Raiders of the Last Orgh (Part Two)

Haruchai looked at the battered sheaf of parchments still dark with blood and sighed. He read the close, neat handwriting over again, as if repeated scrutiny would reveal the secrets within.

He felt sure that these were the important tracts, marked as they were with the seal of the Provisional Government of this blighted and leaderless land. Yet the only sense they made was too terrible to contemplate. And why would a servant of that Government be found lifeless amongst the carnage of the orghs?

The shouts from outside the ger were beginning to get louder. His tsereg were restless for adventure. Perhaps his burden was making him old before his time, reading instead of riding. He threw the parchments down and stepped outside.

The ayimag was arguing amongst itself. Haruchai barked an order for silence and nodded at Baga-Bars to explain. The others looked at their spokesman with eager eyes. Baga-Bars explained quickly that the wounded orgh Bidagud had returned. It had spoken again of its tribe's fate and urged action upon the Monggol. It had spoken of its hate for them, but how its superior had ordered this approach.

Baga-Bars held out another parchment. This time it held only scattered words jotted on a torn canvas.

Sand, Blind, Balance, Galli---.

The wise bugu Bourtai spoke up. "Dis orgh also say ded Han have sand on boots. Meh say Han come from desert."

Haruchai nodded his agreement. Rather than seek answers in the orgh fort, the ayimag would ride to the far desert surrounding the Compassion Shrine. He gave the order and they were off in a flurry of hooves.

The hans had encroached further into this arid wasteland with their stone gers than he had remembered. Still, it was a desolate place, filled only with the keening soulless shrieks of harpies. The warriors searched for the orghs, wary of a trap. After many hours, they regrouped at the Shrine. The desert was empty of orghs.

Haruchai allowed the heated discussions to continue as he scratched his head. The desert orghs were formerly common here. Where could they have gone?

Bourtai coughed. "Agha-Khan," she said softly. "Meh think we go wrong place. Luhk at words. Hans say dere justice beh blind. Dey have tom ger for dis justice."

"Dis in Yew!" shouted Shongxor Hara.

"Dat go to Light-Ger!" joined in Idugan Aigeran, adding excitedly, "And dere beh desert round Light-Ger!"

Haruchai and the other tsereg nodded, wide-eyed at the cleverness of the ayimag's bugus. The Agha-Khan ordered they immediately ride towards Yew.

The deserts north of Papua were thick with monsters; harpies and gargoyles of stone, cyclopean warriors and endless scorpions that took their poisonous toll on the younger unagas. Battle after battle tired the brave warriors yet still no orghs could be found. It began to be clear that there were none to be found.

Haruchai called a halt after several hours. Maybe Bidagud was the last desert orgh. Maybe the terrible possibility contained in those blood-soaked writings was the inescapable truth. Someone was trying to eradicate the orghs, and after them, the other non-Britannians. Clearly, the slaughter happening now amongst the bigger tribes of the forest orghs was the next stage. These empty, windswept deserts had been the testing place.

After considering his Khan's thoughts for some moments, Baga-Bars spoke. "Dis 'someone' makes ordinary Hans do dis killing. Him make things for orghs dat hans want bad. Hans care only for altan. Dese things sell for olon altan."

He drew breath. "Who den make dese things for orghs? Who hate orghs and Monggol and all things so much?"

"And who beh dese Hans called Galliard and Alberrin?" added Shongxor Hara.

There was a long silence punctuated by wild claims quickly withdrawn. Then a word was spoken that struck a chill into everyone's heart.

"Bong," said Bourtai in a half-whipser. "The not-dead. Dey not live, hate all things dat live. Dese harw dat orghs have - dey xara, like Bong like things to beh. Dese masks on orgh bugus, dey beh made from ded orgh face. Dis beh work of bong, I beh sure."

Haruchai nodded. Breathing deeply, he looked each of his ayimag deep in the eyes, willing his courage into each of their young breasts. They looked back, expectant, no longer scared but urgent for glory.

"Dese beh my orders. All tsereg go out and find one dese orgh bows and masks. Try kill dshaahan orghs, but get dese. Bring to Bourtai-bugu. She study, confirm made by bong. Den..." he paused, letting the expectation build.

"Den we go to bong stronghold and destroy dem till dey tell secrets."

"URAGSHAA! URAGSHAA! URAGSHAA!" The Monggol war-cry thundered endlessly around the empty, echoing desert. The haunting spirits of the dispossessed orghs could only weep to hear their ancient enemy announce the vengeance that they so longed for, but was no longer in their powers.

© 2001 Pól-MichelSeachra AnDaingean