Chp.4: The ogre camp

"An axe is like a woman. You have to treat it in a special way, or it will be damaged beyond repair and you will end up losing it. It needs to be loved and cared for in order to always be sharpened and at its best…"

Sarpa sighed. He was inside one of the camp's forges to get his axe repaired, damaged during the last fight, but for ten minutes the ogre blacksmith had been talking out of turn without giving him the chance to leave. And he didn't seem to have any intention of stopping any time soon.

"You have to be very careful with it. You can't just sheath it and be reminded of its existence only when you need it. An axe needs proper maintenance. Its edge must be..."

The ogre blacksmith was called Orborog. He was shorter than Sarpa, but the muscles in his shoulders and pectorals were noticeably wider. His skin was redder, a sign that he spent a lot of time near the fire, as was typical for an ogre of his profession. He was bare-chested, which was normal due to the heat to which he was continually exposed, but he wore two heavy leather gloves to protect his hands from any sparks and he had a sort of mask on his face to avoid the risk of damaging his eyes.

Orborog was known to be the best blacksmith in the camp. An ogre could come to him with anything, even a freshly mined piece of iron ore, and he quickly turned it into a very good weapon. He could repair even the most damaged swords or axes without leaving a single dent on them. He was undoubtedly a respectable blacksmith. The only problem… was that he treated the weapons as if they were his own children, and he didn't spare a twenty-minute lecture every time some poor unfortunate brought one of them to him to be repaired. No matter how careful the ogre was to not damage the weapon, it was never enough for Orborog.

At first, most soldiers in the army laughed at it. However, after the fifteenth time Orborog had scolded them, they no longer dreamed of laughing and were now so careful with their weapons that they nearly polished them every half hour to keep them gleaming. But no matter how careful they were: sooner or later, during a battle their weapon would have been damaged... and then there would have came the moment from which they couldn't escape.

"Even the handle shouldn't absolutely be underestimated. Many people think that it isn't an important part of the axe, but they are very wrong. Oh, they are totally wrong! It is the most important! If the wood of the handle is not thoroughly cleaned, humidity and dirt inevitably end up eroding it from the inside, weakening it more and more every day, until it will arrive the moment when it will betray you and it will break just while you are fighting the enemy, leaving you weak and defenseless! Can you imagine such a scenario? Well, you should. Your weapon is yours only lifeline, so you must..."

"Yes, Orborog, I understand" Sarpa grumbled, unable to listen anymore. "I'll pay more attention to it, ok? Now, when can you fix it for me?"

The ogre blacksmith seemed rather offended: he looked at him as if Sarpa had just confessed him that he had killed someone, and he seemed tempted to spit in his face. "I have a lot of unfinished work" he finally said in a grunting voice. "Come back tomorrow"

Sarpa sighed discouraged. "Tomorrow? Isn't it possible to have it back sooner?"

"As I said, I have a lot of unfinished work" Orborog answered.

"Maybe if you talked less you wouldn't have so much unfinished work..."

"Excuse me, what!?"

"Nothing, nothing!"

Orborog narrowed his eyes and tossed the axe into a pile of other weapons. "Come back tomorrow... and pray to the great Baat that I will have found the time and the will to fix it for you"

Sarpa wanted to retort, but he decided that he had already pissed off the ogre blacksmith enough, so, since he'd rather see his axe repaired someday, he chose it was best to stop there and after a quick goodbye (to which Orborog didn't reply) he came out of the forge. Once outside, he returned to the place where the other soldiers were, which was the outer part of the camp. Sarpa hated that arrangement: he knew that he and his companions would have been the first to be attacked in the event of an enemy assault. Unfortunately, these were the rules: the weakest, like the now ex-hunters like Sarpa (who comprised more or less 70% of all the army) had to play the role of cannon fodder, while the stronger elites remained at the shelter in the rear.

Simple soldiers like Sarpa didn't really have places to sleep: all their equipment was based on a botched tent that could have been easily pitched anywhere. This made it perfect for an army, as it was quick and easy to disassemble and reassemble, but sleeping in it wasn't comfortable at all: it was no different from sleeping on rough ground. It was no coincidence that after each move the ogres often fought to get the best seats and it wasn't uncommon for fights to break out as well. The tent also didn't protect against the cold or noise, making sleeping even more difficult. And this obviously affected the morale of the soldiers, that was already low for the lack of progress.

It had been two months since the war began, and while the ogres initially managed to score some victories, the conflict soon turned into a stalemate where neither side was able to prevail. This afflicted the soldiers, who had hoped they could quickly gain glory and honors, and instead found themselves having to wait for weeks sleeping in a hideous tent. What's more, it was now known that the enemy stole the bodies of the dead ogres on the battlefield, not even allowing them a burial, which further discouraged the soldiers.

Sarpa almost felt like laughing as he thought that in reality all that suffering, all that fear, all the deaths that had occurred had actually been caused by the will of a single being, who at that moment was almost certainly laughing for their stupidity. It was amazing how just one dragon had been able to cause a conflict that had involved all of the Karbraland Great Forest. Well, actually it wasn't just him, since he had his siblings as support, but since Sarpa had become accustomed to identifying him as the leader of those dragons, when he thought about it he tended to place all the blame on him.

"I wonder what his next move will be..." the ogre was thinking, when suddenly he was called back by a voice.

"Hey Sarpa!" one of his fellow soldiers clapped him on the shoulder. "Did you hear Dharon's speech?"

Sarpa shook his head. "I must have missed it. You know, I was at Orborog's tent"

The other ogre nodded, fully understanding what his friend meant. Anyone who entered Orborog's forge didn't leave it for at least twenty minutes. "Then I'll tell you. Our dear chieftain has come here to mingle with us mere mortals to announce that we will soon be moving camp again. The wise chieftains have decided it is safer to move further east..."

The ogre's tone was clearly mocking, and Sarpa couldn't blame him. Since that war had begun, the common soldiers had developed a certain hatred for the elite.

Before the war, hunters like Sarpa tolerated that upper class ogres had more privileges then them. However, now, after months of being forced to sleep in the mud and act as cannon fodder, while the elites instead rested in comfortable tents in the center of the camp, it was inevitable that a certain grudge would form. Now whenever any ogre spoke of the chieftains or some other member of the upper class, it was always in an angry or mocking tone, and he never avoided peppering the phrase with at least five or six insults.

Sarpa also shared that sentiment. Before the war he had never taken much interest in the affairs of the upper class, as they were not his problem. But now, after all he had been through, he felt a certain anger towards the chieftains. He certainly didn't expect them to sleep in the mud with the privates, but he would have liked them to spend more time at their side and worry about their safety, instead of spending their time watching them from afar in their comfortable and secure accommodation.

He would have gladly struck up a conversation with the other ogre, but unfortunately he didn't have time for that at the moment. "Sorry, but I have to go now. I have an important business to attend to" he said in a displease tone.

"I bet those bastards of the guards have entrusted you with the patrol tour again, huh? You get exploited too much, friend" the other ogre grumbled, before saying goodbye: "Well, I'll let you work. See you tonight"

"See you tonight then" Sarpa replied, then he walked away. He made his way away from the camp and then, unseen, he entered the forest.

He walked for about half an hour. He didn't feel safe without his axe, but unfortunately he had no choice: he didn't have time to find another weapon since the time for the appointment was almost here, and he absolutely couldn't afford to not show up. He trembled at the thought of what the dragons would have done to him otherwise. He doubted they would have killed him, after all he was useful to them, but as he had already experienced firsthand dragons had many ways to 'convince' a person to do exactly as they wanted.

Eventually he reached the predetermined place. It was a large tree about forty meters high, with a part of the barked trunk, easily recognizable among the others. He looked around to make sure no one had followed him, then he raised his voice: "I'm here. What do you want this time?". And then he waited.

That was their method of communication. Since neither Sarpa nor Haku knew how to use magic, they had no way of contact each other when they are far away: the only solution was to meet every day in the same place and at the same time. Therefore, Sarpa had been instructed to always go to the great barkless tree and to call the dragons once he got there. He would have had to wait ten minutes, and if no one showed up by then, that would have meant that the dragons had nothing new to order him and he could go back to the ogre camp.

However, Sarpa had learned that if the dragons had something to say to him, they wouldn't have let him wait too long. Indeed, not even a minute after his call a nearby bush began to stir and the large head of a dragon emerged from it. The terrifying beast (which the ogre thought was called Keita) approached Sarpa glaring at him with her malevolent eyes. "You're almost late" she grumbled.

"I apologize. I was detained" the ogre said, bowing his head in repentance.

"Mh. It doesn't matter now" the dragon said as she turned and she motioned for him to follow. "You have to come with me"

The ogre was surprised. Dragons rarely asked him to go anywhere. Generally they just gave him orders. "Where do we go?" he asked.

"Somewhere more secluded" Keita replied. "My brother wants to talk to you. In private"

Sarpa's eyes widened. Up until that point he had only met Haku a couple of times, when he kidnapped his son and when he brought him along to kill the fairy delegation. All other orders he had received had come through Haku's brothers or sisters, but never from him himself. Which made him worried: the fact that he wanted to speak to him personally could only mean that he had something big in mind. "What does he want to talk to me about?" he asked Keita.

The dragon snorted. "You don't need to know, so don't ask any questions and just walk!"

Sarpa knew it was best not to contradict a dragon when they gave an order, so even if he wanted to know more, he kept silent and followed her.