The Cursed Tribe - Chapter 17

• Posted by Karver the Lorc July 25, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Long Story - #Straag Rod  #Karver  #Cursed Tribe  - 1,130 views

  

  Chapter 17

  The Knight and the Assassin

   

  The gathering of the mercenaries outside the Riften’s wall had gotten quite impressive, seemingly creating another, much smaller city. Well, more like a town, or even just a village. The so called army couldn’t count more than a bit over one hundred heads. But as of now, the tents had been packed as well as all their necessary equipment, along with wagons of provisions.

   

  A figure standing in the shadow of one of the trees near the stables snorted at that. Lorbulg didn’t expect the humans to be that clever, to actually take provisions with them, considering Largashbur’s distance from Riften. In his mind he expected the humans to believe they would just overrun the stronghold with first push or something, but Maven seemed to take the possibility of siege into account.

   

  Yes, that was clever. Lorbulg didn’t underestimate the Orcs in the stronghold. He used to be one of them after all. No, they would repel the first attack, he was quite sure about that. And since this wasn’t anything more than a mercenary army, the sellswords would rather starve the Orcs out then die trying to get over the palisade. Their lives and the gold were more important for them than anything else.

   

  They were an unreliable lot at best. Who could say that the moment Orcs bloodied their noses they wouldn’t run? But maybe their numbers would give them enough courage to test the mettle of orichalcum, which was always thirsty for human blood.

   

  “Admiring my army?” a dark haired woman suddenly spoke next to him, but he just narrowed his eyes. He’d gotten so lost in thought he’d let even Maven sneak up on him. A mistake. He reminded himself that mistakes could be very costly, especially with that woman around.

   

  He pulled his hood deeper into his face and lowered his head, to better hide who he really was, just in case there was someone paying attention to him. As an Orc, being seen with Maven would mean trouble. “There’s nothing to admire.”

   

  “They seem rather rugged, but believe me when I say I pay only for the best,” Maven shook her head.

   

  “Then you should have hired Orcs,” he snorted, giving her a look from under his hood. A challenging look and she narrowed her eyes under that gaze. But she didn’t flinch, not even a little, even after their last encounter.

   

  Maven then stepped closer, leaning against the other side of the tree while they both watched the mercenaries packing and preparing to leave. “You Orcs and your straightforward thinking. Sometimes it makes me wonder why you weren’t wiped out already.” She paused for a moment, watching him for a reaction, but then she just gave up. “My guess is you haven’t come just to admire the fruits of your work, hm? Or maybe you’re here to talk with me?”

   

  “Business in the city,” he answered simply.

   

  “What kind of business?”

   

  Lorbulg could feel his lower lip rolling down as he bared his tusks, but he didn’t look at her. “Not yours,” he growled.

   

  “Ah,” she chuckled. “That is where you are wrong, my big green friend. All business in Riften is my business. And you here…” She paused and he could hear her leaning closer to him, almost whispering now. “I know who you are. Who you really are.” He merely snorted to that and he could hear her grit her teeth. “You’re not going to make it easy, are you? Not that many of you around these days, mostly laying low. So in retrospect I feel like I should apologize for your poor treatment.”

   

  A weak smile crept on his face, but he still didn’t look at her.

   

  Maven sighed. “Yes, I admit it, but even though I should apologize don’t expect me to. I don’t do apologies. And you were a loose end - still are - in this whole business. Can you really blame me? You would have done the same-”

   

  His head snapped in her direction, his red eyes boring into hers. “Don’t assume what I would have done, human. Just get to the point,” he growled, irritation creeping into his voice.

   

  “I would like to discuss a possible partnership,” she smirked. “Yes, partnership. You ever heard the saying? ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine?’ Means that we both profit.”

   

  “Unless I scratch your back with my axe,” Lorbulg snorted.

   

  Power and profit. Those concepts were something the stronghold Orcs never really understood or maybe even couldn’t understand, especially in their isolation. Power and profit were the two wheels that kept the world rolling forward, while at the same time being also the driving force behind that movement. It was an irony, but that’s how things were. Profit lead to power and power lead to profit. It was an endless cycle.

   

  And the stronghold Orcs… They weren’t built for such concepts. All that mattered to them were strength and honor. In their limited view, they believed that that was all that mattered in the world. The fools had no idea that strength and honor were the first victims of profit and power. But they would find out very soon.

   

  He realised that he’d wandered off with his thoughts because he had stopped paying attention to Maven, who was still talking. He made a chopping motion with his hand, not interested in what she had to say. “We can discuss this ‘partnership’ you’re offering later. After this,” he pointed at the mercenaries outside the city walls, “is finished.”

   

  “I look forward to it,” Maven sneered, shaking her head. “Any chance I might deal with any other representative? Something tells me you’re not exactly the right… Orc for it.”

   

  “You’re stuck with me. Deal with it,” he shrugged, pushing himself off the tree.

   

  “Lovely,” he heard her murmur behind him as he walked towards the city gates, but the conversation was finished for him. There was something about Maven that was getting under his nerves and if he had to be honest with himself he wasn’t sure if he could resist the urge to strangle her forever. But what was it really, what was making him so angry?

   

  In his eyes it had to do something with her certainty that this world belonged to people like her. Everyone around here were just means to an end. And then there was that annoying certitude that Riften really belonged to her in everything but name. People like her always believed in such foolish notions. That they actually owned people, that they owned everyone.

   

  And this was part of the reason why the prospect of ‘partnership’ with Maven made him wary. He winced when he realized he was thinking too much like them. Like humans. Falling into the deep mud of complicated plots and intrigues. He hated that.

   

  But he had to. Because he could see how the partnership with Maven could provide a steady income of gold to the Brotherhood, and gold moved the world. They needed it, especially in hard times such as these. The contact with other sanctuaries severed for example. Then there was the Great War. Just the Battle of the Red Ring killed more people than the Brotherhood ever could. Everyone was still recovering from that, so contracts were scarce. A stable contract with Maven could prove useful, but…

   

  Yes, of course there was a but. With Maven there was always a but. And this time it was the possibility of Maven wrapping them around her finger and making them dance to her every whistle. No, they couldn’t be partners, they couldn’t rely on Maven, because that would only weaken them. Associates? Maybe. But not partners. The Brotherhood had to stand on its own.

   

  He was passing through the streets mostly unnoticed, as most people were speeding by in the dying light of dusk to quickly finish their business before the sun went down. The shopkeepers on the market were packing their goods, the stores were being closed and the doors of taverns kept opening and closing as people went to drown their daily problems in mead.

   

  It was as if Riften had two heads, each one taking over the city in different times of day. During daylight everything seemed normal, just like any other city in Skyrim, the streets filled with crowds of people living their meaningless lives. But after dark?

   

  The rats came crawling out after dark. Whores, smugglers, skooma dealers, thieves and bruisers, they all became the kings and queens of their little pieces of the city when the sun set.

   

  Which was why Lorbulg was somewhat surprised when he realized someone was following him even before sundown. It was more of a feeling than anything, as if someone had just painted a huge target on his back.

   

  He passed the Temple of Mara and changed direction, leaving the main street and heading into the dark alleys. Most of these alleys had wooden walkways or balconies hanging over them, casting them in perpetual shadow and Lorbulg took advantage of that. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know someone was following him, he could hear the quiet steps behind him and he resisted the urge to snort.

   

  Whoever was following him wasn’t very good at it. Or maybe they just didn’t have the need to hide.

   

  Lorbulg passed one of the columns supporting the wooden walkway above him, slowing down a bit and then he slowly turned around. The figure in the shadows abruptly stopped and Lorbulg flashed his tusks, staring at the shadows in silence.

   

  The figure quickly raised hands and took a step forward, the waning light shining through the cracks revealing its features. A tall Altmer with black dreadlocks, earrings and piercings adorning his face and in the middle of all that were two sickly green eyes.

   

  “Gerrik,” Lorbulg growled when he recognized the Mer. He was one of the bosses in the Guild, in charge of the so-called protection and other more shady and… direct dealings of the Guild. Gerrik wasn’t his true name of course, no damn Altmer would have a name as stupid as that.

   

  “I see your observation skills haven’t dulled even a tiny bit, Lorbulg,” the Altmer sneered in the shadows, lowering his hands. “Afraid of a dagger in your back?”

   

  In this line of work one always has to worry about a dagger in the back, the Orc thought, but didn’t answer. Silence was sometimes all that was needed. Silence was as powerful a tool as any axe. Maybe even more powerful than a silver tongue. Silence made people uncomfortable, made them babble out anything just to break it, and sometimes that did wonders to make people spill their secrets.

   

  Gerrik shook his head, chuckling. “Still going with that silent shit? Alright, alright.”

   

  Lorbulg’s eyes were still fixed on the Mer’s hands, as a precaution. He heard rumors in the streets of what this Mer was capable of with his daggers and the Orc wasn’t interested in any kind of surprise.

   

  “Got a warning for you,” the Altmer said, and the Orc narrowed his eyes, his hand slowly shifting towards the axe behind his belt. Gerrik noticed that and Lorbulg heard him snicker. “Not that kind of warning. This one is from your friend Delvin.” He then paused, most likely waiting for Lorbulg to show some kind of curiosity, but the silence slowly began stretching into seconds and the Altmer sighed. “Come on! At least a bit of interest, maybe just a peep, that’s all I’m asking for. Fine. Suit yourself.” He waved his hand, showing his back to the Orc and started walking away.

   

  Mothertusker! The Mer was teasing him, Lorbulg was fully aware of that, but if Delvin felt it important to warn Lorbulg about something it was important. And the Altmer knew that, knew that very well, but he was still capable of just walking away, if only to irritate the shit out of Lorbulg. The Orc gritted his teeth and opened his mouth: “What’s the warning?”

   

  The Altmer stopped and slowly turned around, chuckling. “Ha! It speaks! That had to be a real struggle. Did it hurt?”

   

  “One day, if someone doesn’t beat me to it, I’m going to rip your spine out, Gerrik,” the Orc grimaced, baring his tusks.

   

  “Oh. Scary. You got me all worked up at ‘one day’,” Gerrik laughed and that was the last drop for Lorbulg. He took a step forward, reaching for his axe, but then the Altmer got all serious and suddenly there were two daggers in his hands as he took a step back, raising them so that Lorbul could see them. “Now, now. Let’s calm down, shall we? The warning. There’s a Goldpact Knight in the Flagon. The Goldpact Knight actually. Decimus Merotim. You heard about him? Well, he’s quite interested in you. Delvin wanted to get the word to you, to stay away from the Flagon.”

   

  The Goldpact Knight. Decimus Merotim. Lorbulg snorted because he’d never heard of any such idiot during his life in Skyrim. His hand moved away from the axe and he growled one last time, before he turned his back to Gerrik and walking away.

   

  “What you’re going to do?” the Altmer raised his voice, but Lorbulg didn’t answer.

   

  Grab a drink, he replied in his mind.

  

  Decimus sat at one of the tables just a few steps away from the counter, staring at his empty tankard which used to have a simply awful ale in it. Really, one of the worst ales he ever drank, and yet, he kept drinking that shit for the past two weeks, stuck in this shithole. As of now the Flagon was mostly empty, which felt somewhat strange since the past two weeks it was filled up to the roof - or ceiling, Decimus corrected himself, staring up at the ceiling.

   

  He sat there in nothing but his simple green tunic, trousers and leather boots, with his armor being left at his room in Bee and Barb. All his equipment was there, all but his swords, which were lying on the table in their scabbards.

   

  Two weeks, he grimaced. Two weeks he had been drinking that awful ale, gambling away his money with all the mercenaries of ill repute and shagging Tharini up at Bee and Barb. And after that time he might have actually gotten used to that terrible taste of the ale.

   

  He looked at the empty tankard again, glancing towards the counter where he saw Vipir just leaning against it, staring at a wall. How difficult is to fill one damn tankard? the Imperial grumbled in his mind. If the place was full he’d understand it, but it was completely empty beside the regulars and he had been staring at his empty tankard for the past hour while Vipir was basically picking his nose. I fucking hate this place… Should he just get up and ask for a refill? But he was so comfortable in his chair. Fucking dilemma…

   

  Beside him there was Delvin sitting at his usual table, chatting about something with Vex, while Tonilia kept to herself at her little spot on the wharf over the cistern. They all seemed content ignoring the Goldpact Knight sitting there all alone and he was content with that too. It was just the damn bartender whose attention he wanted.

   

  He was just about to haul his arse to the counter to ask for a refill when he noticed a big fellow walking into the cistern. He narrowed his eyes, looking at the dark leather armor,, at the spiked gauntlets, at the green chin and tusks sticking from under the hood. Hey! I know this fucker. That’s the one who sped past me back at Faldar’s Tooth.

   

  Decimus noticed how Delvin literally hypnotized the Orc with his gaze, the whole expression on his face literally saying ‘What the fuck’ and the Imperial resisted the urge to snort. So you’ve been protecting your hide, haven’t you, Mallory? Letting the Orc know I’m here. You ever heard that saying, fucker? Snitches get stitches?

   

  So the Orc didn’t heed the warning and right now he was heading directly towards Decimus’ table, the head fixed in his direction. Decimus slightly raised his eyebrows as he watched how the Orc moved. He was big. Damn big, bigger than Decimus, pretty much as big as a certain Altmer Decimus knew, and everything about the way he moved seemed aggressive and yet at the same time efficient, as if he was saving all energy for one violent outburst of rage.

   

  He picked the chair at Decimus’ table, pulling it back and taking a seat as if he was the king of this shithole. The instant he sat down opposite Decimus, Vipir came rushing to the table, immediately setting a filled tankard in front of the Orc, then quickly retreated back behind his counter. The Imperial gave the bartender an incredulous look. How the fuck does he get a drink while my tankard is still empty?  He then glanced back at the Orc with narrowed eyes.

   

  He sprawled out on the chair in such a manner that Decimus expected him to put his feet on the table too and threw back his hood, revealing an ass ugly pigface. Big chin with massive tusks protruding from his mouth, dark red eyes, bone protrusions in his eyebrows and his forehead with dark black hair on top of his head cut short, similar to Decimus.

   

  “Decimus Merotim,” the Orc grunted, taking off his spiked gauntlets and putting them on them on the table. “The Goldpact Knight.”

   

  “Yeah, that would be me,” the Imperial murmured. “And you must be Lorbulg. Your reputation sort of precedes you.”

   

  The Orc snorted. “Can’t say the same about you. Though people keep saying your name as if I should know it.”

   

  Decimus shrugged at that, being quite certain this was his mark. There was a certain resemblance to Yamarz, but maybe he was just imagining things. All the Orcs looked pretty much the same to him. The same ugly. He shrugged at the Orc’s remark. “Guess I’m mostly known in the Rift. Mothers hide their daughters and all that. You know.”

   

  “I don’t,” Lorbulg grimaced as he pulled an axe from behind his belt and put it on the table, closely followed by the second axe. “Goldpact Knight,” he then rolled the name on his tongue, letting it hang in the air for a moment. “Some kind of Cyrodiilic bullshit? You don’t look like a knight.”

   

  Decimus rolled his eyes to that. “Alright, yeah, it is kind of misleading, I admit it. But it wasn’t exactly my idea. Other option was ‘Goldpact Blades’ but that seemed even more over the top and would probably get the Thalmor on our arses.”

   

  “Bounty hunter then?” the Orc’s face remained a stone mask as he pulled a knife from behind his back, then another from his boot, slowly piling all the weapons on the table. Decimus wondered what was the message behind that, where was this supposed to lead. Well, it was quite clear where was it leading actually...

   

  “Sometimes,” Decimus shrugged.

   

  Lorbulg then began unstrapping the leather pauldrons, glancing at the Imperial with narrowed eyes. “Is there a bounty on my head?”

   

  The Imperial chuckled, shaking his head. “Not that I’m aware of. But I’ve got a feeling that if I really asked around the other Holds there might be something.” He tilted his head, flashing a smile. “But no bounty, yeah. It’s a… personal favor of sorts. Name Yamarz rings a bell?”

   

  The Orsimer placed the pauldrons on top of his weapons and then started playing with the straps of his leather jacket. “He’s my brother.”

   

  Brother? Damn it, Decimus! What you got yourself into this time? This is one messed up family argument, he thought but kept neutral face. “Well. He says hello. And invites you to a family tea party or whatever you Orcs do. Probably wants to catch up on what you’ve been doing for so long. Like kidnapping your nephews and such. That’s definitely going to be item number one on the list.”

   

  “Just proves what Yamarz really is. Letting others do the work for him…” Lorbulg shook his head. He finished unstrapping the leather jacket and let it hang loosely on his body as he glanced at Decimus.

   

  Oh, here we go. The Imperial looked around, noticing everyone staring at him and the Orc, holding their breaths. The tension in the Flagon was so thick one could cut it.

   

  “We’re done talking,” the Orc nodded.

   

  Decimus smirked. “Yeah, thought so. Was slightly worried that if we’d continue chatting you’d end up naked,” the Imperial pointed at all the equipment on the table. “I take it you won’t go willingly. Alright. Let’s get to it then, shall we?”

   

  Before the Orc could answer Decimus grabbed the table and turned it on the Orc, the equipment loudly ringing on the floor, followed by thuds of the wood as Lorbulg sprung on his feet, his chair hitting the floor. With an angry swing of his big arm he tossed the table aside and headed straight for Decimus with raised hands, his palms open.

   

  And Decimus recognised the stance. Fuck. He’s been in Legion too, a recognition flashed through the Goldpact Knight’s mind as he shortened the distance between them. He performed a quick jab with his left hand, meant to only test the Orc’s defenses, and the way Lorbulg tried to grab his hand only supported the realization he was facing someone trained in Legion wrestling.

   

  Just don’t let him grab you, don’t let him grab you, Dec! he growled in his mind as he took a few more testing jabs, jumping on his feet back and forth. The Orc swung his arm and Decimus ducked under it, landing a solid hit on the Orc’s ribs, but a knee heading for his face made him quickly retreat.

   

  That’s it, that’s it. Dance around him, keep dancing. He circled the Orc who kept rotating on place to face him, his feet planted solid on the ground. The Orc wasn’t wasting his energy, every move efficient. Keep dancing, Dec. Fly like a bee, sting like a butterfly. Wait! Wasn’t it the other-

   

  Lorbulg then shortened the distance in a blink of an eye, striking like some damn snake, and Decimus barely registered it. His left hand was suddenly locked in the Orc’s vice-like grip, and he could see the other hand coming for his jaw. He raised his right arm, blocking with his forearm, and made a quick jab at the Orc’s nose. It landed solid, snapping the Orsimer’s head back, but Lorbulg didn’t let Decimus’ hand go and pulled him closer, right on the fist of his free hand. The punch took all the air out of Decimus’ lungs.

   

  And as the Imperial curled around the fist, leaning forward, the Orc suddenly let him go and then both of his arms hugged Decimus from above, around his chest, and before he could take a single breath he was lifted into the air, legs up, and then he was falling as the Orc slammed him to the ground.

   

  His shoulder was the first to hit the tiles, then his hip and finally his legs. Basically every bare bone landed on the ground, hard, sending an awful wave of agony through his body he didn’t know what he should react to first. Probably the ankles, oh damn, how those hurt when they hit the ground. He released a half suppressed scream, bending in his back. The pain was overwhelming.

   

  From the corner of his eye he could see a boot heading for his head and he managed to get his forearms in front of his face, dampening the impact. His own hands hit his forehead and that fucking hurt too, but who had time for pain when there was a fucking Orc trying to stomp him into the earth?

   

  He turned on the ground like a beetle on his back, raising his legs in similar manner, just when the Orc went for another kick. He kicked against his leg, hitting his knee and it made Lorbulg stumble few steps back, but he came back again. He tried to get in between Decimus’ legs - hah! That’s a first! - trying to get closer with his fist, but the Imperial’s legs always kicked him away.

   

  Lorbulg growled, attempting to grab his legs and Decimus kicked with renewed effort. In vain though, because the Orc managed to grab him by his boot and began pulling. Decimus straightened his ankle and curled his toes and the boot just slipped off his foot, sending the Orc stumbling few steps back.

   

  And that was a window Decimus needed to get back on his feet. He rolled back over his shoulder - fuck! That fucking hurts! - and was already raising up when the Orc came charging again. Decimus saw the knee aiming at his face and planted his palms in front of him, protecting his face while also using them and the Orc’s momentum to push himself up and back.

   

  The Orc swung his right and Decimus shifted to the left, landing two quick hits on the Orc’s before he had to dodge a backhand swing at his head, retreating several steps away.

   

  Lorbulg paused for a moment and Decimus used it to stretch his back and rub his knuckles. He could feel the muscles tightening and he knew he didn’t have long before he would be too sore to move, but he still couldn’t help himself but grin. “Phew,” he wiped sweat from his forehead, measuring the Orc. “Come on then. Let’s dance, motherfucker!”

   

  With that he went forward, rocking his head from side to side, looking for an angle. The Orc feinted a jab with his left and Decimus dodged, but Lorbulg’s right came crashing down. He blocked with his forearm but the strength behind that swing still threw him off balance. But it also created an opening and Decimus lowered his posture, his right hand shooting up for the chin.

   

  Only for Lorbulg’s lightning fast jab landing on Decimus’ face.

   

  World went black for a second and he realized he was stumbling back. He landed in a chair, his vision swimming and he shook his head. The Orc waited for him to get up and frankly, the Goldpact Knight was grateful for that. “Damn,” he murmured, holding his bleeding nose. “Legion wrestling and bare knuckle boxing too? You’re one nasty motherfucker, you know that?”

   

  Lorbulg just stared at him and Decimus bared his teeth. He sprung back on his feet, circling his shoulders. Fine. Let’s get heavy then.

   

  He moved forward, taking few quick jabs, forcing the Orc to raise his hands and when he did that, Decimus shifted to the right from Lorbulg’s line of sight, but this time he didn’t go for the body. His right hand made a wide arc and then his knuckles connected with the Orc’s jaw, splitting the skin and making him stumble to the side. “How you like that, huh?!” Decimus shouted and kept pursuing the opening.

   

  Two quick hits on the Orc’s chest and when the Orc retaliated Decimus went low, grabbing Lorbulg around his waist and lifted off the ground, slamming the ground with him. But the Orc grabbed Decimus’ tunic and dragged him on the ground with him. The Imperial landed on him and immediately began pounding Lorbulg’s side, too afraid to go for his face with those blasted bone protrusions sticking out of the Orsimer’s skin. One bad hit and Decimus’ hand could be ruined for the rest of his life.

   

  Lorbulg, on the other hand, didn’t have to worry about such things. His fist landed on Decimus’ face, dazing him and then the Orc’s legs got under Decimus’ body, throwing him over the Orc.

   

  Decimus blinked several times, lying on the ground, feeling the iron taste of the blood in his mouth, his vision blurry and somewhat strange. Almost as if one side of the world had gone completely dark. He smacked the ground, slowly getting angry with this gods damn Orc and crawled back on his feet.

   

  He was just straightening when Lorbulg charged him. Decimus didn’t even saw him coming and he realized there must have been something wrong with his left eye. Another punch landed on his blind side of the face, shaking him even more, and then pain exploded in his side. He could hear something crack and fell on the floor, overwhelmed with agony. It felt as if the Orc had hit him with a hammer.

   

  “Motherfucker,” he murmured, crawling on the ground and then he felt something under his hand. He realized it was one of the Orc’s knives and he grimaced. Enough playing fair… He managed to push himself on his feet, but he was barely standing, his vision swimming. When the Orc tried to get closer Decimus cut the air with the knife, keeping his distance from the Orsimer.

   

  Gone was the dancing. Now it was all about trying to stay on his feet. One good hit with the knife, that’s all he needed.

   

  Lorbulg growled and came forward, only to change direction to Decimus’ blind side and the Imperial blindly swung with the knife. Lorbulg grabbed the arm and before Decimus could react he twisted and the Imperial could hear and feel his bones break. Then the Orc’s hit his side again, and whatever was broken there before ended even more broken. Then another swing landed on his face again and he ended up on the floor.

   

  He laid there, coughing blood, his mind hazy. There was something wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be coughing blood. The pain was unbelievable and he could hear himself rasping like a wounded animal. He could hear the Orc talking, but it was as if from distance, barely recognizing the words.

   

  “In the end, everybody bleeds the same…”

  

  “But if it’s any consolation, you were better than most,” Lorbulg growled, grabbing the Imperial by the collar of his tunic and slightly lifted him, which revealed his throat. He raised his hand, prepared to finish the so called Goldpact Knight by crushing his windpipe.

   

  But he paused.

   

  You were better than most, the words echoed in his mind as he stared at the Imperial’s bloodied face, at the left eye filled with blood and swollen, at the red bubbles forming around the man’s mouth. His every breath was followed by rasping and rattling as blood bubbled inside the Imperial’s body - one of the broken ribs must have pierced his lung.

   

  He watched him and gritted his teeth. You were better than most. Lorbulg’s left hand reached for his face, touching the burning place on his cheekbone. When he looked at his fingers he saw that crimson liquid colouring them. He was bleeding from his nose and from the split skin on his cheekbone and his ribs felt as if they were cracked.

   

  What in the Oblivion was the Imperial thinking, going hand to hand with him? Idiot. There was a very low chance he could beat an Orc, especially one bigger than him, in a hand to hand combat, even with his Legion training.

   

  And yet, he put up a good fight. He made Lorbulg bleed.

   

  The Orc bared his tusks. If it was Yamarz here, Lorbulg wouldn’t even break a sweat beating him to a pulp, but it wasn’t Yamarz, right? He sent this human instead. A human who fought better than the poor excuse for a brother.

   

  The human was stupid. But he still deserved a bit of respect. That thought surprised Lorbulg and maybe even scared him a little. He thought he threw that crap about honor away a long time ago… No, this wasn’t about honor. This was about respect, about…

   

  “Damn you, Malacath,” he muttered under his breath as he let the Imperial’s tunic go, letting the man fall back on the cold floor.

   

  It was about challenge. A worthy challenge. If the Imperial survived his injuries he would come after Lorbulg and for some reason, that made Lorbulg eager. Thrilled, even.

   

  And if he died...well, Lorbulg wouldn’t lose sleep over that.

   

  “So are you going to kill him?” voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he bared his tusks when he recognized the voice of Gerrik. He straightened and looked around the Flagon, at Vipir, Delvin, Vex, Tonilia and Gerrik. They stared at him from their places, while Gerrik was standing nearly behind him and he gave each of them a hard stare.

   

  “Is that a yes or no?” Gerrik raised his eyebrows and Lorbulg snarled. He grabbed the Imperial by the tunic again and began dragging him behind himself, heading towards the door leading out of the Flagon. “What the fuck are you doing now?”

   

  Lorbulg didn’t feel it was really important to answer as he headed towards the door to Warrens. They should be glad he was at least cleaning up the mess he’d made.

   

  “Fine, don’t answer. Ooh. Always wanted one of these,” Gerrik continued and Lorbulg noticed him pick up the Goldpact Knight’s swords. “Now I’m really undecided. Keep or sell? Hmm.”

   

  “Just keep your hands from my stuff, Gerrik,” Lorbulg growled over his shoulder. “Or you’ll lose them.”

   

  “Love you too,” he heard a sound of kissing and then blowing behind him.

   

  He grimaced in disgust and he opened the door to Warrens, walking into the darkness. He reached the edge of the light and gave the Imperial one last look. “Let’s see if Malacath deems you worthy to challenge me again, human.” With that, he tossed the man into the darkness.

   

  And then turned his back to it.

  

  He opened his eyes into world of darkness and pain.

   

  He struggled to breathe.

   

  He couldn’t move.

   

  And he could hear things moving in the darkness, whispering. He could feel something crawling over him, tugging at his clothes as if fingers were feeling his clothes and his skin. Something began pulling at his leg and at the same time something pulled at his arm. He screamed in agony.

   

  And then the world exploded with light.

   

  He squinted around, seeing figures disappearing into the shadows, while the light kept coming towards him. Warm, green light. Followed by tapping of wood on stone.

   

  From the light appeared a hooded figure and that figure crouched next to him. He squinted under the hood, into the shadows, and he saw green skin and a pair of milky white eyes.

   

  “Malacath is not done with you yet, Knight. There is still a role for you to play,” the wise-woman said. And he passed out again.