Destiny

It was the autumn season of the year 5723 of the Gionian Calendar. Though to Baldomar and his companions: Cragath, Osric and Brithun, it was the earth season and the Year of the Eagle according to their orcish cycle of the cosmos. At the moment, they were wandering a forest not a few day's ride from Leoham, the hillfort and primary enclave of the Rohwen Clan of which Baldomar was chieftain.

Baldomar, twenty-three years of age and ascending ever further into his prime as a warrior, was troubled. His wife, Karga, had suffered another stillbirth and was, understandably, inconsolable. Baldomar too mourned the loss and unable to comfort his wife he opted to do something useful at least, to clear his mind and ease the pain in his heart. Hunting usually aided him in this regard but the way that Karga declared herself unworthy of him and ashamed to be in his presence, rendered what peace he had within. She blamed herself, though try as he might to tell her otherwise. So what words could not proclaim he hoped by action he could comfort her. He would find her a gift, perhaps a pelt from a mighty beast. To prove his love, to show her that he married her and not merely a womb.

Cragath, Huntwarden of the clan, knelt down nearly teetering over as he held his arms out to steady himself before reaching down to examine a splash of scarlet upon fallen umber leaves. Baldomar and the others stood around the portly yet brawny orc as his dark brown, almost black eyes squinted as his calloused hands rubbed the blood between his thumb and index finger.

"Hm. Dark blood. You took its liver, my war-leader. A true shot. It will die, but not fast. Half an hour, maybe more. We will have it soon."

"Good," Baldomar grunted. "My wife will be glad. I hope."

"White Elk hide is rare, war-leader," Osric commented. "Clan women will envy her for it. It brings luck. Maybe a blessing when you try again for a child."

Baldomar frowned, not in anger but grimly. For a moment Osric wondered if perhaps he said too much, tore at a wound still very much fresh but Baldomar soon smiled slightly and patted him on the shoulder.

"I hope so, brother."

Osric smiled, nodding as he returned the gesture. The two were sworn brothers, having grown up together since they were small. Their bond was deep and Osric felt Baldomar's pain. Felt Karga's pain, and would do anything he could to relieve them of it.

"How fares your son?" Baldomar asked, the question taking Osric somewhat off guard.

"Well," he answered. "He is strong, hard-willed. Gods be praised."

"What name did you give him?"

"Amaric."

Baldomar nodded, his azure eyes looking no where in particular, "That is good."

They walked a while longer, following the crimson trail. The air was cool and crisp, the wind moist and permeating. The canopy above their heads was sparse of foliage, the branches like pointy fingers extending towards a graying sky. Osric looked up as he felt a drop of aqua fall upon his white mane.

"Hm, rain so soon? Shamans said tomorrow."

"Maybe a drizzle," Cragath declared, clearing his throat as he did before spitting onto the ground. "Clouds aren't fat enough yet."

Brithun, his mustache raising as his lips parted into a grin, dashed forward and patted Cragath on his stomach.

"You would know, wouldn't you friend?"

Cragath backhanded his loins, causing Brithun to exhale sharply and fall over amid the jeering of the others. The laughter went on for a time with even Baldomar joining in on the revelry when suddenly a strange scent caught his nose. He sniffed, once, twice, trying to place the smell until his mind knew at once it to be smoke.

He looked to the Huntwarden who too had taken notice of the aroma.

"That smell’s wrong. Not campfire," he whispered.

"There," called Osric, arm extending to south and west.

Amidst the horizon over the wooded awning, a thin, faint trail of blackened smoke rose up. Scarcely visible amongst the cinerous skyline. Baldomar moved towards it at once, trailed by the others with Brithun hobbling and cursing as he took up the rear. Their boots caused a ruckus of rustling and crunching within the leaf-fall. Leaping and ducking over log and under branch as the smell of smoke was soon joined by a new scent of carrion. When they neared a clearing they halted and beheld a terrible sight.

"Gods," cursed Baldomar.

It was the remains of a village, a settlement. The skeletal frames of once humble dwellings stood as charred monuments and the broken bodies of its denizens lay in every manner of violent death. Crows and other avians predisposed towards fallen flesh picked at the remains, retreating slightly before returning to their macabre meals when the orcs finally passed them by.

"Human village. Southfolk settlers. Kardia, by the way they dress," mused Brithun as he walked among the dead.

Cragath pulled an arrow out of one of the corpses and examined it closely.

"Elves. This is their craft."

Baldomar narrowed his eyes. Even without the arrow it would have made sense to assume so. Taking the slain into account it was apparent that a vast majority were those unfit for slave work: the old, the feeble, the infantile. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth at the thought of what happened here, and what was happening to those who were carted off to the principalities. Damning the elves with his inner voice, he swore to visit a terrible fate upon whatever elf should have the misfortune of crossing his path. For these so-called racial cousins of the orcs made a habit of enslaving his people too. The indignation deepening his anger and his hatred.

A cry. Small, weak. A babe. As one, the orcs stood up, their gaze darting in every direction as they trained their pointed ears to source from where it was coming from. Baldomar believed it originating from what appeared to have been a storage house and ran toward it. Kicking the door in when he saw that it was barred. He searched the premises, his companions right behind him until he at last found the babe still cradled in his dead mother's arms.

The orcs bowed their heads in respect, with Baldomar scooping the infant up in his burly embrace and cradling the child gently. The babe, fair skinned with brown hair and golden amber eyes, looked up at the bearded orc and wailed loudly.

"He's starving," Cragath said, looking the boy over. "Best we get back and feed him. Else he dies."

Baldomar wrapped the baby boy in his furred cloak and fashioned a carrier to keep him secure to his chest.

"Let us go then," he said, gearing himself for a run.

They sprinted back to their camp where the others of the hunting party greeted them. When they saw their chieftain bearing a human babe they were at first puzzled, then alarmed, then angered at the news of what transpired nearby. Some of the women warriors who were in the camp fed the babe goat's milk but informed Baldomar that he needed the breast as he was still newly born and wasn't taking well to the substitution. It was decided then that half the party would travel back to Leoham with Baldomar as fast as possible while the other half would go back to the village and see the dead properly buried as well as search for any other survivors. If there were any. Mounting their horses, those following Baldomar set after their chieftain praying to their gods and ancestors that the boy would be alright.

***

Karga had been sitting at her bedside, staring into an empty crib in a catatonic state. Her handmaids did their best to comfort her but she remained despondent. The sound of a child crying nearby brought forth another wave of anguish from her as well. Only when it became apparent that the crying was coming nearer and nearer still, did she go silent and look up from her palms. She nearly jumped when the door to her chamber swung open revealing her husband, Baldomar, bearing an infant.

"Karga," he managed to gasp, his voice betraying extreme exhaustion.

She got up quickly and rushed over to him, the great orc chieftain was soaked head to toe and looked as if he hadn't a moments rest in days. In his arms wrapped in the fur cape she had made for him, came the weak sob she had heard but moments before. When she drew back its folds her eyes widened with surprise, for there before her was a little human boy. With a head full of brown hair, and eyes like gold. His little mouth whined and whimpered.

She felt a wetness at her chest, and saw that she had soaked through her clothing, realizing that her body was reacting naturally to the hunger of the human babe. Baldomar regarded her knowingly, and so she took the little one, withdrew her breast and guided the infant's mouth. The babe immediately latched on and drank hungrily. Karga couldn't help but coo as she stroked his arm with her finger, his fair skin contrasting with the green of her own. His strength seemed to return almost immediately and soon enough he was squirming about. His cry was far stronger when she lifted him away to switch and she sat there, rocking the babe back and forth singing gently as he fed.

When Baldomar told her what had transpired she looked first to her husband and then down on the baby suckling and felt tremendous sorrow. He was all alone now. If not for Baldomar he would've died, the thought shaking Karga to her core. She thought about the children she had lost, how moments before she believed the gods might have cursed her. But here she was now with a babe not of her blood, not even of her race, who had been brought to Karga by the husband by whom she believed she had failed to give an heir. Either this was a sick joke or surely, surely this was a sign. Maybe, even destiny?

"What will we do?" she asked, pensively.

Baldomar sighed and said nothing for a while as he paced back and forth along the length of their bedchamber. Karga could not read his thoughts but knew his mind to be working feverishly.

"We keep him," he said, finally. "And raise him as our own."

Karga smiled, a great joy washing over her suddenly. The little boy, her little boy, was looking up at her now. He unlatched and began making noises, slapping at her chest as he wiggled around. Her heart melted and she tickled his tummy, eliciting a joyful reaction as he clumsily tried to grab her finger. Upon hearing the infant speedily recovering, Baldomar walked over and sat next to Karga on the bed, who in turn moved the babe closer to her husband so he could see him better. The baby boy reached up, touching his face making Baldomar smile and chuckle a little.

"Your milk has roused him," Baldomar remarked. "Didn’t know if he’d take to an orc’s breast."

Karga beamed and brushed the boy's hair away from his cute and tiny face, "Such a fine little one."

"Aye," Baldomar agreed, as the baby gripped onto his beard. "Strong too. A worthy son."

The baby smiled at Baldomar, a gummy grin that made him look almost like an old man. It elicited a laugh from Baldomar, that is, until the boy trumpeted out his bottom, depositing a fecal substance onto the cape in which he was wrapped and conjuring a most terrible smell.

Baldomar gagged, turning away as Karga started laughing heartily. The commotion queued the handmaids into action. Joining their mistress in laughter at both the baby having soiled itself and Baldomar on the verge of vomiting. They fawned over the little boy, helping Karga change him.

"He’ll break many hearts," one said.

"Such fine eyes," said another.

"Oh my. Aye, he’s surely a boy." yet another remarked, as they cleaned him.

"What is his name?"

The question struck Karga by surprise. She was not sure how to answer when Baldomar suddenly spoke.

"Lothar," looking at Karga with a slight smile. "After your father."

She smiled and kissed him, after a moment Baldomar ushered her away privately, away from earshot, as the handmaids fussed over Lothar.

"I will declare him mine before the clan," he whispered to her.

His eyes then met hers and she could see plainly that there was some sorrow in his gaze.

"We won’t try again," he continued. "I won’t put you through that hurt. I know how it cuts you...how it cuts me. And no, don’t say it. I will not take a concubine. I won’t shame you, even if you ask."

Karga fought to hold back tears, "I am sorry," she said, disappointed in herself.

"Do not be," he whispered comfortingly, the sorrow fading from him as he gestured with a nod towards the baby boy. "He is ours now. The gods willed him to us for a reason. Let us rejoice. For we have found each other."

Baldomar and Karga then returned to Lothar, who was already on his tummy trying to crawl around, much to the delight of the handmaids. They played with him for the remainder of the stormy night, and soon the mighty home of the chieftain was full of happiness and joy, which had casted away the sorrow that had haunted it not so long ago.