My father was just another ordinary orc, when I was born he promised my mother to keep me hidden. I was brought up alone, only a few people knew I existed, one of them was Red Beard. It stayed that way for years until she came. The first time I met her was by an accident, she didn't know what I was, and thought I was just an overgrown man with sharp ears. I still wondered whether she acted dumb. She was the first woman I met, still I knew she was different, she roamed around the forest alone, she had no fear, and she often reminded me of my mother. We eventually fell in love. We lived in our small house among the beauty of nature and had three brave boys and almost a girl.
"Clint," she declared. A name that fit any race, I wondered whether my mother would have thought the same if she were alive. She always criticised me for his upbringing, he never stepped down until he was five until I brought the flattest stones from the valleys to build him a pavement.
He was not like us, never been. He was always far ahead, like his mother, roaming alone, reading legends, and talking myths.
When he came back one day, his mother was killed on my lap along with seven slaughtered men who lay all over the house, with blood flowing in all eight directions. I looked at his poor face, and then at my hands, the blood flowed with rage. I looked at his face again, it was full of fear, he didn't dare to take another step, nor take a last look at his mother. He hastened away like a deer that saw its predator.
It was the day I realised how weak I was, I returned to my clan, to my brothers; the elves followed. It was the same day Clint chose to stay away, away from me, away from his brothers, away from his home. The fear I saw in him was not of me but of him, fear he might become me one day. He went as far as he could, while I tried to keep him as close as I could.
Another horrible mistake. A knight chase. I shouldn't have sent him, I saw him dragged by the apothecaries, his blood left a thick trail on the floor, and his cries tore the whole infirmary down. They said he wouldn't make it, and the elves gave up, I was convinced, but deep inside I knew because he was my son, her son.
"They have marked him," the information came from a source in the men. We rarely sent the same smugglers twice, the only way to identify them was in the act. So there never was a problem for them to reach the arsenal. The chase happened only when they could confirm the rider was found with goods, that was while returning. Now that they marked one, they could catch him on the way to the arsenal. He would lead them straight to the weaponry, or even to us.
Edwin was our supplier, the most talented craftsman, the men hated him, so we embraced him as one of us. The hunt became furious, he rebuilt the arsenal with our support, new smugglers were involved, and the war exploded. Initially, there were some wins and some losses, but as it went they became dominant over the years. In the end, they completely stopped the supply, leaving us with nothing.
I summoned father, the others called him 'Red Beard,' he was the first orc-elf. Did a good job in hiding it for years, but his age started to give away rumours and talks. He might not be the first one either, if there was someone before me, there might be someone before him. His father even gave him an Elvish name but he wittingly hid it with his red beard. He knew a lot, he had seen a lot, he knew every name, every path, every secret. He acted like our eyes and ears, he also took care of Clint.
"What if we send him?" I asked. "Where will he lead?"
"If they are still expecting, the arsenal," he continued. "Else us."
"Remind them," I ordered. "What next?"
"They gather to take over the arsenal," a sudden realisation hit his face.
"Gather everything we have, it ends this day."
We had him hidden under one of our villages, far from men's reach, he was more than glad to come out, to see the world again. We didn't tell him anything, not even a warning. He never fought a knight, and barely touching the little ones, explaining everything would only lead him to fear.
Everything went exactly how we anticipated until Edwin started to react.
"Someone started a flood in the inventory," one of the brothers came up. "Three knights are dead."
"Good fortune."
"They say it's him."
"No, can't be," it can never be.
We waited for them to reach us, we had everything planned and prepared, every fighter, every weapon.
"Someone intoxicated the weapon storage," another fortune. "It's definitely him."
"No," I continued. "How many dead?"
"More than a dozen, they say."
A pinch of uncertainty started to bloom within me. I went to Father. "Is it true?"
"That's what they say."
"Where is he now?"
"Under assembling," he said. "Marking the knights, they say."
No, he won't… "Ask our people to hold."
He turned abruptly, "Why?"
"I want to let him fight."
He climbed each and every storey, cleaned them with blood like a true warrior, jumped out from the top, got up with the rebels, stole elements from inventory, planted explosives… He did everything alone, he passed into their own camps and walked among them.
He did well even when his identity was exposed, even when he became the primary target.
"Ask them to gather, we attack before they pass the canyons," I ordered. "Where are the openings?"
"There is only one."
"We go there."
We didn't have anyone to survive, anyone to narrate the truth, we formed an entire wall at the end of the canyons, and we gathered some of our people before the gate and ordered them to kill anyone who came out.
And then the unfortunate finally hit, the rebels were found and captured, along with him. The explosion didn't go well. We had no time to consider, so we started. We couldn't move our people as quickly, we had fewer people than we initially planned, but the time was perfectly right. The arsenal started to explode, like a box of fireworks. The gate crashed as we expected, Knights fell through it, and we killed everyone with no exceptions, let them be gnomes or dwarves.
I grabbed my arm and handed it to Father, he first stared at me questioningly.
"If he comes through…" I requested.
"Why me?"
"He should know it's for good."
"We could let him live…" he trailed off.
"He must run the rest of his life," I continued. "He had done enough."
"Why me?"
"I can't do it," I shuddered. "You brought him up, he sees you as a father, if he sees you, he will understand."
He hesitantly put his hand and pulled the arm from me. I wished she was there, somewhere in reach, so that I could go, fall under her and beg for mercy.