The Soul for the Dragon - Summoner book 4 - (Fanfic)

The Hidden Albino

"This is a scroll sent by an orc commander." King Harold stated. The table comprised of Fletcher, Sylva, Othello and Cress waited for more but received none. After a while of staring Fletcher finally spoke up.

"Who was it to?" Fletcher asked, although he already had an idea of who it was. Even the thought of it sent a pulse of discomfort through him. Ignatius purred inside him as he felt his feeling.

"I had a suspicion even before the scroll." Harold admitted, his finger tapped at the table in an irregular beat. "I couldn't understand why the orcs were so organised and how they were so able to massacre the elven forces even when their albino orc was dead. Then a thought came in my mind." Harold paused. Then closed his eyes and took a breath. "What if...what if there is a new albino orc in place and he was organising the attacks?"

Silence. The crowd fell silent too, even if they couldn't hear them. They knew something was bad. Fletcher thought of Khan, the albino orc him and Sylva defeated. That nearly took their lives.

"But albino orcs only appear every thousand year, it is impossible to have another albino orc right after Khan. Right?" Fletcher looked around the table and everyone nodded in agreement. Except for Harold.

"However, this one was an interesting case." Harold said, then reached out under the table and grabbed a book about the size of Fletcher's hand. He set it on the table and a line of orcish writing was carved unevenly on it. "After some translating from a captured orc, I found that this book is a diary. 'The Diary of the Hidden Albino' is what is written on the front page." Then he pointed at a writing at the bottom of the cover. "The albino's name is Agar and from what I read in the diary he has a Ifrit."

Fletcher remembered from his demonology lessons that Ifrits were never harnessed before, only written in ancient elven scripts, and were only found in the orc part of the ether. Ifrits were giants, with skin of molten lava and able to breath fire through their mouths. Their cousin is the Jotun, the complete opposite to the Ifrit and is able to freeze anything they touch.

"Why haven't he made an appearance yet?" Sylva asked.

"I do not know. That Ifrit of his can turn the tide of battles. Even I am puzzled by this." Harold answered.

The crowd was now making a lot of noise, annoyed that the table haven't got a verdict yet.

"Why don't the soldiers across the southern front just enter orc territory and find the albino orc and kill him. And meanwhile destroy the orc forces so that they can no longer be a threat to Hominum?" Othello said in one breath.

"The orc lands are forests, Othello, it would be guerilla warfare in a land that we were not used to. Abushes and encirclement can happen anytime." Harold said calmly. "All we have to do is wait for him to arrive."

The crowd was agitated now, shifting from feet to feet as they tried to hear what was going on. Then they all shifted backwards as a lone messenger ran through the crowd. Everyone surrounding the table looked up. The messenger was making a beeline for the table, at them. He stopped before Harold and gave a bow.

"Your majesty," he panted, "there is a mass assault from the front lines and the eastern forces are overrun. They are coming to flank us from the desert!"

"Is there more?" Harold kept his cool as he bored his eyes at the messenger. He wilted under his gaze.

"There was an orc among them..."The messenger gulped. "Completely white, and he had a demon with him. A giant humanoid with skin of molten lava, no one could get near it. It annilated our troops; I have never seen or heard of such a thing!"

All eyes turned at Harold, who sighed out a breath.

"Everyone, prepare to go to Akhad desert. The albino orc is in the field."

Word count: 674