening clang. The impressive display caused the spectators to jump with astonishment.

  Arkhet was surprised as his sword cleaved through the claymore as if it were made of nothing more than soft leather. His sword continued its upward arc and sliced into the orc chief's bony face, biting deep into Morag's chin, and coming to a stop at the bridge of the chief’s nose.

  Morag froze in place and his body began to quiver.

  Not daring to move, Arkhet held his breath, waiting for the next move from the big orc.

  The chief suddenly toppled backwards, his eyes wide in death.

  Arkhet held tightly to his sword as the massive corpse hit the ground, and without any hint of resistance, the elf sword suddenly slid free from the orc skull. He stared in curiosity at the bloody blade for a long moment, his mouth agape with amazement. He suddenly realized that not only was he the war-leader, he was now the new chief of the Hammer Clan. With the defeat of the greatest orc warrior in all the land, and the fact that he carried the magic elf sword, no one would dare challenge his rule. No one could challenge his rule.

  Holding his elf blade aloft, he shouted, “I am your new clan chief!”

  The crowd clamored with glee and began chanting, “Long live Chief Arkhet!”

  Chapter 2

  Prince Shareel Greenwood cast a dejected glance down at the ground as his father angrily chastised him yet again. He had lost Sylral, the Sword of the Elven Kings, and his father was utterly distraught.

  The prince didn’t understand the big deal about the blade, as it didn’t seem to hold any true power. The sword was just a symbol, a tradition, which had been started almost two thousand years in the past. And every elven king since Awain the First had wielded Sylral as a symbol of power over the elven nation.

  The prince had been schooled in the blades legendary powers, and knew the myth about how the blade would offer wisdom and advice to the wielder. And supposedly the blade would also impart the memories of all its prior wielders, in both sword craft and battle tactics, making the wielder unmatched in battle.

  But the prince had been thoroughly disappointed when he had wielded the blade in battle. It never spoke to him and he fought no differently than if he had used a normal blade, so the sword was useless to him. It was nothing more than a pretty object to admire, an obsolete symbol of power and tradition.

  He ignored his father’s angry lecturing, and turned to stare into a polished silver shield hanging on the wall. He gazed upon his handsome features reflected within the mirror finish of the mithril shield, and brushed aside his long blond hair in order to get a better look. His sharply chiseled features were typical of an elf, with high cheekbones, narrow chin, and his ears were long and pointed, with several golden earrings set in each ear. His eyes were cold and calculating, he could see the cunning within his own eyes, and was proud of his superior intelligence.

  An angry shout caused the young prince to turn his head back to his father. He scowled as the king continued on about the importance of the sword that he had lost. He had heard the legend of the sword a thousand times before, and he rolled his eyes as his father reiterated the tale yet again.

  “Tradition states that Sylral is to only be used by a king, not a spoiled prince! The magic is such that the sword will abandon those not fit to wield the blade. Don’t you see? You were not fit to wield the blade and so it abandoned you. Now it could be in the hands of those vile orcs!” King Verexis Greenwood shouted.

  The prince had stolen the sword in an open show of defiance to his father. And he used the blade to lead a force against a small band of orcs who had dared to hunt within their woodland domain. And he thoroughly disagreed with his father on the point that the blade had abandoned him. He simply lost his grip after he stabbed a large orc.

  He could vividly remember that when he jabbed the blade deep within an orc’s ribcage, the beast suddenly twisted in pain, and the blade was pulled from his slippery hands. Before he could retrieve the blade, another orc had attacked him, and he lost track of the big orc and the blade.

  As the blade didn’t seem to hold any real magic, the elf prince had not even bothered to look for the blade after the battle was concluded.

  But he wisely held his tongue as his father continued to angrily lecture him. He simply tuned his father out again, and he turned back to admire himself in the reflective shield.

  “Prince Shareel Greenwood,” shouted the king.

  The prince turned to face the king again, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “What?” he growled.

  The king shouted, “You will lead an army into the orc lands to recover the blade Sylral. It is of utmost importance that you find it. In the hands of evil, the blade will destroy us all! Do you have any idea what you have done?”

  The prince rolled his eyes and said nothing.

  The king noting the defiance in his son's eyes quickly stood and pointed to the exit. He yelled, “Out of my sight! You are banished from this Kingdom and under penalty of death, you will not set foot into elven lands again. The only way you may come back is if you bring back Sylral. Now go!”

  Prince Greenwood looked up at his father in shock, as never before had a member of the royal family been banished. He sputtered, “Father, you can't banish me! I am the heir to the throne . . .”

  The king cut him off, “I am the king and you had best remember that! Go now and do as I say as the fate of the Elven Nation rests upon your shoulders. You have one week to put together an army, and then you must leave the Moonwood, under penalty of death.” He nodded to the guards in order to end the conversation.

  Six royal guards moved to surround the young prince and they escorted him out of the throne room. Unceremoniously throwing the prince outside, they closed the thick oak doors behind him.

  The prince picked himself up off the ground and turned back to the closed doors. Raising one fist in anger, he yelled, “I will find Sylral and come back here. But I will come back to kill you with the sword, and will claim the throne for my own!”

  Chief Arhket sat in a makeshift throne, made of wood and bone, and pondered his clan's situation.

  The orcs were not brutal people, and their people’s oral history even told of how, in ages past, they had lived in peace with the fair folk. But something had happened, which had allied the elves, humans, and dwarves against the orcs.

  Arkhet placed a hand upon the hilt of his magical sword, and wispy visions of the past suddenly began to inundate Arkhet’s mind.

  He saw a magnificent city, with people of all races crowding the city streets, even orcs. Then his vision shifted and he saw a large chamber, and in the center were a pair of silvery pillars. He then saw orc sorcerers conjuring open a glowing dimensional portal, which opened up between the pillars. Again the image shifted, and he watched as thousands of orcs fled into the portal, as jeering human, elf, and dwarf bystanders watched in apparent satisfaction.

  Suddenly, everything turned dark and ominous, and he watched as thousands of strange orc warriors poured out of the portal. He saw the once magnificent city in flames, and the bodies of thousands of people, human, elf, dwarf, and orc alike, littering the streets. The battles spilled over into the countryside, and even more blood was spilled.

  All of a sudden, Arkhet found himself back in the portal chamber, watching as chanting wizards and wardens surrounded the gateway. Suddenly the roof collapsed, and everything went dark.

  Arkhet tried to pry himself away from the vision, but the sword held him fast. More orc history flashed through his mind, and most of it was dark and terrifying.

  He watched an orc leader make peace with the other races, and he moved the orc people deep into the plains, in an attempt to keep their distance, and establish an orc kingdom.

  But the tenuous peace only lasted until gold was found in the sacred hills within the northern part of the orc kingdom. A gold rush began, and in marched the greedy dwarf armies, forcing the orc clans to flee before the aggression.

  In response, the orc clans banded together and they marched upon the dwarf settlements in order to drive the invaders out of their lands. But the dwarves called upon their allies, the humans and elves. The war was long and fierce, but it ultimately ended in the orc defeat.

  Another treaty was signed in the aftermath, and once again, the orc clans were force to abandon their homeland and were scattered and dispersed into reservations. The reservations were areas that were undesirable to the fair races, as they were arid and inhospitable, or were deep within the mountains.

  In the aftermath of the treaty, the orcs found themselves situated on grounds that were far from food, water, and heating wood. The land was hostile and lifeless, and the orcs became more and more desperate as they fought for survival.

  Facing starvation, the orcs began to enter the forest claimed by the elves, in order to gather wood for heating and to hunt for game. They also began to raid human farming settlements in the desperate search for food and clothing. The humans and elves took an immediate abhorrence to the transgressions, and attacked the clans, driving them even deeper into the mountains.

  After countless years of starvation
, the orcs began to practice cannibalism; eating not only their own, but anything or anyone they could catch. The fair races viewed this behavior as barbaric and evil, but the orcs found it necessary for survival.

  With female orc pregnancies lasting only six months, under normal circumstances they could increase their numbers much faster than the fair races. But the lack of food completely negated that advantage, and the orc people’s numbers rapidly declined.

  And Arkhet knew that his people could not survive much longer.

  Suddenly the answer became clear; a vision of a green valley flashed into his mind, and he saw tall snow-covered peaks far in the distance. One peak he recognized, it was the tall mountain that was directly north of his village. But the peaks within his vision were to the south.

  Before he could contemplate what he had seen, another vision appeared within his mind. He found himself standing upon the banks of a river, and staring into the Moonwood. Not understanding the vision at all, he still felt the sudden impulse to follow it without question.

  As sudden as it had begun, the sword released Arkhet and he returned to reality.

  Arkhet stood from his throne and shouted, “Warriors! To me!”

  The orc warriors, fearful that something terrible had happened, poured from their huts and surrounded Arkhet. Within a matter of moments, all ten of his warriors surrounded his throne, their swords drawn and ready for whatever awaited them.

  Arkhet ignored the bare blades and said, “Gather the entire clan for a meeting, I have important news!”

  The warriors looked at one another in confusion and a general murmur erupted from the group. One warrior by the name of Ort stepped forward and asked, “Chief! What’s going on?”

  Arkhet yelled angrily, “Do not question me. Gather everyone together now.”

  The warriors quickly dispersed throughout the village as they gathered the clan together. Within minutes curious orcs began to filter in to surround their leader.

  Once he was sure everyone was present, Arkhet stood atop his throne and looked down upon the emotionless faces. He sadly noted how few they had become, as less than fifty orcs remained in his entire clan.

  Arkhet called, “People! I had a vision, and I know what we must do.” He scanned the crowd until his gaze settled upon two young and fit warriors. “Harik and Harf, I need you to travel to the north, over the peaks, and then several days past. A green valley lies somewhere beyond, and I need you to seek it out, and then return here. It is imperative that we move to a new home as soon as we can, as we will continue to starve if we stay here.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “This valley will be our salvation.”

  Harik and Harf looked at each other in confusion but said nothing.

  Arkhet ignored the exchange and shouted, “People, store as much food as possible for our journey across the mountains. We will need it as we will make the journey once I return.”

  There was a general murmur amongst the crowd at the words. A young female shouted, “Where are you going?”

  “I will travel south, to the Moonwood.”

  A gasp went up throughout the crowd, and the shaman, Grekog, shouted from somewhere in the back, “You fool, you will be killed there.”

  “If I am killed, then you will lead the people to safety across the mountains,” Arkhet shot back.

  “I am no leader, I am a shaman,” protested Grekog.

  Arkhet still couldn't see the shaman within the throng, but replied, “You are the eldest and the wisest. I am entrusting you to guide the people in my absence.”

  “And what if you don't return?” shouted a young orc from somewhere within the crowd.

  “I will return,” growled Arkhet.

  “How long shall we wait before we go across the mountains?” asked another orc.

  “You cannot go anywhere until Harik and Harf return from their scouting mission. They have to find the valley first in order to lead you all there. That trip should take a couple of weeks, and I should be back by then,” said Arkhet, in a voice loud enough for all to hear.

  Arkhet knew that it was time to stir things up a bit, as if what he had just told them hadn’t been enough. Speaking loudly and with confidence, he said, “From this day forward, we are no longer the Hammer Clan, we are now the Silver Blade Clan. And everyone in the Silver Blade Clan, male and female, will train in the art of warfare.”

  In response to his words, a gasp rippled throughout the crowd. Females were never allowed to touch weapons, as that honor was reserved for males only.

  Drawing his sword in anger, Arkhet held it aloft, which suddenly silenced the crowd. He continued, “Females will be honored from this day forward, and will be trained to hunt and to go to war. Those with child will not hunt, of course, but will carry out their normal duties. Females, if you do not want to hunt or go to war, then I suggest that you find a mate and have babies!”

  He paused to let the information sink in. Satisfied that the people understood he continued again, “And no one will be considered a true warrior until they learn the art of sword craft. Strength alone will no longer determine the greatness of a warrior, but rather skill with a blade. We will learn how to fight like the fair races.”

  A general murmur erupted from the warriors. One older warrior by the name of Grik shouted, “I have been an honored warrior for many seasons and now you tell me that I am no longer a warrior?”

  Arkhet turned to the grizzled veteran and replied, “You are a warrior in name, but in spirit you are not. Not until you learn proper skill with a sword.”

  Grik stepped forward in anger and drew his sword. “I will show you I am a warrior as I will kill you where you stand,” he challenged.

  In a blur of motion, Arkhet sliced downward with his elf blade, in a move was so fast, that the hapless Grik had no time to react. Arkhet’s magical sword neatly sheared Grik's rusty long sword in two, and the broken blade fell from the orc’s hand.

  Grik’s jaw dropped at the sight of his useless sword, and he let the remainder of the ruined blade fall from his hand. Looking up at Arkhet, he just stared helplessly as he waited on the killing blow.

  Arkhet turned to the crowd with fire burning deep within his eyes. He had to make his people understand, so within his mind he formed his next speech as simply as he could. Big words and pretentious rhetoric would only confuse his people, and hamper his plans.

  Holding aloft the sword, he shouted, “I will spare Grik's life. We as orcs will never again kill one of our own. You will never challenge a superior's authority or you will face banishment. We will all learn discipline.”

  Grik stood in place for a moment, seemingly confused, and then he turned and walked away, his head hung low in shame.

  Arkhet shouted, “We will develop our own letters and learn to read them just like the fair races. We will learn how to fight with skill. We will learn how to make our own weapons and armor. We will learn how to weave our own clothes. We will learn battlefield tactics. We will learn how to farm and sustain ourselves. We will never again have to steal from the fair races in order to support ourselves. We will learn magic . . . true magic, just as our ancestors once wielded.”

  Pointing to the shaman, he shouted, “Our shaman has never known true magic. His potions and powders have proved useless time and time again. We will capture a wizard and force him to teach our shaman real magic.”

  Grik glared hotly at Arkhet, turned away in disgust, and quickly retreated into his hut.

  Arkhet ignored the shaman and continued, “We will capture a human to teach us how to farm. We will capture a dwarf to teach us how to make fine weapons and armor. We will capture an elf so that we may learn how to fight with skill. We will unite the clans once again and teach them what we have learned. Our time of ignorance is over. The only way for us to survive is to learn. Education is the answer to all of our problems!”

  The orc villagers turned to one another and began talking in confusion.

  Arkhet, noting the confusion, spoke again, “Our first task is to find a new home, in a place that is warm and rich with game. I am sending Harik and Harf to find the valley that I saw in a vision.” He waved his hand in dismissal and said, “That is all.”

  The orc’s simply shrugged in resignation and returned to their huts.