They burned the horses at dawn. Word had traveled fast in the city, and by the midnight break everyone knew what was coming. Wagons rolled out of the mines, the oil barrels glinting in the moonlight, headed for the Temple of Pain. With no recent skirmishes to speak of it wasn’t going to be a matter of prisoners, and even internally there was an unspoken but pervasive sense that too few people had been brought in for the question to fill the arena’s basin. Eventually someone—it could have been Bowd; it usually was for this sort of thing—recalled overhearing a troll who complained about lugging cages around for the expeditionaries. Something about a great herd, too. Animals, then, wild animals. They hated the animals. They hated anything that grew wild.

As daybreak approached Vik was holding her right hand in her left, like she always did by the end of the worknight. Carving the spiral sigil into the wooden shields was once something she dreaded, and after that something she took a perverse sort of pride in; now it was just drudgery, numbing to the mind and brutal to her hand. Her leg hurt, too, a powerful ache that traveled from her right foot up through her calf and thigh until it nestled in a knot below her ass. Attending the burning would give her a chance to walk off the pain before the daybreak cease, she thought as she tidied up her workspace. Even sitting on the stone rows allowed her to shift her weight off her right side. It was something to look forward to at least.

She fell in line with the other humans in the street, their faces flickering in the torchlight as they streamed toward the Temple. Orcs were out in force, baying and guffawing. They knew what they were in for. Vik saw a sizeable group of trolls, too, scaly knuckles dragging against the dirt road. 

But it was the presence of ogres that frightened Vik the most. Ogres, bruise-yellow and black-eyed, towering into the sky. For ogres to interrupt their ceaseless searching—this was a surprise. They didn’t usually turn up for a burning, not unless called by the Higher Ups. That meant there’d be Higher Ups in attendance, Vik realized, and more than just the Vortex Wizard at that. Her nerves spasmed.

Her group were nearing the building now, a massive circle of black stone rising high above the ground, higher than any other building in the city. Fire glimmered in each of its windows, through which the hum of the already assembled crowd could be heard. The flaming spiral above the gates hurt her eyes if she looked at it, so she looked down. The dirt beneath her feet was the same color as her dress.

There was much of the usual shoving and pushing and roaring as the queue became a crush at the bottleneck. Vik let herself be pushed this way and that. Everyone was going to the same place. Why fight it. 

Minutes later, as the sky began to lighten above, she was seated in a row distant from the center. She looked around and saw no one she knew well. That was fine, maybe even good. They didn’t want you getting close to people, not even your workmates, though they couldn’t stamp it out entirely. The Servants’ vicious camaraderie proved too much of an example for the humans not to emulate. Some Wizards, Vik had heard, even took this as a point of pride. The Vortex Wizard was not one of them.

Vik looked down across the basin. There he was, short and bald and small in his armor. His face was an unreadable mask, rendered illegible by the spiral tattoo that matched the engravings on every steel plate. With a shock, Vik saw he was not seated in the central throne. He was not alone in the Master’s Box this time. The Blue Wizard, whose skin and hair matched the azure hue of his robe, he was there. Vik recognized the Wizard of Knives, the Water Wizard in his tank—awkwardly crammed into the box; someone would pay for that—and the Ash Wizard.

But the tall, thin figure in the black robe, with his long hair and full beard and gnarled, peeling hands—he was new to her, to this place, but he could only be the Wizard of the Wastes. For him to be here, so far from the blasted lands, was a surprise. No wonder the ogres had come, Vik thought. He knows their names.

A portcullis at the opposite side of the Temple rose, and suddenly the arena was full of the sounds of horses. They were panicked, terrified. Vik watched as troll handlers, their muscled arms glinting green in the torchlight, beat the animals forward. If one bit or kicked, they were bit and kicked back. One troll got fed up, grabbed a horse’s leg, and snapped it in two. The bones hung together by muscle and sinew. He picked the horse up and threw it forward. It landed in the basin, where the oil waited, its fumes giving Vik a headache. Even as the rest of the horses were forced inward Vik watched the one the troll had tossed as it screamed and struggled. Not long, though: Once it got tired it couldn’t keep its nose above the level of the oil, and it drowned. Lucky.

One of the wizards was speaking. The Vortex Wizard; it was his Temple. Probably he was welcoming his honored guests. Vik clapped when everyone clapped and that was good enough. His whispering voice, amplified by magic, proclaimed this a great day, the day when the last of the free herds of the darklands would be put down. The smoke from the burning would blot out the hateful sun as the flames made mock of its cursed illumination, and all would know what the People of the Spiral had done to honor the Sorcerer. 

Death to the Bastard Sun, roared the Servants. Death to the Wild Green, responded the humans.

A huge troll, its body resinous with burned tissue, strode to the box and handed a torch to the Wizard of the Wastes, the highest of them. With a nod to his host he tossed it down into the basin. It bounced off a horse’s head and into the oil.

The conflagration was immediate and the result unbearable. The horses screamed like men, eyes rolling, mouths frothing in agony. Their manes and tails went up like candles. Those that could still move trampled the fallen further into the flames before going up themselves. The smell was vile and also enormously appetizing. Vik’s stomach leaped and it took all she had not to vomit. Others were not as lucky, and there were orcs pointing at them, and the trolls were bellowing, and the ogres gazed in silence.

She looked away, back at the basin, back at the last of the great herds as it died. She looked to the sky, reddened now from the rising sun, darkened now by the smoke of the burning. She looked at all the Servants, the orcs and trolls and werewolves and the vampires behind their shaded glass. She looked at the Master’s Box, at the Vortex Wizard and the Blue Wizard and the Wizard of Knives and the Water Wizard and the Wizard of the Wastes. She looked at all of these telepaths and conjurers, these necromancers and elementals. She even, for as long as she dared, looked at the ogres.

She looked at them, and she hated them, and as the burning died down and the chants ended and she shuffled her way down the row and down the stairs and out the gate and through the streets and into her cell to wait out the day alone with the stink of death on her, she wondered why they had not killed her yet. Their hammers rose; their hammers fell; they would fall on her someday, she knew, but when they did they would crush her body but not her hatred. Her hatred would live on because she knew she was not alone, she could not be alone, it was impossible. Her hatred would leave her battered body and take root in another’s. She would be like a demon, a demon who yearns for life not death, for laughter not screams and not chants and not tears. Incorporeal and eternal she would one day look through other eyes and see the sun.

—originally published March 13 2020, revised Feb 8 2025

a short story by Sean T. Collins, 1/4/25

How it started. Can’t say I remember much of what happened after, but how it started? Yeah, I can tell you that. It was me, Kyle, Bryan, Eustace, Jenny, Eleanor, Tom of course, and it was cold. We were in the Green Dog, which was our regular then, and we were a couple drinks in, all of us. Bryan was smoking his pipe, it was new, he was showing it off like. Eustace had such a thing for Eleanor and all of us knew it but her. Kyle and me, we were talking about that year’s Games. Kenny, he owned the place, he had the fire going strong as he could, but we were still all bundled up. Jenny tied her hair back so she could lean in toward the candle on the table, even. It was cold. 

I think it was Jenny who noticed first because I saw her turn white as a sheet while the rest of us were still having a laugh. There was a lull in the noise and then we heard the sound of footfalls, and they were heavy like, and you could hear the scrape against the wood floor.Then I realize it had gotten so cold because the door had opened — like I said, we’d been drinking, things weren’t coming to me quickly — and I turn to look.

He was man height — peasant, not aristo, I mean, but still taller than all of us. He had on a scratched grey chest plate and dark leather armor, which you could see was ripped and stained black in a bunch of places. Ears like a bat and skin the color of, you know, an old bruise, that purple-yellow flesh tone. Big red eyes the size of a human’s mouth. Teeth the size of human fingers that stuck out even with his mouth shut. He had these big bony feet with hard yellow toenails that scraped against the ground when he walked, just these big grippers slapping the floor. When there’s an orc in your regular, you notice these things. Makes an impression like. 

Tom, he didn’t say much on a night out usually. He stands up and he says, and I mean loud, “What do you want?” 

So that kills whatever conversation was left in the place. 

The orc doesn’t even look in Tom’s direction, just sits down at the bar. Then he goes, and I’m not gonna do the voice so you’re gonna have to imagine it, he goes: “I’m here to test the hospitality of the halflings, renowned in story and song.” 

Everyone starts Tom looks real angry. Jenny’s scared as hell, you can see. Eustace is just staring into his drink. 

The orc sighs like. “I am unarmed and I wear no sigil,” he says, real tired like. “Would you turn a poor traveler away?”

Kenny behind the bar, his bald head is gleaming with sweat now, and it’s cold like I said. He looks over to Tom who I can see give him this little head-nod back. 

It took him like three tries but finally Kenny gets out “What’ll it be.” 

“Ale,” the orc says. “Keep it coming. Cut me off after a few if it makes you feel safer, I don’t care.” And Kenny pours him an ale just like that. The orc takes this big long sip and lets out this ahhhh sound only it’s more of a hiss when he does it. Like I said, I can’t do the voice.

I’m watching this so close that I don’t even notice Tom get up. Next thing I know he’s sitting down next to the orc at the bar. Now normally if he does this people know what’s coming, but this orc, he’s new, what does he know.

“Hey friend,” he goes. Tom’s tall, four feet, and he’s all muscle. He’s not scared of this guy. “Hey friend. You a veteran?”

“Aye,” says the orc and takes another drink. 

“I’m a veteran too,” Tom says. Kenny starts to say something and Tom just shoots him a look and he shuts up again. “What campaign, brother?” 

“Azh Khabad was my last one,” the orc says. He’s just staring into his drink, like Jenny.

“Yeah, that was a lot of people’s last one,” Tom goes. “Especially on your side.” The orc just grunts and drinks again. “Where’s your sword and sigil at, brother?”

“Lost ’em,” he says. “In the last campaign.”

“Gotcha,” Tom goes. Then he kind of tilts his head and looks right at the orc and says in this weird loud voice, “Threw them down in the retreat, this one did.”

The orc lets out another one of those hiss-sigh sounds again, puts down his beer. “Yes, I threw them down,” he says. “They would avail me no more.” Finally he turns and looks at Tom, those red eyes, you know. And he says “Why do you stare? Have you never seen a soldier weary from war?”

“I’ve seen plenty, brother.”

We’re all exchanging nervous looks now, and Eustace is whispering something in Eleanor’s ear. Eleanor reaches out and grabs Jenny’s wrist and Jenny jumps and her beer falls over but Tom and the orc don’t notice.

“You’ve killed people,” Tom says. Eleanor squeezes Jenny’s wrist tighter and tilts her head towards the door. I look around and see a lot of folks looking in that direction.

“Probably I have,” the orc says. He’s turned back to his beer already. “But what soldier hasn’t?”

Tom’s drinking an ale of his own now, I didn’t even see him order it or Kenny give it to him. It’s like it materialized in his hand. “Totally fair,” he says, “totally fair. I know I have.” 

He pauses and takes a drink. Eleanor is dragging Jenny toward the door, fast, that’s the last I saw of them that night.

Tom puts his mug down. “But you served an evil cause, brother,” he says, staring right at the orc.

“Probably I did,” the guy says. He takes his own drink, then he moves his head real slow to look back at Tom. “But what soldier hasn’t?”

So Tom, man, he does not like that. He slams the mug down and yells “Those who follow the One True King!” After that you don’t hear a sound in that room except people heading for the exit.

The orc doesn’t miss a beat. “My Lord said he was the One True King. And where I come from, when he speaks, you don’t argue.”

Tom’s just getting madder now, you can see the flush creeping into his face. His fists are all balled up like. “So you were forced into war, is that it?” he asks the guy. “You were forced to fight? You were forced to kill?” All that kind of shit. 

The orc says “No. No, I wanted war. I wanted to fight. I wanted to kill. And when the time came I enjoyed it. But that time is over now. I’m tired.” He starts looking around the room as he talks now. “And I will harm no one so long as I am within these walls, as long as no one tries to harm me first.”

Now Tom, he only gets madder now for some reason. “Oh I’ve tried to harm you already, brother,” he says. “Your armor — you’re a Wolfrunner, yeah?”

And he goes, “Yeah.”

“So you were there,” Tom says. “You were there on the Plain of Sellema when the Paladins of Frodost brought the Early Dawn.” Me and Kyle and Bryan and Eustace had heard this one before and we all kind of looked at each other like. 

The orc goes “I remember the Plain of Sellema, yes.”

Tom’s, well, he’s not the smiling type the way he used to be but you can hear it in his tone of voice now and then and you could hear it now. “So, the vampire knights burning in their thousands, the trolls turned to stone that we used to build a monument to our glorious dead. You remember that, brother?”

The orc’s getting quiet. “Yes.”

“You remember the Werewolf Legion? One second they were rampaging through our front lines and the next they’re just a bunch of naked men on a battlefield. You remember how that ended? Remember them falling to the Silver Axes of Nar-Gurru?”

He doesn’t wait for a response this time. “You know who was in the Paladins of Frodost? Can you guess, brother? I’ll bet you can guess. Go ahead, take your time.”

Another hiss-sigh. He turns and looks Tom right in the eyes again. “You?”

“That’s right!” Tom is crowing now like. Me and the boys are up on our feet, real quiet. “I was one of the halfling paladins who slaughtered your Dark Armies, brother. It wasn’t personal, it was just that all those vampires and werewolves and trolls needed to go.” He gets up in the orc’s face. “Sometimes people just need to go, would you agree, brother?”

“Like the people of Sellema?” he says back. “That was not our doing.”

Tom’s says, “They made their choice. You don’t get to volunteer to be one of the Black Sword’s slaves. That’s just not an option for people to take, unfortunately.” 

Bryan whispers to me “He’s drunk” and I’m realizing suddenly he’s right. 

The orc finishes his drink and goes “What’s done is done, I suppose.”

“Almost,” says Tom.

He must have gone for his gem at that point, it was hard to see from my angle, but the next thing I know his arm is on the floor. His whole arm! The orc just bit it right off at the shoulder. Tom, he passes out, and his face lands right in the palm of his own hand, I swear on the Great Tomb of Atar.

There’s blood everywhere now, and I mean everywhere. A candle on the wall sputters and goes out from the spray, that level of blood. Kenny drops behind the bar and that’s the last I see of him. Most everyone in the bar is making a run for it. But me and Eustace and Kyle and Bryan, well, we just kind of collectively decide we’ve gotta do something about this. We’re pissed about Tom and we’re all drunk. 

And it’s the weirdest thing. The orc, he looks at us coming, Tom’s blood is all drooling and dripping from his mouth. And he goes “Hello, friends. Is any among you a veteran?”

We’re embarrassed like. Only the Wielders could serve in the High King’s army, and only Tom was a Wielder. On the other hand look where it had gotten him. 

So when no one says anything, the orc just says “That’s good. Very good indeed.” 

What were we supposed to do? 

I go first and I bring my mug down hard on his bruise-colored head. The black blood stings on your skin, I didn’t anticipate that even though I knew it was the case, you learn this stuff. Kyle goes in swinging, Bryan too. Eustace I think is backing out but then I see he’s reaching behind the bar for the club Kenny was afraid to use. He grabs it and swings hard, right into the orc’s face, which just explodes. Like I didn’t know you could do that to a living thing’s face and have it still be alive afterwards.  

It took a long time. Like I said, I don’t really remember much.

Anyway they erected a statue to Tom at the Old Bridge, and the orc they fed to Kenny’s pigs, on account of it was his place that got busted up and this was his getback. But all Kenny did was serve the orc a drink so I don’t feel bad his pigs got sick and died after that. Serves him right like. 

The deputies cleared us of course, since orcs aren’t people and you can only murder people, something like that. Bryan has been fine since except for his marriage. I haven’t talked to Kyle in a bit. Eustace did something that Eleanor isn’t speaking to him anymore, don’t know what that’s about. Jenny’s fine, and me and her have been going together since harvest, and we have a new regular. Anyway it’s funny you asked about this, because I just had the craziest dream where the orc says — well, that’s not important. I don’t think about it that much anymore is the main thing. That war ended a long time ago now.