CHAPTER 1

Ebony and Greenery

Octobre 29, 5599

Prince Shorn Zogstomp sat alone in his bedchamber with his eyes closed, thinking. It was the night before his sixteenth birthday, and he was not in the best of moods. His father, King Gridarg, king of the blorcs, had told him to prepare for tomorrow, but had not explained what that meant. Shorn feared that his father was going to surprise him with something, and he did not like surprises. He certainly did not want a surprise for his birthday, especially if other people were there to witness it. If his father embarrassed him like he had done many times before, well . . . , “I’ll kill him,” Shorn mumbled while running a finger down the blade of his sharp dagger.

Shorn was big for his age, unusually large, even for a blorc. He stood just over seven feet tall, and his muscles rippled under his pure black skin. His long black hair hung down his back and was tied in a ponytail with a strap of leather. Like others of his kind, blorcs, formerly known as black orcs, he feared no opponent.

Ever since he could remember, Shorn had been training with weapons. At the age of twelve, he had defeated his father’s champion, Grizill Toefungus, with just a war club. Shorn had then mastered the sword, battleaxe, bow and arrow, and staff. He trained every day from dawn to dusk, but he always felt that there was something missing from his life. He just did not know what it was.

Shorn opened his amber eyes, which stood out from his black skin like two shining orbs, and placed his dagger on his bedside table. He sat up and headed out the door of his bedchamber. He lived in Brimstone Castle in the heart of Strudhyne, the capital city of the blorcs. His mother had died the night he was born. He never knew her, so he never missed her. His father had raised him to be a strong prince so that he could one day be the next king, but that day was still a long way off. King Gridarg was in the prime of his life and in excellent physical health. The only person Shorn had not defeated in battle was his father, who always laughed at Shorn when he defeated him. Shorn hated losing to his father.

The young prince headed down the stairs and out into the garden. He often came out here to think about all sorts of things. The only thing he had on his mind this evening was his birthday. He sat down on his favorite rock bench, which happened to be next to a statue of his father. This white statue, which was roughly hewn from marble, had his father holding a staff above his head and on the end of the staff was an impaled human head. The moonlight from Asan, the lone moon of the planet Kepler, shown on the statue, which seemed to cause it to glow on this dark night.

“I wish I didn’t have to have my birthday tomorrow,” Shorn muttered to himself. He had a habit of talking to himself when no one else was around.

“Birthdays can be a lot of fun,” a high-pitched, yet gravelly voice said from behind the statue of King Gridarg.

Shorn stood quickly and reached for his dagger, but only grabbed air, as he had left the weapon in his room. Grumbling at his stupidity, he said, “Who said that? Show yourself.”

A short, green goblin stepped out from behind the statue and performed a mocking bow toward Shorn. He held his nostril closed, which had helped to disguise his voice. “As you wish, sire,” he said, giggling, letting go of his nose and using his normal voice.

“Oh, it’s you, Stench,” Shorn said, relaxing and sitting back down.

Stench was Shorn’s best friend, most of the time, and he got his name from the fact that he always smelled like he had spent the night sleeping in horse manure in the stables. Of course, the fact that he had never even touched water before, let alone taken a bath in it, also accounted for the unbelievable smell that radiated off of his body. To everyone else, he smelled quite terrible. But to himself, he thought he effused the scent of a lovely field of flowers. He could never admit how wrong he was to any person that mentioned his smell.

“You would think you would know the sound of my voice by now, even disguised,” Stench said, picking his nose with one grimy finger. He wiped whatever it was he had discovered inside his left nostril onto the foot of the statue.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind today. My father,” Shorn said with scorn dripping from his voice, “is giving me some sort of surprise tomorrow. You know how I hate surprises. I don’t enjoy looking like a fool in front of our subjects.”

“Yeah, I surprised you once by killing, cooking, and serving you your favorite pet for supper,” Stench laughingly said, and then stopped laughing when he remembered what Shorn had done to him afterwards.

“I didn’t like that surprise at all,” Shorn growled, glaring at his friend.

“That was the last surprise I ever gave you. I learned my lesson. I guess your father hasn’t learned that yet, or doesn’t care,” Stench said, sitting down on the bench where he only came up to Shorn’s armpit. “Are you ready to eat? I’m starving!” Stench rubbed his belly as it grumbled loudly.

“I suppose,” Shorn sighed. He begrudgingly stood up and headed back into the castle. Stench quickly jumped up and had to almost run to stay close to Shorn, whose stride was much longer than Stench’s tiny, bow-legged limbs could match.

“Maybe your father will be giving you a birthday present. That would sure be a surprise, wouldn’t it?” Stench said looking up at Shorn, out of breath from trying to remain by his friend’s side. “I like presents. Well, I like presents for me.”

“That would be a first,” Shorn agreed. “It had better not be a joke present.”

As they entered the dining hall, Shorn was dismayed to see another gathering of his father’s most treasured guard, the Black Plague, eating at the eighty-foot-long table. All thirteen of the fierce fighters were in attendance. The elite warriors had no respect for any intelligent being that lived outside of the Febrile Desert, and little for the ones that did. Most blorcs that they met on the street shrank back as this group passed them by. There was no admiration in their eyes for the Black Plague, just fear.

Seated to the right of the king was his advisor and court mage, Reilyk the Red, the only known blorc that could cast magic.

Shorn just wanted to be alone, or at least as alone as he could be with his stinky little friend beside him. He continued across the vast room.

“Those guys are brutes,” Stench said, keeping close behind Shorn as they walked toward the table. Stench always tried to avoid members of the Black Plague. They were huge warriors, the best at all styles of fighting, and had never been defeated in battle or training, except by Shorn and the king. Because of their status, they were quite pompous and loved to pick on those weaker than themselves, especially Stench.

The king’s champion and captain of the Black Plague, Grizill Toefungus, whose bare toes really were covered in an orange fungus, made a show of loudly sniffing the air and said, “Something stinks in here.”

“I’ll bet it’s his feet,” Stench mumbled, catching a brief glimpse of Grizill through Shorn’s legs.

The Black Plague captain turned around on the bench and spotted Stench hiding behind Shorn. “Ah, there’s the source of that obnoxious odor. Come over here, Stench, so I can beat that stink right out of you.” Grizill then made a show of smacking his hands together, making loud booming sounds that echoed throughout the dining hall.

The other members of the Black Plague roared with laughter, and even King Gridarg chuckled a little. Reilyk the Red frowned at the interruption to his meal and glared at Grizill.

Shorn grimaced as he sat down at the long table, grabbed a leg of bloar from a center tray, and started to gnaw on it while keeping his eyes on Grizill.

Grizill motioned to Stench with his finger to come hither. Stench turned away and hid behind Shorn as best as he could, trembling.

“I told you to come here, Stench!” Grizill roared, pounding the table with his right fist.

Slamming the leg of meat down on the table, Shorn turned to Grizill and said in a calm voice, “Stench is my friend and under my protection. Any insult you aim at him is also an insult you must intend for me, your prince.”

Grizill laughed, until he glanced at the king, who was not amused at all. Grizill stopped laughing, bowed his head toward the prince, and said, “I won’t insult the little sh . . . ah, Stench again, sire.”

Shorn eyed the rest of the Black Plague, and they all lowered their eyes when they met his glaze. He smiled a thin smile, knowing he had won that round. He also noticed that Grizill did not drop his eyes like the rest of his men, but continued to glare at him. Shorn knew that someday he would have to deal with Grizill and his insubordination. The captain had never forgiven Shorn for besting him in battle.

Shorn and Stench finished their meal and headed back to Shorn’s bedchamber. Shorn just wanted to go to sleep so he could get his birthday over with as soon as possible.

Stench left the prince to go to his own small room.

The prince got undressed and climbed into bed. He lay there thinking of all the things his father could possible give him. He did not want anything from him, except maybe the love he had never been given.

“Stupid surprise,” he mumbled as he fell to sleep.