The Fifth Academy - Fantasy Direction / #Wattys2018

Chapter eight. Welcome!

All the heads instantly turned to the great golden gates of the dining hall. The doors were opened wide and a dozen tall muscular men... No! Not men, the massive ferocious gray-skinned creatures with burning red-yellow eyes stood in it. Each had deadly weapons behind their backs and on long swords, knives, and crossbows decorated their belts. They wore rough, black leather outfits complete with metals, bones and animal's furs. Orcs. The greatest worriers ever and our deadliest enemies...

"What the hell are they doing here?" I cried, standing abruptly and drawing my sword, Max's small foot stepped down on my toes in warning. It was painful; the dodger knew what he was doing, I nearly cried out. Sit down! barked the voice in my head and I obediently sat back.

Although many Firesteels were standing, clutching their bare swords and ready to fight. I glanced involuntarily at the table of Vadim's squad. He wasn't sitting either, his left hand laid on the hilt of his sword. Diana, looking confused and frightened was clutching his twisted right metal arm.

"Put away your weapons, my brave Firesteels!" Commanded the King in his calm melodic voice, but only a few solders obeyed and no one sat down. "Go back to your dishes! There is no danger for us! I made the greatest allies from our old deadliest enemies. Let's welcome our guests! The chieftain Dirok, the great sorcerer Valdog, the prince Grago, the.."

"Oh, spear us all those formalities, the King Lysander!" Answered the rough loud bass that was the oldest and the largest orc, covered with dozens of scars, he wore more golds and furs than others. No doubt that was the chieftain Dirok himself. "There is only my son, a few close friends and myself. Sorry, we are a little late, but we brought you a fine present, a young fire-dragon, a very strong, frightful but faithful beast. I forged the saddle and my son trained the creature. Now take this warlock's whistle and enjoy your present!" In came a gray-skinned orc-party and strode straight to the king's table without any additional ceremonies. Nor my older brother, the General Arest, no father, the Great Commander Alexander made any motion to intervene. They all knew of course about this alliance long ago. Even the king's personal bodyguard Cassius wasn't nervous of the biggest and strongest snow white centaur I had ever seen. They knew each other from the cradle, but I had a very strong suspicion, that one was older than the other for a few centuries... But who specifically, I had no idea!

It was very weird to see how our old enemies, mighty violent, and fully armed orcs were walking freely across the great dining hall, sniffing the air and licking their lips at the dishes, followed by the legendary chieftain Dirok and his only son Drago. Each of Firesteels dreamed since childhood to take off their heads together with colorful fur hats, especially I. Century after century those gray monsters were ravaging the villages on the edges of Luxard, stealing and frightening our Goldstones. Every year a few Firesteels died because of their attacks. But mostly orcs didn't kill or to take captives, they enjoyed destroying and robbing. They were simpleminded barbarians, who lived in tribes deep within the mountain caves, and had a very plain way of living full of superstitious goblins as doctors and sorcerers. They obeyed one great wolfish law; only the stronger and more skillful warrior could succeed the main orc's chieftain. This successor must kill his predecessor in a straight fight. Thus every solder of the White Legion dreamed to kill the orc's chieftain and become their leader instead. I cannot deny this idea has also sat in my mind.

In the dead silence the orcs had come to the King's table and simultaneously bowed, their fur hats nearly dropped of their heads. Amadeus and Katherine swiftly and silently stepped away, they both kept silent in bewilderment. The big white raven sat motionless and unblinking, her round violet eyes followed the orc-party. We all knew, that the people of fire were proud and dangerous; they would notice no one and speak only to someone whom they trust and respect, only our Great King Lysander.