“Shouldn’t they be trapped in the Vile Wedge?”
“They must have crossed one of the rivers,” Thren whispered. “The paladins of the Citadel used to patrol the lower reaches of the Rigon and the Gihon, but with its fall, I doubt anyone has taken up the responsibility.”
“Come on, Gremm,” one of the lingering orcs said to a particularly large orc bedecked in brown leather armor and carrying a massive ax over one shoulder. “No harm in checking back. These roads go both ways, after all.”
“Stubborn jackasses,” Gremm growled. “Go on, then, but next time you all ignore me like that, my ax starts swinging.”
Haern and Thren watched as the last of them trudged down the road, calling out insults and shouting for the orcs farther ahead to wait up. As Gremm left, Haern caught sight of a sack slung over his shoulder, the bottom of it stained red, a limp hand hanging over its side.
“We have to stop them,” Haern said, rising to his feet.
“There’s thirty of them,” Thren said, frowning at him. “And I fail to see any reason why we
have
to do anything.”
“We nearly stumbled upon them ourselves. Whoever follows after us will do the same. We can’t let another group of travelers suffer the fate of the Sun guildmembers.”
“We can,” Thren said. “And we will. It isn’t your job to protect the world, Haern, nor play the savior for every damn stupid person who walks the land. We have a task at hand, and that is what matters right now. If someone travels this road unaware of the dangers, that is their own fault, not ours. We avoided their ambush, so let whoever follows us do the same.”
“You’ll disregard their suffering so easily?” Haern asked.
Thren stepped closer, and he spread his arms wide and gestured to the wilderness filled only with flittering beetles and grasshoppers.
“Whose suffering?” he asked. “You’d have me weep for men and women who may not even exist? The next party those orcs attack may be well-armed men transporting goods for the Gemcrofts, and they’ll butcher every single one of the gray-skinned brutes. You don’t know, do you? What you do know is that you’ve seen someone bad, and now you want to stop them. Gods, you’re like a child.”
“These aren’t even bandits,” Haern insisted. “You saw what they did. The mutilation. The cook fire.”
A beetle landed on Haern’s cloak, and when he tried to brush it away, its spindly black legs remained hooked on the cloth. Frustrated, Haern swatted at it again, hard enough that it struck a tree beside him and crushed its glittering green shell. Thren saw it and smirked.
“Will you kill all the beetles in the world, too?” he asked. “We’ll never even make it out of this forest.”
Haern looked once more to the northeast and the path the orcs had taken. It felt wrong to leave them be, but they were already pressed for time …
“They are but thirty,” Thren said, as if able to read his mind. “And by finding Luther and discovering his plans for our city, we may spare the lives of thousands. Don’t be foolish, and learn to control your emotions. The goal must always be weighed against the cost, and right now, those orcs mean little more than shit to you.”
Haern clenched his jaw, and with a sickening feeling in his stomach, he turned away and resumed their travel. He said nothing, and with his decision obvious, Thren let the matter drop. They continued on, an hour passing by as the midday sun began its slow descent. With every step, Haern felt worse. If he’d been on his own, he’d have avoided the orcs no differently from how he had with Thren. But something about using Thren’s reasoning made him uncomfortable. In some ways, he agreed with it. The people of Veldaren were more important, the risks to the city far greater than what a few wretched remnants of an ancient war between the gods could do.
But still it bothered him, and when he glanced back and saw the fire, he froze.
“What is
“They must have crossed one of the rivers,” Thren whispered. “The paladins of the Citadel used to patrol the lower reaches of the Rigon and the Gihon, but with its fall, I doubt anyone has taken up the responsibility.”
“Come on, Gremm,” one of the lingering orcs said to a particularly large orc bedecked in brown leather armor and carrying a massive ax over one shoulder. “No harm in checking back. These roads go both ways, after all.”
“Stubborn jackasses,” Gremm growled. “Go on, then, but next time you all ignore me like that, my ax starts swinging.”
Haern and Thren watched as the last of them trudged down the road, calling out insults and shouting for the orcs farther ahead to wait up. As Gremm left, Haern caught sight of a sack slung over his shoulder, the bottom of it stained red, a limp hand hanging over its side.
“We have to stop them,” Haern said, rising to his feet.
“There’s thirty of them,” Thren said, frowning at him. “And I fail to see any reason why we
have
to do anything.”
“We nearly stumbled upon them ourselves. Whoever follows after us will do the same. We can’t let another group of travelers suffer the fate of the Sun guildmembers.”
“We can,” Thren said. “And we will. It isn’t your job to protect the world, Haern, nor play the savior for every damn stupid person who walks the land. We have a task at hand, and that is what matters right now. If someone travels this road unaware of the dangers, that is their own fault, not ours. We avoided their ambush, so let whoever follows us do the same.”
“You’ll disregard their suffering so easily?” Haern asked.
Thren stepped closer, and he spread his arms wide and gestured to the wilderness filled only with flittering beetles and grasshoppers.
“Whose suffering?” he asked. “You’d have me weep for men and women who may not even exist? The next party those orcs attack may be well-armed men transporting goods for the Gemcrofts, and they’ll butcher every single one of the gray-skinned brutes. You don’t know, do you? What you do know is that you’ve seen someone bad, and now you want to stop them. Gods, you’re like a child.”
“These aren’t even bandits,” Haern insisted. “You saw what they did. The mutilation. The cook fire.”
A beetle landed on Haern’s cloak, and when he tried to brush it away, its spindly black legs remained hooked on the cloth. Frustrated, Haern swatted at it again, hard enough that it struck a tree beside him and crushed its glittering green shell. Thren saw it and smirked.
“Will you kill all the beetles in the world, too?” he asked. “We’ll never even make it out of this forest.”
Haern looked once more to the northeast and the path the orcs had taken. It felt wrong to leave them be, but they were already pressed for time …
“They are but thirty,” Thren said, as if able to read his mind. “And by finding Luther and discovering his plans for our city, we may spare the lives of thousands. Don’t be foolish, and learn to control your emotions. The goal must always be weighed against the cost, and right now, those orcs mean little more than shit to you.”
Haern clenched his jaw, and with a sickening feeling in his stomach, he turned away and resumed their travel. He said nothing, and with his decision obvious, Thren let the matter drop. They continued on, an hour passing by as the midday sun began its slow descent. With every step, Haern felt worse. If he’d been on his own, he’d have avoided the orcs no differently from how he had with Thren. But something about using Thren’s reasoning made him uncomfortable. In some ways, he agreed with it. The people of Veldaren were more important, the risks to the city far greater than what a few wretched remnants of an ancient war between the gods could do.
But still it bothered him, and when he glanced back and saw the fire, he froze.
“What is
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