The Emerald King

Kulg stood with his hunters, looking around at the ashes that remained of the fallen village. The grass was burned away, leaving the land black and barren. The sun was low, its light covering the sky with a rippling red hue that turned the clouds orange. The orcs of his band walked through the remains, looking for signs of potential survivors who might have escaped the attack. Burnt pikes stood stuck in the ground, charred remains of Zruhk heads mounted on top.

The sight of it all disgusted Kulg. He couldn’t believe a village of his kin could be taken so easily, even if they were low born orcs. He stood silently seething with anger at the thought of what might have happened. Knowing this had been the fate of many other villages only fueled that rage even more.

“Lord Kulg!” one of his hunters beckoned a ways behind him, “Come look at this. I found something in the ashes.”

Kulg turned to see Grak, an older burly orc who had long served in his army. Clad in steel plating and thick leather that had seen ages of battle, he sat crouched in the center of a large pile of ash. His one eye focusing on something as he sunk his hand into the pile. Kulg walked up to him wondering what the old hunter had found. When his scarred hand emerged from the ashes, he held it flat and blew off the excess with a strong huff, revealing a small dirty emerald that looked just like the one Kulg wore around his neck.

“Give that to me,” Kulg said in shock.

Grak did as he was commanded and handed over the gem. Kulg moved it around in the palm of his right hand with his thumb, inspecting it. It was carved and polished round, just like his own. Aside from being dirty, however, there was no noticeable damage to it whatsoever. Meaning the magic used to burn down the village was not capable of harming the gem.

Kulg thought to himself for a time as his clansmen gathered around him, waiting to see what he would do.

Something isn’t right, he thought, confused. Only a clan lord such as myself should have one of these. It isn’t merely a piece of debris that could be picked up from anywhere, especially not when it is so similar to the emeralds we wear. Was there another clan lord here? That couldn’t be, the attack was so recent, and the other lords were visiting my city when it had happened. Not to mention everyone was wearing their necklace.

Kulg gazed down at the emerald, focusing on it with his full attention. He brought it closer to his face for a better look. He could almost hear something, but from where the noise came from he did not know. It sounded as if it were just in his mind, the light cry of a terrified horse. Kulg kept his gaze as he thought he could see small movements in the gem, like a newborn trying to escape a steel cage in desperation.

“Chieftain?” Grak’s concerned voice came to him like a slap in the face.

Kulg looked up to see his orcs standing around him, staring. He had become so focused that for a moment he had forgotten where he was.

“My apologies, brothers,” he said distantly, “I lost myself in thought.”

“Are you alright my lord?” Grak asked.

Kulg focused his eyes on his subordinate, letting out a light chuckle, “Yes Grak, set up camp for the night, we leave for my uncle’s at dawn.”

That night, as Kulg sat by the waning campfire outside his tent, he thought of what he had seen. The emerald buried in ash that should have long blown away. How perfectly the village had been burned. How easily his kin had been slaughtered. Yet with all that, he could not shake the feeling of holding the gem, as he gazed into it.

What is going on? Kulg wondered. I’ve never felt this from my own emerald, and I’m sure the other lords haven’t experienced anything like this. Perhaps I’ll speak to Klog might have an idea.

Kulg removed his necklace and grabbed the emerald Grak found out of his pocket. He held both in each hand, running his thumbs across their smooth round surfaces. Both gems sat lifeless to his touch as he examined them. He inspected them a few minutes more, focusing as hard as he could on each of them, waiting for something to happen. When nothing came of his efforts, Kulg spat and shoved both emeralds into his pocket, cursing under his breath.

The warmth of the fire began to dissipate as all that remained were coals and ash. Kulg grabbed more twigs and logs from the side of his tent and began rekindling the flames.

What shall I say to my uncle when I see him? Kulg thought as the flames bolstered.

I may sound insane, but Klog has always been the most reasonable of the leaders… aside from my sister.

Kulg stood up, stretching his limbs as he did so. Drowsiness began overtaking him as he relaxed and pulled the gems from his pocket once more. Looking down at them he grimaced as a thought occurred to him.

“My sister,” he said in realization. She hadn’t answered the call to the summit. Was she here? Was this her emerald?

“It can’t be. These damn things are more trouble than they’re worth.”

He turned and tied open the flap of his tent to let the heat of the fire in as he slept. As he lay there in its flickering warm light, he gazed at the emeralds one last time. Setting them aside on a small oak stool, he shut his eyes and fell into his dreams

A few hours later, Kulg awoke to howling screams. His eyes opened to a blinding blue light filling the inside of his tent. Shielding his eyes with one arm, Kulg wailed in pain. He did his best to see what was happening. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the silhouette of two orcs slowly shrinking in the light. Soon two more entered the tent, no doubt in worry for his safety.

It was a futile effort, however, as soon the two newcomers’ screams joined in. From outside the tent, Kulg could hear more of his warriors rallying toward his tent, grabbing their weapons and barking orders to prepare for battle. In desperation, Kulg yelled out to them.

“Stay back! Get away from the light!”

They seemed to hear him from over the screams, as no others entered. Soon the screams began to wane and the silhouette of the orcs shrank into nothingness. Darkness filled the tent save for the pale light of torches from outside. Kulg gave his eyes time to adjust and slowly stepped forward to the center of his tent. On the ground were two small piles of ash, and closer toward the tent’s opening was another pair.

Heavy steps could be heard from outside as his warriors warily entered. The first to enter was Grak, his aged face pale and grim. Several more orcs followed in behind looking just as pale as if they had been cursed.

“What h-happened?” Grak asked, his voice shaking and surprisingly frail to the thick gruff one that Kulg was familiar with.

Kulg looked at each of his warriors, and then back to the ashes at their feet. It had dawned on him just then that he didn’t know where the emeralds were. Looking towards the spot he placed them before falling asleep, Kulg felt his heart drop into his gut. The stones were gone.

“H-hold on,” He said back to Grak, surprised by the frailty of his voice.

Images of the burnt village came back to his mind, and again he felt as if he were being called. Kulg turned back to the ashes on the ground, knowing for certain what was there. He knelt and dipped a hand into the ash, and when it reemerged Kulg felt as if his heart had stopped. There lay the emeralds, glowing dully side by side.

The gems were clean and clear as if they had just been freshly cut and polished. The orcs in the room stood around him now, gaping in confusion. At that moment the pit in Kulg’s stomach turned to nausea, and he began to heave and puke. He threw the gems aside to the far corner of the tent until he could regain his composure.

“Are you alright?” Grak asked in a scared and worried tone.

As soon as Kulg finished vomiting he held up a hand for Grak to wait on his response.

“Fine,” he replied, spitting out the remaining bile from his mouth. “We must make haste to my uncle. I hope that he has an answer to what happened. Before we leave, have everyone gather for a headcount. We need to find out who was in my tent. Whether it was our own orc’s or someone else.”

Grak, still shaken, did as commanded and had all the orcs in the tent gather the others to the center of the camp. Kulg stood up, slightly dizzy from the experience and grabbed several cloths from his bags, wrapping the now lightless gems tightly and tying it off with the cord of his necklace.

Outside the headcount proceeded, and it found that there were, in fact, four missing orcs. Gûr, Zrog, Grimmok, and Ralk were all missing from the ranks. Now the only question was who were the orcs in Kulg’s tent when he woke, and who were the ones that came to help but perished.

Kulg didn’t take too much time to ponder this. He needed to move quickly before more fell victim to this mystery.

“Everyone!” He barked to his warriors, “gather only items of necessity, we leave the tents and tarps here, we must reach Klog Zruhk in no more than two days.”

“Two days?” a young orc named Gorrik questioned in disbelief. “Is that possible?”

Gorrik had been one of the orcs who joined Grak in the tent after the incident. The daunt look upon his face showed he was still shaken, and hearing of the trip to come did nothing to calm his nerves.

How can I ask this of my kin, Kulg thought, after such a terrifying thing has shaken them down to their very souls.

“We’ll make it possible, young warrior,” Kulg replied. “We must make it possible.”

Over the next two days, Kulg’s Warband rode, forsaking all but their weapons and the clothes on their backs. They had only stopped twice since leaving the burned village, once to eat and once to sleep. It was clear that everyone was reaching their limit, especially their horses. Dusk came down upon the second day when Kulg ordered his warriors to stop and rest. The terrain around them had become riddled with stones and boulders, as well as small oak trees sprinkled across the valley.

Having no food left and only a little water and wine, the band settled on drinking themselves to sleep. Kulg shared in none of it, however. He left it to his weary warriors, who he knew were being pushed so hard on his command. As everyone slept, Kulg lay awake thinking about what had happened. The thought hadn’t left his mind since leaving the burned village. He gazed blankly at the stars above, feeling the cool night breeze lightly caress his skin.

What are these devilish gems? he thought, feeling his stomach churn as it had two days past.

Why do us lords keep them wrapped around our necks, weapons that kill without warning? Weapons with no one to wield them, keep their power in check. Do the other lords know? Does my uncle know? I must find answers.

It felt as if the emeralds were trying to suck him into them as Kulg lay for a few hours more, lost in thought. The warm light of the sun crept into the sky, and before he knew it, his band was awake and ready to depart. The ride to his uncle’s lasted only a few more hours, but in the condition they were in it felt like days. They arrived at the front gate, six guards clad in silver armor and wine-soaked capes standing guard, axes at the ready. Stone walls forty meters tall, with iron spikes protruding along the peak of the wall. Kulg’s band stopped and waited for one of the guards to come forward.

A female orc that Kulg recognized came forward, grinning under her silver helm. It was his cousin Tolga.

“Hail to you honored cousin, “she said sarcastically, still grinning. “What brings you here looking so ragged?”

“Tolga,” Kulg said with slight relief, “I’ve come to speak with Klog, it’s urgent.”

“Has something happened?”

“There’s no time, I must speak with him now. My band needs food and rest, and your father must see me now, I seek his counsel.”

Tolga furrowed her brow, frowning in disappointment and worry.

“As you wish cousin,” she resigned, “I’ll take you to him personally then.”

From her hip she pulled a curved warhorn, blowing the signal to open the city gates. The Gates slowly swung outward, revealing the vast farmland inside.

“If your warriors are in desperate need of rest, they can stay with the locals here. There is still a great distance between here and the capitol. My warriors shall provide food and drink for them, and perhaps a bath is in order as well”, she grinned playfully, exposing clean white teeth outshining the polished steel studs in her tusks.

“Good,” Kulg said wearily, too tired to humor her. “Grak, I’ll send for you once I’ve had time to speak with my uncle and rest. Until then you and the others may spend your time freely.”

“Yes sir,” Grak replied, clearly relieved. “I shall wait for your summons.”

Kulg smiled at the old orc, he was happy to have such a loyal warrior in his army. All of them would be greatly rewarded once they made it home.

Kulg was supplied a fresh horse and given a small meal to hold him over for the remaining journey. He rode with his cousin for near three hours before arriving at the second wall of his uncle’s lands. This wall surrounded the city itself, the outer wall being only the first defense of Klog’s vast territory. For the first time, Kulg realized that defense was actually needed. For centuries there had been no war within any of the orc lands.

Yet still, the walls were barren. Only having small pockets of guards stationed every few miles, clearly not expecting any sort of real assault. Even now Kulg could not blame his uncle for such lax defense. The invaders had only been attacking small villages, far from any major city, a thought that still bothered Kulg greatly.

The large oak and iron gates opened revealing the dazzling city within. White stone roads, leading to a variety of shops and homes throughout the labyrinth of a city. The buildings all made of marble polished smooth to perfection. Steel lamps topped with large candles lined the roads, looking so clean and unused.

Klog always was one to keep things presentable, Kulg thought. No matter how simple.

Tolga lead him towards the center of the city, to a great white fortress of polished marble and gold. Large pillars carved into statues of great warriors from the past lined the entrance. A garden full of a variety of flowers and exotic plants filled the surrounding yard, and past that Kulg could see his uncle’s personal vineyard.

The large steel studded oak doors at the front of the building swung open, a guard on each pushing it from the inside. Out came Klog, wearing silk garments of black and gold. He smiled when he saw his nephew. A smile that quickly turned into a frown when he saw the state Kulg was in.

“What’s happened to you my boy?” he asked concerned.

Kulg stared back at him, clutching the emeralds in his pocket, still wrapped in cloth.

“I need your help, uncle,” Kulg said, his voice both tired and urgent. “we need to gather the other lords again, I have urgent news.