Solam liked his grandfather, even if the old man had no idea how to show affection. Most Avalon Orcs were like that: fierce and passionate, but hopeless at putting their feelings into words. Getting a bunch of men so full of testosterone to say something tender would be harder than killing them. Real men didn't talk like that.
The old man's affection for Solam came out awkwardly, but how could Solam not feel it? Solam was awkward about these things too. He couldn't bring himself to act cute around his grandfather. Deep down, he still thought of himself as an adult, and the fact that he'd already wheedled Granny Karom had pushed his limits enough.
The old man probably couldn't have handled it either. So they had found their own way of getting along. Neither made a point of expressing their feelings, and both were more comfortable for it.
"What's that?" Solam asked, turning around at his leisure. Krum emerged from another tent. "What did Grandpa bring back?" Even as he spoke, he kept glancing toward his tent, afraid Bloodfang might open his eyes while he was away. If the first person Bloodfang saw wasn't him, he'd never forgive himself.
"There's no one in your tent," Solam said when Krum kept looking back. "Even if Bloodfang opens his eyes, he won't see a living soul. Once you go in, you'll still be the first person he sees. What's the rush? Just don't let anyone else into your tent."
"That's true." Krum was an honest kid, and his cousin's words reassured him. Still, his eyes drifted toward his tent now and then. He clearly wanted to be the first person Bloodfang saw when he opened his eyes.
"Heh, Ake, look at this." The old man didn't mind that Krum was distracted. He simply lifted a corner of the fur wrapping one of the bundles in his hands. A flash of bluish metal instantly drew Krum's full attention.
"Is that a weapon for me?!" Krum caught on at once. He hurried over and snatched the bundle from his grandfather's hands.
He tore off the fur wrapping in moments. Inside was an all-metal, two-handed axe about one and a half meters long. Its main blade measured half a meter and bore four armor-piercing edges. A smaller, bat-wing-shaped blade sat opposite it, while metal goat skulls adorned both sides between the blades. The whole axe had a faint blue tint, and Cleft-hoof Rhino hide wrapped the haft.
"It's... it's Frost Fury! Dad, it's Frost Fury!" Krum was so excited he could barely speak. He grabbed the axe and rushed to show his father.
Karut smiled and nodded at Krum. Nearly every young Orc wore that expression on receiving a first weapon.
"What about mine?" Solam couldn't hold back any longer. "What did I get?"
The old man didn't keep him guessing. He opened the other bundle, revealing, just as Solam had expected, a replica of the legendary battleaxe Bloodfire. The real legendary axe was hardly something you'd hand to a little kid.
This battleaxe was 1.4 meters long, with a single blade. Its blade was even larger and longer than Frost Fury's, measuring about 0.6 meters, with small holes set into it. Six metal armor-piercing spikes curved along the back of the blade. It, too, was forged entirely of metal. Bloodfire was black all over, and its fine polish made it look even more dangerous and imposing.
Solam was beside himself. A Direwolf and a weapon on the same day—what luck!
He had good reason to be excited. Ever since arriving in this world, he'd heard countless stories about those two legendary battleaxes.
Frost Fury was said to have been made by a lich, its blade wreathed in bone-chilling cold. Legend held that the soul of a frost lord from the Abyss was imprisoned inside it. Anyone who dared pick up the axe would be cursed by that maddened soul, until the weapon devoured their own and left them a puppet forever denied freedom. Then an Orc hero appeared.
Sakmi Rema was a great warrior who wandered the wilderness. When the Orcs faced their darkest hour, he picked up the battleaxe and subdued the Abyssal Lord's soul, bending him to his will.
His legendary life began there. With that axe, he slew a red dragon, an abyssal dragon, and a mighty Balor. No one knew how many other monsters, demons, and devils fell to it.
But when the Avalon Orcs finally reached Avalon, the refuge of the Heroic Spirits, Sakmi Rema refused to enter. He believed he would bring disaster upon that sanctuary, so he left. No one knew where he went, much less where the axe had gone.
Many Avalon Orcs ventured into the outside world partly to seek traces of the hero and his demonic battleaxe. Yet after all those years, none had found the slightest clue. In fact, many people outside didn't even know the hero or the axe existed.
Bloodfire, on the other hand, was far better known. It had been famous since the chaotic ancient age, when the Orc gods still existed. Even then, the chief of the Warsong Clan carried it into battle for the Orc gods. No one knew how many lives had ended beneath its blade.
Then Reginald Tomya inherited the axe. When he witnessed the Orc gods' betrayal and recognized their chaos and evil, he resolutely led the Warsong Clan to join the prophet Thrall in rebellion against them. The feats he went on to accomplish with that axe shook the world. To help the new Orcs escape the gods' grasp, he fought almost every race in the world. In that chaotic age, the legendary Orc warlord was almost never defeated.
His most astonishing feat was raising his axe to challenge Bagchu, the Orc god of strength and foolhardy courage—and winning. He hadn't managed to slay a god, but defeating one was incredible enough. Later, the turmoil deepened. The gods waged war in the mortal world, and demons and devils joined the fray.
The new Orcs, freshly freed from their gods, were hanging by a thread. Once again, that formidable warrior stepped forward. Leading the elite of the Bloodaxe, Blackpeak, and Frostblade Clans, he fought desperately and finally broke through the devils' encirclement.
They fled to the Spine of the World. It was said that after that battle, the devils of Hell trembled at the sound of the legendary warlord's battle cry. But Reginald Tomya had been gravely wounded in the breakout. During an encounter with a Balor lord at the Spine of the World, he died taking his foe with him. And so a peerless warrior fell. After his death, the name he had borne under the Orc gods was cast aside, and he and his descendants became known as Hellscream.
All the Avalon Orcs respected and loved the prophet Garul for leading them out of chaos and into Avalon, the refuge of the Heroic Spirits. For Reginald Tomya, their feeling was something simpler: sheer, unreserved adoration.
There wasn't much entertainment in this age, so epics about ancient heroes made for excellent diversion. Solam knew those stories by heart. How impressive would it be to wield the same weapons as those heroes? Even replicas would do. Avalon had thousands of copies like these, if not ten thousand. It was how everyone started.
There was one small problem: Solam wasn't as tall as his axe was long. Awkward. He rested a hand on the replica Bloodfire, his expression shifting.
The old man saw his face and gave him a broad smile. "Won't our Solam grow up? The axe is a little big now, but it'll fit you perfectly when you're older." Solam couldn't tell whether he was teasing or reassuring him. After all, if Avalon lacked anything, it was metal.
Orcs had little natural talent for mining or metallurgy, so metal was scarce. When they bought weapons for the younger generation, they generally didn't worry about the children's size. They bought adult-sized weapons. The children would grow into them soon enough. No one would forge a toy weapon just for a child. That would be far too wasteful.
"Besides, you can get used to your weapons now. You'll handle them better once you're grown." The old man looked as though he'd done it all for their sake. Solam had no answer. It seemed he'd be carrying an axe bigger than himself for some time.
"Now that you've accepted your Direwolf companions' choice, you're no longer children," the old man said, suddenly stern. "You'll have responsibilities. First, you'll need to provide meat for your Direwolves." This was an Avalon Orc custom. Every boy chosen by a Direwolf had to begin training as a warrior, learning to hunt and fight. A few months later, when the pups were weaned, he would take his Direwolf hunting. It would help feed the growing wolf while building their bond and giving the animal practice.
"Go find your second uncle tomorrow and have him teach you to hunt." As the old man spoke, he completely ignored the signals his eldest son was making at him.
Solam pretended not to see them either. He knew his uncle was worried that he was too frail and might get hurt. But Solam knew his own condition. He was healthy, and with his Toughness talent, he was even stronger than Krum. So what if he was a little short? Did short people have no rights?
"All right," Solam and Krum said. The old man then sent them off to attend to their own business.
As soon as they were gone, Karut hurried to his father. "Dad, Krum will be fine, but Ram is still..."
Before Karut could finish, Kramsh cut him off. "What about Ram? Ram is doing fine. What's wrong with him shouldering his responsibilities? That's what a man of the Warsong Clan does."
"I'm his grandfather. If I say he can do it, he can."
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