Page 36 of Tusks & Saddles
Bad Company
Azalea Crowley
Chapter One
Welborn
There was no avoiding it, Welborn Larokson was absolutely going to barf.
It was a bit ironic given he had spent months at sea. Despite the warnings from the worldly sailors of Port Vurbali, Welborn had handled the treacherous waters of the Grey Depths with little trouble. No matter how much the ship had swayed, no matter how much the waters had tossed and turned, Welborn’s stomach had been more than agreeable. Even in the middle of a storm, Welborn had handled his faculties with all the grace and patience of any cleric.
So, why must it be a box of metal that ruins my constitution, All Seer?
Welborn pressed his gloved hand to his stomach, sinking deeper into the passenger seat of the train. Behind the round frames of his glasses, yellow eyes stared out the window, trying to find something in the desolate landscape to make a suitable horizon. It was a trick his father had taught him when Welborn was younger and it typically worked, but a train was vastly different than a ship.
The harsh landscape was vastly different from the Chroma Coast of Welborn’s youth. Instead of the aquamarine waters, pink tinted sand, and bright flowers, the Vyrthsalins wilderness had been a bit shocking. Deep greenery as far as the eye could see, overcast, and dreary without a bit of sun. That had quickly changed over the course of the trip. If Welborn were to describe it to his father, he would have most certainly said it was dry and dusty. Far in the distance were long plateaus of golden-orange with sparse sharp, dry-looking plants.
It was beautiful and, ordinarily, Welborn’s curious mind would urge his fingers to dig out his sketchbook from his pack. Perhaps sketch a few of the local flora and fauna, or write down notes to be explored later. However, if Welborn dared move his hand from his abdomen, there would be no holding back his simple breakfast of dried fruit, nuts, and questionable stale bread.
Maybe stop looking at the moving world.
Welborn turned his gaze forward. The small corridor cabin was humble, meant for folks traveling with little but the clothes on their back. Simple, plain wooden interior with matching benches that did little for Welborn’s behind. He supposed he should have been thankful that he hadn’t had to travel on foot but having both his feet firmly planted on the ground was, well,grounding. At least he didn’t have to worry if the world was going to spin every time he took a step.
He supposed he looked a little out of place. Most of the passengers on the train were dressed in simple traveler’s clothes. Welborn wasn’t anywhere close to being wealthy, but he was clearly someone who had—at least once—had access to a bit of gold. His clothing wasn’t as worn or hard-traveled as the other passengers; not a sign of a torn sleeve or straggly thread.
Beneath the black vestments was a breastplate made of decent metal. Welborn had saved every bit of coin he could get his hands on and promptly gave every piece to the blacksmith along the Chroma Coast. The satyr woman had been more than fair, creating armor that had served Welborn through his growth spurt.
His father, Larok, was a broad orc man whom Welborn remembered following around their humble home at a young age. He could easily lift Welborn’s mother with one arm and his brother with the other. Welborn would wrap his thin arms around Larok’s neck, and his father would carry his family down to their dining table for breakfast. His father’s booming resonance would enrapture Welborn with stories of their family’s history. His mother’s melodic voice would intertwine as she would reach across their humble table. Her gentle hands would ruffle his dark brown hair, affection shining in her dark brown eyes.
Boone was a hard act to follow. He was everything Welborn had admired in their father growing up. And despite sharing different mothers, Boone never made Welborn feel less than just because his ancestry was mixed. If anything, it was their ten year age difference that made things a bit more challenging. A ten year old could hardly play with a newborn and a twenty year old had little in common with a ten year old.
Yet, Boone was a dedicated family man, through and through. When he had decided to strike it out on his own, Boone had promised to send coin home. It was that same gold that had afforded their family to move to Port Vurbali. That had paid for Welborn’s tutor, and had given him access to the All Seer Temple in the Blessed District. A combination of Boone’s hard work, gold, and luck had given Welborn the opportunity to be one of the few clerics chosen by the All Seer Temple. The Scribe—the highest ranking cleric of the All Seer in all of the continent ofAuslon—had chosenhimto expand the All Seer’s message. To help the High Cleric, Gnaul Swath, open a new temple to the All Seer.
The fact that Boone happened to be in the same city that Welborn was headed to, well, that had been a bonus. Beneath the awful churning of his stomach and the vague taste of bile at the back of his throat, Welborn was excited to see his brother. His letters were never really detailed—Welborn had long figured out that Boone’s priority had been to make sure he and his father were taken care of.
Outside of a few vague references, Welborn wasn’t certain what his brother had been up to. Boone lived in Irongarde, the second largest city in all of Vyrthsalis. As the name suggested, the city was founded as a mining town that quickly blossomed into a prosperity. Over the last few decades the city had created it’s railroad system, allowing travelers all over the world to seek their fortunes. Boone had been no different, though Welborn wasn’t certain if his older brother had meant to stay in Irongarde as long as he had.
I wonder if I could persuade Boone to go back with me and visit Father once I’ve settled into the sanctum?
Welborn’s musings were short lived as something caught his attention. In the corner of his vision, a fire helfen woman and a small child sat down beside him. The journey by train often made passengers restless and many of them had gotten up to stretch their legs. The helfen woman and child had the same shade of dark brown skin, indicating a familial relationship. Ember-like glow—freckles, Welborn realized—adorned both their cheeks with matching red braids, the ends gently burning against their shoulders.
He was so distracted by the heat radiating off of mother and child, that Welborn hadn’t realized the woman had been talking to him at first. It was in a language Welborn wasn’t familiar with, deep and thunderous, like the sound of lava against rock.
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m not native to whatever tongue you’re using,” Welborn said in familiar speech.
It was the universal language, one meant to unite all walks of life. Welborn wasn’t certain what skilled linguist had a hand in its creation, but the Scribe in Port Vurbali often credited the All Seer’s divine inspiration for it. Though the origin was shrouded in mystery, the language was easy to teach as well as learn. Easily adapted into the world, regardless of anyone’s ancestry.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Forgive me, you have similar features to earth helfen. I wrongly assumed we were kin.”
Welborn wasn’t surprised. He had often been mistaken for earth helfen growing up. His mother had been human and her ancestry had gifted Welborn with light green ombre skin. The depth of shades mimicked some of the earth helfen’s ancestry, but Welborn lacked the rock-like skin the earth helfen had.
“It’s understandable,” Welborn said—more apologetic sounding than was probably appropriate. “It happens more often than you think. I’m actually an orc.”
Half orc,Welborn’s mind reminded him, before his father’s voice chimed in.You aren’t half of anything. You’re my son, which makes you an orc. Period.
“Still, it was wrong of me to assume,” the woman said, bowing her head slightly. “I apologize for any trouble I’ve caused you.”
“Ah, no need to apologize!” Welborn brought his hands up, waving them helplessly. “It was a genuine mistake! Like you said, you thought I was one of your people!”
