Chapter 3
Vengeance Sweet
AN 1215 (AZ 1452) - Early Summer
Outside Maranthe, Notos
Two winters had passed since Urgill's defeat without a single opportunity for her war-band to avenge its dishonor. Twice the spring came and went without any call to battle. Indeed, there was scarcely any word at all. Every two or three moons they would catch the scent of humans watching them from afar. They were Rowland's men, apparently, or else they would return in strength to hunt them down. Regardless, Urgill moved their encampment frequently, even more often when there was man-smell about.
Several days earlier, though, the wretched Aldur made an appearance. She came bearing word from Rowland. Urgill and her war-band were to attack the village to the south again, only this time they would not be alone. The Alba halfbreed prince of the West Wind Tribe betrayed his people to fight alongside the Firebringer Tribe and it was he and his war-band who would be joining Urgill in this attack.
For the Orghim of the Darklands, the Albayim were practically a myth, a dread tribe that worshipped the Yellow Face and would stop at nothing the purge the land of the Orghim and their allies. Hated as the Aldurim were, they were content rule over others. There was hope for life with them, bitter though it may be. For the Albayim, there was only death.
The Aldur spoke of the halfbreed with great contempt. As much as she and Urgill hated each other, one thing they shared was a greater hatred of the Albayim. However, if it was by Rowland's order, Urgill was prepared to do anything.
The Aldur left Urgill with a bag of fragrant herbs. The halfbreed and his men would be wearing similar bags as a warning to Urgill's war-band. In the days leading up to the attack, the beastmasters had to train the thrall-beasts to avoid anything bearing the scent of those herbs.
It was at twilight that Urgill met with the halfbreed's war-band. The haflbreed himself remained at a distance with most of his men, while a small group of his warriors approached to treat with Urgill.
Without any word of greeting or ceremony, one of the men said, "Where is the one called Urgill?"
Urgill was the only one besides perhaps Marah Sidhe who understood the language of the humans. Otherwise the man's rudeness would prompt some of her warriors to defend her honor. That would not end well for anyone. Even if they did not understand the words, they could read his tone. Urgill drew herself up in an effort to match his bearing. Perhaps it would be enough to fool the others into believing it was simply how humans spoke.
"I am Urgill," she said.
The man sneered at her, saying, "Listen well, creature, His Highness will ride forth to the town and demand its surrender. If the town surrenders, we will have no need of you and you will return to the forest. If they do not surrender, then the town is in your hands and anything out of doors is yours to do with as you will. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"We shall give you a signal. If the town surrenders, we shall light one of our own torches and the orange flame will tell you to return to the forest. If the town does not surrender, we shall light one of your torches and you will follow the green flame into town."
The possibility of there being no fight at all did not sit well with Urgill, but what could she do?
"Speaking of which," the man continued, "we must have one of your torches."
In her own tongue, Urgill told a thrall, "Fetch this scum one of our torches."
"Yes, Ukhromgin," the thrall replied with a bow.
The thrall quickly fetched an unlit torch and offered it to the human.
"Take your torch," Urgill told him.
"Very well," the man replied, snatching the torch from the thrall's hands. "Look for the signal, and see that none of your creatures move on us. If they even look like they might attack, we will kill them. Make sure they remember the scent."
"They will remember," Urgill said.
"Very well."
The men returned to their war-band and after the report was given to the halfbreed, they rode out.
"We are not going, Ukhromgin?" one of her warriors asked.
"Not yet," Urgill replied. "Look to the south. If there is an orange flame, we will return, but f there is a green flame, we will go down.
"Surely they would not deny us blood."
"We shall see," Urgill said. "Have our warriors stand ready."
"It shall be done, Ukhromgin."
"The humans of the village cannot hope to win," Marah Sidhe noted. "If they are wise, they will surrender."
"Wise man or fool, the blood still runs red," Urgill replied.
To keep the war-band from growing too restless, Urgill moved the them closer to the village, just within sight. Their torches were left unlit and in the fading sunlight, they remained effectively invisible. If they received the signal to attack, it would take them little time to move in.
Whatever words were exchanged between the halfbreed's war-band and the village, it was over quickly. The green flame shone in the distance. It was the moment they had been waiting for.
Raising her throwing spear, she shouted, "Forward!"
Her war-band roared in reply and charged. This would not be like the last time. They would drink deeply of the blood of their enemies and be avenged.
The halfbreed's war-band had withdrawn from the village and encircled it, leaving the north side open to allow Urgill's war-band in. Unlike the last time they fought, the defenders of the village were not out in force. Compared to the battle two years ago, they were fewer in number and ill-organized. They were vulnerable. They were prey.
When the two sides clashed, the enemy's ranks melted. There were too few trained warriors to stand against them and the common men lost all courage. Many tried to flee. It did not save them. Urgill's throwing spear skewered one such man. To die with a spear in his back, his soul would be cursed by the gods for his cowardice.
This was battle as it was meant to be. The victor crushing his enemies underfoot. The vanquished's blood flowing freely. The lusty roars of the brave and the wailing of the craven.
Urgill found herself eagerly seeking out the man with the flashing blade and fearing to find him. He was the one who was blessed by the gods of war of this land, who turned his blessing into a curse against them. She needed to challenge him once more, but would the gods that were with her prevail over the gods that were with him?
Besides the men of the West Wind Tribe, the only other ones set against them who deserved to be called warriors were brave men of the horse, wielders of spear, sword and bow. Surely they belonged to the war-band of the man with the flashing sword and yet he was nowhere to be found.
Urgill claimed two more kills for herself by the time the last man fell. Any man or beast found outside the huts was prey for plunder and for feasting. A large fire was raised in the middle of the village to offer up burnt offerings out of a portion of the spoil. It was a great victory and the gods were owed their share.
Marah Sidhe and Urgill presided over the burnt offerings, the remaining spoil was then divided according to rank and deed. Of their own, a mere three Orghim, one Trolwer and six thrall-beasts were dead. They were given to the flame. When the rites were done, the feast could begin.
Urgill had only tasted manflesh a couple times since she came to this land. Never had she eaten her fill, though, not until this night. In truth, she preferred the taste of the humans' thrall-beasts, but by eating the flesh of men, she would gain some of their power. That alone gave the meat savor.
Her war-band enjoyed their revels for a couple hours when the circle of the halfbreed's war-band tightened around them. The dancing and the singing and beating of drums came to an abrupt halt as they found themselves surrounded by grim-faced men with spears at the ready.
The man who treated with her before came forward and shouted, "Urgill, come forth!"
Urgill took up her throwing spear and approached with Marah Sidhe and a number of her warriors following behind.
"You have done as you were bidden," the man told her. "Now return to the forest, but leave the iron you have found. It is ours."
"We fought," Urgill said. "We earn spoil."
"The iron you will leave," the man repeated. "Or we will take it from you."
How dare this human dishonor them in their moment of victory. Though greatly outnumbered, Urgill was sure that the gods of war were with her. She would fight them for her honor if she had to.
Before she could give the order for the war-band to reassemble, Marah Sidhe said, "These humans did hold their ground without flinching and their arrows did pierce many of the dead. Pay them their iron price, Ukhromgin, this time at least."
She was clever, Marah Sidhe. By ascribing deeds of battle to the humans, she warranted them a claim to their demands. It would spare her war-band an impossible battle.
Relenting, Urgill said, "You shall have your iron." Then in her tongue, she told the war-band, "The iron of the dead, it is human work for human hands. Leave it and be content with the rest of your spoil."
Some more grudgingly than others, her warriors relinquished the iron, laying it up in a pile before her. They could have put it to good use, but it would have been no use to them if they were dead.
When that was done, she told the war-band, "We have tasted victory. Now we return to the forest before the rising of the Yellow Face."
Her warriors knew that they were being driven out. Sullenly they took up their arms and guided the thrall-beasts out of the village. It was no less bitter for Urgill.
"Do not let your countenance fall, Ukhromgin," Marah Sidhe said. "You have acted wisely and saved your people. Remember that a king is more than a strong arm and a brave heart."
"But I am no king," she replied.
"Yes, but you will be the mother of kings one day," Marah Sidhe told her. "When our victory is complete, your vow will be fulfilled."
This one thought soothed the bitterness in her heart. She imagined what it would be like for Rowland to take her to wife and the strong sons she would bear him. All the best of man and Org in one. Better, perhaps. Yes, that thought made the dishonor easier to bear.