Heart of Flame

VIII. Teachers

Banaak of the Stone was a behemoth of an orc, perhaps from some giant blood mixed in. Sorne felt like a child standing in front of him, and he was seated. He was easily eight feet tall and probably close to four feet wide at the shoulders. His face had been battered flat and ugly, but his yellow eyes suggested that the repeated trauma had done nothing to reduce his intelligence. Furs were draped around his shoulders and his clothes were a mix of buckskin and thick woolen cloth. He was clean shaven, unlike Graaol, and his hair was long. Woad patterns decorated his limbs, the marks of a master of combat.

Graaol took his seat at the massive warrior's side now that he had finished relaying what he knew of Sorne's story. She was quiet, since Vridash had suggested that it would be better to let Banaak ask his questions when he was ready without interference.

"The shaman says you learned from Nagar Iron-Heart," Banaak rumbled finally, his voice deep and powerful. "He says that you carry his urzu home. But that is not the whole of your story, I think. If you have come this far, you have a purpose in your heart beyond the repayment of a mere debt."

Sorne took a deep breath. "I want to be a warrior," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor of nerves she could feel through her body. "I want to be njoshari."

Graaol grunted with disapproval. "Outsiders do not become njoshari, even those adopted into the tribes. You have talent, yes, but these are secrets passed down from the gods themselves." A few of the other warriors in the tent made similar sounds.

Banaak held up a hand to forestall further comment. The murmuring from the other orcs inside the tent quieted again immediately. "Nagar saw something in you, or he would not have taught you," he said, rising to his feet. He towered over Sorne, grim as he looked down at her. "You will walk with me and we will speak on this."

"You will entertain the notion?" Graaol growled. There was a note of surprise in his tone.

"I will do as I see fit," Banaak said bluntly. "Nagar was my teacher. I will not dishonor his memory by discarding his student out of hand. You do not have to like it, Graaol, but you will acknowledge it."

"It is breaking with tradition," one of the other warriors said quietly.

"To listen to a little girl? Is tradition so weak that one human can upend it?" The orc leader did not sound amused with his fellows. "We have endured a thousand years. We honor our past, but we would be wise not to blind ourselves. If any of you have a problem with my decisions, you may meet me in the center of camp tomorrow at dawn and we will settle it in the ancient and accustomed manner."

There was a general murmur of understanding. Sorne could tell by some frowns that Banaak would be dealing with at least one or two problems in the morning. She took a deep breath and followed the powerful warrior out of the tent and through the camp. Every eye was on her as she passed by the kitchen fire, the only human face in the entire band of hunters. Banaak strode through the midst of his people, his stride scattering onlookers. The orcs went back about their tasks. Some were butchering various animals, others tending to weapons and fletching arrows. One old orcish woman, her face leathery and lined, was stringing bundles of herbs up to dry.

Banaak said nothing until they were out of sight of the camp, among the ancient trees. She could see signs of disturbed earth, where fallen branches had been gathered for fires. The trees themselves, however, had been largely left undisturbed. The big orc took a seat on a fallen log, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. His yellow eyes studied her face for a moment. "So, you know the surface of a chant, enough to use it. You have talent. You would be njoshari, and it seems that Nagar even wished it to be so, or he would not have sent you north. They wonder if he became senile in his age. But I know him better."