The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

Ulam had around the shaft of his axe. Only when he reached the very edge of the camp did he finally turn around, hoping Amantius would be right behind him, dragging along his own pack. But Amantius was not there, instead only a half-dozen blank stares and a trail of oversized boot prints followed him.

Ulam continued on his journey, keeping to a small dirt path that had been formed by the trampling of hundreds of feet. It eventually connected to a stone highway worn down by centuries of heavy usage, the smooth stones snaking through hilly terrain towards the Crescent Fort, the westernmost stronghold of the Emberi Empire. He had no intention of reaching the fortress, aiming instead to forge his own path through the wilderness before he laid eyes upon the fort’s outer defenses. Who knows how the Humans in this land will treat me. Far better it is for me to avoid them than to end up on the wrong side of a blade or jail cell.

After an hour of walking, Ulam fashioned a staff from a fallen tree branch, using the strong oak to help climb the hills. Over the years he had gotten used to the flat landscapes that dominated much of the Empire’s southern holdings, his muscles forgetting the extra strain of a constant incline. Although his body began to ache before the first half of the trip was over, his mind and soul were already free of the anxiety born from the stress of the show. He felt as though a slab of granite had been lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe in great gusts of fresh, mountain air. Out here Ulam was at ease, surrounded by the chirp of meadowlarks and miles away from the prying eyes of Humans.

He spent the first night sleeping under the stars, long had he missed their incandescent glimmer. From a nearby cluster of trees, he had collected enough scrap wood to build a campfire, using the yellow and orange glow to read until his eyes grew heavy. At times his gaze drifted down the road towards Thornsgrave, the sights and sounds of A Dragon’s Peace filling his mind. Though he grew to hate the Crimson Owl Traveling Theater Company, he was still curious how good the show had been without him playing Fervalor the Fearless. Imagining the panic and confusion his disappearance must have caused brought some guilt to his heart, but he hoped someday Amantius and Nilawen would understand why he needed to escape.

The second day was uneventful; the terrain far more agreeable, much to Ulam’s delight. As he drew nearer the base of the Crescent Mountains, there came one last incline, at the top of which Ulam could see a dozen plumes of grayish-white smoke pirouetting into the sky. The smell of burning pine and cooked mutton tingled his nostrils, causing his stomach to growl. Since leaving Thornsgrave, Ulam had only eaten foraged berries and stale bread, but those paltry foodstuffs were rapidly dwindling.

I know I told myself that I did not want to go there, but I could do with more substantial supplies, Ulam rationalized as he listened to his stomach’s hungry ballad. He continued down the road towards the Crescent Fort, unaware his feet were moving him in the direction of the front gate. And perhaps they have heard of me there? Thornsgrave is not too far away; surely someone knows of the Orc who played Fervalor the Fearless. Maybe fame will work in my favor and my stay in Thornsgrave will not have been a waste of time.

The fort was large, much larger than any of the half dozen Ulam had seen throughout the interior of the Emberi Empire. The perimeter was surrounded by a rock wall base, stones stacked as high as Ulam’s shoulders, with timber pikes forming a palisade on top. From the walls hung banners bearing the crest of the Emberi Empire: a castle turret resting atop a hill, painted crimson on a solid white background. The main gate was open, while six men chatted while guarding the entrance. Some leaned against the walls while a few sat in the grass, their spears and shields stacked in piles nearby. Ulam was quite surprised by their aloofness; he had assumed a fortress on the periphery of the Emberi Empire would have been more regimented than the others he had seen. Strange, but perhaps their lax nature means there are no dangers in the immediate area. Hopefully, my appearance does not change their opinion.

As Ulam approached the laughter died away, each sentinel retrieving their spear and shield, standing at attention. They all looked to one another, awestruck by the Orc standing before them. No one has sounded an alarm or tried skewering me yet, so perhaps there is hope.

“Hail traveler!” One man yelled, separating himself from the pack. His expression was the most serious of the six guards, but there was no hostility in his posture or countenance. “What business have you at the Crescent Fort?”

Ulam stopped a comfortable distance away, holding one hand in the air in salute, while he tried to find the right tone of voice for a reply. Being larger than almost every Human he had ever seen, Ulam was well aware of how intimidating he was and how any perceived aggression could elicit a belligerent response. It was a lesson he learned from an early age in Accaria.

“I am in need of supplies,” Ulam began, his rumbling voice causing the approaching guard to stop in his tracks. “And I am in search of something. I am looking for an Orc Sanctuary, which according to my studies should be near to here.”

“Looking for your people are you?” Someone shouted from behind the wall of guards before emerging into Ulam’s line of sight. He was an older man, with a few strands of wispy white hair that danced in the breeze. He wore the finest of armor, emblazoned with an Imperial crest that looked aflame in