Seeing the blade, seeing the sight of an ork, J'role began to wonder if maybe there were dragons the size of mountains.
When the ork was some twenty feet away, J'role stepped out from his shelter, right out onto the road. He walked up to the stranger as if he'd been expecting him, stopping to bow low at a distance of some six feet. Was this the way to greet an ork? He could only try and find out.
The ork laughed out loud, a sound rough and rich as rocks crashing down a mountainside.
“I’ve had many abrupt greetings upon entering a new place, but none so welcoming! It seems my tired feet have brought me to the right place after all." Add he laughed again.
Looking up, J'role saw the ork smiling down at him. The stranger's open, happy face caught him off guard, and for a moment he wanted to embrace him. In fact, he almost spoke. He caught himself just as the muscles of this throat tightened.
The creature in J'role's head sighed. "Say hello to the ork," it said, coiling about J'role's thoughts like a dragon's tail around its treasure. "You want to, don't you? You like him.
Something about this freak. ."
"Be quiet" J'role thought harshly, a look of anger — or perhaps desperation — passing over his face. But he'd learned not to show anger around people. It raised too many suspicions.
If the ork saw the look, he did not let on. Regaining control J'role quickly put on a smile -
a smile just so — with an even mix of supplication and eagerness to please. He'd used the same smile on previous travelers who'd passed through the village, and over the years he'd polished and rubbed it well, like a magic ring: shiny, bright, potent.
Ah," said the Garlthik, his good natured smile melting into something sly. "You want something.” He spoke the dwarven tongue as did everyone in J'role's village. It had become the language of trade in the time before the Scourge, and then the standard language throughout the land. But the ork's vowels were short and sharp, and sounded strange to J'role's ears.
A crowd had gathered by now, and J'role knew he had to act quickly if he wanted to milk the ork. He touched his fingers to his throat, then held his hands wide.
"Mute? That's a shame. A lad your age should be shouting at the stars. You 'want money, I suppose."
J 'role nodded, hopefu1 and pathetic, but stiff smiling. Always smiling at anyone he approached.
The ork reached his thick fingers into a' leather sack attached to his belt. "I'm tired, I need a place to stay." He leaned close to J'role, drawing him into a cozy conspiracy "A safe place." He drew a coin that glinted of silver out of the, bag "Do you k now of such a place?"
J'role nodded
“Will they let me stay there?”
He nodded again. The ork handed him the silver, and when the ork’s 1arge, rough fingertips touched J'role's palm, the boy became lightheaded. It was as if he'd finally found magic. He could not name it exactly, but there was something so alien about the touch. Different. He found it amazing to be meeting such a strange man straight out of one of his father stories!
“It’s a shame you can't tell me your name," said the ork, “But I am Gar1thik One-Eye.
Come," he said, clasping J’role’s shoulder with one heavy hand, "take me to my place of rest."
"His name is J'role," Charneale said from the gathered crowd.
"Oh, no,” thought J'role, while the creature in his head said, “Don't you want to harm this man? Couldn’t we talk to him?"
Charneale, the village magician, stepped forward, flanked by his three apprentices, two girls and a boy, all J'role's age. "His parents named him J’role," Charneale added. His face was thin and gray and wrinkled. 'I am Charneale magician of Thyson. These are my pupils." All four wore colorful robes sewn with elaborate patterns to keep the Horrors away when they cast their magic.
J’role hated Charneale, though the beautiful robes drew his eyes and made him long to wear something so wonderful. Charneale’s robe had a lightning blue background. Against the blue were red swans, yellow stars gray and white mountains. On special nights, when the great magics were cast, the swans flapped their wings and flew along the surface of the robe.
"I am Garlthik One-Eye," said the ork, and — he thrust out his hand to Charneale, but the magician ignored the gesture. J'role, observant and still, saw anger flash across Garlthik's face, but it passed quickly — so quickly that no one else noticed it.
Speaking as if J'role were not there, Charneale said, "The boy has been an idiot since his seventh birthday."
Garlthik peered down at J'role with his one good eye. “He seems sharp enough to me. He just can't talk. Or won't."
J'role swallowed. Did Garlthik see? Could orks see a Horror in a person's head?
Charneale said, "His family is cursed. His mother was possessed by a Horror, his father is a drunkard, and the boy is an idiot."
"What happened to the mother?" Garlthik asked softly, strangely intent. " Did you get the creature out?"
Charneale raised his chin, piqued. "We had little- time. We were still living in our kaer, and we believed our defenses had been breached…."
You stoned her," Garlthik said in a quiet, accusing voice.
"We performed what rituals were required”
Garlthik snorted.
"The taint was deep in her," said one of the girls, obviously reciting a well-known phrase.
"I'm sure," answered Garlthik. "Nonetheless, the boy seems fine to me. Thank you for your time. The sun is setting, and I’d like some sleep."
With his hand on J'role's shoulder, the ork turned toward the village proper. But Charneale had not done. "What, may I ask, is your purpose here?"
"Well, sir, the world is a dangerous place, filled with creatures and evil thoughts. I sought a quiet village like yours for some comfort."
"You may have it, but I suggest you stay away from the boy and his father."
"Garlthik One-Eye has wandered one too many mountains to be afraid of a mute boy and his diseased father, magician."
"You are an adept, aren't you?"
J'role looked up at the ork. He could work magic! What other surprises did Garlthik One-Eye possess?
"In my own fashion."
"Take nothing while in this village."
"I take only from those who have something worth stealing. And as far as I can tell, this village has little to offer a traveler with taste."
Charneale gasped, J'role smiled, and Garlthik directed J'role forward down the lane.
Again, the odd sensation from the ork's touch. The ork lived adventure. The ork lived hope and expectation. Combat. Impossible deeds. His heavy touch transmitted all these experiences and more. J'role struggled to find the words in his thoughts.
"He has lived as you have not lived," said the creature. "Yes," thought J'role. "Lived. He has lived."
"Lived as you have not, lived as you never will. You will never know hope and expectation. You will never know impossible deeds. You are nothing and you will never have anything you want."
Normally the creature's words would have plunged J'role into depression, a despair as deep and empty and dark as a chasm from one of his father's stories. But not today.
Instead, J'role trembled inwardly with both fear and excitement. He knew his association with Garlthik One-Eye might bring down on him further misery from his — own people, for the ork had been rude, and that was bad. But he was also excited; as long as Garlthik remained in the village J'role had an ally against those who had for so long shut him out of their lives.